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+{"original":"It happened that when I came home from Deal I found a note from Caddy Jellyby (as we always continued to call her), informing me that her health, which had been for some time very delicate, was worse and that she would be more glad than she could tell me if I would go to see her. It was a note of a few lines, written from the couch on which she lay and enclosed to me in another from her husband, in which he seconded her entreaty with much solicitude. Caddy was now the mother, and I the godmother, of such a poor little baby--such a tiny old-faced mite, with a countenance that seemed to be scarcely anything but cap-border, and a little lean, long-fingered hand, always clenched under its chin. It would lie in this attitude all day, with its bright specks of eyes open, wondering (as I used to imagine) how it came to be so small and weak. Whenever it was moved it cried, but at all other times it was so patient that the sole desire of its life appeared to be to lie quiet and think. It had curious little dark veins in its face and curious little dark marks under its eyes like faint remembrances of poor Caddy's inky days, and altogether, to those who were not used to it, it was quite a piteous little sight.\nBut it was enough for Caddy that SHE was used to it. The projects with which she beguiled her illness, for little Esther's education, and little Esther's marriage, and even for her own old age as the grandmother of little Esther's little Esthers, was so prettily expressive of devotion to this pride of her life that I should be tempted to recall some of them but for the timely remembrance that I am getting on irregularly as it is.\n","abridged":"When I came home from Deal I found a note from Caddy, informing me that her health, which had been for some time very delicate, was worse and that she would be very glad if I would go to see her. It was a short note, written from her bed.\nCaddy was now the mother, and I the godmother, of such a poor little baby - such a tiny old-faced mite, with a little lean, long-fingered hand always clenched under its chin. It would lie in this attitude all day, with its bright specks of eyes open, wondering (I used to imagine) how it came to be so small and weak. Whenever it was moved it cried, but at all other times it lay quiet. It had curious little dark marks under its eyes, and was quite a piteous sight. But Caddy was devoted to it, and full of projects for little Esther's education, and little Esther's marriage, and even for her own old age as the grandmother of little Esther's little Esthers.\n"}
+{"original":"To return to the letter. Caddy had a superstition about me which had been strengthening in her mind ever since that night long ago when she had lain asleep with her head in my lap. She almost--I think I must say quite--believed that I did her good whenever I was near her. Now although this was such a fancy of the affectionate girl's that I am almost ashamed to mention it, still it might have all the force of a fact when she was really ill. Therefore I set off to Caddy, with my guardian's consent, post-haste; and she and Prince made so much of me that there never was anything like it.\nNext day I went again to sit with her, and next day I went again. It was a very easy journey, for I had only to rise a little earlier in the morning, and keep my accounts, and attend to housekeeping matters before leaving home.\nBut when I had made these three visits, my guardian said to me, on my return at night, \"Now, little woman, little woman, this will never do. Constant dropping will wear away a stone, and constant coaching will wear out a Dame Durden. We will go to London for a while and take possession of our old lodgings.\"\n","abridged":"To return to the letter. Caddy had a superstition about me: she almost believed that I did her good whenever I was near her. Now although this was a fancy, still it might have the force of a fact when she was ill. Therefore I set off to Caddy, with my guardian's consent; and she and Prince made so much of me that there never was anything like it.\nNext day and the day after, I went again to sit with her. It was a very easy journey, for I had only to rise a little earlier in the morning, and attend to housekeeping matters before leaving home.\nBut when I had made these three visits, my guardian said, on my return at night, \"Now, little woman, this will never do. Constant travel will wear out a Dame Durden. We will go to London for a while, to our old lodgings.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not for me, dear guardian,\" said I, \"for I never feel tired,\" which was strictly true. I was only too happy to be in such request.\n\"For me then,\" returned my guardian, \"or for Ada, or for both of us. It is somebody's birthday to-morrow, I think.\"\n\"Truly I think it is,\" said I, kissing my darling, who would be twenty-one to-morrow.\n\"Well,\" observed my guardian, half pleasantly, half seriously, \"that's a great occasion and will give my fair cousin some necessary business to transact in assertion of her independence, and will make London a more convenient place for all of us. So to London we will go. That being settled, there is another thing--how have you left Caddy?\"\n\"Very unwell, guardian. I fear it will be some time before she regains her health and strength.\"\n","abridged":"\"Not for me. I never feel tired, dear guardian,\" said I, which was strictly true. I was only too happy to be in such demand.\n\"For me then,\" returned my guardian, \"or for Ada. It is somebody's birthday tomorrow, I think.\"\n\"Truly I think it is,\" said I, kissing my darling, who would be twenty-one tomorrow.\n\"Well,\" observed my guardian, \"that's a great occasion and will give my fair cousin some necessary business to transact, and will make London more convenient for all of us. How have you left Caddy?\"\n\"Very unwell, guardian. I fear it will be some weeks before she regains her health and strength.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What do you call some time, now?\" asked my guardian thoughtfully.\n\"Some weeks, I am afraid.\"\n\"Ah!\" He began to walk about the room with his hands in his pockets, showing that he had been thinking as much. \"Now, what do you say about her doctor? Is he a good doctor, my love?\"\nI felt obliged to confess that I knew nothing to the contrary but that Prince and I had agreed only that evening that we would like his opinion to be confirmed by some one.\n\"Well, you know,\" returned my guardian quickly, \"there's Woodcourt.\"\n","abridged":"\"Ah!\" He began to walk about the room with his hands in his pockets. \"Now, what do you say about her doctor? Is he a good doctor, my love?\"\nI confessed that Prince and I had agreed only that day that we would like his opinion to be confirmed by some one.\n\"Well, you know,\" returned my guardian quickly, \"there's Woodcourt.\"\n"}
+{"original":"I had not meant that, and was rather taken by surprise. For a moment all that I had had in my mind in connexion with Mr. Woodcourt seemed to come back and confuse me.\n\"You don't object to him, little woman?\"\n\"Object to him, guardian? Oh no!\"\n\"And you don't think the patient would object to him?\"\nSo far from that, I had no doubt of her being prepared to have a great reliance on him and to like him very much. I said that he was no stranger to her personally, for she had seen him often in his kind attendance on Miss Flite.\n\"Very good,\" said my guardian. \"He has been here to-day, my dear, and I will see him about it to-morrow.\"\n","abridged":"I was rather taken by surprise; and, for a moment, confused.\n\"You don't object to him, little woman?\"\n\"Oh no!\"\n\"And you don't think the patient would object to him?\"\nI had no doubt that she would like him very much, for she had seen him often in his kind attendance on Miss Flite.\n\"Very good,\" said my guardian. \"He has been here today, my dear, and I will see him about it tomorrow.\"\n"}
+{"original":"I felt in this short conversation--though I did not know how, for she was quiet, and we interchanged no look--that my dear girl well remembered how merrily she had clasped me round the waist when no other hands than Caddy's had brought me the little parting token. This caused me to feel that I ought to tell her, and Caddy too, that I was going to be the mistress of Bleak House and that if I avoided that disclosure any longer I might become less worthy in my own eyes of its master's love. Therefore, when we went upstairs and had waited listening until the clock struck twelve in order that only I might be the first to wish my darling all good wishes on her birthday and to take her to my heart, I set before her, just as I had set before myself, the goodness and honour of her cousin John and the happy life that was in store for me. If ever my darling were fonder of me at one time than another in all our intercourse, she was surely fondest of me that night. And I was so rejoiced to know it and so comforted by the sense of having done right in casting this last idle reservation away that I was ten times happier than I had been before. I had scarcely thought it a reservation a few hours ago, but now that it was gone I felt as if I understood its nature better.\n","abridged":"I felt in this short conversation - though she was quiet - that my dear girl remembered how merrily she had clasped me round the waist when Caddy had brought me the little parting token of the flowers. This made me feel that I ought to tell her, and Caddy too, that I was going to be the mistress of Bleak House, and that if I avoided that disclosure any longer I might become less worthy in my own eyes of its master's love.\nTherefore, when we went upstairs and had waited until the clock struck twelve so that I might be the first to wish my darling a happy birthday, I set before her the goodness and honour of her cousin John and the happy life that was in store for me. If ever my darling were fond of me, she was surely fondest of me that night. And I was so rejoiced to know it and so comforted that I was ten times happier than I had been before.\n"}
+{"original":"Next day we went to London. We found our old lodging vacant, and in half an hour were quietly established there, as if we had never gone away. Mr. Woodcourt dined with us to celebrate my darling's birthday, and we were as pleasant as we could be with the great blank among us that Richard's absence naturally made on such an occasion. After that day I was for some weeks--eight or nine as I remember--very much with Caddy, and thus it fell out that I saw less of Ada at this time than any other since we had first come together, except the time of my own illness. She often came to Caddy's, but our function there was to amuse and cheer her, and we did not talk in our usual confidential manner. Whenever I went home at night we were together, but Caddy's rest was broken by pain, and I often remained to nurse her.\nWith her husband and her poor little mite of a baby to love and their home to strive for, what a good creature Caddy was! So self-denying, so uncomplaining, so anxious to get well on their account, so afraid of giving trouble, and so thoughtful of the unassisted labours of her husband and the comforts of old Mr. Turveydrop; I had never known the best of her until now. And it seemed so curious that her pale face and helpless figure should be lying there day after day where dancing was the business of life, where the kit and the apprentices began early every morning in the ball-room, and where the untidy little boy waltzed by himself in the kitchen all the afternoon.\n","abridged":"Next day we went to London. In half an hour we were quietly established in our old lodging, as if we had never gone away. Mr. Woodcourt dined with us to celebrate my darling's birthday, and we were as pleasant as we could be without Richard there.\nAfter that day I was for some eight weeks very much with Caddy, and so I saw less of Ada than at any other time since we had first come together, except the time of my own illness. Ada often came to Caddy's, but our function there was to amuse and cheer her, and we did not talk in our usual confidential manner. Caddy's rest was broken by pain, and I often remained to nurse her.\nWhat a good creature Caddy was! So self-denying, so uncomplaining, so anxious to get well on her family's account, so afraid of giving trouble; I had never known the best of her until now. It seemed curious that her pale face and helpless figure should be lying there day after day where dancing was the business of life, where the apprentices began early every morning in the ball-room, and the untidy little boy waltzed by himself in the kitchen.\n"}
+{"original":"At Caddy's request I took the supreme direction of her apartment, trimmed it up, and pushed her, couch and all, into a lighter and more airy and more cheerful corner than she had yet occupied; then, every day, when we were in our neatest array, I used to lay my small small namesake in her arms and sit down to chat or work or read to her. It was at one of the first of these quiet times that I told Caddy about Bleak House.\nWe had other visitors besides Ada. First of all we had Prince, who in his hurried intervals of teaching used to come softly in and sit softly down, with a face of loving anxiety for Caddy and the very little child. Whatever Caddy's condition really was, she never failed to declare to Prince that she was all but well--which I, heaven forgive me, never failed to confirm. This would put Prince in such good spirits that he would sometimes take the kit from his pocket and play a chord or two to astonish the baby, which I never knew it to do in the least degree, for my tiny namesake never noticed it at all.\n","abridged":"At Caddy's request I re-arranged her apartment, and pushed her, couch and all, into a lighter and more airy corner; then, every day, I used to lay my small namesake in her arms and sit down to chat or sew or read to her. At one of these quiet times I told Caddy about Bleak House.\nWe had other visitors besides Ada. First of all we had Prince, who in his hurried intervals of teaching used to come softly in and sit down with a face of loving anxiety. However Caddy felt, she always declared to Prince that she was almost well. This would put Prince in such good spirits that he would sometimes take the kit from his pocket and play a chord or two to astonish the baby, who never noticed it at all.\n"}
+{"original":"Then there was Mrs. Jellyby. She would come occasionally, with her usual distraught manner, and sit calmly looking miles beyond her grandchild as if her attention were absorbed by a young Borrioboolan on its native shores. As bright-eyed as ever, as serene, and as untidy, she would say, \"Well, Caddy, child, and how do you do to-day?\" And then would sit amiably smiling and taking no notice of the reply or would sweetly glide off into a calculation of the number of letters she had lately received and answered or of the coffee-bearing power of Borrioboola-Gha. This she would always do with a serene contempt for our limited sphere of action, not to be disguised.\nThen there was old Mr. Turveydrop, who was from morning to night and from night to morning the subject of innumerable precautions. If the baby cried, it was nearly stifled lest the noise should make him uncomfortable. If the fire wanted stirring in the night, it was surreptitiously done lest his rest should be broken. If Caddy required any little comfort that the house contained, she first carefully discussed whether he was likely to require it too. In return for this consideration he would come into the room once a day, all but blessing it--showing a condescension, and a patronage, and a grace of manner in dispensing the light of his high-shouldered presence from which I might have supposed him (if I had not known better) to have been the benefactor of Caddy's life.\n","abridged":"Then there was Mrs. Jellyby. She would come occasionally, with her usual distracted manner, and sit calmly looking miles beyond her grandchild as if her attention were absorbed by a young Borrioboolan on its native shores. As bright-eyed and serene as ever, she would say, \"Well, Caddy, child, and how do you do today?\" And then would sit amiably smiling and taking no notice of the reply.\nThen there was old Mr. Turveydrop, who was from morning to night the subject of innumerable precautions. If the baby cried, it was nearly stifled lest the noise should make him uncomfortable. If Caddy required any little comfort that the house contained, she first carefully discussed whether he was likely to require it too. In return for this consideration he would come into the room once a day, showing her condescension and graceful patronage.\n"}
+{"original":"\"My Caroline,\" he would say, making the nearest approach that he could to bending over her. \"Tell me that you are better to-day.\"\n\"Oh, much better, thank you, Mr. Turveydrop,\" Caddy would reply.\n\"Delighted! Enchanted! And our dear Miss Summerson. She is not quite prostrated by fatigue?\" Here he would crease up his eyelids and kiss his fingers to me, though I am happy to say he had ceased to be particular in his attentions since I had been so altered.\n\"Not at all,\" I would assure him.\n","abridged":"\"My Caroline,\" he would say, \"Tell me that you are better today.\"\n\"Oh, much better, thank you, Mr. Turveydrop,\" Caddy would reply.\n\"Delighted! Enchanted! And our dear Miss Summerson.\" Here he would kiss his fingers to me, though I am happy to say he had ceased to be particular in his attentions since I had been so altered.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Charming! We must take care of our dear Caroline, Miss Summerson. We must spare nothing that will restore her. We must nourish her. My dear Caroline\"--he would turn to his daughter-in-law with infinite generosity and protection--\"want for nothing, my love. Frame a wish and gratify it, my daughter. Everything this house contains, everything my room contains, is at your service, my dear. Do not,\" he would sometimes add in a burst of deportment, \"even allow my simple requirements to be considered if they should at any time interfere with your own, my Caroline. Your necessities are greater than mine.\"\nHe had established such a long prescriptive right to this deportment (his son's inheritance from his mother) that I several times knew both Caddy and her husband to be melted to tears by these affectionate self-sacrifices.\n","abridged":"\"We must take care of our dear Caroline, Miss Summerson. We must nourish her. My dear Caroline\" - he would turn to his daughter-in-law with infinite generosity - \"want for nothing, my love. Everything this house contains is at your service, my dear. Do not,\" he would sometimes add in a burst of deportment, \"even allow my simple requirements to be considered if they should at any time interfere with your own, my Caroline.\"\nSeveral times both Caddy and her husband were melted to tears by these affectionate self-sacrifices.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nay, my dears,\" he would remonstrate; and when I saw Caddy's thin arm about his fat neck as he said it, I would be melted too, though not by the same process. \"Nay, nay! I have promised never to leave ye. Be dutiful and affectionate towards me, and I ask no other return. Now, bless ye! I am going to the Park.\"\nHe would take the air there presently and get an appetite for his hotel dinner. I hope I do old Mr. Turveydrop no wrong, but I never saw any better traits in him than these I faithfully record, except that he certainly conceived a liking for Peepy and would take the child out walking with great pomp, always on those occasions sending him home before he went to dinner himself, and occasionally with a halfpenny in his pocket. But even this disinterestedness was attended with no inconsiderable cost, to my knowledge, for before Peepy was sufficiently decorated to walk hand in hand with the professor of deportment, he had to be newly dressed, at the expense of Caddy and her husband, from top to toe.\n","abridged":"\"Nay, my dears,\" he would remonstrate; and when I saw Caddy's thin arm about his fat neck as he said it, I would be melted too, though not for the same reason. \"Nay, nay! I have promised never to leave ye. Be dutiful and affectionate towards me, and I ask no other return. Now, bless ye! I am going to the Park.\"\nThere he would take the air and get an appetite for his hotel dinner. I hope I do old Mr. Turveydrop no wrong, but I never saw any better traits in him than these, except that he certainly conceived a liking for Peepy and would take the child out walking with great pomp. Even so, before Peepy was sufficiently decorated to walk hand in hand with the professor of deportment, he had to be newly dressed, at the expense of Caddy and her husband, from top to toe.\n"}
+{"original":"Last of our visitors, there was Mr. Jellyby. Really when he used to come in of an evening, and ask Caddy in his meek voice how she was, and then sit down with his head against the wall, and make no attempt to say anything more, I liked him very much. If he found me bustling about doing any little thing, he sometimes half took his coat off, as if with an intention of helping by a great exertion; but he never got any further. His sole occupation was to sit with his head against the wall, looking hard at the thoughtful baby; and I could not quite divest my mind of a fancy that they understood one another.\nI have not counted Mr. Woodcourt among our visitors because he was now Caddy's regular attendant. She soon began to improve under his care, but he was so gentle, so skilful, so unwearying in the pains he took that it is not to be wondered at, I am sure. I saw a good deal of Mr. Woodcourt during this time, though not so much as might be supposed, for knowing Caddy to be safe in his hands, I often slipped home at about the hours when he was expected. We frequently met, notwithstanding. I was quite reconciled to myself now, but I still felt glad to think that he was sorry for me, and he still WAS sorry for me I believed. He helped Mr. Badger in his professional engagements, which were numerous, and had as yet no settled projects for the future.\n","abridged":"Last of our visitors was Mr. Jellyby. When he used to come in of an evening, and ask Caddy in his meek voice how she was, and then sit down quietly with his head against the wall, I liked him very much. If he found me bustling about doing any little thing, he sometimes half took his coat off, as if with an intention of helping; but he never got any further. His sole occupation was to sit with his head against the wall, looking hard at the thoughtful baby; and I almost fancied that they understood one another.\nMr. Woodcourt was now Caddy's regular attendant. He was so gentle, so skilful, and so unwearying that she soon began to improve under his care. I saw a good deal of Mr. Woodcourt during this time, although I often slipped home at the hours when he was expected, knowing Caddy to be safe in his hands. We frequently met, notwithstanding. I was quite reconciled to myself now, but I still felt glad to think that he was sorry for me. He helped Dr. Badger in his professional engagements, and had as yet no settled projects for the future.\n"}
+{"original":"It was when Caddy began to recover that I began to notice a change in my dear girl. I cannot say how it first presented itself to me, because I observed it in many slight particulars which were nothing in themselves and only became something when they were pieced together. But I made it out, by putting them together, that Ada was not so frankly cheerful with me as she used to be. Her tenderness for me was as loving and true as ever; I did not for a moment doubt that; but there was a quiet sorrow about her which she did not confide to me, and in which I traced some hidden regret.\nNow, I could not understand this, and I was so anxious for the happiness of my own pet that it caused me some uneasiness and set me thinking often. At length, feeling sure that Ada suppressed this something from me lest it should make me unhappy too, it came into my head that she was a little grieved--for me--by what I had told her about Bleak House.\nHow I persuaded myself that this was likely, I don't know. I had no idea that there was any selfish reference in my doing so. I was not grieved for myself: I was quite contented and quite happy. Still, that Ada might be thinking--for me, though I had abandoned all such thoughts--of what once was, but was now all changed, seemed so easy to believe that I believed it.\n","abridged":"It was when Caddy began to recover that I began to notice a change in my dear Ada. It seemed she was not so frankly cheerful with me as she used to be. Her tenderness for me was as loving and true as ever; but there was a quiet sorrow about her, in which I traced some hidden regret.\nNow, I could not understand this, and I was so anxious for the happiness of my own pet that it caused me some uneasiness. At length, feeling sure that Ada was suppressing something from me lest it should make me unhappy too, I thought she might be grieved - for me - by what I had told her about Bleak House.\nHow I persuaded myself that this was likely, I don't know. I was not grieved for myself: I was quite contented. Still, I believed that Ada might be thinking of what once was, but was now all changed.\n"}
+{"original":"What could I do to reassure my darling (I considered then) and show her that I had no such feelings? Well! I could only be as brisk and busy as possible, and that I had tried to be all along. However, as Caddy's illness had certainly interfered, more or less, with my home duties--though I had always been there in the morning to make my guardian's breakfast, and he had a hundred times laughed and said there must be two little women, for his little woman was never missing--I resolved to be doubly diligent and gay. So I went about the house humming all the tunes I knew, and I sat working and working in a desperate manner, and I talked and talked, morning, noon, and night.\nAnd still there was the same shade between me and my darling.\n\"So, Dame Trot,\" observed my guardian, shutting up his book one night when we were all three together, \"so Woodcourt has restored Caddy Jellyby to the full enjoyment of life again?\"\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"and to be repaid by such gratitude as hers is to be made rich, guardian.\"\n\"I wish it was,\" he returned, \"with all my heart.\"\n","abridged":"What could I do to reassure my darling? Well! I could only be as brisk and busy as possible. As Caddy's illness had certainly interfered with my home duties, I resolved to be doubly diligent and gay. So I went about the house humming all the tunes I knew, and I sat working and working in a desperate manner, and I talked and talked, morning, noon, and night.\nAnd still there was the same shade between me and my darling.\n\"So, Dame Trot,\" observed my guardian one night when we were all three together, \"so Woodcourt has restored Caddy to the full enjoyment of life again?\"\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"and to be repaid by such gratitude as hers is to be made rich, guardian.\"\n\"I wish it could! "}
+{"original":"So did I too, for that matter. I said so.\n\"Aye! We would make him as rich as a Jew if we knew how. Would we not, little woman?\"\nI laughed as I worked and replied that I was not sure about that, for it might spoil him, and he might not be so useful, and there might be many who could ill spare him. As Miss Flite, and Caddy herself, and many others.\n","abridged":"We would make him truly rich if we knew how. Would we not, little woman?\"\nI laughed as I sewed and replied that I was not sure about that, for it might spoil him, and he might not be so useful.\n"}
+{"original":"\"True,\" said my guardian. \"I had forgotten that. But we would agree to make him rich enough to live, I suppose? Rich enough to work with tolerable peace of mind? Rich enough to have his own happy home and his own household gods--and household goddess, too, perhaps?\"\nThat was quite another thing, I said. We must all agree in that.\n","abridged":"\"True,\" said my guardian. \"I had forgotten that. But we would agree to make him rich enough to live, I suppose? Rich enough to work with tolerable peace of mind? Rich enough to have his own happy home and his own household gods - and household goddess, too, perhaps?\"\nThat was quite another thing, I said. We must all agree in that.\n"}
+{"original":"\"To be sure,\" said my guardian. \"All of us. I have a great regard for Woodcourt, a high esteem for him; and I have been sounding him delicately about his plans. It is difficult to offer aid to an independent man with that just kind of pride which he possesses. And yet I would be glad to do it if I might or if I knew how. He seems half inclined for another voyage. But that appears like casting such a man away.\"\n\"It might open a new world to him,\" said I.\n","abridged":"\"To be sure,\" said my guardian. \"I have a great regard for Woodcourt; and I have been asking him delicately about his plans. It is difficult to offer aid to such an independent man; and yet I would be glad to do it if I knew how. He seems half inclined for another voyage. But that appears like casting such a man away.\"\n\"It might open a new world to him,\" said I.\n"}
+{"original":"\"So it might, little woman,\" my guardian assented. \"I doubt if he expects much of the old world. Do you know I have fancied that he sometimes feels some particular disappointment or misfortune encountered in it. You never heard of anything of that sort?\"\nI shook my head.\n\"Humph,\" said my guardian. \"I am mistaken, I dare say.\" As there was a little pause here, which I thought, for my dear girl's satisfaction, had better be filled up, I hummed an air as I worked which was a favourite with my guardian.\n\"And do you think Mr. Woodcourt will make another voyage?\" I asked him when I had hummed it quietly all through.\n","abridged":"\"So it might, little woman,\" my guardian assented. \"I doubt if he expects much of the old world. Do you know I have fancied that he sometimes feels some particular disappointment or misfortune encountered in it. You never heard of anything of that sort?\"\nI shook my head.\n\"Humph,\" said my guardian. \"I am mistaken, I dare say.\" As there was a little pause here, I hummed an air as I worked which was a favourite with my guardian.\n\"And do you think Mr. Woodcourt will make another voyage?\" I asked him when I had hummed it quietly all through.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't quite know what to think, my dear, but I should say it was likely at present that he will give a long trip to another country.\"\n\"I am sure he will take the best wishes of all our hearts with him wherever he goes,\" said I; \"and though they are not riches, he will never be the poorer for them, guardian, at least.\"\n\"Never, little woman,\" he replied.\nI was sitting in my usual place, which was now beside my guardian's chair. That had not been my usual place before the letter, but it was now. I looked up to Ada, who was sitting opposite, and I saw, as she looked at me, that her eyes were filled with tears and that tears were falling down her face. I felt that I had only to be placid and merry once for all to undeceive my dear and set her loving heart at rest. I really was so, and I had nothing to do but to be myself.\nSo I made my sweet girl lean upon my shoulder--how little thinking what was heavy on her mind!--and I said she was not quite well, and put my arm about her, and took her upstairs. When we were in our own room, and when she might perhaps have told me what I was so unprepared to hear, I gave her no encouragement to confide in me; I never thought she stood in need of it.\n","abridged":"\"I don't quite know, my dear, but I should say it was likely.\"\n\"I am sure he will take the best wishes of all our hearts with him wherever he goes,\" said I; \"and though they are not riches, he will never be the poorer for them, guardian, at least.\"\n\"Never, little woman,\" he replied.\nI was sitting in my usual place, which was now beside my guardian's chair. That had not been my usual place before the letter, but it was now. I looked up to Ada, who was sitting opposite, and I saw that her eyes were filled with tears. I felt that I had only to be placid and merry once for all to set her loving heart at rest.\nSo I made my sweet girl lean upon my shoulder - little thinking what was heavy on her mind! - and I said she was not quite well, and put my arm about her, and took her upstairs.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, my dear good Esther,\" said Ada, \"if I could only make up my mind to speak to you and my cousin John when you are together!\"\n\"Why, my love!\" I remonstrated. \"Ada, why should you not speak to us!\"\nAda only dropped her head and pressed me closer to her heart.\n\"You surely don't forget, my beauty,\" said I, smiling, \"what quiet, old-fashioned people we are and how I have settled down to be the discreetest of dames? You don't forget how happily and peacefully my life is all marked out for me, and by whom? I am certain that you don't forget by what a noble character, Ada. That can never be.\"\n\"No, never, Esther.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, my dear good Esther,\" said Ada, \"if I could only make up my mind to speak to you and my cousin John when you are together!\"\n\"Why, my love!\" I remonstrated. \"Ada, why should you not speak to us!\"\nAda only dropped her head and pressed me closer to her heart.\n\"You surely don't forget, my beauty,\" said I, smiling, \"what quiet, old-fashioned people we are and how I have settled down to be the discreetest of dames? You don't forget how happily and peacefully my life is all marked out for me, and by whom?\"\n\"No, never, Esther.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why then, my dear,\" said I, \"there can be nothing amiss--and why should you not speak to us?\"\n\"Nothing amiss, Esther?\" returned Ada. \"Oh, when I think of all these years, and of his fatherly care and kindness, and of the old relations among us, and of you, what shall I do, what shall I do!\"\nI looked at my child in some wonder, but I thought it better not to answer otherwise than by cheering her, and so I turned off into many little recollections of our life together and prevented her from saying more. When she lay down to sleep, and not before, I returned to my guardian to say good night, and then I came back to Ada and sat near her for a little while.\nShe was asleep, and I thought as I looked at her that she was a little changed. I had thought so more than once lately. I could not decide, even looking at her while she was unconscious, how she was changed, but something in the familiar beauty of her face looked different to me. My guardian's old hopes of her and Richard arose sorrowfully in my mind, and I said to myself, \"She has been anxious about him,\" and I wondered how that love would end.\n","abridged":"\"Why then, my dear,\" said I, \"there can be nothing amiss. Why should you not speak to us?\"\n\"Nothing amiss, Esther?\" returned Ada. \"Oh, when I think of all these years, and of his fatherly care and kindness, and of the old relations among us, and of you, what shall I do, what shall I do!\"\nI looked at my child in some wonder, but I thought it better not to answer otherwise than by cheering her with many little recollections of our life together. When she lay down to sleep, and not before, I returned to my guardian to say good night, and then I came back to Ada and sat near her for a little while.\nShe was asleep, and I thought as I looked at her that she was a little changed. Something in the familiar beauty of her face looked different to me. My guardian's old hopes of her and Richard arose sorrowfully in my mind, and I said to myself, \"She has been anxious about him,\" and I wondered how that love would end.\n"}
+{"original":"When I had come home from Caddy's while she was ill, I had often found Ada at work, and she had always put her work away, and I had never known what it was. Some of it now lay in a drawer near her, which was not quite closed. I did not open the drawer, but I still rather wondered what the work could be, for it was evidently nothing for herself.\nAnd I noticed as I kissed my dear that she lay with one hand under her pillow so that it was hidden.\nHow much less amiable I must have been than they thought me, how much less amiable than I thought myself, to be so preoccupied with my own cheerfulness and contentment as to think that it only rested with me to put my dear girl right and set her mind at peace!\nBut I lay down, self-deceived, in that belief. And I awoke in it next day to find that there was still the same shade between me and my darling.","abridged":"When I had come home from Caddy's while she was ill, I had often found Ada at her needlework, and she had always put her work away, and I had never known what it was. Some of it now lay in a drawer near her, which I did not open. But I wondered what the work could be, for it was evidently nothing for herself.\nAnd I noticed as I kissed my dear that she lay with one hand under her pillow so that it was hidden.\nHow much less amiable I must have been than I thought, to be so preoccupied with my own cheerfulness and contentment as to think that it only rested with me to put my dear girl right and set her mind at peace!\nBut I lay down, self-deceived, in that belief. And I awoke in it next day to find that there was still the same shade between me and my darling."}
+{"original":"Refreshed by sleep, Mr. Bucket rises betimes in the morning and prepares for a field-day. Smartened up by the aid of a clean shirt and a wet hairbrush, with which instrument, on occasions of ceremony, he lubricates such thin locks as remain to him after his life of severe study, Mr. Bucket lays in a breakfast of two mutton chops as a foundation to work upon, together with tea, eggs, toast, and marmalade on a corresponding scale. Having much enjoyed these strengthening matters and having held subtle conference with his familiar demon, he confidently instructs Mercury \"just to mention quietly to Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, that whenever he's ready for me, I'm ready for him.\" A gracious message being returned that Sir Leicester will expedite his dressing and join Mr. Bucket in the library within ten minutes, Mr. Bucket repairs to that apartment and stands before the fire with his finger on his chin, looking at the blazing coals.\nThoughtful Mr. Bucket is, as a man may be with weighty work to do, but composed, sure, confident. From the expression of his face he might be a famous whist-player for a large stake--say a hundred guineas certain--with the game in his hand, but with a high reputation involved in his playing his hand out to the last card in a masterly way. Not in the least anxious or disturbed is Mr. Bucket when Sir Leicester appears, but he eyes the baronet aside as he comes slowly to his easy-chair with that observant gravity of yesterday in which there might have been yesterday, but for the audacity of the idea, a touch of compassion.\n","abridged":"Refreshed by sleep, Mr. Bucket rises and prepares for a field-day. He lays in a breakfast of two mutton chops as a foundation to work upon, together with tea, eggs, toast, and marmalade. He instructs the footman \"just to mention quietly to Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, that whenever he's ready for me, I'm ready for him.\" A gracious message being returned that Sir Leicester will be in the library within ten minutes, Mr. Bucket goes there and stands before the fire with his finger on his chin, looking at the blazing coals.\nThoughtful Mr. Bucket is, but composed, sure, confident. Not in the least anxious or disturbed is he when Sir Leicester appears, but he eyes the baronet as he comes slowly to his easy-chair with that observant gravity of yesterday, in which there might have been a touch of compassion.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, officer, but I am rather later than my usual hour this morning. I am not well. The agitation and the indignation from which I have recently suffered have been too much for me. I am subject to--gout\"--Sir Leicester was going to say indisposition and would have said it to anybody else, but Mr. Bucket palpably knows all about it--\"and recent circumstances have brought it on.\"\nAs he takes his seat with some difficulty and with an air of pain, Mr. Bucket draws a little nearer, standing with one of his large hands on the library-table.\n\"I am not aware, officer,\" Sir Leicester observes; raising his eyes to his face, \"whether you wish us to be alone, but that is entirely as you please. If you do, well and good. If not, Miss Dedlock would be interested--\"\n","abridged":"\"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, officer, but I am rather later than my usual hour this morning. I am not well. I am subject to - gout - and recent circumstances have brought it on.\"\nAs Sir Leicester takes his seat with some difficulty and with an air of pain, Mr. Bucket draws a little nearer.\n\"I am not aware, officer,\" Sir Leicester observes, raising his eyes to his face, \"whether you wish us to be alone.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" returns Mr. Bucket with his head persuasively on one side and his forefinger pendant at one ear like an earring, \"we can't be too private just at present. You will presently see that we can't be too private. A lady, under the circumstances, and especially in Miss Dedlock's elevated station of society, can't but be agreeable to me, but speaking without a view to myself, I will take the liberty of assuring you that I know we can't be too private.\"\n\"That is enough.\"\n\"So much so, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" Mr. Bucket resumes, \"that I was on the point of asking your permission to turn the key in the door.\"\n\"By all means.\" Mr. Bucket skilfully and softly takes that precaution, stooping on his knee for a moment from mere force of habit so to adjust the key in the lock as that no one shall peep in from the outerside.\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I mentioned yesterday evening that I wanted but a very little to complete this case. I have now completed it and collected proof against the person who did this crime.\"\n\"Against the soldier?\"\n","abridged":"\"Why, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" returns Mr. Bucket with his head on one side and his forefinger at one ear like an earring, \"we can't be too private just at present. I was on the point of asking your permission to turn the key in the door.\"\n\"By all means.\"\nMr. Bucket skilfully takes that precaution, adjusting the key in the lock so that no one shall peep in from outside.\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I mentioned yesterday evening that I wanted very little to complete this case. I have now completed it and collected proof against the person who did this crime.\"\n\"Against the soldier?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, Sir Leicester Dedlock; not the soldier.\"\nSir Leicester looks astounded and inquires, \"Is the man in custody?\"\nMr. Bucket tells him, after a pause, \"It was a woman.\"\nSir Leicester leans back in his chair, and breathlessly ejaculates, \"Good heaven!\"\n","abridged":"\"No, Sir Leicester Dedlock; not the soldier.\"\nSir Leicester looks astounded and inquires, \"Is the man in custody?\"\nMr. Bucket tells him, after a pause, \"It was a woman.\"\nSir Leicester leans back in his chair, and breathlessly ejaculates, \"Good heaven!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" Mr. Bucket begins, standing over him with one hand spread out on the library-table and the forefinger of the other in impressive use, \"it's my duty to prepare you for a train of circumstances that may, and I go so far as to say that will, give you a shock. But Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, you are a gentleman, and I know what a gentleman is and what a gentleman is capable of. A gentleman can bear a shock when it must come, boldly and steadily. A gentleman can make up his mind to stand up against almost any blow. Why, take yourself, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. If there's a blow to be inflicted on you, you naturally think of your family. You ask yourself, how would all them ancestors of yours, away to Julius Caesar--not to go beyond him at present--have borne that blow; you remember scores of them that would have borne it well; and you bear it well on their accounts, and to maintain the family credit. That's the way you argue, and that's the way you act, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.\"\nSir Leicester, leaning back in his chair and grasping the elbows, sits looking at him with a stony face.\n","abridged":"\"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" Mr. Bucket begins, \"it's my duty to prepare you for a train of circumstances that may, and I go so far as to say that will, give you a shock. But you are a gentleman, and a gentleman can bear a shock. A gentleman can make up his mind to stand up against almost any blow. Why, take yourself, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. If there's a blow to be inflicted on you, you bear it well on your ancestors' accounts, and to maintain the family credit. That's the way you argue, and that's the way you act, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.\"\nSir Leicester, leaning back in his chair and grasping its arms, sits looking at him with a stony face.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, \"thus preparing you, let me beg of you not to trouble your mind for a moment as to anything having come to MY knowledge. I know so much about so many characters, high and low, that a piece of information more or less don't signify a straw. I don't suppose there's a move on the board that would surprise ME, and as to this or that move having taken place, why my knowing it is no odds at all, any possible move whatever (provided it's in a wrong direction) being a probable move according to my experience. Therefore, what I say to you, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, is, don't you go and let yourself be put out of the way because of my knowing anything of your family affairs.\"\n\"I thank you for your preparation,\" returns Sir Leicester after a silence, without moving hand, foot, or feature, \"which I hope is not necessary; though I give it credit for being well intended. Be so good as to go on. Also\"--Sir Leicester seems to shrink in the shadow of his figure--\"also, to take a seat, if you have no objection.\"\n","abridged":"\"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, \"let me beg you not to trouble your mind as to anything having come to my knowledge. I know so much about so many characters, high and low, that another piece of information don't signify a straw. I don't suppose there's a move on the board that would surprise me. Therefore, don't let yourself be put out of the way because of my knowing anything of your family affairs.\"\n\"I thank you for your preparation,\" returns Sir Leicester after a silence. \"Be so good as to go on. Take a seat, if you have no objection.\"\n"}
+{"original":"None at all. Mr. Bucket brings a chair and diminishes his shadow. \"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, with this short preface I come to the point. Lady Dedlock--\"\nSir Leicester raises himself in his seat and stares at him fiercely. Mr. Bucket brings the finger into play as an emollient.\n\"Lady Dedlock, you see she's universally admired. That's what her ladyship is; she's universally admired,\" says Mr. Bucket.\n\"I would greatly prefer, officer,\" Sir Leicester returns stiffly, \"my Lady's name being entirely omitted from this discussion.\"\n\"So would I, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, but--it's impossible.\"\n","abridged":"None at all. Mr. Bucket brings a chair. \"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, with this short preface I come to the point. Lady Dedlock-\"\nSir Leicester raises himself in his seat and stares at him fiercely. Mr. Bucket brings the fore-finger into play.\n\"Lady Dedlock, you see she's universally admired,\" says Mr. Bucket.\n\"I would greatly prefer, officer,\" Sir Leicester returns stiffly, \"my Lady's name being entirely omitted from this discussion.\"\n\"So would I, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, but - it's impossible. "}
+{"original":"\"Impossible?\"\nMr. Bucket shakes his relentless head.\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it's altogether impossible. What I have got to say is about her ladyship. She is the pivot it all turns on.\"\n","abridged":"What I have got to say is about her ladyship. She is the pivot it all turns on.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Officer,\" retorts Sir Leicester with a fiery eye and a quivering lip, \"you know your duty. Do your duty, but be careful not to overstep it. I would not suffer it. I would not endure it. You bring my Lady's name into this communication upon your responsibility--upon your responsibility. My Lady's name is not a name for common persons to trifle with!\"\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I say what I must say, and no more.\"\n","abridged":"\"Officer,\" retorts Sir Leicester with a fiery eye and a quivering lip, \"do your duty, but be careful not to overstep it. I would not endure it. My Lady's name is not a name for common persons to trifle with!\"\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I say what I must say, and no more.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I hope it may prove so. Very well. Go on. Go on, sir!\" Glancing at the angry eyes which now avoid him and at the angry figure trembling from head to foot, yet striving to be still, Mr. Bucket feels his way with his forefinger and in a low voice proceeds.\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it becomes my duty to tell you that the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn long entertained mistrusts and suspicions of Lady Dedlock.\"\n\"If he had dared to breathe them to me, sir--which he never did--I would have killed him myself!\" exclaims Sir Leicester, striking his hand upon the table. But in the very heat and fury of the act he stops, fixed by the knowing eyes of Mr. Bucket, whose forefinger is slowly going and who, with mingled confidence and patience, shakes his head.\n","abridged":"\"I hope it may prove so. Very well. Go on, sir!\" Glancing at the angry eyes which now avoid him and at the angry figure trembling from head to foot, Mr. Bucket feels his way with his forefinger and in a low voice proceeds.\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it becomes my duty to tell you that the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn long had mistrusts and suspicions of Lady Dedlock.\"\n\"If he had dared to breathe them to me, sir - which he never did - I would have killed him myself!\" exclaims Sir Leicester, striking his hand upon the table. But in the very act he stops, fixed by the knowing eyes of Mr. Bucket, whose forefinger is slowly going and who shakes his head.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn was deep and close, and what he fully had in his mind in the very beginning I can't quite take upon myself to say. But I know from his lips that he long ago suspected Lady Dedlock of having discovered, through the sight of some handwriting--in this very house, and when you yourself, Sir Leicester Dedlock, were present--the existence, in great poverty, of a certain person who had been her lover before you courted her and who ought to have been her husband.\" Mr. Bucket stops and deliberately repeats, \"Ought to have been her husband, not a doubt about it. I know from his lips that when that person soon afterwards died, he suspected Lady Dedlock of visiting his wretched lodging and his wretched grave, alone and in secret. I know from my own inquiries and through my eyes and ears that Lady Dedlock did make such visit in the dress of her own maid, for the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn employed me to reckon up her ladyship--if you'll excuse my making use of the term we commonly employ--and I reckoned her up, so far, completely. I confronted the maid in the chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields with a witness who had been Lady Dedlock's guide, and there couldn't be the shadow of a doubt that she had worn the young woman's dress, unknown to her. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I did endeavour to pave the way a little towards these unpleasant disclosures yesterday by saying that very strange things happened even in high families sometimes. All this, and more, has happened in your own family, and to and through your own Lady. It's my belief that the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn followed up these inquiries to the hour of his death and that he and Lady Dedlock even had bad blood between them upon the matter that very night. Now, only you put that to Lady Dedlock, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, and ask her ladyship whether, even after he had left here, she didn't go down to his chambers with the intention of saying something further to him, dressed in a loose black mantle with a deep fringe to it.\"\n","abridged":"\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn was deep, and what he fully had in his mind in the very beginning I can't say. But I know from his lips that he long ago suspected Lady Dedlock of having discovered, through the sight of some handwriting, the existence, in great poverty, of a certain person who had been her lover before you courted her and who ought to have been her husband.\"\nMr. Bucket stops and deliberately repeats, \"Ought to have been her husband, not a doubt about it. I know from his lips that when that person soon afterwards died, Mr. Tulkinghorn suspected Lady Dedlock of visiting his wretched lodging and his wretched grave, alone and in secret. I know from my own inquiries and through my eyes that Lady Dedlock did make such a visit in the dress of her maid. I confronted the maid in the chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields with a witness who had been Lady Dedlock's guide, and there couldn't be the shadow of a doubt that she had worn the young woman's dress, unknown to her.\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I did endeavour yesterday to pave the way towards these unpleasant disclosures by saying that strange things happen even in high families sometimes. All this, and more, has happened in your own family. It's my belief that Mr. Tulkinghorn followed up these inquiries to the hour of his death and that he and Lady Dedlock even had an argument on the matter that very night. Now, only you put that to Lady Dedlock, Sir, and ask her ladyship whether she didn't go down to his chambers with the intention of saying something further to him, dressed in a loose black mantle with a deep fringe to it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Sir Leicester sits like a statue, gazing at the cruel finger that is probing the life-blood of his heart.\n\"You put that to her ladyship, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, from me, Inspector Bucket of the Detective. And if her ladyship makes any difficulty about admitting of it, you tell her that it's no use, that Inspector Bucket knows it and knows that she passed the soldier as you called him (though he's not in the army now) and knows that she knows she passed him on the staircase. Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, why do I relate all this?\"\nSir Leicester, who has covered his face with his hands, uttering a single groan, requests him to pause for a moment. By and by he takes his hands away, and so preserves his dignity and outward calmness, though there is no more colour in his face than in his white hair, that Mr. Bucket is a little awed by him. Something frozen and fixed is upon his manner, over and above its usual shell of haughtiness, and Mr. Bucket soon detects an unusual slowness in his speech, with now and then a curious trouble in beginning, which occasions him to utter inarticulate sounds. With such sounds he now breaks silence, soon, however, controlling himself to say that he does not comprehend why a gentleman so faithful and zealous as the late Mr. Tulkinghorn should have communicated to him nothing of this painful, this distressing, this unlooked-for, this overwhelming, this incredible intelligence.\n","abridged":"Sir Leicester sits like a statue, gazing at the cruel finger that is probing the life-blood of his heart.\n\"If her ladyship makes any difficulty about admitting of it, you tell her that it's no use, that Inspector Bucket knows it, and knows that she passed the soldier on the staircase. Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, why do I relate all this?\"\nSir Leicester, who has covered his face with his hands, uttering a single groan, requests him to pause for a moment. By and by he takes his hands away in such dignity and outward calmness, though his face is as white as his hair, that Mr. Bucket is a little awed by him. Something frozen and fixed is upon his manner, over and above its usual shell of haughtiness, and Mr. Bucket soon detects an unusual slowness in his speech, with now and then a curious trouble in beginning, which makes him utter inarticulate sounds. With such sounds he now breaks silence, saying that he does not comprehend why a gentleman so faithful as the late Mr. Tulkinghorn should have told him nothing of this painful, this overwhelming, this incredible information.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Again, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" returns Mr. Bucket, \"put it to her ladyship to clear that up. Put it to her ladyship, if you think it right, from Inspector Bucket of the Detective. You'll find, or I'm much mistaken, that the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn had the intention of communicating the whole to you as soon as he considered it ripe, and further, that he had given her ladyship so to understand. Why, he might have been going to reveal it the very morning when I examined the body! You don't know what I'm going to say and do five minutes from this present time, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet; and supposing I was to be picked off now, you might wonder why I hadn't done it, don't you see?\"\n","abridged":"\"Again, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" returns Mr. Bucket, \"put it to her ladyship to clear that up. You'll find, or I'm much mistaken, that Mr. Tulkinghorn intended to communicate the whole to you as soon as he considered it ripe, and further, that he had told her ladyship so. Why, he might have been going to reveal it the very next morning!\"\n"}
+{"original":"True. Sir Leicester, avoiding, with some trouble those obtrusive sounds, says, \"True.\" At this juncture a considerable noise of voices is heard in the hall. Mr. Bucket, after listening, goes to the library-door, softly unlocks and opens it, and listens again. Then he draws in his head and whispers hurriedly but composedly, \"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, this unfortunate family affair has taken air, as I expected it might, the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn being cut down so sudden. The chance to hush it is to let in these people now in a wrangle with your footmen. Would you mind sitting quiet--on the family account--while I reckon 'em up? And would you just throw in a nod when I seem to ask you for it?\"\n","abridged":"At this point a considerable noise of voices is heard in the hall. Mr. Bucket goes to the library-door, softly unlocks and opens it, and listens again. Then he draws in his head and whispers hurriedly but composedly, \"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, this unfortunate family affair has taken air, as I expected it might. The chance to hush it is to let in these people who are wrangling with your footmen. Would you mind sitting quiet - on the family account - while I reckon 'em up? And would you just throw in a nod when I seem to ask you for it?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Sir Leicester indistinctly answers, \"Officer. The best you can, the best you can!\" and Mr. Bucket, with a nod and a sagacious crook of the forefinger, slips down into the hall, where the voices quickly die away. He is not long in returning; a few paces ahead of Mercury and a brother deity also powdered and in peach-blossomed smalls, who bear between them a chair in which is an incapable old man. Another man and two women come behind. Directing the pitching of the chair in an affable and easy manner, Mr. Bucket dismisses the Mercuries and locks the door again. Sir Leicester looks on at this invasion of the sacred precincts with an icy stare.\n","abridged":"Sir Leicester indistinctly answers, \"The best you can!\" and Mr. Bucket slips down into the hall. He soon returns with two footmen, who bear between them a chair in which is an incapable old man. Another man and two women come behind. Directing the placing of the chair in an affable manner, Mr. Bucket dismisses the footmen and locks the door again. Sir Leicester looks on with an icy stare.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, perhaps you may know me, ladies and gentlemen,\" says Mr. Bucket in a confidential voice. \"I am Inspector Bucket of the Detective, I am; and this,\" producing the tip of his convenient little staff from his breast-pocket, \"is my authority. Now, you wanted to see Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. Well! You do see him, and mind you, it ain't every one as is admitted to that honour. Your name, old gentleman, is Smallweed; that's what your name is; I know it well.\"\n\"Well, and you never heard any harm of it!\" cries Mr. Smallweed in a shrill loud voice.\n\"You don't happen to know why they killed the pig, do you?\" retorts Mr. Bucket with a steadfast look, but without loss of temper.\n","abridged":"\"Now, ladies and gentlemen,\" says Mr. Bucket in a confidential voice. \"I am Inspector Bucket, Detective. Now, you wanted to see Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. Well! You do see him, and mind you, it ain't everyone as is admitted to that honour. Your name, old gentleman, is Smallweed; I know it well.\"\n\"And you never heard any harm of it!\" cries Mr. Smallweed in a shrill loud voice.\n"}
+{"original":"\"No!\"\n\"Why, they killed him,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"on account of his having so much cheek. Don't YOU get into the same position, because it isn't worthy of you. You ain't in the habit of conversing with a deaf person, are you?\"\n\"Yes,\" snarls Mr. Smallweed, \"my wife's deaf.\"\n\"That accounts for your pitching your voice so high. But as she ain't here; just pitch it an octave or two lower, will you, and I'll not only be obliged to you, but it'll do you more credit,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"This other gentleman is in the preaching line, I think?\"\n\"Name of Chadband,\" Mr. Smallweed puts in, speaking henceforth in a much lower key.\n","abridged":"\"You ain't in the habit of conversing with a deaf person, are you?\" asks Mr. Bucket.\n\"Yes,\" snarls Mr. Smallweed, \"my wife's deaf.\"\n\"As she ain't here, just pitch your voice an octave or two lower, will you, and it'll do you more credit,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"This other gentleman is in the preaching line, I think?\"\n\"Name of Chadband,\" Mr. Smallweed says, in a much lower key.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Once had a friend and brother serjeant of the same name,\" says Mr. Bucket, offering his hand, \"and consequently feel a liking for it. Mrs. Chadband, no doubt?\"\n\"And Mrs. Snagsby,\" Mr. Smallweed introduces.\n\"Husband a law-stationer and a friend of my own,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Love him like a brother! Now, what's up?\"\n\"Do you mean what business have we come upon?\" Mr. Smallweed asks, a little dashed by the suddenness of this turn.\n","abridged":"\"And Mrs. Chadband, no doubt?\"\n\"And Mrs. Snagsby.\" Mr. Smallweed introduces them.\n\"Husband a law-stationer and a friend of my own,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Love him like a brother! Now, what's up?\"\n\"Do you mean what business have we come upon?\" Mr. Smallweed asks, a little dashed.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ah! You know what I mean. Let us hear what it's all about in presence of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. Come.\"\nMr. Smallweed, beckoning Mr. Chadband, takes a moment's counsel with him in a whisper. Mr. Chadband, expressing a considerable amount of oil from the pores of his forehead and the palms of his hands, says aloud, \"Yes. You first!\" and retires to his former place.\n","abridged":"\"Ah! You know what I mean. Let us hear what it's all about in the presence of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.\"\nMr. Smallweed, beckoning Mr. Chadband, consults with him in a whisper. Mr. Chadband, expressing a considerable amount of oil from his forehead, says aloud, \"You first!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I was the client and friend of Mr. Tulkinghorn,\" pipes Grandfather Smallweed then; \"I did business with him. I was useful to him, and he was useful to me. Krook, dead and gone, was my brother-in-law. He was own brother to a brimstone magpie--leastways Mrs. Smallweed. I come into Krook's property. I examined all his papers and all his effects. They was all dug out under my eyes. There was a bundle of letters belonging to a dead and gone lodger as was hid away at the back of a shelf in the side of Lady Jane's bed--his cat's bed. He hid all manner of things away, everywheres. Mr. Tulkinghorn wanted 'em and got 'em, but I looked 'em over first. ","abridged":"\"I was the client and friend of Mr. Tulkinghorn,\" pipes Grandfather Smallweed. \"I did business with him. I was useful to him, and he was useful to me. Krook, dead and gone, was my brother-in-law. I come into Krook's property. I examined all his papers. There was a bundle of letters belonging to a dead and gone lodger as was hid away at the back of a shelf in the side of the cat's bed. Mr. Tulkinghorn got 'em, but I looked 'em over first. "}
+{"original":"I'm a man of business, and I took a squint at 'em. They was letters from the lodger's sweetheart, and she signed Honoria. Dear me, that's not a common name, Honoria, is it? There's no lady in this house that signs Honoria is there? Oh, no, I don't think so! Oh, no, I don't think so! And not in the same hand, perhaps? Oh, no, I don't think so!\"\n","abridged":"I'm a man of business, and I took a squint at 'em. They was letters from the lodger's sweetheart, and she signed Honoria. Dear me, that's not a common name, Honoria, is it? There's no lady in this house that signs Honoria, is there? Oh, no, I don't think so!\"\n"}
+{"original":"Here Mr. Smallweed, seized with a fit of coughing in the midst of his triumph, breaks off to ejaculate, \"Oh, dear me! Oh, Lord! I'm shaken all to pieces!\"\n\"Now, when you're ready,\" says Mr. Bucket after awaiting his recovery, \"to come to anything that concerns Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, here the gentleman sits, you know.\"\n","abridged":"Here Mr. Smallweed is seized with a fit of coughing in the midst of his triumph.\n\"Now, when you're ready,\" says Mr. Bucket after awaiting his recovery, \"to come to anything that concerns Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, here the gentleman sits, you know.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Haven't I come to it, Mr. Bucket?\" cries Grandfather Smallweed. \"Isn't the gentleman concerned yet? Not with Captain Hawdon, and his ever affectionate Honoria, and their child into the bargain? Come, then, I want to know where those letters are. That concerns me, if it don't concern Sir Leicester Dedlock. I will know where they are. I won't have 'em disappear so quietly. I handed 'em over to my friend and solicitor, Mr. Tulkinghorn, not to anybody else.\"\n\"Why, he paid you for them, you know, and handsome too,\" says Mr. Bucket.\n","abridged":"\"Haven't I come to it, Mr. Bucket?\" cries Grandfather Smallweed. \"Isn't the gentleman concerned yet? Not with Captain Hawdon, and his ever affectionate Honoria, and their child into the bargain? Come, then, I want to know where those letters are. I won't have 'em disappear. I handed 'em over to my friend and solicitor, Mr. Tulkinghorn, not to anybody else.\"\n\"Why, he paid you for them, you know, and handsome too,\" says Mr. Bucket.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't care for that. I want to know who's got 'em. And I tell you what we want--what we all here want, Mr. Bucket. We want more painstaking and search-making into this murder. We know where the interest and the motive was, and you have not done enough. If George the vagabond dragoon had any hand in it, he was only an accomplice, and was set on. You know what I mean as well as any man.\"\n","abridged":"\"I don't care for that. I want to know who's got 'em. And I tell you what we want, Mr. Bucket. We want more search-making into this murder. We know where the motive was, and you have not done enough. If George the vagabond dragoon had any hand in it, he was only an accomplice, and was set on. You know what I mean.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now I tell you what,\" says Mr. Bucket, instantaneously altering his manner, coming close to him, and communicating an extraordinary fascination to the forefinger, \"I am damned if I am a-going to have my case spoilt, or interfered with, or anticipated by so much as half a second of time by any human being in creation. YOU want more painstaking and search-making! YOU do? Do you see this hand, and do you think that I don't know the right time to stretch it out and put it on the arm that fired that shot?\"\nSuch is the dread power of the man, and so terribly evident it is that he makes no idle boast, that Mr. Smallweed begins to apologize. Mr. Bucket, dismissing his sudden anger, checks him.\n","abridged":"\"Now I tell you what,\" says Mr. Bucket, instantaneously altering his manner, \"I am damned if I am a-going to have my case spoilt, or interfered with, by any human being in creation. You want more search-making! You do? Do you see this hand, and do you think that I don't know the right time to stretch it out and put it on the arm that fired that shot?\"\nSuch is the dread power of the man that Mr. Smallweed begins to apologize. Mr. Bucket, dismissing his sudden anger, stops him.\n"}
+{"original":"\"The advice I give you is, don't you trouble your head about the murder. That's my affair. You keep half an eye on the newspapers, and I shouldn't wonder if you was to read something about it before long, if you look sharp. I know my business, and that's all I've got to say to you on that subject. Now about those letters. You want to know who's got 'em. I don't mind telling you. I have got 'em. Is that the packet?\"\nMr. Smallweed looks, with greedy eyes, at the little bundle Mr. Bucket produces from a mysterious part of his coat, and identifies it as the same.\n","abridged":"\"The advice I give you is, don't you trouble your head about the murder. That's my affair. You'll read something about it in the newspapers before long. Now about those letters. You want to know who's got 'em. I have got 'em.\"\nMr. Bucket produces a little bundle from a mysterious part of his coat.\n"}
+{"original":"\"What have you got to say next?\" asks Mr. Bucket. \"Now, don't open your mouth too wide, because you don't look handsome when you do it.\"\n\"I want five hundred pound.\"\n\"No, you don't; you mean fifty,\" says Mr. Bucket humorously.\nIt appears, however, that Mr. Smallweed means five hundred.\n\"That is, I am deputed by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, to consider (without admitting or promising anything) this bit of business,\" says Mr. Bucket--Sir Leicester mechanically bows his head--\"and you ask me to consider a proposal of five hundred pounds. Why, it's an unreasonable proposal! Two fifty would be bad enough, but better than that. Hadn't you better say two fifty?\"\n","abridged":"\"What have you got to say next?\" asks Mr. Bucket.\n\"I want five hundred pound.\"\n\"No, you don't; you mean fifty,\" says Mr. Bucket humorously.\nIt appears, however, that Mr. Smallweed means five hundred.\n\"I am deputed by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, to consider (without promising anything) this bit of business,\" says Mr. Bucket - Sir Leicester mechanically bows his head - \"and you ask me to consider a proposal of five hundred pounds. Why, it's an unreasonable proposal! Hadn't you better say two fifty?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Smallweed is quite clear that he had better not.\n\"Then,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"let's hear Mr. Chadband. Lord! Many a time I've heard my old fellow-serjeant of that name; and a moderate man he was in all respects, as ever I come across!\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Smallweed is quite clear that he had better not.\n\"Then,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"let's hear Mr. Chadband.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Thus invited, Mr. Chadband steps forth, and after a little sleek smiling and a little oil-grinding with the palms of his hands, delivers himself as follows, \"My friends, we are now--Rachael, my wife, and I--in the mansions of the rich and great. Why are we now in the mansions of the rich and great, my friends? Is it because we are invited? Because we are bidden to feast with them, because we are bidden to rejoice with them, because we are bidden to play the lute with them, because we are bidden to dance with them? No. Then why are we here, my friends? Air we in possession of a sinful secret, and do we require corn, and wine, and oil, or what is much the same thing, money, for the keeping thereof? Probably so, my friends.\"\n","abridged":"Thus invited, Mr. Chadband steps forth, and after a little sleek smiling and a little oil-grinding with the palms of his hands, delivers himself as follows.\n\"My friends, we are now - Rachael, my wife, and I - in the mansions of the rich and great. Why are we now in the mansions of the rich and great, my friends? Is it because we are invited? Because we are bidden to feast with them, because we are bidden to rejoice with them, because we are bidden to play the lute with them, because we are bidden to dance with them? No. Then why are we here, my friends? Air we in possession of a sinful secret, and do we require corn, and wine, and oil, or what is much the same thing, money, for the keeping thereof? Probably so, my friends.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You're a man of business, you are,\" returns Mr. Bucket, very attentive, \"and consequently you're going on to mention what the nature of your secret is. You are right. You couldn't do better.\"\n\"Let us then, my brother, in a spirit of love,\" says Mr. Chadband with a cunning eye, \"proceed unto it. Rachael, my wife, advance!\"\nMrs. Chadband, more than ready, so advances as to jostle her husband into the background and confronts Mr. Bucket with a hard, frowning smile.\n","abridged":"\"You're a man of business, you are,\" returns Mr. Bucket, very attentive, \"and you're going on to mention what the nature of your secret is.\"\n\"Let us then, my brother, in a spirit of love,\" says Mr. Chadband with a cunning eye, \"proceed unto it. Rachael, my wife, advance!\"\nMrs. Chadband jostles her husband into the background and confronts Mr. Bucket with a hard, frowning smile.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Since you want to know what we know,\" says she, \"I'll tell you. I helped to bring up Miss Hawdon, her ladyship's daughter. I was in the service of her ladyship's sister, who was very sensitive to the disgrace her ladyship brought upon her, and gave out, even to her ladyship, that the child was dead--she WAS very nearly so--when she was born. But she's alive, and I know her.\" With these words, and a laugh, and laying a bitter stress on the word \"ladyship,\" Mrs. Chadband folds her arms and looks implacably at Mr. Bucket.\n\"I suppose now,\" returns that officer, \"YOU will be expecting a twenty-pound note or a present of about that figure?\"\nMrs. Chadband merely laughs and contemptuously tells him he can \"offer\" twenty pence.\n\"My friend the law-stationer's good lady, over there,\" says Mr. Bucket, luring Mrs. Snagsby forward with the finger. \"What may YOUR game be, ma'am?\"\n","abridged":"\"I helped to bring up Miss Hawdon, her ladyship's daughter,\" she says. \"I was in the service of her ladyship's sister, who was very sensitive to the disgrace her ladyship brought upon her, and gave out, even to her ladyship, that the child was dead when she was born. But she's alive, and I know her.\" With these words, and a laugh, and laying a bitter stress on the word \"ladyship,\" Mrs. Chadband folds her arms and looks implacably at Mr. Bucket.\n\"I suppose now,\" returns that officer, \"you will be expecting twenty pounds or so?\"\nMrs. Chadband merely laughs and contemptuously tells him he can \"offer\" twenty pence.\n\"My friend the law-stationer's good lady, over there,\" says Mr. Bucket, luring Mrs. Snagsby forward with his finger. \"What may your game be, ma'am?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Snagsby is at first prevented, by tears and lamentations, from stating the nature of her game, but by degrees it confusedly comes to light that she is a woman overwhelmed with injuries and wrongs, whom Mr. Snagsby has habitually deceived, abandoned, and sought to keep in darkness, and whose chief comfort, under her afflictions, has been the sympathy of the late Mr. Tulkinghorn, who showed so much commiseration for her on one occasion of his calling in Cook's Court in the absence of her perjured husband that she has of late habitually carried to him all her woes. Everybody it appears, the present company excepted, has plotted against Mrs. Snagsby's peace. There is Mr. Guppy, clerk to Kenge and Carboy, who was at first as open as the sun at noon, but who suddenly shut up as close as midnight, under the influence--no doubt--of Mr. Snagsby's suborning and tampering. There is Mr. Weevle, friend of Mr. Guppy, who lived mysteriously up a court, owing to the like coherent causes. There was Krook, deceased; there was Nimrod, deceased; and there was Jo, deceased; and they were \"all in it.\" In what, Mrs. Snagsby does not with particularity express, but she knows that Jo was Mr. Snagsby's son, \"as well as if a trumpet had spoken it,\" and she followed Mr. Snagsby when he went on his last visit to the boy, and if he was not his son why did he go? The one occupation of her life has been, for some time back, to follow Mr. Snagsby to and fro, and up and down, and to piece suspicious circumstances together--and every circumstance that has happened has been most suspicious; and in this way she has pursued her object of detecting and confounding her false husband, night and day. Thus did it come to pass that she brought the Chadbands and Mr. Tulkinghorn together, and conferred with Mr. Tulkinghorn on the change in Mr. Guppy, and helped to turn up the circumstances in which the present company are interested, casually, by the wayside, being still and ever on the great high road that is to terminate in Mr. Snagsby's full exposure and a matrimonial separation. All this, Mrs. Snagsby, as an injured woman, and the friend of Mrs. Chadband, and the follower of Mr. Chadband, and the mourner of the late Mr. Tulkinghorn, is here to certify under the seal of confidence, with every possible confusion and involvement possible and impossible, having no pecuniary motive whatever, no scheme or project but the one mentioned, and bringing here, and taking everywhere, her own dense atmosphere of dust, arising from the ceaseless working of her mill of jealousy.\n","abridged":"Mrs. Snagsby is at first prevented, by tears and lamentations, from stating the nature of her game, but by degrees it confusedly comes to light that she is a woman overwhelmed with injuries and wrongs, whom Mr. Snagsby has deceived, and whose chief comfort has been the sympathy of the late Mr. Tulkinghorn, to whom she has carried all her woes. Everybody it appears, the present company excepted, has plotted against Mrs. Snagsby's peace. Mr. Guppy, Mr. Weevle, Krook, deceased, and Jo, deceased; and they were \"all in it.\" In what, Mrs. Snagsby does not say, but she knows that Jo was Mr. Snagsby's son, \"as well as if a trumpet had spoken it,\" and she followed Mr. Snagsby when he went on his last visit to the boy, and if he was not his son why did he go?\nThe one occupation of her life has been, for some time back, to follow Mr. Snagsby everywhere; and every circumstance has been most suspicious. She has pursued her object of confounding her false husband, night and day. Thus she brought the Chadbands and Mr. Tulkinghorn together, in order to lead to Mr. Snagsby's full exposure and a matrimonial separation.\nMrs. Snagsby has no pecuniary motive whatever, no scheme or project but the one mentioned, in this ceaseless working of her mill of jealousy.\n"}
+{"original":"While this exordium is in hand--and it takes some time--Mr. Bucket, who has seen through the transparency of Mrs. Snagsby's vinegar at a glance, confers with his familiar demon and bestows his shrewd attention on the Chadbands and Mr. Smallweed. Sir Leicester Dedlock remains immovable, with the same icy surface upon him, except that he once or twice looks towards Mr. Bucket, as relying on that officer alone of all mankind.\n\"Very good,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Now I understand you, you know, and being deputed by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, to look into this little matter,\" again Sir Leicester mechanically bows in confirmation of the statement, \"can give it my fair and full attention. Now I won't allude to conspiring to extort money or anything of that sort, because we are men and women of the world here, and our object is to make things pleasant. But I tell you what I DO wonder at; I am surprised that you should think of making a noise below in the hall. It was so opposed to your interests. That's what I look at.\"\n\"We wanted to get in,\" pleads Mr. Smallweed.\n","abridged":"While she is speaking - and it takes some time - Mr. Bucket bestows his shrewd attention on the Chadbands and Mr. Smallweed. Sir Leicester Dedlock remains icily immovable, except that he once or twice looks towards Mr. Bucket, as if relying on that officer alone of all mankind.\n\"Very good,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Now, I, being deputed by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, to look into this little matter,\" again Sir Leicester mechanically bows, \"can give it my full attention. Now I won't allude to conspiring to extort money or anything of that sort, because we are men and women of the world here, and our object is to make things pleasant. But I tell you what I do wonder at; that you should make such a noise below in the hall. It was so opposed to your interests.\"\n\"We wanted to get in,\" pleads Mr. Smallweed.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, of course you wanted to get in,\" Mr. Bucket asserts with cheerfulness; \"but for a old gentleman at your time of life--what I call truly venerable, mind you!--with his wits sharpened, as I have no doubt they are, by the loss of the use of his limbs, which occasions all his animation to mount up into his head, not to consider that if he don't keep such a business as the present as close as possible it can't be worth a mag to him, is so curious! You see your temper got the better of you; that's where you lost ground,\" says Mr. Bucket in an argumentative and friendly way.\n\"I only said I wouldn't go without one of the servants came up to Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" returns Mr. Smallweed.\n\"That's it! That's where your temper got the better of you. Now, you keep it under another time and you'll make money by it. Shall I ring for them to carry you down?\"\n\"When are we to hear more of this?\" Mrs. Chadband sternly demands.\n","abridged":"\"Why, of course you wanted to get in,\" Mr. Bucket asserts with cheerfulness; \"but an old gentleman with his wits sharpened, as I have no doubt yours are, ought to consider that he needs to keep such a business secret! You see your temper got the better of you; that's where you lost ground,\" says Mr. Bucket in a friendly way.\n\"I only said I wouldn't go unless one of the servants came up to Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" returns Mr. Smallweed.\n\"That's it! Now, shall I ring for them to carry you down?\"\n\"When are we to hear more of this?\" Mrs. Chadband sternly demands.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Bless your heart for a true woman! Always curious, your delightful sex is!\" replies Mr. Bucket with gallantry. \"I shall have the pleasure of giving you a call to-morrow or next day--not forgetting Mr. Smallweed and his proposal of two fifty.\"\n\"Five hundred!\" exclaims Mr. Smallweed.\n","abridged":"\"Bless your heart for a true woman! Always curious!\" replies Mr. Bucket with gallantry. \"I shall have the pleasure of giving you a call tomorrow or next day - not forgetting Mr. Smallweed and his proposal of two fifty.\"\n\"Five hundred!\" exclaims Mr. Smallweed.\n"}
+{"original":"\"All right! Nominally five hundred.\" Mr. Bucket has his hand on the bell-rope. \"SHALL I wish you good day for the present on the part of myself and the gentleman of the house?\" he asks in an insinuating tone.\n","abridged":"\"All right! Nominally five hundred.\" Mr. Bucket has his hand on the bell-rope. \"Shall I wish you good day for the present?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Nobody having the hardihood to object to his doing so, he does it, and the party retire as they came up. Mr. Bucket follows them to the door, and returning, says with an air of serious business, \"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it's for you to consider whether or not to buy this up. I should recommend, on the whole, it's being bought up myself; and I think it may be bought pretty cheap. You see, that little pickled cowcumber of a Mrs. Snagsby has been used by all sides of the speculation and has done a deal more harm in bringing odds and ends together than if she had meant it. Mr. Tulkinghorn, deceased, he held all these horses in his hand and could have drove 'em his own way, I haven't a doubt; but he was fetched off the box head-foremost, and now they have got their legs over the traces, and are all dragging and pulling their own ways. So it is, and such is life. The cat's away, and the mice they play; the frost breaks up, and the water runs. Now, with regard to the party to be apprehended.\"\nSir Leicester seems to wake, though his eyes have been wide open, and he looks intently at Mr. Bucket as Mr. Bucket refers to his watch.\n","abridged":"Nobody objecting, he does it, and the party retire. Mr. Bucket follows them to the door, and returning, says, \"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, it's for you to consider whether or not to buy this up. I should recommend, on the whole, it's being bought up myself; and I think it may be bought pretty cheap. You see, that little pickled cowcumber of a Mrs. Snagsby has been used by all sides and has done a deal more harm in bringing odds and ends together than if she had meant it. Mr. Tulkinghorn, he held all these horses in his hand and could have drove 'em his own way, I haven't a doubt; but now they are all dragging and pulling their own ways. So it is, and such is life. Now, with regard to the party to be apprehended.\"\nSir Leicester seems to wake, and he looks intently at Mr. Bucket as Mr. Bucket refers to his watch.\n"}
+{"original":"\"The party to be apprehended is now in this house,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, putting up his watch with a steady hand and with rising spirits, \"and I'm about to take her into custody in your presence. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, don't you say a word nor yet stir. There'll be no noise and no disturbance at all. I'll come back in the course of the evening, if agreeable to you, and endeavour to meet your wishes respecting this unfortunate family matter and the nobbiest way of keeping it quiet. Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, don't you be nervous on account of the apprehension at present coming off. You shall see the whole case clear, from first to last.\"\nMr. Bucket rings, goes to the door, briefly whispers Mercury, shuts the door, and stands behind it with his arms folded. After a suspense of a minute or two the door slowly opens and a Frenchwoman enters. Mademoiselle Hortense.\n","abridged":"\"The party to be apprehended is now in this house,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, \"and I'm about to take her into custody in your presence. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, don't you say a word. There'll be no noise and no disturbance at all. I'll come back in the course of the evening, if agreeable to you, and endeavour to meet your wishes respecting this unfortunate family matter and the best way of keeping it quiet. Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, don't you be nervous. You shall see the whole case clear.\"\nMr. Bucket rings for the footman, briefly whispers to him, and stands behind the door with his arms folded. After a suspense of a minute or two a Frenchwoman enters. Mademoiselle Hortense.\n"}
+{"original":"The moment she is in the room Mr. Bucket claps the door to and puts his back against it. The suddenness of the noise occasions her to turn, and then for the first time she sees Sir Leicester Dedlock in his chair.\n\"I ask you pardon,\" she mutters hurriedly. \"They tell me there was no one here.\"\nHer step towards the door brings her front to front with Mr. Bucket. Suddenly a spasm shoots across her face and she turns deadly pale.\n\"This is my lodger, Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" says Mr. Bucket, nodding at her. \"This foreign young woman has been my lodger for some weeks back.\"\n\"What do Sir Leicester care for that, you think, my angel?\" returns mademoiselle in a jocular strain.\n","abridged":"The moment she is in the room Mr. Bucket claps the door to and puts his back against it. She turns, and sees Sir Leicester Dedlock in his chair.\n\"I ask you pardon,\" she mutters hurriedly. \"They tell me there was no one here.\"\nHer step towards the door brings her front to front with Mr. Bucket. Suddenly a spasm shoots across her face and she turns deadly pale.\n\"This is my lodger, Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" says Mr. Bucket, nodding at her. \"This foreign young woman has been my lodger for some weeks back.\"\n\"What do Sir Leicester care for that, you think, my angel?\" returns mademoiselle in a jocular way.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, my angel,\" returns Mr. Bucket, \"we shall see.\"\nMademoiselle Hortense eyes him with a scowl upon her tight face, which gradually changes into a smile of scorn, \"You are very mysterieuse. Are you drunk?\"\n\"Tolerable sober, my angel,\" returns Mr. Bucket.\n\"I come from arriving at this so detestable house with your wife. Your wife have left me since some minutes. They tell me downstairs that your wife is here. I come here, and your wife is not here. What is the intention of this fool's play, say then?\" mademoiselle demands, with her arms composedly crossed, but with something in her dark cheek beating like a clock.\n","abridged":"\"Why, my angel,\" returns Mr. Bucket, \"we shall see.\"\nMademoiselle Hortense eyes him with a scowl, which gradually changes into a smile of scorn, \"You are very mysterieuse. Are you drunk?\"\n\"Tolerable sober, my angel,\" returns Mr. Bucket.\n\"I arrive at this so detestable house with your wife. Your wife have left me since some minutes. They tell me downstairs that your wife is here. I come here, and your wife is not here. What is this fool's play, then?\" mademoiselle demands, with her arms composedly crossed, but with something in her dark cheek beating like a clock.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Bucket merely shakes the finger at her.\n\"Ah, my God, you are an unhappy idiot!\" cries mademoiselle with a toss of her head and a laugh. \"Leave me to pass downstairs, great pig.\" With a stamp of her foot and a menace.\n\"Now, mademoiselle,\" says Mr. Bucket in a cool determined way, \"you go and sit down upon that sofy.\"\n\"I will not sit down upon nothing,\" she replies with a shower of nods.\n\"Now, mademoiselle,\" repeats Mr. Bucket, making no demonstration except with the finger, \"you sit down upon that sofy.\"\n\"Why?\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Bucket merely shakes the finger at her.\n\"Ah, my God, you are an unhappy idiot!\" cries mademoiselle with a toss of her head and a laugh. \"Leave me to pass downstairs, great pig.\" She stamps her foot.\n\"Now, mademoiselle,\" says Mr. Bucket in a cool determined way, \"you go and sit down upon that sofa.\"\n\"Why?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Because I take you into custody on a charge of murder, and you don't need to be told it. Now, I want to be polite to one of your sex and a foreigner if I can. If I can't, I must be rough, and there's rougher ones outside. What I am to be depends on you. So I recommend you, as a friend, afore another half a blessed moment has passed over your head, to go and sit down upon that sofy.\"\nMademoiselle complies, saying in a concentrated voice while that something in her cheek beats fast and hard, \"You are a devil.\"\n","abridged":"\"Because I take you into custody on a charge of murder, and you don't need to be told it. Now, I want to be polite if I can. It depends on you. So I recommend you, as a friend, to go and sit down upon that sofa.\"\nMademoiselle complies, saying, while that something in her cheek beats fast and hard, \"You are a devil.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, you see,\" Mr. Bucket proceeds approvingly, \"you're comfortable and conducting yourself as I should expect a foreign young woman of your sense to do. So I'll give you a piece of advice, and it's this, don't you talk too much. You're not expected to say anything here, and you can't keep too quiet a tongue in your head. In short, the less you PARLAY, the better, you know.\" Mr. Bucket is very complacent over this French explanation.\nMademoiselle, with that tigerish expansion of the mouth and her black eyes darting fire upon him, sits upright on the sofa in a rigid state, with her hands clenched--and her feet too, one might suppose--muttering, \"Oh, you Bucket, you are a devil!\"\n\"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" says Mr. Bucket, and from this time forth the finger never rests, \"this young woman, my lodger, was her ladyship's maid at the time I have mentioned to you; and this young woman, besides being extraordinary vehement and passionate against her ladyship after being discharged--\"\n\"Lie!\" cries mademoiselle. \"I discharge myself.\"\n","abridged":"\"Now, I'll give you a piece of advice,\" Mr. Bucket proceeds, \"and it's this: don't you talk too much. You're not expected to say anything here. The less you parlay the better, you know.\" Mr. Bucket is very complacent over this French explanation.\nMademoiselle, with a tigerish expansion of the mouth and her black eyes darting fire upon him, sits upright and rigid on the sofa, with her hands clenched.\n\"Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" says Mr. Bucket, and from this time forth the finger never rests, \"this young woman, my lodger, was her ladyship's maid; and this young woman, besides being extraordinary vehement against her ladyship after being discharged-\"\n\"Lie!\" cries mademoiselle. \"I discharge myself.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, why don't you take my advice?\" returns Mr. Bucket in an impressive, almost in an imploring, tone. \"I'm surprised at the indiscreetness you commit. You'll say something that'll be used against you, you know. You're sure to come to it. Never you mind what I say till it's given in evidence. It is not addressed to you.\"\n\"Discharge, too,\" cries mademoiselle furiously, \"by her ladyship! Eh, my faith, a pretty ladyship! Why, I r-r-r-ruin my character by remaining with a ladyship so infame!\"\n","abridged":"\"Now, why don't you take my advice?\" returns Mr. Bucket in an impressive, almost imploring, tone. \"You'll say something that'll be used against you, you know.\"\n\"Discharge by her ladyship!\" cries mademoiselle furiously. \"A pretty ladyship! Why, I r-r-r-ruin my character by remaining with a ladyship so infame!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Upon my soul I wonder at you!\" Mr. Bucket remonstrates. \"I thought the French were a polite nation, I did, really. Yet to hear a female going on like that before Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet!\"\n","abridged":"\"Upon my soul I wonder at you!\" Mr. Bucket remonstrates. \"I thought the French were a polite nation, I did, really. To go on like that before Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"He is a poor abused!\" cries mademoiselle. \"I spit upon his house, upon his name, upon his imbecility,\" all of which she makes the carpet represent. \"Oh, that he is a great man! Oh, yes, superb! Oh, heaven! Bah!\"\n\"Well, Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, \"this intemperate foreigner also angrily took it into her head that she had established a claim upon Mr. Tulkinghorn, deceased, by attending on the occasion I told you of at his chambers, though she was liberally paid for her time and trouble.\"\n","abridged":"\"I spit upon his house, upon his name,\" cries mademoiselle. \"Oh, a great man! Oh, yes, superb! Bah!\"\n\"Well, Sir Leicester Dedlock,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, \"this intemperate foreigner also angrily took it into her head that she had established a claim upon Mr. Tulkinghorn, deceased, by attending at his chambers, though she was liberally paid for her time.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Lie!\" cries mademoiselle. \"I ref-use his money all togezzer.\"\n\"If you WILL PARLAY, you know,\" says Mr. Bucket parenthetically, \"you must take the consequences. Now, whether she became my lodger, Sir Leicester Dedlock, with any deliberate intention then of doing this deed and blinding me, I give no opinion on; but she lived in my house in that capacity at the time that she was hovering about the chambers of the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn with a view to a wrangle, and likewise persecuting and half frightening the life out of an unfortunate stationer.\"\n\"Lie!\" cries mademoiselle. \"All lie!\"\n","abridged":"\"Lie!\" cries mademoiselle. \"I ref-use his money all togezzer.\"\n\"If you will parlay, you know,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"you must take the consequences. Now, whether she became my lodger, Sir Leicester Dedlock, with any deliberate intention then of doing this deed and blinding me, I give no opinion on; but she lodged in my house at the time that she was hovering about the chambers of Mr. Tulkinghorn, and likewise persecuting an unfortunate stationer.\"\n\"Lie!\" cries mademoiselle.\n"}
+{"original":"\"The murder was committed, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, and you know under what circumstances. Now, I beg of you to follow me close with your attention for a minute or two. I was sent for, and the case was entrusted to me. I examined the place, and the body, and the papers, and everything. From information I received (from a clerk in the same house) I took George into custody as having been seen hanging about there on the night, and at very nigh the time of the murder, also as having been overheard in high words with the deceased on former occasions--even threatening him, as the witness made out. If you ask me, Sir Leicester Dedlock, whether from the first I believed George to be the murderer, I tell you candidly no, but he might be, notwithstanding, and there was enough against him to make it my duty to take him and get him kept under remand. Now, observe!\"\nAs Mr. Bucket bends forward in some excitement--for him--and inaugurates what he is going to say with one ghostly beat of his forefinger in the air, Mademoiselle Hortense fixes her black eyes upon him with a dark frown and sets her dry lips closely and firmly together.\n","abridged":"\"The murder was committed, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, and you know under what circumstances. Now, I was sent for. I examined the place, and the body, and the papers, and everything. I took George into custody as having been seen hanging about there on the night of the murder, also as having been overheard in high words with the deceased on former occasions. If you ask me, Sir Leicester Dedlock, whether I believed George to be the murderer, I tell you candidly no, but he might be, notwithstanding, and it was my duty to get him kept under remand. Now, observe!\"\nAs Mr. Bucket bends forward in some excitement - for him - Mademoiselle Hortense fixes her black eyes upon him with a dark frown and sets her dry lips firmly together.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I went home, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, at night and found this young woman having supper with my wife, Mrs. Bucket. She had made a mighty show of being fond of Mrs. Bucket from her first offering herself as our lodger, but that night she made more than ever--in fact, overdid it. Likewise she overdid her respect, and all that, for the lamented memory of the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn. By the living Lord it flashed upon me, as I sat opposite to her at the table and saw her with a knife in her hand, that she had done it!\"\nMademoiselle is hardly audible in straining through her teeth and lips the words, \"You are a devil.\"\n","abridged":"\"I went home at night and found this young woman having supper with my wife, Mrs. Bucket. She had made a mighty show of being fond of Mrs. Bucket from her first offering herself as our lodger, but that night overdid it. Likewise she overdid her respect for the lamented memory of the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn. It flashed upon me, as I sat opposite to her at the table and saw her with a knife in her hand, that she had done it!\"\nMademoiselle is hardly audible in straining through her teeth the words, \"You are a devil.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now where,\" pursues Mr. Bucket, \"had she been on the night of the murder? She had been to the theayter. (She really was there, I have since found, both before the deed and after it.) I knew I had an artful customer to deal with and that proof would be very difficult; and I laid a trap for her--such a trap as I never laid yet, and such a venture as I never made yet. I worked it out in my mind while I was talking to her at supper. When I went upstairs to bed, our house being small and this young woman's ears sharp, I stuffed the sheet into Mrs. Bucket's mouth that she shouldn't say a word of surprise and told her all about it. My dear, don't you give your mind to that again, or I shall link your feet together at the ankles.\" Mr. Bucket, breaking off, has made a noiseless descent upon mademoiselle and laid his heavy hand upon her shoulder.\n\"What is the matter with you now?\" she asks him.\n","abridged":"\"Now where,\" pursues Mr. Bucket, \"had she been on the night of the murder? She had been to the theayter. (She really was there, I have since found, both before the deed and after it.) I knew I had an artful customer to deal with and that proof would be very difficult; and I laid a trap for her. When I went upstairs to bed, I told Mrs. Bucket all about it. "}
+{"original":"\"Don't you think any more,\" returns Mr. Bucket with admonitory finger, \"of throwing yourself out of window. That's what's the matter with me. Come! Just take my arm. You needn't get up; I'll sit down by you. Now take my arm, will you? I'm a married man, you know; you're acquainted with my wife. Just take my arm.\"\nVainly endeavouring to moisten those dry lips, with a painful sound she struggles with herself and complies.\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"\"Now we're all right again. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, this case could never have been the case it is but for Mrs. Bucket, who is a woman in fifty thousand--in a hundred and fifty thousand! To throw this young woman off her guard, I have never set foot in our house since, though I've communicated with Mrs. Bucket in the baker's loaves and in the milk as often as required. My whispered words to Mrs. Bucket when she had the sheet in her mouth were, 'My dear, can you throw her off continually with natural accounts of my suspicions against George, and this, and that, and t'other? Can you do without rest and keep watch upon her night and day? Can you undertake to say, 'She shall do nothing without my knowledge, she shall be my prisoner without suspecting it, she shall no more escape from me than from death, and her life shall be my life, and her soul my soul, till I have got her, if she did this murder?' Mrs. Bucket says to me, as well as she could speak on account of the sheet, 'Bucket, I can!' And she has acted up to it glorious!\"\n","abridged":"Mrs. Bucket is a woman in fifty thousand! I asked Mrs. Bucket to throw this young woman off her guard, with accounts of my suspicions against George; and to keep watch upon her night and day. And Mrs. Bucket has acted up to it glorious!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Lies!\" mademoiselle interposes. \"All lies, my friend!\"\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, how did my calculations come out under these circumstances? When I calculated that this impetuous young woman would overdo it in new directions, was I wrong or right? I was right. What does she try to do? Don't let it give you a turn? To throw the murder on her ladyship.\"\nSir Leicester rises from his chair and staggers down again.\n","abridged":"\"Lies!\" mademoiselle interposes. \"All lies, my friend!\"\n\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, what does this lady try to do? Don't let it give you a turn - to throw the murder on her ladyship.\"\nSir Leicester rises from his chair and staggers down again.\n"}
+{"original":"\"And she got encouragement in it from hearing that I was always here, which was done a-purpose. Now, open that pocket-book of mine, Sir Leicester Dedlock, if I may take the liberty of throwing it towards you, and look at the letters sent to me, each with the two words 'Lady Dedlock' in it. Open the one directed to yourself, which I stopped this very morning, and read the three words 'Lady Dedlock, Murderess' in it. These letters have been falling about like a shower of lady-birds. What do you say now to Mrs. Bucket, from her spy-place having seen them all 'written by this young woman? What do you say to Mrs. Bucket having, within this half-hour, secured the corresponding ink and paper, fellow half-sheets and what not? What do you say to Mrs. Bucket having watched the posting of 'em every one by this young woman, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet?\" Mr. Bucket asks, triumphant in his admiration of his lady's genius.\n","abridged":"\"And she got encouragement in it from hearing that I was always here. Now, in this pocket-book of mine, Sir Leicester Dedlock, are letters sent to me, each with the two words 'Lady Dedlock.' This one came this very morning, with the three words 'Lady Dedlock, Murderess' in it. These letters have been falling about like a shower of lady-birds. Mrs. Bucket, from her spy-place, saw them written. She watched the posting of 'em every one by this young woman, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet!\" Mr. Bucket is triumphant in his admiration of his lady's genius.\n"}
+{"original":"Two things are especially observable as Mr. Bucket proceeds to a conclusion. First, that he seems imperceptibly to establish a dreadful right of property in mademoiselle. Secondly, that the very atmosphere she breathes seems to narrow and contract about her as if a close net or a pall were being drawn nearer and yet nearer around her breathless figure.\n","abridged":"The very atmosphere mademoiselle breathes seems to narrow and contract about her as if a close net were being pulled around her breathless figure.\n"}
+{"original":"\"There is no doubt that her ladyship was on the spot at the eventful period,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"and my foreign friend here saw her, I believe, from the upper part of the staircase. Her ladyship and George and my foreign friend were all pretty close on one another's heels. But that don't signify any more, so I'll not go into it. I found the wadding of the pistol with which the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn was shot. It was a bit of the printed description of your house at Chesney Wold. Not much in that, you'll say, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. No. But when my foreign friend here is so thoroughly off her guard as to think it a safe time to tear up the rest of that leaf, and when Mrs. Bucket puts the pieces together and finds the wadding wanting, it begins to look like Queer Street.\"\n","abridged":"\"There is no doubt that her ladyship was on the spot at the eventful time,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"and my foreign friend here saw her. Her ladyship and George and my foreign friend were all pretty close on one another's heels.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"These are very long lies,\" mademoiselle interposes. \"You prose great deal. Is it that you have almost all finished, or are you speaking always?\"\n","abridged":"\"These are very long lies,\" mademoiselle interposes. \"You prose great deal. Is it that you have almost finished?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, who delights in a full title and does violence to himself when he dispenses with any fragment of it, \"the last point in the case which I am now going to mention shows the necessity of patience in our business, and never doing a thing in a hurry. I watched this young woman yesterday without her knowledge when she was looking at the funeral, in company with my wife, who planned to take her there; and I had so much to convict her, and I saw such an expression in her face, and my mind so rose against her malice towards her ladyship, and the time was altogether such a time for bringing down what you may call retribution upon her, that if I had been a younger hand with less experience, I should have taken her, certain. Equally, last night, when her ladyship, as is so universally admired I am sure, come home looking--why, Lord, a man might almost say like Venus rising from the ocean--it was so unpleasant and inconsistent to think of her being charged with a murder of which she was innocent that I felt quite to want to put an end to the job. What should I have lost? Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I should have lost the weapon. My prisoner here proposed to Mrs. Bucket, after the departure of the funeral, that they should go per bus a little ways into the country and take tea at a very decent house of entertainment. Now, near that house of entertainment there's a piece of water. At tea, my prisoner got up to fetch her pocket handkercher from the bedroom where the bonnets was; she was rather a long time gone and came back a little out of wind. As soon as they came home this was reported to me by Mrs. Bucket, along with her observations and suspicions. I had the piece of water dragged by moonlight, in presence of a couple of our men, and the pocket pistol was brought up before it had been there half-a-dozen hours. ","abridged":"\"Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,\" proceeds Mr. Bucket, \"the last point in the case shows the necessity of never doing a thing in a hurry. I watched this young woman yesterday without her knowledge when she was looking at the funeral, in company with my wife; and I saw such an expression in her face, that if I had been less experienced, I should have arrested her then, certain. What should I have lost? Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I should have lost the weapon. My prisoner here proposed to Mrs. Bucket, after the funeral, that they should go a little ways into the country and take tea at a house of entertainment. Now, near that place there's a pond. At tea, my prisoner got up to fetch her pocket handkercher from the bedroom; she was rather a long time gone and came back a little breathless. As soon as they came home this was reported to me by Mrs. Bucket, along with her suspicions. I had the water dragged by moonlight, and the pocket pistol was brought up. "}
+{"original":"Now, my dear, put your arm a little further through mine, and hold it steady, and I shan't hurt you!\"\nIn a trice Mr. Bucket snaps a handcuff on her wrist. \"That's one,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Now the other, darling. Two, and all told!\"\nHe rises; she rises too. \"Where,\" she asks him, darkening her large eyes until their drooping lids almost conceal them--and yet they stare, \"where is your false, your treacherous, and cursed wife?\"\n\"She's gone forrard to the Police Office,\" returns Mr. Bucket. \"You'll see her there, my dear.\"\n","abridged":"Now, my dear, hold that hand steady, and I shan't hurt you!\"\nIn a trice Mr. Bucket snaps a handcuff on her wrist. \"That's one,\" he says. \"Now the other, darling. Two, and all told!\"\nHe rises; she rises too. \"Where,\" she asks, \"is your false, your treacherous, cursed wife?\"\n\"She's gone to the Police Office,\" returns Mr. Bucket. \"You'll see her there, my dear.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I would like to kiss her!\" exclaims Mademoiselle Hortense, panting tigress-like.\n\"You'd bite her, I suspect,\" says Mr. Bucket.\n\"I would!\" making her eyes very large. \"I would love to tear her limb from limb.\"\n\"Bless you, darling,\" says Mr. Bucket with the greatest composure, \"I'm fully prepared to hear that. Your sex have such a surprising animosity against one another when you do differ. You don't mind me half so much, do you?\"\n","abridged":"\"I would like to tear her limb from limb!\" exclaims Mademoiselle Hortense, panting tigress-like.\n\"Bless you, darling,\" says Mr. Bucket with the greatest composure. "}
+{"original":"\"No. Though you are a devil still.\"\n\"Angel and devil by turns, eh?\" cries Mr. Bucket. \"But I am in my regular employment, you must consider. Let me put your shawl tidy. I've been lady's maid to a good many before now. Anything wanting to the bonnet? There's a cab at the door.\"\nMademoiselle Hortense, casting an indignant eye at the glass, shakes herself perfectly neat in one shake and looks, to do her justice, uncommonly genteel.\n","abridged":"\"You have your bonnet? "}
+{"original":"\"Listen then, my angel,\" says she after several sarcastic nods. \"You are very spiritual. But can you restore him back to life?\"\nMr. Bucket answers, \"Not exactly.\"\n\"That is droll. Listen yet one time. You are very spiritual. Can you make a honourable lady of her?\"\n\"Don't be so malicious,\" says Mr. Bucket.\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"\"Or a haughty gentleman of HIM?\" cries mademoiselle, referring to Sir Leicester with ineffable disdain. \"Eh! Oh, then regard him! The poor infant! Ha! Ha! Ha!\"\n\"Come, come, why this is worse PARLAYING than the other,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Come along!\"\n","abridged":"Come along!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You cannot do these things? Then you can do as you please with me. It is but the death, it is all the same. Let us go, my angel. Adieu, you old man, grey. I pity you, and I despise you!\"\nWith these last words she snaps her teeth together as if her mouth closed with a spring. It is impossible to describe how Mr. Bucket gets her out, but he accomplishes that feat in a manner so peculiar to himself, enfolding and pervading her like a cloud, and hovering away with her as if he were a homely Jupiter and she the object of his affections.\n","abridged":"\"You can do as you please with me. It is but the death, it is all the same. Let us go, my angel. Adieu, you old man. I pity you, and I despise you!\"\nWith these last words she snaps her teeth together as if her mouth closed with a spring. Mr. Bucket gets her out in a manner peculiar to himself, enfolding her like a cloud, and hovering away with her.\n"}
+{"original":"Sir Leicester, left alone, remains in the same attitude, as though he were still listening and his attention were still occupied. At length he gazes round the empty room, and finding it deserted, rises unsteadily to his feet, pushes back his chair, and walks a few steps, supporting himself by the table. Then he stops, and with more of those inarticulate sounds, lifts up his eyes and seems to stare at something.\nHeaven knows what he sees. The green, green woods of Chesney Wold, the noble house, the pictures of his forefathers, strangers defacing them, officers of police coarsely handling his most precious heirlooms, thousands of fingers pointing at him, thousands of faces sneering at him. But if such shadows flit before him to his bewilderment, there is one other shadow which he can name with something like distinctness even yet and to which alone he addresses his tearing of his white hair and his extended arms.\nIt is she in association with whom, saving that she has been for years a main fibre of the root of his dignity and pride, he has never had a selfish thought. It is she whom he has loved, admired, honoured, and set up for the world to respect. It is she who, at the core of all the constrained formalities and conventionalities of his life, has been a stock of living tenderness and love, susceptible as nothing else is of being struck with the agony he feels. He sees her, almost to the exclusion of himself, and cannot bear to look upon her cast down from the high place she has graced so well.\n","abridged":"Sir Leicester, left alone, remains seated as though he were still listening. At length he gazes round the empty room, rises unsteadily to his feet and walks a few steps, supporting himself by the table. Then he stops, and with more of those inarticulate sounds, lifts up his eyes and seems to stare at something.\nHeaven knows what he sees. The green woods of Chesney Wold, the noble house, the pictures of his forefathers; thousands of fingers pointing at him, thousands of faces sneering. But there is one shadow to which alone he addresses his tearing of his white hair and his extended arms.\nIt is she whom he has loved, admired, honoured, and set up for the world to respect. It is she who, at the core of all the constrained formalities of his life, has been a stock of living tenderness and love. He cannot bear to look upon her cast down from the high place she has graced so well.\n"}
+{"original":"And even to the point of his sinking on the ground, oblivious of his suffering, he can yet pronounce her name with something like distinctness in the midst of those intrusive sounds, and in a tone of mourning and compassion rather than reproach.","abridged":"And even as he sinks down to the ground, he can yet pronounce her name with something like distinctness in the midst of those intrusive sounds, and in a tone of mourning and compassion rather than reproach."}
+{"original":"The day had brightened very much, and still brightened as we went westward. We went our way through the sunshine and the fresh air, wondering more and more at the extent of the streets, the brilliancy of the shops, the great traffic, and the crowds of people whom the pleasanter weather seemed to have brought out like many-coloured flowers. By and by we began to leave the wonderful city and to proceed through suburbs which, of themselves, would have made a pretty large town in my eyes; and at last we got into a real country road again, with windmills, rick-yards, milestones, farmers' waggons, scents of old hay, swinging signs, and horse troughs: trees, fields, and hedge-rows. It was delightful to see the green landscape before us and the immense metropolis behind; and when a waggon with a train of beautiful horses, furnished with red trappings and clear-sounding bells, came by us with its music, I believe we could all three have sung to the bells, so cheerful were the influences around.\n\"The whole road has been reminding me of my namesake Whittington,\" said Richard, \"and that waggon is the finishing touch. Halloa! What's the matter?\"\nWe had stopped, and the waggon had stopped too. Its music changed as the horses came to a stand, and subsided to a gentle tinkling, except when a horse tossed his head or shook himself and sprinkled off a little shower of bell-ringing.\n","abridged":"The day brightened as we went our way through the sunshine and the fresh air, wondering at the extent of the streets, the traffic, and the crowds of people. By and by we left the city to proceed through suburbs which, of themselves, would have made a pretty large town in my eyes; and at last we got onto a real country road again, with windmills, milestones, farmers' waggons, scents of old hay, and horse troughs: trees, fields, and hedge-rows. It was delightful to see the green landscape; and when a waggon with a train of beautiful horses, furnished with red trappings and clear-sounding bells, came by us, I believe we could all three have sung to its music.\n\"The road has been reminding me of my namesake Dick Whittington,\" said Richard, \"and that waggon is the finishing touch. Halloa! What's the matter?\"\nWe had stopped, and the waggon had stopped too. The horses came to a stand, with a little shower of bell-ringing.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Our postilion is looking after the waggoner,\" said Richard, \"and the waggoner is coming back after us. Good day, friend!\" The waggoner was at our coach-door. \"Why, here's an extraordinary thing!\" added Richard, looking closely at the man. \"He has got your name, Ada, in his hat!\"\nHe had all our names in his hat. Tucked within the band were three small notes--one addressed to Ada, one to Richard, one to me. These the waggoner delivered to each of us respectively, reading the name aloud first. In answer to Richard's inquiry from whom they came, he briefly answered, \"Master, sir, if you please\"; and putting on his hat again (which was like a soft bowl), cracked his whip, re-awakened his music, and went melodiously away.\n","abridged":"\"The waggoner is coming back after us. Good day, friend!\" said Richard. \"Why, here's an extraordinary thing! He has got your name, Ada, in his hat!\"\nHe had all our names in his hat. Tucked within the band were three small notes - one addressed to each of us. These the waggoner delivered; and on Richard's asking from whom they came, he briefly answered, \"Master, sir, if you please.\" Putting on his hat again, he cracked his whip, and went melodiously away.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Is that Mr. Jarndyce's waggon?\" said Richard, calling to our post-boy.\n\"Yes, sir,\" he replied. \"Going to London.\"\nWe opened the notes. Each was a counterpart of the other and contained these words in a solid, plain hand.\nI look forward, my dear, to our meeting easily and without constraint on either side. I therefore have to propose that we meet as old friends and take the past for granted. It will be a relief to you possibly, and to me certainly, and so my love to you.\nJohn Jarndyce\n","abridged":"\"Is that Mr. Jarndyce's waggon?\" Richard asked our post-boy.\n\"Yes, sir,\" he replied.\nWe opened the notes. Each contained these words in a solid, plain hand.\n\"I look forward, my dear, to our meeting easily and without constraint on either side. I therefore have to propose that we meet as old friends and take the past for granted. It will be a relief to me, and possibly to you. And so my love to you.\n\"John Jarndyce.\"\n"}
+{"original":"I had perhaps less reason to be surprised than either of my companions, having never yet enjoyed an opportunity of thanking one who had been my benefactor and sole earthly dependence through so many years. I had not considered how I could thank him, my gratitude lying too deep in my heart for that; but I now began to consider how I could meet him without thanking him, and felt it would be very difficult indeed.\nThe notes revived in Richard and Ada a general impression that they both had, without quite knowing how they came by it, that their cousin Jarndyce could never bear acknowledgments for any kindness he performed and that sooner than receive any he would resort to the most singular expedients and evasions or would even run away. Ada dimly remembered to have heard her mother tell, when she was a very little child, that he had once done her an act of uncommon generosity and that on her going to his house to thank him, he happened to see her through a window coming to the door, and immediately escaped by the back gate, and was not heard of for three months. This discourse led to a great deal more on the same theme, and indeed it lasted us all day, and we talked of scarcely anything else. If we did by any chance diverge into another subject, we soon returned to this, and wondered what the house would be like, and when we should get there, and whether we should see Mr. Jarndyce as soon as we arrived or after a delay, and what he would say to us, and what we should say to him. All of which we wondered about, over and over again.\nThe roads were very heavy for the horses, but the pathway was generally good, so we alighted and walked up all the hills, and liked it so well that we prolonged our walk on the level ground when we got to the top. At Barnet there were other horses waiting for us, but as they had only just been fed, we had to wait for them too, and got a long fresh walk over a common and an old battle-field before the carriage came up. These delays so protracted the journey that the short day was spent and the long night had closed in before we came to St. Albans, near to which town Bleak House was, we knew.\n","abridged":"I had not considered how I could thank my benefactor, my gratitude lying too deep in my heart for that; but I now began to wonder how I could meet him without thanking him, and felt it would be very difficult indeed.\nThe notes revived in Richard and Ada a general impression that their cousin Jarndyce could never bear thanks for any kindness he performed, and that sooner than receive any he would even run away. Ada dimly remembered to have heard her mother tell, when she was a little child, that he had once done her an act of uncommon generosity and that on her going to his house to thank him, he saw her approaching through a window, and immediately escaped by the back gate, and was not heard of for three months. We wondered much about Mr. Jarndyce, and what the house would be like, and when we should get there.\nThe roads were very heavy for the horses, so we alighted and walked up all the hills. At Barnet there were other horses waiting for us, but as they had only just been fed, we had to wait for them too. These delays meant that the long night had closed in before we came to St. Albans, near to which Bleak House was.\n"}
+{"original":"By that time we were so anxious and nervous that even Richard confessed, as we rattled over the stones of the old street, to feeling an irrational desire to drive back again. As to Ada and me, whom he had wrapped up with great care, the night being sharp and frosty, we trembled from head to foot. When we turned out of the town, round a corner, and Richard told us that the post-boy, who had for a long time sympathized with our heightened expectation, was looking back and nodding, we both stood up in the carriage (Richard holding Ada lest she should be jolted down) and gazed round upon the open country and the starlight night for our destination. There was a light sparkling on the top of a hill before us, and the driver, pointing to it with his whip and crying, \"That's Bleak House!\" put his horses into a canter and took us forward at such a rate, uphill though it was, that the wheels sent the road drift flying about our heads like spray from a water-mill. Presently we lost the light, presently saw it, presently lost it, presently saw it, and turned into an avenue of trees and cantered up towards where it was beaming brightly. It was in a window of what seemed to be an old-fashioned house with three peaks in the roof in front and a circular sweep leading to the porch. A bell was rung as we drew up, and amidst the sound of its deep voice in the still air, and the distant barking of some dogs, and a gush of light from the opened door, and the smoking and steaming of the heated horses, and the quickened beating of our own hearts, we alighted in no inconsiderable confusion.\n","abridged":"By that time we were anxious and nervous. Ada and I trembled from head to foot. We both stood up in the carriage (Richard holding Ada lest she should be jolted down) and gazed round upon the open country and the starlit night for our destination. There was a light sparkling on the top of a hill before us, and the driver pointed to it, crying, \"That's Bleak House!\"\nHe put his horses into a canter; presently we turned into an avenue of trees and drove up towards the light. It was in a window of what seemed to be an old-fashioned house with three peaks in the roof and a circular sweep leading to the porch.\nA bell was rung as we drew up. Amidst the sound of its deep voice in the still air, and the distant barking of some dogs, and a gush of light from the opened door, we alighted.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. I rejoice to see you! Rick, if I had a hand to spare at present, I would give it you!\"\nThe gentleman who said these words in a clear, bright, hospitable voice had one of his arms round Ada's waist and the other round mine, and kissed us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy little room, all in a glow with a blazing fire. Here he kissed us again, and opening his arms, made us sit down side by side on a sofa ready drawn out near the hearth. I felt that if we had been at all demonstrative, he would have run away in a moment.\n","abridged":"\"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome. I rejoice to see you! Rick, if I had a hand to spare at present, I would give it you!\"\nThe gentleman who said these words in a clear, bright, hospitable voice had one of his arms round Ada's waist and the other round mine, and kissed us both in a fatherly way. He bore us across the hall into a little room aglow with a blazing fire. Here he kissed us again, and made us sit down side by side on a sofa near the hearth. I felt that if we had been at all demonstrative, he would have run away in a moment.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, Rick!\" said he. \"I have a hand at liberty. A word in earnest is as good as a speech. I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm yourself!\"\nRichard shook him by both hands with an intuitive mixture of respect and frankness, and only saying (though with an earnestness that rather alarmed me, I was so afraid of Mr. Jarndyce's suddenly disappearing), \"You are very kind, sir! We are very much obliged to you!\" laid aside his hat and coat and came up to the fire.\n","abridged":"\"Now, Rick!\" said he. \"I am heartily glad to see you. You are at home. Warm yourself!\"\nRichard shook him by both hands, saying (with an earnestness that rather alarmed me, I was so afraid of Mr. Jarndyce's suddenly disappearing), \"You are very kind, sir! We are very much obliged to you!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And how did you like the ride? And how did you like Mrs. Jellyby, my dear?\" said Mr. Jarndyce to Ada.\nWhile Ada was speaking to him in reply, I glanced (I need not say with how much interest) at his face. It was a handsome, lively, quick face, full of change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron-grey. I took him to be nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust. From the moment of his first speaking to us his voice had connected itself with an association in my mind that I could not define; but now, all at once, a something sudden in his manner and a pleasant expression in his eyes recalled the gentleman in the stagecoach six years ago on the memorable day of my journey to Reading. I was certain it was he. I never was so frightened in my life as when I made the discovery, for he caught my glance, and appearing to read my thoughts, gave such a look at the door that I thought we had lost him.\nHowever, I am happy to say he remained where he was, and asked me what I thought of Mrs. Jellyby.\n","abridged":"\"How did you like the ride, my dear?\" said Mr. Jarndyce to Ada.\nWhile Ada was replying, I glanced with interest at his face. It was a handsome, lively, quick face, full of change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron-grey. I took him to be nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust. When he first spoke to us his voice had connected itself with a memory that I could not define; but now, all at once, I recalled the gentleman in the stagecoach six years ago on the memorable day of my journey to Reading. I was certain it was he.\nHe caught my glance, and appearing to read my thoughts, gave such a look at the door that I thought we had lost him. However, I am happy to say he remained where he was, and asked me what I thought of Mrs. Jellyby.\n"}
+{"original":"\"She exerts herself very much for Africa, sir,\" I said.\n\"Nobly!\" returned Mr. Jarndyce. \"But you answer like Ada.\" Whom I had not heard. \"You all think something else, I see.\"\n\"We rather thought,\" said I, glancing at Richard and Ada, who entreated me with their eyes to speak, \"that perhaps she was a little unmindful of her home.\"\n\"Floored!\" cried Mr. Jarndyce.\nI was rather alarmed again.\n","abridged":"\"She exerts herself very much for Africa, sir,\" I said.\n\"Nobly!\" returned Mr. Jarndyce. \"But you think something else, I see.\"\n\"We rather thought,\" said I, glancing at Richard and Ada, \"that perhaps she was a little unmindful of her home.\"\n\"Floored!\" cried Mr. Jarndyce. I was rather alarmed. "}
+{"original":"\"Well! I want to know your real thoughts, my dear. I may have sent you there on purpose.\"\n\"We thought that, perhaps,\" said I, hesitating, \"it is right to begin with the obligations of home, sir; and that, perhaps, while those are overlooked and neglected, no other duties can possibly be substituted for them.\"\n\"The little Jellybys,\" said Richard, coming to my relief, \"are really--I can't help expressing myself strongly, sir--in a devil of a state.\"\n\"She means well,\" said Mr. Jarndyce hastily. \"The wind's in the east.\"\n\"It was in the north, sir, as we came down,\" observed Richard.\n\"My dear Rick,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, poking the fire, \"I'll take an oath it's either in the east or going to be. I am always conscious of an uncomfortable sensation now and then when the wind is blowing in the east.\"\n","abridged":"\"Well! I want to know your real thoughts, my dear. I may have sent you there on purpose.\"\n\"We thought that, perhaps,\" said I, hesitating, \"it is right to begin with the obligations of home, sir; and that, perhaps, if those are neglected, no other duties can be substituted for them.\"\n\"The little Jellybys,\" said Richard, coming to my relief, \"are really in a devil of a state, sir.\"\n\"She means well,\" said Mr. Jarndyce hastily. \"The wind's in the east.\"\n\"It was in the north, sir, as we came down,\" observed Richard.\n\"My dear Rick,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, poking the fire, \"it's either in the east or going to be. I am always conscious of an uncomfortable feeling when the wind is blowing in the east.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Rheumatism, sir?\" said Richard.\n\"I dare say it is, Rick. I believe it is. And so the little Jell--I had my doubts about 'em--are in a--oh, Lord, yes, it's easterly!\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\nHe had taken two or three undecided turns up and down while uttering these broken sentences, retaining the poker in one hand and rubbing his hair with the other, with a good-natured vexation at once so whimsical and so lovable that I am sure we were more delighted with him than we could possibly have expressed in any words. He gave an arm to Ada and an arm to me, and bidding Richard bring a candle, was leading the way out when he suddenly turned us all back again.\n","abridged":"\"Rheumatism, sir?\" said Richard.\n\"I dare say it is, Rick. And so the little Jell - oh, Lord, yes, it's easterly!\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\nHe took two or three undecided turns up and down, holding the poker in one hand and rubbing his hair with the other, with a good-natured vexation at once both whimsical and lovable. He gave an arm to Ada and an arm to me, and bidding Richard bring a candle, was leading the way out when he suddenly turned us all back again.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Those little Jellybys. Couldn't you--didn't you--now, if it had rained sugar-plums, or three-cornered raspberry tarts, or anything of that sort!\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\n\"Oh, cousin--\" Ada hastily began.\n\"Good, my pretty pet. I like cousin. Cousin John, perhaps, is better.\"\n\"Then, cousin John--\" Ada laughingly began again.\n","abridged":"\"Those little Jellybys. Couldn't you - now, if it had rained sugar-plums, or raspberry tarts, or anything of that sort!\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\n\"Oh, cousin-\" Ada hastily began.\n\"Good, my pretty pet. I like cousin. Cousin John, perhaps, is better.\"\n\"Then, cousin John-\" Ada laughingly began again.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ha, ha! Very good indeed!\" said Mr. Jarndyce with great enjoyment. \"Sounds uncommonly natural. Yes, my dear?\"\n\"It did better than that. It rained Esther.\"\n\"Aye?\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"What did Esther do?\"\n","abridged":"\"Ha, ha! Very good indeed!\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"Yes, my dear?\"\n\"It did better than that. It rained Esther.\"\n\"Aye?\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"What did Esther do?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, cousin John,\" said Ada, clasping her hands upon his arm and shaking her head at me across him--for I wanted her to be quiet--\"Esther was their friend directly. Esther nursed them, coaxed them to sleep, washed and dressed them, told them stories, kept them quiet, bought them keepsakes\"--My dear girl! I had only gone out with Peepy after he was found and given him a little, tiny horse!--\"and, cousin John, she softened poor Caroline, the eldest one, so much and was so thoughtful for me and so amiable! No, no, I won't be contradicted, Esther dear! You know, you know, it's true!\"\nThe warm-hearted darling leaned across her cousin John and kissed me, and then looking up in his face, boldly said, \"At all events, cousin John, I WILL thank you for the companion you have given me.\" I felt as if she challenged him to run away. But he didn't.\n\"Where did you say the wind was, Rick?\" asked Mr. Jarndyce.\n","abridged":"\"Why, cousin John,\" said Ada - though I wanted her to be quiet - \"Esther was their friend at once. Esther nursed them, coaxed them to sleep, washed and dressed them, told them stories, kept them quiet, bought them keepsakes\" - My dear girl! I had only gone out with Peepy after he was found and given him a little, tiny horse! - \"and, cousin John, she softened poor Caroline, the eldest one, so much and was so thoughtful and amiable! No, I won't be contradicted, Esther dear! You know it's true!\"\nThe warm-hearted darling leaned over and kissed me, and then boldly said, \"At all events, cousin John, I will thank you for the companion you have given me.\" I felt as if she challenged him to run away. But he didn't.\n\"Where did you say the wind was, Rick?\" asked Mr. Jarndyce.\n"}
+{"original":"\"In the north as we came down, sir.\"\n\"You are right. There's no east in it. A mistake of mine. Come, girls, come and see your home!\"\n","abridged":"\"In the north, sir.\"\n\"You are right. There's no east in it. A mistake of mine. Come, girls, come and see your home!\"\n"}
+{"original":"It was one of those delightfully irregular houses where you go up and down steps out of one room into another, and where you come upon more rooms when you think you have seen all there are, and where there is a bountiful provision of little halls and passages, and where you find still older cottage-rooms in unexpected places with lattice windows and green growth pressing through them. Mine, which we entered first, was of this kind, with an up-and-down roof that had more corners in it than I ever counted afterwards and a chimney (there was a wood fire on the hearth) paved all around with pure white tiles, in every one of which a bright miniature of the fire was blazing. Out of this room, you went down two steps into a charming little sitting-room looking down upon a flower-garden, which room was henceforth to belong to Ada and me. Out of this you went up three steps into Ada's bedroom, which had a fine broad window commanding a beautiful view (we saw a great expanse of darkness lying underneath the stars), to which there was a hollow window-seat, in which, with a spring-lock, three dear Adas might have been lost at once. Out of this room you passed into a little gallery, with which the other best rooms (only two) communicated, and so, by a little staircase of shallow steps with a number of corner stairs in it, considering its length, down into the hall. But if instead of going out at Ada's door you came back into my room, and went out at the door by which you had entered it, and turned up a few crooked steps that branched off in an unexpected manner from the stairs, you lost yourself in passages, with mangles in them, and three-cornered tables, and a native Hindu chair, which was also a sofa, a box, and a bedstead, and looked in every form something between a bamboo skeleton and a great bird-cage, and had been brought from India nobody knew by whom or when. From these you came on Richard's room, which was part library, part sitting-room, part bedroom, and seemed indeed a comfortable compound of many rooms. Out of that you went straight, with a little interval of passage, to the plain room where Mr. Jarndyce slept, all the year round, with his window open, his bedstead without any furniture standing in the middle of the floor for more air, and his cold bath gaping for him in a smaller room adjoining. Out of that you came into another passage, where there were back-stairs and where you could hear the horses being rubbed down outside the stable and being told to \"Hold up\" and \"Get over,\" as they slipped about very much on the uneven stones. Or you might, if you came out at another door (every room had at least two doors), go straight down to the hall again by half-a-dozen steps and a low archway, wondering how you got back there or had ever got out of it.\n","abridged":"It was one of those delightfully irregular houses where you go up and down steps out of one room into another, and keep finding unexpected rooms, and little halls and passages, and still older cottage-rooms with lattice windows and green growth pressing through them.\nMine, which we entered first, was of this kind, with an up-and-down roof full of corners, and a chimney paved all around with pure white tiles, in each of which a bright miniature of the fire was blazing. From this room, you went down two steps into a charming little sitting-room looking down upon a flower-garden. Out of this you went up three steps into Ada's bedroom, which had a fine broad window commanding a beautiful view, and an enormous window-seat. Out of this room you passed into a little gallery, and by a winding staircase down into the hall.\nBut if instead of going out at Ada's door you came back into my room, and went out at the door by which you had entered it, and turned up a few crooked steps, you lost yourself in passages with mangles in them, and three-cornered tables, and a Hindu chair. From these you came to Richard's room, which was part library, part sitting-room, part comfortable bedroom. Out of that you went down a passage, to the plain room where Mr. Jarndyce slept with his window open, his bedstead standing alone in the middle of the floor. Out of that you came into another passage, where there were back-stairs and where you could hear the horses being rubbed down outside the stable. Or you might, if you came out at another door (every room had at least two doors), go straight down to the hall again through a low archway, wondering how you got back there or had ever got out of it.\n"}
+{"original":"The furniture, old-fashioned rather than old, like the house, was as pleasantly irregular. Ada's sleeping-room was all flowers--in chintz and paper, in velvet, in needlework, in the brocade of two stiff courtly chairs which stood, each attended by a little page of a stool for greater state, on either side of the fire-place. Our sitting-room was green and had framed and glazed upon the walls numbers of surprising and surprised birds, staring out of pictures at a real trout in a case, as brown and shining as if it had been served with gravy; at the death of Captain Cook; and at the whole process of preparing tea in China, as depicted by Chinese artists. In my room there were oval engravings of the months--ladies haymaking in short waists and large hats tied under the chin, for June; smooth-legged noblemen pointing with cocked-hats to village steeples, for October. Half-length portraits in crayons abounded all through the house, but were so dispersed that I found the brother of a youthful officer of mine in the china-closet and the grey old age of my pretty young bride, with a flower in her bodice, in the breakfast-room. As substitutes, I had four angels, of Queen Anne's reign, taking a complacent gentleman to heaven, in festoons, with some difficulty; and a composition in needlework representing fruit, a kettle, and an alphabet. All the movables, from the wardrobes to the chairs and tables, hangings, glasses, even to the pincushions and scent-bottles on the dressing-tables, displayed the same quaint variety. They agreed in nothing but their perfect neatness, their display of the whitest linen, and their storing-up, wheresoever the existence of a drawer, small or large, rendered it possible, of quantities of rose-leaves and sweet lavender. Such, with its illuminated windows, softened here and there by shadows of curtains, shining out upon the starlight night; with its light, and warmth, and comfort; with its hospitable jingle, at a distance, of preparations for dinner; with the face of its generous master brightening everything we saw; and just wind enough without to sound a low accompaniment to everything we heard, were our first impressions of Bleak House.\n","abridged":"The furniture, like the house, was old-fashioned and pleasantly irregular. Ada's bedroom was all flowers - in chintz and paper, velvet, needlework, and brocade. Our sitting-room had framed upon the walls numbers of surprising and surprised birds; a real trout in a case; the death of Captain Cook; and the process of preparing tea in China, as depicted by Chinese artists. In my room there were oval engravings of the months - ladies haymaking in large hats tied under the chin, for June; noblemen pointing with cocked-hats to village steeples, for October. I also had four angels, of Queen Anne's reign, taking a complacent gentleman to heaven, in festoons, with some difficulty; and a composition in needlework representing fruit, a kettle, and an alphabet.\nEverything was in a state of perfect neatness, with the whitest linen, and lavender sweetening every drawer. Such, with its light, and warmth, and comfort; with the face of its generous master, and a faint wind blowing outside, were our first impressions of Bleak House.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am glad you like it,\" said Mr. Jarndyce when he had brought us round again to Ada's sitting-room. \"It makes no pretensions, but it is a comfortable little place, I hope, and will be more so with such bright young looks in it. You have barely half an hour before dinner. There's no one here but the finest creature upon earth--a child.\"\n\"More children, Esther!\" said Ada.\n\"I don't mean literally a child,\" pursued Mr. Jarndyce; \"not a child in years. He is grown up--he is at least as old as I am--but in simplicity, and freshness, and enthusiasm, and a fine guileless inaptitude for all worldly affairs, he is a perfect child.\"\nWe felt that he must be very interesting.\n","abridged":"\"I am glad you like it,\" said Mr. Jarndyce when he had brought us round again to Ada's sitting-room. \"It is a comfortable little place, I hope, and will be more so with such bright young looks in it. You have half an hour before dinner. There's no one else here but the finest creature upon earth - a child.\"\n\"More children, Esther!\" said Ada.\n\"I don't mean literally a child,\" added Mr. Jarndyce; \"not a child in years. He is as old as I am - but in simplicity, and enthusiasm, and a fine guileless inaptitude for all worldly affairs, he is a perfect child.\"\nWe felt that he must be very interesting.\n"}
+{"original":"\"He knows Mrs. Jellyby,\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"He is a musical man, an amateur, but might have been a professional. He is an artist too, an amateur, but might have been a professional. He is a man of attainments and of captivating manners. He has been unfortunate in his affairs, and unfortunate in his pursuits, and unfortunate in his family; but he don't care--he's a child!\"\n\"Did you imply that he has children of his own, sir?\" inquired Richard.\n","abridged":"\"He is a musical man, an amateur, but might have been a professional. He is an artist too; a man of attainments. He has been unfortunate; but he don't care - he's a child!\"\n\"Has he children of his own, sir?\" inquired Richard.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, Rick! Half-a-dozen. More! Nearer a dozen, I should think. But he has never looked after them. How could he? He wanted somebody to look after HIM. He is a child, you know!\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\n","abridged":"\"Yes, Rick! Half-a-dozen. But he has never looked after them. How could he? He wanted somebody to look after him!\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\n"}
+{"original":"\"And have the children looked after themselves at all, sir?\" inquired Richard.\n\"Why, just as you may suppose,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, his countenance suddenly falling. \"It is said that the children of the very poor are not brought up, but dragged up. Harold Skimpole's children have tumbled up somehow or other. The wind's getting round again, I am afraid. I feel it rather!\"\nRichard observed that the situation was exposed on a sharp night.\n","abridged":"\"And have the children looked after themselves at all, sir?\" inquired Richard.\n\"Why,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, his face suddenly falling. \"Harold Skimpole's children have tumbled up somehow or other. The wind's getting round again, I am afraid! "}
+{"original":"\"It IS exposed,\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"No doubt that's the cause. Bleak House has an exposed sound. But you are coming my way. Come along!\"\nOur luggage having arrived and being all at hand, I was dressed in a few minutes and engaged in putting my worldly goods away when a maid (not the one in attendance upon Ada, but another, whom I had not seen) brought a basket into my room with two bunches of keys in it, all labelled.\n\"For you, miss, if you please,\" said she.\n\"For me?\" said I.\n\"The housekeeping keys, miss.\"\n","abridged":"But come along!\"\nOur luggage having arrived, I was dressed in a few minutes and was putting my things away when a maid brought a basket into my room with two bunches of keys in it, all labelled.\n\"For you, miss, if you please,\" said she.\n\"For me?\"\n\"The housekeeping keys, miss. "}
+{"original":"I showed my surprise, for she added with some little surprise on her own part, \"I was told to bring them as soon as you was alone, miss. Miss Summerson, if I don't deceive myself?\"\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"That is my name.\"\n\"The large bunch is the housekeeping, and the little bunch is the cellars, miss. Any time you was pleased to appoint to-morrow morning, I was to show you the presses and things they belong to.\"\nI said I would be ready at half-past six, and after she was gone, stood looking at the basket, quite lost in the magnitude of my trust. Ada found me thus and had such a delightful confidence in me when I showed her the keys and told her about them that it would have been insensibility and ingratitude not to feel encouraged. I knew, to be sure, that it was the dear girl's kindness, but I liked to be so pleasantly cheated.\n","abridged":"I was told to bring them as soon as you was alone, miss. The large bunch is the housekeeping, and the little bunch is the cellars, miss. Any time you was pleased to appoint tomorrow morning, I was to show you the cupboards and things they belong to.\"\nI said I would be ready at half-past six, and after she was gone, stood looking at the basket, quite lost in the magnitude of my trust. Ada found me thus, and showed a delightful confidence in me when I told her about the keys. I knew, to be sure, that it was only the dear girl's kindness, but I liked to be so encouraged.\n"}
+{"original":"When we went downstairs, we were presented to Mr. Skimpole, who was standing before the fire telling Richard how fond he used to be, in his school-time, of football. He was a little bright creature with a rather large head, but a delicate face and a sweet voice, and there was a perfect charm in him. All he said was so free from effort and spontaneous and was said with such a captivating gaiety that it was fascinating to hear him talk. Being of a more slender figure than Mr. Jarndyce and having a richer complexion, with browner hair, he looked younger. Indeed, he had more the appearance in all respects of a damaged young man than a well-preserved elderly one. There was an easy negligence in his manner and even in his dress (his hair carelessly disposed, and his neck-kerchief loose and flowing, as I have seen artists paint their own portraits) which I could not separate from the idea of a romantic youth who had undergone some unique process of depreciation. It struck me as being not at all like the manner or appearance of a man who had advanced in life by the usual road of years, cares, and experiences.\n","abridged":"When we went downstairs, we were presented to Mr. Skimpole, who was standing before the fire. He was a little bright creature with a rather large head, but a delicate face and a sweet voice, and there was a perfect charm in him. He spoke with such a captivating gaiety that it was fascinating to hear him talk. Being more slender than Mr. Jarndyce and less grey, he looked younger. Indeed, he had more the appearance of a damaged young man rather than a well-preserved elderly one. There was an easy negligence in his manner and his dress which made me think of a romantic youth. It was not at all like the manner of a man who had experienced life's usual cares.\n"}
+{"original":"I gathered from the conversation that Mr. Skimpole had been educated for the medical profession and had once lived, in his professional capacity, in the household of a German prince. He told us, however, that as he had always been a mere child in point of weights and measures and had never known anything about them (except that they disgusted him), he had never been able to prescribe with the requisite accuracy of detail. In fact, he said, he had no head for detail. And he told us, with great humour, that when he was wanted to bleed the prince or physic any of his people, he was generally found lying on his back in bed, reading the newspapers or making fancy-sketches in pencil, and couldn't come. The prince, at last, objecting to this, \"in which,\" said Mr. Skimpole, in the frankest manner, \"he was perfectly right,\" the engagement terminated, and Mr. Skimpole having (as he added with delightful gaiety) \"nothing to live upon but love, fell in love, and married, and surrounded himself with rosy cheeks.\" His good friend Jarndyce and some other of his good friends then helped him, in quicker or slower succession, to several openings in life, but to no purpose, for he must confess to two of the oldest infirmities in the world: one was that he had no idea of time, the other that he had no idea of money. In consequence of which he never kept an appointment, never could transact any business, and never knew the value of anything! Well! So he had got on in life, and here he was! He was very fond of reading the papers, very fond of making fancy-sketches with a pencil, very fond of nature, very fond of art. ","abridged":"I gathered from the conversation that Mr. Skimpole had been educated for the medical profession and had once been doctor in the household of a German prince. He told us, however, that as he had always been a mere child in point of weights and measures and had never known anything about them, he had never been able to prescribe accurately. And he told us, with great humour, that when he was wanted to tend the prince, he was generally found lying on his bed, reading the newspapers or sketching, and couldn't come. When the prince objected to this, the post ended, and Mr. Skimpole having (as he added with delightful gaiety) \"nothing to live upon but love, fell in love, and married, and surrounded himself with rosy cheeks.\"\nHis good friend Jarndyce and some other friends helped him to several openings in life, but to no purpose, for he must confess that he had no idea of time, and no idea of money. In consequence of which he never kept an appointment, could never do any business, and never knew the value of anything! So here he was! He was very fond of reading the papers, and sketching with a pencil, very fond of nature and of art. "}
+{"original":"All he asked of society was to let him live. THAT wasn't much. His wants were few. Give him the papers, conversation, music, mutton, coffee, landscape, fruit in the season, a few sheets of Bristol-board, and a little claret, and he asked no more. He was a mere child in the world, but he didn't cry for the moon. He said to the world, \"Go your several ways in peace! Wear red coats, blue coats, lawn sleeves; put pens behind your ears, wear aprons; go after glory, holiness, commerce, trade, any object you prefer; only--let Harold Skimpole live!\"\n","abridged":"All he asked of society was to let him live. That wasn't much. His wants were few. Give him the papers, conversation, music, mutton, coffee, landscape, fruit in the season, a few sheets of Bristol-board, and a little wine, and he asked no more.\n"}
+{"original":"All this and a great deal more he told us, not only with the utmost brilliancy and enjoyment, but with a certain vivacious candour--speaking of himself as if he were not at all his own affair, as if Skimpole were a third person, as if he knew that Skimpole had his singularities but still had his claims too, which were the general business of the community and must not be slighted. He was quite enchanting. If I felt at all confused at that early time in endeavouring to reconcile anything he said with anything I had thought about the duties and accountabilities of life (which I am far from sure of), I was confused by not exactly understanding why he was free of them. That he WAS free of them, I scarcely doubted; he was so very clear about it himself.\n","abridged":"All this he told us, with the utmost brilliancy, enjoyment, and candour - speaking of himself as if Skimpole were a third person, who had his singularities but had his claims too, which must not be slighted. He was quite enchanting, although I was confused by not exactly understanding why he was free of the duties of life. That he was free of them, I did not doubt; he was so very clear about it himself.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I covet nothing,\" said Mr. Skimpole in the same light way. \"Possession is nothing to me. Here is my friend Jarndyce's excellent house. I feel obliged to him for possessing it. I can sketch it and alter it. I can set it to music. When I am here, I have sufficient possession of it and have neither trouble, cost, nor responsibility. My steward's name, in short, is Jarndyce, and he can't cheat me. We have been mentioning Mrs. Jellyby. There is a bright-eyed woman, of a strong will and immense power of business detail, who throws herself into objects with surprising ardour! ","abridged":"\"I covet nothing,\" said Mr. Skimpole in the same light way. \"Possession is nothing to me. Here is my friend Jarndyce's excellent house. I can sketch it; I can set it to music. When I am here, I have sufficient possession of it and have neither trouble, cost, nor responsibility. My steward's name, in short, is Jarndyce, and he can't cheat me. We have been mentioning Mrs. Jellyby. There is a woman of strong will and immense power of business detail! "}
+{"original":"I don't regret that I have not a strong will and an immense power of business detail to throw myself into objects with surprising ardour. I can admire her without envy. I can sympathize with the objects. I can dream of them. I can lie down on the grass--in fine weather--and float along an African river, embracing all the natives I meet, as sensible of the deep silence and sketching the dense overhanging tropical growth as accurately as if I were there. I don't know that it's of any direct use my doing so, but it's all I can do, and I do it thoroughly. Then, for heaven's sake, having Harold Skimpole, a confiding child, petitioning you, the world, an agglomeration of practical people of business habits, to let him live and admire the human family, do it somehow or other, like good souls, and suffer him to ride his rocking-horse!\"\nIt was plain enough that Mr. Jarndyce had not been neglectful of the adjuration. Mr. Skimpole's general position there would have rendered it so without the addition of what he presently said.\n","abridged":"I do not regret that I have not those qualities; I can admire her without envy. I can dream of her objectives. I can lie down on the grass - in fine weather - and float along an African river, embracing all the natives I meet. I don't know that it's of any use, but it's all I can do, and I do it thoroughly. Then, for heaven's sake, let Harold Skimpole live and admire the human family, like good souls, and allow him to ride his rocking-horse!\"\nIt was plain enough that Mr. Jarndyce had not neglected this advice.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It's only you, the generous creatures, whom I envy,\" said Mr. Skimpole, addressing us, his new friends, in an impersonal manner. \"I envy you your power of doing what you do. It is what I should revel in myself. I don't feel any vulgar gratitude to you. I almost feel as if YOU ought to be grateful to ME for giving you the opportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity. I know you like it. For anything I can tell, I may have come into the world expressly for the purpose of increasing your stock of happiness. I may have been born to be a benefactor to you by sometimes giving you an opportunity of assisting me in my little perplexities. Why should I regret my incapacity for details and worldly affairs when it leads to such pleasant consequences? I don't regret it therefore.\"\n","abridged":"\"It's only you, the generous creatures, whom I envy,\" said Mr. Skimpole. \"I envy you your power of doing what you do. I don't feel any vulgar gratitude to you. I almost feel as if you ought to be grateful to me for giving you the opportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity. I know you like it. For anything I can tell, I may have come into the world expressly for the purpose of increasing your happiness by helping me. Why should I regret my incapacity for worldly affairs when it leads to such pleasant consequences?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Of all his playful speeches (playful, yet always fully meaning what they expressed) none seemed to be more to the taste of Mr. Jarndyce than this. I had often new temptations, afterwards, to wonder whether it was really singular, or only singular to me, that he, who was probably the most grateful of mankind upon the least occasion, should so desire to escape the gratitude of others.\nWe were all enchanted. I felt it a merited tribute to the engaging qualities of Ada and Richard that Mr. Skimpole, seeing them for the first time, should be so unreserved and should lay himself out to be so exquisitely agreeable. They (and especially Richard) were naturally pleased, for similar reasons, and considered it no common privilege to be so freely confided in by such an attractive man. The more we listened, the more gaily Mr. Skimpole talked. And what with his fine hilarious manner and his engaging candour and his genial way of lightly tossing his own weaknesses about, as if he had said, \"I am a child, you know! You are designing people compared with me\" (he really made me consider myself in that light) \"but I am gay and innocent; forget your worldly arts and play with me!\" the effect was absolutely dazzling.\n","abridged":"Of all his playful speeches none seemed to be more agreeable to Mr. Jarndyce than this; Mr. Jarndyce being probably the most grateful of mankind for the smallest reasons, yet desiring to escape the gratitude of others.\nWe were all enchanted. Richard especially was pleased to be so freely confided in by such an attractive man. The more we listened, the more gaily Mr. Skimpole talked. And what with his fine hilarious manner and his engaging candour and his genial way of lightly tossing his own weaknesses about, the effect was absolutely dazzling.\n"}
+{"original":"He was so full of feeling too and had such a delicate sentiment for what was beautiful or tender that he could have won a heart by that alone. In the evening, when I was preparing to make tea and Ada was touching the piano in the adjoining room and softly humming a tune to her cousin Richard, which they had happened to mention, he came and sat down on the sofa near me and so spoke of Ada that I almost loved him.\n\"She is like the morning,\" he said. \"With that golden hair, those blue eyes, and that fresh bloom on her cheek, she is like the summer morning. The birds here will mistake her for it. We will not call such a lovely young creature as that, who is a joy to all mankind, an orphan. She is the child of the universe.\"\nMr. Jarndyce, I found, was standing near us with his hands behind him and an attentive smile upon his face.\n\"The universe,\" he observed, \"makes rather an indifferent parent, I am afraid.\"\n","abridged":"He was so full of feeling too and had such a delicate sentiment for what was beautiful or tender that he could have won a heart by that alone. In the evening, when I was preparing to make tea and Ada was touching the piano in the adjoining room and softly humming a tune to her cousin Richard, he came and sat down near me and so spoke of Ada that I almost loved him.\n\"She is like the morning,\" he said. \"With that golden hair, those blue eyes, and that fresh bloom on her cheek, she is like the summer morning. We will not call such a lovely young creature an orphan. She is the child of the universe.\"\nMr. Jarndyce, I found, was standing near us, smiling.\n\"The universe,\" he observed, \"makes rather an indifferent parent, I am afraid.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! I don't know!\" cried Mr. Skimpole buoyantly.\n\"I think I do know,\" said Mr. Jarndyce.\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"\"Well!\" cried Mr. Skimpole. \"You know the world (which in your sense is the universe), and I know nothing of it, so you shall have your way. But if I had mine,\" glancing at the cousins, \"there should be no brambles of sordid realities in such a path as that. It should be strewn with roses; it should lie through bowers, where there was no spring, autumn, nor winter, but perpetual summer. Age or change should never wither it. The base word money should never be breathed near it!\"\n","abridged":"\"Well!\" cried Mr. Skimpole. \"I know nothing of the world, so you shall have your way. But if I had mine, there should be no brambles of sordid realities in such a path as that. It should be strewn with roses; it should live in perpetual summer. Age or change should never wither it. The base word money should never be breathed near it!\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Jarndyce patted him on the head with a smile, as if he had been really a child, and passing a step or two on, and stopping a moment, glanced at the young cousins. His look was thoughtful, but had a benignant expression in it which I often (how often!) saw again, which has long been engraven on my heart. The room in which they were, communicating with that in which he stood, was only lighted by the fire. Ada sat at the piano; Richard stood beside her, bending down. Upon the wall, their shadows blended together, surrounded by strange forms, not without a ghostly motion caught from the unsteady fire, though reflecting from motionless objects. Ada touched the notes so softly and sang so low that the wind, sighing away to the distant hills, was as audible as the music. The mystery of the future and the little clue afforded to it by the voice of the present seemed expressed in the whole picture.\n","abridged":"Mr. Jarndyce patted him on the head with a smile, as if he had been really a child, and glanced at the young cousins. His look was thoughtful, but had a benign expression which I often saw again, and which has long been engraven on my heart. Ada sat at the piano; Richard stood beside her. Upon the wall, their shadows blended together, shifting with the firelight. Ada touched the notes so softly and sang so low that the sighing wind was as audible as the music. The mystery of the future seemed expressed in the whole picture.\n"}
+{"original":"But it is not to recall this fancy, well as I remember it, that I recall the scene. First, I was not quite unconscious of the contrast in respect of meaning and intention between the silent look directed that way and the flow of words that had preceded it. Secondly, though Mr. Jarndyce's glance as he withdrew it rested for but a moment on me, I felt as if in that moment he confided to me--and knew that he confided to me and that I received the confidence--his hope that Ada and Richard might one day enter on a dearer relationship.\nMr. Skimpole could play on the piano and the violoncello, and he was a composer--had composed half an opera once, but got tired of it--and played what he composed with taste. After tea we had quite a little concert, in which Richard--who was enthralled by Ada's singing and told me that she seemed to know all the songs that ever were written--and Mr. Jarndyce, and I were the audience. After a little while I missed first Mr. Skimpole and afterwards Richard, and while I was thinking how could Richard stay away so long and lose so much, the maid who had given me the keys looked in at the door, saying, \"If you please, miss, could you spare a minute?\"\nWhen I was shut out with her in the hall, she said, holding up her hands, \"Oh, if you please, miss, Mr. Carstone says would you come upstairs to Mr. Skimpole's room. He has been took, miss!\"\n\"Took?\" said I.\n","abridged":"Mr. Jarndyce's glance then rested for a moment on me. I felt as if in that moment he confided to me his hope that Ada and Richard might one day enter on a dearer relationship.\nMr. Skimpole could play the piano and the cello, and he was a composer - had composed half an opera once, but got tired of it - and played with taste. After tea we had quite a little concert, in which Richard - who was enthralled by Ada's singing - and Mr. Jarndyce and I were the audience. After a little while first Mr. Skimpole and then Richard disappeared, and while I was wondering how he could stay away so long, the maid looked in at the door, saying, \"If you please, miss, could you spare a minute?\"\nWhen I was shut out with her in the hall, she said, holding up her hands, \"Please, miss, Mr. Carstone says would you come upstairs to Mr. Skimpole's room. He has been took, miss!\"\n\"Took?\" said I.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Took, miss. Sudden,\" said the maid.\nI was apprehensive that his illness might be of a dangerous kind, but of course I begged her to be quiet and not disturb any one and collected myself, as I followed her quickly upstairs, sufficiently to consider what were the best remedies to be applied if it should prove to be a fit. She threw open a door and I went into a chamber, where, to my unspeakable surprise, instead of finding Mr. Skimpole stretched upon the bed or prostrate on the floor, I found him standing before the fire smiling at Richard, while Richard, with a face of great embarrassment, looked at a person on the sofa, in a white great-coat, with smooth hair upon his head and not much of it, which he was wiping smoother and making less of with a pocket-handkerchief.\n\"Miss Summerson,\" said Richard hurriedly, \"I am glad you are come. You will be able to advise us. Our friend Mr. Skimpole--don't be alarmed!--is arrested for debt.\"\n\"And really, my dear Miss Summerson,\" said Mr. Skimpole with his agreeable candour, \"I never was in a situation in which that excellent sense and quiet habit of method and usefulness, which anybody must observe in you who has the happiness of being a quarter of an hour in your society, was more needed.\"\nThe person on the sofa, who appeared to have a cold in his head, gave such a very loud snort that he startled me.\n","abridged":"\"Took, miss. Sudden,\" said the maid.\nI was worried that he might be dangerously ill, but of course I collected myself as I followed her quickly upstairs, considering the best remedies if it should prove to be a fit. She threw open a door and I went into a chamber, where, to my surprise, instead of finding Mr. Skimpole stretched upon the bed, he was standing before the fire smiling at Richard, while Richard, embarrassed, looked at a person on the sofa, in a white great-coat, wiping his head with a pocket-handkerchief.\n\"Miss Summerson,\" said Richard hurriedly, \"I am glad you are come. You will be able to advise us. Our friend Mr. Skimpole - don't be alarmed! - is arrested for debt.\"\n\"And really, my dear Miss Summerson,\" said Mr. Skimpole with his agreeable candour, \"I never was in a situation in which your excellent sense and quiet usefulness were more needed.\"\nThe person on the sofa gave such a very loud snort that he startled me.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Are you arrested for much, sir?\" I inquired of Mr. Skimpole.\n\"My dear Miss Summerson,\" said he, shaking his head pleasantly, \"I don't know. Some pounds, odd shillings, and halfpence, I think, were mentioned.\"\n\"It's twenty-four pound, sixteen, and sevenpence ha'penny,\" observed the stranger. \"That's wot it is.\"\n\"And it sounds--somehow it sounds,\" said Mr. Skimpole, \"like a small sum?\"\nThe strange man said nothing but made another snort. It was such a powerful one that it seemed quite to lift him out of his seat.\n\"Mr. Skimpole,\" said Richard to me, \"has a delicacy in applying to my cousin Jarndyce because he has lately--I think, sir, I understood you that you had lately--\"\n","abridged":"\"Are you arrested for much, sir?\" I inquired of Mr. Skimpole.\n\"My dear Miss Summerson,\" said he, shaking his head pleasantly, \"I don't know. Some pounds, odd shillings, and halfpence, I think, were mentioned.\"\n\"It's twenty-four pound, sixteen, and sevenpence ha'penny,\" observed the stranger. \"That's wot it is.\"\n\"And is that a small sum?\" said Mr. Skimpole.\nThe strange man made another snort.\n\"Mr. Skimpole,\" said Richard to me, \"is reluctant to apply to my cousin Jarndyce because he has lately-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, yes!\" returned Mr. Skimpole, smiling. \"Though I forgot how much it was and when it was. Jarndyce would readily do it again, but I have the epicure-like feeling that I would prefer a novelty in help, that I would rather,\" and he looked at Richard and me, \"develop generosity in a new soil and in a new form of flower.\"\n\"What do you think will be best, Miss Summerson?\" said Richard, aside.\nI ventured to inquire, generally, before replying, what would happen if the money were not produced.\n\"Jail,\" said the strange man, coolly putting his handkerchief into his hat, which was on the floor at his feet. \"Or Coavinses.\"\n\"May I ask, sir, what is--\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, yes!\" said Mr. Skimpole, smiling. \"Though I forgot how much it was. Jarndyce would readily do it again, but I would rather develop generosity in a new soil and in a new form of flower.\"\n\"What do you think will be best, Miss Summerson?\" said Richard.\nI inquired what would happen if the money were not produced.\n\"Jail,\" said the strange man. \"Or Coavinses.\"\n\"May I ask, sir, what is-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Coavinses?\" said the strange man. \"A 'ouse.\"\nRichard and I looked at one another again. It was a most singular thing that the arrest was our embarrassment and not Mr. Skimpole's. He observed us with a genial interest, but there seemed, if I may venture on such a contradiction, nothing selfish in it. He had entirely washed his hands of the difficulty, and it had become ours.\n\"I thought,\" he suggested, as if good-naturedly to help us out, \"that being parties in a Chancery suit concerning (as people say) a large amount of property, Mr. Richard or his beautiful cousin, or both, could sign something, or make over something, or give some sort of undertaking, or pledge, or bond? I don't know what the business name of it may be, but I suppose there is some instrument within their power that would settle this?\"\n\"Not a bit on it,\" said the strange man.\n","abridged":"\"Coavinses?\" said the strange man. \"A 'ouse. I'm Mr. Coavins's bailiff.\"\nRichard and I looked at one another again. It was a most singular thing that the arrest was our embarrassment and not Mr. Skimpole's. He observed us with a genial interest. He had entirely washed his hands of the difficulty, and it had become ours.\n\"I thought,\" he suggested good-naturedly, \"that being parties in a Chancery suit concerning (as people say) a large amount of property, Mr. Richard or his beautiful cousin, or both, could sign something, or make over something, or give some sort of undertaking?\"\n\"Not a bit on it,\" said the strange man"}
+{"original":"\"Really?\" returned Mr. Skimpole. \"That seems odd, now, to one who is no judge of these things!\"\n\"Odd or even,\" said the stranger gruffly, \"I tell you, not a bit on it!\"\n\"Keep your temper, my good fellow, keep your temper!\" Mr. Skimpole gently reasoned with him as he made a little drawing of his head on the fly-leaf of a book. \"Don't be ruffled by your occupation. We can separate you from your office; we can separate the individual from the pursuit. We are not so prejudiced as to suppose that in private life you are otherwise than a very estimable man, with a great deal of poetry in your nature, of which you may not be conscious.\"\nThe stranger only answered with another violent snort, whether in acceptance of the poetry-tribute or in disdainful rejection of it, he did not express to me.\n","abridged":" gruffly.\n\"Keep your temper, my good fellow!\" Mr. Skimpole gently reasoned with him. "}
+{"original":"\"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, and my dear Mr. Richard,\" said Mr. Skimpole gaily, innocently, and confidingly as he looked at his drawing with his head on one side, \"here you see me utterly incapable of helping myself, and entirely in your hands! I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies!\"\n\"My dear Miss Summerson,\" said Richard in a whisper, \"I have ten pounds that I received from Mr. Kenge. I must try what that will do.\"\nI possessed fifteen pounds, odd shillings, which I had saved from my quarterly allowance during several years. I had always thought that some accident might happen which would throw me suddenly, without any relation or any property, on the world and had always tried to keep some little money by me that I might not be quite penniless. I told Richard of my having this little store and having no present need of it, and I asked him delicately to inform Mr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we would have the pleasure of paying his debt.\n","abridged":"\"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, and my dear Mr. Richard, here you see me utterly incapable of helping myself, and entirely in your hands! I only ask to be free - like the butterflies!\"\n\"My dear Miss Summerson,\" said Richard in a whisper, \"I have ten pounds that I received from Mr. Kenge.\"\nI possessed fifteen pounds and some odd shillings, which I had saved from my allowance during several years. I had always tried to keep some money so that in case of some accident I might not be quite penniless. I told Richard of my little store and asked him delicately to inform Mr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we would have the pleasure of paying his debt.\n"}
+{"original":"When I came back, Mr. Skimpole kissed my hand and seemed quite touched. Not on his own account (I was again aware of that perplexing and extraordinary contradiction), but on ours, as if personal considerations were impossible with him and the contemplation of our happiness alone affected him. Richard, begging me, for the greater grace of the transaction, as he said, to settle with Coavinses (as Mr. Skimpole now jocularly called him), I counted out the money and received the necessary acknowledgment. This, too, delighted Mr. Skimpole.\nHis compliments were so delicately administered that I blushed less than I might have done and settled with the stranger in the white coat without making any mistakes. He put the money in his pocket and shortly said, \"Well, then, I'll wish you a good evening, miss.\n\"My friend,\" said Mr. Skimpole, standing with his back to the fire after giving up the sketch when it was half finished, \"I should like to ask you something, without offence.\"\nI think the reply was, \"Cut away, then!\"\n\"Did you know this morning, now, that you were coming out on this errand?\" said Mr. Skimpole.\n","abridged":"When I came back, Mr. Skimpole kissed my hand and seemed quite touched. Not on his own account, but as if the contemplation of our happiness alone affected him. I counted out the money to the stranger in the white coat (whom Mr. Skimpole now jocularly called Coavinses). He put the money in his pocket and shortly said, \"Well, I'll wish you a good evening, miss.\"\n\"My friend Coavinses,\" said Mr. Skimpole, \"Did you know this morning that you were coming out on this errand?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Know'd it yes'day aft'noon at tea-time,\" said Coavinses.\n\"It didn't affect your appetite? Didn't make you at all uneasy?\"\n\"Not a bit,\" said Coavinses. \"I know'd if you wos missed to-day, you wouldn't be missed to-morrow. A day makes no such odds.\"\n\"But when you came down here,\" proceeded Mr. Skimpole, \"it was a fine day. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the lights and shadows were passing across the fields, the birds were singing.\"\n\"Nobody said they warn't, in MY hearing,\" returned Coavinses.\n","abridged":"\"Know'd it yes'day aft'noon,\" said Coavinses.\n\"It didn't make you at all uneasy?\"\n\"Not a bit,\" said Coavinses. \"I know'd if you was missed today, you wouldn't be missed tomorrow.\"\n\"But when you came down here,\" proceeded Mr. Skimpole, \"it was a fine day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. "}
+{"original":"\"No,\" observed Mr. Skimpole. \"But what did you think upon the road?\"\n\"Wot do you mean?\" growled Coavinses with an appearance of strong resentment. \"Think! I've got enough to do, and little enough to get for it without thinking. Thinking!\" (with profound contempt).\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"\"Then you didn't think, at all events,\" proceeded Mr. Skimpole, \"to this effect: 'Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine, loves to hear the wind blow, loves to watch the changing lights and shadows, loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's great cathedral. And does it seem to me that I am about to deprive Harold Skimpole of his share in such possessions, which are his only birthright!' You thought nothing to that effect?\"\n\"I--certainly--did--NOT,\" said Coavinses, whose doggedness in utterly renouncing the idea was of that intense kind that he could only give adequate expression to it by putting a long interval between each word, and accompanying the last with a jerk that might have dislocated his neck.\n\"Very odd and very curious, the mental process is, in you men of business!\" said Mr. Skimpole thoughtfully. \"Thank you, my friend. Good night.\"\n","abridged":"Didn't you think, 'Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine, loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's great cathedral. And I am about to deprive Harold Skimpole of his share in such possessions!' You thought nothing to that effect?\"\n\"I - certainly - did - not,\" said Coavinses doggedly.\n\"Very odd, you men of business!\" said Mr. Skimpole thoughtfully. \"Thank you, my friend. Good night.\"\n"}
+{"original":"As our absence had been long enough already to seem strange downstairs, I returned at once and found Ada sitting at work by the fireside talking to her cousin John. Mr. Skimpole presently appeared, and Richard shortly after him. I was sufficiently engaged during the remainder of the evening in taking my first lesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of the game and from whom I wished of course to learn it as quickly as I could in order that I might be of the very small use of being able to play when he had no better adversary. But I thought, occasionally, when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his own compositions or when, both at the piano and the violoncello, and at our table, he preserved with an absence of all effort his delightful spirits and his easy flow of conversation, that Richard and I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having been arrested since dinner and that it was very curious altogether.\nIt was late before we separated, for when Ada was going at eleven o'clock, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano and rattled hilariously that the best of all ways to lengthen our days was to steal a few hours from night, my dear! It was past twelve before he took his candle and his radiant face out of the room, and I think he might have kept us there, if he had seen fit, until daybreak. Ada and Richard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, wondering whether Mrs. Jellyby had yet finished her dictation for the day, when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returned.\n","abridged":"I returned downstairs and found Ada sitting by the fireside talking to her cousin John. Mr. Skimpole presently appeared, and Richard shortly after. That evening I took my first lesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of the game. But I thought, occasionally, when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his own compositions or when he kept up an effortless flow of conversation, that Richard and I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having been arrested and that it was very curious altogether.\nIt was late before we separated, for when Ada was going to bed at eleven, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano and rattled hilariously that the best of all ways to lengthen our days was to steal a few hours from night, my dear! It was past twelve before he took his candle and his radiant face out of the room. Ada and Richard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returned.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this!\" he said, rubbing his head and walking about with his good-humoured vexation. \"What's this they tell me? Rick, my boy, Esther, my dear, what have you been doing? Why did you do it? How could you do it? How much apiece was it? The wind's round again. I feel it all over me!\"\nWe neither of us quite knew what to answer.\n","abridged":"\"Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this they tell me?\" he said, walking about with his good-humoured vexation. \"Rick, my boy, Esther, my dear, what have you been doing? How much was it? The wind's round again. I feel it all over me!\"\nWe neither of us quite knew what to answer.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Come, Rick, come! I must settle this before I sleep. How much are you out of pocket? You two made the money up, you know! Why did you? How could you? Oh, Lord, yes, it's due east--must be!\"\n\"Really, sir,\" said Richard, \"I don't think it would be honourable in me to tell you. Mr. Skimpole relied upon us--\"\n","abridged":"\"Come, Rick, come! I must settle this before I sleep. How much are you out of pocket? Why did you? How could you? Oh, Lord, yes, it's due east - must be!\"\n\"Really, sir,\" said Richard, \"Mr. Skimpole relied upon us-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Lord bless you, my dear boy! He relies upon everybody!\" said Mr. Jarndyce, giving his head a great rub and stopping short.\n\"Indeed, sir?\"\n\"Everybody! And he'll be in the same scrape again next week!\" said Mr. Jarndyce, walking again at a great pace, with a candle in his hand that had gone out. \"He's always in the same scrape. He was born in the same scrape. I verily believe that the announcement in the newspapers when his mother was confined was 'On Tuesday last, at her residence in Botheration Buildings, Mrs. Skimpole of a son in difficulties.'\"\n","abridged":"\"Lord bless you, my dear boy! He relies upon everybody!\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"He'll be in the same scrape again next week. He's always in the same scrape. I believe he was born in a scrape.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Richard laughed heartily but added, \"Still, sir, I don't want to shake his confidence or to break his confidence, and if I submit to your better knowledge again, that I ought to keep his secret, I hope you will consider before you press me any more. Of course, if you do press me, sir, I shall know I am wrong and will tell you.\"\n\"Well!\" cried Mr. Jarndyce, stopping again, and making several absent endeavours to put his candlestick in his pocket. \"I--here! Take it away, my dear. I don't know what I am about with it; it's all the wind--invariably has that effect--I won't press you, Rick; you may be right. But really--to get hold of you and Esther--and to squeeze you like a couple of tender young Saint Michael's oranges! It'll blow a gale in the course of the night!\"\nHe was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets as if he were going to keep them there a long time, and taking them out again and vehemently rubbing them all over his head.\n","abridged":"Richard laughed but added, \"Still, sir, I don't want to break his confidence, and I hope you will consider before you press me any more.\"\n\"Well!\" cried Mr. Jarndyce. \"I won't press you, Rick; you may be right. But really - to get hold of you and Esther - and to squeeze you like a couple of tender young oranges! It'll blow a gale tonight!\" He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets and taking them out again and rubbing them all over his head.\n"}
+{"original":"I ventured to take this opportunity of hinting that Mr. Skimpole, being in all such matters quite a child--\n\"Eh, my dear?\" said Mr. Jarndyce, catching at the word.\n\"Being quite a child, sir,\" said I, \"and so different from other people--\"\n\"You are right!\" said Mr. Jarndyce, brightening. \"Your woman's wit hits the mark. He is a child--an absolute child. I told you he was a child, you know, when I first mentioned him.\"\n","abridged":"\"Mr. Skimpole being quite a child, sir,\" said I, \"and so different from other people-\"\n\"You are right!\" said Mr. Jarndyce, brightening. \"He is a child - an absolute child. "}
+{"original":"Certainly! Certainly! we said.\n\"And he IS a child. Now, isn't he?\" asked Mr. Jarndyce, brightening more and more.\nHe was indeed, we said.\n","abridged":"Isn't he?\"\nHe was indeed, we said.\n"}
+{"original":"\"When you come to think of it, it's the height of childishness in you--I mean me--\" said Mr. Jarndyce, \"to regard him for a moment as a man. You can't make HIM responsible. The idea of Harold Skimpole with designs or plans, or knowledge of consequences! Ha, ha, ha!\"\nIt was so delicious to see the clouds about his bright face clearing, and to see him so heartily pleased, and to know, as it was impossible not to know, that the source of his pleasure was the goodness which was tortured by condemning, or mistrusting, or secretly accusing any one, that I saw the tears in Ada's eyes, while she echoed his laugh, and felt them in my own.\n","abridged":"\"When you come to think of it, it's the height of childishness to regard him as a man. You can't make him responsible. The idea of Harold Skimpole with designs or plans, or knowledge of consequences! Ha, ha, ha!\"\nIt was delicious to see the clouds about his bright face clearing. I knew that his goodness was tortured by condemning or mistrusting anyone; and I saw the tears in Ada's eyes, and felt them in my own.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, what a cod's head and shoulders I am,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, \"to require reminding of it! The whole business shows the child from beginning to end. Nobody but a child would have thought of singling YOU two out for parties in the affair! Nobody but a child would have thought of YOUR having the money! If it had been a thousand pounds, it would have been just the same!\" said Mr. Jarndyce with his whole face in a glow.\nWe all confirmed it from our night's experience.\n","abridged":"\"Why, the whole business shows the child from beginning to end. Nobody but a child would have thought of your having the money!\" said Mr. Jarndyce with his whole face in a glow. "}
+{"original":"\"To be sure, to be sure!\" said Mr. Jarndyce. \"However, Rick, Esther, and you too, Ada, for I don't know that even your little purse is safe from his inexperience--I must have a promise all round that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more. No advances! Not even sixpences.\"\nWe all promised faithfully, Richard with a merry glance at me touching his pocket as if to remind me that there was no danger of OUR transgressing.\n\"As to Skimpole,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, \"a habitable doll's house with good board and a few tin people to get into debt with and borrow money of would set the boy up in life. He is in a child's sleep by this time, I suppose; it's time I should take my craftier head to my more worldly pillow. Good night, my dears. God bless you!\"\n","abridged":"\"However, I must have a promise that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more. No advances! Not even sixpences.\"\nWe all promised faithfully, Richard giving me a merry glance and touching his pocket as if to remind me that there was no danger of our transgressing.\n\"As to Skimpole,\" said Mr. Jarndyce, \"he is in a child's sleep by this time, I suppose; it's time I went to bed too. Good night, my dears. God bless you! "}
+{"original":"He peeped in again, with a smiling face, before we had lighted our candles, and said, \"Oh! I have been looking at the weather-cock. I find it was a false alarm about the wind. It's in the south!\" And went away singing to himself.\nAda and I agreed, as we talked together for a little while upstairs, that this caprice about the wind was a fiction and that he used the pretence to account for any disappointment he could not conceal, rather than he would blame the real cause of it or disparage or depreciate any one. We thought this very characteristic of his eccentric gentleness and of the difference between him and those petulant people who make the weather and the winds (particularly that unlucky wind which he had chosen for such a different purpose) the stalking-horses of their splenetic and gloomy humours.\n","abridged":"Oh, and I find it was a false alarm about the wind. It's in the south!\" He went away singing to himself.\nAda and I agreed, as we talked together for a little while upstairs, that this caprice about the wind was a fiction to account for any disappointment he could not conceal. We thought this very characteristic of his eccentric gentleness.\n"}
+{"original":"Indeed, so much affection for him had been added in this one evening to my gratitude that I hoped I already began to understand him through that mingled feeling. Any seeming inconsistencies in Mr. Skimpole or in Mrs. Jellyby I could not expect to be able to reconcile, having so little experience or practical knowledge. Neither did I try, for my thoughts were busy when I was alone, with Ada and Richard and with the confidence I had seemed to receive concerning them. My fancy, made a little wild by the wind perhaps, would not consent to be all unselfish, either, though I would have persuaded it to be so if I could. It wandered back to my godmother's house and came along the intervening track, raising up shadowy speculations which had sometimes trembled there in the dark as to what knowledge Mr. Jarndyce had of my earliest history--even as to the possibility of his being my father, though that idle dream was quite gone now.\nIt was all gone now, I remembered, getting up from the fire. It was not for me to muse over bygones, but to act with a cheerful spirit and a grateful heart. So I said to myself, \"Esther, Esther, Esther! Duty, my dear!\" and gave my little basket of housekeeping keys such a shake that they sounded like little bells and rang me hopefully to bed.","abridged":"Indeed, so much affection for him had been added in this one evening to my gratitude that I hoped I already began to understand him. Once I was alone, my thoughts were busy not just with him, but with Ada and Richard and with the confidence I had seemed to receive about them. Then my fancy wandered back to my godmother's house, raising shadowy speculations as to what Mr. Jarndyce knew of my earliest history. In the past I had pondered the possibility of his being my father, though that idle dream was quite gone now.\nThat past was all gone now. It was not for me to muse over bygones, but to act with a cheerful spirit and a grateful heart.\nSo I said to myself, \"Esther, Esther! Duty, my dear!\" and gave my basket of housekeeping keys such a shake that, like little bells, they rang me hopefully to bed."}
+{"original":"\"Now, what,\" says Mr. George, \"may this be? Is it blank cartridge or ball? A flash in the pan or a shot?\"\nAn open letter is the subject of the trooper's speculations, and it seems to perplex him mightily. He looks at it at arm's length, brings it close to him, holds it in his right hand, holds it in his left hand, reads it with his head on this side, with his head on that side, contracts his eyebrows, elevates them, still cannot satisfy himself. He smooths it out upon the table with his heavy palm, and thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery, makes a halt before it every now and then to come upon it with a fresh eye. Even that won't do. \"Is it,\" Mr. George still muses, \"blank cartridge or ball?\"\nPhil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed in the distance whitening the targets, softly whistling in quick-march time and in drum-and-fife manner that he must and will go back again to the girl he left behind him.\n","abridged":"\"Now, what,\" says Mr. George, \"may this be? Is it blank cartridge or bullet?\"\nThe trooper is holding an open letter, which seems to perplex him mightily. He looks at it at arm's length, brings it close, reads it with his head on one side, contracts his eyebrows, and still cannot satisfy himself. He smooths it out upon the table, and thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery, halts before it every now and then.\nPhil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed in whitening the targets, softly whistling in quick-march time.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Phil!\" The trooper beckons as he calls him.\nPhil approaches in his usual way, sidling off at first as if he were going anywhere else and then bearing down upon his commander like a bayonet-charge. Certain splashes of white show in high relief upon his dirty face, and he scrapes his one eyebrow with the handle of the brush.\n\"Attention, Phil! Listen to this.\"\n\"Steady, commander, steady.\"\n","abridged":"\"Phil!\" The trooper beckons.\nPhil approaches in his usual way, sidling off at first and then bearing down upon his commander like a bayonet-charge. Splashes of white show in high relief upon his dirty face.\n\"Attention, Phil! Listen to this. "}
+{"original":"\"'Sir. Allow me to remind you (though there is no legal necessity for my doing so, as you are aware) that the bill at two months' date drawn on yourself by Mr. Matthew Bagnet, and by you accepted, for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings and ninepence, will become due to-morrow, when you will please be prepared to take up the same on presentation. Yours, Joshua Smallweed.' What do you make of that, Phil?\"\n\"Mischief, guv'ner.\"\n\"Why?\"\n\"I think,\" replies Phil after pensively tracing out a cross-wrinkle in his forehead with the brush-handle, \"that mischeevious consequences is always meant when money's asked for.\"\n\"Lookye, Phil,\" says the trooper, sitting on the table. \"First and last, I have paid, I may say, half as much again as this principal in interest and one thing and another.\"\nPhil intimates by sidling back a pace or two, with a very unaccountable wrench of his wry face, that he does not regard the transaction as being made more promising by this incident.\n","abridged":"'Sir. Allow me to remind you that the bill at two months' date drawn on yourself by Mr. Matthew Bagnet, and by you accepted, for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings and ninepence, will become due tomorrow, when you will please be prepared to take up the same on presentation. Yours, Joshua Smallweed.' What do you make of that, Phil?\"\n\"Mischief, guv'ner.\"\n\"Lookee, Phil,\" says the trooper, sitting on the table. \"I have paid half as much again as this principal in interest and one thing and another. "}
+{"original":"\"And lookye further, Phil,\" says the trooper, staying his premature conclusions with a wave of his hand. \"There has always been an understanding that this bill was to be what they call renewed. And it has been renewed no end of times. What do you say now?\"\n\"I say that I think the times is come to a end at last.\"\n\"You do? Humph! I am much of the same mind myself.\"\n\"Joshua Smallweed is him that was brought here in a chair?\"\n\"The same.\"\n","abridged":"There has always been an understanding that this bill was to be renewed. And it has been renewed no end of times.\"\n\"I think the times is come to a end at last.\"\n\"You do? Humph! I am much of the same mind myself.\"\n\"Joshua Smallweed is him that was brought here in a chair?\"\n\"The same.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Guv'ner,\" says Phil with exceeding gravity, \"he's a leech in his dispositions, he's a screw and a wice in his actions, a snake in his twistings, and a lobster in his claws.\"\nHaving thus expressively uttered his sentiments, Mr. Squod, after waiting a little to ascertain if any further remark be expected of him, gets back by his usual series of movements to the target he has in hand and vigorously signifies through his former musical medium that he must and he will return to that ideal young lady. George, having folded the letter, walks in that direction.\n\"There IS a way, commander,\" says Phil, looking cunningly at him, \"of settling this.\"\n\"Paying the money, I suppose? I wish I could.\"\nPhil shakes his head. \"No, guv'ner, no; not so bad as that. There IS a way,\" says Phil with a highly artistic turn of his brush; \"what I'm a-doing at present.\"\n\"Whitewashing.\"\n","abridged":"\"Guv'ner,\" says Phil with exceeding gravity, \"he's a leech in his actions, a snake in his twistings, and a lobster in his claws.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Phil nods.\n\"A pretty way that would be! Do you know what would become of the Bagnets in that case? Do you know they would be ruined to pay off my old scores? YOU'RE a moral character,\" says the trooper, eyeing him in his large way with no small indignation; \"upon my life you are, Phil!\"\nPhil, on one knee at the target, is in course of protesting earnestly, though not without many allegorical scoops of his brush and smoothings of the white surface round the rim with his thumb, that he had forgotten the Bagnet responsibility and would not so much as injure a hair of the head of any member of that worthy family when steps are audible in the long passage without, and a cheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at home. Phil, with a look at his master, hobbles up, saying, \"Here's the guv'ner, Mrs. Bagnet! Here he is!\" and the old girl herself, accompanied by Mr. Bagnet, appears.\n","abridged":"\"Do you know what would become of the Bagnets if I don't pay up? They would be ruined to pay off my old scores!\"\nPhil is starting to reply when steps are audible in the passage without, and a cheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at home. Phil, with a look at his master, says, \"Here's the guv'ner, Mrs. Bagnet!\" and the old girl herself, accompanied by Mr. Bagnet, appears.\n"}
+{"original":"The old girl never appears in walking trim, in any season of the year, without a grey cloth cloak, coarse and much worn but very clean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment rendered so interesting to Mr. Bagnet by having made its way home to Europe from another quarter of the globe in company with Mrs. Bagnet and an umbrella. The latter faithful appendage is also invariably a part of the old girl's presence out of doors. It is of no colour known in this life and has a corrugated wooden crook for a handle, with a metallic object let into its prow, or beak, resembling a little model of a fanlight over a street door or one of the oval glasses out of a pair of spectacles, which ornamental object has not that tenacious capacity of sticking to its post that might be desired in an article long associated with the British army. The old girl's umbrella is of a flabby habit of waist and seems to be in need of stays--an appearance that is possibly referable to its having served through a series of years at home as a cupboard and on journeys as a carpet bag. She never puts it up, having the greatest reliance on her well-proved cloak with its capacious hood, but generally uses the instrument as a wand with which to point out joints of meat or bunches of greens in marketing or to arrest the attention of tradesmen by a friendly poke. Without her market-basket, which is a sort of wicker well with two flapping lids, she never stirs abroad. Attended by these her trusty companions, therefore, her honest sunburnt face looking cheerily out of a rough straw bonnet, Mrs. Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright, in George's Shooting Gallery.\n\"Well, George, old fellow,\" says she, \"and how do YOU do, this sunshiny morning?\"\nGiving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet draws a long breath after her walk and sits down to enjoy a rest. Having a faculty, matured on the tops of baggage-waggons and in other such positions, of resting easily anywhere, she perches on a rough bench, unties her bonnet-strings, pushes back her bonnet, crosses her arms, and looks perfectly comfortable.\n","abridged":"The old girl is in her usual grey cloak, coarse and much worn but very clean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment which made its way home to Europe once in company with Mrs. Bagnet and an umbrella. The faithful umbrella is also present, though Mrs. Bagnet never puts it up, having the greatest reliance on her well-proved cloak and hood. She generally uses the umbrella as a wand to point out joints of meat or bunches of greens in the market. Without her market-basket, a sort of wicker well, she never stirs abroad. Attended by these trusty companions, therefore, Mrs. Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright, in George's Shooting Gallery.\n\"Well, George, old fellow,\" says she, \"and how do you do, this sunshiny morning?\"\nGiving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet sits down. "}
+{"original":"Mr. Bagnet in the meantime has shaken hands with his old comrade and with Phil, on whom Mrs. Bagnet likewise bestows a good-humoured nod and smile.\n\"Now, George,\" said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, \"here we are, Lignum and myself\"--she often speaks of her husband by this appellation, on account, as it is supposed, of Lignum Vitae having been his old regimental nickname when they first became acquainted, in compliment to the extreme hardness and toughness of his physiognomy--\"just looked in, we have, to make it all correct as usual about that security. Give him the new bill to sign, George, and he'll sign it like a man.\"\n\"I was coming to you this morning,\" observes the trooper reluctantly.\n\"Yes, we thought you'd come to us this morning, but we turned out early and left Woolwich, the best of boys, to mind his sisters and came to you instead--as you see! For Lignum, he's tied so close now, and gets so little exercise, that a walk does him good. But what's the matter, George?\" asks Mrs. Bagnet, stopping in her cheerful talk. \"You don't look yourself.\"\n\"I am not quite myself,\" returns the trooper; \"I have been a little put out, Mrs. Bagnet.\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Bagnet likewise shakes hands with his old comrade and with Phil,\n\"Now, George,\" said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, \"here we are, Lignum and myself\" - she often speaks of her husband by this old regimental nickname, Lignum Vitae, after that toughest of timbers - \"We've just looked in to make it all correct as usual about that security. Give him the new bill to sign, George.\"\n\"I was coming to you this morning,\" observes the trooper reluctantly.\n\"What's the matter, George?\" asks Mrs. Bagnet. \"You don't look yourself.\"\n\"I am not quite myself,\" returns the trooper; \"I have been a little put out, Mrs. Bagnet.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly. \"George!\" holding up her forefinger. \"Don't tell me there's anything wrong about that security of Lignum's! Don't do it, George, on account of the children!\"\nThe trooper looks at her with a troubled visage.\n\"George,\" says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis and occasionally bringing down her open hands upon her knees. \"If you have allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignum's, and if you have let him in for it, and if you have put us in danger of being sold up--and I see sold up in your face, George, as plain as print--you have done a shameful action and have deceived us cruelly. I tell you, cruelly, George. There!\"\n","abridged":"Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly. \"George! Don't tell me there's anything wrong about that security of Lignum's! Don't do it, George, on account of the children!\"\nThe trooper looks at her with a troubled face.\n\"George,\" says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis. \"If you have allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignum's, and if you have put us in danger of being sold up - and I see sold up in your face, George, as plain as print - you have done a shameful action and have deceived us cruelly. Cruelly, George!\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Bagnet, otherwise as immovable as a pump or a lamp-post, puts his large right hand on the top of his bald head as if to defend it from a shower-bath and looks with great uneasiness at Mrs. Bagnet.\n\"George,\" says that old girl, \"I wonder at you! George, I am ashamed of you! George, I couldn't have believed you would have done it! I always knew you to be a rolling stone that gathered no moss, but I never thought you would have taken away what little moss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon. You know what a hard-working, steady-going chap he is. You know what Quebec and Malta and Woolwich are, and I never did think you would, or could, have had the heart to serve us so. Oh, George!\" Mrs. Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes on in a very genuine manner, \"How could you do it?\"\nMrs. Bagnet ceasing, Mr. Bagnet removes his hand from his head as if the shower-bath were over and looks disconsolately at Mr. George, who has turned quite white and looks distressfully at the grey cloak and straw bonnet.\n","abridged":"Mr. Bagnet puts his large hand on top of his bald head as if to defend it from a shower and looks uneasily at Mrs. Bagnet.\n\"George,\" says that old girl, \"I wonder at you! George, I am ashamed of you! I always knew you to be a rolling stone that gathered no moss, but I never thought you would have taken away what little moss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon. Oh, George!\" Mrs. Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes. \"How could you do it?\"\nMr. George has turned quite white.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mat,\" says the trooper in a subdued voice, addressing him but still looking at his wife, \"I am sorry you take it so much to heart, because I do hope it's not so bad as that comes to. I certainly have, this morning, received this letter\"--which he reads aloud--\"but I hope it may be set right yet. As to a rolling stone, why, what you say is true. I AM a rolling stone, and I never rolled in anybody's way, I fully believe, that I rolled the least good to. But it's impossible for an old vagabond comrade to like your wife and family better than I like 'em, Mat, and I trust you'll look upon me as forgivingly as you can. Don't think I've kept anything from you. I haven't had the letter more than a quarter of an hour.\"\n\"Old girl,\" murmurs Mr. Bagnet after a short silence, \"will you tell him my opinion?\"\n","abridged":"\"Mat,\" he says in a subdued voice, addressing Mr. Bagnet but still looking at his wife, \"I do hope it's not so bad as that. I certainly have, this morning, received this letter\" - which he reads aloud - \"but I hope it may be set right yet. What you say is true. I am a rolling stone, and I never rolled the least good to anybody. But I trust you'll look upon me as forgivingly as you can. Don't think I've kept anything from you. I haven't had the letter more than a quarter of an hour.\"\n\"Old girl,\" murmurs Mr. Bagnet after a short silence, \"will you tell him my opinion?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! Why didn't he marry,\" Mrs. Bagnet answers, half laughing and half crying, \"Joe Pouch's widder in North America? Then he wouldn't have got himself into these troubles.\"\n\"The old girl,\" says Mr. Bagnet, \"puts it correct--why didn't you?\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh! Why didn't he marry,\" Mrs. Bagnet answers, half laughing and half crying, \"Joe Pouch's widder in North America? Then he wouldn't have got himself into these troubles.\"\n\"The old girl,\" says Mr. Bagnet, \"puts it correct - why didn't you?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well, she has a better husband by this time, I hope,\" returns the trooper. \"Anyhow, here I stand, this present day, NOT married to Joe Pouch's widder. What shall I do? You see all I have got about me. It's not mine; it's yours. Give the word, and I'll sell off every morsel. If I could have hoped it would have brought in nearly the sum wanted, I'd have sold all long ago. Don't believe that I'll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat. I'd sell myself first. I only wish,\" says the trooper, giving himself a disparaging blow in the chest, \"that I knew of any one who'd buy such a second-hand piece of old stores.\"\n","abridged":"\"Well, she has a better husband by this time, I hope,\" returns the trooper. \"Anyhow, here I stand. You see all I have got about me. It's not mine; it's yours. Give the word, and I'll sell off every morsel. If I thought it would have brought in enough, I'd have sold it all long ago. Don't believe that I'll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat. I'd sell myself first.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Old girl,\" murmurs Mr. Bagnet, \"give him another bit of my mind.\"\n\"George,\" says the old girl, \"you are not so much to be blamed, on full consideration, except for ever taking this business without the means.\"\n\"And that was like me!\" observes the penitent trooper, shaking his head. \"Like me, I know.\"\n\"Silence! The old girl,\" says Mr. Bagnet, \"is correct--in her way of giving my opinions--hear me out!\"\n","abridged":"\"Old girl,\" murmurs Mr. Bagnet, \"give him another bit of my mind.\"\n\"George,\" says the old girl, \"you are not so much to be blamed, on full consideration, except for ever taking on this business without the means. "}
+{"original":"\"That was when you never ought to have asked for the security, George, and when you never ought to have got it, all things considered. But what's done can't be undone. You are always an honourable and straightforward fellow, as far as lays in your power, though a little flighty. On the other hand, you can't admit but what it's natural in us to be anxious with such a thing hanging over our heads. So forget and forgive all round, George. Come! Forget and forgive all round!\"\nMrs. Bagnet, giving him one of her honest hands and giving her husband the other, Mr. George gives each of them one of his and holds them while he speaks.\n","abridged":"You never ought to have asked for the security, George. But what's done can't be undone. You are an honourable and straightforward fellow, though a little flighty. On the other hand, it's natural in us to be anxious with such a thing hanging over our heads. So forget and forgive all round, George. Come! Forget and forgive all round!\"\nMrs. Bagnet gives him one of her honest hands and gives her husband the other.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to discharge this obligation. But whatever I have been able to scrape together has gone every two months in keeping it up. We have lived plainly enough here, Phil and I. But the gallery don't quite do what was expected of it, and it's not--in short, it's not the mint. It was wrong in me to take it? Well, so it was. But I was in a manner drawn into that step, and I thought it might steady me, and set me up, and you'll try to overlook my having such expectations, and upon my soul, I am very much obliged to you, and very much ashamed of myself.\" With these concluding words, Mr. George gives a shake to each of the hands he holds, and relinquishing them, backs a pace or two in a broad-chested, upright attitude, as if he had made a final confession and were immediately going to be shot with all military honours.\n","abridged":"\"I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to discharge this obligation,\" says George. \"We have lived plainly enough here, Phil and I. But the gallery don't quite do what was expected of it - in short, it's not the mint. I thought it might steady me, and set me up, and upon my soul, I am very much obliged to you, and very much ashamed of myself.\" Mr. George shakes both their hands, and then backs up a pace or two in a broad-chested attitude, as if he had made a final confession and were immediately going to be shot.\n"}
+{"original":"\"George, hear me out!\" says Mr. Bagnet, glancing at his wife. \"Old girl, go on!\"\nMr. Bagnet, being in this singular manner heard out, has merely to observe that the letter must be attended to without any delay, that it is advisable that George and he should immediately wait on Mr. Smallweed in person, and that the primary object is to save and hold harmless Mr. Bagnet, who had none of the money. Mr. George, entirely assenting, puts on his hat and prepares to march with Mr. Bagnet to the enemy's camp.\n\"Don't you mind a woman's hasty word, George,\" says Mrs. Bagnet, patting him on the shoulder. \"I trust my old Lignum to you, and I am sure you'll bring him through it.\"\nThe trooper returns that this is kindly said and that he WILL bring Lignum through it somehow. Upon which Mrs. Bagnet, with her cloak, basket, and umbrella, goes home, bright-eyed again, to the rest of her family, and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful errand of mollifying Mr. Smallweed.\n","abridged":"\"George, hear me out!\" says Mr. Bagnet, glancing at his wife. \"Old girl, go on!\"\nMrs. Bagnet observes that the letter must be attended to without any delay; that George and Mr. Bagnet should immediately visit Mr. Smallweed. Mr. George, assenting, puts on his hat and prepares to march with Mr. Bagnet to the enemy's camp.\n\"Don't you mind a woman's hasty word, George,\" says Mrs. Bagnet, patting him on the shoulder. \"I trust my old Lignum to you, and I am sure you'll bring him through it.\"\nThe trooper responds that he will. Mrs. Bagnet goes home to her family, and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful errand of mollifying Mr. Smallweed.\n"}
+{"original":"Whether there are two people in England less likely to come satisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr. Smallweed than Mr. George and Mr. Matthew Bagnet may be very reasonably questioned. Also, notwithstanding their martial appearance, broad square shoulders, and heavy tread, whether there are within the same limits two more simple and unaccustomed children in all the Smallweedy affairs of life. As they proceed with great gravity through the streets towards the region of Mount Pleasant, Mr. Bagnet, observing his companion to be thoughtful, considers it a friendly part to refer to Mrs. Bagnet's late sally.\n\"George, you know the old girl--she's as sweet and as mild as milk. But touch her on the children--or myself--and she's off like gunpowder.\"\n\"It does her credit, Mat!\"\n\"George,\" says Mr. Bagnet, looking straight before him, \"the old girl--can't do anything--that don't do her credit. More or less. I never say so. Discipline must be maintained.\"\n","abridged":"Whether there are two people in England less likely to come satisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr. Smallweed than this pair may be questioned. Despite their martial appearance and heavy tread, there are not two simpler children in all the Smallweedy affairs of life. As they proceed with great gravity through the streets, Mr. Bagnet speaks.\n\"George, you know the old girl - she's as mild as milk. But touch her on the children or myself - and she's off like gunpowder.\"\n\"It does her credit, Mat!\"\n\"George,\" says Mr. Bagnet, \"the old girl - can't do anything - that don't do her credit. Not that I ever say so. Discipline must be maintained.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"She's worth her weight in gold,\" says the trooper.\n\"In gold?\" says Mr. Bagnet. \"I'll tell you what. The old girl's weight--is twelve stone six. Would I take that weight--in any metal--for the old girl? No. Why not? Because the old girl's metal is far more precious--than the preciousest metal. And she's ALL metal!\"\n","abridged":"\"She's worth her weight in gold,\" says the trooper.\n\"Far more precious - than that!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You are right, Mat!\"\n\"When she took me--and accepted of the ring--she 'listed under me and the children--heart and head, for life. She's that earnest,\" says Mr. Bagnet, \"and true to her colours--that, touch us with a finger--and she turns out--and stands to her arms. If the old girl fires wide--once in a way--at the call of duty--look over it, George. For she's loyal!\"\n\"Why, bless her, Mat,\" returns the trooper, \"I think the higher of her for it!\"\n","abridged":"\"You are right, Mat!\"\n\"She's true to her colours - and stands to her arms. If the old girl fires wide - once in a way - at the call of duty - overlook it, George. For she's loyal!\"\n\"Why, bless her, Mat,\" returns the trooper, \"I think the higher of her for it!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You are right!\" says Mr. Bagnet with the warmest enthusiasm, though without relaxing the rigidity of a single muscle. \"Think as high of the old girl--as the rock of Gibraltar--and still you'll be thinking low--of such merits. But I never own to it before her. Discipline must be maintained.\"\nThese encomiums bring them to Mount Pleasant and to Grandfather Smallweed's house. The door is opened by the perennial Judy, who, having surveyed them from top to toe with no particular favour, but indeed with a malignant sneer, leaves them standing there while she consults the oracle as to their admission. The oracle may be inferred to give consent from the circumstance of her returning with the words on her honey lips that they can come in if they want to it. Thus privileged, they come in and find Mr. Smallweed with his feet in the drawer of his chair as if it were a paper foot-bath and Mrs. Smallweed obscured with the cushion like a bird that is not to sing.\n","abridged":"They arrive at Grandfather Smallweed's house. The door is opened by Judy, who surveys them with a malignant sneer. Once she lets them in, they find Mr. Smallweed in his chair and Mrs. Smallweed obscured with the cushion like a bird that is not to sing.\n"}
+{"original":"\"My dear friend,\" says Grandfather Smallweed with those two lean affectionate arms of his stretched forth. \"How de do? How de do? Who is our friend, my dear friend?\"\n\"Why this,\" returns George, not able to be very conciliatory at first, \"is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter of ours, you know.\"\n\"Oh! Mr. Bagnet? Surely!\" The old man looks at him under his hand.\n","abridged":"\"My dear friend,\" says Grandfather Smallweed with his lean affectionate arms stretched forth. \"How de do? Who is our friend, my dear friend?\"\n\"Why this,\" returns George, \"is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter of ours, you know.\"\n\"Oh! Mr. Bagnet? "}
+{"original":"\"Hope you're well, Mr. Bagnet? Fine man, Mr. George! Military air, sir!\"\nNo chairs being offered, Mr. George brings one forward for Bagnet and one for himself. They sit down, Mr. Bagnet as if he had no power of bending himself, except at the hips, for that purpose.\n\"Judy,\" says Mr. Smallweed, \"bring the pipe.\"\n\"Why, I don't know,\" Mr. George interposes, \"that the young woman need give herself that trouble, for to tell you the truth, I am not inclined to smoke it to-day.\"\n\"Ain't you?\" returns the old man. \"Judy, bring the pipe.\"\n","abridged":"Hope you're well, Mr. Bagnet!\"\nNo chairs being offered, Mr. George brings one forward for Bagnet and one for himself.\n\"Judy,\" says Mr. Smallweed, \"bring the pipe.\"\n\"Why,\" Mr. George interposes, \"I am not inclined to smoke it today. "}
+{"original":"\"The fact is, Mr. Smallweed,\" proceeds George, \"that I find myself in rather an unpleasant state of mind. It appears to me, sir, that your friend in the city has been playing tricks.\"\n\"Oh, dear no!\" says Grandfather Smallweed. \"He never does that!\"\n\"Don't he? Well, I am glad to hear it, because I thought it might be HIS doing. This, you know, I am speaking of. This letter.\"\nGrandfather Smallweed smiles in a very ugly way in recognition of the letter.\n","abridged":"The fact is, Mr. Smallweed, that I find myself in rather an unpleasant state of mind. It appears to me, sir, that your friend in the city has been playing tricks.\"\n\"Oh, dear no!\" says Grandfather Smallweed. \"He never does that!\"\n\"I am glad to hear it, because I thought this letter might be his doing.\"\nGrandfather Smallweed smiles in a very ugly way in recognition of the letter.\n"}
+{"original":"\"What does it mean?\" asks Mr. George.\n\"Judy,\" says the old man. \"Have you got the pipe? Give it to me. Did you say what does it mean, my good friend?\"\n\"Aye! Now, come, come, you know, Mr. Smallweed,\" urges the trooper, constraining himself to speak as smoothly and confidentially as he can, holding the open letter in one hand and resting the broad knuckles of the other on his thigh, \"a good lot of money has passed between us, and we are face to face at the present moment, and are both well aware of the understanding there has always been. I am prepared to do the usual thing which I have done regularly and to keep this matter going. I never got a letter like this from you before, and I have been a little put about by it this morning, because here's my friend Matthew Bagnet, who, you know, had none of the money--\"\n","abridged":"\"What does it mean?\" asks Mr. George. \"You know, Mr. Smallweed,\" speaking as smoothly and confidentially as he can, \"a good deal of money has passed between us, and we are both well aware of the understanding there has always been. I am prepared to do the usual thing to keep this matter going. I never got a letter like this from you before, and I have been a little put out by it this morning, because here's my friend Matthew Bagnet, who, you know, had none of the money-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I DON'T know it, you know,\" says the old man quietly.\n\"Why, con-found you--it, I mean--I tell you so, don't I?\"\n\"Oh, yes, you tell me so,\" returns Grandfather Smallweed. \"But I don't know it.\"\n\"Well!\" says the trooper, swallowing his fire. \"I know it.\"\n","abridged":"\"I don't know it,\" says the old man.\n\"Well!\" says the trooper. \"I know it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Smallweed replies with excellent temper, \"Ah! That's quite another thing!\" And adds, \"But it don't matter. Mr. Bagnet's situation is all one, whether or no.\"\nThe unfortunate George makes a great effort to arrange the affair comfortably and to propitiate Mr. Smallweed by taking him upon his own terms.\n\"That's just what I mean. As you say, Mr. Smallweed, here's Matthew Bagnet liable to be fixed whether or no. Now, you see, that makes his good lady very uneasy in her mind, and me too, for whereas I'm a harum-scarum sort of a good-for-nought that more kicks than halfpence come natural to, why he's a steady family man, don't you see? Now, Mr. Smallweed,\" says the trooper, gaining confidence as he proceeds in his soldierly mode of doing business, \"although you and I are good friends enough in a certain sort of a way, I am well aware that I can't ask you to let my friend Bagnet off entirely.\"\n","abridged":"\"Ah! Mr. Bagnet's situation is all one, whether or no.\"\nThe unfortunate George makes a great effort to propitiate Mr. Smallweed.\n\"As you say, Mr. Smallweed, here's Matthew Bagnet liable to be fixed whether or no. Now, you see, that makes his good lady very uneasy, and me too, for he's a steady family man, don't you see? Now, Mr. Smallweed,\" says the trooper, gaining confidence, \"although you and I are good friends enough in a certain way, I am well aware that I can't ask you to let my friend Bagnet off entirely.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, dear, you are too modest. You can ASK me anything, Mr. George.\" (There is an ogreish kind of jocularity in Grandfather Smallweed to-day.)\n\"And you can refuse, you mean, eh? Or not you so much, perhaps, as your friend in the city? Ha ha ha!\"\n\"Ha ha ha!\" echoes Grandfather Smallweed. In such a very hard manner and with eyes so particularly green that Mr. Bagnet's natural gravity is much deepened by the contemplation of that venerable man.\n","abridged":"\"You can ask me anything, Mr. George.\" (There is an ogreish kind of jocularity in Grandfather Smallweed today.)\n\"And you can refuse, you mean, eh? Or perhaps your friend in the city? Ha ha ha!\"\n\"Ha ha ha!\" echoes Grandfather Smallweed, in such a very hard manner that Mr. Bagnet's natural gravity is much deepened.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Come!\" says the sanguine George. \"I am glad to find we can be pleasant, because I want to arrange this pleasantly. Here's my friend Bagnet, and here am I. We'll settle the matter on the spot, if you please, Mr. Smallweed, in the usual way. And you'll ease my friend Bagnet's mind, and his family's mind, a good deal if you'll just mention to him what our understanding is.\"\nHere some shrill spectre cries out in a mocking manner, \"Oh, good gracious! Oh!\" Unless, indeed, it be the sportive Judy, who is found to be silent when the startled visitors look round, but whose chin has received a recent toss, expressive of derision and contempt. Mr. Bagnet's gravity becomes yet more profound.\n","abridged":"\"Come!\" says the sanguine George. \"I want to arrange this pleasantly. We'll settle the matter on the spot, if you please, Mr. Smallweed, in the usual way. And you'll ease my friend Bagnet's mind if you'll just mention to him what our understanding is.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But I think you asked me, Mr. George\"--old Smallweed, who all this time has had the pipe in his hand, is the speaker now--\"I think you asked me, what did the letter mean?\"\n\"Why, yes, I did,\" returns the trooper in his off-hand way, \"but I don't care to know particularly, if it's all correct and pleasant.\"\nMr. Smallweed, purposely balking himself in an aim at the trooper's head, throws the pipe on the ground and breaks it to pieces.\n\"That's what it means, my dear friend. I'll smash you. I'll crumble you. I'll powder you. Go to the devil!\"\nThe two friends rise and look at one another. Mr. Bagnet's gravity has now attained its profoundest point.\n","abridged":"\"But I think you asked me, Mr. George, what did the letter mean?\"\n\"Why, yes, I did.\"\nMr. Smallweed throws the pipe on the ground and breaks it to pieces.\n\"That's what it means, my dear friend. I'll smash you. I'll crumble you. I'll powder you. Go to the devil!\"\nThe two friends rise and look at one another.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Go to the devil!\" repeats the old man. \"I'll have no more of your pipe-smokings and swaggerings. What? You're an independent dragoon, too! Go to my lawyer (you remember where; you have been there before) and show your independence now, will you? Come, my dear friend, there's a chance for you. Open the street door, Judy; put these blusterers out! Call in help if they don't go. Put 'em out!\"\n","abridged":"\"Go to the devil!\" repeats the old man. \"I'll have no more of your pipe-smokings and swaggerings. You can go to my lawyer. Judy; put these blusterers out! Call in help if they don't go. Put 'em out!\"\n"}
+{"original":"He vociferates this so loudly that Mr. Bagnet, laying his hands on the shoulders of his comrade before the latter can recover from his amazement, gets him on the outside of the street door, which is instantly slammed by the triumphant Judy. Utterly confounded, Mr. George awhile stands looking at the knocker. Mr. Bagnet, in a perfect abyss of gravity, walks up and down before the little parlour window like a sentry and looks in every time he passes, apparently revolving something in his mind.\n\"Come, Mat,\" says Mr. George when he has recovered himself, \"we must try the lawyer. Now, what do you think of this rascal?\"\nMr. Bagnet, stopping to take a farewell look into the parlour, replies with one shake of his head directed at the interior, \"If my old girl had been here--I'd have told him!\" Having so discharged himself of the subject of his cogitations, he falls into step and marches off with the trooper, shoulder to shoulder.\nWhen they present themselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Mr. Tulkinghorn is engaged and not to be seen. He is not at all willing to see them, for when they have waited a full hour, and the clerk, on his bell being rung, takes the opportunity of mentioning as much, he brings forth no more encouraging message than that Mr. Tulkinghorn has nothing to say to them and they had better not wait. They do wait, however, with the perseverance of military tactics, and at last the bell rings again and the client in possession comes out of Mr. Tulkinghorn's room.\n","abridged":"He shouts this so loudly that Mr. Bagnet, laying his hands on his comrade's shoulders, gets him outside the street door, which is instantly slammed by the triumphant Judy. Utterly confounded, Mr. George stands looking at the knocker. Mr. Bagnet, in a perfect abyss of gravity, walks up and down like a sentry, apparently revolving something in his mind.\n\"Come, Mat,\" says Mr. George, \"we must try the lawyer. Now, what do you think of this rascal?\"\nMr. Bagnet replies with one shake of his head, \"If my old girl had been here - I'd have told him!\" Then he falls into step and marches off with the trooper, shoulder to shoulder.\nWhen they present themselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Mr. Tulkinghorn is engaged. He is not at all willing to see them, for when they have waited a full hour, the clerk tells them that Mr. Tulkinghorn has nothing to say to them and they had better not wait. They do wait, however, with military perseverance, and at last the bell rings again and the client comes out of Mr. Tulkinghorn's room.\n"}
+{"original":"The client is a handsome old lady, no other than Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold. She comes out of the sanctuary with a fair old-fashioned curtsy and softly shuts the door. She is treated with some distinction there, for the clerk steps out of his pew to show her through the outer office and to let her out. The old lady is thanking him for his attention when she observes the comrades in waiting.\n\"I beg your pardon, sir, but I think those gentlemen are military?\"\nThe clerk referring the question to them with his eye, and Mr. George not turning round from the almanac over the fire-place. Mr. Bagnet takes upon himself to reply, \"Yes, ma'am. Formerly.\"\n","abridged":"The client is a handsome old lady, no other than Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold. She comes out of the sanctuary with an old-fashioned curtsy and softly shuts the door. The clerk steps out of his pew to show her through the outer office. The old lady is thanking him for his attention when she observes the comrades in waiting.\n\"I beg your pardon, sir, but I think those gentlemen are military?\"\nMr. George not turning round, Mr. Bagnet takes upon himself to reply, \"Yes, ma'am. Formerly.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I thought so. I was sure of it. My heart warms, gentlemen, at the sight of you. It always does at the sight of such. God bless you, gentlemen! You'll excuse an old woman, but I had a son once who went for a soldier. A fine handsome youth he was, and good in his bold way, though some people did disparage him to his poor mother. I ask your pardon for troubling you, sir. God bless you, gentlemen!\"\n","abridged":"\"I thought so. My heart warms, gentlemen, at the sight of you. It always does at the sight of such. God bless you, gentlemen! You'll excuse an old woman, but I had a son once who went for a soldier. A fine handsome youth he was, and good in his bold way. I ask your pardon for troubling you, sir. God bless you, gentlemen!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Same to you, ma'am!\" returns Mr. Bagnet with right good will.\nThere is something very touching in the earnestness of the old lady's voice and in the tremble that goes through her quaint old figure. But Mr. George is so occupied with the almanac over the fire-place (calculating the coming months by it perhaps) that he does not look round until she has gone away and the door is closed upon her.\n\"George,\" Mr. Bagnet gruffly whispers when he does turn from the almanac at last. \"Don't be cast down! 'Why, soldiers, why--should we be melancholy, boys?' Cheer up, my hearty!\"\nThe clerk having now again gone in to say that they are still there and Mr. Tulkinghorn being heard to return with some irascibility, \"Let 'em come in then!\" they pass into the great room with the painted ceiling and find him standing before the fire.\n","abridged":"\"Same to you, ma'am!\" returns Mr. Bagnet with good will.\nThere is something very touching in the earnestness of the old lady's voice. But Mr. George is so preoccupied that he does not look round until she has gone away and the door is closed.\n\"George,\" Mr. Bagnet gruffly whispers. \"Don't be cast down! Cheer up, my hearty!\"\nThe clerk having now again gone in, Mr. Tulkinghorn is heard to say with some irascibility, \"Let 'em come in then!\" They pass into the great room and find him standing before the fire.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, you men, what do you want? Sergeant, I told you the last time I saw you that I don't desire your company here.\"\nSergeant replies--dashed within the last few minutes as to his usual manner of speech, and even as to his usual carriage--that he has received this letter, has been to Mr. Smallweed about it, and has been referred there.\n\"I have nothing to say to you,\" rejoins Mr. Tulkinghorn. \"If you get into debt, you must pay your debts or take the consequences. You have no occasion to come here to learn that, I suppose?\"\nSergeant is sorry to say that he is not prepared with the money.\n\"Very well! Then the other man--this man, if this is he--must pay it for you.\"\nSergeant is sorry to add that the other man is not prepared with the money either.\n","abridged":"\"Now, what do you want? Sergeant, I told you the last time I saw you that I don't desire your company here.\"\nSergeant explains about the letter.\n\"I have nothing to say to you,\" rejoins Mr. Tulkinghorn. \"If you get into debt, you must pay your debts or take the consequences.\"\nSergeant is sorry to say that he is not prepared with the money.\n\"Very well! Then the other man must pay it for you.\"\nSergeant is sorry to add that the other man is not prepared with the money either.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Very well! Then you must pay it between you or you must both be sued for it and both suffer. You have had the money and must refund it. You are not to pocket other people's pounds, shillings, and pence and escape scot-free.\"\nThe lawyer sits down in his easy-chair and stirs the fire. Mr. George hopes he will have the goodness to--\"I tell you, sergeant, I have nothing to say to you. I don't like your associates and don't want you here. This matter is not at all in my course of practice and is not in my office. Mr. Smallweed is good enough to offer these affairs to me, but they are not in my way. You must go to Melchisedech's in Clifford's Inn.\"\n","abridged":"\"Very well! Then you must pay it between you or both be sued for it.\"\nThe lawyer sits down and stirs the fire. Mr. George hopes he will have the goodness to-\n\"I tell you, sergeant, I have nothing to say to you, and I don't want you here. This matter is not at all in my course of practice. You must go to Melchisedech's in Clifford's Inn.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I must make an apology to you, sir,\" says Mr. George, \"for pressing myself upon you with so little encouragement--which is almost as unpleasant to me as it can be to you--but would you let me say a private word to you?\"\nMr. Tulkinghorn rises with his hands in his pockets and walks into one of the window recesses. \"Now! I have no time to waste.\" In the midst of his perfect assumption of indifference, he directs a sharp look at the trooper, taking care to stand with his own back to the light and to have the other with his face towards it.\n\"Well, sir,\" says Mr. George, \"this man with me is the other party implicated in this unfortunate affair--nominally, only nominally--and my sole object is to prevent his getting into trouble on my account. He is a most respectable man with a wife and family, formerly in the Royal Artillery--\"\n\"My friend, I don't care a pinch of snuff for the whole Royal Artillery establishment--officers, men, tumbrils, waggons, horses, guns, and ammunition.\"\n","abridged":"\"I apologise, sir,\" says Mr. George, \"for pressing myself upon you - but would you let me say a private word to you?\"\nMr. Tulkinghorn rises with his hands in his pockets and walks into a window recess. \"Now! I have no time to waste.\"\n\"Well, sir,\" says Mr. George, \"this man with me is the other party, and my sole object is to prevent his getting into trouble on my account. He is a most respectable man with a wife and family, formerly in the Royal Artillery-\"\n\"My friend, I don't care a pinch of snuff for the Royal Artillery.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"'Tis likely, sir. But I care a good deal for Bagnet and his wife and family being injured on my account. And if I could bring them through this matter, I should have no help for it but to give up without any other consideration what you wanted of me the other day.\"\n\"Have you got it here?\"\n\"I have got it here, sir.\"\n","abridged":"\"But I care a good deal for Bagnet and his family, sir. If I could bring them through this matter, I should give up what you wanted the other day.\"\n\"Have you got it here?\"\n\"I have got it here, sir.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sergeant,\" the lawyer proceeds in his dry passionless manner, far more hopeless in the dealing with than any amount of vehemence, \"make up your mind while I speak to you, for this is final. After I have finished speaking I have closed the subject, and I won't re-open it. Understand that. You can leave here, for a few days, what you say you have brought here if you choose; you can take it away at once if you choose. In case you choose to leave it here, I can do this for you--I can replace this matter on its old footing, and I can go so far besides as to give you a written undertaking that this man Bagnet shall never be troubled in any way until you have been proceeded against to the utmost, that your means shall be exhausted before the creditor looks to his. This is in fact all but freeing him. Have you decided?\"\nThe trooper puts his hand into his breast and answers with a long breath, \"I must do it, sir.\"\n","abridged":"\"Sergeant,\" the lawyer proceeds in his dry passionless manner, \"make up your mind while I speak to you, for this is final. After I have finished speaking I have closed the subject. Understand that. You can, for a few days, leave here what you say you have brought. If you do choose to leave it here, I can replace this matter on its old footing, and I can besides give you a written undertaking that this man Bagnet shall never be troubled until you have been proceeded against to the utmost, and your own means have been exhausted. Have you decided?\"\nThe trooper answers with a long breath, \"I must do it, sir.\"\n"}
+{"original":"So Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting on his spectacles, sits down and writes the undertaking, which he slowly reads and explains to Bagnet, who has all this time been staring at the ceiling and who puts his hand on his bald head again, under this new verbal shower-bath, and seems exceedingly in need of the old girl through whom to express his sentiments. The trooper then takes from his breast-pocket a folded paper, which he lays with an unwilling hand at the lawyer's elbow. \"'Tis only a letter of instructions, sir. The last I ever had from him.\"\nLook at a millstone, Mr. George, for some change in its expression, and you will find it quite as soon as in the face of Mr. Tulkinghorn when he opens and reads the letter! He refolds it and lays it in his desk with a countenance as unperturbable as death.\nNor has he anything more to say or do but to nod once in the same frigid and discourteous manner and to say briefly, \"You can go. Show these men out, there!\" Being shown out, they repair to Mr. Bagnet's residence to dine.\n","abridged":"So Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting on his spectacles, sits down and writes the undertaking, which he reads and explains to Bagnet, who has all this time been staring at the ceiling. The trooper then takes from his breast-pocket a folded paper, which he lays unwillingly at the lawyer's elbow. \"'Tis only a letter of instructions, sir. The last I ever had from him.\"\nMr. Tulkinghorn opens and reads the letter; refolds it and lays it in his desk with a face as unperturbable as death.\nHe nods once in the same frigid and discourteous manner. \"You can go. Show these men out!\" Being shown out, they return to Mr. Bagnet's house to dine.\n"}
+{"original":"Boiled beef and greens constitute the day's variety on the former repast of boiled pork and greens, and Mrs. Bagnet serves out the meal in the same way and seasons it with the best of temper, being that rare sort of old girl that she receives Good to her arms without a hint that it might be Better and catches light from any little spot of darkness near her. The spot on this occasion is the darkened brow of Mr. George; he is unusually thoughtful and depressed. At first Mrs. Bagnet trusts to the combined endearments of Quebec and Malta to restore him, but finding those young ladies sensible that their existing Bluffy is not the Bluffy of their usual frolicsome acquaintance, she winks off the light infantry and leaves him to deploy at leisure on the open ground of the domestic hearth.\nBut he does not. He remains in close order, clouded and depressed. During the lengthy cleaning up and pattening process, when he and Mr. Bagnet are supplied with their pipes, he is no better than he was at dinner. He forgets to smoke, looks at the fire and ponders, lets his pipe out, fills the breast of Mr. Bagnet with perturbation and dismay by showing that he has no enjoyment of tobacco.\nTherefore when Mrs. Bagnet at last appears, rosy from the invigorating pail, and sits down to her work, Mr. Bagnet growls, \"Old girl!\" and winks monitions to her to find out what's the matter.\n","abridged":"As Mrs. Bagnet serves out the boiled beef and greens, she seasons it with the best of temper. But Mr. George is unusually thoughtful and depressed. At first Mrs. Bagnet trusts to the endearments of Quebec and Malta to restore him, but finding that he is not the Bluffy of their usual frolicsome acquaintance, she withdraws them and leaves him to the domestic hearth.\nHe remains clouded and depressed. During the lengthy cleaning up process, when he and Mr. Bagnet are supplied with their pipes, he forgets to smoke, filling Mr. Bagnet with dismay.\nTherefore when Mrs. Bagnet at last appears and sits down to her sewing, Mr. Bagnet growls, \"Old girl!\" and winks at her to find out what's the matter.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, George!\" says Mrs. Bagnet, quietly threading her needle. \"How low you are!\"\n\"Am I? Not good company? Well, I am afraid I am not.\"\n\"He ain't at all like Bluffy, mother!\" cries little Malta.\n\"Because he ain't well, I think, mother,\" adds Quebec.\n","abridged":"\"Why, George!\" says Mrs. Bagnet, quietly threading her needle. \"How low you are!\"\n\"Am I? Well, I am afraid I am not good company.\"\n\"He ain't well, I think, mother,\" says Quebec.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sure that's a bad sign not to be like Bluffy, too!\" returns the trooper, kissing the young damsels. \"But it's true,\" with a sigh, \"true, I am afraid. These little ones are always right!\"\n\"George,\" says Mrs. Bagnet, working busily, \"if I thought you cross enough to think of anything that a shrill old soldier's wife--who could have bitten her tongue off afterwards and ought to have done it almost--said this morning, I don't know what I shouldn't say to you now.\"\n\"My kind soul of a darling,\" returns the trooper. \"Not a morsel of it.\"\n\"Because really and truly, George, what I said and meant to say was that I trusted Lignum to you and was sure you'd bring him through it. And you HAVE brought him through it, noble!\"\n","abridged":"\"George,\" says Mrs. Bagnet, working busily, \"I hope you are not cross enough to care about what a shrill old soldier's wife said this morning.\"\n\"My kind soul of a darling,\" returns the trooper, \"not a bit of it.\"\n\"Because truly, George, what I meant to say was that I trusted Lignum to you and was sure you'd bring him through it. And you have brought him through it, noble!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Thankee, my dear!\" says George. \"I am glad of your good opinion.\"\nIn giving Mrs. Bagnet's hand, with her work in it, a friendly shake--for she took her seat beside him--the trooper's attention is attracted to her face. After looking at it for a little while as she plies her needle, he looks to young Woolwich, sitting on his stool in the corner, and beckons that fifer to him.\n\"See there, my boy,\" says George, very gently smoothing the mother's hair with his hand, \"there's a good loving forehead for you! All bright with love of you, my boy. A little touched by the sun and the weather through following your father about and taking care of you, but as fresh and wholesome as a ripe apple on a tree.\"\nMr. Bagnet's face expresses, so far as in its wooden material lies, the highest approbation and acquiescence.\n","abridged":"\"Thankee, my dear!\" says George. \"I am glad of your good opinion.\"\nHe looks at her and then at young Woolwich, sitting on his stool in the corner, and beckons him over.\n\"See there, my boy,\" says George, \"there's a mother's face all bright with love of you. A little touched by the sun and the weather through following your father about and taking care of you, but as fresh and wholesome as a ripe apple on a tree.\"\nMr. Bagnet's expression shows the highest approval.\n"}
+{"original":"\"The time will come, my boy,\" pursues the trooper, \"when this hair of your mother's will be grey, and this forehead all crossed and re-crossed with wrinkles, and a fine old lady she'll be then. Take care, while you are young, that you can think in those days, 'I never whitened a hair of her dear head--I never marked a sorrowful line in her face!' For of all the many things that you can think of when you are a man, you had better have THAT by you, Woolwich!\"\nMr. George concludes by rising from his chair, seating the boy beside his mother in it, and saying, with something of a hurry about him, that he'll smoke his pipe in the street a bit.","abridged":"\"The time will come, my boy,\" pursues the trooper, \"when your mother's hair will be grey, and her forehead crossed with wrinkles, and a fine old lady she'll be then. Take care that you can think in those days, 'I never whitened a hair of her dear head - I never marked a sorrowful line in her face!'\"\nMr. George rises from his chair and seats the boy beside his mother, saying, with something of a hurry, that he'll smoke his pipe in the street."}
+{"original":"I had not the courage to see any one that night. I had not even the courage to see myself, for I was afraid that my tears might a little reproach me. I went up to my room in the dark, and prayed in the dark, and lay down in the dark to sleep. I had no need of any light to read my guardian's letter by, for I knew it by heart. I took it from the place where I kept it, and repeated its contents by its own clear light of integrity and love, and went to sleep with it on my pillow.\nI was up very early in the morning and called Charley to come for a walk. We bought flowers for the breakfast-table, and came back and arranged them, and were as busy as possible. We were so early that I had a good time still for Charley's lesson before breakfast; Charley (who was not in the least improved in the old defective article of grammar) came through it with great applause; and we were altogether very notable. When my guardian appeared he said, \"Why, little woman, you look fresher than your flowers!\" And Mrs. Woodcourt repeated and translated a passage from the Mewlinnwillinwodd expressive of my being like a mountain with the sun upon it.\n","abridged":"I had not the courage to see anyone that night, not even myself. I went up to my room in the dark, and prayed in the dark, and lay down in the dark to sleep. I had no need of any light to read my guardian's letter by, for I knew it by heart. I took it from the place where I kept it, and repeated its contents by its own clear light of integrity and love, and went to sleep with it on my pillow.\nI was up very early in the morning and called Charley to come for a walk. We bought flowers for the breakfast-table, and came back and arranged them, and had Charley's lesson before breakfast, and were as busy as possible. When my guardian appeared he said, \"Why, little woman, you look fresher than your flowers!\" And Mrs. Woodcourt translated a passage from the Mewlinnwillinwodd about my being like a mountain with the sun upon it.\n"}
+{"original":"This was all so pleasant that I hope it made me still more like the mountain than I had been before. After breakfast I waited my opportunity and peeped about a little until I saw my guardian in his own room--the room of last night--by himself. Then I made an excuse to go in with my housekeeping keys, shutting the door after me.\n\"Well, Dame Durden?\" said my guardian; the post had brought him several letters, and he was writing. \"You want money?\"\n\"No, indeed, I have plenty in hand.\"\n\"There never was such a Dame Durden,\" said my guardian, \"for making money last.\"\n","abridged":"This was all so pleasant that I hope it made me still more like the mountain than before. After breakfast I waited until I saw my guardian in his own room - the room of last night. Then I made an excuse to go in with my housekeeping keys, shutting the door after me.\n\"Well, Dame Durden?\" said my guardian, who was writing. "}
+{"original":"He had laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair looking at me. I have often spoken of his bright face, but I thought I had never seen it look so bright and good. There was a high happiness upon it which made me think, \"He has been doing some great kindness this morning.\"\n\"There never was,\" said my guardian, musing as he smiled upon me, \"such a Dame Durden for making money last.\"\nHe had never yet altered his old manner. I loved it and him so much that when I now went up to him and took my usual chair, which was always put at his side--for sometimes I read to him, and sometimes I talked to him, and sometimes I silently worked by him--I hardly liked to disturb it by laying my hand on his breast. But I found I did not disturb it at all.\n\"Dear guardian,\" said I, \"I want to speak to you. Have I been remiss in anything?\"\n\"Remiss in anything, my dear!\"\n","abridged":"He laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair looking at me. I have often spoken of his bright face, but I thought I had never seen it look so bright and good. There was a high happiness upon it which made me think, \"He has been doing some great kindness this morning.\"\nHe had never yet altered his old manner. I loved it and him so much that when I now went up to him and took my usual chair at his side, I hardly liked to disturb it by laying my hand on his breast. But his manner did not change at all.\n\"Dear guardian,\" said I, \"I want to speak to you. Have I been remiss in anything,"}
+{"original":"\"Have I not been what I have meant to be since--I brought the answer to your letter, guardian?\"\n\"You have been everything I could desire, my love.\"\n\"I am very glad indeed to hear that,\" I returned. \"You know, you said to me, was this the mistress of Bleak House. And I said, yes.\"\n\"Yes,\" said my guardian, nodding his head. He had put his arm about me as if there were something to protect me from and looked in my face, smiling.\n\"Since then,\" said I, \"we have never spoken on the subject except once.\"\n\"And then I said Bleak House was thinning fast; and so it was, my dear.\"\n\"And I said,\" I timidly reminded him, \"but its mistress remained.\"\n","abridged":" since - since I brought the answer to your letter, guardian?\"\n\"You have been everything I could desire, my love.\"\n\"I am very glad indeed to hear that,\" I returned. \"You know, you said to me, was this the mistress of Bleak House. And I said, yes.\"\n\"Yes,\" said my guardian, nodding. He had put his arm about me as if there were something to protect me from and looked in my face, smiling.\n\"Since then,\" said I, \"we have never spoken on the subject except once.\"\n\"And then I said Bleak House was thinning fast; and so it was, my dear.\"\n\"And I said,\" I timidly reminded him, \"but its mistress remained.\"\n"}
+{"original":"He still held me in the same protecting manner and with the same bright goodness in his face.\n\"Dear guardian,\" said I, \"I know how you have felt all that has happened, and how considerate you have been. As so much time has passed, and as you spoke only this morning of my being so well again, perhaps you expect me to renew the subject. Perhaps I ought to do so. I will be the mistress of Bleak House when you please.\"\n\"See,\" he returned gaily, \"what a sympathy there must be between us! I have had nothing else, poor Rick excepted--it's a large exception--in my mind. When you came in, I was full of it. When shall we give Bleak House its mistress, little woman?\"\n\"When you please.\"\n","abridged":"He still held me in the same protecting manner and with the same bright goodness in his face.\n\"Dear guardian,\" said I, \"I know how considerate you have been. As so much time has passed, and as you spoke only this morning of my being so well again, perhaps I ought to renew the subject. I will be the mistress of Bleak House when you please.\"\n\"See,\" he returned gaily, \"what a sympathy there must be between us! When you came in, my mind was full of the same thing. When shall we give Bleak House its mistress, little woman?\"\n\"When you please.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Next month?\"\n\"Next month, dear guardian.\"\n\"The day on which I take the happiest and best step of my life--the day on which I shall be a man more exulting and more enviable than any other man in the world--the day on which I give Bleak House its little mistress--shall be next month then,\" said my guardian.\nI put my arms round his neck and kissed him just as I had done on the day when I brought my answer.\nA servant came to the door to announce Mr. Bucket, which was quite unnecessary, for Mr. Bucket was already looking in over the servant's shoulder. \"Mr. Jarndyce and Miss Summerson,\" said he, rather out of breath, \"with all apologies for intruding, WILL you allow me to order up a person that's on the stairs and that objects to being left there in case of becoming the subject of observations in his absence? Thank you. Be so good as chair that there member in this direction, will you?\" said Mr. Bucket, beckoning over the banisters.\n","abridged":"\"Next month?\"\n\"Next month, dear guardian.\"\n\"The day on which I take the happiest and best step of my life - the day on which I give Bleak House its little mistress - shall be next month then,\" said my guardian.\nI put my arms round his neck and kissed him just as I had done on the day when I brought my answer.\nA servant came to the door to announce Mr. Bucket, which was quite unnecessary, for Mr. Bucket was already looking in over her shoulder.\n\"Mr. Jarndyce and Miss Summerson,\" said he, rather out of breath, \"with apologies for intruding, will you allow me to order up a person that's on the stairs and that objects to being left there in case of us talking about him in his absence? Thank you. Be so good as to chair that there member in this direction, will you?\" said Mr. Bucket, beckoning over the banisters.\n"}
+{"original":"This singular request produced an old man in a black skull-cap, unable to walk, who was carried up by a couple of bearers and deposited in the room near the door. Mr. Bucket immediately got rid of the bearers, mysteriously shut the door, and bolted it.\n\"Now you see, Mr. Jarndyce,\" he then began, putting down his hat and opening his subject with a flourish of his well-remembered finger, \"you know me, and Miss Summerson knows me. This gentleman likewise knows me, and his name is Smallweed. The discounting line is his line principally, and he's what you may call a dealer in bills. That's about what YOU are, you know, ain't you?\" said Mr. Bucket, stopping a little to address the gentleman in question, who was exceedingly suspicious of him.\nHe seemed about to dispute this designation of himself when he was seized with a violent fit of coughing.\n","abridged":"This singular request produced an old man in a black skull-cap, unable to walk, who was carried up by a couple of bearers and deposited near the door. Mr. Bucket immediately got rid of the bearers, mysteriously shut the door, and bolted it.\n\"Now, Mr. Jarndyce,\" he began, with a flourish of his finger, \"this gentleman's name is Smallweed. He's what you may call a dealer in bills. "}
+{"original":"\"Now, moral, you know!\" said Mr. Bucket, improving the accident. \"Don't you contradict when there ain't no occasion, and you won't be took in that way. Now, Mr. Jarndyce, I address myself to you. I've been negotiating with this gentleman on behalf of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, and one way and another I've been in and out and about his premises a deal. His premises are the premises formerly occupied by Krook, marine store dealer--a relation of this gentleman's that you saw in his lifetime if I don't mistake?\"\nMy guardian replied, \"Yes.\"\n","abridged":"I've been negotiating with this gentleman on behalf of Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, and one way and another I've been in and out and about his premises a good deal. His premises were formerly occupied by Krook - whom you saw in his lifetime if I don't mistake?\"\nMy guardian replied, \"Yes.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well! You are to understand,\" said Mr. Bucket, \"that this gentleman he come into Krook's property, and a good deal of magpie property there was. Vast lots of waste-paper among the rest. Lord bless you, of no use to nobody!\"\nThe cunning of Mr. Bucket's eye and the masterly manner in which he contrived, without a look or a word against which his watchful auditor could protest, to let us know that he stated the case according to previous agreement and could say much more of Mr. Smallweed if he thought it advisable, deprived us of any merit in quite understanding him. His difficulty was increased by Mr. Smallweed's being deaf as well as suspicious and watching his face with the closest attention.\n\"Among them odd heaps of old papers, this gentleman, when he comes into the property, naturally begins to rummage, don't you see?\" said Mr. Bucket.\n\"To which? Say that again,\" cried Mr. Smallweed in a shrill, sharp voice.\n","abridged":"\"Well! You are to understand,\" said Mr. Bucket, \"that this gentleman he come into Krook's property, and a good deal of magpie property there was. Vast lots of waste-paper. Lord bless you, of no use to nobody!\"\nMr. Smallweed suspiciously watched his face with the closest attention.\n\"Among them odd heaps of old papers, this gentleman naturally begins to rummage,\" said Mr. Bucket.\n\"To which? Say that again,\" cried Mr. Smallweed in a shrill, sharp voice.\n"}
+{"original":"\"To rummage,\" repeated Mr. Bucket. \"Being a prudent man and accustomed to take care of your own affairs, you begin to rummage among the papers as you have come into; don't you?\"\n\"Of course I do,\" cried Mr. Smallweed.\n\"Of course you do,\" said Mr. Bucket conversationally, \"and much to blame you would be if you didn't. And so you chance to find, you know,\" Mr. Bucket went on, stooping over him with an air of cheerful raillery which Mr. Smallweed by no means reciprocated, \"and so you chance to find, you know, a paper with the signature of Jarndyce to it. Don't you?\"\nMr. Smallweed glanced with a troubled eye at us and grudgingly nodded assent.\n\"And coming to look at that paper at your full leisure and convenience--all in good time, for you're not curious to read it, and why should you be?--what do you find it to be but a will, you see. That's the drollery of it,\" said Mr. Bucket with the same lively air of recalling a joke for the enjoyment of Mr. Smallweed, who still had the same crest-fallen appearance of not enjoying it at all; \"what do you find it to be but a will?\"\n\"I don't know that it's good as a will or as anything else,\" snarled Mr. Smallweed.\n","abridged":"\"To rummage,\" repeated Mr. Bucket. \"Being a prudent man, you begin to rummage among the papers as you have come into; don't you?\"\n\"Of course I do,\" cried Mr. Smallweed.\n\"Of course you do,\" said Mr. Bucket conversationally. \"And so you chance to find, you know, a paper with the signature of Jarndyce to it. Don't you?\"\nMr. Smallweed glanced with a troubled eye at us and grudgingly nodded.\n\"And coming to look at that paper at your full leisure - all in good time - what do you find it to be but a will, you see. That's the humour of it,\" said Mr. Bucket with the lively air of recalling a joke, which Mr. Smallweed did not share; \"what do you find it to be but a will?\"\n\"I don't know that it's good as a will or as anything else,\" snarled Mr. Smallweed.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Bucket eyed the old man for a moment--he had slipped and shrunk down in his chair into a mere bundle--as if he were much disposed to pounce upon him; nevertheless, he continued to bend over him with the same agreeable air, keeping the corner of one of his eyes upon us.\n\"Notwithstanding which,\" said Mr. Bucket, \"you get a little doubtful and uncomfortable in your mind about it, having a very tender mind of your own.\"\n\"Eh? What do you say I have got of my own?\" asked Mr. Smallweed with his hand to his ear.\n\"A very tender mind.\"\n\"Ho! Well, go on,\" said Mr. Smallweed.\n\"And as you've heard a good deal mentioned regarding a celebrated Chancery will case of the same name, and as you know what a card Krook was for buying all manner of old pieces of furniter, and books, and papers, and what not, and never liking to part with 'em, and always a-going to teach himself to read, you begin to think--and you never was more correct in your born days--'Ecod, if I don't look about me, I may get into trouble regarding this will.'\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Bucket eyed the old man for a moment as if he were disposed to pounce upon him; nevertheless, he continued to bend over him with the same agreeable air.\n\"Notwithstanding which,\" said Mr. Bucket, \"you get a little doubtful and uncomfortable in your mind about it. And as you've heard a good deal mentioned regarding a celebrated Chancery will case of the same name, and as you know how Krook was for buying all manner of old papers, and always a-going to teach himself to read, you begin to think - and you never was more correct in your born days - 'By heaven, if I don't look about me, I may get into trouble regarding this will.'\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, mind how you put it, Bucket,\" cried the old man anxiously with his hand at his ear. \"Speak up; none of your brimstone tricks. Pick me up; I want to hear better. Oh, Lord, I am shaken to bits!\"\nMr. Bucket had certainly picked him up at a dart. However, as soon as he could be heard through Mr. Smallweed's coughing and his vicious ejaculations of \"Oh, my bones! Oh, dear! I've no breath in my body! I'm worse than the chattering, clattering, brimstone pig at home!\" Mr. Bucket proceeded in the same convivial manner as before.\n","abridged":"\"Mind how you put it, Bucket,\" cried the old man anxiously with his hand at his ear. \"Speak up; none of your brimstone tricks. Pick me up; I want to hear better.\"\nMr. Bucket picked him up at a dart. As soon as he could be heard through Mr. Smallweed's coughing and his cries of \"Oh, my bones!\" Mr. Bucket proceeded in the same convivial manner.\n"}
+{"original":"\"So, as I happen to be in the habit of coming about your premises, you take me into your confidence, don't you?\"\nI think it would be impossible to make an admission with more ill will and a worse grace than Mr. Smallweed displayed when he admitted this, rendering it perfectly evident that Mr. Bucket was the very last person he would have thought of taking into his confidence if he could by any possibility have kept him out of it.\n\"And I go into the business with you--very pleasant we are over it; and I confirm you in your well-founded fears that you will get yourself into a most precious line if you don't come out with that there will,\" said Mr. Bucket emphatically; \"and accordingly you arrange with me that it shall be delivered up to this present Mr. Jarndyce, on no conditions. If it should prove to be valuable, you trusting yourself to him for your reward; that's about where it is, ain't it?\"\n\"That's what was agreed,\" Mr. Smallweed assented with the same bad grace.\n\"In consequence of which,\" said Mr. Bucket, dismissing his agreeable manner all at once and becoming strictly business-like, \"you've got that will upon your person at the present time, and the only thing that remains for you to do is just to out with it!\"\n","abridged":"\"So you take me into your confidence, don't you?\"\nI think it would be impossible to make an admission with more ill will than Mr. Smallweed when he admitted this, as if Mr. Bucket was the very last person he would have taken into his confidence if he could have kept him out of it.\n\"And I go into the business with you very pleasantly; and I confirm you in your well-founded fears that you will get yourself into trouble if you don't come out with that there will,\" said Mr. Bucket emphatically; \"and accordingly you arrange with me that it shall be delivered up to Mr. Jarndyce, on no conditions. If it should prove to be valuable, you're trusting yourself to him for your reward; that's about where it is, ain't it?\"\n\"That's what was agreed,\" Mr. Smallweed assented with the same bad grace.\n\"In consequence of which,\" said Mr. Bucket, \"the only thing that remains for you to do is just to hand it over!\"\n"}
+{"original":"Having given us one glance out of the watching corner of his eye, and having given his nose one triumphant rub with his forefinger, Mr. Bucket stood with his eyes fastened on his confidential friend and his hand stretched forth ready to take the paper and present it to my guardian. It was not produced without much reluctance and many declarations on the part of Mr. Smallweed that he was a poor industrious man and that he left it to Mr. Jarndyce's honour not to let him lose by his honesty. Little by little he very slowly took from a breast-pocket a stained, discoloured paper which was much singed upon the outside and a little burnt at the edges, as if it had long ago been thrown upon a fire and hastily snatched off again. Mr. Bucket lost no time in transferring this paper, with the dexterity of a conjuror, from Mr. Smallweed to Mr. Jarndyce. As he gave it to my guardian, he whispered behind his fingers, \"Hadn't settled how to make their market of it. Quarrelled and hinted about it. I laid out twenty pound upon it. First the avaricious grandchildren split upon him on account of their objections to his living so unreasonably long, and then they split on one another. Lord! There ain't one of the family that wouldn't sell the other for a pound or two, except the old lady--and she's only out of it because she's too weak in her mind to drive a bargain.\"\n","abridged":"The paper was produced with much reluctance and many declarations on the part of Mr. Smallweed that he was a poor industrious man and that he hoped he would not lose by his honesty. He very slowly took from a breast-pocket a stained, discoloured paper which was a little burnt at the edges. Mr. Bucket transferred this paper, with the dexterity of a conjuror, from Mr. Smallweed to Mr. Jarndyce.\nAs he gave it to my guardian, he whispered, \"They hadn't settled how to make money from it. Quarrelled about it. I laid out twenty pound upon it. Lord! There ain't one of the family that wouldn't sell the other for a pound or two.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr Bucket,\" said my guardian aloud, \"whatever the worth of this paper may be to any one, my obligations are great to you; and if it be of any worth, I hold myself bound to see Mr. Smallweed remunerated accordingly.\"\n\"Not according to your merits, you know,\" said Mr. Bucket in friendly explanation to Mr. Smallweed. \"Don't you be afraid of that. According to its value.\"\n\"That is what I mean,\" said my guardian. \"You may observe, Mr. Bucket, that I abstain from examining this paper myself. The plain truth is, I have forsworn and abjured the whole business these many years, and my soul is sick of it. But Miss Summerson and I will immediately place the paper in the hands of my solicitor in the cause, and its existence shall be made known without delay to all other parties interested.\"\n\"Mr. Jarndyce can't say fairer than that, you understand,\" observed Mr. Bucket to his fellow-visitor. \"And it being now made clear to you that nobody's a-going to be wronged--which must be a great relief to YOUR mind--we may proceed with the ceremony of chairing you home again.\"\n","abridged":"\"Mr. Bucket,\" said my guardian aloud, \"whatever the worth of this paper may be, my obligations to you are great; and if it is of any value, I shall see Mr. Smallweed rewarded accordingly.\"\n\"Not according to your merits, you know,\" said Mr. Bucket in friendly explanation to Mr. Smallweed. \"Don't you be afraid of that. According to its value.\"\n\"You may observe, Mr. Bucket,\" said my guardian, \"that I abstain from examining this paper myself. The plain truth is, I have forsworn the whole business, and my soul is sick of it. But I will immediately place the paper in the hands of my solicitor, and its existence shall be made known without delay to all other parties interested.\"\n\"Mr. Jarndyce can't say fairer than that, you understand,\" observed Mr. Bucket to his fellow-visitor. \"And now we may chair you home again.\"\n"}
+{"original":"He unbolted the door, called in the bearers, wished us good morning, and with a look full of meaning and a crook of his finger at parting went his way.\nWe went our way too, which was to Lincoln's Inn, as quickly as possible. Mr. Kenge was disengaged, and we found him at his table in his dusty room with the inexpressive-looking books and the piles of papers. Chairs having been placed for us by Mr. Guppy, Mr. Kenge expressed the surprise and gratification he felt at the unusual sight of Mr. Jarndyce in his office. He turned over his double eye-glass as he spoke and was more Conversation Kenge than ever.\n\"I hope,\" said Mr. Kenge, \"that the genial influence of Miss Summerson,\" he bowed to me, \"may have induced Mr. Jarndyce,\" he bowed to him, \"to forego some little of his animosity towards a cause and towards a court which are--shall I say, which take their place in the stately vista of the pillars of our profession?\"\n\"I am inclined to think,\" returned my guardian, \"that Miss Summerson has seen too much of the effects of the court and the cause to exert any influence in their favour. Nevertheless, they are a part of the occasion of my being here. Mr. Kenge, before I lay this paper on your desk and have done with it, let me tell you how it has come into my hands.\"\nHe did so shortly and distinctly.\n","abridged":"He unbolted the door, called in the bearers, wished us good morning, and went his way.\nWe went our way too, to Lincoln's Inn, as quickly as possible. We found Mr. Kenge in his dusty room. Chairs were placed for us by Mr. Guppy, while Mr. Kenge expressed his surprise and gratification at the unusual sight of Mr. Jarndyce in his office.\n\"Mr. Kenge,\" began my guardian, \"before I lay this paper on your desk, let me tell you how it has come into my hands.\" He did so shortly and plainly.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It could not, sir,\" said Mr. Kenge, \"have been stated more plainly and to the purpose if it had been a case at law.\"\n\"Did you ever know English law, or equity either, plain and to the purpose?\" said my guardian.\n\"Oh, fie!\" said Mr. Kenge.\nAt first he had not seemed to attach much importance to the paper, but when he saw it he appeared more interested, and when he had opened and read a little of it through his eye-glass, he became amazed. \"Mr. Jarndyce,\" he said, looking off it, \"you have perused this?\"\n\"Not I!\" returned my guardian.\n","abridged":"Mr. Kenge did not at first seem to attach much importance to the paper, but when he saw it he appeared more interested, and when he had opened it and read a little, he became amazed.\n\"Mr. Jarndyce,\" he said, \"you have perused this?\"\n\"Not I!\" returned my guardian.\n"}
+{"original":"\"But, my dear sir,\" said Mr. Kenge, \"it is a will of later date than any in the suit. It appears to be all in the testator's handwriting. It is duly executed and attested. And even if intended to be cancelled, as might possibly be supposed to be denoted by these marks of fire, it is NOT cancelled. Here it is, a perfect instrument!\"\n\"Well!\" said my guardian. \"What is that to me?\"\n","abridged":"\"But, my dear sir,\" said Mr. Kenge, \"it is a will of later date than any in the suit. It appears to be all in the testator's handwriting. It is duly witnessed. And even if intended to be cancelled, as might be supposed from these marks of fire, it is not cancelled. Here it is, a perfect instrument!\"\n\"Well!\" said my guardian. \"What is that to me?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr. Guppy!\" cried Mr. Kenge, raising his voice. \"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jarndyce.\"\n\"Sir.\"\n\"Mr. Vholes of Symond's Inn. My compliments. Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Glad to speak with him.\"\nMr. Guppy disappeared.\n","abridged":"\"Mr. Guppy!\" cried Mr. Kenge, raising his voice. \"Go seek Mr. Vholes of Symond's Inn. My compliments. Glad to speak with him.\"\nMr. Guppy disappeared.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You ask me what is this to you, Mr. Jarndyce. If you had perused this document, you would have seen that it reduces your interest considerably, though still leaving it a very handsome one, still leaving it a very handsome one,\" said Mr. Kenge, waving his hand persuasively and blandly. \"You would further have seen that the interests of Mr. Richard Carstone and of Miss Ada Clare, now Mrs. Richard Carstone, are very materially advanced by it.\"\n\"Kenge,\" said my guardian, \"if all the flourishing wealth that the suit brought into this vile court of Chancery could fall to my two young cousins, I should be well contented. But do you ask ME to believe that any good is to come of Jarndyce and Jarndyce?\"\n\"Oh, really, Mr. Jarndyce! Prejudice, prejudice. My dear sir, this is a very great country, a very great country. Its system of equity is a very great system, a very great system. Really, really!\"\n","abridged":"\"If you had perused this document, Mr. Jarndyce, you would have seen that it reduces your interest considerably, though still leaving it a very handsome one,\" said Mr. Kenge, waving his hand blandly. \"You would further have seen that the interests of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Carstone are very materially advanced by it.\"\n\"Kenge,\" said my guardian, \"if all the wealth that the suit brought into this vile court of Chancery could fall to my two young cousins, I should be well contented. But do you ask me to believe that any good is to come of Jarndyce and Jarndyce?\"\n\"Oh, really, Mr. Jarndyce! My dear sir, this is a very great country, a very great country. Its system of equity is a very great system, a very great system. Really, really!\"\n"}
+{"original":"My guardian said no more, and Mr. Vholes arrived. He was modestly impressed by Mr. Kenge's professional eminence.\n\"How do you do, Mr. Vholes? Will you be so good as to take a chair here by me and look over this paper?\"\nMr. Vholes did as he was asked and seemed to read it every word. He was not excited by it, but he was not excited by anything. When he had well examined it, he retired with Mr. Kenge into a window, and shading his mouth with his black glove, spoke to him at some length. I was not surprised to observe Mr. Kenge inclined to dispute what he said before he had said much, for I knew that no two people ever did agree about anything in Jarndyce and Jarndyce. But he seemed to get the better of Mr. Kenge too in a conversation that sounded as if it were almost composed of the words \"Receiver-General,\" \"Accountant-General,\" \"report,\" \"estate,\" and \"costs.\" When they had finished, they came back to Mr. Kenge's table and spoke aloud.\n","abridged":"My guardian said no more, and Mr. Vholes arrived.\n\"How do you do, Mr. Vholes? Will you be so good as to take a chair and look over this paper?\"\nMr. Vholes did so. He was not excited by it, but he was not excited by anything. When he had well examined it, he retired with Mr. Kenge into a window, and spoke to him at some length. I was not surprised to observe Mr. Kenge inclined to dispute what he said, for I knew that no two people ever did agree about anything in Jarndyce and Jarndyce. But he seemed to get the better of Mr. Kenge in a conversation that included the words \"Receiver-General,\" \"Accountant-General,\" \"report,\" \"estate,\" and \"costs.\" When they had finished, they came back to Mr. Kenge's table and spoke aloud.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well! But this is a very remarkable document, Mr. Vholes,\" said Mr. Kenge.\nMr. Vholes said, \"Very much so.\"\n\"And a very important document, Mr. Vholes,\" said Mr. Kenge.\nAgain Mr. Vholes said, \"Very much so.\"\n\"And as you say, Mr. Vholes, when the cause is in the paper next term, this document will be an unexpected and interesting feature in it,\" said Mr. Kenge, looking loftily at my guardian.\nMr. Vholes was gratified, as a smaller practitioner striving to keep respectable, to be confirmed in any opinion of his own by such an authority.\n\"And when,\" asked my guardian, rising after a pause, during which Mr. Kenge had rattled his money and Mr. Vholes had picked his pimples, \"when is next term?\"\n\"Next term, Mr. Jarndyce, will be next month,\" said Mr. Kenge. \"Of course we shall at once proceed to do what is necessary with this document and to collect the necessary evidence concerning it; and of course you will receive our usual notification of the cause being in the paper.\"\n","abridged":"\"Well! But this is a very remarkable and important document, Mr. Vholes,\" said Mr. Kenge.\nMr. Vholes said, \"Very much so.\"\n\"And as you say, Mr. Vholes, when the cause appears next term, this document will be an unexpected and interesting feature in it,\" said Mr. Kenge, looking loftily at my guardian.\n\"And when is next term?\" asked my guardian, rising.\n\"Next month,\" said Mr. Kenge. \"Of course we shall at once proceed to do what is necessary with this document; and you will receive our usual notification of the cause being in the paper.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"To which I shall pay, of course, my usual attention.\"\n\"Still bent, my dear sir,\" said Mr. Kenge, showing us through the outer office to the door, \"still bent, even with your enlarged mind, on echoing a popular prejudice? We are a prosperous community, Mr. Jarndyce, a very prosperous community. We are a great country, Mr. Jarndyce, we are a very great country. This is a great system, Mr. Jarndyce, and would you wish a great country to have a little system? Now, really, really!\"\nHe said this at the stair-head, gently moving his right hand as if it were a silver trowel with which to spread the cement of his words on the structure of the system and consolidate it for a thousand ages.","abridged":"\"To which I shall pay, of course, my usual attention.\"\n\"Still bent, my dear sir, on echoing a popular prejudice?\" said Mr. Kenge, showing us to the door, \"This is a great country, and a great system, Mr. Jarndyce, and would you wish a great country to have a little system? Now, really, really!\""}
+{"original":"Alice, on her return from Westmoreland, went direct to Park Lane, whither Lady Glencora and Mr. Palliser had also returned before her. She was to remain with them in London one entire day, and on the morning after that they were to start for Paris. She found Mr. Palliser in close attendance upon his wife. Not that there was anything in his manner which at all implied that he was keeping watch over her, or that he was more with her, or closer to her than a loving husband might wish to be with a young wife; but the mode of life was very different from that which Alice had seen at Matching Priory!\nOn her arrival Mr. Palliser himself received her in the hall, and took her up to his wife before she had taken off her travelling hat. \"We are so much obliged to you, Miss Vavasor,\" he said. \"I feel it quite as deeply as Glencora.\"\n\"Oh, no,\" she said; \"it is I that am under obligation to you for taking me.\"\n","abridged":"Alice, on her return from Westmorland, went direct to Park Lane, where Lady Glencora and Mr. Palliser were. She was to stay with them in London one full day, and on the morning after that they were to start for Paris.\nShe found Mr. Palliser in close attendance upon his wife. Nothing in his manner implied that he was keeping watch over her; but it was very different from what Alice had seen at Matching Priory!\nOn her arrival Mr. Palliser received her in the hall, and took her up to his wife.\n\"We are so much obliged to you, Miss Vavasor,\" he said. \"I feel it quite as deeply as Glencora.\"\n\"Oh, no,\" she said; \"it is I that am under an obligation to you for taking me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"He merely smiled, and shook his head, and then took her up-stairs. On the stairs he said one other word to her: \"You must forgive me if I was cross to you that night she went out among the ruins.\" Alice muttered something,--some little fib of courtesy as to the matter having been forgotten, or never borne in mind; and then they went on to Lady Glencora's room. It seemed to Alice that he was not so big or so much to be dreaded as when she had seen him at Matching. His descent from an expectant, or more than an expectant, Chancellor of the Exchequer, down to a simple, attentive husband, seemed to affect his gait, his voice, and all his demeanour. When he received Alice at the Priory he certainly loomed before her as something great, whereas now his greatness seemed to have fallen from him. We must own that this was hard upon him, seeing that the deed by which he had divested himself of his greatness had been so pure and good!\n","abridged":"He merely smiled, and shook his head. On the stairs he said one other thing: \"You must forgive me if I was cross to you that night she went out among the ruins.\"\nAlice muttered some little fib of courtesy as to the matter having been forgotten; and then they went on to Lady Glencora's room. It seemed to Alice that he was not so big or so much to be dreaded as when she had seen him at Matching. His descent from an expectant Chancellor of the Exchequer, down to a simple, attentive husband, seemed to affect his demeanour.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Dear Alice, this is so good of you! I am all in the midst of packing, and Plantagenet is helping me.\" Plantagenet winced a little under this, as the hero of old must have winced when he was found with the distaff. Mr. Palliser had relinquished his sword of state for the distaff which he had assumed, and could take no glory in the change. There was, too, in his wife's voice the slightest hint of mockery, which, slight as it was, he perhaps thought she might have spared. \"You have nothing left to pack,\" continued Glencora, \"and I don't know what you can do to amuse yourself.\"\n\"I will help you,\" said Alice.\n\"But we have so very nearly done. I think we shall have to pull all the things out, and put them up again, or we shall never get through to-morrow. We couldn't start to-morrow;--could we, Plantagenet?\"\n","abridged":"\"Dear Alice, this is so good of you! I am in the midst of packing, and Plantagenet is helping me.\" Plantagenet winced a little under this. His wife's voice held the slightest hint of mockery, which he perhaps thought she might have spared.\n\"I will help you,\" said Alice.\n\"But we have very nearly finished. I think we shall have to start again, or we shall have nothing to do tomorrow. We couldn't set off tomorrow, could we, Plantagenet?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not very well, as your rooms are ordered in Paris for the next day.\"\n\"As if we couldn't find rooms at every inn on the road. Men are so particular. Now in travelling I should like never to order rooms,--never to know where I was going or when I was going, and to carry everything I wanted in a market-basket.\" Alice, who by this time had followed her friend along the passage to her bedroom, and had seen how widely the packages were spread about, bethought herself that the market-basket should be a large one. \"And I would never travel among Christians. Christians are so slow, and they wear chimney-pot hats everywhere. The further one goes from London among Christians, the more they wear chimney-pot hats. I want Plantagenet to take us to see the Kurds, but he won't.\"\n\"I don't think that would be fair to Miss Vavasor,\" said Mr. Palliser, who had followed them.\n","abridged":"\"Not very well, as your rooms are ordered in Paris for the next day.\"\n\"As if we couldn't find rooms at every inn on the road. Now, in travelling I should like never to book rooms - never to know where I was going. And I would never travel among Christians. Christians are so slow, and they wear chimney-pot hats everywhere. The further one goes from London among Christians, the more they wear chimney-pot hats. I want Plantagenet to take us to see the Kurds, but he won't.\"\n\"I don't think that would be fair to Miss Vavasor,\" said Mr. Palliser.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Don't put the blame on her head,\" said Lady Glencora. \"Women have always pluck for anything. Wouldn't you like to see a live Kurd, Alice?\"\n\"I don't exactly know where they live,\" said Alice.\n\"Nor I. I have not the remotest idea of the way to the Kurds. You see my joke, don't you, though Plantagenet doesn't? But one knows that they are Eastern, and the East is such a grand idea!\"\n\"I think we'll content ourselves with Rome, or perhaps Naples, on this occasion,\" said Mr. Palliser.\n","abridged":"\"Wouldn't you like to see a live Kurd, Alice?\"\n\"I don't exactly know where they live,\" said Alice.\n\"Nor I. I have not the remotest idea of the way to the Kurds. But one knows that they are Eastern, and the East is such a grand idea!\"\n\"I think we'll content ourselves with Rome, or perhaps Naples, on this occasion,\" said Mr. Palliser.\n"}
+{"original":"The notion of Lady Glencora packing anything for herself was as good a joke as that other one of the Kurds and whey. But she went flitting about from room to room, declaring that this thing must be taken, and that other, till the market-basket would have become very large indeed. Alice was astonished at the extent of the preparations, and the sort of equipage with which they were about to travel. Lady Glencora was taking her own carriage. \"Not that I shall ever use it,\" she said to Alice, \"but he insists upon it, to show that I am not supposed to be taken away in disgrace. He is so good;--isn't he?\"\n\"Very good,\" said Alice. \"I know no one better.\"\n","abridged":"Lady Glencora went flitting about from room to room, declaring that this thing must be taken, and that other, till Alice was astonished at the extent of the preparations. Lady Glencora was taking her own carriage.\n\"Not that I shall ever use it,\" she said to Alice, \"but he insists upon it, to show that I am not supposed to be taken away in disgrace. He is so good; isn't he?\"\n\"Very good,\" said Alice. \"I know no one better.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And so dull!\" said Lady Glencora. \"But I fancy that all husbands are dull from the nature of their position. If I were a young woman's husband, I shouldn't know what to say to her that wasn't dull.\"\n","abridged":"\"And so dull!\" said Lady Glencora. \"But I fancy that all husbands are dull. If I were a young woman's husband, I shouldn't know what to say to her that wasn't dull.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Two women and two men servants were to be taken. Alice had received permission to bring her own maid--\"or a dozen, if you want them,\" Lady Glencora had said. \"Mr. Palliser in his present mood would think nothing too much to do for you. If you were to ask him to go among the Kurds, he'd go at once;--or on to Crim Tartary, if you made a point of it.\" But as both Lady Glencora's servants spoke French, and as her own did not, Alice trusted herself in that respect to her cousin. \"You shall have one all to yourself,\" said Lady Glencora. \"I only take two for the same reason that I take the carriage,--just as you let a child go out in her best frock, for a treat, after you've scolded her.\"\n","abridged":"Two women and two men servants were to be taken. Both Lady Glencora's servants spoke French, and as Alice's did not, Lady Glencora said, \"You shall have one all to yourself.\"\n"}
+{"original":"When Alice asked why it was supposed that Mr. Palliser was so specially devoted to her, the thing was explained to her. \"You see, my dear, I have told him everything. I always do tell everything. Nobody can say I am not candid. He knows about your not letting me come to your house in the old days. Oh, Alice!--you were wrong then; I shall always say that. But it's done and gone; and things that are done and gone shall be done and gone for me. And I told him all that you said,--about you know what. I have had nothing else to do but make confessions for the last ten days, and when a woman once begins, the more she confesses the better. And I told him that you refused Jeffrey.\"\n","abridged":"She then explained Mr. Palliser's kindness to Alice. \"You see, my dear, I have told him everything. I always do tell everything. Nobody can say I am not candid. He knows about your not letting me come to your house in the old days. And I told him all that you said - about you know what. I have had nothing else to do but make confessions for the last ten days, and when a woman once begins, the more she confesses the better. And I told him that you refused Jeffrey.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You didn't?\"\n\"I did indeed, and he likes you the better for that. I think he'd let Jeffrey marry you now if you both wished it;--and then, oh dear!--supposing that you had a son and that we adopted it?\"\n\"Cora, if you go on in that way I will not remain with you.\"\n","abridged":"\"You didn't?\"\n\"I did indeed, and he likes you the better for that. I think he'd let Jeffrey marry you now if you both wished it - and then supposing that you had a son and we adopted it?\"\n\"Cora, if you go on in that way I will not stay with you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But you must, my dear. You can't escape now. At any rate, you can't when we once get to Paris. Oh dear! you shouldn't grudge me my little naughtinesses. I have been so proper for the last ten days. Do you know I got into a way of driving Dandy and Flirt at the rate of six miles an hour, till I'm sure the poor beasts thought they were always going to a funeral. Poor Dandy and poor Flirt! I shan't see them now for another year.\"\n","abridged":"\"But you must, my dear. You can't escape now. You shouldn't grudge me my little naughtinesses. I have been so proper for the last ten days.\"\n"}
+{"original":"On the following morning they breakfasted early, because Mr. Palliser had got into an early habit. He had said that early hours would be good for them. \"But he never tells me why,\" said Lady Glencora. \"I think it is pleasant when people are travelling,\" said Alice. \"It isn't that,\" her cousin answered; \"but we are all to be such particularly good children. It's hardly fair, because he went to sleep last night after dinner while you and I kept ourselves awake: but we needn't do that another night, to be sure.\" After breakfast they all three went to work to do nothing. It was ludicrous and almost painful to see Mr. Palliser wandering about and counting the boxes, as though he could do any good by that. At this special crisis of his life he hated his papers and figures and statistics, and could not apply himself to them. He, whose application had been so unremitting, could apply himself now to nothing. ","abridged":"On the following morning they breakfasted early, because Mr. Palliser said that early hours would be good for them. After breakfast they all three went to work to do nothing. It was almost painful to see Mr. Palliser wandering about and counting the boxes, as though he could do any good by that. He, whose application to his figures had been so unremitting, could apply himself now to nothing. "}
+{"original":"His world had been brought to an abrupt end, and he was awkward at making a new beginning. I believe that they all three were reading novels before one o'clock. Lady Glencora and Alice had determined that they would not leave the house throughout the day. \"Nothing has been said about it, but I regard it as part of the bond that I'm not to go out anywhere. Who knows but what I might be found in Gloucester Square?\" There was, however, no absolute necessity that Mr. Palliser should remain with them; and, at about three, he prepared himself for a solitary walk. He would not go down to the House. All interest in the House was over with him for the present. He had the Speaker's leave to absent himself for the season. Nor would he call on anyone. ","abridged":"His world had been brought to an abrupt end, and he was awkward at making a new beginning.\nThey were all reading novels before one o'clock. Lady Glencora and Alice had decided that they would not leave the house. There was, however, no need for Mr. Palliser to remain with them; and at about three he prepared for a solitary walk. He would not go down to the House. All interest in the House was over with him for the present. Nor would he call on anyone. "}
+{"original":"All his friends knew, or believed they knew, that he had left town. His death and burial had been already chronicled, and were he now to reappear, he could reappear only as a ghost. He was being talked of as the departed one;--or rather, such talk on all sides had now come nearly to an end. The poor Duke of St. Bungay still thought of him with regret when more than ordinarily annoyed by some special grievance coming to him from Mr. Finespun; but even the Duke had become almost reconciled to the present order of things. Mr. Palliser knew better than to disturb all this by showing himself again in public; and prepared himself, therefore, to take another walk under the elms in Kensington Gardens.\n","abridged":"All his friends believed that he had left town. Therefore Mr. Palliser prepared to take a walk under the elms in Kensington Gardens.\n"}
+{"original":"He had his hat on his head in the hall, and was in the act of putting on his gloves, when there came a knock at the front door. The hall-porter was there, a stout, plethoric personage, not given to many words, who was at this moment standing with his master's umbrella in his hand, looking as though he would fain be of some use to somebody, if any such utility were compatible with the purposes of his existence. Now had come this knock at the door, while the umbrella was still in his hand, and the nature of his visage changed, and it was easy to see that he was oppressed by the temporary multiplicity of his duties. \"Give me the umbrella, John,\" said Mr. Palliser. John gave up the umbrella, and opening the door disclosed Burgo Fitzgerald standing upon the door-step. \"Is Lady Glencora at home?\" asked Burgo, before he had seen the husband. John turned a dismayed face upon his master, as though he knew that the comer ought not to be making a morning call at that house,--as no doubt he did know very well,--and made no instant reply. \"I am not sure,\" said Mr. Palliser, making his way out as he had originally purposed. \"The servant will find out for you.\" ","abridged":"He was in the hall putting on his hat and gloves when there came a knock at the front door. The hall-porter opened the door, and revealed Burgo Fitzgerald standing on the step.\n\"Is Lady Glencora at home?\" asked Burgo, before he had seen the husband.\nJohn turned a dismayed face upon his master, as though he knew that the comer ought not to be there, and made no instant reply.\n\"I am not sure,\" said Mr. Palliser, making his way out as he had intended. \"The servant will find out for you.\" "}
+{"original":"Then he went on his way across Park Lane and into the Park, never once turning back his face to see whether Burgo had effected an entrance into the house. Nor did he return a minute earlier than he would otherwise have done. After all, there was something chivalrous about the man.\n\"Yes; Lady Glencora was at home,\" said the porter, not stirring to make any further inquiry. It was no business of his if Mr. Palliser chose to receive such a guest. He had not been desired to say that her ladyship was not at home. Burgo was therefore admitted and shown direct up into the room in which Lady Glencora was sitting. As chance would have it, she was alone. Alice had left her and was in her own chamber, and Lady Glencora was sitting at the window of the small room up-stairs that overlooked the Park. She was seated on a footstool with her face between her hands when Burgo was admitted, thinking of him, and of what the world might have been to her had \"they left her alone,\" as she was in the habit of saying to Alice and to herself.\n","abridged":"Then he went on his way across Park Lane and into the Park, never once turning back to see whether Burgo had entered the house. Nor did he return a minute earlier than he would otherwise have done. After all, there was something chivalrous about the man.\n\"Yes; Lady Glencora was at home,\" said the porter. Burgo was therefore admitted and shown direct up into the room in which Lady Glencora was sitting.\nAs chance would have it, she was alone, sitting on a footstool with her face between her hands. She was thinking of Burgo, and of what the world might have been to her had she been allowed to marry him.\n"}
+{"original":"She rose quickly, so that he saw her only as she was rising. \"Ask Miss Vavasor to come to me,\" she said, as the servant left the room; and then she came forward to greet her lover.\n\"Cora,\" he said, dashing at once into his subject--hopelessly, but still with a resolve to do as he had said that he would do. \"Cora, I have come to you, to ask you to go with me.\"\n\"I will not go with you,\" said she.\n\"Do not answer me in that way, without a moment's thought. Everything is arranged--\"\n","abridged":"She rose quickly. \"Ask Miss Vavasor to come to me,\" she said, as the servant left the room; and then she came forward to greet her lover.\n\"Cora,\" he said, dashing at once into his subject. \"Cora, I have come to ask you to go with me.\"\n\"I will not go with you,\" said she.\n\"Do not answer me in that way, without a moment's thought. Everything is arranged-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, everything is arranged,\" she said. \"Mr. Fitzgerald, let me ask you to leave me alone, and to behave to me with generosity. Everything is arranged. You can see that my boxes are all prepared for going. Mr. Palliser and I, and my friend, are starting to-morrow. Wish me God-speed and go, and be generous.\"\n\"And is this to be the end of everything?\" He was standing close to her, but hitherto he had only touched her hand at greeting her. \"Give me your hand, Cora,\" he said.\n","abridged":"\"Yes, everything is arranged,\" she said. \"Mr. Fitzgerald, let me ask you to leave me alone, and to behave to me with generosity. Everything is arranged. You can see that my boxes are all prepared for going. Mr. Palliser and I, and my friend, are starting tomorrow. Wish me God-speed and go, and be generous.\"\n\"And is this to be the end of everything? Give me your hand, Cora,\" he said.\n"}
+{"original":"\"No;--I will never give you my hand again. You should be generous to me and go. This is to be the end of everything,--of everything that is common to you and to me. Go, when I ask you.\"\n\"Cora; did you ever love me?\"\n\"Yes; I did love you. But we were separated, and there was no room for love left between us.\"\n","abridged":"\"No; I will never give you my hand again. You should be generous to me and go. This is to be the end of everything. Go, when I ask you.\"\n\"Cora; did you ever love me?\"\n\"Yes; I did love you. But we were separated, and there was no room for love left between us.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You are as dear to me now,--dearer than ever you were. Do not look at me like that. Did you not tell me when we last parted that I might come to you again? Are we children, that others should come between us and separate us like that?\"\n","abridged":"\"You are dearer to me than ever you were. Do not look at me like that. Did you not tell me when we last parted that I might come to you again? Are we children, that others should come separate us like that?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, Burgo; we are children. Here is my cousin coming. You must leave me now.\" As she spoke the door was opened and Alice entered the room. \"Miss Vavasor, Mr. Fitzgerald,\" said Lady Glencora. \"I have told him to go and leave me. Now that you have come, Alice, he will perhaps obey me.\"\n","abridged":"\"Yes, Burgo; we are children. Here is my cousin coming. You must leave me now.\" As she spoke the door was opened and Alice entered the room.\n\"Miss Vavasor, Mr. Fitzgerald,\" said Lady Glencora. \"I have told him to go and leave me. Now that you have come, Alice, he will perhaps obey me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Alice was dumbfounded, and knew not how to speak either to him or to her; but she stood with her eyes riveted on the face of the man of whom she had heard so much. Yes; certainly he was very beautiful. She had never before seen man's beauty such as that. She found it quite impossible to speak a word to him then--at the spur of the moment, but she acknowledged the introduction with a slight inclination of the head, and then stood silent, as though she were waiting for him to go.\n\"Mr. Fitzgerald, why do you not leave me and go?\" said Lady Glencora.\n","abridged":"Alice was dumbfounded; but she stood with her eyes riveted on the face of the man of whom she had heard so much. Yes; certainly he was very beautiful. She found it quite impossible to speak a word to him, but she acknowledged the introduction with a slight nod, and then stood silent, as though waiting for him to go.\n\"Mr. Fitzgerald, why do you not leave me?\" said Lady Glencora.\n"}
+{"original":"Poor Burgo also found it difficult enough to speak. What could he say? His cause was one which certainly did not admit of being pleaded in the presence of a strange lady; and he might have known from the moment in which he heard Glencora's request that a third person should be summoned to their meeting--and probably did know, that there was no longer any hope for him. It was not on the cards that he should win. But there remained one thing that he must do. He must get himself out of that room; and how was he to effect that?\n\"I had hoped,\" said he, looking at Alice, though he addressed Lady Glencora--\"I had hoped to be allowed to speak to you alone for a few minutes.\"\n","abridged":"Poor Burgo also found it difficult enough to speak. What could he say?\n\"I had hoped to talk to you alone for a few minutes.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, Mr. Fitzgerald; it cannot be so. Alice do not go. I sent for my cousin when I saw you, because I did not choose to be alone with you. I have asked you to go--\"\n\"You perhaps have not understood me?\"\n\"I understand you well enough.\"\n\"Then, Mr. Fitzgerald,\" said Alice, \"why do you not do as Lady Glencora has asked you? You know--you must know, that you ought not to be here.\"\n\"I know nothing of the kind,\" said he, still standing his ground.\n\"Alice,\" said Lady Glencora, \"we will leave Mr. Fitzgerald here, since he drives us from the room.\"\n","abridged":"\"No, Mr. Fitzgerald. I sent for my cousin because I did not choose to be alone with you. I have asked you to go-\"\n\"You perhaps have not understood me?\"\n\"I understand you well enough.\"\n\"Then, Mr. Fitzgerald,\" said Alice, \"why do you not do as Lady Glencora has asked you? You must know that you ought not to be here.\"\n\"I know nothing of the kind,\" said he, still standing his ground.\n\"Alice,\" said Lady Glencora, \"we will leave Mr. Fitzgerald here, since he drives us from the room.\"\n"}
+{"original":"In such contests, a woman has ever the best of it at all points. The man plays with a button to his foil, while the woman uses a weapon that can really wound. Burgo knew that he must go,--felt that he must skulk away as best he might, and perhaps hear a low titter of half-suppressed laughter as he went. Even that might be possible. \"No, Lady Glencora,\" he said, \"I will not drive you from the room. As one must be driven out, it shall be I. I own I did think that you would at any rate have been--less hard to me.\" He then turned to go, bowing again very slightly to Miss Vavasor.\n","abridged":"Burgo knew then that he must go - must skulk away as best he might. \"No, Lady Glencora,\" he said, \"I will not drive you from the room. I did think that you would at any rate have been less hard to me.\" He then turned to go.\n"}
+{"original":"He was on the threshold of the door before Glencora's voice recalled him. \"Oh my God!\" she said, \"I am hard,--harder than flint. I am cruel. Burgo!\" And he was back with her in a moment, and had taken her by the hand.\n\"Glencora,\" said Alice, \"pray,--pray let him go. Mr. Fitzgerald, if you are a man, do not take advantage of her folly.\"\n","abridged":"He was on the threshold before Glencora's voice recalled him.\n\"Oh my God!\" she said. \"I am hard - harder than flint. I am cruel. Burgo!\" And he was back with her in a moment, and had taken her by the hand.\n\"Glencora,\" said Alice, \"pray - pray let him go. Mr. Fitzgerald, if you are a man, do not take advantage of her folly.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will speak to him,\" said Lady Glencora. \"I will speak to him, and then he shall leave me.\" She was holding him by the hand now and turning to him, away from Alice, who had taken her by the arm. \"Burgo,\" she said, repeating his name twice again, with all the passion that she could throw into the word,--\"Burgo, no good can come of this. Now, you must leave me. You must go. I shall stay with my husband as I am bound to do. Because I have wronged you, I will not wrong him also. I loved you;--you know I loved you.\" She still held him by the hand, and was now gazing up into his face, while the tears were streaming from her eyes.\n","abridged":"\"I will speak to him,\" said Lady Glencora. \"I will speak to him, and then he shall leave me.\" She was holding him by the hand now. \"Burgo,\" she said, with all the passion that she could throw into the word, \"Burgo, no good can come of this. Now, you must go. I shall stay with my husband as I am bound to do. Because I have wronged you, I will not wrong him also. I loved you.\" She still held him by the hand, and was now gazing up into his face, while the tears were streaming from her eyes.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sir,\" said Alice, \"you have heard from her all that you can care to hear. If you have any feeling of honour in you, you will leave her.\"\n\"I will never leave her, while she tells me that she loves me!\"\n\"Yes, Burgo, you will;--you must! I shall never tell you that again, never. Do as she bids you. Go, and leave us;--but I could not bear that you should tell me that I was hard.\"\n\"You are hard;--hard and cruel, as you said, yourself.\"\n\"Am I? May God forgive you for saying that of me!\"\n","abridged":"\"Sir,\" said Alice, \"if you have any feeling of honour in you, you will leave her.\"\n\"I will never leave her, while she tells me that she loves me!\"\n\"Yes, Burgo, you will; you must! I shall never tell you that again, never. Go, and leave us; but I could not bear that you should tell me that I was hard.\"\n\"You are hard and cruel, as you said yourself.\"\n\"Am I? May God forgive you for saying that!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Then why do you send me away?\"\n\"Because I am a man's wife, and because I care for his honour, if not for my own. Alice, let us go.\"\nHe still held her, but she would have been gone from him had he not stooped over her, and put his arm round her waist. In doing this, I doubt whether he was quicker than she would have been had she chosen to resist him. As it was, he pressed her to his bosom, and, stooping over her, kissed her lips. Then he left her, and making his way out of the room, and down the stairs, got himself out into the street.\n\"Thank God, that he is gone!\" said Alice.\n\"You may say so,\" said Lady Glencora, \"for you have lost nothing!\"\n","abridged":"\"Then why do you send me away?\"\n\"Because I am a man's wife, and because I care for his honour, if not for my own. Alice, let us go.\"\nHe still held her, and before she could pull away he kissed her lips. Then he left her, and making his way out of the room, and down the stairs, got himself out into the street.\n\"Thank God that he is gone!\" said Alice.\n\"You may say so,\" said Lady Glencora, \"for you have lost nothing!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And you have gained everything!\"\n\"Have I? I did not know that I had ever gained anything, as yet. The only human being to whom I have ever yet given my whole heart,--the only thing that I have ever really loved, has just gone from me for ever, and you bid me thank God that I have lost him. There is no room for thankfulness in any of it;--either in the love or in the loss. It is all wretchedness from first to last!\"\n\"At any rate, he understands now that you meant it when you told him to leave you.\"\n","abridged":"\"And you have gained everything!\"\n\"Have I? I did not know that I had ever gained anything, as yet. The only human being to whom I have ever yet given my whole heart - the only thing that I have ever really loved - has just gone from me for ever, and you bid me thank God that I have lost him. There is no room for thankfulness. It is all wretchedness from first to last!\"\n\"At any rate, he understands now that you meant it when you told him to leave you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Of course I meant it. I am beginning to know myself by degrees. As for running away with him, I have not the courage to do it. I can think of it, scheme for it, wish for it;--but as for doing it, that is beyond me. Mr. Palliser is quite safe. He need not try to coax me to remain.\"\nAlice knew that it was useless to argue with her, so she came and sat over her,--for Lady Glencora had again placed herself on the stool by the window,--and tried to sooth her by smoothing her hair, and nursing her like a child.\n","abridged":"\"Of course I meant it. I am beginning to know myself by degrees. As for running away with him, I have not the courage to do it. I can think of it, but as for doing it, that is beyond me. Mr. Palliser is quite safe.\"\nAlice came and sat by her, and tried to sooth her by smoothing her hair, and nursing her like a child.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Of course I know that I ought to stay where I am,\" she said, breaking out, almost with rage, and speaking with quick, eager voice. \"I am not such a fool as to mistake what I should be if I left my husband, and went to live with that man as his mistress. You don't suppose that I should think that sort of life very blessed. But why have I been brought to such a pass as this? And, as for female purity! Ah! What was their idea of purity when they forced me, like ogres, to marry a man for whom they knew I never cared? Had I gone with him,--had I now eloped with that man who ought to have been my husband,--whom would a just God have punished worst,--me, or those two old women and my uncle, who tortured me into this marriage?\"\n\"Come, Cora,--be silent.\"\n","abridged":"\"Of course I know that I ought to stay where I am,\" she said, breaking out almost with rage. \"I am not such a fool as to mistake what I should be if I left my husband, and went to live with that man as his mistress. But why have I been brought to such a pass as this? And, as for female purity! Ah! What was their idea of purity when they forced me to marry a man for whom they knew I never cared? If I had eloped with that man who ought to have been my husband, whom would a just God have punished worst - me, or those two old women and my uncle, who tortured me into this marriage?\"\n\"Come, Cora, be silent.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I won't be silent! You have had the making of your own lot. You have done what you liked, and no one has interfered with you. You have suffered, too; but you, at any rate, can respect yourself.\"\n\"And so can you, Cora,--thoroughly, now.\"\n\"How;--when he kissed me, and I could hardly restrain myself from giving him back his kiss tenfold, could I respect myself? But it is all sin. I sin towards my husband, feigning that I love him; and I sin in loving that other man, who should have been my husband. There;--I hear Mr. Palliser at the door. Come away with me; or rather, stay, for he will come up here, and you can keep him in talk while I try to recover myself.\"\n","abridged":"\"I won't be silent! You have done what you liked, and no one has interfered with you. You have suffered, too; but at any rate you can respect yourself.\"\n\"And so can you, Cora - thoroughly, now.\"\n\"How; when he kissed me, and I could hardly restrain myself from giving him back his kiss tenfold? But it is all sin. I sin towards my husband, pretending that I love him; and I sin in loving that other man, who should have been my husband. There; I hear Mr. Palliser at the door. Come away with me; or rather, stay, for he will come up here, and you can keep him talking while I try to recover myself.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Palliser did at once as his wife had said, and came up-stairs to the little front room, as soon as he had deposited his hat in the hall. Alice was, in fact, in doubt what she should do, as to mentioning, or omitting to mention, Mr. Fitzgerald's name. In an ordinary way, it would be natural that she should name any visitor who had called, and she specially disliked the idea of remaining silent because that visitor had come as the lover of her host's wife. But, on the other hand, she owed much to Lady Glencora; and there was no imperative reason, as things had gone, why she should make mischief. There was no further danger to be apprehended. But Mr. Palliser at once put an end to her doubts. \"You have had a visitor here?\" said he.\n\"Yes,\" said Alice.\n","abridged":"Mr. Palliser came upstairs as soon as he had deposited his hat in the hall. Alice was, in fact, in doubt about whether she should mention Mr. Fitzgerald's name. But Mr. Palliser at once put an end to her doubts.\n\"You have had a visitor here?\" said he.\n\"Yes,\" said Alice.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I saw him as I went out,\" said Mr. Palliser. \"Indeed, I met him at the hall door. He, of course, was wrong to come here;--so wrong, that he deserves punishment, if there were any punishment for such offences.\"\n\"He has been punished, I think,\" said Alice.\n\"But as for Glencora,\" continued Mr. Palliser, without any apparent notice of what Alice had said, \"I thought it better that she should see him or not, as she should herself decide.\"\n\"She had no choice in the matter. As it turned out, he was shown up here at once. She sent for me, and I think she was right to do that.\"\n\"Glencora was alone when he came in?\"\n\"For a minute or two,--till I could get to her.\"\n","abridged":"\"I saw him as I went out,\" said Mr. Palliser. \"Indeed, I met him at the hall door. He was, of course, wrong to come here.\"\n\"He has been punished, I think,\" said Alice.\n\"But as for Glencora,\" continued Mr. Palliser, without any apparent notice of what Alice had said, \"I thought it better that she should see him or not, as she should herself decide.\"\n\"She had no choice in the matter. As it turned out, he was shown up here at once. She sent for me, and I think she was right to do that.\"\n\"Glencora was alone when he came in?\"\n\"For a minute or two, till I could get to her.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I have no questions to ask about it,\" said Mr. Palliser, after waiting for a few moments. He had probably thought that Alice would say something further. \"I am very glad that you were within reach of her, as otherwise her position might have been painful. For her, and for me perhaps, it may be as well that he has been here. As for him, I can only say, that I am forced to suppose him to be a villain. What a man does when driven by passion, I can forgive; but that he should deliberately plan schemes to ruin both her and me, is what I can hardly understand.\" As he made this little speech I wonder whether his conscience said anything to him about Lady Dumbello, and a certain evening in his own life, on which he had ventured to call that lady, Griselda.\n","abridged":"\"I have no questions to ask about it,\" said Mr. Palliser, after waiting for a few moments. \"I am very glad that you were within reach of her, as otherwise her position might have been painful. Perhaps it may be as well that he has been here. I am forced to suppose him to be a villain. What a man does when driven by passion, I can forgive; but that he should deliberately plan schemes to ruin both her and me, is what I can hardly understand.\" As he made this little speech I wonder whether his conscience said anything to him about Lady Dumbello, and a certain evening in his own life.\n"}
+{"original":"The little party of three dined together very quietly, and after dinner they all went to work with their novels. Before long Alice saw that Mr. Palliser was yawning, and she began to understand how much he had given up in order that his wife might be secure. It was then, when he had left the room for a few minutes, in order that he might wake himself by walking about the house, that Glencora told Alice of his yawning down at Matching. \"I used to think that he would fall in pieces. What are we to do about it?\"\n\"Don't seem to notice it,\" said Alice.\n\"That's all very well,\" said the other; \"but he'll set us off yawning as bad as himself, and then he'll notice it. He has given himself up to politics, till nothing else has any salt in it left for him. I cannot think why such a man as that wanted a wife at all.\"\n\"You are very hard upon him, Cora.\"\n","abridged":"The little party of three dined together very quietly, and after dinner they all read their novels. Before long Alice saw that Mr. Palliser was yawning, and she began to understand how much he had given up in order that his wife might be secure. When he left the room for a few minutes to wake himself up by walking about the house, Glencora told Alice of his yawning down at Matching. \"I used to think that he would fall in pieces. What are we to do about it?\"\n\"Pretend not to notice it,\" said Alice.\n\"That's all very well; but he'll set us off yawning too, and then he'll notice it. He has given himself up to politics, till nothing else has any salt in it left for him. I cannot think why such a man wanted a wife at all.\"\n\"You are very hard upon him, Cora.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I wish you were his wife, with all my heart. But, of course, I know why he got married. And I ought to feel for him as he has been so grievously disappointed.\" Then Mr. Palliser having walked off his sleep, returned to the room, and the remainder of the evening was passed in absolute tranquillity.\n","abridged":"\"I wish you were his wife. But, of course, I know why he got married. And I ought to feel for him as he has been so grievously disappointed.\" Then Mr. Palliser returned to the room, and the remainder of the evening was passed in tranquillity.\n"}
+{"original":"Burgo Fitzgerald, when he left the house, turned back into Grosvenor Square, not knowing, at first, whither he was going. He took himself as far as his uncle's door, and then, having paused there for a moment, hurried on. For half an hour, or thereabouts, something like true feeling was at work within his heart. He had once more pressed to his bosom the woman he had, at any rate, thought that he had loved. He had had his arm round her, and had kissed her, and the tone with which she had called him by his name was still ringing in his ears, \"Burgo!\" He repeated his own name audibly to himself, as though in this way he could recall her voice. He comforted himself for a minute with the conviction that she loved him. He felt,--for a moment,--that he could live on such consolation as that! But among mortals there could, in truth, hardly be one with whom such consolation would go a shorter way. He was a man who required to have such comfort backed by pats and curaoa to a very large extent, and now it might be doubted whether the amount of pats and curaoa at his command would last him much longer.\n","abridged":"Burgo Fitzgerald, when he left the house, turned back as far as his uncle's door, and then, having paused there for a moment, hurried on. For half an hour, or thereabouts, something like true feeling was at work within his heart. He had once more pressed to his bosom the woman he thought that he had loved. He had kissed her, and her voice was still ringing in his ears. He comforted himself for a minute with the conviction that she loved him. He felt - for a moment - that he could live on such consolation as that! But in truth, there was hardly a man less capable of living on such consolation.\n"}
+{"original":"He would not go in and tell his aunt at once of his failure, as he could gain nothing by doing so. Indeed, he thought that he would not tell his aunt at all. So he turned back from Grosvenor Square, and went down to his club in St. James's Street, feeling that billiards and brandy-and-water might, for the present, be the best restorative. But, as he went back, he blamed himself very greatly in the matter of those bank-notes which he had allowed Lady Monk to take from him. How had it come to pass that he had been such a dupe in her hands? When he entered his club in St. James's Street his mind had left Lady Glencora, and was hard at work considering how he might best contrive to get that spoil out of his aunt's possession.","abridged":"He would not go in and tell his aunt at once of his failure. Indeed, he thought he would not tell his aunt at all. So he turned back from Grosvenor Square, and went to his club in St. James's Street, feeling that billiards and brandy-and-water might be the best restorative. He blamed himself greatly for letting Lady Monk take those banknotes from him. When he entered his club his mind had left Lady Glencora, and was considering how he might best get that spoil out of his aunt's possession."}
+{"original":"During these days Mrs. Greenow was mistress of the old Hall down in Westmoreland, and was nursing Kate assiduously through the calamity of her broken arm. There had come to be a considerable amount of confidence between the aunt and the niece. Kate had acknowledged to her aunt that her brother had behaved badly,--very badly; and the aunt had confessed to the niece that she regarded Captain Bellfield as a fit subject for compassion.\n","abridged":"During these days Mrs. Greenow was mistress of the old Hall down in Westmorland, and was nursing Kate. The aunt and the niece had confided much in each other. Kate had acknowledged that her brother had behaved badly; and the aunt had confessed to the niece that she regarded Captain Bellfield as a fit subject for compassion.\n"}
+{"original":"\"And he was violent to you, and broke your arm? I always knew it was so,\" Mrs. Greenow had said, speaking with reference to her nephew. But this Kate had denied. \"No,\" said she; \"that was an accident. When he went away and left me, he knew nothing about it. And if he had broken both my arms I should not have cared much. I could have forgiven him that.\" But that which Kate could not forgive him was the fault which she had herself committed. For his sake she had done her best to separate Alice and John Grey, and George had shown himself to be unworthy of the kindness of her treachery. \"I would give all I have in the world to bring them together again,\" Kate said. ","abridged":"\"And he broke your arm? I always knew he was violent,\" Mrs. Greenow had said.\nBut this Kate had denied. \"No, that was an accident. And if he had broken both my arms, I could have forgiven him that.\" What she could not forgive was the fault which she had herself committed. For his sake she had tried to separate Alice and John Grey, and George had shown himself to be unworthy. \"I would give all I have in the world to bring them together again,\" Kate said.\n"}
+{"original":"\"They'll come together fast enough if they like each other,\" said Mrs. Greenow. \"Alice is young still, and they tell me she's as good looking as ever. A girl with her money won't have far to seek for a husband, even if this paragon from Cambridgeshire should not turn up again.\"\n\"You don't know Alice, aunt.\"\n\"No, I don't. But I know what young women are, and I know what young men are. All this nonsense about her cousin George,--what difference will it make? A man like Mr. Grey won't care about that,--especially not if she tells him all about it. My belief is that a girl can have anything forgiven her, if she'll only tell it herself.\"\n","abridged":"\"They'll come together fast enough if they like each other,\" said Mrs. Greenow. \"Alice is young still, and they tell me she's as good looking as ever. A girl with her money won't have to seek far for a husband.\"\n\"You don't know Alice, aunt.\"\n\"No, I don't. But I know what young women are, and I know what young men are. A man like Mr. Grey won't care about all that nonsense with her cousin George - especially if she tells him all about it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"But Kate preferred the other subject, and so, I think, did Mrs. Greenow herself. \"Of course, my dear,\" she would say, \"marriage with me, if I should marry again, would be a very different thing to your marriage, or that of any other young person. As for love, that has been all over for me since poor Greenow died. I have known nothing of the softness of affection since I laid him in his cold grave, and never can again. 'Captain Bellfield,' I said to him, 'if you were to kneel at my feet for years, it would not make me care for you in the way of love.'\"\n\"And what did he say to that?\"\n\"How am I to tell you what he said? He talked nonsense about my beauty, as all the men do. If a woman were hump-backed, and had only one eye, they wouldn't be ashamed to tell her she was a Venus.\"\n\"But, aunt, you are a handsome woman, you know.\"\n","abridged":"But Kate preferred the subject of the Captain, and so, I think, did Mrs. Greenow herself.\n\"Of course, my dear,\" she would say, \"as for love, that has been all over for me since poor Greenow died. 'Captain Bellfield,' I said to him, 'if you were to kneel at my feet for years, it would not make me love you.'\"\n\"And what did he say?\"\n\"He talked nonsense about my beauty, as all the men do. If a woman were hump-backed, and had only one eye, they wouldn't be ashamed to tell her she was a Venus.\"\n\"But, aunt, you are a handsome woman, you know.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Laws, my dear, as if I didn't understand all about it; as if I didn't know what makes a woman run after? It isn't beauty,--and it isn't money altogether. I've seen women who had plenty of both, and not a man would come nigh them. They didn't dare. There are some of them, a man would as soon think of putting his arm round a poplar tree, they are so hard and so stiff. You know you're a little that way yourself, Kate, and I've always told you it won't do.\"\n\"I'm afraid I'm too old to mend, aunt.\"\n","abridged":"\"Laws, my dear, it isn't beauty as makes men run after a woman - and it isn't money altogether. I've seen women who had plenty of both, and not a man dared come near them, they were so hard and stiff. You know you're a little that way yourself, Kate.\"\n\"I'm afraid I'm too old to mend, aunt.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not at all, if you'll only set your wits to work and try. You've plenty of money now, and you're good-looking enough, too, when you take the trouble to get yourself up. But, as I said before, it isn't that that's wanted. There's a stand-off about some women,--what the men call a 'nollimy tangere,' that a man must be quite a furious Orlando to attempt to get the better of it. They look as though matrimony itself were improper, and as if they believed that little babies were found about in the hedges and ditches. They talk of women being forward! There are some of them a deal too backward, according to my way of thinking.\"\n\"Yours is a comfortable doctrine, aunt.\"\n","abridged":"\"Not at all, if you'll only try. You've plenty of money now, and you're good-looking enough, when you take the trouble. But, as I said before, that's not important. There's a stand-off about some women: they look as though marriage itself were improper, and as if they believed that little babies were found in the hedges and ditches. They talk of women being forward! There are some a deal too backward, according to my way of thinking. "}
+{"original":"\"That's just what I want it to be. I want things to be comfortable. Why shouldn't things be nice about one when one's got the means? Nobody can say it's a pleasant thing to live alone. I always thought that man in the song hit it off properly. You remember what he says? 'The poker and tongs to each other belongs.' So they do, and that should be the way with men and women.\"\n\"But the poker and tongs have but a bad life of it sometimes.\"\n","abridged":"You remember the song? 'The poker and tongs to each other belongs.' So they do, and that should be the way with men and women.\"\n\"But the poker and tongs have a bad life of it sometimes.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not so often as the people say, my dear. Men and women ain't like lumps of sugar. They don't melt because the water is sometimes warm. Now, if I do take Bellfield,--and I really think I shall; but if I do he'll give me a deal of trouble. I know he will. He'll always be wanting my money, and, of course, he'll get more than he ought. I'm not a Solomon, nor yet a Queen of Sheba, no more than anybody else. And he'll smoke too many cigars, and perhaps drink more brandy-and-water than he ought. And he'll be making eyes, too, at some of the girls who'll be fools enough to let him.\"\n\"Dear me, aunt, if I thought all that ill of him, I'm sure I wouldn't marry him;--especially as you say you don't love him.\"\n","abridged":"\"Not so often as people say, my dear. Men and women don't melt because the water is sometimes warm. Now, if I do take Bellfield - and I really think I shall; but I know he'll give me a deal of trouble. He'll always be wanting my money, and, of course, he'll get more than he ought. And he'll smoke too many cigars, and perhaps drink more brandy-and-water than he should. And he'll be making eyes, too, at the girls who are fools enough to let him.\"\n\"Dear me, aunt, if I thought that ill of him, I wouldn't marry him - especially as you say you don't love him.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"As for love, my dear, that's gone,--clear gone!\" Whereupon Mrs. Greenow put up her handkerchief to her eyes. \"Some women can love twice, but I am not one of them. I wish I could,--I wish I could!\" These last words were spoken in a tone of solemn regret, which, however, she contrived to change as quickly as she had adopted it. \"But my dear, marriage is a comfortable thing. And then, though the Captain may be a little free, I don't doubt but what I shall get the upper hand with him at last. I shan't stop his cigars and brandy-and-water you know. Why shouldn't a man smoke and have a glass, if he don't make a beast of himself? I like to see a man enjoy himself. ","abridged":"\"As for love, my dear, that's gone!\" Mrs. Greenow put up her handkerchief to her eyes. \"Some women can love twice, but I am not one of them.\" Then her solemn tone changed as she went on. \"But my dear, marriage is a comfortable thing. And I don't doubt that I shall get the upper hand with the Captain at last. I shan't stop his cigars and brandy-and-water. Why shouldn't a man enjoy himself? "}
+{"original":"And then,\" she added, speaking tenderly of her absent lover, \"I do think he's fond of me,--I do, indeed.\"\n\"So is Mr. Cheesacre for the matter of that.\"\n\"Poor Cheesy! I believe he was, though he did talk so much about money. I always like to believe the best I can of them. But then there was no poetry about Cheesy. I don't care about saying it now, as you've quite made up your mind not to have him.\"\n\"Quite, aunt.\"\n","abridged":"And then,\" she added tenderly, \"I do think he's fond of me - I do, indeed.\"\n\"So is Mr. Cheesacre, for that matter.\"\n\"Poor Cheesy! I believe he was, though he did talk so much about money. But there was no poetry about Cheesy. I don't care about saying it now, as you've made up your mind not to have him.\"\n\"Quite, aunt.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Your grandfather's will does make a difference, you know. But, as I was saying, I do like a little romance about them,--just a sniff, as I call it, of the rocks and valleys. One knows that it doesn't mean much; but it's like artificial flowers,--it gives a little colour, and takes off the dowdiness. Of course, bread-and-cheese is the real thing. The rocks and valleys are no good at all, if you haven't got that, But enough is as good as a feast. Thanks to dear Greenow,\"--here the handkerchief was again used--\"Thanks to dear Greenow, I shall never want. Of course I shan't let any of the money go into his hands,--the Captain's, I mean. I know a trick worth two of that, my dear. But, lord love you! I've enough for him and me. ","abridged":"\"Your grandfather's will does make a difference. But, as I was saying, I do like a little romance - just a sniff, as I call it, of the rocks and valleys. One knows that it doesn't mean much; but it's like artificial flowers - it gives a little colour, and takes off the dowdiness. Thanks to dear Greenow, I shall never want. Of course I shan't let any of the money go into the Captain's hands. But, lord love you! I've enough for him and me. "}
+{"original":"What's the good of a woman's wanting to keep it all to herself?\"\n[Illustration: A sniff of the rocks and valleys.]\n\"And you think you'll really take him, aunt, and pay his washerwoman's bills for him? You remember what you told me when I first saw him?\"\n\"Oh, yes; I remember. And if he can't pay his own washerwoman, isn't that so much more of a reason that I should do it for him? Well; yes; I think I will take him. That is, if he lets me take him just as I choose. Beggars mustn't be choosers, my dear.\"\n","abridged":"What's the good of a woman's wanting to keep it all to herself?\"\n\"And you think you'll really take him, aunt?\"\n\"Well, yes; I think I will.\" "}
+{"original":"In this way the aunt and niece became very confidential, and Mrs. Greenow whispered into Kate's ears her belief that Captain Bellfield might possibly make his way across the country to Westmoreland. \"There would be no harm in offering him a bed, would there?\" Mrs. Greenow asked. \"You see the inn at Shap is a long way off for morning calls.\" Kate could not take upon herself to say that there would be any harm, but she did not like the idea of having Captain Bellfield as a visitor. \"After all, perhaps he mayn't come,\" said the widow. \"I don't see where he is to raise the money for such a journey, now that he has quarrelled with Mr. Cheesacre.\"\n","abridged":"Then Mrs. Greenow whispered to Kate her belief that Captain Bellfield might possibly travel to Westmorland.\n\"There would be no harm in offering him a bed, would there?\" she asked. \"The inn at Shap is a long way off for morning calls.\"\nKate did not like the idea of having Captain Bellfield as a visitor. "}
+{"original":"\"If Captain Bellfield must come to Vavasor Hall, at any rate let him not come till Alice's visit had been completed.\" That was Kate's present wish, and so much she ventured to confide to her aunt. But there seemed to be no way of stopping him. \"I don't in the least know where he is, my dear, and as for writing to him, I never did such a thing in my life, and I shouldn't know how to begin.\" Mrs. Greenow declared that she had not positively invited the Captain; but on this point Kate hardly gave full credit to her aunt's statement.\n","abridged":"\"If he must come, at least let him not come till after Alice's visit.\"\nBut there seemed to be no way of stopping him. \"I don't know where he is, my dear, and as for writing to him, I shouldn't know how to begin.\" Although Mrs. Greenow declared that she had not positively invited the Captain, Kate did not entirely believe her.\n"}
+{"original":"Alice arrived, and, for a day or two, the three ladies lived very pleasantly together. Kate still wore her arm in a sling; but she was able to walk out, and would take long walks in spite of the doctor's prohibition. Of course, they went up on the mountains. Indeed, all the walks from Vavasor Hall led to the mountains, unless one chose to take the road to Shap. But they went up, across the beacon hill, as though by mutual consent. There were no questions asked between them as to the route to be taken; and though they did not reach the stone on which they had once sat looking over upon Haweswater, they did reach the spot upon which Kate had encountered her accident. \"It was here I fell,\" she said; \"and the last I saw of him was his back, as he made his way down into the valley, there. When I got upon my legs I could still see him. It was one of those evenings when the clouds are dark, but you can see all objects with a peculiar clearness through the air. I stood here ever so long, holding my arm, and watching him; but he never once turned to look back at me. ","abridged":"Alice arrived, and, for a day or two, the three ladies lived very pleasantly together. Kate wore her arm in a sling; but she was able to walk out, and would take long walks in spite of the doctor's advice. Of course, they went up on the mountains. They walked up the beacon hill, and reached the spot where Kate had met with her accident.\n\"It was here I fell,\" she said; \"and the last I saw of him was his back, as he went down into the valley. I stood here ever so long, holding my arm, and watching him; but he never once turned to look back at me. "}
+{"original":"Do you know, Alice, I fancy that I shall never see him again.\"\n\"Do you suppose that he means to quarrel with you altogether?\"\n\"I can hardly tell you what I mean! He seemed to me to be going away from me, as though he went into another world. His figure against the light was quite clear, and he walked quickly, and on he went, till the slope of the hill hid him from me. Of course, I thought that he would return to the Hall. At one time I almost feared that he would come upon me through the woods, as I went back myself. But yet, I had a feeling,--what people call a presentiment, that I should never see him again.\"\n\"He has never written?\"\n","abridged":"Do you know, Alice, I fancy that I shall never see him again.\"\n\"Do you suppose that he means to quarrel with you altogether?\"\n\"I hardly know! He seemed to me to be going away from me, as though into another world. Of course, I thought that he would return to the Hall. At one time I almost feared that he would come upon me through the woods, as I went back. But still, I had a feeling that I should never see him again.\"\n\"He has never written?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No; not a word. You must remember that he did not know that I had hurt myself. I am sure he will not write, and I am sure, also, that I shall not. If he wanted money I would send it to him, but I would not write to him.\"\n\"I fear he will always want money, Kate.\"\n\"I fear he will. If you could know what I suffered when he made me write that letter to you! But, of course, I was a beast. Of course, I ought not to have written it.\"\n\"I thought it a very proper letter.\"\n","abridged":"\"Not a word. You must remember that he did not know that I had hurt myself. I am sure he will not write. If he wanted money I would send it to him, but I will not write to him.\"\n\"I fear he will always want money, Kate.\"\n\"I fear he will. If you could know what I suffered when he made me write that letter to you! Of course, I ought not to have written it. "}
+{"original":"\"It was a mean letter. The whole thing was mean! He should have starved in the street before he had taken your money. He should have given up Parliament, and everything else! I had doubted much about him before, but it was that which first turned my heart against him. I had begun to fear that he was not such a man as I had always thought him,--as I had spoken of him to you.\"\n\"I had judged of him for myself,\" said Alice.\n","abridged":"It was a mean letter. The whole thing was mean! He should have starved in the street before he took your money. It was that which first turned my heart against him. I began to fear that he was not such a man as I had always thought him, and spoken of him.\"\n\"I had judged him for myself,\" said Alice.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Of course you did. But I had endeavoured to make you judge kindly. Alice, dear! we have both suffered for him; you more than I, perhaps; but I, too, have given up everything for him. My whole life has been at his service. I have been his creature, to do his bidding, just as he might tell me. He made me do things that I knew to be wrong,--things that were foreign to my own nature; and yet I almost worshipped him. Even now, if he were to come back, I believe that I should forgive him everything.\"\n\"I should forgive him, but I could never do more.\"\n","abridged":"\"Of course you did. But I had tried to make you judge kindly. Alice, dear! we have both suffered for him. I, too, have given up everything for him. My whole life has been at his service. He made me do things that I knew were wrong, and yet I almost worshipped him. Even now, if he came back, I believe that I should forgive him everything.\"\n\"I should forgive him, but I could never do more.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But he will never come back. He will never ask us to forgive him, or even wish it. He has no heart.\"\n\"He has longed for money till the Devil has hardened his heart,\" said Alice.\n\"And yet how tender he could be in his manner when he chose it;--how soft he could make his words and his looks! Do you remember how he behaved to us in Switzerland? Do you remember that balcony at Basle, and the night we sat there, when the boys were swimming down the river?\"\n\"Yes;--I remember.\"\n","abridged":"\"But he will never come back. He will never ask us to forgive him, or even wish it. He has no heart. And yet how tender he could be when he chose! Do you remember Switzerland? Do you remember that balcony at Basle, and the night we sat there?\"\n\"Yes, I remember.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"So do I! So do I! Alice, I would give all I have in the world, if I could recall that journey to Switzerland.\"\n\"If you mean for my sake, Kate--\"\n\"I do mean for your sake. It made no difference to me. Whether I stayed in Westmoreland or went abroad, I must have found out that my god was made of bricks and clay instead of gold. But there was no need for you to be crushed in the ruins.\"\n\"I am not crushed, Kate!\"\n\"Of course, you are too proud to own it?\"\n","abridged":"\"So do I! Alice, I would give all I have in the world, if I could undo that journey to Switzerland, for your sake.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"If you mean about Mr. Grey, that would have happened just the same, whether I had gone abroad or remained at home.\"\n\"Would it, dear?\"\n\"Just the same.\"\nThere was nothing more than this said between them about Mr. Grey. Even to her cousin, Alice could not bring herself to talk freely on that subject. She would never allow herself to think, for a moment, that she had been persuaded by others to treat him as she had treated him. She was sure that she had acted on her own convictions of what was right and wrong; and now, though she had begun to feel that she had been wrong, she would hardly confess as much even to herself.\nThey walked back, down the hill, to the Hall in silence for the greater part of the way. Once or twice Kate repeated her conviction that she should never again see her brother. \"I do not know what may happen to him,\" she said in answer to her cousin's questions; \"but when he was passing out of my sight into the valley, I felt that I was looking at him for the last time.\"\n","abridged":"\"Kate, what happened with Mr. Grey would have happened just the same, whether I had gone abroad or remained at home.\"\n\"Would it, dear?\"\n\"Just the same.\"\nThere was nothing more than this said about Mr. Grey. Alice could not bring herself to talk freely about him. She would never allow herself to think, for a moment, that she had been persuaded by others to treat him as she had. She had acted on her own convictions.\nThey walked back to the Hall mostly in silence. "}
+{"original":"\"That is simply what people call a presentiment,\" Alice replied.\n\"Exactly so; and presentiments, of course, mean nothing,\" said Kate.\nThen they walked on towards the house without further speech; but when they reached the end of the little path which led out of the wood, on to the gravelled sweep before the front door, they were both arrested by a sight that met their eyes. There was a man standing, with a cigar in his mouth, before them, swinging a little cane, and looking about him up at the wood. He had on his head a jaunty little straw-hat, and he wore a jacket with brass buttons, and white trousers. It was now nearly the middle of May, but the summer does not come to Westmoreland so early as that, and the man, as he stood there looking about him, seemed to be cold and almost uncomfortable. He had not as yet seen the two girls, who stood at the end of the walk, arrested by the sight of him. \"Who is it?\" asked Alice, in a whisper.\n\"Captain Bellfield,\" said Kate, speaking with something very like dismay in her voice.\n","abridged":"As they came out of the wood, they were arrested by the sight of a man standing with a cigar in his mouth, swinging a little cane, and looking around. He wore a jaunty little straw-hat, a jacket with brass buttons, and white trousers. It was now nearly the middle of May, but the summer does not come to Westmorland so early as that, and the man seemed to be cold and uncomfortable. He had not yet seen the two girls.\n\"Who is it?\" whispered Alice.\n\"Captain Bellfield,\" said Kate, dismayed. "}
+{"original":"\"What! aunt Greenow's Captain?\"\n\"Yes; aunt Greenow's Captain. I have been fearing this, and now, what on earth are we to do with him? Look at him. That's what aunt Greenow calls a sniff of the rocks and valleys.\"\n","abridged":"\"I have been fearing this. What on earth are we to do with him? Look at him. That's what aunt Greenow calls a sniff of the rocks and valleys.\"\n"}
+{"original":"The Captain began to move,--just to move, as though it were necessary to do something to keep the life in his limbs. He had finished his cigar, and looked at the end of it with manifest regret. As he threw it away among a tuft of shrubs his eye fell upon the two ladies, and he uttered a little exclamation. Then he came forward, waving his little straw-hat in his hand, and made his salutation. \"Miss Vavasor, I am delighted,\" he said. \"Miss Alice Vavasor, if I am not mistaken? I have been commissioned by my dear friend Mrs. Greenow to go out and seek you, but, upon my word, the woods looked so black that I did not dare to venture;--and then, of course, I shouldn't have found you.\"\n","abridged":"The Captain had finished his cigar, and as he threw it away among the shrubs his eye fell upon the two ladies. He uttered an exclamation, came forward, and saluted them.\n\"Miss Vavasor, I am delighted,\" he said. \"Miss Alice Vavasor, if I am not mistaken? I have been asked by my dear friend Mrs. Greenow to go out and seek you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Kate put out her left hand, and then introduced her cousin to the Captain. Again he waved his little straw-hat, and strove to bear himself as though he were at home and comfortable. But he failed, and it was manifest that he failed. He was not the Bellfield who had conquered Mr. Cheesacre on the sands at Yarmouth, though he wore the same jacket and waistcoat, and must now have enjoyed the internal satisfaction of feeling that his future maintenance in life was assured to him. But he was not at his ease. His courage had sufficed to enable him to follow his quarry into Westmoreland, but it did not suffice to make him comfortable while he was there. Kate instantly perceived his condition, and wickedly resolved that she would make no effort to assist him. She went through some ceremony of introduction, and then expressed her surprise at seeing him so far north.\n","abridged":"Kate introduced her cousin to the Captain, who strove to bear himself as though he were comfortably at home. But he failed. He was not the Bellfield who had conquered Mr. Cheesacre on the sands at Yarmouth, though he wore the same jacket and waistcoat. Here he was not at his ease. Kate instantly saw this, and wickedly resolved that she would make no effort to help him. She expressed her surprise at seeing him so far north.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well,\" said he; \"I am a little surprised myself;--I am, indeed! But I had nothing to do in Norwich,--literally nothing; and your aunt had so often talked to me of the beauties of this place,\"--and he waved his hand round at the old house and the dark trees,--\"that I thought I'd take the liberty of paying you a flying visit. I didn't mean to intrude in the way of sleeping; I didn't indeed, Miss Vavasor; only Mrs. Greenow has been so kind as to say--\"\n\"We are so very far out of the world, Captain Bellfield, that we always give our visitors beds.\"\n\"I didn't intend it; I didn't indeed, miss!\" Poor Captain Bellfield was becoming very uneasy in his agitation. \"I did just put my bag, with a change of things, into the gig, which brought me over, not knowing quite where I might go on to.\"\n\"We won't send you any further to-day, at any rate,\" said Kate.\n\"Mrs. Greenow has been very kind,--very kind, indeed. She has asked me to stay till--Saturday!\"\n","abridged":"\"Well,\" said he; \"I am a little surprised myself. But your aunt had so often talked to me of the beauties of this place that I thought I'd take the liberty of paying you a flying visit. I didn't mean to intrude in the way of sleeping; I didn't indeed, Miss Vavasor; only Mrs. Greenow has been so kind as to say-\"\n\"We are so very far out of the world, Captain Bellfield, that we always give our visitors beds.\"\n\"I didn't intend it, indeed, miss!\" Poor Captain Bellfield was becoming very uneasy. \"I did just put my bag, with a change of things, into the gig, not knowing quite where I might go on to.\"\n\"We won't send you any further today, at any rate,\" said Kate.\n\"Mrs. Greenow has been very kind. She has asked me to stay till - Saturday!\"\n"}
+{"original":"Kate bit her lips in a momentary fit of anger. The house was her house, and not her aunt's. But she remembered that her aunt had been kind to her at Norwich and at Yarmouth, and she allowed this feeling to die away. \"We shall be very glad to see you,\" she said. \"We are three women together here, and I'm afraid you will find us rather dull.\"\n\"Oh dear, no,--dull with you! That would be impossible!\"\n\"And how have you left your friend, Mr. Cheesacre?\"\n","abridged":"Kate bit her lips in a momentary fit of anger. The house was not her aunt's. But she remembered that her aunt had been kind to her, and she allowed this feeling to die away. \"We shall be very glad to see you,\" she said, \"though I'm afraid you will find us rather dull.\"\n\"Oh dear, no - dull with you! That would be impossible!\"\n\"And how have you left your friend, Mr. Cheesacre?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Quite well;--very well, thank you. That is to say, I haven't seen him much lately. He and I did have a bit of a breeze, you know.\"\n\"I can't say that I did know, Captain Bellfield.\"\n\"I thought, perhaps, you had heard. He seemed to think that I was too particular in a certain quarter! Ha--ha--ha--ha! That's only my joke, you know, ladies.\"\n","abridged":"\"Quite well, thank you. That is to say, I haven't seen him much lately. He and I did have a bit of a breeze, you know.\"\n\"I can't say that I did know, Captain Bellfield.\"\n\"I thought, perhaps, you had heard. He seemed to think that I was too particular in a certain quarter! Ha - ha - ha! That's only my joke, ladies.\"\n"}
+{"original":"They then went into the house, and the Captain straggled in after them. Mrs. Greenow was in neither of the two sitting-rooms which they usually occupied. She, too, had been driven somewhat out of the ordinary composure of her manner by the arrival of her lover,--even though she had expected it, and had retired to her room, thinking that she had better see Kate in private before they met in the presence of the Captain. \"I suppose you have seen my aunt since you have been here?\" said Kate.\n\"Oh dear, yes. I saw her, and she suggested that I had better walk out and find you. I did find you, you know, though I didn't walk very far.\"\n\"And have you seen your room?\"\n","abridged":"They went into the house, and the Captain straggled in after them. Mrs. Greenow, who had been somewhat discomposed by the manner of her lover's arrival - even though she had expected it - had retired to her room.\n\"Have you seen your room, Captain?\" "}
+{"original":"\"Yes;--yes. She was kind enough to show me my room. Very nice indeed, thank you;--looking out into the front, and all that kind of thing.\" The poor fellow was no doubt thinking how much better was his lot at Vavasor Hall than it had been at Oileymead. \"I shan't stay long, Miss Vavasor,--only just a night or so; but I did want to see your aunt again,--and you, too, upon my word.\"\n\"My aunt is the attraction, Captain Bellfield. We all know that.\"\n","abridged":"Kate asked him.\n\"Yes - yes. Mrs. Greenow was kind enough to show me. Very nice indeed, thank you. I shan't stay long, Miss Vavasor - only a night or so; but I did want to see your aunt again - and you, too, upon my word.\"\n\"My aunt is the attraction, Captain Bellfield. We all know that.\"\n"}
+{"original":"He actually simpered,--simpered like a young girl who is half elated and half ashamed when her lover is thrown in her teeth. He fidgeted with the things on the table, and moved himself about uneasily from one leg to the other. Perhaps he was remembering that though he had contrived to bring himself to Vavasor Hall he had not money enough left to take him back to Norwich. The two girls left him and went to their rooms. \"I will go to my aunt at once,\" said Kate, \"and find out what is to be done.\"\n\"I suppose she means to marry him?\"\n\"Oh, yes; she means to marry him, and the sooner the better now. I knew this was coming, but I did so hope it would not be while you were here. It makes me feel so ashamed of myself that you should see it.\"\n","abridged":"He actually simpered like a young girl. He fidgeted, and shifted from one leg to the other. Perhaps he was remembering that he had not money enough left to take him back to Norwich.\nThe two girls left him. \"I will go to my aunt at once,\" said Kate, \"and find out what is to be done.\"\n\"I suppose she means to marry him?\"\n\"Oh, yes. I knew this was coming, but I did hope it would not be while you were here.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Kate boldly knocked at her aunt's door, and her aunt received her with a conscious smile. \"I was waiting for you to come,\" said Mrs. Greenow.\n\"Here I am, aunt; and, what is more to the purpose, there is Captain Bellfield in the drawing-room.\"\n\"Stupid man! I told him to take himself away about the place till dinner-time. I've half a mind to send him back to Shap at once;--upon my word I have.\"\n\"Don't do that, aunt; it would be inhospitable.\"\n\"But he is such an oaf. I hope you understand, my dear, that I couldn't help it?\"\n\"But you do mean to--to marry him, aunt; don't you?\"\n","abridged":"Kate boldly knocked at her aunt's door.\n\"Here I am, aunt; and, what is more to the purpose, there is Captain Bellfield in the drawing-room.\"\n\"Stupid man! I told him to take himself away till dinner-time. I've half a mind to send him back to Shap at once. He is such an oaf.\"\n\"But you do mean to - to marry him, aunt; don't you?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well, Kate, I really think I do. Why shouldn't I? It's a lonely sort of life being by myself; and, upon my word, I don't think there's very much harm in him.\"\n\"I am not saying anything against him; only in that case you can't very well turn him out of the house.\"\n\"Could not I, though? I could in a minute; and, if you wish it, you shall see if I can't do it.\"\n\"The rocks and valleys would not allow that, aunt.\"\n","abridged":"\"Well, Kate, I really think I do. Why shouldn't I? It's a lonely sort of life being by myself; and I don't think there's very much harm in him.\"\n\"I am not saying anything against him; only in that case you can't very well turn him out of the house.\"\n\"Couldn't I, though? I could in a minute.\"\n\"The rocks and valleys would not allow that, aunt.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It's all very well for you to laugh, my dear. If laughing would break my bones I shouldn't be as whole as I am now. I might have had Cheesacre if I liked, who is a substantial man, and could have kept a carriage for me; but it was the rocks and valleys that prevented that;--and perhaps a little feeling that I might do some good to a poor fellow who has nobody in the world to look after him.\" Mrs. Greenow, as she said this, put her handkerchief up to her eyes, and wiped away the springing moisture. Tears were always easy with her, but on this occasion Kate almost respected her tears. \"I'm sure I hope you'll be happy, aunt.\"\n\"If he makes me unhappy he shall pay for it;\" and Mrs. Greenow, having done with the tears, shook her head, as though upon this occasion she quite meant all that she said.\n","abridged":"\"It's all very well for you to laugh, my dear. I might have had Cheesacre if I liked, who could have kept a carriage for me; but it was the rocks and valleys that prevented that; - and perhaps a feeling that I might do some good to a poor fellow who has nobody in the world to look after him.\"\n\"I'm sure I hope you'll be happy, aunt.\"\n\"If he makes me unhappy he shall pay for it;\" and Mrs. Greenow shook her head, as though she meant it.\n"}
+{"original":"At dinner they were not very comfortable. Either the gloomy air of the place and the neighbourhood of the black pines had depressed the Captain, or else the glorious richness of the prospects before him had made him thoughtful. He had laid aside the jacket with the brass buttons, and had dressed himself for dinner very soberly. And he behaved himself at dinner and after dinner with a wonderful sobriety, being very unlike the Captain who had sat at the head of the table at Mrs. Greenow's picnic. When left to himself after dinner he barely swallowed two glasses of the old Squire's port wine before he sauntered out into the garden to join the ladies, whom he had seen there; and when pressed by Kate to light a cigar he positively declined.\nOn the following morning Mrs. Greenow had recovered her composure, but Captain Bellfield was still in a rather disturbed state of mind. He knew that his efforts were to be crowned with success, and that he was sure of his wife, but he did not know how the preliminary difficulties were to be overcome, and he did not know what to do with himself at the Hall. After breakfast he fidgeted about in the parlour, being unable to contrive for himself a mode of escape, and was absolutely thrown upon his beam-ends when the widow asked him what he meant to do with himself between that and dinner.\n\"I suppose I'd better take a walk,\" he said; \"and perhaps the young ladies--\"\n","abridged":"At dinner they were not very comfortable. The Captain had laid aside the jacket with the brass buttons, and had dressed himself for dinner very soberly. And he behaved himself with an amazing sobriety, very unlike the Captain of Mrs. Greenow's picnic. After dinner he swallowed only two glasses of the old Squire's port wine before he sauntered out into the garden to join the ladies; and when pressed by Kate to light a cigar, he declined.\nOn the following morning Mrs. Greenow had recovered her composure, but Captain Bellfield was still in a rather disturbed state of mind. He now knew that his efforts were to be crowned with success, but he did not know how the preliminary difficulties were to be overcome, and he did not know what to do with himself at the Hall. After breakfast he fidgeted about in the parlour, and was flummoxed when the widow asked him what he meant to do before dinner.\n\"I suppose I'd better take a walk,\" he said; \"and perhaps the young ladies-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"If you mean my two nieces,\" said Mrs. Greenow, \"I'm afraid you'll find they are engaged. But if I'm not too old to walk with--\" The Captain assured her that she was just of the proper age for a walking companion, as far as his taste went, and then attempted some apology for the awkwardness of his expression, at which the three women laughed heartily. \"Never mind, Captain,\" said Mrs. Greenow. \"We'll have our walk all the same, and won't mind those young girls. Come along.\" They started, not up towards the mountains, as Kate always did when she walked in Westmoreland, but mildly, and at a gentle pace, as beseemed their years, along the road towards Shap. The Captain politely opened the old gate for the widow, and then carefully closed it again,--not allowing it to swing, as he would have done at Yarmouth. Then he tripped up to his place beside her, suggested his arm, which she declined, and walked on for some paces in silence. What on earth was he to say to her? He had done his love-making successfully, and what was he to do next?\n","abridged":"\"I'm afraid my nieces are busy,\" said Mrs. Greenow. \"But if I'm not too old to walk with you-\"\nThe Captain assured her that she was just the proper age for a walking companion, and then attempted some apology, at which the three women laughed.\n\"Never mind, Captain,\" said Mrs. Greenow. \"We'll have our walk, and won't mind those young girls. Come along.\"\nThey started at a gentle pace, as beseemed their years, along the road towards Shap. The Captain politely opened the gate for the widow, and then carefully closed it again, not allowing it to swing, as he would have done at Yarmouth. Then he offered her his arm, which she declined, and they walked on slowly in silence. What on earth was he to say to her?\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well, Captain Bellfield,\" said she. They were walking very slowly, and he was cutting the weeds by the roadside with his cane. He knew by her voice that something special was coming, so he left the weeds and ranged himself close up alongside of her. \"Well, Captain Bellfield,--so I suppose I'm to be good-natured; am I?\"\n\"Arabella, you'll make me the happiest man in the world.\"\n\"That's all fudge.\" She would have said, \"all rocks and valleys,\" only he would not have understood her.\n\"Upon my word, you will.\"\n\"I hope I shall make you respectable?\"\n","abridged":"\"Well, Captain Bellfield,\" said she. \"So I suppose I'm to be good-natured; am I?\"\n\"Arabella, you'll make me the happiest man in the world.\"\n\"That's all fudge.\"\n\"Upon my word, you will.\"\n\"I hope I shall make you respectable?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, yes; certainly. I quite intend that.\"\n\"It is the great thing that you should intend. Of course I am going to make a fool of myself.\"\n\"No, no; don't say that.\"\n\"If I don't say it, all my friends will say it for me. It's lucky for you that I don't much care what people say.\"\n\"It is lucky;--I know that I'm lucky. The very first day I saw you I thought what a happy fellow I was to meet you. Then, of course, I was only thinking of your beauty.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, yes; certainly. I quite intend that.\"\n\"It is the great thing that you should intend. Of course I am going to make a fool of myself.\"\n\"No, no; don't say that.\"\n\"If I don't say it, all my friends will say it for me. It's lucky for you that I don't much care what people say.\"\n\"I know that I'm lucky. The very first day I saw you I thought what a lucky fellow I was to meet you. Then, of course, I was only thinking of your beauty.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Get along with you!\"\n\"Upon my word, yes. Come, Arabella, as we are to be man and wife, you might as well.\" At this moment he had got very close to her, and had recovered something of his usual elasticity; but she would not allow him even to put his arm round her waist. \"Out in the high road!\" she said. \"How can you be so impertinent,--and so foolish?\"\n\"You might as well, you know,--just once.\"\n","abridged":"\"Get along with you!\"\n\"Upon my word, yes. Come, Arabella, as we are to be man and wife, you might as well.\" At this moment he had got very close to her, and had recovered something of his usual manner; but she would not allow him even to put his arm round her waist.\n\"Out in the high road!\" she said. \"How can you be so impertinent - and so foolish?\"\n\"You might as well, you know.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Captain Bellfield, I brought you out here not for such fooling as that, but in order that we might have a little chat about business. If we are to be man and wife, as you say, we ought to understand on what footing we are to begin together. I'm afraid your own private means are not considerable?\"\n\"Well, no; they are not, Mrs. Greenow.\"\n","abridged":"\"Captain Bellfield, I brought you out here not for such fooling as that, but in order that we might have a little chat about business. If we are to be man and wife, as you say, we ought to understand on what footing we are to begin together. I'm afraid your own private means are not considerable?\"\n\"Well, no; they are not, Mrs. Greenow.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Have you anything?\" The Captain hesitated, and poked the ground with his cane. \"Come, Captain Bellfield, let us have the truth at once, and then we shall understand each other.\" The Captain still hesitated, and said nothing. \"You must have had something to live upon, I suppose?\" suggested the widow. Then the Captain, by degrees, told his story. He had a married sister by whom a guinea a week was allowed to him. That was all. He had been obliged to sell out of the army, because he was unable to live on his pay as a lieutenant. ","abridged":"\"Have you anything?\" The Captain hesitated, and poked the ground with his cane. \"Come, Captain Bellfield, let us have the truth at once, and then we shall understand each other. You must have had something to live upon, I suppose.\"\nThen the Captain told his story. He had a married sister from whom a guinea a week was allowed to him. That was all. He had been obliged to sell out of the army, because he was unable to live on his pay as a lieutenant. "}
+{"original":"The price of his commission had gone to pay his debts, and now,--yes, it was too true,--now he was in debt again. He owed ninety pounds to Cheesacre, thirty-two pounds ten to a tailor at Yarmouth, over seventeen pounds at his lodgings in Norwich. At the present moment he had something under thirty shillings in his pocket. The tailor at Yarmouth had lent him three pounds in order that he might make his journey into Westmoreland, and perhaps be enabled to pay his debts by getting a rich wife. In the course of the cross-examination Mrs. Greenow got much information out of him; and then, when she was satisfied that she had learned, not exactly all the truth, but certain indications of the truth, she forgave him all his offences.\n\"And now you will give a fellow a kiss,--just one kiss,\" said the ecstatic Captain, in the height of his bliss.\n\"Hush!\" said the widow, \"there's a carriage coming on the road--close to us.\"","abridged":"The price of his commission had gone to pay his debts, and now he was in debt again. He owed ninety pounds to Cheesacre, thirty-two pounds ten to a tailor at Yarmouth, and seventeen pounds at his lodgings in Norwich. At the present moment he had less than thirty shillings in his pocket. The tailor at Yarmouth had lent him three pounds to make his journey into Westmorland, and perhaps to get a rich wife.\nThus Mrs. Greenow got much information out of him; and then, when she was satisfied that she had learned at least some of the truth, she forgave him his offences.\n\"And now you will give a fellow a kiss,\" said the ecstatic Captain.\n\"Hush!\" said the widow, \"there's a carriage coming close to us.\""}
+{"original":"Lady Macleod lived at No. 3, Paramount Crescent, in Cheltenham, where she occupied a very handsome first-floor drawing-room, with a bedroom behind it, looking over a stable-yard, and a small room which would have been the dressing-room had the late Sir Archibald been alive, but which was at present called the dining-room: and in it Lady Macleod did dine whenever her larger room was to be used for any purposes of evening company. The vicinity of the stable-yard was not regarded by the tenant as among the attractions of the house; but it had the effect of lowering the rent, and Lady Macleod was a woman who regarded such matters. Her income, though small, would have sufficed to enable her to live removed from such discomforts; but she was one of those women who regard it as a duty to leave something behind them,--even though it be left to those who do not at all want it; and Lady Macleod was a woman who wilfully neglected no duty. So she pinched herself, and inhaled the effluvia of the stables, and squabbled with the cabmen, in order that she might bequeath a thousand pounds or two to some Lady Midlothian, who cared, perhaps, little for her, and would hardly thank her memory for the money.\nHad Alice consented to live with her, she would have merged that duty of leaving money behind her in that other duty of finding a home for her adopted niece. But Alice had gone away, and therefore the money was due to Lady Midlothian rather than to her. The saving, however, was postponed whenever Alice would consent to visit Cheltenham; and a bedroom was secured for her which did not look out over the stables. Accommodation was also found for her maid much better than that provided for Lady Macleod's own maid. She was a hospitable, good old woman, painfully struggling to do the best she could in the world. It was a pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she was so hard to cabmen and others, a pity that she suspected all tradesmen, servants, and people generally of a rank of life inferior to her own, a pity that she was disposed to condemn for ever and ever so many of her own rank because they played cards on week days, and did not go to church on Sundays,--and a pity, as I think above all, that while she was so suspicious of the poor she was so lenient to the vices of earls, earl's sons, and such like.\n","abridged":"Lady Macleod lived at No. 3, Paramount Crescent, in Cheltenham, where she occupied a very handsome first-floor drawing-room, with a bedroom behind it overlooking the stable-yard, and a small dining-room. The stable-yard was not attractive; but it lowered the rent. Lady Macleod's income, though small, would have sufficed for her to live without such discomforts; but she thought it her duty to leave some money behind to be inherited. So she inhaled the scent of the stables, and squabbled with the cabmen, in order that she might bequeath a thousand pounds or two to some Lady Midlothian, who would hardly thank her memory for the money.\nThe saving, however, was postponed whenever Alice visited Cheltenham; and a bedroom was secured for her which did not look out over the stables. Lady Macleod was a hospitable, good old woman, painfully struggling to do the best she could in the world. It was a pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she suspected all tradesmen, servants, cabmen and people of an inferior rank generally - and a pity that while she was so suspicious of the poor she was so lenient to the vices of the high-born.\n"}
+{"original":"Alice, having fully considered the matter, had thought it most prudent to tell Lady Macleod by letter what she had done in regard to Mr. Grey. There had been many objections to the writing of such a letter, but there appeared to be stronger objection to that telling it face to face which would have been forced upon her had she not written. There would in such case have arisen on Lady Macleod's countenance a sternness of rebuke which Alice did not choose to encounter. The same sternness of rebuke would come upon the countenance on receipt of the written information; but it would come in its most aggravated form on the immediate receipt of the letter, and some of its bitterness would have passed away before Alice's arrival. I think that Alice was right. It is better for both parties that any great offence should be confessed by letter.\nBut Alice trembled as the cab drew up at No. 3, Paramount Crescent. She met her aunt, as was usual, just inside the drawing-room door, and she saw at once that if any bitterness had passed away from that face, the original bitterness must indeed have been bitter. She had so timed her letter that Lady Macleod should have no opportunity of answering it. The answer was written there in the mingled anger and sorrow of those austere features.\n","abridged":"Alice had thought it prudent to tell Lady Macleod by letter about Mr. Grey. This had seemed preferable to telling her face to face; some of Lady Macleod's bitterness of rebuke would have passed away before Alice's arrival.\nBut Alice trembled as the cab drew up at Paramount Crescent. She met her aunt at the drawing-room door, and saw at once that if any bitterness had passed away from that face, the original bitterness must indeed have been bitter. Anger and sorrow were mingled in those austere features.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Alice!\" she said, as she took her niece in her arms and kissed her; \"oh, Alice, what is this?\"\n\"Yes, aunt; it is very bad, I know,\" and poor Alice tried to make a jest of it. \"Young ladies are very wicked when they don't know their own minds. But if they haven't known them and have been wicked, what can they do but repent?\"\n\"Repent!\" said Lady Macleod. \"Yes; I hope you will repent. Poor Mr. Grey;--what must he think of it?\"\n\"I can only hope, aunt, that he won't think of it at all for very long.\"\n","abridged":"\"Alice!\" she said, as she kissed her niece; \"oh, Alice, what is this?\"\n\"Yes, aunt; it is very bad, I know.\" Poor Alice tried to make a jest of it. \"Young ladies are very wicked when they don't know their own minds. But if they haven't known them, what can they do but repent?\"\n\"Repent!\" said Lady Macleod. \"Yes; I hope you will repent. Poor Mr. Grey; what must he think?\"\n\"I hope, aunt, that he won't think of it at all for very long.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"That's nonsense, my dear, Of course he'll think of it, and of course you'll marry him.\"\n\"Shall I, aunt?\"\n\"Of course you will. Why, Alice, hasn't it been all settled among families? Lady Midlothian knew all the particulars of it just as well as I did. And is not your word pledged to him? I really don't understand what you mean. I don't see how it is possible you should go back. Gentlemen when they do that kind of thing are put out of society;--but I really think it is worse in a woman.\"\n\"Then they may if they please put me out of society;--only that I don't know that I'm particularly in it.\"\n","abridged":"\"That's nonsense, my dear, Of course he'll think of it, and of course you'll marry him.\"\n\"Shall I, aunt?\"\n\"Of course you will. Why, Alice, is not your word pledged to him? I don't see how you can go back on it. Gentlemen when they do that kind of thing are expelled from society; but I really think it is worse in a woman.\"\n\"Then they may expel from society; only I don't think I'm particularly in it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And the wickedness of the thing, Alice! I'm obliged to say so.\"\n\"When you talk to me about society, aunt, and about Lady Midlothian, I give up to you, willingly;--the more willingly, perhaps, because I don't care much for one or the other.\" Here Lady Macleod tried to say a word; but she failed, and Alice went on, boldly looking up into her aunt's face, which became a shade more bitter than ever. \"But when you tell me about wickedness and my conscience, then I must be my own judge. It is my conscience, and the fear of committing wickedness, that has made me do this.\"\n\"You should submit to be guided by your elders, Alice.\"\n\"No; my elders in such a matter as this cannot teach me. It cannot be right that I should go to a man's house and be his wife, if I do not think that I can make him happy.\"\n\"Then why did you accept him?\"\n","abridged":"\"The wickedness of it, Alice!\"\n\"When you talk to me about society, aunt, I let you,\" answered Alice boldly. \"But when you tell me about wickedness, then I must be my own judge. It is my conscience, and the fear of committing wickedness, that has made me do this.\"\n\"You should be guided by your elders, Alice.\"\n\"No; in such a matter my elders cannot teach me. It cannot be right that I should be a man's wife if I do not think that I can make him happy.\"\n\"Then why did you accept him?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Because I was mistaken. I am not going to defend that. If you choose to scold me for that, you may do so, aunt, and I will not answer you. But as to marrying him or not marrying him now,--as to that, I must judge for myself.\"\n\"It was a pity you did not know your own mind earlier.\"\n\"It was a pity,--a great pity. I have done myself an injury that is quite irretrievable;--I know that, and am prepared to bear it. I have done him, too, an injustice which I regret with my whole heart. I can only excuse myself by saying that I might have done him a worse injustice.\"\n","abridged":"\"Because I was mistaken. If you choose to scold me for that, you may do so, aunt. But as to marrying him, I must judge for myself.\"\n\"It was a pity you did not know your own mind earlier.\"\n\"It was a great pity. I have done myself an injury that is quite irretrievable; I know that. I have done him, too, an injustice which I regret with my whole heart. I can only excuse myself by saying that I might have done him a worse injustice.\"\n"}
+{"original":"All this was said at the very moment of her arrival, and the greeting did not seem to promise much for the happiness of the next month; but perhaps it was better for them both that the attack and the defence should thus be made suddenly, at their first meeting. It is better to pull the string at once when you are in the shower-bath, and not to stand shivering, thinking of the inevitable shock which you can only postpone for a few minutes. Lady Macleod in this case had pulled the string, and thus reaped the advantage of her alacrity.\n\"Well, my dear,\" said her ladyship, \"I suppose you will like to go up-stairs and take off your bonnet. Mary shall bring you some tea when you come down.\" So Alice escaped, and when she returned to the comfort of her cup of tea in the drawing-room, the fury of the storm had passed away. She sat talking of other things till dinner; and though Lady Macleod did during the evening make one allusion to \"poor Mr. Grey,\" the subject was allowed to drop. Alice was very tender as to her aunt's ailments, was more than ordinarily attentive to the long list of Cheltenham iniquities which was displayed to her, and refrained from combating any of her aunt's religious views. After a while they got upon the subject of Aunt Greenow, for whose name Lady Macleod had a special aversion,--as indeed she had for all the Vavasor side of Alice's family; and then Alice offered to read, and did read to her aunt many pages out of one of those terrible books of wrath, which from time to time come forth and tell us that there is no hope for us. Lady Macleod liked to be so told; and as she now, poor woman, could not read at nights herself, she enjoyed her evening.\n","abridged":"All this was said at the very moment of her arrival, and did not seem to promise much for the happiness of the next month; but perhaps it was better for them both that the attack and the defence should be made at once.\n\"Well, my dear,\" said her ladyship, \"I suppose you will like to go upstairs and take off your bonnet. Mary shall bring you some tea when you come down.\"\nSo Alice escaped, and when she returned to the drawing-room, the fury of the storm had passed away. They talked of other things till dinner; and though Lady Macleod did make one allusion to \"poor Mr. Grey,\" the subject was allowed to drop. Alice was very attentive in asking about her aunt's ailments, and listening to her long list of Cheltenham iniquities, and refrained from combating any of her aunt's religious views.\nAfter a while they got onto the subject of Aunt Greenow, for whom Lady Macleod had a special aversion - as indeed she had for all the Vavasor side of Alice's family; and then Alice offered to read from one of those terrible books of wrathful sermons which Lady Macleod took much pleasure in.\n"}
+{"original":"Lady Macleod no doubt did enjoy her niece's sojourn at Cheltenham, but I do not think it could have been pleasant to Alice. On the second day nothing was said about Mr. Grey, and Alice hoped that by her continual readings in the book of wrath her aunt's heart might be softened towards her. But it seemed that Lady Macleod measured the periods of respite, for on the third day and on the fifth she returned to the attack. \"Did John Grey still wish that the match should go on?\" she asked, categorically. It was in vain that Alice tried to put aside the question, and begged that the matter might not be discussed. Lady Macleod insisted on her right to carry on the examination, and Alice was driven to acknowledge that she believed he did wish it. She could hardly say otherwise, seeing that she had at that moment a letter from him in her pocket, in which he still spoke of his engagement as being absolutely binding on him, and expressed a hope that this change from London to Cheltenham would bring her round and set everything to rights. He certainly did, in a fashion, wave his hand over her, as Kate had said of him. This letter Alice had resolved that she would not answer. ","abridged":"Lady Macleod no doubt did enjoy her niece's stay, but Alice did not. On the second day nothing was said about Mr. Grey, and Alice hoped that by her continual readings in the book of wrath her aunt's heart might be softened towards her. But on the third day Lady Macleod returned to the attack.\n\"Did John Grey still wish that the match should go on?\" she asked. Alice had to admit that she believed he did wish it. She could hardly say otherwise, seeing that she had a letter from him in her pocket, in which he still spoke of his engagement as binding on him, and expressed a hope that this change to Cheltenham would bring her round and set everything to rights. This letter Alice had resolved that she would not answer. "}
+{"original":"He would probably write again, and she would beg him to desist. Instead of Cheltenham bringing her round, Cheltenham had made her firmer than ever in her resolution. I am inclined to think that the best mode of bringing her round at this moment would have been a course of visits from her cousin George, and a series of letters from her cousin Kate. Lady Macleod's injunctions would certainly not bring her round.\n","abridged":"He would probably write again, and she would beg him to stop. Instead of bringing her round, Cheltenham had made her firmer than ever in her resolution.\n"}
+{"original":"After ten days, ten terrible days, devoted to discussions on matrimony in the morning, and to the book of wrath in the evening,--relieved by two tea-parties, in which the sins of Cheltenham were discussed at length,--Lady Macleod herself got a letter from Mr. Grey. Mr. Grey's kindest compliments to Lady Macleod. He believed that Lady Macleod was aware of the circumstances of his engagement with Miss Vavasor. Might he call on Miss Vavasor at Lady Macleod's house in Cheltenham? and might he also hope to have the pleasure of making Lady Macleod's acquaintance? Alice had been in the room when her aunt received this letter, but her aunt had said nothing, and Alice had not known from whom the letter had come. When her aunt crept away with it after breakfast she had suspected nothing, and had never imagined that Lady Macleod, in the privacy of her own room looking out upon the stables, had addressed a letter to Nethercoats. But such a letter had been addressed to Nethercoats, and Mr. Grey had been informed that he would be received in Paramount Crescent with great pleasure.\n","abridged":"After ten terrible days devoted to discussions on matrimony in the morning, and to the book of wrath in the evening - relieved by two tea-parties, in which the sins of Cheltenham were discussed at length - Lady Macleod herself got a letter from Mr. Grey.\nMr. Grey sent her his kindest compliments. He believed that Lady Macleod was aware of the circumstances of his engagement with Miss Vavasor. Might he call on Miss Vavasor at Lady Macleod's house? and also have the pleasure of making Lady Macleod's acquaintance?\nAlice was in the room when her aunt received this letter, but her aunt said nothing. After breakfast Lady Macleod privately wrote a reply to Nethercoats, informing Mr. Grey that he would be received in Paramount Crescent with great pleasure.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Grey had even indicated the day on which he would come, and on the morning of that day Lady Macleod had presided over the two teacups in a state of nervous excitement which was quite visible to Alice. More than once Alice asked little questions, not supposing that she was specially concerned in the matter which had caused her aunt's fidgety restlessness, but observing it so plainly that it was almost impossible not to allude to it. \"There's nothing the matter, my dear, at all,\" at last Lady Macleod said; but as she said so she was making up her mind that the moment had not come in which she must apprise Alice of Mr. Grey's intended visit. As Alice had questioned her at the breakfast table she would say nothing about it then, but waited till the teacups were withdrawn, and till the maid had given her last officious poke to the fire. Then she began. She had Mr. Grey's letter in her pocket, and as she prepared herself to speak, she pulled it out and held it on the little table before her.\n\"Alice,\" she said, \"I expect a visitor here to-day.\"\nAlice knew instantly who was the expected visitor. Probably any girl under such circumstances would have known equally well. \"A visitor, aunt,\" she said, and managed to hide her knowledge admirably.\n","abridged":"On the morning of his visit Lady Macleod had presided over the teacups in a state of nervous excitement which was quite visible to Alice. She asked about her aunt's restlessness without suspecting it had anything to do with her.\n\"There's nothing the matter, my dear,\" Lady Macleod said. She waited until after breakfast to pull Mr. Grey's letter out of her pocket.\n\"Alice,\" she said, \"I expect a visitor here today.\"\nAlice knew instantly who the visitor was. \"A visitor, aunt?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, Alice a visitor. I should have told you before, only I thought,--I thought I had better not. It is Mr.--Mr. Grey.\"\n\"Indeed, aunt! Is he coming to see you?\"\n\"Well;--he is desirous no doubt of seeing you more especially; but he has expressed a wish to make my acquaintance, which I cannot, under the circumstances, think is unnatural. Of course, Alice, he must want to talk over this affair with your friends.\"\n\"I wish I could have spared them,\" said Alice,--\"I wish I could.\"\n","abridged":"\"Yes, Alice. Mr. Grey.\"\n\"Indeed, aunt! Is he coming to see you?\"\n\"Well, no doubt he wants to see you more; but he has expressed a wish to make my acquaintance. "}
+{"original":"\"I have brought his letter here, and you can see it if you please. It is very nicely written, and as far as I am concerned I should not think of refusing to see him. And now comes the question. What are we to do with him? Am I to ask him to dinner? I take it for granted that he will not expect me to offer him a bed, as he knows that I live in lodgings.\"\n\"Oh no, aunt; he certainly will not expect that.\"\n\"But ought I to ask him to dinner? I should be most happy to entertain him, though you know how very scanty my means of doing so are;--but I really do not know how it might be,--between you and him, I mean.\"\n\"We should not fight, aunt.\"\n","abridged":"I have his letter here, and you can see it if you wish. It is very nicely written. And now comes the question. What are we to do with him? Am I to ask him to dinner? I should be most happy to entertain him, though you know how very scanty my means are; but I really do not know how it might be - between you and him, I mean.\"\n\"We would not fight, aunt. "}
+{"original":"\"No, I suppose not;--but if you cannot be affectionate in your manner to him--\"\n\"I will not answer for my manners, aunt; but you may be sure of this,--that I should be affectionate in my heart. I shall always regard him as a dearly loved friend; though for many years, no doubt, I shall be unable to express my friendship.\"\n\"That may be all very well, Alice, but it will not be what he will want. I think upon the whole that I had better not ask him to dinner.\"\n\"Perhaps not, aunt.\"\n\"It is a period of the day in which any special constraint among people is more disagreeable than at any other time, and then at dinner the servants must see it. I think there might be some awkwardness if he were to dine here.\"\n\"I really think there would,\" said Alice, anxious to have the subject dropped.\n","abridged":"I shall always regard him as a dearly loved friend; though for many years, no doubt, I shall be unable to express my friendship.\"\n\"That is all very well, Alice, but it is not what he will want. I think upon the whole that I had better not ask him to dinner. I think there might be some awkwardness if he were to dine here.\"\n\"I really think there would,\" said Alice, anxious to have the subject dropped.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I hope he won't think that I am inhospitable. I should be so happy to do the best I could for him, for I regard him, Alice, quite as though he were to be your husband. And when anybody at all connected with me has come to Cheltenham I always have asked them to dine, and then I have Gubbins's man to come and wait at table,--as you know.\"\n\"Of all men in the world Mr. Grey is the last to think about it.\"\n\"That should only make me the more careful. But I think it would perhaps be more comfortable if he were to come in the evening.\"\n\"Much more comfortable, aunt.\"\n","abridged":"\"I hope he won't think that I am inhospitable. "}
+{"original":"\"I suppose he will be here in the afternoon, before dinner, and we had better wait at home for him. I dare say he'll want to see you alone, and therefore I'll retire to my own rooms,\"--looking over the stables! Dear old lady. \"But if you wish it, I will receive him first--and then Martha,\"--Martha was Alice's maid--\"can fetch you down.\"\nThis discussion as to the propriety or impropriety of giving her lover a dinner had not been pleasant to Alice, but, nevertheless, when it was over she felt grateful to Lady Macleod. There was an attempt in the arrangement to make Mr. Grey's visit as little painful as possible; and though such a discussion at such a time might as well have been avoided, the decision to which her ladyship had at last come with reference both to the dinner and the management of the visit was, no doubt, the right one.\n","abridged":"I dare say he'll want to see you alone, and therefore I'll retire to my own rooms. But if you wish, I will receive him first, and then the maid can fetch you down.\" Although this discussion was not pleasant to Alice, she felt grateful to Lady Macleod, who was attempting to make Mr. Grey's visit as little painful as possible.\n"}
+{"original":"Lady Macleod had been quite correct in all her anticipations. At three o'clock Mr. Grey was announced, and Lady Macleod, alone, received him in her drawing-room. She had intended to give him a great deal of good advice, to bid him still keep up his heart and as it were hold up his head, to confess to him how very badly Alice was behaving, and to express her entire concurrence with that theory of bodily ailment as the cause and origin of her conduct. But she found that Mr. Grey was a man to whom she could not give much advice. It was he who did the speaking at this conference, and not she. She was overawed by him after the first three minutes. Indeed her first glance at him had awed her. He was so handsome,--and then, in his beauty, he had so quiet and almost saddened an air! Strange to say that after she had seen him, Lady Macleod entertained for him an infinitely higher admiration than before, and yet she was less surprised than she had been at Alice's refusal of him. The conference was very short; and Mr. Grey had not been a quarter of an hour in the house before Martha attended upon her mistress with her summons.\n","abridged":"At three o'clock Mr. Grey was announced, and Lady Macleod received him alone in her drawing-room. She had intended to give him a great deal of good advice: to bid him keep up his heart and hold up his head, to confess to him how badly Alice was behaving, and to express her agreement with his theory of illness.\nBut she found that Mr. Grey was a man to whom she could not give much advice. It was he who did the speaking. She was overawed by him after the first three minutes. He was so handsome - and had so quiet and almost saddened an air! Strange to say, after she had seen him, Lady Macleod admired him much more than before, and yet she was less surprised than she had been at Alice's refusal of him. The conference was very short; and after fifteen minutes the maid went to Alice with her summons.\n"}
+{"original":"Alice was ready and came down instantly. She found Mr. Grey standing in the middle of the room waiting to receive her, and the look of majesty which had cowed Lady Macleod had gone from his countenance. He could not have received her with a kinder smile, had she come to him with a promise that she would at this meeting name the day for their marriage. \"At any rate it does not make him unhappy,\" she said to herself.\n\"You are not angry,\" he said, \"that I should have followed you all the way here, to see you.\"\n\"No, certainly; not angry, Mr. Grey. All anger that there may be between us must be on your side. I feel that thoroughly.\"\n","abridged":"Alice came down instantly. She found Mr. Grey waiting to receive her, and the look of majesty which had cowed Lady Macleod had gone. He could not have received her with a kinder smile.\n\"At any rate it does not make him unhappy,\" she said to herself.\n\"You are not angry,\" he said, \"that I should have followed you all the way here, to see you?\"\n\"No, certainly not. Any anger must be on your side.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Then there shall be none on either side. Whatever may be done, I will not be angry with you. Your father advised me to come down here to you.\"\n\"You have seen him, then?\"\n\"Yes, I have seen him. I was in London the day you left.\"\n\"It is so terrible to think that I should have brought upon you all this trouble.\"\n\"You will bring upon me much worse trouble than that unless--. But I have not now come down here to tell you that. I believe that according to rule in such matters I should not have come to you at all, but I don't know that I care much about such rules.\"\n","abridged":"\"Then there shall be none on either side. Whatever happens, I will not be angry with you. Your father advised me to come here. I believe that according to the rule in such matters I should not have come to you, but I don't know that I care much about such rules.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is I that have broken all rules.\"\n\"When a lady tells a gentleman that she does not wish to see more of him--\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Grey, I have not told you that.\"\n\"Have you not? I am glad at any rate to hear you deny it. But you will understand what I mean. When a gentleman gets his dismissal from a lady he should accept it,--that is, his dismissal under such circumstances as I have received mine. But I cannot lay down my love in that way; nor, maintaining my love, can I give up the battle. It seems to me that I have a right at any rate to know something of your comings and goings as long as,--unless, Alice, you should take another name than mine.\"\n","abridged":"\"It is I who have broken all rules.\"\n\"When a lady tells a gentleman that she does not wish to see more of him-\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Grey, I have not told you that.\"\n\"Have you not? I am glad to hear that. But you understand what I mean. When a gentleman gets his dismissal from a lady he should accept it. But I cannot lay down my love in that way; nor can I give up the battle. It seems to me that I have a right at any rate to know something of your comings and goings - unless, Alice, you should take another name than mine.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"My intention is to keep my own.\" This she said in the lowest possible tone,--almost in a whisper,--with her eyes fixed upon the ground.\n\"And you will not deny me that right?\"\n\"I cannot hinder you. Whatever you may do, I myself have sinned so against you that I can have no right to blame you.\"\n\"There shall be no question between us of injury from one to the other. In any conversation that we may have, or in any correspondence--\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Grey, do not ask me to write.\"\n\"Listen to me. Should there be any on either side, there shall be no idea of any wrong done.\"\n","abridged":"\"I intend to keep my own.\" This she said almost in a whisper, with her eyes fixed upon the ground.\n\"And you will not deny me that right?\"\n\"I have sinned so against you that I can have no right to blame you.\"\n\"There shall be no question between us of injury. In any conversation that we may have, or in any correspondence-\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Grey, do not ask me to write.\"\n\"Listen to me. Should there be any communication on either side, there shall be no idea of any wrong done.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But I have done you wrong;--great wrong.\"\n\"No, Alice; I will not have it so. When I asked you to accept my hand,--begging the greatest boon which it could ever come to my lot to ask from a fellow-mortal,--I knew well how great was your goodness to me when you told me that it should be mine. Now that you refuse it, I know also that you are good, thinking that in doing so you are acting for my welfare,--thinking more of my welfare than of your own.\"\n\"Oh yes, yes; it is so, Mr. Grey; indeed it is so.\"\n\"Believing that, how can I talk of wrong? That you are wrong in your thinking on this subject,--that your mind has become twisted by false impressions,--that I believe. But I cannot therefore love you less,--nor, so believing, can I consider myself to be injured. Nor am I even so little selfish as you are. I think if you were my wife that I could make you happy; but I feel sure that my happiness depends on your being my wife.\"\n","abridged":"\"But I have done you great wrong.\"\n\"No, Alice. When I asked you to accept my hand - begging the greatest gift which I could ever ask for - I knew how great was your goodness to me in accepting it. Now that you refuse it, I know that in doing so you are thinking more of my welfare than of your own.\"\n\"Oh yes, indeed.\"\n\"Then how can I talk of wrong? That you are wrong in your thinking - that your mind has become twisted by false impressions - that I believe. But I cannot therefore love you less, nor consider myself to be injured. I am more selfish than you. I think if you were my wife that I could make you happy; but I feel sure that my happiness depends on your being my wife.\"\n"}
+{"original":"She looked up into his face, but it was still serene in all its manly beauty. Her cousin George, if he were moved to strong feeling, showed it at once in his eyes,--in his mouth, in the whole visage of his countenance. He glared in his anger, and was impassioned in his love. But Mr. Grey when speaking of the happiness of his entire life, when confessing that it was now at stake with a decision against him that would be ruinous to it, spoke without a quiver in his voice, and had no more sign of passion in his face than if he were telling his gardener to move a rose tree.\n\"I hope--and believe that you will find your happiness elsewhere, Mr. Grey.\"\n","abridged":"She looked up into his face, but it was still serene in its manly beauty. Her cousin George, if he were moved to strong feeling, showed it at once in his whole expression. He glared in his anger, and was impassioned in his love. But Mr. Grey, when speaking of the happiness of his entire life, spoke without a quiver in his voice, and with no more sign of passion in his face than if he were telling his gardener to move a rose tree.\n\"I hope that you will find your happiness elsewhere, Mr. Grey.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well; we can but differ, Alice. In that we do differ. And now I will say one word to explain why I have come here. If I were to write to you against your will, it would seem that I were persecuting you. I cannot bring myself to do that, even though I had the right. But if I were to let you go from me, taking what you have said to me and doing nothing, it would seem that I had accepted your decision as final. I do not do so. I will not do so. I come simply to tell you that I am still your suitor. If you will let me, I will see you again early in January,--as soon as you have returned to town. ","abridged":"\"Well; in that we differ, Alice. And now I will explain why I have come. I cannot accept your decision as final. I come simply to tell you that I am still your suitor. If you will let me, I will see you again early in January, when you return to town. "}
+{"original":"You will hardly refuse to see me.\"\n\"No,\" she said; \"I cannot refuse to see you.\"\n\"Then it shall be so,\" he said, \"and I will not trouble you with letters, nor will I trouble you longer now with words. Tell your aunt that I have said what I came to say, and that I give her my kindest thanks.\" Then he took her hand and pressed it,--not as George Vavasor had pressed it,--and was gone. When Lady Macleod returned, she found that the question of the evening's tea arrangements had settled itself.","abridged":"You will hardly refuse to see me.\"\n\"No,\" she said; \"I cannot refuse to see you.\"\n\"Meanwhile I will not trouble you with letters, nor will I trouble you any longer now with words. Tell your aunt that I give her my kindest thanks.\" Then he took her hand and pressed it - not as George Vavasor had pressed it - and was gone."}
+{"original":"How deep and cunning are the wiles of love! When that Saturday morning arrived not a word was said by Cheesacre to his rival as to his plans for the day. \"You'll take the dog-cart in?\" Captain Bellfield had asked overnight. \"I don't know what I shall do as yet,\" replied he who was master of the house, of the dog-cart, and, as he fondly thought, of the situation. But Bellfield knew that Cheesacre must take the dog-cart, and was contented. His friend would leave him behind, if it were possible, but Bellfield would take care that it should not be possible.\n","abridged":"How deep and cunning are the wiles of love! When that Saturday morning arrived, Cheesacre said not a word to his rival about his plans for the day.\n\"You'll take the dog-cart?\" Captain Bellfield had asked.\n\"I don't know yet,\" he replied. But Bellfield knew that Cheesacre must take the dog-cart, and was contented. He would make sure that he was not left behind.\n"}
+{"original":"Before breakfast Mr. Cheesacre surreptitiously carried out into the yard a bag containing all his apparatus for dressing,--his marrow oil for his hair, his shirt with the wondrous worked front upon an under-stratum of pink to give it colour, his shiny boots, and all the rest of the paraphernalia. When dining in Norwich on ordinary occasions, he simply washed his hands there, trusting to the chambermaid at the inn to find him a comb; and now he came down with his bag surreptitiously, and hid it away in the back of the dog-cart with secret, but alas, not unobserved hands, hoping that Bellfield would forget his toilet. But when did such a Captain ever forget his outward man? Cheesacre, as he returned through the kitchen from the yard into the front hall, perceived another bag lying near the door, apparently filled almost as well as his own.\n\"What the deuce are you going to do with all this luggage?\" said he, giving the bag a kick.\n\"Put it where I saw you putting yours when I opened my window just now,\" said Bellfield.\n","abridged":"Before breakfast Mr. Cheesacre surreptitiously carried out into the yard a bag containing all his apparatus for dressing - his marrow oil for his hair, his shirt with the wondrous embroidered front, his shiny boots, and all the rest. He hid the bag away secretly in the back of the dog-cart.\nBut when he returned into the front hall, he perceived another bag lying near the door.\n\"What the deuce are you going to do with this?\" said he, giving the bag a kick.\n\"Put it where I saw you putting yours just now,\" said Bellfield.\n"}
+{"original":"\"D---- the window,\" exclaimed Cheesacre, and then they sat down to breakfast. \"How you do hack that ham about,\" he said. \"If you ever found hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them.\" This was very bad. Even Bellfield could not bear it with equanimity, and feeling unable to eat the ham under such circumstances, made his breakfast with a couple of fresh eggs. \"If you didn't mean to eat the meat, why the mischief did you cut it?\" said Cheesacre.\n\"Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad;--upon my word you are,\" said Bellfield, almost sobbing.\n\"What's the matter now?\" said the other.\n","abridged":"\"D-- it,\" exclaimed Cheesacre; and then they sat down to breakfast. \"How you hack that ham about,\" he said. \"If you ever provided hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them.\"\nThis was very bad. Feeling unable to eat the ham under such circumstances, Bellfield made do with a couple of fresh eggs.\n\"If you didn't mean to eat the meat, why the mischief did you cut it?\" said Cheesacre.\n\"Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad,\" said Bellfield, upset.\n\"What's the matter now?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Who wants your ham?\"\n\"You do, I suppose, or you wouldn't cut it.\"\n\"No I don't; nor anything else either that you've got. It isn't fair to ask a fellow into your house, and then say such things to him as that. And it isn't what I've been accustomed to either; I can tell you that, Mr. Cheesacre.\"\n\"Oh, bother!\"\n\"It's all very well to say bother, but I choose to be treated like a gentleman wherever I go. You and I have known each other a long time, and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but--\"\n\"Can you pay me the money that you owe me, Bellfield?\" said Cheesacre, looking hard at him.\n","abridged":"\"It isn't fair to ask a fellow into your house, and then say such things to him. And it isn't what I've been accustomed to either; I can tell you that, Mr. Cheesacre. You and I have known each other a long time, and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but-\"\n\"Can you pay me the money that you owe me, Bellfield?\" said Cheesacre.\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, I can't,\" said Bellfield; \"not immediately.\"\n\"Then eat your breakfast, and hold your tongue.\"\nAfter that Captain Bellfield did eat his breakfast,--leaving the ham however untouched, and did hold his tongue, vowing vengeance in his heart. But the two men went into Norwich more amicably together than they would have done had there been no words between them. Cheesacre felt that he had trespassed a little, and therefore offered the Captain a cigar as he seated himself in the cart. Bellfield accepted the offering, and smoked the weed of peace.\n\"Now,\" said Cheesacre, as he drove into the Swan yard, \"what do you mean to do with yourself all day?\"\n\"I shall go down to the quarters, and look the fellows up.\"\n\"All right. But mind this, Bellfield;--it's an understood thing, that you're not to be in the Close before four?\"\n","abridged":"\"No,\" said Bellfield; \"not immediately.\"\n\"Then eat your breakfast, and hold your tongue.\"\nCaptain Bellfield did eat his breakfast - leaving the ham untouched - and did hold his tongue, vowing vengeance in his heart. Yet the two men went into Norwich quite amicably. Cheesacre felt that he had trespassed a little, and offered the Captain a cigar in the cart. Bellfield accepted the peace offering.\n\"Now,\" said Cheesacre, as he drove into the Swan yard, \"what do you mean to do with yourself all day?\"\n\"I shall go down to the soldiers' quarters, and look the fellows up.\"\n\"All right. But mind this, Bellfield; you're not to be in the Close before four.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I won't be in the Close before four!\"\n\"Very well. That's understood. If you deceive me, I'll not drive you back to Oileymead to-night.\"\nIn this instance Captain Bellfield had no intention to deceive. He did not think it probable that he could do himself any good by philandering about the widow early in the day. She would be engaged with her dinner and with an early toilet. Captain Bellfield, moreover, had learned from experience that the first comer has not always an advantage in ladies' society. The mind of a woman is greedy after novelty, and it is upon the stranger, or upon the most strange of her slaves around her, that she often smiles the sweetest. The cathedral clock, therefore, had struck four before Captain Bellfield rang Mrs. Greenow's bell, and then, when he was shown into the drawing-room, he found Cheesacre there alone, redolent with the marrow oil, and beautiful with the pink bosom.\n","abridged":"\"I won't be!\"\n\"Very well. If you deceive me, I'll not drive you back to Oileymead tonight.\"\nIn this instance Captain Bellfield had no intention to deceive. He did not think that he could do himself any good by hanging about the widow early in the day. She would be busy with the dinner.\nThe cathedral clock, therefore, had struck four before the Captain rang Mrs. Greenow's bell. When he was shown into the drawing-room, he found Cheesacre there alone, redolent with the marrow oil.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Haven't you seen her yet?\" asked the Captain almost in a whisper.\n\"No,\" said Cheesacre sulkily.\n\"Nor yet Charlie Fairstairs?\"\n\"I've seen nobody,\" said Cheesacre.\nBut at this moment he was compelled to swallow his anger, as Mrs. Greenow, accompanied by her lady guest, came into the room. \"Whoever would have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual,\" said she, \"especially on market-day!\"\n\"Market-day makes no difference when I come to see you,\" said Cheesacre, putting his best foot forward, while Captain Bellfield contented himself with saying something civil to Charlie. He would bide his time and ride a waiting race.\n","abridged":"\"Haven't you seen her yet?\" asked the Captain.\n\"No,\" said Cheesacre sulkily.\n\"Nor Charlie Fairstairs?\"\n\"I've seen nobody,\" said Cheesacre. But he was compelled to swallow his anger as the ladies came into the room.\n\"Whoever would have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual!\" said Mrs. Greenow.\n"}
+{"original":"The widow was almost gorgeous in her weeds. I believe that she had not sinned in her dress against any of those canons which the semi-ecclesiastical authorities on widowhood have laid down as to the outward garments fitted for gentlemen's relicts. The materials were those which are devoted to the deepest conjugal grief. As regarded every item of the written law her suttee worship was carried out to the letter. There was the widow's cap, generally so hideous, so well known to the eyes of all men, so odious to womanhood. Let us hope that such headgear may have some assuaging effect on the departed spirits of husbands. There was the dress of deep, clinging, melancholy crape,--of crape which becomes so brown and so rusty, and which makes the six months' widow seem so much more afflicted a creature than she whose husband is just gone, and whose crape is therefore new. There were the trailing weepers, and the widow's kerchief pinned close round her neck and somewhat tightly over her bosom. But there was that of genius about Mrs. Greenow, that she had turned every seeming disadvantage to some special profit, and had so dressed herself that though she had obeyed the law to the letter, she had thrown the spirit of it to the winds. Her cap sat jauntily on her head, and showed just so much of her rich brown hair as to give her the appearance of youth which she desired. ","abridged":"The widow was almost gorgeous in her mourning dress. Widows' caps are generally hideous; as are dresses of clinging, melancholy crape. But Mrs. Greenow's cap sat jauntily on her head, and showed just enough of her rich brown hair to give her the appearance of youth. "}
+{"original":"Cheesacre had blamed her in his heart for her private carriage, but she spent more money, I think, on new crape than she did on her brougham. It never became brown and rusty with her, or formed itself into old lumpy folds, or shaped itself round her like a grave cloth. The written law had not interdicted crinoline, and she loomed as large with weeds, which with her were not sombre, as she would do with her silks when the period of her probation should be over. Her weepers were bright with newness, and she would waft them aside from her shoulder with an air which turned even them into auxiliaries. Her kerchief was fastened close round her neck and close over her bosom; but Jeannette well knew what she was doing as she fastened it,--and so did Jeannette's mistress.\nMrs. Greenow would still talk much about her husband, declaring that her loss was as fresh to her wounded heart, as though he, on whom all her happiness had rested, had left her only yesterday; but yet she mistook her dates, frequently referring to the melancholy circumstance, as having taken place fifteen months ago. In truth, however, Mr. Greenow had been alive within the last nine months,--as everybody around her knew. But if she chose to forget the exact day, why should her friends or dependents remind her of it? No friend or dependent did remind her of it, and Charlie Fairstairs spoke of the fifteen months with bold confidence,--false-tongued little parasite that she was.\n","abridged":"Her crape never became faded and rusty, or formed itself into old lumpy folds of cloth.\nMrs. Greenow would still talk much about her husband, as though he had left her only yesterday; but she mistook her dates, referring to the melancholy circumstance as having taken place fifteen months ago. In truth, it was nine months, as everyone knew. But why should they remind her of it? Charlie Fairstairs spoke of the fifteen months with bold confidence, false-tongued little parasite that she was.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Looking well,\" said the widow, in answer to some outspoken compliment from Mr. Cheesacre. \"Yes, I'm well enough in health, and I suppose I ought to be thankful that it is so. But if you had buried a wife whom you had loved within the last eighteen months, you would have become as indifferent as I am to all that kind of thing.\"\n\"I never was married yet,\" said Mr. Cheesacre.\n\"And therefore you know nothing about it. Everything in the world is gay and fresh to you. If I were you, Mr. Cheesacre, I would not run the risk. It is hardly worth a woman's while, and I suppose not a man's. The sufferings are too great!\" Whereupon she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.\n","abridged":"\"Yes, I'm well enough in health,\" said the widow, \"and I suppose I ought to be thankful for it. But if you had buried a wife whom you had loved within the last eighteen months, you too would be indifferent to all that kind of thing. If I were you, Mr. Cheesacre, I would not run the risk of marrying. The sufferings are too great!\" Whereupon she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.\n"}
+{"original":"\"But I mean to try all the same,\" said Cheesacre, looking the lover all over as he gazed into the fair one's face.\n\"I hope that you may be successful, Mr. Cheesacre, and that she may not be torn away from you early in life. Is dinner ready, Jeannette? That's well. Mr. Cheesacre, will you give your arm to Miss Fairstairs?\"\n","abridged":"\"But I mean to try all the same,\" said Cheesacre, gazing lover-like into the fair one's face.\n\"Then I hope that she may not be torn away from you early in life. Is dinner ready, Jeannette? Good. Mr. Cheesacre, will you give your arm to Miss Fairstairs?\"\n"}
+{"original":"There was no doubt as to Mrs. Greenow's correctness. As Captain Bellfield held, or had held, her Majesty's commission, he was clearly entitled to take the mistress of the festival down to dinner. But Cheesacre would not look at it in this light. He would only remember that he had paid for the Captain's food for some time past, that the Captain had been brought into Norwich in his gig, that the Captain owed him money, and ought, so to say, to be regarded as his property on the occasion. \"I pay my way, and that ought to give a man higher station than being a beggarly captain,--which I don't believe he is, if all the truth was known.\" It was thus that he took an occasion to express himself to Miss Fairstairs on that very evening. \"Military rank is always recognised,\" Miss Fairstairs had replied, taking Mr. Cheesacre's remarks as a direct slight upon herself. He had taken her down to dinner, and had then come to her complaining that he had been injured in being called upon to do so! \"If you were a magistrate, Mr. Cheesacre, you would have rank; but I believe you are not.\" Charlie Fairstairs knew well what she was about. ","abridged":"There was no doubt as to Mrs. Greenow's correctness. As a former soldier, Captain Bellfield was entitled to take the mistress down to dinner. But Cheesacre did not look at it in this light. He only remembered that he had paid for the Captain's food, that the Captain had been brought into Norwich in his gig, that the Captain owed him money, and ought to be regarded as his property.\n\"I pay my way, and that ought to give a man a higher station than being a beggarly captain, which I don't believe he is, if the truth was known,\" he complained to Miss Fairstairs over dinner.\n\"If you were a magistrate, Mr. Cheesacre, you would have rank; but I believe you are not.\" Charlie Fairstairs knew what she was doing. "}
+{"original":"Mr. Cheesacre had striven much to get his name put upon the commission of the peace, but had failed. \"Nasty, scraggy old cat,\" Cheesacre said to himself, as he turned away from her.\nBut Bellfield gained little by taking the widow down. He and Cheesacre were placed at the top and bottom of the table, so that they might do the work of carving; and the ladies sat at the sides. Mrs. Greenow's hospitality was very good. The dinner was exactly what a dinner ought to be for four persons. There was soup, fish, a cutlet, a roast fowl, and some game. Jeannette waited at table nimbly, and the thing could not have been done better. Mrs. Greenow's appetite was not injured by her grief, and she so far repressed for the time all remembrance of her sorrow as to enable her to play the kind hostess to perfection. Under her immediate eye Cheesacre was forced into apparent cordiality with his friend Bellfield, and the Captain himself took the good things which the gods provided with thankful good-humour.\n","abridged":"Mr. Cheesacre had tried hard to get his name put up as a magistrate, but had failed.\n\"Nasty, scraggy old cat,\" he said to himself, as he turned away from her.\nBut Bellfield gained little by taking the widow down to dinner. He and Cheesacre were at either end of the table, and the ladies sat at the sides. Mrs. Greenow's hospitality was very good. There was soup, fish, a cutlet, a roast fowl, and some game. Jeannette waited at table nimbly, and the thing could not have been done better. Mrs. Greenow played the kind hostess to perfection. Under her eye Cheesacre was forced into apparent cordiality with Bellfield, and the Captain took the good things provided with thankful good-humour.\n"}
+{"original":"Nothing, however, was done at the dinner-table. No work got itself accomplished. The widow was so accurately fair in the adjustment of her favours, that even Jeannette could not perceive to which of the two she turned with the amplest smile. She talked herself and made others talk, till Cheesacre became almost comfortable, in spite of his jealousy. \"And now,\" she said, as she got up to leave the room, when she had taken her own glass of wine, \"We will allow these two gentlemen just half an hour, eh Charlie? and then we shall expect them up-stairs.\"\n\"Ten minutes will be enough for us here,\" said Cheesacre, who was in a hurry to utilize his time.\n\"Half an hour,\" said Mrs. Greenow, not without some little tone of command in her voice. Ten minutes might be enough for Mr. Cheesacre, but ten minutes was not enough for her.\n","abridged":"The widow was so accurately fair in her favours that even Jeannette could not tell to which of the two men she gave the warmest smile. She talked and made others talk, till Cheesacre became almost comfortable, in spite of his jealousy.\n\"And now,\" she said, as she got up to leave the room, \"We will allow these two gentlemen just half an hour, eh Charlie? and then we shall expect them upstairs.\"\n\"Ten minutes will be enough for us here,\" said Cheesacre.\n\"Half an hour,\" said Mrs. Greenow, with a little tone of command. Ten minutes might be enough for Mr. Cheesacre, but it was not enough for her.\n"}
+{"original":"Bellfield had opened the door, and it was upon him that the widow's eye glanced as she left the room. Cheesacre saw it, and resolved to resent the injury. \"I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield,\" he said, as he sat down moodily over the fire, \"I won't have you coming here at all, till this matter is settled.\"\n\"Till what matter is settled?\" said Bellfield, filling his glass.\n\"You know what matter I mean.\"\n\"You take such a deuce of a time about it.\"\n\"No, I don't. I take as little time as anybody could. That other fellow has only been dead about nine months, and I've got the thing in excellent training already.\"\n","abridged":"Bellfield had opened the door, and the widow glanced at him as she left the room. Cheesacre saw it, and resolved to resent it.\n\"I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield,\" he said moodily, \"I won't have you coming here at all, till this matter is settled.\"\n\"What matter?\" said Bellfield, filling his glass.\n\"You know what matter I mean.\"\n\"You take such a deuce of a time about it.\"\n\"No, I don't. That other fellow has only been dead about nine months, and I've got the thing in excellent train already.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And what harm do I do?\"\n\"You disturb me, and you disturb her. You do it on purpose. Do you suppose I can't see? I'll tell you what, now; if you'll go clean out of Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the day she becomes Mrs. Cheesacre.\"\n\"And where am I to go to?\"\n\"You may stay at Oileymead, if you like;--that is, on condition that you do stay there.\"\n\"And be told that I hack the ham because it's not my own. Shall I tell you a piece of my mind, Cheesacre?\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n","abridged":"\"And what harm do I do?\"\n\"You disturb me, and you disturb her. You do it on purpose. I'll tell you what; if you'll go clean out of Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the day she becomes Mrs. Cheesacre.\"\n\"And where am I to go to?\"\n\"You may stay at Oileymead, if you like.\"\n\"And be told that I hack the ham because it's not my own. Shall I tell you what I think, Cheesacre? "}
+{"original":"\"That woman has no more idea of marrying you than she has of marrying the Bishop. Won't you fill your glass, old fellow? I know where the tap is if you want another bottle. You may as well give it up, and spend no more money in pink fronts and polished boots on her account. You're a podgy man, you see, and Mrs. Greenow doesn't like podgy men.\"\nCheesacre sat looking at him with his mouth open, dumb with surprise, and almost paralysed with impotent anger. What had happened during the last few hours to change so entirely the tone of his dependent captain? Could it be that Bellfield had been there during the morning, and that she had accepted him?\n","abridged":"That woman has no more idea of marrying you than she has of marrying the Bishop. Won't you fill your glass, old fellow? You may as well give it up. You're a podgy man, you see, and Mrs. Greenow doesn't like podgy men.\"\nCheesacre sat looking at him with his mouth open, dumb with surprise, and almost paralysed with impotent anger. What had happened during the last few hours to change so entirely the tone of his dependent captain?\n"}
+{"original":"\"You are very podgy, Cheesacre,\" Bellfield continued, \"and then you so often smell of the farm-yard; and you talk too much of your money and your property. You'd have had a better chance if you had openly talked to her of hers,--as I have done. As it is, you haven't any chance at all.\"\nBellfield, as he thus spoke to the man opposite to him, went on drinking his wine comfortably, and seemed to be chuckling with glee. Cheesacre was so astounded, so lost in amazement that the creature whom he had fed,--whom he had bribed with money out of his own pocket, should thus turn against him, that for a while he could not collect his thoughts or find voice wherewith to make any answer. It occurred to him immediately that Bellfield was even now, at this very time, staying at his house,--that he, Cheesacre, was expected to drive him, Bellfield, back to Oileymead, to his own Oileymead, on this very evening; and as he thought of this he almost fancied that he must be in a dream. He shook himself, and looked again, and there sat Bellfield, eyeing him through the bright colour of a glass of port.\n\"Now I've told you a bit of my mind, Cheesy, my boy,\" continued Bellfield, \"and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble and annoyance if you'll believe what I say. She doesn't mean to marry you. It's most probable that she'll marry me; but, at any rate, she won't marry you.\"\n","abridged":"\"You are very podgy, Cheesacre,\" Bellfield continued, \"and then you so often smell of the farm-yard; and you talk too much of your money and your property. You'd have had a better chance if you had talked of hers - as I have done. As it is, you haven't any chance at all.\"\nBellfield went on drinking his wine comfortably. Cheesacre was so astounded that the creature whom he had fed - whom he had bribed - should thus turn against him, that for a while he could not speak. It occurred to him that he, Cheesacre, was expected to drive Bellfield home this very evening.\n\"Now I've told you my mind, Cheesy, my boy,\" continued Bellfield, \"and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble if you'll believe what I say. She doesn't mean to marry you. It's most probable that she'll marry me; but, at any rate, she won't marry you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Do you mean to pay me my money, sir?\" said Cheesacre, at last, finding his readiest means of attack in that quarter.\n\"Yes, I do.\"\n\"But when?\"\n\"When I've married Mrs. Greenow,--and, therefore, I expect your assistance in that little scheme. Let us drink her health. We shall always be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and you shall be allowed to hack the hams just as much as you please.\"\n\"You shall be made to pay for this,\" said Cheesacre, gasping with anger;--gasping almost more with dismay than he did with anger.\n\"All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it,--with the widow's money. Come; our half-hour is nearly over; shall we go up-stairs?\"\n","abridged":"\"Do you mean to pay me my money, sir?\" said Cheesacre, at last.\n\"Yes, I do.\"\n\"When?\"\n\"When I've married Mrs. Greenow - and therefore, I expect your assistance in that little scheme. Let us drink her health. We shall always be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and you shall be allowed to hack the hams as much as you please.\"\n\"You shall pay for this,\" said Cheesacre, gasping with anger and dismay.\n\"All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it - with the widow's money. Come; our half-hour is nearly over; shall we go upstairs?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'll expose you.\"\n\"Don't now;--don't be ill-natured.\"\n\"Will you tell me where you mean to sleep to-night, Captain Bellfield?\"\n\"If I sleep at Oileymead it will only be on condition that I have one of the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms.\"\n\"You'll never put your foot in that house again. You're a rascal, sir.\"\n\"Come, come, Cheesy, it won't do for us to quarrel in a lady's house. It wouldn't be the thing at all. You're not drinking your wine. You might as well take another glass, and then we'll go up-stairs.\"\n","abridged":"\"I'll expose you.\"\n\"Don't be ill-natured.\"\n\"Where do you mean to sleep tonight, Captain Bellfield?\"\n\"If I sleep at Oileymead it will only be on condition that I have one of the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms.\"\n\"You'll never put your foot in that house again. You're a rascal, sir.\"\n\"Come, come, Cheesy, it won't do for us to quarrel in a lady's house. It wouldn't be the thing at all. You're not drinking your wine. Take another glass, and then we'll go upstairs. "}
+{"original":"\"You've left your traps at Oileymead, and not one of them you shall have till you've paid me every shilling you owe me. I don't believe you've a shirt in the world beyond what you've got there.\"\n\"It's lucky I brought one in to change; wasn't it, Cheesy? I shouldn't have thought of it only for the hint you gave me. I might as well ring the bell for Jeannette to put away the wine, if you won't take any more.\" Then he rang the bell, and when Jeannette came he skipped lightly up-stairs into the drawing-room.\n\"Was he here before to-day?\" said Cheesacre, nodding his head at the doorway through which Bellfield had passed.\n","abridged":"No? I might as well ring the bell for Jeannette to take away the wine.\" Then he rang the bell, and when Jeannette came he skipped lightly upstairs into the drawing-room.\n\"Was he here earlier today?\" demanded Cheesacre of Jeanette.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Who? The Captain? Oh dear no. The Captain don't come here much now;--not to say often, by no means.\"\n\"He's a confounded rascal.\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Cheesacre!\" said Jeannette.\n\"He is;--and I ain't sure that there ain't others nearly as bad as he is.\"\n\"If you mean me, Mr. Cheesacre, I do declare you're a wronging me; I do indeed.\"\n\"What's the meaning of his going on in this way?\"\n","abridged":"\"Who? The Captain? Oh dear no. The Captain don't come here often now.\"\n\"He's a confounded rascal.\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Cheesacre!\" said Jeannette.\n\"He is; and others are nearly as bad.\"\n\"If you mean me, Mr. Cheesacre, I do declare you're wronging me. "}
+{"original":"\"I don't know nothing of his ways, Mr. Cheesacre; but I've been as true to you, sir;--so I have;--as true as true.\" And Jeannette put her handkerchief up to her eyes.\nHe moved to the door, and then a thought occurred to him. He put his hand to his trousers pocket, and turning back towards the girl, gave her half-a-crown. She curtsied as she took it, and then repeated her last words. \"Yes, Mr. Cheesacre,--as true as true.\" Mr. Cheesacre said nothing further, but followed his enemy up to the drawing-room. \"What game is up now, I wonder,\" said Jeannette to herself, when she was left alone. \"They two'll be cutting each other's throatses before they've done, and then my missus will take the surwiver.\" But she made up her mind that Cheesacre should be the one to have his throat cut fatally, and that Bellfield should be the survivor.\n","abridged":"I've been as true as true to you, sir; so I have.\" And Jeannette put her handkerchief up to her eyes.\nA thought occurred to Mr. Cheesacre. He put his hand to his trousers pocket, and gave her half-a-crown. He said nothing further, but followed his enemy up to the drawing-room.\n\"What game is up now, I wonder,\" said Jeannette to herself. \"They'll cut each other's throats before they've done.\" But she decided that in that case Bellfield should be the survivor.\n"}
+{"original":"Cheesacre, when he reached the drawing-room, found Bellfield sitting on the same sofa with Mrs. Greenow looking at a book of photographs which they both of them were handling together. The outside rim of her widow's frill on one occasion touched the Captain's whisker, and as it did so the Captain looked up with a gratified expression of triumph. If any gentleman has ever seen the same thing under similar circumstances, he will understand that Cheesacre must have been annoyed.\n","abridged":"In the drawing-room Cheesacre found Bellfield sitting on the sofa with Mrs. Greenow looking at a book of photographs together. The outside rim of her widow's frill on one occasion touched the Captain's whisker, and the Captain looked up with an expression of triumph.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Greenow, waving her handkerchief, of which little but a two-inch-deep border seemed to be visible. Bellfield knew at once that it was not the same handkerchief which she had waved before they went down to dinner. \"Yes,--there he is. It's so like him.\" And then she apostrophized the _carte de visite_ of the departed one. \"Dear Greenow; dear husband! When my spirit is false to thee, let thine forget to visit me softly in my dreams. Thou wast unmatched among husbands. Whose tender kindness was ever equal to thine? whose sweet temper was ever so constant? ","abridged":"\"Yes,\" said Mrs. Greenow, waving her handkerchief. \"Yes, there he is. It's so like him. Dear man! Thou wast unmatched among husbands. Whose tender kindness was ever equal to thine? whose sweet temper was so constant? "}
+{"original":"whose manly care so all-sufficient?\" While the words fell from her lips her little finger was touching Bellfield's little finger, as they held the book between them. Charlie Fairstairs and Mr. Cheesacre were watching her narrowly, and she knew that they were watching her. She was certainly a woman of great genius and of great courage.\n[Illustration: \"Dear Greenow; dear husband!\"]\n","abridged":"whose manly care so great?\" While she spoke her little finger was touching Bellfield's little finger, as they held the book between them. Charlie Fairstairs and Mr. Cheesacre were watching her narrowly, and she knew that they were watching her. She was certainly a woman of great courage.\n"}
+{"original":"Bellfield, moved by the eloquence of her words, looked with some interest at the photograph. There was represented there before him, a small, grey-looking, insignificant old man, with pig's eyes and a toothless mouth,--one who should never have been compelled to submit himself to the cruelty of the sun's portraiture! Another widow, even if she had kept in her book the photograph of such a husband, would have scrambled it over silently,--would have been ashamed to show it. \"Have you ever seen it, Mr. Cheesacre?\" asked Mrs. Greenow. \"It's so like him.\"\n\"I saw it at Yarmouth,\" said Cheesacre, very sulkily.\n\"That you did not,\" said the lady with some dignity, and not a little of rebuke in her tone; \"simply because it never was at Yarmouth. A larger one you may have seen, which I always keep, and always shall keep, close by my bedside.\"\n","abridged":"Bellfield looked with some interest at the photograph. It showed a small, grey-looking, insignificant old man, with pig's eyes and a toothless mouth. Any other widow, even if she had kept the photograph of such a husband, would have been ashamed to show it.\n\"Have you ever seen it, Mr. Cheesacre?\" asked Mrs. Greenow.\n\"I saw it at Yarmouth,\" said Cheesacre, very sulkily.\n\"That you did not,\" said the lady with some dignity, and rebuke in her tone; \"because it never was at Yarmouth.\" "}
+{"original":"\"Not if I know it,\" said Captain Bellfield to himself. Then the widow punished Mr. Cheesacre for his sullenness by whispering a few words to the Captain; and Cheesacre in his wrath turned to Charlie Fairstairs. Then it was that he spake out his mind about the Captain's rank, and was snubbed by Charlie,--as was told a page or two back.\nAfter that, coffee was brought to them, and here again Cheesacre in his ill-humour allowed the Captain to out-manoeuvre him. It was the Captain who put the sugar into the cups and handed them round. He even handed a cup to his enemy. \"None for me, Captain Bellfield; many thanks for your politeness all the same,\" said Mr. Cheesacre; and Mrs. Greenow knew from the tone of his voice that there had been a quarrel.\n","abridged":"Then she punished Mr. Cheesacre for his sullenness by whispering a few words to the Captain; and Cheesacre in his wrath turned to Charlie Fairstairs.\nAfter that, coffee was brought to them, and here again Cheesacre in his ill-humour allowed the Captain to out-manuvre him. It was the Captain who put the sugar into the cups and handed them round. He even handed a cup to his enemy, who refused it sulkily.\n"}
+{"original":"Cheesacre sitting then in his gloom, had resolved upon one thing,--or, I may perhaps say, upon two things. He had resolved that he would not leave the room that evening till Bellfield had left it; and that he would get a final answer from the widow, if not that night,--for he thought it very possible that they might both be sent away together,--then early after breakfast on the following morning. For the present, he had given up any idea of turning his time to good account. He was not perhaps a coward, but he had not that special courage which enables a man to fight well under adverse circumstances. He had been cowed by the unexpected impertinence of his rival,--by the insolence of a man to whom he thought that he had obtained the power of being always himself as insolent as he pleased. He could not recover his ground quickly, or carry himself before his lady's eye as though he was unconscious of the wound he had received. So he sat silent, while Bellfield was discoursing fluently. He sat in silence, comforting himself with reflections on his own wealth, and on the poverty of the other, and promising himself a rich harvest of revenge when the moment should come in which he might tell Mrs. Greenow how absolutely that man was a beggar, a swindler, and a rascal.\n","abridged":"Cheesacre in his gloom resolved upon two things. He resolved that he would not leave the room that evening till Bellfield had left it; and that he would get a final answer from the widow, if not that night, then early after breakfast on the following morning. He sat silent, while Bellfield was talking fluently, and comforted himself with reflections on his own wealth, and promised himself a rich harvest of revenge when he should tell Mrs. Greenow how that man was a beggar, a swindler, and a rascal.\n"}
+{"original":"And he was astonished when an opportunity for doing so came very quickly. Before the neighbouring clock had done striking seven, Bellfield rose from his chair to go. He first of all spoke a word of farewell to Miss Fairstairs; then he turned to his late host; \"Good night, Cheesacre,\" he said, in the easiest tone in the world; after that he pressed the widow's hand and whispered his adieu.\n\"I thought you were staying at Oileymead?\" said Mrs. Greenow.\n\"I came from there this morning,\" said the Captain.\n\"But he isn't going back there, I can tell you,\" said Mr. Cheesacre.\n\"Oh, indeed,\" said Mrs. Greenow; \"I hope there is nothing wrong.\"\n\"All as right as a trivet,\" said the Captain; and then he was off.\n","abridged":"And he was astonished when an opportunity for doing so came very quickly. Before the neighbouring clock had finished striking seven, Bellfield rose from his chair to go.\nHe spoke a word of farewell to Miss Fairstairs; then he said \"Good night, Cheesacre,\" in the easiest tone in the world. After that he pressed the widow's hand and whispered his adieu.\n\"I thought you were staying at Oileymead?\" said Mrs. Greenow.\n\"I came from there this morning,\" said the Captain.\n\"But he isn't going back there, I can tell you,\" said Mr. Cheesacre.\n\"Oh, indeed,\" said Mrs. Greenow; \"I hope there is nothing wrong.\"\n\"All as right as a trivet,\" said the Captain; and then he left.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I promised mamma that I would be home by seven,\" said Charlie Fairstairs, rising from her chair. It cannot be supposed that she had any wish to oblige Mr. Cheesacre, and therefore this movement on her part must be regarded simply as done in kindness to Mrs. Greenow. She might be mistaken in supposing that Mrs. Greenow would desire to be left alone with Mr. Cheesacre; but it was clear to her that in this way she could give no offence, whereas it was quite possible that she might offend by remaining. A little after seven Mr. Cheesacre found himself alone with the lady.\n\"I'm sorry to find,\" said she, gravely, \"that you two have quarrelled.\"\n\"Mrs. Greenow,\" said he, jumping up, and becoming on a sudden full of life, \"that man is a downright swindler.\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Cheesacre.\"\n","abridged":"\"I promised mamma that I would be home by seven,\" said Charlie Fairstairs, rising from her chair. So Mr. Cheesacre found himself alone with the lady.\n\"I'm sorry,\" said she, gravely, \"that you two have quarrelled.\"\n\"Mrs. Greenow,\" said he, jumping up, and becoming on a sudden full of life, \"that man is a downright swindler.\"\n\"Oh, Mr. Cheesacre.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"He is. He'll tell you that he was at Inkerman, but I believe he was in prison all the time.\" The Captain had been arrested, I think twice, and thus Mr. Cheesacre justified to himself this assertion. \"I doubt whether he ever saw a shot fired,\" he continued.\n\"He's none the worse for that.\"\n\"But he tells such lies; and then he has not a penny in the world. How much do you suppose he owes me, now?\"\n\"However much it is, I'm sure you are too much of a gentleman to say.\"\n","abridged":"\"He is. He'll tell you that he was at Inkerman, but I believe he was in prison all the time. I doubt whether he ever saw a shot fired.\"\n\"He's none the worse for that.\"\n\"But he tells such lies; and he has not a penny in the world. How much do you suppose he owes me, now?\"\n\"However much it is, I'm sure you are too much of a gentleman to say.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well;--yes, I am,\" said he, trying to recover himself. \"But when I asked him how he intended to pay me, what do you think he said? He said he'd pay me when he got your money.\"\n\"My money! He couldn't have said that!\"\n\"But he did, Mrs. Greenow; I give you my word and honour. 'I'll pay you when I get the widow's money,' he said.\"\n\"You gentlemen must have a nice way of talking about me when I am absent.\"\n\"I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs. Greenow,--or thought one. He does;--he says horrible things.\"\n","abridged":"\"Well - yes, I am,\" said he, trying to recover himself. \"But when I asked him how he intended to pay me, what do you think he said? He said he'd pay me when he got your money.\"\n\"My money! He couldn't have said that!\"\n\"But he did, Mrs. Greenow; I give you my word. 'I'll pay you when I get the widow's money,' he said.\"\n\"You gentlemen must have a nice way of talking about me when I am absent.\"\n\"I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs. Greenow. He does - he says horrible things.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What horrible things, Mr. Cheesacre?\"\n\"Oh, I can't tell you;--but he does. What can you expect from such a man as that, who, to my knowledge, won't have a change of clothes to-morrow, except what he brought in on his back this morning. Where he's to get a bed to-night, I don't know, for I doubt whether he's got half-a-crown in the world.\"\n\"Poor Bellfield!\"\n\"Yes; he is poor.\"\n\"But how gracefully he carries his poverty.\"\n\"I should call it very disgraceful, Mrs. Greenow.\" To this she made no reply, and then he thought that he might begin his work. \"Mrs. Greenow,--may I say Arabella?\"\n","abridged":"\"What horrible things, Mr. Cheesacre?\"\n\"Oh, I can't tell you - but he does. What can you expect from such a man as that, who doesn't have a spare set of clothes for his back? Where he's to get a bed tonight, I don't know, for I doubt whether he's got half-a-crown in the world.\"\n\"Poor Bellfield!\"\n\"Yes; he is poor.\"\n\"But how gracefully he carries his poverty.\"\n\"I should call it very disgraceful, Mrs. Greenow.\" To this she made no reply, and then he thought that he might begin his work. \"Mrs. Greenow - may I say Arabella?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr. Cheesacre!\"\n\"But mayn't I? Come, Mrs. Greenow. You know well enough by this time what it is I mean. What's the use of shilly-shallying?\"\n\"Shilly-shallying, Mr. Cheesacre! I never heard such language. If I bid you good night, now, and tell you that it is time for you to go home, shall you call that shilly-shallying?\"\n","abridged":"\"Mr. Cheesacre!\"\n\"But mayn't I? Come, Mrs. Greenow. You know well enough by this time what it is I mean. What's the use of shilly-shallying?\"\n\"Shilly-shallying, Mr. Cheesacre! I never heard such language?\"\n"}
+{"original":"He had made a mistake in his word and repented it. \"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow; I do indeed. I didn't mean anything offensive.\"\n\"Shilly-shallying, indeed! There's very little shall in it, I can assure you.\"\nThe poor man was dreadfully crestfallen, so much so that the widow's heart relented, and she pardoned him. It was not in her nature to quarrel with people;--at any rate, not with her lovers. \"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow,\" said the culprit, humbly. \"It is granted,\" said the widow; \"but never tell a lady again that she is shilly-shallying. And look here, Mr. Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a lady in earnest--\"\n","abridged":"\"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow.\"\n\"Shilly-shallying, indeed! There's very little shall in it, I can assure you.\"\nThe poor man was so dreadfully crestfallen that the widow relented. It was not in her nature to quarrel with her lovers.\n\"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow,\" said the culprit, humbly.\n\"It is granted,\" said the widow; \"but never tell a lady again that she is shilly-shallying. And look here, Mr. Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a lady in earnest-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I couldn't be more in earnest,\" said he.\n\"That you are making love to a lady in earnest, talk to her a little more about your passion and a little less about your purse. Now, good night.\"\n\"But we are friends.\"\n\"Oh yes;--as good friends as ever.\"\nCheesacre, as he drove himself home in the dark, tried to console himself by thinking of the miserable plight in which Bellfield would find himself at Norwich, with no possessions but what he had brought into the town that day in a small bag. But as he turned in at his own gate he met two figures emerging; one of them was laden with a portmanteau, and the other with a hat case.\n\"It's only me, Cheesy, my boy,\" said Bellfield. \"I've just come down by the rail to fetch my things, and I'm going back to Norwich by the 9.20.\n\"If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted,\" roared Cheesacre, as he drove his gig up to his own door.\n","abridged":"\"I couldn't be more in earnest,\" said he.\n\"-talk to her a little more about your passion and a little less about your purse. Now, good night.\"\nCheesacre, as he drove himself home in the dark, tried to console himself by thinking of the miserable plight in which Bellfield would find himself at Norwich. But as he turned in at his own gate he met two figures emerging; one of them was laden with a portmanteau, and the other with a hat case.\n\"It's only me, Cheesy, my boy,\" said Bellfield. \"I've just come down by rail to fetch my things, and I'm going back to Norwich by the 9.20.\"\n\"If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted,\" roared Cheesacre, as he drove his gig up to his door."}
+{"original":"VOLUME II.","abridged":""}
+{"original":"It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening,--a hot, July evening,--when the woman went from Vavasor's room, and left him there alone. It was necessary that he should immediately do something. In the first place he must dine, unless he meant to carry out his threat, and shoot himself at once. But he had no such intention as that, although he stood for some minutes with the pistol in his hand. He was thinking then of shooting some one else. But he resolved that, if he did so at all, he would not do it on that evening, and he locked up the pistol again in the standing desk. After that, he took up some papers, referring to steam packets, which were lying on his table. They contained the programmes of different companies, and showed how one vessel went on one day to New York, and another on another day would take out a load of emigrants for New Zealand and Australia. \"That's a good line,\" said he, as he read a certain prospectus. \"They generally go to the bottom, and save a man from any further trouble on his own account.\" ","abridged":"It was nearly seven in the evening when the woman left Vavasor's room. Now he needed to do something. He must dine, unless he meant to shoot himself at once. But he had no such intention - not for that evening at least, and he locked the pistol away again.\nThen he took up some leaflets about steam packets which were lying on his table. They listed ships of various lines that went to New York, or carried emigrants to New Zealand and Australia.\n\"That's a good line,\" said he, as he read one. \"They generally go to the bottom, and save a man from any further trouble.\" "}
+{"original":"Then he dressed himself, putting on his boots and coat, and went out to his club for his dinner.\n","abridged":"Then he dressed, and went out to his club for dinner.\n"}
+{"original":"London was still fairly full,--that is to say, the West End was not deserted, although Parliament had been broken up two months earlier than usual, in preparation for the new elections. Many men who had gone down into the country were now back again in town, and the dining-room at the club was crowded. Men came up to him condoling with him, telling him that he was well rid of a great nuisance, that the present Members for the Chelsea Districts would not sit long, or that there would be another general election in a year or two. To all these little speeches he made cheerful replies, and was declared by his acquaintance to bear his disappointment well. Calder Jones came to him and talked hunting talk, and Vavasor expressed his intention of being at Roebury in November. \"You had better join our club,\" said Calder Jones. In answer to which Vavasor said that he thought he would join the club. He remained in the smoking-room till nearly eleven; then he took himself home, and remained up half the night destroying papers. Every written document on which he could lay his hands he destroyed. All the pigeon-holes of his desk were emptied out, and their contents thrown into the flames. ","abridged":"London was still fairly full, and the dining-room at the club was crowded. Men came up to him condoling with him, telling him that he was well rid of a nuisance, or that there would be another election in a year or two. To all these little speeches he made cheerful replies. Calder Jones came over and talked about hunting, and Vavasor said he intended being at Roebury in November.\nHe remained in the smoking-room till nearly eleven; then he went home, and stayed up half the night destroying papers. Every compartment of his desk was emptied out, and the contents thrown into the flames"}
+{"original":"At first he looked at the papers before he burned them; but the trouble of doing so soon tired him, and he condemned them all, as he came to them, without examination. Then he selected a considerable amount of his clothes, and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care, and inspecting his boots narrowly, so that he might see which, out of the large number before him, it might be best worth his while to take with him. When that was done, he took from his desk a bag of sovereigns, and, pouring them out upon the table, he counted them out into parcels of twenty-five each, and made them up carefully into rouleaus with paper. These, when complete, he divided among the two portmanteaus and a dressing-bag which he also packed and a travelling desk, which he filled with papers, pens, and the like. But he put into it no written document. He carefully looked through his linen, and anything that had been marked with more than his initials he rejected. Then he took out a bundle of printed cards, and furnished a card-case with them. On these cards was inscribed the name of Gregory Vance. When all was finished, he stood for awhile with his back to the fireplace contemplating his work. \"After all,\" he said to himself, \"I know that I shall never start; and, if I do, nobody can hinder me, and my own name would be as good as any other. ","abridged":"; he did not even bother to look at many of them. Then he selected some clothes, and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care. Next he took out a bag of sovereigns, and, pouring them out upon the table, he counted them into parcels of twenty-five each. Rolling them up in paper, he divided them among the two portmanteaus, a dressing-bag and a travelling desk, which he filled with paper and pens, but no documents. He carefully looked through his linen, and anything that had been marked with more than his initials he rejected. Then he took out a bundle of printed cards, on which was inscribed the name of Gregory Vance.\nWhen all was finished, he stood contemplating his work with satisfaction. "}
+{"original":"As for a man with such a face as mine not being known, that is out of the question.\" But still he liked the arrangements which he had made, and when he had looked at them for awhile he went to bed.\nHe was up early the next morning, and had some coffee brought to him by the servant of the house, and as he drank it he had an interview with his landlady. \"He was going,\" he said;--\"going that very day.\" It might be possible that he would change his mind; but as he would desire to start without delay, if he did go, he would pay her then what he owed her, and what would be due for her lodgings under a week's notice. The woman stared, and curtseyed, and took her money. Vavasor, though he had lately been much pressed for money, had never been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived. \"There will be some things left about, Mrs. Bunsby,\" he said, \"and I will get you to keep them till I call or send.\" Mrs. Bunsby said that she would, and then looked her last at him. After that interview she never saw him again.\n","abridged":"Then he went to bed.\nHe was up early the next morning, and spoke to his landlady. He was going that very day, he said. He paid her what he owed her; for he had never been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived.\n\"There will be some things left here, Mrs. Bunsby,\" he said, \"and I will get you to keep them till I send for them.\" Mrs. Bunsby said that she would. After that interview she never saw him again.\n"}
+{"original":"When he was left alone he put on a rough morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it carefully in his pocket, and sallied forth. It was manifest enough that he had some decided scheme in his head, for he turned quickly towards the West when he reached the Strand, went across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk Street. Just as he reached the club-house at the corner he paused and looked back, facing first one way and then the other. \"The chances are that I shall never see anything of it again,\" he said to himself. Then he laughed in his own silent way, shook his head slightly, and turning again quickly on his heel, walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor. The reader, no doubt, has forgotten all he ever knew of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor. It can soon be told again. At Mr. Jones's house John Grey lodged when he was in London, and he was in London at this moment.\n","abridged":"When he was alone he put on a morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it in his pocket, and sallied forth. He went West, across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk Street. He walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr. Jones, the tailor, where John Grey lodged.\n"}
+{"original":"Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he went quickly into the house, and passed her in the passage. \"Mr. Grey is at home,\" he said. \"I will go up to him.\" The girl said that Mr. Grey was at home, but suggested that she had better announce the gentleman. But Vavasor was already halfway up the stairs, and before the girl had reached the first landing place, he had entered Mr. Grey's room and closed the door behind him.\nGrey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, and was reading. The breakfast things were on the table, but he had not as yet breakfasted. As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair quickly, and put down his book. \"Mr. Vavasor,\" he said, \"I hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!\"\n","abridged":"Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he pushed past her into the house.\n\"Mr. Grey is at home,\" he said. \"I will go up to him.\" He went ahead of her up the stairs, entered Mr. Grey's room and closed the door behind him.\nGrey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, reading, with the breakfast things on the table. As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair quickly.\n\"Mr. Vavasor,\" he said, \"I hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I dare say not,\" said Vavasor; \"but, nevertheless, here I am.\" He kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol, and held his left hand under his waistcoat.\n\"May I ask why you have come?\" said Grey.\n\"I intend to tell you, at any rate, whether you ask me or not. I have come to declare in your own hearing,--as I am in the habit of doing occasionally behind your back,--that you are a blackguard,--to spit in your face, and defy you.\" As he said this he suited his action to his words, but without any serious result. \"I have come here to see if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but I doubt whether you are.\"\n\"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr. Vavasor, will have any effect upon me;--except that you can, of course, annoy me.\"\n","abridged":"\"I dare say not,\" said Vavasor; \"but, nevertheless, here I am.\" He kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol.\n\"May I ask why you have come?\" said Grey.\n\"I have come to declare that you are a blackguard - to spit in your face, and defy you.\" And he did what he said, though without any serious result. \"I have come here to see if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but I doubt whether you are.\"\n\"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr. Vavasor, will have any effect - except, of course, to annoy me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done with you. Will you fight me?\"\n\"Fight a duel with you,--with pistols? Certainly not.\"\n\"Then you are a coward, as I supposed.\"\n\"I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing as that.\"\n\"Look here, Mr. Grey. You managed to worm yourself into an intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her. When she found out what you were, how paltry, and mean, and vile, she changed her mind, and bade you leave her.\"\n\"Are you here at her request?\"\n","abridged":"\"And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done. Will you fight me?\"\n\"Fight a duel with you - with pistols? Certainly not.\"\n\"Then you are a coward, as I supposed.\"\n\"I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing.\"\n\"Look here, Mr. Grey. You managed to worm yourself into intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her. When she found out what you were, how paltry, mean, and vile, she changed her mind, and bade you leave her.\"\n\"Are you here at her request?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am here as her representative.\"\n\"Self-appointed, I think.\"\n\"Then, sir, you think wrong. I am at this moment her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to you,--which was enough, I should have thought, to keep any man of spirit out of her presence,--you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence. Now, I give you two alternatives. You shall either give me your written promise never to go near her again, or you shall fight me.\"\n\"I shall do neither one nor the other,--as you know very well yourself.\"\n\"Stop till I have done, sir. If you have courage enough to fight me, I will meet you in any country. I will fight you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France, or to America, if that will suit you better.\"\n","abridged":"\"I am here as her representative.\"\n\"Self-appointed, I think.\"\n\"I am her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to you, you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence. Now, I give you two alternatives. You shall either give me your written promise never to go near her again, or you shall fight me.\"\n\"I shall do neither, as you know very well.\"\n\"If you have courage enough to fight me, I will meet you in any country. I will fight you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nothing of the kind will suit me at all. I don't want to have anything to do with you.\"\n\"Then you are a coward.\"\n\"Perhaps I am;--but your saying so will not make me one.\"\n\"You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard. I have given you the option of behaving like a gentleman, and you have refused it. Now, look here. I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room without using them, unless you will promise to give me the meeting that I have proposed.\" And he took the pistol out of his pocket.\n","abridged":"\"I don't want to have anything to do with you.\"\n\"Then you are a coward.\"\n\"Perhaps I am; but your saying so will not make me one.\"\n\"You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard. I have given you the option of behaving like a gentleman, and you have refused it. Now, look here. I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room without using them, unless you will promise to fight me.\" And he took the pistol out of his pocket.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?\" Grey asked. There were two windows in the room, and he had been sitting near to that which was furthest removed from the fireplace, and consequently furthest removed from the bell, and his visitor was now standing immediately between him and the door. He had to think what steps he might best take, and to act upon his decision instantly. He was by no means a timid man, and was one, moreover, very little prone to believe in extravagant action. He did not think, even now, that this disappointed, ruined man had come there with any intention of killing him. But he knew that a pistol in the hands of an angry man is dangerous, and that it behoved him to do his best to rid himself of the nuisance which now encumbered him. \"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?\" he had said.\n","abridged":"\"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?\" Grey asked. He was at a distance from the bell, and his visitor was standing between him and the door. He had to think what he might best do, and act upon his decision instantly. He was not timid, and he did not think, even now, that this disappointed, ruined man had come with any intention of killing him. But he knew that a pistol in the hands of an angry man is dangerous.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I mean that you shall not leave this room alive unless you promise to meet me, and fight it out.\" Upon hearing this, Grey turned himself towards the bell. \"If you move a step, I will fire at you,\" said Vavasor. Grey paused a moment, and looked him full in the face. \"I will,\" said Vavasor again.\n\"That would be murder,\" said Grey.\n\"Don't think that you will frighten me by ugly words,\" said Vavasor. \"I am beyond that.\"\n","abridged":"\"You shall not leave this room alive unless you promise to meet me, and fight it out.\"\nUpon hearing this, Grey turned towards the bell.\n\"If you move a step, I will fire at you,\" said Vavasor. Grey paused a moment, and looked him full in the face. \"I will,\" said Vavasor again.\n\"That would be murder,\" said Grey.\n\"Don't think that you will frighten me by ugly words,\" said Vavasor. \"I am beyond that.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Grey had stopped for a moment to fix his eyes on the other man's face; but it was only for a moment, and then he went on to the bell. He had seen that the pistol was pointed at himself, and had once thought of rushing across the room at his adversary, calculating that a shot fired at him as he did so might miss him, and that he would then have a fair chance of disarming the madman. But his chief object was to avoid any personal conflict, to escape the indignity of a scramble for the pistol,--and especially to escape the necessity of a consequent appearance at some police-office, where he would have to justify himself, and answer the questions of a lawyer hired to cross-question him. He made, therefore, towards the bell, trusting that Vavasor would not fire at him, but having some little thought also as to the danger of the moment. It might be that everything was over for him now,--that the fatal hour had come, and that eternity was close upon him. Something of the spirit of a prayer flashed across his mind as he moved. Then he heard the click of the pistol's hammer as it fell, and was aware that his eyes were dazzled, though he was unconscious of seeing any flame. He felt something in the air, and knew that the pistol had been fired;--but he did not know whether the shot had struck him or had missed him. His hand was out for the bell-handle, and he had pulled it, before he was sure that he was unhurt.\n","abridged":"Grey had stopped for a moment; and then he went on to the bell. He had thought of rushing across the room at his adversary, calculating that a shot might miss him. But his chief object was to avoid any conflict. So he moved towards the bell.\nAlthough he trusted that Vavasor would not fire at him, he was aware that his fatal hour might have come, and that eternity could be close upon him. Something of the spirit of a prayer flashed across his mind as he moved. Then he heard the click of the pistol's hammer as it fell, felt something in the air, and knew that the pistol had been fired - but he did not know whether the shot had struck him. His hand was on the bell-handle, and he had pulled it, before he was sure that he was unhurt.\n"}
+{"original":"\"D----ation!\" exclaimed the murderer. But he did not pull the trigger again. Though the weapon had of late been so often in his hands, he forgot, in the agitation of the moment, that his missing once was but of small matter if he chose to go on with his purpose. Were there not five other barrels for him, each making itself ready by the discharge of the other? But he had paused, forgetting, in his excitement, the use of his weapon, and before he had bethought himself that the man was still in his power, he heard the sound of the bell. \"D----ation!\" he exclaimed. Then he turned round, left the room, hurried down the stairs, and made his way out into the street, having again passed the girl on his way.\n","abridged":"\"D--ation!\" exclaimed the murderer. But he did not pull the trigger again, forgetting, in his excitement, that there were five other barrels. He turned, hurried down the stairs, and made his way out into the street, passing the girl on his way.\n"}
+{"original":"Grey, when he perceived that his enemy was gone, turned round to look for the bullet or its mark. He soon found the little hole in the window-shutter, and probing it with the point of his pencil, came upon the morsel of lead which might now just as readily have been within his own brain. There he left it for the time, and then made some not inaccurate calculation as to the narrowness of his own escape. He had been standing directly between Vavasor and the shutter, and he found, from the height of the hole, that the shot must have passed close beneath his ear. He remembered to have heard the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the sound of the report, and when the girl entered the room, he perceived at once from her manner that she was unaware that firearms had been used.\n","abridged":"Grey turned to look for the bullet or its mark. He soon found the little hole in the window-shutter. The shot must have passed close beneath his ear. He remembered to have heard the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the sound of the shot, and when the girl entered the room, he saw from her manner that she was unaware that firearms had been used.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Has that gentleman left the house?\" Grey asked. The girl said that he had left the house. \"Don't admit him again,\" said he;--\"that is, if you can avoid it. I believe he is not in his right senses.\" Then he asked for Mr. Jones, his landlord, and in a few minutes the pugilistic tailor was with him.\n","abridged":"\"Has that gentleman left the house?\" Grey asked. The girl said that he had. \"Don't admit him again,\" said he; \"if you can avoid it, for I believe he is not in his right senses.\" Then he asked for Mr. Jones, his landlord, and in a few minutes the tailor was with him.\n"}
+{"original":"During those few minutes he had been called upon to resolve what he would do now. Would he put the police at once upon the track of the murderer, who was, as he remembered too well, the first cousin of the woman whom he still desired to make his wife? That cross-examination which he would have to undergo at the police-office, and again probably in an assize court, in which all his relations with the Vavasor family would be made public, was very vivid to his imagination. That he was called upon by duty to do something he felt almost assured. The man who had been allowed to make such an attempt once with impunity, might probably make it again. But he resolved that he need not now say anything about the pistol to the pugilistic tailor, unless the tailor said something to him.\n\"Mr. Jones,\" he said, \"that man whom I had to put out of the room once before, has been here again.\"\n\"Has there been another tussle, sir?\"\n\"No;--nothing of that kind. But we must take some steps to prevent his getting in again, if we can help it.\"\n","abridged":"During those few minutes he had to resolve what he would do now. Would he put the police at once upon the track of the murderer - the cousin of the woman whom he wished to make his wife? That cross-examination which he would have to undergo at the police-office, and again probably in court, was very vivid to his imagination. Yet he needed to do something in case Vavasor made some attempt again. But he need not now say anything about the pistol to the tailor.\n\"Mr. Jones,\" he said, \"that man whom I had to put out of the room once before, has been here. We must take some steps to prevent his getting in again, if we can.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Jones promised his aid, and offered to go at once to the police. To this, however, Mr. Grey demurred, saying that he should himself seek assistance from some magistrate. Jones promised to be very vigilant as to watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to his breakfast. Of course he thought much of what had occurred. It was impossible that he should not think much of so narrow an escape. He had probably been as near death as a man may well be without receiving any injury; and the more he thought of it, the more strongly he was convinced that he could not allow the thing to pass by without some notice, or some precaution as to the future.\nAt eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw some officer great in power over policemen, and told him all the circumstances,--confidentially. The powerful officer recommended an equally confidential reference to a magistrate; and towards evening a very confidential policeman in plain clothes paid a visit to Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street. But Vavasor lodged there no longer. Mrs. Bunsby, who was also very confidential,--and at her wits' end because she could not learn the special business of the stranger who called,--stated that Mr. George Vavasor left her house in a cab at ten o'clock that morning, having taken with him such luggage as he had packed, and having gone, \"she was afraid, for good,\" as Mrs. Bunsby expressed it.\n","abridged":"Jones offered to go at once to the police. However, Mr. Grey said that he himself would seek assistance from some magistrate. Jones promised to be very vigilant about watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to his breakfast. The more he thought about what had happened, the more strongly he was convinced that he could not allow it to pass without some precaution.\nAt eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw a senior officer, and told him all the circumstances, confidentially. The officer recommended an equally confidential magistrate; and towards evening a very confidential policeman in plain clothes paid a visit to Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street.\nBut Vavasor lodged there no longer. Mrs. Bunsby stated that he had left her house in a cab at ten o'clock that morning, with his luggage, and that she thought he was gone for good.\n"}
+{"original":"He had gone for good, and at the moment in which the policeman was making the inquiry in Cecil Street, was leaning over the side of an American steamer which had just got up her steam and weighed her anchor in the Mersey. He was on board at six o'clock, and it was not till the next day that the cabman was traced who had carried him to Euston Square Station. Of course, it was soon known that he had gone to America, but it was not thought worth while to take any further steps towards arresting him. Mr. Grey himself was decidedly opposed to any such attempt, declaring his opinion that his own evidence would be insufficient to obtain a conviction. The big men in Scotland Yard were loth to let the matter drop. Their mouths watered after the job, and they had very numerous and very confidential interviews with John Grey. But it was decided that nothing should be done. \"Pity!\" said one enterprising superintendent, in answer to the condolings of a brother superintendent. \"Pity's no name for it. ","abridged":"He had gone for good, and at that moment he was leaning over the side of an American steamer which weighed her anchor in the Mersey, at Liverpool. He had boarded at six o'clock, and it was not till the next day that the cabman was traced who had carried him to Euston Square Station. Once it was known that he had set sail for America, it was not thought worthwhile to take any further steps towards arresting him.\n"}
+{"original":"It's the greatest shame as ever I knew since I joined the force. A man as was a Member of Parliament only last Session,--as belongs to no end of swell clubs, a gent as well known in London as any gent about the town! And I'd have had him back in three months, as sure as my name's Walker.\" And that superintendent felt that his profession and his country were alike disgraced.\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"And now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of no more. Roebury knew him no longer, nor Pall Mall, nor the Chelsea Districts. His disappearance was a nine days' wonder, but the world at large knew nothing of the circumstances of that attempt in Suffolk Street. Mr. Grey himself told the story to no one, till he told it to Mr. Palliser at Lucerne. Mr. Scruby complained bitterly of the way in which Vavasor had robbed him; but I doubt whether Scruby, in truth, lost much by the transaction. To Kate, down in Westmoreland, no tidings came of her brother, and her sojourn in London with her aunt had nearly come to an end before she knew that he was gone. Even then the rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and she learned what few facts she knew from Mrs. Bunsby in Cecil Street.\n\"He was always mysterious,\" said Mrs. Greenow, \"and now he has vanished. I hate mysteries, and, as for myself, I think it will be much better that he should not come back again.\" Perhaps Kate was of the same opinion, but, if so, she kept it to herself.","abridged":"So now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of no more. His disappearance was a nine days' wonder, but Mr. Grey told the story to no one, till he told it to Mr. Palliser at Lucerne. Kate received no news of her brother, and her stay in London with her aunt had nearly ended before she knew that he was gone. The rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and she learned what few facts she knew from Mrs. Bunsby.\n\"He was always mysterious,\" said Mrs. Greenow, \"and now he has vanished. I think it will be much better that he should not come back again.\" Perhaps Kate was of the same opinion, but, if so, she kept it to herself."}
+{"original":"Men, like planets, have both a visible and an invisible history. The astronomer threads the darkness with strict deduction, accounting so for every visible arc in the wanderer's orbit; and the narrator of human actions, if he did his work with the same completeness, would have to thread the hidden pathways of feeling and thought which lead up to every moment of action, and to those moments of intense suffering which take the quality of action--like the cry of Prometheus, whose chained anguish seems a greater energy than the sea and sky he invokes and the deity he defies.\nDeronda's circumstances, indeed, had been exceptional. One moment had been burned into his life as its chief epoch--a moment full of July sunshine and large pink roses shedding their last petals on a grassy court enclosed on three sides by a gothic cloister. Imagine him in such a scene: a boy of thirteen, stretched prone on the grass where it was in shadow, his curly head propped on his arms over a book, while his tutor, also reading, sat on a camp-stool under shelter. Deronda's book was Sismondi's _History of the Italian Republics_; the lad had a passion for history, eager to know how time had been filled up since the flood, and how things were carried on in the dull periods. Suddenly he let down his left arm and looked at his tutor, saying in purest boyish tones,\n\"Mr. Fraser, how was it that the popes and cardinals always had so many nephews?\"\nThe tutor, an able young Scotchman, who acted as Sir Hugo Mallinger's secretary, roused rather unwillingly from his political economy, answered with the clear-cut emphatic chant which makes a truth doubly telling in Scotch utterance,\n\"Their own children were called nephews.\"\n","abridged":"Deronda's circumstances, indeed, had been exceptional. One early moment had been burned into his life - a moment full of July sunshine and large pink roses shedding petals on a grassy court enclosed on three sides by a Gothic cloister. Imagine him: a boy of thirteen, stretched on the grass, his curly head propped on his arms over a book, while his tutor, also reading, sat on a camp-stool. Deronda's book was Sismondi's \"History of the Italian Republics\"; the lad had a passion for history. Suddenly he looked at his tutor, saying-\n\"Mr. Fraser, how was it that the popes and cardinals always had so many nephews?\"\nThe tutor, an able young Scotsman who acted as Sir Hugo Mallinger's secretary, answered with his clear-cut emphatic chant-\n\"Their own children were called nephews.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why?\" said Deronda.\n\"It was just for the propriety of the thing; because, as you know very well, priests don't marry, and the children were illegitimate.\"\nMr. Fraser, thrusting out his lower lip and making his chant of the last word the more emphatic for a little impatience at being interrupted, had already turned his eyes on his book again, while Deronda, as if something had stung him, started up in a sitting attitude with his back to the tutor.\n","abridged":"\"Why?\" said Deronda.\n\"For propriety; because, as you know, priests don't marry, and the children were illegitimate.\"\nMr. Fraser had already turned his eyes on his book again, while Deronda, as if something had stung him, sat up abruptly.\n"}
+{"original":"He had always called Sir Hugo Mallinger his uncle, and when it once occurred to him to ask about his father and mother, the baronet had answered, \"You lost your father and mother when you were quite a little one; that is why I take care of you.\" Daniel then straining to discern something in that early twilight, had a dim sense of having been kissed very much, and surrounded by thin, cloudy, scented drapery, till his fingers caught in something hard, which hurt him, and he began to cry. Every other memory he had was of the little world in which he still lived. And at that time he did not mind about learning more, for he was too fond of Sir Hugo to be sorry for the loss of unknown parents. Life was very delightful to the lad, with an uncle who was always indulgent and cheerful--a fine man in the bright noon of life, whom Daniel thought absolutely perfect, and whose place was one of the finest in England, at once historical, romantic, and home-like: a picturesque architectural outgrowth from an abbey, which had still remnants of the old monastic trunk. Diplow lay in another county, and was a comparatively landless place which had come into the family from a rich lawyer on the female side who wore the perruque of the restoration; whereas the Mallingers had the grant of Monk's Topping under Henry the Eighth, and ages before had held the neighboring lands of King's Topping, tracing indeed their origin to a certain Hugues le Malingre, who came in with the Conqueror--and also apparently with a sickly complexion which had been happily corrected in his descendants. Two rows of these descendants, direct and collateral, females of the male line, and males of the female, looked down in the gallery over the cloisters on the nephew Daniel as he walked there: men in armor with pointed beards and arched eyebrows, pinched ladies in hoops and ruffs with no face to speak of; grave-looking men in black velvet and stuffed hips, and fair, frightened women holding little boys by the hand; smiling politicians in magnificent perruques, and ladies of the prize-animal kind, with rosebud mouths and full eyelids, according to Lely; then a generation whose faces were revised and embellished in the taste of Kneller; and so on through refined editions of the family types in the time of Reynolds and Romney, till the line ended with Sir Hugo and his younger brother Henleigh. This last had married Miss Grandcourt, and taken her name along with her estates, thus making a junction between two equally old families, impaling the three Saracens' heads proper and three bezants of the one with the tower and falcons _argent_ of the other, and, as it happened, uniting their highest advantages in the prospects of that Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt who is at present more of an acquaintance to us than either Sir Hugo or his nephew Daniel Deronda.\n","abridged":"He had always called Sir Hugo Mallinger his uncle, and when he once asked about his parents, the baronet had answered, \"You lost your father and mother when you were quite little; that is why I take care of you.\" Daniel, trying to remember, had a dim sense of having been kissed very much, and surrounded by thin, scented drapery. Every other memory was of the world in which he lived now.\nAt that time he did not mind, for he was too fond of Sir Hugo to be sorry for the loss of unknown parents. His uncle was always indulgent and cheerful; Daniel thought him absolutely perfect, and his place was one of the finest in England, a picturesque outgrowth from an abbey. Diplow lay in another county, and was a comparatively landless place; whereas the Mallingers had the grant of Monk's Topping and its land under Henry the Eighth. Two rows of Mallinger ancestors looked down on Daniel as he walked in the gallery: men in armour with pointed beards and arched eyebrows, pinched ladies in hoops and ruffs with no face to speak of; smiling politicians in magnificent wigs, and ladies of the prize-animal kind, till the line ended with Sir Hugo and his younger brother Henleigh.\nThis last had married Miss Grandcourt, taking her name along with her estates: thus joining two old families, and uniting their advantages in the prospects of that Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt whom we have already met.\n"}
+{"original":"In Sir Hugo's youthful portrait with rolled collar and high cravat, Sir Thomas Lawrence had done justice to the agreeable alacrity of expression and sanguine temperament still to be seen in the original, but had done something more than justice in slightly lengthening the nose, which was in reality shorter than might have been expected in a Mallinger. Happily the appropriate nose of the family reappeared in his younger brother, and was to be seen in all its refined regularity in his nephew Mallinger Grandcourt. But in the nephew Daniel Deronda the family faces of various types, seen on the walls of the gallery, found no reflex. Still he was handsomer than any of them, and when he was thirteen might have served as model for any painter who wanted to image the most memorable of boys: you could hardly have seen his face thoroughly meeting yours without believing that human creatures had done nobly in times past, and might do more nobly in time to come. The finest childlike faces have this consecrating power, and make us shudder anew at all the grossness and basely-wrought griefs of the world, lest they should enter here and defile.\n","abridged":"Grandcourt's portrait was one of these; but the other nephew, Daniel Deronda, found in the family faces on the walls no reflection of his own. Still he was handsomer than any of them, and at thirteen appeared the most memorable of boys, whose face would make you believe in the innate nobility of humankind.\n"}
+{"original":"But at this moment on the grass among the rose-petals, Daniel Deronda was making a first acquaintance with those griefs. A new idea had entered his mind, and was beginning to change the aspect of his habitual feelings as happy careless voyagers are changed with the sky suddenly threatened and the thought of danger arises. He sat perfectly still with his back to the tutor, while his face expressed rapid inward transition. The deep blush, which had come when he first started up, gradually subsided; but his features kept that indescribable look of subdued activity which often accompanies a new mental survey of familiar facts. He had not lived with other boys, and his mind showed the same blending of child's ignorance with surprising knowledge which is oftener seen in bright girls. Having read Shakespeare as well as a great deal of history, he could have talked with the wisdom of a bookish child about men who were born out of wedlock and were held unfortunate in consequence, being under disadvantages which required them to be a sort of heroes if they were to work themselves up to an equal standing with their legally born brothers. But he had never brought such knowledge into any association with his own lot, which had been too easy for him ever to think about it--until this moment when there had darted into his mind with the magic of quick comparison, the possibility that here was the secret of his own birth, and that the man whom he called uncle was really his father. Some children, even younger than Daniel, have known the first arrival of care, like an ominous irremovable guest in their tender lives, on the discovery that their parents, whom they had imagined able to buy everything, were poor and in hard money troubles. Daniel felt the presence of a new guest who seemed to come with an enigmatic veiled face, and to carry dimly-conjectured, dreaded revelations. The ardor which he had given to the imaginary world in his books suddenly rushed toward his own history and spent its pictorial energy there, explaining what he knew, representing the unknown. ","abridged":"But at this moment on the grass among the rose-petals, Daniel Deronda was making a first acquaintance with grief. A new idea was changing his habitual feelings as happy careless voyagers are changed with the sky suddenly threatening danger. He sat perfectly still with his back to the tutor, surveying familiar facts anew.\nHe had not lived with other boys, and his mind showed the same blending of ignorance with surprising knowledge which is oftener seen in bright girls. Having read Shakespeare as well as a great deal of history, he could have talked with the wisdom of a bookish child about men who were born out of wedlock and were held unfortunate in consequence. But he had never associated these ideas with his own lot - until this moment, when there darted into his mind the possibility that here was the secret of his own birth, and that the man whom he called uncle was really his father.\nDaniel felt the presence of trouble like a new guest with an enigmatic veiled face. "}
+{"original":"The uncle whom he loved very dearly took the aspect of a father who held secrets about him--who had done him a wrong--yes, a wrong: and what had become of his mother, for whom he must have been taken away?--Secrets about which he, Daniel, could never inquire; for to speak or to be spoken to about these new thoughts seemed like falling flakes of fire to his imagination. Those who have known an impassioned childhood will understand this dread of utterance about any shame connected with their parents. The impetuous advent of new images took possession of him with the force of fact for the first time told, and left him no immediate power for the reflection that he might be trembling at a fiction of his own. The terrible sense of collision between a strong rush of feeling and the dread of its betrayal, found relief at length in big slow tears, which fell without restraint until the voice of Mr. Fraser was heard saying:\n\"Daniel, do you see that you are sitting on the bent pages of your book?\"\n","abridged":"The uncle whom he loved dearly became a father who held secrets about him - and what had become of his mother?- secrets about which he, Daniel, could never inquire; for to speak about these new thoughts seemed like falling flakes of fire to his imagination. The impetuous force of these new images took possession of him, and left him no power to reflect that he might be trembling at a fiction of his own. This strong rush of feeling, and his dread of its betrayal, brought big slow tears, which fell until the voice of Mr. Fraser said:\n\"Daniel, you are sitting on the bent pages of your book.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Daniel immediately moved the book without turning round, and after holding it before him for an instant, rose with it and walked away into the open grounds, where he could dry his tears unobserved. The first shock of suggestion past, he could remember that he had no certainty how things really had been, and that he had been making conjectures about his own history, as he had often made stories about Pericles or Columbus, just to fill up the blanks before they became famous. Only there came back certain facts which had an obstinate reality, almost like the fragments of a bridge, telling you unmistakably how the arches lay. And again there came a mood in which his conjectures seemed like a doubt of religion, to be banished as an offense, and a mean prying after what he was not meant to know; for there was hardly a delicacy of feeling this lad was not capable of. But the summing-up of all his fluctuating experience at this epoch was, that a secret impression had come to him which had given him something like a new sense in relation to all the elements of his life. And the idea that others probably knew things concerning which they did not choose to mention, set up in him a premature reserve which helped to intensify his inward experience. His ears open now to words which before that July day would have passed by him unnoted; and round every trivial incident which imagination could connect with his suspicions, a newly-roused set of feelings were ready to cluster themselves.\n","abridged":"Daniel immediately moved the book without turning round, and then rose and walked away into the grounds, where he could dry his tears unobserved. After the first shock, he could remember that he was not certain how things really stood, and that he had been conjecturing about his own history. Only some memories had an obstinate reality, like the fragments of a bridge, telling you unmistakably how the arches lay. His conjectures seemed like a mean offence; for he had great delicacy of feeling.\nBut at this time he acquired a new sense in relation to all the elements of his life. The idea that others knew things about him which they did not mention, made him reserved and sensitive. He noticed words which before that July day would have passed him by; and round every trivial incident, newly-roused feelings were ready to cluster.\n"}
+{"original":"One such incident a month later wrought itself deeply into his life. Daniel had not only one of those thrilling boy voices which seem to bring an idyllic heaven and earth before our eyes, but a fine musical instinct, and had early made out accompaniments for himself on the piano, while he sang from memory. Since then he had had some teaching, and Sir Hugo, who delighted in the boy, used to ask for his music in the presence of guests. One morning after he had been singing \"Sweet Echo\" before a small party of gentlemen whom the rain had kept in the house, the baronet, passing from a smiling remark to his next neighbor said:\n\"Come here, Dan!\"\nThe boy came forward with unusual reluctance. He wore an embroidered holland blouse which set off the rich coloring of his head and throat, and the resistant gravity about his mouth and eyes as he was being smiled upon, made their beauty the more impressive. Every one was admiring him.\n\"What do you say to being a great singer? Should you like to be adored by the world and take the house by storm, like Mario and Tamberlik?\"\n","abridged":"One such incident a month later wrought itself deeply into his life. Daniel had not only a thrilling boy's soprano voice, but a fine musical instinct, and had worked out accompaniments for himself on the piano. Sir Hugo, who delighted in the boy, used to ask him to sing for guests. One morning after he had been singing \"Sweet Echo\" before a small party of gentlemen, the baronet said:\n\"Come here, Dan!\"\nHe came forward with unusual reluctance. His rich colouring was set off by his resistant gravity, and everyone was admiring him.\n\"What do you say to being a great singer? Should you like to be adored by the world and take the house by storm?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Daniel reddened instantaneously, but there was a just perceptible interval before he answered with angry decision,\n\"No; I should hate it!\"\n","abridged":"Daniel reddened instantaneously, and answered with angry decision-\n\"No; I should hate it!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well, well, well!\" said Sir Hugo, with surprised kindliness intended to be soothing. But Daniel turned away quickly, left the room, and going to his own chamber threw himself on the broad window-sill, which was a favorite retreat of his when he had nothing particular to do. Here he could see the rain gradually subsiding with gleams through the parting clouds which lit up a great reach of the park, where the old oaks stood apart from each other, and the bordering wood was pierced with a green glade which met the eastern sky. This was a scene which had always been part of his home--part of the dignified ease which had been a matter of course in his life. And his ardent clinging nature had appropriated it all with affection. He knew a great deal of what it was to be a gentleman by inheritance, and without thinking much about himself--for he was a boy of active perceptions and easily forgot his own existence in that of Robert Bruce--he had never supposed that he could be shut out from such a lot, or have a very different part in the world from that of the uncle who petted him. It is possible (though not greatly believed in at present) to be fond of poverty and take it for a bride, to prefer scoured deal, red quarries and whitewash for one's private surroundings, to delight in no splendor but what has open doors for the whole nation, and to glory in having no privileges except such as nature insists on; and noblemen have been known to run away from elaborate ease and the option of idleness, that they might bind themselves for small pay to hard-handed labor. But Daniel's tastes were altogether in keeping with his nurture: his disposition was one in which everyday scenes and habits beget not _ennui_ or rebellion, but delight, affection, aptitudes; and now the lad had been stung to the quick by the idea that his uncle--perhaps his father--thought of a career for him which was totally unlike his own, and which he knew very well was not thought of among possible destinations for the sons of English gentlemen. He had often stayed in London with Sir Hugo, who to indulge the boy's ear had carried him to the opera to hear the great tenors, so that the image of a singer taking the house by storm was very vivid to him; but now, spite of his musical gift, he set himself bitterly against the notion of being dressed up to sing before all those fine people, who would not care about him except as a wonderful toy. ","abridged":"\"Well, well!\" said Sir Hugo, with surprised kindliness. But Daniel turned away quickly, left the room, and going to his own chamber threw himself on the broad window-sill.\nHere he could see the rain gradually subsiding over a great reach of the park, with old oaks and a green glade. This scene had always been part of his home, and his ardent nature clung to it with affection. He had never supposed that he could be shut out from the world of his uncle. The lad had been stung to the quick by the idea that his uncle - perhaps his father - thought of a career for him which was totally unlike his own, and which he knew very well was not possible for the son of an English gentleman. He had often stayed in London with Sir Hugo, and been taken to the opera to hear the great tenors, so that the image of a singer taking the house by storm was very vivid to him; but now he set himself bitterly against the notion of being dressed up to sing before fine people, who would not care about him except as a wonderful toy. "}
+{"original":"That Sir Hugo should have thought of him in that position for a moment, seemed to Daniel an unmistakable proof that there was something about his birth which threw him out from the class of gentlemen to which the baronet belonged. Would it ever be mentioned to him? Would the time come when his uncle would tell him everything? He shrank from the prospect: in his imagination he preferred ignorance. If his father had been wicked--Daniel inwardly used strong words, for he was feeling the injury done him as a maimed boy feels the crushed limb which for others is merely reckoned in an average of accidents--if his father had done any wrong, he wished it might never be spoken of to him: it was already a cutting thought that such knowledge might be in other minds. Was it in Mr. Fraser's? probably not, else he would not have spoken in that way about the pope's nephews. Daniel fancied, as older people do, that every one else's consciousness was as active as his own on a matter which was vital to him. Did Turvey the valet know?--and old Mrs. French the housekeeper?--and Banks the bailiff, with whom he had ridden about the farms on his pony?--And now there came back the recollection of a day some years before when he was drinking Mrs. Banks's whey, and Banks said to his wife with a wink and a cunning laugh, \"He features the mother, eh?\" At that time little Daniel had merely thought that Banks made a silly face, as the common farming men often did, laughing at what was not laughable; and he rather resented being winked at and talked of as if he did not understand everything. ","abridged":"Sir Hugo's suggestion seemed to Daniel proof that there was something about his birth which meant that he was not a gentleman.\nWould his uncle ever tell him everything? He shrank from the prospect, preferring ignorance. If his father had been wicked - Daniel inwardly used strong words for the injury done him - if his father had done any wrong, he wished it might never be spoken of to him: it was already a cutting thought that such knowledge might be in other minds. Daniel fancied that everyone else's mind was as active as his own on a matter which was so vital to him. Did the valet know? - and the housekeeper? - and Banks the bailiff?\nHe recalled a time when Banks said to his wife with a wink, \"He features the mother, eh?\" At that time little Daniel had merely thought that Banks made a silly face. "}
+{"original":"But now that small incident became information: it was to be reasoned on. How could he be like his mother and not like his father? His mother must have been a Mallinger, if Sir Hugo were his uncle. But no! His father might have been Sir Hugo's brother and have changed his name, as Mr. Henleigh Mallinger did when he married Miss Grandcourt. But then, why had he never heard Sir Hugo speak of his brother Deronda, as he spoke of his brother Grandcourt? Daniel had never before cared about the family tree--only about that ancestor who had killed three Saracens in one encounter. But now his mind turned to a cabinet of estate-maps in the library, where he had once seen an illuminated parchment hanging out, that Sir Hugo said was the family tree. The phrase was new and odd to him--he was a little fellow then--hardly more than half his present age--and he gave it no precise meaning. He knew more now and wished that he could examine that parchment. ","abridged":"But now that small incident became information. How could he be like his mother and not like his father? His mother must have been a Mallinger. But no! His father might have been Sir Hugo's brother and have changed his name, as Mr. Henleigh Mallinger did when he married Miss Grandcourt. But then, why had he never heard Sir Hugo speak of his brother Deronda, as he spoke of his brother Grandcourt? He wished that he could examine the family tree in the library. "}
+{"original":"He imagined that the cabinet was always locked, and longed to try it. But here he checked himself. He might be seen: and he would never bring himself near even a silent admission of the sore that had opened in him.\n","abridged":"But he might be seen: and he would never bring himself near even a silent admission of the sore that had opened in him.\n"}
+{"original":"It is in such experiences of a boy or girlhood, while elders are debating whether most education lies in science or literature, that the main lines of character are often laid down. If Daniel had been of a less ardently affectionate nature, the reserve about himself and the supposition that others had something to his disadvantage in their minds, might have turned into a hard, proud antagonism. But inborn lovingness was strong enough to keep itself level with resentment. There was hardly any creature in his habitual world that he was not fond of; teasing them occasionally, of course--all except his uncle, or \"Nunc,\" as Sir Hugo had taught him to say; for the baronet was the reverse of a strait-laced man, and left his dignity to take care of itself. Him Daniel loved in that deep-rooted filial way which makes children always the happier for being in the same room with father or mother, though their occupations may be quite apart. Sir Hugo's watch-chain and seals, his handwriting, his mode of smoking and of talking to his dogs and horses, had all a rightness and charm about them to the boy which went along with the happiness of morning and breakfast time. That Sir Hugo had always been a Whig, made Tories and Radicals equally opponents of the truest and best; and the books he had written were all seen under the same consecration of loving belief which differenced what was his from what was not his, in spite of general resemblance. Those writings were various, from volumes of travel in the brilliant style, to articles on things in general, and pamphlets on political crises; but to Daniel they were alike in having an unquestionable rightness by which other people's information could be tested.\nWho cannot imagine the bitterness of a first suspicion that something in this object of complete love was _not_ quite right? Children demand that their heroes should be fleckless, and easily believe them so: perhaps a first discovery to the contrary is hardly a less revolutionary shock to a passionate child than the threatened downfall of habitual beliefs which makes the world seem to totter for us in maturer life.\n","abridged":"In such youthful experiences are the lines of character often laid down. If Daniel had been of a less affectionate nature, the reserve might have turned into a hard, proud antagonism. But he was a loving child, who had always trusted in his uncle.\nWho cannot imagine the bitterness of a first suspicion that something in this object of complete love was not quite right? Children demand that their heroes should be flawless.\n"}
+{"original":"But some time after this renewal of Daniel's agitation it appeared that Sir Hugo must have been making a merely playful experiment in his question about the singing. He sent for Daniel into the library, and looking up from his writing as the boy entered threw himself sideways in his armchair. \"Ah, Dan!\" he said kindly, drawing one of the old embroidered stools close to him. \"Come and sit down here.\"\nDaniel obeyed, and Sir Hugo put a gentle hand on his shoulder, looking at him affectionately.\n\"What is it, my boy? Have you heard anything that has put you out of spirits lately?\"\nDaniel was determined not to let the tears come, but he could not speak.\n","abridged":"But some time after this, it appeared that Sir Hugo must have been joking about the singing. He sent for Daniel into the library, and as the boy entered said kindly, \"Ah, Dan! Come and sit down here.\" He drew one of the old embroidered stools close to him.\nDaniel obeyed, and Sir Hugo put an affectionate, gentle hand on his shoulder.\n\"What is it, my boy? Has anything put you out of spirits lately?\"\nDaniel was determined not to cry, but he could not speak.\n"}
+{"original":"\"All changes are painful when people have been happy, you know,\" said Sir Hugo, lifting his hand from the boy's shoulder to his dark curls and rubbing them gently. \"You can't be educated exactly as I wish you to be without our parting. And I think you will find a great deal to like at school.\"\nThis was not what Daniel expected, and was so far a relief, which gave him spirit to answer,\n\"Am I to go to school?\"\n\"Yes, I mean you to go to Eton. I wish you to have the education of an English gentleman; and for that it is necessary that you should go to a public school in preparation for the university: Cambridge I mean you to go to; it was my own university.\"\nDaniel's color came and went.\n\"What do you say, Sirrah?\" said Sir Hugo, smiling.\n","abridged":"\"All changes are painful when people have been happy, you know,\" said Sir Hugo, rubbing the boy's curls gently. \"You can't be educated exactly as I wish, without our parting. And I think you will find a great deal to like at school.\"\nThis was not what Daniel expected, and was a relief, which gave him spirit to answer-\n\"Am I to go to school?\"\n\"Yes, I mean you to go to Eton. I wish you to have the education of an English gentleman; and go to a public school in preparation for the university: Cambridge, I hope; it was my own university.\"\nDaniel's colour came and went.\n\"What do you say, sirrah?\" said Sir Hugo, smiling.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I should like to be a gentleman,\" said Daniel, with firm distinctness, \"and go to school, if that is what a gentleman's son must do.\"\nSir Hugo watched him silently for a few moments, thinking he understood now why the lad had seemed angry at the notion of becoming a singer. Then he said tenderly,\n\"And so you won't mind about leaving your old Nunc?\"\n\"Yes, I shall,\" said Daniel, clasping Sir Hugo's caressing arm with both his hands. \"But sha'n't I come home and be with you in the holidays?\"\n\"Oh yes, generally,\" said Sir Hugo. \"But now I mean you to go at once to a new tutor, to break the change for you before you go to Eton.\"\n","abridged":"\"I should like to be a gentleman,\" said Daniel, with firm distinctness, \"and go to school, if that is what a gentleman's son must do.\"\nSir Hugo watched him silently for a few moments, thinking he understood now why the lad had seemed angry at the notion of becoming a singer. Then he said tenderly-\n\"So you won't mind about leaving your old Nunc?\"\n\"Yes, I shall,\" said Daniel, clasping Sir Hugo's arm. \"But shan't I come home in the holidays?\"\n\"Oh yes,\" said Sir Hugo. \"But now I mean you to go to a new tutor, before you go to Eton.\"\n"}
+{"original":"After this interview Daniel's spirit rose again. He was meant to be a gentleman, and in some unaccountable way it might be that his conjectures were all wrong. The very keenness of the lad taught him to find comfort in his ignorance. While he was busying his mind in the construction of possibilities, it became plain to him that there must be possibilities of which he knew nothing. He left off brooding, young joy and the spirit of adventure not being easily quenched within him, and in the interval before his going away he sang about the house, danced among the old servants, making them parting gifts, and insisted many times to the groom on the care that was to be taken of the black pony.\n\"Do you think I shall know much less than the other boys, Mr. Fraser?\" said Daniel. It was his bent to think that every stranger would be surprised at his ignorance.\n\"There are dunces to be found everywhere,\" said the judicious Fraser. \"You'll not be the biggest; but you've not the makings of a Porson in you, or a Leibnitz either.\"\n","abridged":"After this interview Daniel's spirit rose. He was meant to be a gentleman, and it might be that his conjectures were all wrong. It became plain to him that there must be possibilities of which he knew nothing. He left off brooding and was merry again until he went away.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't want to be a Porson or a Leibnitz,\" said Daniel. \"I would rather be a greater leader, like Pericles or Washington.\"\n\"Ay, ay; you've a notion they did with little parsing, and less algebra,\" said Fraser. But in reality he thought his pupil a remarkable lad, to whom one thing was as easy as another, if he had only a mind to it.\nThings went on very well with Daniel in his new world, except that a boy with whom he was at once inclined to strike up a close friendship talked to him a great deal about his home and parents, and seemed to expect a like expansiveness in return. Daniel immediately shrank into reserve, and this experience remained a check on his naturally strong bent toward the formation of intimate friendship. Every one, his tutor included, set him down as a reserved boy, though he was so good-humored and unassuming, as well as quick, both at study and sport, that nobody called his reserve disagreeable. Certainly his face had a great deal to do with that favorable interpretation; but in this instance the beauty of the closed lips told no falsehood.\n","abridged":"Things went on very well with Daniel at school, except that a boy with whom he was inclined to make friends talked to him a great deal about his home and parents, and seemed to expect a like expansiveness in return. Daniel shrank into reserve, and this experience checked him from forming any intimate friendship. Everyone set him down as a reserved boy, though he was so good-humoured, quick and unassuming, that nobody called his reserve disagreeable. Certainly his handsome face aided the favourable impression; but in this case, beauty told no falsehood.\n"}
+{"original":"A surprise that came to him before his first vacation strengthened the silent consciousness of a grief within, which might be compared in some ways with Byron's susceptibility about his deformed foot. Sir Hugo wrote word that he was married to Miss Raymond, a sweet lady, whom Daniel must remember having seen. The event would make no difference about his spending the vacation at the Abbey; he would find Lady Mallinger a new friend whom he would be sure to love--and much more to the usual effect when a man, having done something agreeable to himself, is disposed to congratulate others on his own good fortune, and the deducible satisfactoriness of events in general.\n","abridged":"A surprise came before his first vacation, strengthening the silent consciousness of a grief within. Sir Hugo wrote that he was married to Miss Raymond, a sweet lady. It would make no difference about his spending the vacation at the Abbey; he would find Lady Mallinger a new friend whom he would be sure to love.\n"}
+{"original":"Let Sir Hugo be partly excused until the grounds of his action can be more fully known. The mistakes in his behavior to Deronda were due to that dullness toward what may be going on in other minds, especially the minds of children, which is among the commonest deficiencies, even in good-natured men like him, when life has been generally easy to themselves, and their energies have been quietly spent in feeling gratified. No one was better aware than he that Daniel was generally suspected to be his own son. But he was pleased with that suspicion; and his imagination had never once been troubled with the way in which the boy himself might be affected, either then or in the future, by the enigmatic aspect of his circumstances. He was as fond of him as could be, and meant the best by him. And, considering the lightness with which the preparation of young lives seem to lie on respectable consciences, Sir Hugo Mallinger can hardly be held open to exceptional reproach. He had been a bachelor till he was five-and-forty, had always been regarded as a fascinating man of elegant tastes; what could be more natural, even according to the index of language, than that he should have a beautiful boy like the little Deronda to take care of? The mother might even, perhaps, be in the great world--met with in Sir Hugo's residence abroad. The only person to feel any objection was the boy himself, who could not have been consulted. And the boy's objections had never been dreamed of by anybody but himself.\n","abridged":"Let Sir Hugo be excused for the mistakes in his behaviour to Deronda. Dullness toward what may be going on in children's minds is common even in good-natured men. He was aware that Daniel was generally suspected to be his own son. But he was pleased with that suspicion; and he had never imagined how the boy himself might be affected. He was as fond of him as could be, and meant the best by him.\n"}
+{"original":"By the time Deronda was ready to go to Cambridge, Lady Mallinger had already three daughters--charming babies, all three, but whose sex was announced as a melancholy alternative, the offspring desired being a son; if Sir Hugo had no son the succession must go to his nephew, Mallinger Grandcourt. Daniel no longer held a wavering opinion about his own birth. His fuller knowledge had tended to convince him that Sir Hugo was his father, and he conceived that the baronet, since he never approached a communication on the subject, wished him to have a tacit understanding of the fact, and to accept in silence what would be generally considered more than the due love and nurture. Sir Hugo's marriage might certainly have been felt as a new ground of resentment by some youths in Deronda's position, and the timid Lady Mallinger with her fast-coming little ones might have been images to scowl at, as likely to divert much that was disposable in the feelings and possessions of the baronet from one who felt his own claim to be prior. But hatred of innocent human obstacles was a form of moral stupidity not in Deronda's grain; even the indignation which had long mingled itself with his affection for Sir Hugo took the quality of pain rather than of temper; and as his mind ripened to the idea of tolerance toward error, he habitually liked the idea with his own silent grievances.\nThe sense of an entailed disadvantage--the deformed foot doubtfully hidden by the shoe, makes a restlessly active spiritual yeast, and easily turns a self-centered, unloving nature into an Ishmaelite. But in the rarer sort, who presently see their own frustrated claim as one among a myriad, the inexorable sorrow takes the form of fellowship and makes the imagination tender. Deronda's early-weakened susceptibility, charged at first with ready indignation and resistant pride, had raised in him a premature reflection on certain questions of life; it had given a bias to his conscience, a sympathy with certain ills, and a tension of resolve in certain directions, who marked him off from other youths much more than any talents he possessed.\nOne day near the end of the long vacation, when he had been making a tour in the Rhineland with his Eton tutor, and was come for a farewell stay at the Abbey before going to Cambridge, he said to Sir Hugo,\n","abridged":"By the time Deronda was ready to go to Cambridge, Lady Mallinger had three daughters - charming babies, all three, but if Sir Hugo had no son the succession must go to his nephew, Grandcourt. Daniel was by now convinced that Sir Hugo was his father, and he conceived that the baronet, since he never spoke on the subject, wished him to have a silent understanding of the fact. Some youths in Deronda's position might have resented Sir Hugo's marriage, and scowled at the timid Lady Mallinger and her little ones; but hatred of innocent human obstacles was a moral stupidity not in Deronda's grain.\nIn a rare few, sorrow takes the form of fellowship and makes the imagination tender. Deronda's early susceptibility, charged at first with indignation and resistant pride, made him reflect on certain questions of life; it gave him a sympathy with certain ills which marked him off from other youths.\nOne day near the end of the long vacation, before his departure to Cambridge, he said to Sir Hugo-\n"}
+{"original":"\"What do you intend me to be, sir?\" They were in the library, and it was the fresh morning. Sir Hugo had called him in to read a letter from a Cambridge Don who was to be interested in him; and since the baronet wore an air at once business-like and leisurely, the moment seemed propitious for entering on a grave subject which had never yet been thoroughly discussed.\n","abridged":"\"What do you intend me to be, sir?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Whatever your inclination leads you to, my boy. I thought it right to give you the option of the army, but you shut the door on that, and I was glad. I don't expect you to choose just yet--by-and-by, when you have looked about you a little more and tried your mettle among older men. The university has a good wide opening into the forum. There are prizes to be won, and a bit of good fortune often gives the turn to a man's taste. From what I see and hear, I should think you can take up anything you like. You are in the deeper water with your classics than I ever got into, and if you are rather sick of that swimming, Cambridge is the place where you can go into mathematics with a will, and disport yourself on the dry sand as much as you like. I floundered along like a carp.\"\n\"I suppose money will make some difference, sir,\" said Daniel blushing. \"I shall have to keep myself by-and-by.\"\n","abridged":"\"Whatever your inclination leads you to, my boy. I thought it right to give you the option of the army, but you shut the door on that, and I was glad. I don't expect you to choose just yet, until you have looked about you a little more. The university has a good wide opening into the forum. There are prizes to be won, and from what I hear, I should think you can take up anything you like. You are in deeper water with your classics than I ever got into; or at Cambridge you can go into mathematics, and disport yourself on the dry sand as much as you like. I floundered along like a carp.\"\nDaniel, blushing, said, \"I suppose I shall have to earn my keep by-and-by.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not exactly. I recommend you not to be extravagant--yes, yes, I know--you are not inclined to that--but you need not take up anything against the grain. You will have a bachelor's income--enough for you to look about with. Perhaps I had better tell you that you may consider yourself secure of seven hundred a year. You might make yourself a barrister--be a writer--take up politics. I confess that is what would please me best. I should like to have you at my elbow and pulling with me.\"\n","abridged":"\"Not exactly. I recommend you not to be extravagant - I know you are not inclined to that. You will have a bachelor's income. Perhaps I had better tell you that you will have seven hundred a year. You might make yourself a barrister - be a writer - take up politics. I confess that is what would please me best.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Deronda looked embarrassed. He felt that he ought to make some sign of gratitude, but other feelings clogged his tongue. A moment was passing by in which a question about his birth was throbbing within him, and yet it seemed more impossible than ever that the question should find vent--more impossible than ever that he could hear certain things from Sir Hugo's lips. The liberal way in which he was dealt with was the more striking because the baronet had of late cared particularly for money, and for making the utmost of his life-interest in the estate by way of providing for his daughters; and as all this flashed through Daniel's mind it was momentarily within his imagination that the provision for him might come in some way from his mother. But such vaporous conjecture passed away as quickly as it came.\nSir Hugo appeared not to notice anything peculiar in Daniel's manner, and presently went on with his usual chatty liveliness.\n","abridged":"Deronda looked embarrassed. He ought to express gratitude, but other feelings clogged his tongue. A question about his birth was throbbing within him, and yet it seemed more impossible than ever that the question should be asked - or answered. Sir Hugo's generosity was the more striking because the baronet had of late cared particularly for money, and for providing for his daughters; and it flashed through Daniel's mind that his own provision might come in some way from his mother.\nSir Hugo appeared not to notice anything peculiar in Daniel's manner, and presently went on,\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am glad you have done some good reading outside your classics, and have got a grip of French and German. The truth is, unless a man can get the prestige and income of a Don and write donnish books, it's hardly worth while for him to make a Greek and Latin machine of himself and be able to spin you out pages of the Greek dramatists at any verse you'll give him as a cue. That's all very fine, but in practical life nobody does give you the cue for pages of Greek. In fact, it's a nicety of conversation which I would have you attend to--much quotation of any sort, even in English is bad. It tends to choke ordinary remark. One couldn't carry on life comfortably without a little blindness to the fact that everything had been said better than we can put it ourselves. But talking of Dons, I have seen Dons make a capital figure in society; and occasionally he can shoot you down a cart-load of learning in the right place, which will tell in politics. Such men are wanted; and if you have any turn for being a Don, I say nothing against it.\"\n","abridged":"\"I am glad you have done some good reading outside your classics, and have got a grip of French and German. And if you have any turn for being a Don, I say nothing against it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I think there's not much chance of that. Quicksett and Puller are both stronger than I am. I hope you will not be much disappointed if I don't come out with high honors.\"\n\"No, no. I should like you to do yourself credit, but for God's sake don't come out as a superior expensive kind of idiot, like young Brecon, who got a Double First, and has been learning to knit braces ever since. What I wish you to get is a passport in life. I don't go against our university system: we want a little disinterested culture to make head against cotton and capital, especially in the House. My Greek has all evaporated; if I had to construe a verse on a sudden, I should get an apoplectic fit. But it formed my taste. I dare say my English is the better for it.\"\n","abridged":"\"I think there's not much chance of that. I hope you will not be disappointed if I don't come out with high honours.\"\n\"No, no. I should like you to do yourself credit, but for God's sake don't come out as a superior expensive kind of idiot, like young Brecon, who got a Double First, and has been learning to knit braces ever since.\"\n"}
+{"original":"On this point Daniel kept a respectful silence. The enthusiastic belief in Sir Hugo's writings as a standard, and in the Whigs as the chosen race among politicians, had gradually vanished along with the seraphic boy's face. He had not been the hardest of workers at Eton. Though some kinds of study and reading came as easily as boating to him, he was not of the material that usually makes the first-rate Eton scholar. There had sprung up in him a meditative yearning after wide knowledge which is likely always to abate ardor in the fight for prize acquirement in narrow tracks. Happily he was modest, and took any second-rateness in himself simply as a fact, not as a marvel necessarily to be accounted for by a superiority. Still, Mr. Fraser's high opinion of the lad had not been altogether belied by the youth: Daniel had the stamp of rarity in a subdued fervor of sympathy, an activity of imagination on behalf of others which did not show itself effusively, but was continually seen in acts of considerateness that struck his companions as moral eccentricity. \"Deronda would have been first-rate if he had had more ambition,\" was a frequent remark about him. But how could a fellow push his way properly when he objected to swop for his own advantage, knocked under by choice when he was within an inch of victory, and, unlike the great Clive, would rather be the calf than the butcher? It was a mistake, however, to suppose that Deronda had not his share of ambition. ","abridged":"Daniel had not been the hardest of workers at Eton. Though some kinds of study and reading came easily to him, he was not a first-rate Eton scholar. His yearning after wide knowledge meant he had little ardour for acquiring prizes in narrow tracks. Happily he was modest, and took any second-rateness in himself simply as a fact.\nStill Daniel had a rare sympathy, an active imagination on behalf of others which was continually seen in considerate acts. It was a mistake, however, to suppose that he had no ambition. "}
+{"original":"We know he had suffered keenly from the belief that there was a tinge of dishonor in his lot; but there are some cases, and his was one of them, in which the sense of injury breeds--not the will to inflict injuries and climb over them as a ladder, but, a hatred of all injury. He had his flashes of fierceness and could hit out upon occasion, but the occasions were not always what might have been expected. For in what related to himself his resentful impulses had been early checked by a mastering affectionateness. Love has a habit of saying \"Never mind\" to angry self, who, sitting down for the nonce in the lower place, by-and-by gets used to it. So it was that as Deronda approached manhood his feeling for Sir Hugo, while it was getting more and more mixed with criticism, was gaining in that sort of allowance which reconciles criticism with tenderness. The dear old beautiful home and everything within it, Lady Mallinger and her little ones included, were consecrated for the youth as they had been for the boy--only with a certain difference of light on the objects. The altarpiece was no longer miraculously perfect, painted under infallible guidance, but the human hand discerned in the work was appealing to a reverent tenderness safer from the gusts of discovery. Certainly Deronda's ambition, even in his spring-time, lay exceptionally aloof from conspicuous, vulgar triumph, and from other ugly forms of boyish energy; perhaps because he was early impassioned by ideas, and burned his fire on those heights. One may spend a good deal of energy in disliking and resisting what others pursue, and a boy who is fond of somebody else's pencil-case may not be more energetic than another who is fond of giving his own pencil-case away. Still it was not Deronda's disposition to escape from ugly scenes; he was more inclined to sit through them and take care of the fellow least able to take care of himself. ","abridged":"He had suffered keenly from the belief that there was a tinge of dishonour in his lot; but this bred in him a hatred of all injury. He had flashes of fierceness upon occasion, but the occasions were not always what might have been expected. For any resentful impulses had been early checked by his affectionate nature. Love has a habit of saying \"Never mind\" to angry self, who, sitting down in the lower place, by-and-by gets used to it.\nSo as Deronda approached manhood, his feeling for Sir Hugo, while it was more mixed with criticism, gained too in tenderness. The dear old beautiful home and everything within it, Lady Mallinger and her little ones included, were sacred to the youth as they had been to the boy - only with a certain difference of light. Still, he was not disposed to escape from ugly scenes; he was more inclined to sit through them and take care of the fellow least able to take care of himself. "}
+{"original":"It had helped to make him popular that he was sometimes a little compromised by this apparent comradeship. For a meditative interest in learning how human miseries are wrought--as precocious in him as another sort of genius in the poet who writes a Queen Mab at nineteen--was so infused with kindliness that it easily passed for comradeship. Enough. In many of our neighbors' lives there is much not only of error and lapse, but of a certain exquisite goodness which can never be written or even spoken--only divined by each of us, according to the inward instruction of our own privacy.\nThe impression he made at Cambridge corresponded to his position at Eton. Every one interested in him agreed that he might have taken a high place if his motives had been of a more pushing sort, and if he had not, instead of regarding studies as instruments of success, hampered himself with the notion that they were to feed motive and opinion--a notion which set him criticising methods and arguing against his freight and harness when he should have been using all his might to pull. In the beginning his work at the university had a new zest for him: indifferent to the continuation of Eton classical drill, he applied himself vigorously to mathematics, for which he had shown an early aptitude under Mr. Fraser, and he had the delight of feeling his strength in a comparatively fresh exercise of thought. That delight, and the favorable opinion of his tutor, determined him to try for a mathematical scholarship in the Easter of his second year: he wished to gratify Sir Hugo by some achievement, and the study of the higher mathematics, having the growing fascination inherent in all thinking which demands intensity, was making him a more exclusive worker than he had been before.\n","abridged":"It had helped to make him popular. For his interest in learning how human miseries are made was so infused with kindliness that it easily passed for comradeship.\nThe impression he made at Cambridge was similar to at Eton. Everyone agreed that he might have taken a high place if he had been more pushing, and if he had not hampered himself with the notion that studies were nourishers of opinion rather than instruments of success. In the beginning, his work at the university had a new zest for him: he applied himself vigorously to mathematics, and delighted to feel his strength in a fresh exercise of thought. That delight determined him to try for a mathematical scholarship in his second year: he wished to gratify Sir Hugo by some achievement.\n"}
+{"original":"But here came the old check which had been growing with his growth. He found the inward bent toward comprehension and thoroughness diverging more and more from the track marked out by the standards of examination: he felt a heightening discontent with the wearing futility and enfeebling strain of a demand for excessive retention and dexterity without any insight into the principles which form the vital connections of knowledge. (Deronda's undergraduateship occurred fifteen years ago, when the perfection of our university methods was not yet indisputable.) In hours when his dissatisfaction was strong upon him he reproached himself for having been attracted by the conventional advantage of belonging to an English university, and was tempted toward the project of asking Sir Hugo to let him quit Cambridge and pursue a more independent line of study abroad. The germs of this inclination had been already stirring in his boyish love of universal history, which made him want to be at home in foreign countries, and follow in imagination the traveling students of the middle ages. He longed now to have the sort of apprenticeship to life which would not shape him too definitely, and rob him of the choice that might come from a free growth. One sees that Deronda's demerits were likely to be on the side of reflective hesitation, and this tendency was encouraged by his position; there was no need for him to get an immediate income, or to fit himself in haste for a profession; and his sensibility to the half-known facts of his parentage made him an excuse for lingering longer than others in a state of social neutrality. Other men, he inwardly said, had a more definite place and duties. But the project which flattered his inclination might not have gone beyond the stage of ineffective brooding, if certain circumstances had not quickened it into action.\n","abridged":"But here came the old check. He found his inward bent for comprehension diverging more and more from the track marked out by the standards of examination: he felt discontented with the futility of a demand for excessive retention of knowledge without any insight into its connecting principles.\nHe was tempted to ask Sir Hugo to let him quit Cambridge and pursue a more independent line of study abroad. His old love of universal history made him want to study in foreign countries, following in imagination the travelling students of the middle ages. He longed to have the sort of apprenticeship to life which would not rob him of choice. This hesitation was encouraged because there was no need for him to get an immediate income, or to fit himself in haste for a profession. But the project might not have gone beyond the stage of ineffective brooding, if circumstances had not quickened it into action.\n"}
+{"original":"The circumstances arose out of an enthusiastic friendship which extended into his after-life. Of the same year with himself, and occupying small rooms close to his, was a youth who had come as an exhibitioner from Christ's Hospital, and had eccentricities enough for a Charles Lamb. Only to look at his pinched features and blonde hair hanging over his collar reminded one of pale quaint heads by early German painters; and when this faint coloring was lit up by a joke, there came sudden creases about the mouth and eyes which might have been moulded by the soul of an aged humorist. His father, an engraver of some distinction, had been dead eleven years, and his mother had three girls to educate and maintain on a meagre annuity. Hans Meyrick--he had been daringly christened after Holbein--felt himself the pillar, or rather the knotted and twisted trunk, round which these feeble climbing plants must cling. There was no want of ability or of honest well-meaning affection to make the prop trustworthy: the ease and quickness with which he studied might serve him to win prizes at Cambridge, as he had done among the Blue Coats, in spite of irregularities. The only danger was, that the incalculable tendencies in him might be fatally timed, and that his good intentions might be frustrated by some act which was not due to habit but to capricious, scattered impulses. He could not be said to have any one bad habit; yet at longer or shorter intervals he had fits of impish recklessness, and did things that would have made the worst habits.\n","abridged":"The circumstances arose out of an enthusiastic friendship with a youth in the same year with himself, who had come as an exhibitioner from Christ's Hospital. His pinched features and long blonde hair reminded one of quaint heads by early German painters; but when his face was lit up by a joke, there came sudden creases about the mouth and eyes. His father, an engraver, had been dead eleven years, and his mother had three girls to educate and maintain on a meagre income. Hans Meyrick felt himself the pillar, or rather the twisted trunk, round which these feeble climbing plants must cling. He had ability and affection: the ease and quickness with which he studied might serve him to win prizes at Cambridge. The only danger was that his good intentions might be frustrated by his capricious impulses and fits of impish recklessness.\n"}
+{"original":"Hans in his right mind, however, was a lovable creature, and in Deronda he had happened to find a friend who was likely to stand by him with the more constancy, from compassion for these brief aberrations that might bring a long repentance. Hans, indeed, shared Deronda's rooms nearly as much as he used his own: to Deronda he poured himself out on his studies, his affairs, his hopes; the poverty of his home, and his love for the creatures there; the itching of his fingers to draw, and his determination to fight it away for the sake of getting some sort of a plum that he might divide with his mother and the girls. He wanted no confidence in return, but seemed to take Deronda as an Olympian who needed nothing--an egotism in friendship which is common enough with mercurial, expansive natures. Deronda was content, and gave Meyrick all the interest he claimed, getting at last a brotherly anxiety about him, looking after him in his erratic moments, and contriving by adroitly delicate devices not only to make up for his friend's lack of pence, but to save him from threatening chances. Such friendship easily becomes tender: the one spreads strong sheltering wings that delight in spreading, the other gets the warm protection which is also a delight. Meyrick was going in for a classical scholarship, and his success, in various ways momentous, was the more probable from the steadying influence of Deronda's friendship.\n","abridged":"Hans in his right mind, however, was a lovable creature, and in Deronda he found a friend who was likely to stand by him with compassion for these brief aberrations. To Deronda Hans poured out his affairs; the poverty of his home, the itching of his fingers to draw, and his determination to fight it away for the sake of getting money for his beloved mother and sisters. He wanted no confidences in return, but seemed to take Deronda as an Olympian who needed nothing. Deronda gave Meyrick all the attention he claimed, looking after him in his erratic moments, and contriving by delicate devices to make up for his friend's lack of pence.\nSuch friendship easily becomes tender: the one spreads strong sheltering wings that delight in spreading, the other gets the warm protection which is also a delight. Meyrick was going in for a classical scholarship, and his success was made more probable by the steadying influence of Deronda's friendship.\n"}
+{"original":"But an imprudence of Meyrick's, committed at the beginning of the autumn term, threatened to disappoint his hopes. With his usual alternation between unnecessary expense and self-privation, he had given too much money for an old engraving which fascinated him, and to make up for it, had come from London in a third-class carriage with his eyes exposed to a bitter wind and any irritating particles the wind might drive before it. The consequence was a severe inflammation of the eyes, which for some time hung over him the threat of a lasting injury. This crushing trouble called out all Deronda's readiness to devote himself, and he made every other occupation secondary to that of being companion and eyes to Hans, working with him and for him at his classics, that if possible his chance of the classical scholarship might be saved. Hans, to keep the knowledge of his suffering from his mother and sisters, alleged his work as a reason for passing the Christmas at Cambridge, and his friend stayed up with him.\nMeanwhile Deronda relaxed his hold on his mathematics, and Hans, reflecting on this, at length said: \"Old fellow, while you are hoisting me you are risking yourself. With your mathematical cram one may be like Moses or Mohammed or somebody of that sort who had to cram, and forgot in one day what it had taken him forty to learn.\"\nDeronda would not admit that he cared about the risk, and he had really been beguiled into a little indifference by double sympathy: he was very anxious that Hans should not miss the much-needed scholarship, and he felt a revival of interest in the old studies. Still, when Hans, rather late in the day, got able to use his own eyes, Deronda had tenacity enough to try hard and recover his lost ground. He failed, however; but he had the satisfaction of seeing Meyrick win.\n","abridged":"But Meyrick's imprudence threatened to disappoint his hopes. He had paid too much for an old engraving, and to make up for it, had come from London in a third-class carriage with his eyes exposed to a bitter wind that carried irritating particles. The consequence was a severe inflammation of the eyes, which threatened a lasting injury. Deronda made every other task secondary to that of being companion and eyes to Hans, working with him and for him at his classics, so that if possible his chance of the scholarship might be saved. Hans, to keep the knowledge of his suffering from his mother and sisters, claimed his work as a reason for passing Christmas at Cambridge; and his friend stayed up with him.\nMeanwhile Deronda relaxed his hold on his mathematics, until Hans said: \"Old fellow, while you are helping me you are risking yourself.\"\nDeronda would not admit that he cared about the risk: he was very anxious that Hans should not miss the much-needed scholarship. Still, when Hans was able to use his own eyes, Deronda tried to recover his lost ground. He failed; but he had the satisfaction of seeing Meyrick win.\n"}
+{"original":"Success, as a sort of beginning that urged completion, might have reconciled Deronda to his university course; but the emptiness of all things, from politics to pastimes, is never so striking to us as when we fail in them. The loss of the personal triumph had no severity for him, but the sense of having spent his time ineffectively in a mode of working which had been against the grain, gave him a distaste for any renewal of the process, which turned his imagined project of quitting Cambridge into a serious intention. In speaking of his intention to Meyrick he made it appear that he was glad of the turn events had taken--glad to have the balance dip decidedly, and feel freed from his hesitations; but he observed that he must of course submit to any strong objection on the part of Sir Hugo.\nMeyrick's joy and gratitude were disturbed by much uneasiness. He believed in Deronda's alleged preference, but he felt keenly that in serving him Daniel had placed himself at a disadvantage in Sir Hugo's opinion, and he said mournfully, \"If you had got the scholarship, Sir Hugo would have thought that you asked to leave us with a better grace. You have spoiled your luck for my sake, and I can do nothing to amend it.\"\n\"Yes, you can; you are to be a first-rate fellow. I call that a first-rate investment of my luck.\"\n","abridged":"The sense of having spent his time working against the grain gave him a distaste for renewing the process, and made him think seriously of quitting Cambridge, provided Sir Hugo would agree. In speaking of his intention to Meyrick he made it appear that he was glad of the turn events had taken.\nMeyrick was uneasy, feeling that in serving him Daniel had placed himself at a disadvantage, and he said mournfully, \"You have spoiled your luck for my sake, and I can do nothing to amend it.\"\n\"Yes, you can; you are to be a first-rate fellow. I call that an excellent investment of my luck.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, confound it! You save an ugly mongrel from drowning, and expect him to cut a fine figure. The poets have made tragedies enough about signing one's self over to wickedness for the sake of getting something plummy; I shall write a tragedy of a fellow who signed himself over to be good, and was uncomfortable ever after.\"\nBut Hans lost no time in secretly writing the history of the affair to Sir Hugo, making it plain that but for Deronda's generous devotion he could hardly have failed to win the prize he had been working for.\nThe two friends went up to town together: Meyrick to rejoice with his mother and the girls in their little home at Chelsea; Deronda to carry out the less easy task of opening his mind to Sir Hugo. He relied a little on the baronet's general tolerance of eccentricities, but he expected more opposition than he met with. He was received with even warmer kindness than usual, the failure was passed over lightly, and when he detailed his reasons for wishing to quit the university and go to study abroad, Sir Hugo sat for some time in a silence which was rather meditative than surprised. At last he said, looking at Daniel with examination, \"So you don't want to be an Englishman to the backbone after all?\"\n\"I want to be an Englishman, but I want to understand other points of view. And I want to get rid of a merely English attitude in studies.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, confound it! You save an ugly mongrel from drowning, and expect him to cut a fine figure.\" After this, Hans secretly wrote to Sir Hugo, making it plain that but for Deronda's generous devotion he could hardly have failed to win the prize he had been working for.\nThe two friends went up to town together: Meyrick to rejoice with his family in their little home at Chelsea; Deronda to carry out the less easy task of opening his mind to Sir Hugo. He expected more opposition than he met with. He was received with even warmer kindness than usual, the failure was passed over lightly, and when he detailed his reasons for wishing to quit the university and study abroad, Sir Hugo was meditative rather than surprised. He said, \"So you don't want to be an Englishman to the backbone after all?\"\n\"I want to be an Englishman, but I want to understand other points of view.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I see; you don't want to be turned out in the same mould as every other youngster. And I have nothing to say against your doffing some of our national prejudices. I feel the better myself for having spent a good deal of my time abroad. But, for God's sake, keep an English cut, and don't become indifferent to bad tobacco! And, my dear boy, it is good to be unselfish and generous; but don't carry that too far. It will not do to give yourself to be melted down for the benefit of the tallow-trade; you must know where to find yourself. However, I shall put no veto on your going. Wait until I can get off Committee, and I'll run over with you.\"\n","abridged":"\"I see; you don't want to be turned out in the same mould as every other youngster. I have nothing to say against your doffing some of our national prejudices. I feel the better myself for having spent time abroad. I shall put no veto on your going.\"\n"}
+{"original":"So Deronda went according to his will. But not before he had spent some hours with Hans Meyrick, and been introduced to the mother and sisters in the Chelsea home. The shy girls watched and registered every look of their brother's friend, declared by Hans to have been the salvation of him, a fellow like nobody else, and, in fine, a brick. They so thoroughly accepted Deronda as an ideal, that when he was gone the youngest set to work, under the criticism of the two elder girls, to paint him as Prince Camaralzaman.","abridged":"So Deronda went; but not before he had spent some hours with Hans Meyrick, and been introduced to the mother and sisters in the Chelsea home. The shy girls registered every look of their brother's friend, declared by Hans to have been his salvation, a fellow like nobody else. They so thoroughly accepted Deronda as an ideal, that when he was gone the youngest set to work to paint him as Prince Camaralzaman from the Arabian Nights."}
+{"original":"\"Croyez-vous m'avoir humilie pour m'avoir appris que la terre tourne autour du soleil? Je vous jure que je ne m'en estime pas moins.\" --FONTENELLE: _Pluralit des Mondes_.\nThat lofty criticism had caused Gwendolen a new sort of pain. She would not have chosen to confess how unfortunate she thought herself in not having had Miss Arrowpoint's musical advantages, so as to be able to question Herr Klesmer's taste with the confidence of thorough knowledge; still less, to admit even to herself that Miss Arrowpoint each time they met raised an unwonted feeling of jealousy in her: not in the least because she was an heiress, but because it was really provoking that a girl whose appearance you could not characterize except by saying that her figure was slight and of middle stature, her features small, her eyes tolerable, and her complexion sallow, had nevertheless a certain mental superiority which could not be explained away--an exasperating thoroughness in her musical accomplishment, a fastidious discrimination in her general tastes, which made it impossible to force her admiration and kept you in awe of her standard. This insignificant-looking young lady of four-and-twenty, whom any one's eyes would have passed over negligently if she had not been Miss Arrowpoint, might be suspected of a secret opinion that Miss Harleth's acquirements were rather of a common order, and such an opinion was not made agreeable to think of by being always veiled under a perfect kindness of manner.\n","abridged":"That lofty criticism had caused Gwendolen a new sort of pain. She could not question Herr Klesmer's taste with the confidence of knowledge; nor could she admit to herself that she was jealous of Miss Arrowpoint: not because she was an heiress, but because a girl with a slight figure, small features and a sallow complexion had nevertheless a mental superiority and accomplishment which could not be explained away.\n"}
+{"original":"But Gwendolen did not like to dwell on facts which threw an unfavorable light on itself. The musical Magus who had so suddenly widened her horizon was not always on the scene; and his being constantly backward and forward between London and Quetcham soon began to be thought of as offering opportunities for converting him to a more admiring state of mind. Meanwhile, in the manifest pleasure her singing gave at Brackenshaw Castle, the Firs, and elsewhere, she recovered her equanimity, being disposed to think approval more trustworthy than objection, and not being one of the exceptional persons who have a parching thirst for a perfection undemanded by their neighbors. Perhaps it would have been rash to say then that she was at all exceptional inwardly, or that the unusual in her was more than her rare grace of movement and bearing, and a certain daring which gave piquancy to a very common egoistic ambition, such as exists under many clumsy exteriors and is taken no notice of. For I suppose that the set of the head does not really determine the hunger of the inner self for supremacy: it only makes a difference sometimes as to the way in which the supremacy is held attainable, and a little also to the degree in which it can be attained; especially when the hungry one is a girl, whose passion for doing what is remarkable has an ideal limit in consistency with the highest breeding and perfect freedom from the sordid need of income. Gwendolen was as inwardly rebellious against the restraints of family conditions, and as ready to look through obligations into her own fundamental want of feeling for them, as if she had been sustained by the boldest speculations; but she really had no such speculations, and would at once have marked herself off from any sort of theoretical or practically reforming women by satirizing them. She rejoiced to feel herself exceptional; but her horizon was that of the genteel romance where the heroine's soul poured out in her journal is full of vague power, originality, and general rebellion, while her life moves strictly in the sphere of fashion; and if she wanders into a swamp, the pathos lies partly, so to speak, in her having on her satin shoes. Here is a restraint which nature and society have provided on the pursuit of striking adventure; so that a soul burning with a sense of what the universe is not, and ready to take all existence as fuel, is nevertheless held captive by the ordinary wirework of social forms and does nothing particular.\n","abridged":"But Gwendolen did not like to dwell on facts which threw an unfavourable light on herself. Klesmer was not always on the scene; since he was backward and forward between London and Quetcham, she thought she would have opportunities for converting him to a more admiring state of mind.\nMeanwhile, since her singing was received with pleasure at Brackenshaw Castle and elsewhere, she recovered her equanimity, not being one of those exceptional persons who thirst for perfection. Perhaps it would have been rash to say that she was at all exceptional inwardly, or had any more unusual quality than her rare grace of movement, and a certain daring; for her egoistic ambition was such as exists under many clumsy exteriors. But good looks can persuade us that supremacy is easily attainable. Gwendolen rejoiced to feel herself exceptional; but her horizon was that of the genteel romance where the heroine's soul, poured out in her journal, is full of vague power, originality, and general rebellion, while her life moves strictly in the sphere of fashion; and if she wanders into a swamp, the pathos lies chiefly in her having on her satin shoes.\n"}
+{"original":"This commonplace result was what Gwendolen found herself threatened with even in the novelty of the first winter at Offendene. What she was clear upon was, that she did not wish to lead the same sort of life as ordinary young ladies did; but what she was not clear upon was, how she should set about leading any other, and what were the particular acts which she would assert her freedom by doing. Offendene remained a good background, if anything would happen there; but on the whole the neighborhood was in fault.\nBeyond the effect of her beauty on a first presentation, there was not much excitement to be got out of her earliest invitations, and she came home after little sallies of satire and knowingness, such as had offended Mrs. Arrowpoint, to fill the intervening days with the most girlish devices. The strongest assertion she was able to make of her individual claims was to leave out Alice's lessons (on the principle that Alice was more likely to excel in ignorance), and to employ her with Miss Merry, and the maid who was understood to wait on all the ladies, in helping to arrange various dramatic costumes which Gwendolen pleased herself with having in readiness for some future occasions of acting in charades or theatrical pieces, occasions which she meant to bring about by force of will or contrivance. She had never acted--only made a figure in _tableaux vivans_ at school; but she felt assured that she could act well, and having been once or twice to the Thtre Franais, and also heard her mamma speak of Rachel, her waking dreams and cogitations as to how she would manage her destiny sometimes turned on the question whether she would become an actress like Rachel, since she was more beautiful than that thin Jewess. Meanwhile the wet days before Christmas were passed pleasantly in the preparation of costumes, Greek, Oriental, and Composite, in which Gwendolen attitudinized and speechified before a domestic audience, including even the housekeeper, who was once pressed into it that she might swell the notes of applause; but having shown herself unworthy by observing that Miss Harleth looked far more like a queen in her own dress than in that baggy thing with her arms all bare, she was not invited a second time.\n\"Do I look as well as Rachel, mamma?\" said Gwendolen, one day when she had been showing herself in her Greek dress to Anna, and going through scraps of scenes with much tragic intention.\n","abridged":"What Gwendolen was clear upon was, that she did not wish to lead the same sort of life as ordinary young ladies; but what she was not clear upon was, how she should set about leading any other. Offendene remained a good background, if anything would happen there; but on the whole the neighbourhood was in fault.\nHer early invitations brought little excitement, and she came home after sallies of satire and knowingness, such as had offended Mrs. Arrowpoint, to fill her days with the most girlish devices. The strongest assertion she made of her own claims was to stop Alice's lessons, and to employ her with Miss Merry and the maid in helping to make various dramatic costumes, which Gwendolen wanted ready for future occasions of acting in charades or theatrical pieces, occasions which she meant to bring about. She had never acted - only made a figure in tableaux vivans at school; but she felt assured that she could act well; and having been once or twice to the Theatre Francais, and also heard her mamma speak of Rachel, her dreams as to how she would manage her destiny sometimes turned on the question whether she would become an actress like Rachel, since she was more beautiful than that thin Jewess.\nMeanwhile the wet days before Christmas were passed pleasantly in the preparation of costumes, Greek, Oriental, and Composite, in which Gwendolen posed and speechified before a domestic audience.\n\"Do I look as well as Rachel, mamma?\" said Gwendolen, one day when she had been showing herself in her Greek dress to Anna, and going through scraps of scenes with much tragic intention.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You have better arms than Rachel,\" said Mrs. Davilow, \"your arms would do for anything, Gwen. But your voice is not so tragic as hers; it is not so deep.\"\n\"I can make it deeper, if I like,\" said Gwendolen, provisionally; then she added, with decision, \"I think a higher voice is more tragic: it is more feminine; and the more feminine a woman is, the more tragic it seems when she does desperate actions.\"\n\"There may be something in that,\" said Mrs. Davilow, languidly. \"But I don't know what good there is in making one's blood creep. And if there is anything horrible to be done, I should like it to be left to the men.\"\n\"Oh, mamma, you are so dreadfully prosaic! As if all the great poetic criminals were not women! I think the men are poor cautious creatures.\"\n\"Well, dear, and you--who are afraid to be alone in the night--I don't think you would be very bold in crime, thank God.\"\n","abridged":"\"You have better arms than Rachel,\" said Mrs. Davilow. \"But your voice is not so tragic as hers; it is not so deep.\"\n\"I can make it deeper, if I like,\" said Gwendolen; \"but I think a higher voice is more tragic: it is more feminine; and the more feminine a woman is, the more tragic it seems when she does desperate actions.\"\n\"If there is anything horrible to be done, I should like it to be left to the men.\"\n\"Oh, mamma, as if all the great poetic criminals were not women! The men are poor cautious creatures.\"\n\"Well, dear, and you - who are afraid to be alone at night - I don't think you would be very bold in crime, thank God.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am not talking about reality, mamma,\" said Gwendolen, impatiently. Then her mamma being called out of the room, she turned quickly to her cousin, as if taking an opportunity, and said, \"Anna, do ask my uncle to let us get up some charades at the rectory. Mr. Middleton and Warham could act with us--just for practice. Mamma says it will not do to have Mr. Middleton consulting and rehearsing here. He is a stick, but we could give him suitable parts. Do ask, or else I will.\"\n\"Oh, not till Rex comes. He is so clever, and such a dear old thing, and he will act Napoleon looking over the sea. He looks just like Napoleon. Rex can do anything.\"\n","abridged":"\"I am not talking about reality, mamma,\" said Gwendolen, impatiently. When her mamma was out of the room, she turned quickly to her cousin, and said,\n\"Anna, do ask my uncle to let us get up some charades at the rectory. Mr. Middleton and Warham could act with us - just for practice. Mr. Middleton is a stick, but we could give him suitable parts. Do ask, or else I will.\"\n\"Oh, not till Rex comes. He is so clever, and such a dear old thing, and he looks just like Napoleon. Rex can do anything.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't in the least believe in your Rex, Anna,\" said Gwendolen, laughing at her. \"He will turn out to be like those wretched blue and yellow water-colors of his which you hang up in your bedroom and worship.\"\n\"Very well, you will see,\" said Anna. \"It is not that I know what is clever, but he has got a scholarship already, and papa says he will get a fellowship, and nobody is better at games. He is cleverer than Mr. Middleton, and everybody but you call Mr. Middleton clever.\"\n\"So he may be in a dark-lantern sort of way. But he _is_ a stick. If he had to say, 'Perdition catch my soul, but I do love her,' he would say it in just the same tone as, 'Here endeth the second lesson.'\"\n","abridged":"\"I don't in the least believe in your Rex, Anna,\" said Gwendolen, laughing. \"He will turn out to be like those wretched water-colours of his which you hang in your bedroom and worship.\"\n\"You will see,\" said Anna. \"Papa says he will get a fellowship, and nobody is better at games. He is cleverer than Mr. Middleton, and everybody but you calls Mr. Middleton clever.\"\n\"So he may be. But he is a stick.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, Gwendolen!\" said Anna, shocked at these promiscuous allusions. \"And it is very unkind of you to speak so of him, for he admires you very much. I heard Warham say one day to mamma, 'Middleton is regularly spooney upon Gwendolen.' She was very angry with him; but I know what it means. It is what they say at college for being in love.\"\n\"How can I help it?\" said Gwendolen, rather contemptuously. \"Perdition catch my soul if I love _him_.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, Gwendolen! It is unkind of you to speak so, for he admires you very much. I heard Warham say to mamma, 'Middleton is regularly spooney upon Gwendolen.' That is what they say at college for being in love.\"\n\"How can I help it?\" said Gwendolen, rather contemptuously.\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, of course; papa, I think, would not wish it. And he is to go away soon. But it makes me sorry when you ridicule him.\"\n\"What shall you do to me when I ridicule Rex?\" said Gwendolen, wickedly.\n","abridged":"\"You can't, of course; and he is to go away soon. But it makes me sorry when you ridicule him.\"\n\"What shall you do to me when I ridicule Rex?\" said Gwendolen wickedly.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, Gwendolen, dear, you _will not_?\" said Anna, her eyes filling with tears. \"I could not bear it. But there really is nothing in him to ridicule. Only you may find out things. For no one ever thought of laughing at Mr. Middleton before you. Every one said he was nice-looking, and his manners perfect. I am sure I have always been frightened at him because of his learning and his square-cut coat, and his being a nephew of the bishop's, and all that. But you will not ridicule Rex--promise me.\" Anna ended with a beseeching look which touched Gwendolen.\n","abridged":"\"Now, Gwendolen, dear, you will not?\" said Anna, her eyes filling with tears. \"I could not bear it. But there really is nothing in him to ridicule. Only you may find out things. For no one ever thought of laughing at Mr. Middleton before you. Everyone said he was nice-looking, and his manners perfect. But you will not ridicule Rex - promise me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You are a dear little coz,\" she said, just touching the tip of Anna's chin with her thumb and forefinger. \"I don't ever want to do anything that will vex you. Especially if Rex is to make everything come off--charades and everything.\"\nAnd when at last Rex was there, the animation he brought into the life of Offendene and the rectory, and his ready partnership in Gwendolen's plans, left her no inclination for any ridicule that was not of an open and flattering kind, such as he himself enjoyed. He was a fine open-hearted youth, with a handsome face strongly resembling his father's and Anna's, but softer in expression than the one, and larger in scale than the other: a bright, healthy, loving nature, enjoying ordinary innocent things so much that vice had no temptation for him, and what he knew of it lay too entirely in the outer courts and little-visited chambers of his mind for him to think of it with great repulsion. Vicious habits were with him \"what some fellows did\"--\"stupid stuff\" which he liked to keep aloof from. He returned Anna's affection as fully as could be expected of a brother whose pleasures apart from her were more than the sum total of hers; and he had never known a stronger love.\nThe cousins were continually together at the one house or the other--chiefly at Offendene, where there was more freedom, or rather where there was a more complete sway for Gwendolen; and whatever she wished became a ruling purpose for Rex. The charades came off according to her plans; and also some other little scenes not contemplated by her in which her acting was more impromptu. It was at Offendene that the charades and _tableaux_ were rehearsed and presented, Mrs. Davilow seeing no objection even to Mr. Middleton's being invited to share in them, now that Rex too was there--especially as his services were indispensable: Warham, who was studying for India with a Wanchester \"coach,\" having no time to spare, and being generally dismal under a cram of everything except the answers needed at the forthcoming examination, which might disclose the welfare of our Indian Empire to be somehow connected with a quotable knowledge of Browne's Pastorals.\n","abridged":"\"You are a dear little coz,\" said Gwendolen, touched. \"I don't want to vex you. Especially if Rex is to bring about charades.\"\nAnd when at last Rex was there, the animation he brought to Offendene and the rectory, and his ready partnership in Gwendolen's plans, left her no inclination for any ridicule that was not of an open and flattering kind, such as he himself enjoyed. He was a fine open-hearted youth, with a handsome face resembling his father's, but softer in expression; and a bright, healthy, loving nature, enjoying ordinary innocent things so much that vice had no temptation for him. He returned Anna's affection as fully as could be expected; and he had never known a stronger love.\nThe cousins were continually together at one house or the other - chiefly at Offendene, where Gwendolen ruled; and whatever she wished, Rex agreed with. It was at Offendene that the charades and tableaux were rehearsed and presented. "}
+{"original":"Mr. Middleton was persuaded to play various grave parts, Gwendolen having flattered him on his enviable immobility of countenance; and at first a little pained and jealous at her comradeship with Rex, he presently drew encouragement from the thought that this sort of cousinly familiarity excluded any serious passion. Indeed, he occasionally felt that her more formal treatment of himself was such a sign of favor as to warrant his making advances before he left Pennicote, though he had intended to keep his feelings in reserve until his position should be more assured. Miss Gwendolen, quite aware that she was adored by this unexceptionable young clergyman with pale whiskers and square-cut collar, felt nothing more on the subject than that she had no objection to being adored: she turned her eyes on him with calm mercilessness and caused him many mildly agitating hopes by seeming always to avoid dramatic contact with him--for all meanings, we know, depend on the key of interpretation.\nSome persons might have thought beforehand that a young man of Anglican leanings, having a sense of sacredness much exercised on small things as well as great, rarely laughing save from politeness, and in general regarding the mention of spades by their naked names as rather coarse, would not have seen a fitting bride for himself in a girl who was daring in ridicule, and showed none of the special grace required in the clergyman's wife; or, that a young man informed by theological reading would have reflected that he was not likely to meet the taste of a lively, restless young lady like Miss Harleth. But are we always obliged to explain why the facts are not what some persons thought beforehand? The apology lies on their side, who had that erroneous way of thinking.\n","abridged":"Mr. Middleton was at first a little pained and jealous at Gwendolen's comradeship with Rex, but persuaded himself that this sort of cousinly familiarity excluded any serious passion, and considered making his advances before he left Pennicote.\nMiss Gwendolen, quite aware that she was adored by this young clergyman, had no objection to being adored, but had no other feeling for him. She caused him many mildly agitating hopes by seeming always to avoid dramatic contact with him - for all meanings, we know, depend on how one chooses to interpret them.\n"}
+{"original":"As for Rex, who would possibly have been sorry for poor Middleton if he had been aware of the excellent curate's inward conflict, he was too completely absorbed in a first passion to have observation for any person or thing. He did not observe Gwendolen; he only felt what she said or did, and the back of his head seemed to be a good organ of information as to whether she was in the room or out. Before the end of the first fortnight he was so deeply in love that it was impossible for him to think of his life except as bound up with Gwendolen's. He could see no obstacles, poor boy; his own love seemed a guarantee of hers, since it was one with the unperturbed delight in her image, so that he could no more dream of her giving him pain than an Egyptian could dream of snow. She sang and played to him whenever he liked, was always glad of his companionship in riding, though his borrowed steeds were often comic, was ready to join in any fun of his, and showed a right appreciation of Anna. No mark of sympathy seemed absent. That because Gwendolen was the most perfect creature in the world she was to make a grand match, had not occurred to him. He had no conceit--at least not more than goes to make up the necessary gum and consistence of a substantial personality: it was only that in the young bliss of loving he took Gwendolen's perfection as part of that good which had seemed one with life to him, being the outcome of a happy, well-embodied nature.\nOne incident which happened in the course of their dramatic attempts impressed Rex as a sign of her unusual sensibility. It showed an aspect of her nature which could not have been preconceived by any one who, like him, had only seen her habitual fearlessness in active exercises and her high spirits in society.\n","abridged":"As for Rex, he was too completely absorbed in a first passion to notice anything. He did not observe Gwendolen; he only felt what she said or did, and without looking was aware when she was in the room. Before the end of the first fortnight he was so deeply in love that it was impossible for him to think of his life except as bound up with Gwendolen's. He could see no obstacles, poor boy; his own love seemed to guarantee hers; he could no more dream of her giving him pain than an Egyptian could dream of snow. She sang and played to him, was always glad of his companionship in riding, was ready to join in any fun, and showed an appreciation of Anna. No mark of sympathy seemed absent. It had not occurred to him that this perfect creature was to make a grand match.\nOne incident in the course of their dramatic attempts impressed Rex as a sign of her sensitivity which he could not have foreseen.\n"}
+{"original":"After a good deal of rehearsing it was resolved that a select party should be invited to Offendene to witness the performances which went with so much satisfaction to the actors. Anna had caused a pleasant surprise; nothing could be neater than the way in which she played her little parts; one would even have suspected her of hiding much sly observation under her simplicity. And Mr. Middleton answered very well by not trying to be comic. The main source of doubt and retardation had been Gwendolen's desire to appear in her Greek dress. No word for a charade would occur to her either waking or dreaming that suited her purpose of getting a statuesque pose in this favorite costume. To choose a motive from Racine was of no use, since Rex and the others could not declaim French verse, and improvised speeches would turn the scene into burlesque. Besides, Mr. Gascoigne prohibited the acting of scenes from plays: he usually protested against the notion that an amusement which was fitting for every one else was unfitting for a clergyman; but he would not in this matter overstep the line of decorum as drawn in that part of Wessex, which did not exclude his sanction of the young people's acting charades in his sister-in-law's house--a very different affair from private theatricals in the full sense of the word.\nEverybody of course was concerned to satisfy this wish of Gwendolen's, and Rex proposed that they should wind up with a tableau in which the effect of her majesty would not be marred by any one's speech. This pleased her thoroughly, and the only question was the choice of the tableau.\n\"Something pleasant, children, I beseech you,\" said Mrs. Davilow; \"I can't have any Greek wickedness.\"\n","abridged":"After much rehearsing it was resolved that a select party should be invited to Offendene to witness the performances. Anna had proved a surprisingly good actress, and Mr. Middleton did very well by not trying to be comic. The main source of doubt was Gwendolen's desire to appear in her Greek dress. She could not think of a charade that would let her strike a statuesque pose in this favourite costume. Everybody of course was concerned to satisfy this wish of Gwendolen's, and Rex proposed that they should wind up with a tableau in which the effect of her majesty would not be marred by any speech. This pleased her thoroughly, and the only question was the choice of tableau.\n\"Something pleasant, children, I beseech you,\" said Mrs. Davilow.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is no worse than Christian wickedness, mamma,\" said Gwendolen, whose mention of Rachelesque heroines had called forth that remark.\n\"And less scandalous,\" said Rex. \"Besides, one thinks of it as all gone by and done with. What do you say to Briseis being led away? I would be Achilles, and you would be looking round at me--after the print we have at the rectory.\"\n\"That would be a good attitude for me,\" said Gwendolen, in a tone of acceptance. But afterward she said with decision, \"No. It will not do. There must be three men in proper costume, else it will be ridiculous.\"\n","abridged":"\"What do you say to Briseis being led away?\" said Rex. \"I would be Achilles, and you would be looking round at me - like the print we have at the rectory.\"\n\"That would be a good attitude,\" said Gwendolen. \"But it will not do. There must be three men in costume, else it will be ridiculous.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I have it,\" said Rex, after a little reflection. \"Hermione as the statue in Winter's Tale? I will be Leontes, and Miss Merry, Paulina, one on each side. Our dress won't signify,\" he went on laughingly; \"it will be more Shakespearian and romantic if Leontes looks like Napoleon, and Paulina like a modern spinster.\"\nAnd Hermione was chosen; all agreeing that age was of no consequence, but Gwendolen urged that instead of the mere tableau there should be just enough acting of the scene to introduce the striking up of the music as a signal for her to step down and advance; when Leontes, instead of embracing her, was to kneel and kiss the hem of her garment, and so the curtain was to fall. The antechamber with folding doors lent itself admirably to the purpose of a stage, and the whole of the establishment, with the addition of Jarrett the village carpenter, was absorbed in the preparations for an entertainment, which, considering that it was an imitation of acting, was likely to be successful, since we know from ancient fable that an imitation may have more chance of success than the original.\nGwendolen was not without a special exultation in the prospect of this occasion, for she knew that Herr Klesmer was again at Quetcham, and she had taken care to include him among the invited.\nKlesmer came. He was in one of his placid, silent moods, and sat in serene contemplation, replying to all appeals in benignant-sounding syllables more or less articulate--as taking up his cross meekly in a world overgrown with amateurs, or as careful how he moved his lion paws lest he should crush a rampant and vociferous mouse.\n","abridged":"\"I have it,\" said Rex. \"Hermione as the statue in Winter's Tale? I will be Leontes, and your mother, Paulina.\"\nGwendolen urged that instead of the mere tableau there should be just enough acting of the scene to introduce the music as a signal for her to step down and advance. Then Leontes, instead of embracing her, was to kneel and kiss the hem of her garment, and so the curtain was to fall. The antechamber with folding doors worked admirably as a stage, and the whole establishment was absorbed in the preparations. Gwendolen exulted in the prospect of this occasion, for she knew that Herr Klesmer was again at Quetcham, and she had taken care to include him among the invited.\nKlesmer came. He was in one of his placid, silent moods, and sat in serene contemplation. "}
+{"original":"Everything indeed went off smoothly and according to expectation--all that was improvised and accidental being of a probable sort--until the incident occurred which showed Gwendolen in an unforeseen phase of emotion. How it came about was at first a mystery.\nThe tableau of Hermione was doubly striking from its dissimilarity with what had gone before: it was answering perfectly, and a murmur of applause had been gradually suppressed while Leontes gave his permission that Paulina should exercise her utmost art and make the statue move.\nHermione, her arm resting on a pillar, was elevated by about six inches, which she counted on as a means of showing her pretty foot and instep, when at the given signal she should advance and descend.\n\"Music, awake her, strike!\" said Paulina (Mrs. Davilow, who, by special entreaty, had consented to take the part in a white burnous and hood).\n","abridged":"Everything indeed went off smoothly, until the incident occurred which showed Gwendolen in unforeseen emotion.\nThe tableau of Hermione was striking: a murmur of applause went round while Leontes gave his permission that Paulina should exercise her art and make the statue move.\nHermione, her arm resting on a pillar, was elevated by about six inches, which she counted on as a means of showing her pretty foot, when at the given signal she should advance and descend.\n\"Music, awake her, strike!\" said Paulina.\n"}
+{"original":"Herr Klesmer, who had been good-natured enough to seat himself at the piano, struck a thunderous chord--but in the same instant, and before Hermione had put forth her foot, the movable panel, which was on a line with the piano, flew open on the right opposite the stage and disclosed the picture of the dead face and the fleeing figure, brought out in pale definiteness by the position of the wax-lights. Everyone was startled, but all eyes in the act of turning toward the open panel were recalled by a piercing cry from Gwendolen, who stood without change of attitude, but with a change of expression that was terrifying in its terror. She looked like a statue into which a soul of Fear had entered: her pallid lips were parted; her eyes, usually narrowed under their long lashes, were dilated and fixed. Her mother, less surprised than alarmed, rushed toward her, and Rex, too, could not help going to her side. But the touch of her mother's arm had the effect of an electric charge; Gwendolen fell on her knees and put her hands before her face. She was still trembling, but mute, and it seemed that she had self-consciousness enough to aim at controlling her signs of terror, for she presently allowed herself to be raised from her kneeling posture and led away, while the company were relieving their minds by explanation.\n\"A magnificent bit of _plastik_ that!\" said Klesmer to Miss Arrowpoint. And a quick fire of undertoned question and answer went round.\n\"Was it part of the play?\"\n","abridged":"Herr Klesmer, who had been good-natured enough to seat himself at the piano, struck a thunderous chord - but in the same instant, and before Hermione had put forth her foot, the movable panel flew open opposite the stage and disclosed the picture of the dead face and the fleeing figure, pale in the candle-light.\nEveryone was startled, but as all eyes turned toward the open panel there came a piercing cry from Gwendolen, who stood with an expression that was terrifying in its terror. She looked like a statue into which a soul of Fear had entered: her pallid lips were parted; her eyes were dilated and fixed. Her mother and Rex rushed to her side, as Gwendolen fell on her knees and put her hands before her face. She was still trembling, but mute, and presently allowed herself to be led away.\nA quick fire of undertoned question and answer went round. \"Was it part of the play?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, no, surely not. Miss Harleth was too much affected. A sensitive creature!\"\n\"Dear me! I was not aware that there was a painting behind that panel; were you?\"\n\"No; how should I? Some eccentricity in one of the Earl's family long ago, I suppose.\"\n\"How very painful! Pray shut it up.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, surely not. Miss Harleth was too much affected. A sensitive creature!\"\n\"Dear me! I was not aware that there was a painting behind that panel.\"\n\"Some eccentricity in the Earl's family long ago, I suppose.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Was the door locked? It is very mysterious. It must be the spirits.\"\n\"But there is no medium present.\"\n\"How do you know that? We must conclude that there is, when such things happen.\"\n\"Oh, the door was not locked; it was probably the sudden vibration from the piano that sent it open.\"\nThis conclusion came from Mr. Gascoigne, who begged Miss Merry if possible to get the key. But this readiness to explain the mystery was thought by Mrs. Vulcany unbecoming in a clergyman, and she observed in an undertone that Mr. Gascoigne was always a little too worldly for her taste. However, the key was produced, and the rector turned it in the lock with an emphasis rather offensively rationalizing--as who should say, \"it will not start open again\"--putting the key in his pocket as a security.\n","abridged":"\"Was the door locked? It is very mysterious. It must be the spirits. Is there a medium present?\"\n\"Oh, it was probably the vibration from the piano that sent it open.\"\nThis conclusion came from Mr. Gascoigne, who begged Miss Merry to get the key. This was produced, and he turned it firmly in the lock and pocketed it.\n"}
+{"original":"However, Gwendolen soon reappeared, showing her usual spirits, and evidently determined to ignore as far as she could the striking change she had made in the part of Hermione.\nBut when Klesmer said to her, \"We have to thank you for devising a perfect climax: you could not have chosen a finer bit of _plastik_,\" there was a flush of pleasure in her face. She liked to accept as a belief what was really no more than delicate feigning. He divined that the betrayal into a passion of fear had been mortifying to her, and wished her to understand that he took it for good acting. Gwendolen cherished the idea that now he was struck with her talent as well as her beauty, and her uneasiness about his opinion was half turned to complacency.\nBut too many were in the secret of what had been included in the rehearsals, and what had not, and no one besides Klesmer took the trouble to soothe Gwendolen's imagined mortification. The general sentiment was that the incident should be let drop.\n","abridged":"Gwendolen soon reappeared, evidently determined to ignore the striking change she had made in the part of Hermione.\nBut when Klesmer said to her, \"We have to thank you for devising a perfect climax,\" she flushed with pleasure. She liked to accept as a belief what was really no more than delicate pretence. He realised that her betrayal of fear had been mortifying to her, and wished her to think that he took it for good acting. Gwendolen cherished the idea that now he was struck with her talent as well as her beauty, and her uneasiness about his opinion was half turned to complacency.\nNo one else took the trouble to soothe Gwendolen. The general sentiment was that the incident should be let drop.\n"}
+{"original":"There had really been a medium concerned in the starting open of the panel: one who had quitted the room in haste and crept to bed in much alarm of conscience. It was the small Isabel, whose intense curiosity, unsatisfied by the brief glimpse she had had of the strange picture on the day of arrival at Offendene, had kept her on the watch for an opportunity of finding out where Gwendolen had put the key, of stealing it from the discovered drawer when the rest of the family were out, and getting on a stool to unlock the panel. While she was indulging her thirst for knowledge in this way, a noise which she feared was an approaching footstep alarmed her: she closed the door and attempted hurriedly to lock it, but failing and not daring to linger, she withdrew the key and trusted that the panel would stick, as it seemed well inclined to do. In this confidence she had returned the key to its former place, stilling any anxiety by the thought that if the door were discovered to be unlocked nobody would know how the unlocking came about. The inconvenient Isabel, like other offenders, did not foresee her own impulse to confession, a fatality which came upon her the morning after the party, when Gwendolen said at the breakfast-table, \"I know the door was locked before the housekeeper gave me the key, for I tried it myself afterward. Some one must have been to my drawer and taken the key.\"\nIt seemed to Isabel that Gwendolen's awful eyes had rested on her more than on the other sisters, and without any time for resolve, she said, with a trembling lip:\n\"Please forgive me, Gwendolen.\"\n","abridged":"There had been a medium concerned in the starting open of the panel: one who had hastily quitted the room and crept to bed. It was the small Isabel, whose curiosity had kept her on the watch for an opportunity of finding the key, stealing it from the drawer, and getting on a stool to unlock the panel. While she was there, an approaching footstep alarmed her: she closed the door, but not daring to linger, did not lock it. She had returned the key to its former place, thinking that if the door were found to be unlocked, nobody would know how it came about. She did not foresee her own impulse to confession the next morning, when Gwendolen said, \"Some one must have been to my drawer and taken the key.\"\nIt seemed to Isabel that Gwendolen's awful eyes rested on her, and she said, with a trembling lip: \"Please forgive me, Gwendolen.\"\n"}
+{"original":"The forgiveness was sooner bestowed than it would have been if Gwendolen had not desired to dismiss from her own and every one else's memory any case in which she had shown her susceptibility to terror. She wondered at herself in these occasional experiences, which seemed like a brief remembered madness, an unexplained exception from her normal life; and in this instance she felt a peculiar vexation that her helpless fear had shown itself, not, as usual, in solitude, but in well-lit company. Her ideal was to be daring in speech and reckless in braving dangers, both moral and physical; and though her practice fell far behind her ideal, this shortcoming seemed to be due to the pettiness of circumstances, the narrow theatre which life offers to a girl of twenty, who cannot conceive herself as anything else than a lady, or as in any position which would lack the tribute of respect. She had no permanent consciousness of other fetters, or of more spiritual restraints, having always disliked whatever was presented to her under the name of religion, in the same way that some people dislike arithmetic and accounts: it had raised no other emotion in her, no alarm, no longing; so that the question whether she believed it had not occurred to her any more than it had occurred to her to inquire into the conditions of colonial property and banking, on which, as she had had many opportunities of knowing, the family fortune was dependent. All these facts about herself she would have been ready to admit, and even, more or less indirectly, to state. What she unwillingly recognized, and would have been glad for others to be unaware of, was that liability of hers to fits of spiritual dread, though this fountain of awe within her had not found its way into connection with the religion taught her or with any human relations. She was ashamed and frightened, as at what might happen again, in remembering her tremor on suddenly feeling herself alone, when, for example, she was walking without companionship and there came some rapid change in the light. Solitude in any wide scene impressed her with an undefined feeling of immeasurable existence aloof from her, in the midst of which she was helplessly incapable of asserting herself. The little astronomy taught her at school used sometimes to set her imagination at work in a way that made her tremble: but always when some one joined her she recovered her indifference to the vastness in which she seemed an exile; she found again her usual world in which her will was of some avail, and the religious nomenclature belonging to this world was no more identified for her with those uneasy impressions of awe than her uncle's surplices seen out of use at the rectory. With human ears and eyes about her, she had always hitherto recovered her confidence, and felt the possibility of winning empire.\n","abridged":"Forgiveness was soon bestowed, as Gwendolen desired to forget her susceptibility to terror. She wondered at herself in these occasional experiences, which seemed like a brief remembered madness; and in this instance she felt vexed that her helpless fear had shown itself in company. Her ideal was to be daring and reckless in braving dangers; although the restrictions of her life gave her little opportunity.\nShe had always disliked what she had been taught in the way of religion, in the same way that some people dislike arithmetic: it raised no emotion in her: but she did not wish others to know of her liability to fits of spiritual dread. She was ashamed and frightened at the terror she felt when, for example, she was walking alone and there came some change in the light. Solitude in any wide scene impressed her with a feeling of immeasurable existence aloof from her, in the midst of which she was helpless: but always when someone joined her she resumed her indifference to the vastness in which she seemed an exile, and recovered her confidence.\n"}
+{"original":"To her mamma and others her fits of timidity or terror were sufficiently accounted for by her \"sensitiveness\" or the \"excitability of her nature\"; but these explanatory phrases required conciliation with much that seemed to be blank indifference or rare self-mastery. Heat is a great agent and a useful word, but considered as a means of explaining the universe it requires an extensive knowledge of differences; and as a means of explaining character \"sensitiveness\" is in much the same predicament. But who, loving a creature like Gwendolen, would not be inclined to regard every peculiarity in her as a mark of preeminence? That was what Rex did. After the Hermione scene he was more persuaded than ever that she must be instinct with all feeling, and not only readier to respond to a worshipful love, but able to love better than other girls. Rex felt the summer on his young wings and soared happily.","abridged":"To her mamma and others her fits of terror were accounted for by her \"sensitiveness\". As for Rex, he was more persuaded than ever that she must be instinct with all feeling, and able to love better than other girls. Rex felt the summer on his young wings and soared happily."}
+{"original":"\"_Gorgibus._-- * * * Je te dis que le mariage est une chose sainte et sacre: et que c'est faire en honntes gens, que de dbuter par l.\n\"_Madelon._--Mon Dieu! que si tout le monde vous ressemblait, un roman serait bientt fini! La belle chose que ce serait, si d'abord Cyrus pousait Mandane, et qu'Aronce de plain-pied ft mari Cllie! * * * Laissez-nous faire loisir le tissu de notre roman, et n'en pressez pas tant la conclusion.\" MOLIRE. _Les Prcieuses Ridicules._\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"It would be a little hard to blame the rector of Pennicote that in the course of looking at things from every point of view, he looked at Gwendolen as a girl likely to make a brilliant marriage. Why should he be expected to differ from his contemporaries in this matter, and wish his niece a worse end of her charming maidenhood than they would approve as the best possible? It is rather to be set down to his credit that his feelings on the subject were entirely good-natured. And in considering the relation of means to ends, it would have been mere folly to have been guided by the exceptional and idyllic--to have recommended that Gwendolen should wear a gown as shabby as Griselda's in order that a marquis might fall in love with her, or to have insisted that since a fair maiden was to be sought, she should keep herself out of the way. Mr. Gascoigne's calculations were of the kind called rational, and he did not even think of getting a too frisky horse in order that Gwendolen might be threatened with an accident and be rescued by a man of property. He wished his niece well, and he meant her to be seen to advantage in the best society of the neighborhood.\n","abridged":"It would be a little hard to blame the rector of Pennicote for regarding Gwendolen as a girl likely to make a brilliant marriage. Why should he be expected to differ from his contemporaries in this matter? To his credit, his feelings on the subject were entirely good-natured. Mr. Gascoigne, being a rational man, did not even think of getting too frisky a horse in order that Gwendolen might be threatened with an accident and be rescued by a man of property. He wished his niece well, and he meant her to be seen to advantage in the best society of the neighbourhood.\n"}
+{"original":"Her uncle's intention fell in perfectly with Gwendolen's own wishes. But let no one suppose that she also contemplated a brilliant marriage as the direct end of her witching the world with her grace on horseback, or with any other accomplishment. That she was to be married some time or other she would have felt obliged to admit; and that her marriage would not be of a middling kind, such as most girls were contented with, she felt quietly, unargumentatively sure. But her thoughts never dwelt on marriage as the fulfillment of her ambition; the dramas in which she imagined herself a heroine were not wrought up to that close. To be very much sued or hopelessly sighed for as a bride was indeed an indispensable and agreeable guarantee of womanly power; but to become a wife and wear all the domestic fetters of that condition, was on the whole a vexatious necessity. Her observation of matrimony had inclined her to think it rather a dreary state in which a woman could not do what she liked, had more children than were desirable, was consequently dull, and became irrevocably immersed in humdrum. Of course marriage was social promotion; she could not look forward to a single life; but promotions have sometimes to be taken with bitter herbs--a peerage will not quite do instead of leadership to the man who meant to lead; and this delicate-limbed sylph of twenty meant to lead. For such passions dwell in feminine breasts also. In Gwendolen's, however, they dwelt among strictly feminine furniture, and had no disturbing reference to the advancement of learning or the balance of the constitution; her knowledge being such as with no sort of standing-room or length of lever could have been expected to move the world. She meant to do what was pleasant to herself in a striking manner; or rather, whatever she could do so as to strike others with admiration and get in that reflected way a more ardent sense of living, seemed pleasant to her fancy.\n","abridged":"This fell in perfectly with Gwendolen's own wishes. But let no one suppose that she also contemplated a brilliant marriage as the result of her bewitching grace on horseback. She assumed that she was to be married some time or other, and felt sure that her marriage would not be a mediocre one, such as most girls were contented with. But her thoughts never dwelt on marriage; the dramas in which she imagined herself a heroine did not end that way. To be hopelessly sighed for as a bride was indeed an agreeable sign of womanly power; but to become a wife and wear domestic fetters was an unpleasant necessity. She thought of marriage as a dreary state in which a woman could not do what she liked, had more children than she wished, and was dull and humdrum.\nOf course marriage was social promotion; she could not look forward to a single life; but Gwendolen meant to lead. For such passions dwell in feminine breasts as well as men's. In Gwendolen's, however, they dwelt among strictly feminine furniture, and had nothing to do with learning or politics. She meant to do what was pleasant to herself in a striking manner; or rather, to strike others with admiration and get in that reflected way a more ardent sense of living.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Gwendolen will not rest without having the world at her feet,\" said Miss Merry, the meek governess: hyperbolical words which have long come to carry the most moderate meanings; for who has not heard of private persons having the world at their feet in the shape of some half-dozen items of flattering regard generally known in a genteel suburb? And words could hardly be too wide or vague to indicate the prospect that made a hazy largeness about poor Gwendolen on the heights of her young self-exultation. Other people allowed themselves to be made slaves of, and to have their lives blown hither and thither like empty ships in which no will was present. It was not to be so with her; she would no longer be sacrificed to creatures worth less than herself, but would make the very best of the chances that life offered her, and conquer circumstances by her exceptional cleverness. Certainly, to be settled at Offendene, with the notice of Lady Brackenshaw, the archery club, and invitations to dine with the Arrowpoints, as the highest lights in her scenery, was not a position that seemed to offer remarkable chances; but Gwendolen's confidence lay chiefly in herself. She felt well equipped for the mastery of life. With regard to much in her lot hitherto, she held herself rather hardly dealt with, but as to her \"education,\" she would have admitted that it had left her under no disadvantages. In the school-room her quick mind had taken readily that strong starch of unexplained rules and disconnected facts which saves ignorance from any painful sense of limpness; and what remained of all things knowable, she was conscious of being sufficiently acquainted with through novels, plays and poems. About her French and music, the two justifying accomplishments of a young lady, she felt no ground for uneasiness; and when to all these qualifications, negative and positive, we add the spontaneous sense of capability some happy persons are born with, so that any subject they turn their attention to impresses them with their own power of forming a correct judgment on it, who can wonder if Gwendolen felt ready to manage her own destiny?\n","abridged":"\"Gwendolen will not rest without having the world at her feet,\" said Miss Merry, the governess: words often used in exaggeration. And words could hardly be too vague to indicate the hazy prospects facing poor Gwendolen on the heights of her young self-exultation. Other people allowed themselves to be made slaves of, and to have their lives blown hither and thither like empty ships. It was not to be so with her; she would not be sacrificed to creatures worth less than herself, but would make the very best of the chances that life offered her, and conquer circumstances by her exceptional cleverness.\nCertainly, to be settled at Offendene, with the archery club and dinner invitations at the Arrowpoints' as the highest lights in her scenery, was not a position that seemed to offer remarkable chances; but Gwendolen had confidence in herself. She felt well equipped for the mastery of life. Although she had suffered disadvantages, she felt that these did not include her education. In the school-room she had quickly picked up enough rules and facts to save her from feeling ignorant; and as for other knowledge, she thought herself sufficiently acquainted with it through novels, plays and poems. About her French and music, she felt no ground for uneasiness; and when to all these qualifications we add her sense of capability, which persuaded her that she could form a correct judgment on any subject, who can wonder if Gwendolen felt ready to manage her own destiny?\n"}
+{"original":"There were many subjects in the world--perhaps the majority--in which she felt no interest, because they were stupid; for subjects are apt to appear stupid to the young as light seems dull to the old; but she would not have felt at all helpless in relation to them if they had turned up in conversation. It must be remembered that no one had disputed her power or her general superiority. As on the arrival at Offendene, so always, the first thought of those about her had been, what will Gwendolen think?--if the footman trod heavily in creaking boots, or if the laundress's work was unsatisfactory, the maid said, \"This will never do for Miss Harleth\"; if the wood smoked in the bedroom fireplace, Mrs. Davilow, whose own weak eyes suffered much from this inconvenience, spoke apologetically of it to Gwendolen. If, when they were under the stress of traveling, she did not appear at the breakfast table till every one else had finished, the only question was, how Gwendolen's coffee and toast should still be of the hottest and crispest; and when she appeared with her freshly-brushed light-brown hair streaming backward and awaiting her mamma's hand to coil it up, her large brown eyes glancing bright as a wave-washed onyx from under their long lashes, it was always she herself who had to be tolerant--to beg that Alice who sat waiting on her would not stick up her shoulders in that frightful manner, and that Isabel, instead of pushing up to her and asking questions, would go away to Miss Merry.\n","abridged":"There were many subjects in the world - perhaps most - in which she felt no interest, because they were stupid; for subjects are apt to appear stupid to the young as light seems dim to the old; but she would not have felt at all helpless if they had turned up in conversation. It must be remembered that no one had disputed her superiority. The first thought of those at Offendene was always, what will Gwendolen think? If the wood smoked in the bedroom fireplace, Mrs. Davilow, whose own weak eyes suffered much from it, apologised to her daughter. If Gwendolen did not appear at the breakfast table till everyone else had finished, the only question was how her coffee and toast should be kept hot and crisp; and when she appeared with her freshly-brushed hair streaming backward and awaiting her mamma's hand to coil it up, it was always she herself who had to be tolerant - to beg that Alice would not stick up her shoulders in that frightful manner, and that Isabel, instead of asking questions, would go away.\n"}
+{"original":"Always she was the princess in exile, who in time of famine was to have her breakfast-roll made of the finest-bolted flour from the seven thin ears of wheat, and in a general decampment was to have her silver fork kept out of the baggage. How was this to be accounted for? The answer may seem to lie quite on the surface:--in her beauty, a certain unusualness about her, a decision of will which made itself felt in her graceful movements and clear unhesitating tones, so that if she came into the room on a rainy day when everybody else was flaccid and the use of things in general was not apparent to them, there seemed to be a sudden, sufficient reason for keeping up the forms of life; and even the waiters at hotels showed the more alacrity in doing away with crumbs and creases and dregs with struggling flies in them. This potent charm, added to the fact that she was the eldest daughter, toward whom her mamma had always been in an apologetic state of mind for the evils brought on her by a step-father, may seem so full a reason for Gwendolen's domestic empire, that to look for any other would be to ask the reason of daylight when the sun is shining. But beware of arriving at conclusions without comparison. I remember having seen the same assiduous, apologetic attention awarded to persons who were not at all beautiful or unusual, whose firmness showed itself in no very graceful or euphonious way, and who were not eldest daughters with a tender, timid mother, compunctious at having subjected them to inconveniences. Some of them were a very common sort of men. And the only point of resemblance among them all was a strong determination to have what was pleasant, with a total fearlessness in making themselves disagreeable or dangerous when they did not get it. Who is so much cajoled and served with trembling by the weak females of a household as the unscrupulous male--capable, if he has not free way at home, of going and doing worse elsewhere? Hence I am forced to doubt whether even without her potent charm and peculiar filial position Gwendolen might not still have played the queen in exile, if only she had kept her inborn energy of egoistic desire, and her power of inspiring fear as to what she might say or do. ","abridged":"Always she was the princess in exile, who was to have the best of everything. Why was this? The answer may seem to lie in her beauty, in the decision of will which made itself felt in her graceful movements and clear unhesitating tones. This potent charm, added to the fact that she was the eldest daughter, toward whom her mamma felt apologetic for the evils brought on her by a step-father, may seem sufficient reason for Gwendolen's domestic empire.\nBut I have seen the same attention given to persons who were not at all beautiful, whose firmness showed itself without grace, and who were not eldest daughters with a tender, timid mother. Some of them were very common sort of men. The only point of resemblance among them all was a strong determination to have what was pleasant, with a total fearlessness in making themselves disagreeable or dangerous when they did not get it. Even without her powerful charm, Gwendolen might still have played the queen in exile, with her energy of egoistic desire, and her power of inspiring fear as to what she might say or do.\n"}
+{"original":"However, she had the charm, and those who feared her were also fond of her; the fear and the fondness being perhaps both heightened by what may be called the iridescence of her character--the play of various, nay, contrary tendencies. For Macbeth's rhetoric about the impossibility of being many opposite things in the same moment, referred to the clumsy necessities of action and not to the subtler possibilities of feeling. We cannot speak a loyal word and be meanly silent; we cannot kill and not kill in the same moment; but a moment is wide enough for the loyal and mean desire, for the outlash of a murderous thought and the sharp backward stroke of repentance.","abridged":"However, she had the charm, and those who feared her were also fond of her; the fear and the fondness being both heightened by what may be called the iridescence of her character, and its contrary nature."}
+{"original":"He brings white asses laden with the freight Of Tyrian vessels, purple, gold and balm, To bribe my will: I'll bid them chase him forth, Nor let him breathe the taint of his surmise On my secure resolve. Ay, 'tis secure: And therefore let him come to spread his freight. For firmness hath its appetite and craves The stronger lure, more strongly to resist; Would know the touch of gold to fling it off; Scent wine to feel its lip the soberer; Behold soft byssus, ivory, and plumes To say, \"They're fair, but I will none of them,\" And flout Enticement in the very face.\nMr. Gascoigne one day came to Offendene with what he felt to be the satisfactory news that Mrs. Mompert had fixed Tuesday in the following week for her interview with Gwendolen at Wanchester. He said nothing of his having incidentally heard that Mr. Grandcourt had returned to Diplow; knowing no more than she did that Leubronn had been the goal of her admirer's journeying, and feeling that it would be unkind uselessly to revive the memory of a brilliant prospect under the present reverses. In his secret soul he thought of his niece's unintelligible caprice with regret, but he vindicated her to himself by considering that Grandcourt had been the first to behave oddly, in suddenly walking away when there had the best opportunity for crowning his marked attentions. The rector's practical judgment told him that his chief duty to his niece now was to encourage her resolutely to face the change in her lot, since there was no manifest promise of any event that would avert it.\n\"You will find an interest in varied experience, my dear, and I have no doubt you will be a more valuable woman for having sustained such a part as you are called to.\"\n\"I cannot pretend to believe that I shall like it,\" said Gwendolen, for the first time showing her uncle some petulance. \"But I am quite aware that I am obliged to bear it.\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Gascoigne brought the news that Mrs. Mompert had fixed the following Tuesday for her interview with Gwendolen. He said nothing of his having heard that Mr. Grandcourt had returned to Diplow, feeling that it would be unkind under the present reverses. He thought of his niece's caprice with regret, but considered that Grandcourt had been the first to behave oddly, in suddenly walking away. The rector felt that he should now encourage his niece to accept her lot.\n"}
+{"original":"She remembered having submitted to his admonition on a different occasion when she was expected to like a very different prospect.\n\"And your good sense will teach you to behave suitably under it,\" said Mr. Gascoigne, with a shade more gravity. \"I feel sure that Mrs. Mompert will be pleased with you. You will know how to conduct yourself to a woman who holds in all senses the relation of a superior to you. This trouble has come on you young, but that makes it in some respects easier, and there is a benefit in all chastisement if we adjust our minds to it.\"\n","abridged":"\"I feel sure that Mrs. Mompert will be pleased with you,\" he said. \"You will know how to conduct yourself with a woman who holds in all senses the relation of a superior to you. This trouble has come on you young, but that makes it in some respects easier, and we will benefit from adjusting our minds to it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"This was precisely what Gwendolen was unable to do; and after her uncle was gone, the bitter tears, which had rarely come during the late trouble, rose and fell slowly as she sat alone. Her heart denied that the trouble was easier because she was young. When was she to have any happiness, if it did not come while she was young? Not that her visions of possible happiness for herself were as unmixed with necessary evil as they used to be--not that she could still imagine herself plucking the fruits of life without suspicion of their core. But this general disenchantment with the world--nay, with herself, since it appeared that she was not made for easy pre-eminence--only intensified her sense of forlornness; it was a visibly sterile distance enclosing the dreary path at her feet, in which she had no courage to tread. She was in that first crisis of passionate youthful rebellion against what is not fitly called pain, but rather the absence of joy--that first rage of disappointment in life's morning, which we whom the years have subdued are apt to remember but dimly as part of our own experience, and so to be intolerant of its self-enclosed unreasonableness and impiety. What passion seems more absurd, when we have got outside it and looked at calamity as a collective risk, than this amazed anguish that I and not Thou, He or She, should be just the smitten one? Yet perhaps some who have afterward made themselves a willing fence before the breast of another, and have carried their own heart-wound in heroic silence--some who have made their deeds great, nevertheless began with this angry amazement at their own smart, and on the mere denial of their fantastic desires raged as if under the sting of wasps which reduced the universe for them to an unjust infliction of pain. This was nearly poor Gwendolen's condition. What though such a reverse as hers had often happened to other girls? ","abridged":"This was precisely what Gwendolen was unable to do; and after her uncle was gone, the bitter tears fell slowly as she sat alone. Her heart denied that the trouble was easier because she was young. When was she to have any happiness, if not while she was young? She saw a sterile, dreary path at her feet, which she had no courage to tread. She was in that first rage of disappointment in life's morning, which older people are apt to remember dimly, intolerant of its self-enclosed unreasonableness. What passion seems more absurd than this amazed anguish that I, and no other, should be the smitten one? "}
+{"original":"The one point she had been all her life learning to care for was that it had happened to _her_: it was what _she_ felt under Klesmer's demonstration that she was not remarkable enough to command fortune by force of will and merit; it was what _she_ would feel under the rigors of Mrs. Mompert's constant expectation, under the dull demand that she should be cheerful with three Miss Momperts, under the necessity of showing herself entirely submissive, and keeping her thoughts to herself. To be a queen disthroned is not so hard as some other down-stepping: imagine one who had been made to believe in his own divinity finding all homage withdrawn, and himself unable to perform a miracle that would recall the homage and restore his own confidence. Something akin to this illusion and this helplessness had befallen the poor spoiled child, with the lovely lips and eyes and the majestic figure--which seemed now to have no magic in them.\nShe rose from the low ottoman where she had been sitting purposeless, and walked up and down the drawing-room, resting her elbow on one palm while she leaned down her cheek on the other, and a slow tear fell. She thought, \"I have always, ever since I was little, felt that mamma was not a happy woman; and now I dare say I shall be more unhappy than she has been.\"\nHer mind dwelt for a few moments on the picture of herself losing her youth and ceasing to enjoy--not minding whether she did this or that: but such picturing inevitably brought back the image of her mother.\n\"Poor mamma! it will be still worse for her now. I can get a little money for her--that is all I shall care about now.\" And then with an entirely new movement of her imagination, she saw her mother getting quite old and white, and herself no longer young but faded, and their two faces meeting still with memory and love, and she knowing what was in her mother's mind--\"Poor Gwen too is sad and faded now\"--and then, for the first time, she sobbed, not in anger, but with a sort of tender misery.\n","abridged":"Gwendolen, poor, spoiled child, had lost all her illusion of her own high destiny; the lovely eyes and the majestic figure seemed now to have no magic in them.\nShe walked up and down the drawing-room, while a slow tear fell. She thought, \"I have always felt that mamma was not a happy woman; I dare say I shall be more unhappy than she has been. Poor mamma! I can get a little money for her - that is all I shall care about now.\"\nAnd then with an entirely new movement of her imagination, she saw her mother getting old and white, and herself no longer young, and their two faces meeting still with memory and love, and her mother thinking- \"Poor Gwen too is sad and faded now.\"\nThen, for the first time, she sobbed, not in anger, but with a sort of tender misery. "}
+{"original":"Her face was toward the door, and she saw her mother enter. She barely saw that; for her eyes were large with tears, and she pressed her handkerchief against them hurriedly. Before she took it away she felt her mother's arms round her, and this sensation, which seemed a prolongation of her inward vision, overcame her will to be reticent; she sobbed anew in spite of herself, as they pressed their cheeks together.\nMrs. Davilow had brought something in her hand which had already caused her an agitating anxiety, and she dared not speak until her darling had become calmer. But Gwendolen, with whom weeping had always been a painful manifestation to be resisted, if possible, again pressed her handkerchief against her eyes, and, with a deep breath, drew her head backward and looked at her mother, who was pale and tremulous.\n\"It was nothing, mamma,\" said Gwendolen, thinking that her mother had been moved in this way simply by finding her in distress. \"It is all over now.\"\nBut Mrs. Davilow had withdrawn her arms, and Gwendolen perceived a letter in her hand.\n\"What is that letter?--worse news still?\" she asked, with a touch of bitterness.\n","abridged":"As her mother entered and put her arms around her, she sobbed anew in spite of herself.\nMrs. Davilow had something in her hand which was causing her anxiety, and she dared not speak until her darling had become calmer. But Gwendolen, with a deep breath, drew back and looked at her tremulous mother.\n\"It was nothing, mamma,\" she said, before she perceived a letter in her mother's hand. \"What is that? - worse news still?\" she asked bitterly.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't know what you will think it, dear,\" said Mrs. Davilow, keeping the letter in her hand. \"You will hardly guess where it comes from.\"\n\"Don't ask me to guess anything,\" said Gwendolen, rather impatiently, as if a bruise were being pressed.\n\"It is addressed to you, dear.\"\nGwendolen gave the slightest perceptible toss of the head.\n\"It comes from Diplow,\" said Mrs. Davilow, giving her the letter.\nShe knew Grandcourt's indistinct handwriting, and her mother was not surprised to see her blush deeply; but watching her as she read, and wondering much what was the purport of the letter, she saw the color die out. Gwendolen's lips even were pale as she turned the open note toward her mother. The words were few and formal:\n","abridged":"\"You will hardly guess where it comes from, dear,\" said Mrs Davilow.\n\"Don't ask me to guess anything,\" said Gwendolen, rather impatiently.\n\"It is addressed to you, dear. It comes from Diplow,\" said Mrs. Davilow, giving her the letter.\nGwendolen knew Grandcourt's indistinct handwriting, and blushed deeply; but as she read, the colour died from her face. She turned the open note toward her mother. The words were few and formal:\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Grandcourt presents his compliments to Miss Harleth, and begs to know whether he may be permitted to call at Offendene tomorrow after two and to see her alone. Mr. Grandcourt has just returned from Leubronn, where he had hoped to find Miss Harleth.\nMrs. Davilow read, and then looked at her daughter inquiringly, leaving the note in her hand. Gwendolen let it fall to the floor, and turned away.\n\"It must be answered, darling,\" said Mrs. Davilow, timidly. \"The man waits.\"\n","abridged":"'Mr. Grandcourt presents his compliments to Miss Harleth, and begs to know whether he may call at Offendene tomorrow after two and see her alone. Mr. Grandcourt has just returned from Leubronn, where he had hoped to find Miss Harleth.'\nMrs. Davilow read, and then looked inquiringly at Gwendolen, who turned away.\n\"It must be answered, darling,\" said Mrs. Davilow, timidly. \"The man waits.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Gwendolen sank on the settee, clasped her hands, and looked straight before her, not at her mother. She had the expression of one who had been startled by a sound and was listening to know what would come of it. The sudden change of the situation was bewildering. A few minutes before she was looking along an inescapable path of repulsive monotony, with hopeless inward rebellion against the imperious lot which left her no choice: and lo, now, a moment of choice was come. Yet--was it triumph she felt most or terror? Impossible for Gwendolen not to feel some triumph in a tribute to her power at a time when she was first tasting the bitterness of insignificance: again she seemed to be getting a sort of empire over her own life. But how to use it? Here came the terror. Quick, quick, like pictures in a book beaten open with a sense of hurry, came back vividly, yet in fragments, all that she had gone through in relation to Grandcourt--the allurements, the vacillations, the resolve to accede, the final repulsion; the incisive face of that dark-eyed lady with the lovely boy: her own pledge (was it a pledge not to marry him?)--the new disbelief in the worth of men and things for which that scene of disclosure had become a symbol. ","abridged":"Gwendolen clasped her hands, gazing straight before her. The sudden change of the situation was bewildering. A few minutes earlier she was looking along an inescapable path of monotony; and lo, now, a moment of choice was come. Yet was it triumph she felt or terror? Impossible not to feel some triumph in her power; but then came the terror. Quick, quick, like pictures in a book, all that she had gone through in relation to Grandcourt - the allurements, the vacillations, the resolve to accept, the final repulsion; the face of that dark-eyed lady with the lovely boy: her own pledge (was it a pledge not to marry him?) - the new disbelief in the worth of men.\n"}
+{"original":"That unalterable experience made a vision at which in the first agitated moment, before tempering reflections could suggest themselves, her native terror shrank.\nWhere was the good of choice coming again? What did she wish? Anything different? No! And yet in the dark seed-growths of consciousness a new wish was forming itself--\"I wish I had never known it!\" Something, anything she wished for that would have saved her from the dread to let Grandcourt come.\nIt was no long while--yet it seemed long to Mrs. Davilow, before she thought it well to say, gently,\n\"It will be necessary for you to write, dear. Or shall I write an answer for you--which you will dictate?\"\n","abridged":"What was the good of choice? What did she wish? Anything different? No! And yet in the dark seed-growths of consciousness a new wish was forming itself - \"I wish I had never known it!\" She wished for anything to save her from the dread of letting Grandcourt come.\nAt last Mrs. Davilow said gently-\n\"You need to write an answer, dear.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, mamma,\" said Gwendolen, drawing a deep breath. \"But please lay me out the pen and paper.\"\nThat was gaining time. Was she to decline Grandcourt's visit--close the shutters--not even look out on what would happen?--though with the assurance that she should remain just where she was? The young activity within her made a warm current through her terror and stirred toward something that would be an event--toward an opportunity in which she could look and speak with the former effectiveness. The interest of the morrow was no longer at a deadlock.\n\"There is really no reason on earth why you should be so alarmed at the man's waiting a few minutes, mamma,\" said Gwendolen, remonstrantly, as Mrs. Davilow, having prepared the writing materials, looked toward her expectantly. \"Servants expect nothing else than to wait. It is not to be supposed that I must write on the instant.\"\n\"No, dear,\" said Mrs. Davilow, in the tone of one corrected, turning to sit down and take up a bit of work that lay at hand; \"he can wait another quarter of an hour, if you like.\"\n","abridged":"Gwendolen drew a deep breath. \"Please lay me out the pen and paper.\"\nThat was gaining time. Was she to decline Grandcourt's visit? Like a warm current through her terror was the notion that this would be an event - an opportunity for her to look and speak with her former effectiveness. The interest of the morrow was no longer at a deadlock.\n\"There is really no reason why you should be so alarmed at the man's waiting a few minutes, mamma,\" she said.\n\"No, dear,\" said Mrs. Davilow, in the tone of one corrected, \"he can wait another quarter of an hour, if you like.\"\n"}
+{"original":"It was very simple speech and action on her part, but it was what might have been subtly calculated. Gwendolen felt a contradictory desire to be hastened: hurry would save her from deliberate choice.\n\"I did not mean him to wait long enough for that needlework to be finished,\" she said, lifting her hands to stroke the backward curves of her hair, while she rose from her seat and stood still.\n\"But if you don't feel able to decide?\" said Mrs. Davilow, sympathizingly.\n","abridged":"At once Gwendolen felt a contradictory desire to be hastened: hurry would save her from deliberate choice.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I _must_ decide,\" said Gwendolen, walking to the writing-table and seating herself. All the while there was a busy undercurrent in her, like the thought of a man who keeps up a dialogue while he is considering how he can slip away. Why should she not let him come? It bound her to nothing. He had been to Leubronn after her: of course he meant a direct unmistakable renewal of the suit which before had been only implied. What then? She could reject him. Why was she to deny herself the freedom of doing this--which she would like to do?\n\"If Mr. Grandcourt has only just returned from Leubronn,\" said Mrs. Davilow, observing that Gwendolen leaned back in her chair after taking the pen in her hand--\"I wonder whether he has heard of our misfortunes?\"\n\"That could make no difference to a man in his position,\" said Gwendolen, rather contemptuously,\n","abridged":"\"I must decide,\" she said, walking to the writing-table. There was a busy undercurrent of thought in her. Why should she not let him come? It bound her to nothing. He had followed her to Leubronn: he meant a renewal of his suit. What then? She could reject him. Why deny herself the freedom of doing this?\n\"I wonder whether Mr. Grandcourt has heard of our misfortunes?\" said Mrs. Davilow.\n\"That could make no difference to a man in his position,\" said Gwendolen, rather contemptuously,\n"}
+{"original":"\"It would to some men,\" said Mrs. Davilow. \"They would not like to take a wife from a family in a state of beggary almost, as we are. Here we are at Offendene with a great shell over us, as usual. But just imagine his finding us at Sawyer's Cottage. Most men are afraid of being bored or taxed by a wife's family. If Mr. Grandcourt did know, I think it a strong proof of his attachment to you.\"\n","abridged":"\"It would to some men. If Mr. Grandcourt did know, I think it a strong proof of his attachment to you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Davilow spoke with unusual emphasis: it was the first time she had ventured to say anything about Grandcourt which would necessarily seem intended as an argument in favor of him, her habitual impression being that such arguments would certainly be useless and might be worse. The effect of her words now was stronger than she could imagine: they raised a new set of possibilities in Gwendolen's mind--a vision of what Grandcourt might do for her mother if she, Gwendolen, did--what she was not going to do. She was so moved by a new rush of ideas that, like one conscious of being urgently called away, she felt that the immediate task must be hastened: the letter must be written, else it might be endlessly deferred. After all, she acted in a hurry, as she had wished to do. To act in a hurry was to have a reason for keeping away from an absolute decision, and to leave open as many issues as possible.\nShe wrote: \"Miss Harleth presents her compliments to Mr. Grandcourt. She will be at home after two o'clock to-morrow.\"\nBefore addressing the note she said, \"Pray ring the bell, mamma, if there is any one to answer it.\" She really did not know who did the work of the house.\nIt was not till after the letter had been taken away and Gwendolen had risen again, stretching out one arm and then resting it on her head, with a low moan which had a sound of relief in it, that Mrs. Davilow ventured to ask,\n","abridged":"Mrs. Davilow spoke with unusual emphasis: it was the first time she had ventured to say anything about Grandcourt which might seem to be in his favour. The effect of her words was stronger than she could imagine. They raised a new vision in Gwendolen's mind - a vision of what Grandcourt might do for her mother if she, Gwendolen, did what she was not going to do. At once, in a hurry, she began to write. To act in a hurry was to keep away from an absolute decision, and to leave open as many issues as possible.\nShe wrote:\n'Miss Harleth presents her compliments to Mr. Grandcourt. She will be at home after two o'clock tomorrow.'\nThen she said, \"Pray ring the bell, mamma, if there is anyone to answer it.\" She really did not know who did the work of the house.\nIt was not till after the letter had been taken away that Mrs. Davilow ventured to ask-\n"}
+{"original":"\"What did you say, Gwen?\"\n\"I said that I should be at home,\" answered Gwendolen, rather loftily. Then after a pause, \"You must not expect, because Mr. Grandcourt is coming, that anything is going to happen, mamma.\"\n\"I don't allow myself to expect anything, dear. I desire you to follow your own feeling. You have never told me what that was.\"\n\"What is the use of telling?\" said Gwendolen, hearing a reproach in that true statement. \"When I have anything pleasant to tell, you may be sure I will tell you.\"\n","abridged":"\"What did you write, Gwen?\"\n\"I said that I should be at home,\" answered Gwendolen, rather loftily. \"You must not expect anything to happen, mamma.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But Mr. Grandcourt will consider that you have already accepted him, in allowing him to come. His note tells you plainly enough that he is coming to make you an offer.\"\n\"Very well; and I wish to have the pleasure of refusing him.\"\nMrs. Davilow looked up in wonderment, but Gwendolen implied her wish not to be questioned further by saying,\n\"Put down that detestable needle-work, and let us walk in the avenue. I am stifled.\"","abridged":"\"But Mr. Grandcourt will consider that you have already accepted him, in allowing him to come. His note plainly means that he is coming to make you an offer.\"\n\"Very well; and I wish to have the pleasure of refusing him.\" And Gwendolen implied her wish not to be questioned by saying- \"Put down that detestable needle-work, and let us walk in the avenue. I am stifled.\""}
+{"original":"How trace the why and wherefore in a mind reduced to the barrenness of a fastidious egoism, in which all direct desires are dulled, and have dwindled from motives into a vacillating expectation of motives: a mind made up of moods, where a fitful impulse springs here and there conspicuously rank amid the general weediness? 'Tis a condition apt to befall a life too much at large, unmoulded by the pressure of obligation. _Nam deteriores omnes sumus licentiae_, or, as a more familiar tongue might deliver it, _\"As you like\" is a bad finger-post._\nPotentates make known their intentions and affect the funds at a small expense of words. So when Grandcourt, after learning that Gwendolen had left Leubronn, incidentally pronounced that resort of fashion a beastly hole, worse than Baden, the remark was conclusive to Mr. Lush that his patron intended straightway to return to Diplow. The execution was sure to be slower than the intention, and, in fact, Grandcourt did loiter through the next day without giving any distinct orders about departure--perhaps because he discerned that Lush was expecting them: he lingered over his toilet, and certainly came down with a faded aspect of perfect distinction which made fresh complexions and hands with the blood in them, seem signs of raw vulgarity; he lingered on the terrace, in the gambling-rooms, in the reading-room, occupying himself in being indifferent to everybody and everything around him. When he met Lady Mallinger, however, he took some trouble--raised his hat, paused, and proved that he listened to her recommendation of the waters by replying, \"Yes; I heard somebody say how providential it was that there always happened to be springs at gambling places.\"\n\"Oh, that was a joke,\" said innocent Lady Mallinger, misled by Grandcourt's languid seriousness, \"in imitation of the old one about the towns and the rivers, you know.\"\n","abridged":"When Grandcourt learnt that Gwendolen had left Leubronn, he pronounced that resort a beastly hole: which Mr. Lush understood to mean that his patron intended straightway to return to Diplow. Still, Grandcourt loitered through the next day without giving any orders about leaving; he lingered on the terrace, in the gambling-rooms, in the reading-room, occupying himself in being indifferent to everybody and everything around him.\nWhen he met Lady Mallinger, however, he took the trouble to raise his hat and make conversation. "}
+{"original":"\"Ah, perhaps,\" said Grandcourt, without change of expression. Lady Mallinger thought this worth telling to Sir Hugo, who said, \"Oh, my dear, he is not a fool. You must not suppose that he can't see a joke. He can play his cards as well as most of us.\"\n\"He has never seemed to me a very sensible man,\" said Lady Mallinger, in excuse of herself. She had a secret objection to meeting Grandcourt, who was little else to her than a large living sign of what she felt to be her failure as a wife--the not having presented Sir Hugo with a son. Her constant reflection was that her husband might fairly regret his choice, and if he had not been very good might have treated her with some roughness in consequence, gentlemen naturally disliking to be disappointed.\n","abridged":"Lady Mallinger had a secret objection to Grandcourt, who she felt was a large living sign of her failure as a wife in not having presented Sir Hugo with a son.\n"}
+{"original":"Deronda, too, had a recognition from Grandcourt, for which he was not grateful, though he took care to return it with perfect civility. No reasoning as to the foundations of custom could do away with the early-rooted feeling that his birth had been attended with injury for which his father was to blame; and seeing that but for this injury Grandcourt's prospects might have been his, he was proudly resolute not to behave in any way that might be interpreted into irritation on that score. He saw a very easy descent into mean unreasoning rancor and triumph in others' frustration; and being determined not to go down that ugly pit, he turned his back on it, clinging to the kindlier affections within him as a possession. Pride certainly helped him well--the pride of not recognizing a disadvantage for one's self which vulgar minds are disposed to exaggerate, such as the shabby equipage of poverty: he would not have a man like Grandcourt suppose himself envied by him. But there is no guarding against interpretation. Grandcourt did believe that Deronda, poor devil, who he had no doubt was his cousin by the father's side, inwardly winced under their mutual position; wherefore the presence of that less lucky person was more agreeable to him than it would otherwise have been. An imaginary envy, the idea that others feel their comparative deficiency, is the ordinary _cortge_ of egoism; and his pet dogs were not the only beings that Grandcourt liked to feel his power over in making them jealous. Hence he was civil enough to exchange several words with Deronda on the terrace about the hunting round Diplow, and even said, \"You had better come over for a run or two when the season begins.\"\n","abridged":"Deronda, too, had a greeting from Grandcourt, for which he was not grateful, though he took care to return it with perfect civility. Thinking that but for his father's fault, Grandcourt's prospects might have been his, he was proudly resolute not to behave in any way that might be interpreted as irritation on that score. He was determined not to descend into rancour, but to cling to kindlier affections.\nNonetheless Grandcourt did believe that Deronda, poor devil, who he had no doubt was his cousin, inwardly winced under their mutual position; which made Deronda's presence agreeable to him. His pet dogs were not the only beings that Grandcourt liked to feel his power over by making them jealous. Hence he exchanged civil words with Deronda on the terrace about the hunting round Diplow, and even said, \"You had better come over when the season begins.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Lush, not displeased with delay, amused himself very well, partly in gossiping with Sir Hugo and in answering his questions about Grandcourt's affairs so far as they might affect his willingness to part with his interest in Diplow. Also about Grandcourt's personal entanglements, the baronet knew enough already for Lush to feel released from silence on a sunny autumn day, when there was nothing more agreeable to do in lounging promenades than to speak freely of a tyrannous patron behind his back. Sir Hugo willingly inclined his ear to a little good-humored scandal, which he was fond of calling _traits de moeurs_; but he was strict in keeping such communications from hearers who might take them too seriously. Whatever knowledge he had of his nephew's secrets, he had never spoken of it to Deronda, who considered Grandcourt a pale-blooded mortal, but was far from wishing to hear how the red corpuscles had been washed out of him. It was Lush's policy and inclination to gratify everybody when he had no reason to the contrary; and the baronet always treated him well, as one of those easy-handled personages who, frequenting the society of gentlemen, without being exactly gentlemen themselves, can be the more serviceable, like the second-best articles of our wardrobe, which we use with a comfortable freedom from anxiety.\n\"Well, you will let me know the turn of events,\" said Sir Hugo, \"if this marriage seems likely to come off after all, or if anything else happens to make the want of money pressing. My plan would be much better for him than burdening Ryelands.\"\n","abridged":"Lush amused himself in gossiping with Sir Hugo and in answering his questions about Grandcourt's affairs, enjoying speaking freely of a tyrannous patron behind his back. Sir Hugo willingly inclined his ear to a little good-humoured scandal, but kept any gossip to himself. Whatever knowledge he had of his nephew's secrets, he had never told Deronda.\n\"Well, let me know the turn of events,\" said Sir Hugo to Lush, \"if this marriage seems likely to come off after all, or if anything else happens to make him want money. My plan for him to rent Diplow to me would be better than burdening Ryelands.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"That's true,\" said Lush, \"only it must not be urged on him--just placed in his way that the scent may tickle him. Grandcourt is not a man to be always led by what makes for his own interest; especially if you let him see that it makes for your interest too. I'm attached to him, of course. I've given up everything else for the sake of keeping by him, and it has lasted a good fifteen years now. He would not easily get any one else to fill my place. He's a peculiar character, is Henleigh Grandcourt, and it has been growing on him of late years. However, I'm of a constant disposition, and I've been a sort of guardian to him since he was twenty; an uncommonly fascinating fellow he was then, to be sure--and could be now, if he liked. I'm attached to him; and it would be a good deal worse for him if he missed me at his elbow.\"\n","abridged":"\"That's true,\" said Lush, \"only it must not be urged on him - just placed in his way that the scent may tickle him. Grandcourt is not a man to be led by what makes for his own benefit; especially if you let him see that it benefits you too. I've kept by him for a good fifteen years now. He would not easily get anyone else to fill my place. He's a peculiar character, is Henleigh Grandcourt; however, I'm attached to him; and it would be a good deal worse for him without me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Sir Hugo did not think it needful to express his sympathy or even assent, and perhaps Lush himself did not expect this sketch of his motives to be taken as exact. But how can a man avoid himself as a subject in conversation? And he must make some sort of decent toilet in words, as in cloth and linen. Lush's listener was not severe: a member of Parliament could allow for the necessities of verbal toilet; and the dialogue went on without any change of mutual estimate.\nHowever, Lush's easy prospect of indefinite procrastination was cut off the next morning by Grandcourt's saluting him with the question,\n\"Are you making all the arrangements for our starting by the Paris train?\"\n\"I didn't know you meant to start,\" said Lush, not exactly taken by surprise.\n","abridged":"Grandcourt's procrastination ended the next morning with his question-\n\"Are you making the arrangements for our starting by the Paris train?\"\n\"I didn't know you meant to start,\" said Lush.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You might have known,\" said Grandcourt, looking at the burned length of his cigar, and speaking in that lowered tone which was usual with him when he meant to express disgust and be peremptory. \"Just see to everything, will you? and mind no brute gets into the same carriage with us. And leave my P. P. C. at the Mallingers'.\"\nIn consequence they were at Paris the next day; but here Lush was gratified by the proposal or command that he should go straight on to Diplow and see that everything was right, while Grandcourt and the valet remained behind; and it was not until several days later that Lush received the telegram ordering the carriage to the Wanchester station.\n","abridged":"\"You might have known,\" said Grandcourt, looking at his cigar, and speaking in that lowered tone which he used to express disgust. \"Just see to everything, will you? and mind no brute gets into the same carriage with us.\"\nIn consequence they were at Paris the next day; but here Lush was gratified by the command that he should go straight on to Diplow and see that everything was right, while Grandcourt remained behind for several days.\n"}
+{"original":"He had used the interim actively, not only in carrying out Grandcourt's orders about the stud and household, but in learning all he could of Gwendolen, and how things were going on at Offendene. What was the probable effect that the news of the family misfortunes would have on Grandcourt's fitful obstinacy he felt to be quite incalculable. So far as the girl's poverty might be an argument that she would accept an offer from him now in spite of any previous coyness, it might remove that bitter objection to risk a repulse which Lush divined to be one of Grandcourt's deterring motives; on the other hand, the certainty of acceptance was just \"the sort of thing\" to make him lapse hither and thither with no more apparent will than a moth. Lush had had his patron under close observation for many years, and knew him perhaps better than he knew any other subject; but to know Grandcourt was to doubt what he would do in any particular case. It might happen that he would behave with an apparent magnanimity, like the hero of a modern French drama, whose sudden start into moral splendor after much lying and meanness, leaves you little confidence as to any part of his career that may follow the fall of the curtain. Indeed, what attitude would have been more honorable for a final scene than that of declining to seek an heiress for her money, and determining to marry the attractive girl who had none? But Lush had some general certainties about Grandcourt, and one was that of all inward movements those of generosity were least likely to occur in him. Of what use, however, is a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths? Thus Lush was much at fault as to the probable issue between Grandcourt and Gwendolen, when what he desired was a perfect confidence that they would never be married. He would have consented willingly that Grandcourt should marry an heiress, or that he should marry Mrs. Glasher: in the one match there would have been the immediate abundance that prospective heirship could not supply, in the other there would have been the security of the wife's gratitude, for Lush had always been Mrs. Glasher's friend; and that the future Mrs. Grandcourt should not be socially received could not affect his private comfort. ","abridged":"Lush used the interim actively, not only in carrying out Grandcourt's orders about the household, but in learning all he could of Gwendolen, and how things were going on at Offendene. He felt that the effect of the news of the family misfortunes on Grandcourt was quite incalculable. The girl's poverty might make her more likely to accept him, and remove his objection to risking a repulse; on the other hand, the certainty of acceptance was just the sort of thing to make him lapse.\nLush had observed his patron for many years, and knew him well; but he was unpredictable. He might behave with apparent magnanimity, in determining to marry the penniless girl; but Lush had some general certainties about Grandcourt, and one was that generosity was most unlikely to occur in him. Of what use, however, is a general certainty, when what you need to know is the particular path that a man will take? Lush would have been happy for Grandcourt to marry an heiress, or Mrs. Glasher: one match would have brought immediate abundance, and the other the wife's gratitude, for Lush had always been Mrs. Glasher's friend. "}
+{"original":"He would not have minded, either, that there should be no marriage in question at all; but he felt himself justified in doing his utmost to hinder a marriage with a girl who was likely to bring nothing but trouble to her husband--not to speak of annoyance if not ultimate injury to her husband's old companion, whose future Mr. Lush earnestly wished to make as easy as possible, considering that he had well deserved such compensation for leading a dog's life, though that of a dog who enjoyed many tastes undisturbed, and who profited by a large establishment. He wished for himself what he felt to be good, and was not conscious of wishing harm to any one else; unless perhaps it were just now a little harm to the inconvenient and impertinent Gwendolen. But the easiest-humored of luxury and music, the toad-eater the least liable to nausea, must be expected to have his susceptibilities. And Mr. Lush was accustomed to be treated by the world in general as an apt, agreeable fellow: he had not made up his mind to be insulted by more than one person.\nWith this imperfect preparation of a war policy, Lush was awaiting Grandcourt's arrival, doing little more than wondering how the campaign would begin. The first day Grandcourt was much occupied with the stables, and amongst other things he ordered a groom to put a side-saddle on Criterion and let him review the horse's paces. This marked indication of purpose set Lush on considering over again whether he should incur the ticklish consequences of speaking first, while he was still sure that no compromising step had been taken; and he rose the next morning almost resolved that if Grandcourt seemed in as good a humor as yesterday and entered at all into talk, he would let drop the interesting facts about Gwendolen and her family, just to see how they would work, and to get some guidance. But Grandcourt did not enter into talk, and in answer to a question even about his own convenience, no fish could have maintained a more unwinking silence. After he had read his letters he gave various orders to be executed or transmitted by Lush, and then thrust his shoulder toward that useful person, who accordingly rose to leave the room. But before he was out of the door Grandcourt turned his head slightly and gave a broken, languid \"Oh.\"\n","abridged":"He felt himself justified in doing his utmost to hinder a marriage with a girl who was likely to bring nothing but trouble to her husband, and annoyance to her husband's old companion, whose future Mr. Lush earnestly wished to make as easy as possible.\nOn his first day at Diplow, Grandcourt was occupied with the stables, and ordered a groom to put a side-saddle on Criterion. This made Lush consider whether he should incur the ticklish consequences of speaking; and the next morning he had almost resolved to let drop the interesting facts about Gwendolen and her family, if Grandcourt was in a good mood, just to see how they would work.\nBut Grandcourt did not enter into talk: no fish could have maintained a more unwinking silence. After reading his letters he gave various orders to be executed by Lush, who accordingly rose to leave the room. Before he was out of the door Grandcourt turned his head slightly and gave a languid \"Oh.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What is it?\" said Lush, who, it must have been observed, did not take his dusty puddings with a respectful air.\n\"Shut the door, will you? I can't speak into the corridor.\"\nLush closed the door, came forward, and chose to sit down.\nAfter a little pause Grandcourt said, \"Is Miss Harleth at Offendene?\" He was quite certain that Lush had made it his business to inquire about her, and he had some pleasure in thinking that Lush did not want _him_ to inquire.\n","abridged":"\"What is it?\" said Lush, who did not take his dusty puddings with a respectful air.\n\"Shut the door, will you? I can't speak into the corridor.\"\nLush closed the door.\nAfter a little pause Grandcourt said, \"Is Miss Harleth at Offendene?\" He was quite certain that Lush would have inquired about her.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well, I hardly know,\" said Lush, carelessly. \"The family's utterly done up. They and the Gascoignes too have lost all their money. It's owing to some rascally banking business. The poor mother hasn't a _sou_, it seems. She and the girls have to huddle themselves into a little cottage like a laborer's.\"\n\"Don't lie to me, if you please,\" said Grandcourt, in his lowest audible tone. \"It's not amusing, and it answers no other purpose.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" said Lush, more nettled than was common with him--the prospect before him being more than commonly disturbing.\n","abridged":"\"I hardly know,\" said Lush, carelessly. \"The family's utterly done up. They've lost all their money. The poor mother hasn't a penny, it seems. She and the girls have to huddle in a little cottage like a labourer's.\"\n\"Don't lie to me, if you please,\" said Grandcourt, in his lowest audible tone. \"It's not amusing, and it answers no other purpose.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" said Lush, nettled. "}
+{"original":"\"Just tell me the truth, will you?\"\n\"It's no invention of mine. I have heard the story from several--Bazley, Brackenshaw's man, for one. He is getting a new tenant for Offendene.\"\n\"I don't mean that. Is Miss Harleth there, or is she not?\" said Grandcourt, in his former tone.\n","abridged":"\"It's no invention of mine. I have heard the story from several.\"\n\"I don't mean that. Is Miss Harleth there, or is she not?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Upon my soul, I can't tell,\" said Lush, rather sulkily. \"She may have left yesterday. I heard she had taken a situation as governess; she may be gone to it for what I know. But if you wanted to see her no doubt the mother would send for her back.\" This sneer slipped off his tongue without strict intention.\n\"Send Hutchins to inquire whether she will be there tomorrow.\" Lush did not move. Like many persons who have thought over beforehand what they shall say in given cases, he was impelled by an unexpected irritation to say some of those prearranged things before the cases were given. Grandcourt, in fact, was likely to get into a scrape so tremendous that it was impossible to let him take the first step toward it without remonstrance. Lush retained enough caution to use a tone of rational friendliness, still he felt his own value to his patron, and was prepared to be daring.\n","abridged":"\"I can't tell,\" said Lush, rather sulkily. \"She may have left; I heard she had taken a situation as governess.\"\n\"Send Hutchins to inquire whether she will be there tomorrow.\"\nLush did not move. Like many persons who have thought over beforehand what they shall say in given cases, he was impelled to say some of those prearranged things before the cases were given. Grandcourt was likely to get into a scrape so tremendous that it was impossible not to remonstrate; but Lush retained enough caution to use a tone of rational friendliness.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It would be as well for you to remember, Grandcourt, that you are coming under closer fire now. There can be none of the ordinary flirting done, which may mean everything or nothing. You must make up your mind whether you wish to be accepted; and more than that, how you would like being refused. Either one or the other. You can't be philandering after her again for six weeks.\"\nGrandcourt said nothing, but pressed the newspaper down on his knees and began to light another cigar. Lush took this as a sign that he was willing to listen, and was the more bent on using the opportunity; he wanted, if possible, to find out which would be the more potent cause of hesitation--probable acceptance or probable refusal.\n","abridged":"\"It would be as well to remember, Grandcourt, that there can be none of the ordinary flirting now. You must make up your mind whether you wish to be accepted; and more than that, how you would like being refused. You can't be philandering after her again for six weeks.\"\nGrandcourt said nothing, but began to light another cigar. Lush took this as a good sign, and continued.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Everything has a more serious look now than it had before. There is her family to be provided for. You could not let your wife's mother live in beggary. It will be a confoundedly hampering affair. Marriage will pin you down in a way you haven't been used to; and in point of money you have not too much elbow-room. And after all, what will you get by it? You are master over your estates, present or future, as far as choosing your heir goes; it's a pity to go on encumbering them for a mere whim, which you may repent of in a twelvemonth. I should be sorry to see you making a mess of your life in that way. If there were anything solid to be gained by the marriage, that would be a different affair.\"\n","abridged":"\"Everything has a more serious look now than before. There is her family to be provided for. It will be a confoundedly hampering affair. Marriage will pin you down; and in point of money you have not much elbow-room. If there were anything to be gained by the marriage, that would be different.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Lush's tone had gradually become more and more unctuous in its friendliness of remonstrance, and he was almost in danger of forgetting that he was merely gambling in argument. When he left off, Grandcourt took his cigar out of his mouth, and looking steadily at the moist end while he adjusted the leaf with his delicate finger-tips, said,\n\"I knew before that you had an objection to my marrying Miss Harleth.\" Here he made a little pause before he continued. \"But I never considered that a reason against it.\"\n","abridged":"Grandcourt took his cigar out of his mouth, and looking steadily at the end, said-\n\"I knew that you objected to my marrying Miss Harleth. But I never considered that a reason against it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I never supposed you did,\" answered Lush, not unctuously but dryly. \"It was not _that_ I urged as a reason. I should have thought it might have been a reason against it, after all your experience, that you would be acting like the hero of a ballad, and making yourself absurd--and all for what? You know you couldn't make up your mind before. It's impossible you can care much about her. And as for the tricks she is likely to play, you may judge of that from what you heard at Leubronn. However, what I wished to point out to you was, that there can be no shilly-shally now.\"\n\"Perfectly,\" said Grandcourt, looking round at Lush and fixing him with narrow eyes; \"I don't intend that there should be. I dare say it's disagreeable to you. But if you suppose I care a damn for that you are most stupendously mistaken.\"\n","abridged":"\"I never supposed you did. But you couldn't make up your mind before. It's impossible you can care much about her. However, what I wished to point out to you was, that there can be no shilly-shally now.\"\n\"I don't intend that there should be,\" said Grandcourt, fixing him with narrow eyes. \"I dare say it's disagreeable to you. But if you suppose I care a damn for that you are most stupendously mistaken.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, well,\" said Lush, rising with his hands in his pockets, and feeling some latent venom still within him, \"if you have made up your mind!--only there's another aspect of the affair. I have been speaking on the supposition that it was absolutely certain she would accept you, and that destitution would have no choice. But I am not so sure that the young lady is to be counted on. She is kittle cattle to shoe, I think. And she had her reasons for running away before.\" Lush had moved a step or two till he stood nearly in front of Grandcourt, though at some distance from him. He did not feel himself much restrained by consequences, being aware that the only strong hold he had on his present position was his serviceableness; and even after a quarrel the want of him was likely sooner or later to recur. He foresaw that Gwendolen would cause him to be ousted for a time, and his temper at this moment urged him to risk a quarrel.\n\"She had her reasons,\" he repeated more significantly.\n\"I had come to that conclusion before,\" said Grandcourt, with contemptuous irony.\n","abridged":"\"Oh, well,\" said Lush, rising with his hands in his pockets, \"if you have made up your mind! only there's another aspect of the affair. I'm not so sure the young lady can be counted on. She had her reasons for running away before.\" Lush's temper at this moment urged him to risk a quarrel. \"She had her reasons,\" he repeated more significantly.\n\"I had come to that conclusion,\" said Grandcourt with irony.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, but I hardly think you know what her reasons were.\"\n\"You do, apparently,\" said Grandcourt, not betraying by so much as an eyelash that he cared for the reasons.\n\"Yes, and you had better know too, that you may judge of the influence you have over her if she swallows her reasons and accepts you. For my own part I would take odds against it. She saw Lydia in Cardell Chase and heard the whole story.\"\nGrandcourt made no immediate answer, and only went on smoking. He was so long before he spoke that Lush moved about and looked out of the windows, unwilling to go away without seeing some effect of his daring move. He had expected that Grandcourt would tax him with having contrived the affair, since Mrs. Glasher was then living at Gadsmere, a hundred miles off, and he was prepared to admit the fact: what he cared about was that Grandcourt should be staggered by the sense that his intended advances must be made to a girl who had that knowledge in her mind and had been scared by it. At length Grandcourt, seeing Lush turn toward him, looked at him again and said, contemptuously, \"What follows?\"\n","abridged":"\"Yes, but I hardly think you know what her reasons were.\"\n\"You do, apparently,\" said Grandcourt, not betraying by so much as an eyelash that he cared for the reasons.\n\"Yes, and you had better know too. I would lay odds against her accepting you. She saw Lydia in Cardell Chase and heard the whole story.\"\nGrandcourt made no immediate answer, and only went on smoking. At length he looked at Lush again and said contemptuously, \"What follows?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Here certainly was a \"mate\" in answer to Lush's \"check\"; and though his exasperation with Grandcourt was perhaps stronger than it had ever been before, it would have been idiocy to act as if any further move could be useful. He gave a slight shrug with one shoulder, and was going to walk away, when Grandcourt, turning on his seat toward the table, said, as quietly as if nothing had occurred, \"Oblige me by pushing that pen and paper here, will you?\"\nNo thunderous, bullying superior could have exercised the imperious spell that Grandcourt did. Why, instead of being obeyed, he had never been told to go to a warmer place, was perhaps a mystery to those who found themselves obeying him. The pen and paper were pushed to him, and as he took them he said, \"Just wait for this letter.\"\nHe scrawled with ease, and the brief note was quickly addressed. \"Let Hutchins go with it at once, will you?\" said Grandcourt, pushing the letter away from him.\n","abridged":"Here certainly was a \"checkmate\" in answer to Lush's \"check.\" He shrugged slightly and was going to walk away, when Grandcourt said, as quietly as if nothing had occurred, \"Push that pen and paper over here, will you?\"\nNo thunderous superior could have exercised the imperious spell that Grandcourt did. The pen and paper were pushed to him, and he scrawled a brief note.\n\"Let Hutchins take it at once, will you?\" said Grandcourt.\n"}
+{"original":"As Lush had expected, it was addressed to Miss Harleth, Offendene. When his irritation had cooled down he was glad there had been no explosive quarrel; but he felt sure that there was a notch made against him, and that somehow or other he was intended to pay. It was also clear to him that the immediate effect of his revelation had been to harden Grandcourt's previous determination. But as to the particular movements that made this process in his baffling mind, Lush could only toss up his chin in despair of a theory.","abridged":"As Lush had expected, the letter was addressed to Miss Harleth, Offendene. When his irritation had cooled, he was glad there had been no explosive quarrel; though he felt sure that somehow or other he was intended to pay. It was clear that he had only hardened Grandcourt's determination. But as to the particular movements that made this process in his baffling mind, Lush despaired of a theory."}
+{"original":"\"Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford _now_?\" said Edmund the next day, after thinking some time on the subject himself. \"How did you like her yesterday?\"\n\"Very well-very much. I like to hear her talk. She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at her.\"\n\"It is her countenance that is so attractive. She has a wonderful play of feature! But was there nothing in her conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?\"\n","abridged":"\"Well, Fanny, how do you like Miss Crawford?\" said Edmund the next day.\n\"Very well. I like to hear her talk; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at her.\"\n\"She has a wonderful play of feature! But was there nothing in her conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh yes! she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did. I was quite astonished. An uncle with whom she has been living so many years, and who, whatever his faults may be, is so very fond of her brother, treating him, they say, quite like a son. I could not have believed it!\"\n\"I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong; very indecorous.\"\n\"And very ungrateful, I think.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh yes! she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did. An uncle with whom she has been living so many years, and who, whatever his faults, is so fond of her brother. I could not have believed it!\"\n\"I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong.\"\n\"And ungrateful, I think.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle has any claim to her _gratitude_; his wife certainly had; and it is the warmth of her respect for her aunt's memory which misleads her here. She is awkwardly circumstanced. With such warm feelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, without throwing a shade on the Admiral. I do not pretend to know which was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral's present conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely. I do not censure her _opinions_; but there certainly _is_ impropriety in making them public.\"\n\"Do not you think,\" said Fanny, after a little consideration, \"that this impropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford, as her niece has been entirely brought up by her? She cannot have given her right notions of what was due to the Admiral.\"\n","abridged":"\"Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle has any claim to her gratitude; it is respect for her aunt's memory which misleads her. It must be difficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, without accusing the Admiral. I do not pretend to know which was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral's present conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt. However, there is certainly impropriety in making her opinions public. "}
+{"original":"\"That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the faults of the niece to have been those of the aunt; and it makes one more sensible of the disadvantages she has been under. But I think her present home must do her good. Mrs. Grant's manners are just what they ought to be. She speaks of her brother with a very pleasing affection.\"\n\"Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. She made me almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the love or good-nature of a brother who will not give himself the trouble of writing anything worth reading to his sisters, when they are separated. I am sure William would never have used _me_ so, under any circumstances. And what right had she to suppose that _you_ would not write long letters when you were absent?\"\n","abridged":"It makes one aware of the disadvantages she has been under. But I think her present home must do her good. She speaks of her brother with very pleasing affection.\"\n\"Yes, except as to his writing such short letters. She made me almost laugh; but what right had she to suppose that you would not write long letters?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may contribute to its own amusement or that of others; perfectly allowable, when untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not a shadow of either in the countenance or manner of Miss Crawford: nothing sharp, or loud, or coarse. She is perfectly feminine, except in the instances we have been speaking of. There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw it all as I did.\"\nHaving formed her mind and gained her affections, he had a good chance of her thinking like him; though at this period, and on this subject, there began now to be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford, which might lead him where Fanny could not follow. Miss Crawford's attractions did not lessen. The harp arrived, and rather added to her beauty, wit, and good-humour; for she played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something clever to be said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the Parsonage every day, to be indulged with his favourite instrument: one morning secured an invitation for the next; for the lady could not be unwilling to have a listener, and every thing was soon in a fair train.\n","abridged":"\"The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may amuse it; perfectly allowable, when untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not a shadow of either in Miss Crawford's manner. She is perfectly feminine, except in the instances we have been speaking of. There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw it all as I did.\"\nHaving formed her mind, he had a good chance of her thinking like him; though on this subject, there began now to be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford, where Fanny could not follow.\nMiss Crawford's attractions did not lessen. The harp arrived, and added to her beauty, wit, and good-humour; for she played with expression and taste, and there was something clever to be said at the close of every air. Edmund was daily at the Parsonage, to be indulged with his favourite instrument: each morning secured an invitation for the next.\n"}
+{"original":"A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself, and both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, and opening on a little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart. The season, the scene, the air, were all favourable to tenderness and sentiment. Mrs. Grant and her tambour frame were not without their use: it was all in harmony; and as everything will turn to account when love is once set going, even the sandwich tray, and Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth looking at. Without studying the business, however, or knowing what he was about, Edmund was beginning, at the end of a week of such intercourse, to be a good deal in love; and to the credit of the lady it may be added that, without his being a man of the world or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the gaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt it to be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple. There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss with herself. She did not think very much about it, however: he pleased her for the present; she liked to have him near her; it was enough.\n","abridged":"A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself, placed near a window that opened on a little lawn, surrounded by the rich foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart. Edmund was beginning to be a good deal in love; and to the lady's credit it may be added that, without his being an elder brother, and without any of the arts of flattery, he began to be agreeable to her. She had not foreseen this, and could hardly understand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil. There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity. She did not think very much about it, however: he pleased her for the present; it was enough.\n"}
+{"original":"Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonage every morning; she would gladly have been there too, might she have gone in uninvited and unnoticed, to hear the harp; neither could she wonder that, when the evening stroll was over, and the two families parted again, he should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, while Mr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she thought it a very bad exchange; and if Edmund were not there to mix the wine and water for her, would rather go without it than not. She was a little surprised that he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed, and of which _she_ was almost always reminded by a something of the same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was. Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it enough that the Admiral had since been spared; and she scrupled to point out her own remarks to him, lest it should appear like ill-nature. The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned her was the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, which the former caught, soon after her being settled at Mansfield, from the example of the young ladies at the Park, and which, when Edmund's acquaintance with her increased, led to his encouraging the wish, and the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose of her first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner that either stable could furnish. No pain, no injury, however, was designed by him to his cousin in this offer: _she_ was not to lose a day's exercise by it. The mare was only to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ride were to begin; and Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feeling slighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be asking her leave for it.\n","abridged":"Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonage every morning; she too would gladly have gone to hear the harp; neither could she wonder that after their evening stroll he should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, while Mr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she thought it a very bad exchange. She was surprised that he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed; but so it was.\nThe first actual pain which Miss Crawford caused her was the consequence of a wish to learn to ride. Edward encouraged it, and offered his own quiet mare for her first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner. He meant no injury to Fanny in this offer: she was not to lose a day's exercise. The mare was only to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ride were to begin; and Fanny, so far from feeling slighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be asking her leave.\n"}
+{"original":"Miss Crawford made her first essay with great credit to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken down the mare and presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who always attended her when she rode without her cousins, were ready to set forward. The second day's trial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford's enjoyment of riding was such that she did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless, and though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise, something was probably added in Edmund's attendance and instructions, and something more in the conviction of very much surpassing her sex in general by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny was ready and waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared. To avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out.\n","abridged":"Miss Crawford made her first attempt with great credit to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund returned with the mare in excellent time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman who attended her were ready to set forward.\nThe second day's trial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford's enjoyment was such that she did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless, and though small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman; and to the pleasure of the exercise, something was probably added in Edmund's attendance, and the conviction of surpassing her sex by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny was waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no horse was announced. To avoid her aunt, and look for Edward, she went out.\n"}
+{"original":"The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of each other; but, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could look down the park, and command a view of the Parsonage and all its demesnes, gently rising beyond the village road; and in Dr. Grant's meadow she immediately saw the group-Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with two or three grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party it appeared to her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyond a doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her. It was a sound which did not make _her_ cheerful; she wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang. She could not turn her eyes from the meadow; she could not help watching all that passed. At first Miss Crawford and her companion made the circuit of the field, which was not small, at a foot's pace; then, at _her_ apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and to Fanny's timid nature it was most astonishing to see how well she sat. After a few minutes they stopped entirely. Edmund was close to her; he was speaking to her; he was evidently directing her management of the bridle; he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach. She must not wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmund should be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one? She could not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved him the trouble; that it would have been particularly proper and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and all his coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of Edmund. She began to think it rather hard upon the mare to have such double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered.\n","abridged":"The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of each other; but, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could command a view of the Parsonage and its surroundings; and she immediately saw the group-Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with the grooms, looking on. A happy party it appeared: for the sound of merriment ascended to her. She wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang. Miss Crawford and her companion made the circuit of the field; then, at her apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and to Fanny's timid nature it was astonishing to see how well she sat.\nAfter a few minutes they stopped. Edmund was close to her; he was speaking to her, evidently directing her management of the bridle; he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach. She must not wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmund should make himself useful? It would have been becoming in Miss Crawford's brother to assist her; but Mr. Crawford was not as kind as Edmund.\n"}
+{"original":"Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little tranquillised by seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and Miss Crawford still on horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot, pass through a gate into the lane, and so into the park, and make towards the spot where she stood. She began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked to meet them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion.\n\"My dear Miss Price,\" said Miss Crawford, as soon as she was at all within hearing, \"I am come to make my own apologies for keeping you waiting; but I have nothing in the world to say for myself-I knew it was very late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; and therefore, if you please, you must forgive me. Selfishness must always be forgiven, you know, because there is no hope of a cure.\"\nFanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his conviction that she could be in no hurry. \"For there is more than time enough for my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever goes,\" said he, \"and you have been promoting her comfort by preventing her from setting off half an hour sooner: clouds are now coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat as she would have done then. I wish _you_ may not be fatigued by so much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this walk home.\"\n","abridged":"Her feelings were eased by seeing the party in the meadow disperse. Miss Crawford, still on horseback, with Edmund on foot, passed into the park, and came towards the spot where she stood. Fanny began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked to meet them.\n\"My dear Miss Price,\" said Miss Crawford, \"I apologise for keeping you waiting-I knew it was late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; if you please, you must forgive me.\"\nFanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his conviction that she could be in no hurry. \"For there is time enough for my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever goes,\" said he, \"and you have prevented her from setting off when it was too hot for comfort: clouds are now coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat. I wish you may not be fatigued by so much exercise.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, I assure you,\" said she, as she sprang down with his help; \"I am very strong. Nothing ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like. Miss Price, I give way to you with a very bad grace; but I sincerely hope you will have a pleasant ride, and that I may have nothing but good to hear of this dear, delightful, beautiful animal.\"\nThe old coachman, who had been waiting about with his own horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they set off across another part of the park; her feelings of discomfort not lightened by seeing, as she looked back, that the others were walking down the hill together to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's great cleverness as a horse-woman, which he had been watching with an interest almost equal to her own.\n","abridged":"\"Nothing ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like,\" said she, as she sprang down with his help; \"Miss Price, I give way to you with a bad grace; but I hope you will have a pleasant ride on this beautiful animal.\"\nThe old coachman now joining them, Fanny was lifted on her horse, and they set off; her discomfort not lightened by seeing that the others were walking together to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's great cleverness as a horse-woman.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for riding!\" said he. \"I never see one sit a horse better. She did not seem to have a thought of fear. Very different from you, miss, when you first began, six years ago come next Easter. Lord bless you! how you did tremble when Sir Thomas first had you put on!\"\nIn the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated. Her merit in being gifted by Nature with strength and courage was fully appreciated by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding was like their own; her early excellence in it was like their own, and they had great pleasure in praising it.\n","abridged":"\"It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for riding!\" said he. \"She did not have a thought of fear. Very different from you, miss, when you first began. Lord bless you! how you did tremble!\"\nIn the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also praised by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding, and her early excellence, were like their own.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I was sure she would ride well,\" said Julia; \"she has the make for it. Her figure is as neat as her brother's.\"\n\"Yes,\" added Maria, \"and her spirits are as good, and she has the same energy of character. I cannot but think that good horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind.\"\nWhen they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride the next day.\n\"No, I do not know-not if you want the mare,\" was her answer.\n","abridged":"\"I was sure she would ride well,\" said Julia. \"Her figure is as neat as her brother's.\"\n\"Yes,\" added Maria, \"and her spirits are as good. I think that good horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind.\"\nWhen they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride the next day.\n\"No, I do not know-not if you want the mare.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I do not want her at all for myself,\" said he; \"but whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her a longer time-for a whole morning, in short. She has a great desire to get as far as Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been telling her of its fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal to it. But any morning will do for this. She would be extremely sorry to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did. _She_ rides only for pleasure; _you_ for health.\"\n\"I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,\" said Fanny; \"I have been out very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You know I am strong enough now to walk very well.\"\n","abridged":"\"I do not want her for myself,\" said he; \"but whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her for a morning. She has a desire to get as far as Mansfield Common, and I have no doubt of her being equal to it. But any morning will do. She would be extremely sorry to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did. She rides only for pleasure; you for health.\"\n\"I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,\" said Fanny; \"I have been out often lately, and would rather stay at home. I am strong enough now to walk very well.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning: the party included all the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyed again in the evening discussion. A successful scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield Common disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after. There were many other views to be shewn; and though the weather was hot, there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. A young party is always provided with a shady lane. Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner, in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing the honours of its finest spots. Everything answered; it was all gaiety and good-humour, the heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure-till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party was exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one. Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and _she_ was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with perfect good-humour, on Mr. Rushworth's account, who was partly expected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home. As Mr. Rushworth did _not_ come, the injury was increased, and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over him; she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert.\n","abridged":"Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning: the party included all the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed. A successful scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and they all wished to go somewhere else the day after. Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner, in showing the Crawfords the country's finest spots. It was all gaiety and good-humour-till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the party was exceedingly clouded.\nMiss Bertram was the one. Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and she was excluded. It was done by Mrs. Grant, with perfect good-humour, on account of Mr. Rushworth, who was expected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a grievous injury, and Maria could barely conceal her anger till she reached home. As Mr. Rushworth did not come, the injury was increased; she could only be sullen, and throw as great a gloom as possible over dinner.\n"}
+{"original":"Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and even Mrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece's ill-humour, and having asked one or two questions about the dinner, which were not immediately attended to, seemed almost determined to say no more. For a few minutes the brother and sister were too eager in their praise of the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves; but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around, said, \"But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?\"\n\"No, not that I know of,\" replied Mrs. Norris; \"she was here a moment ago.\"\nHer own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room, which was a very long one, told them that she was on the sofa. Mrs. Norris began scolding.\n","abridged":"Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and even Mrs. Norris said little. Edmund, looking around, said, \"Where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?\"\n\"Not that I know of,\" replied Mrs. Norris; \"she was here a moment ago.\"\nHer own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room told them that she was on the sofa. Mrs. Norris began scolding.\n"}
+{"original":"\"That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as _we_ do? If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor basket. There is all the new calico, that was bought last week, not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out. You should learn to think of other people; and, take my word for it, it is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa.\"\nBefore half this was said, Fanny was returned to her seat at the table, and had taken up her work again; and Julia, who was in high good-humour, from the pleasures of the day, did her the justice of exclaiming, \"I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house.\"\n\"Fanny,\" said Edmund, after looking at her attentively, \"I am sure you have the headache.\"\nShe could not deny it, but said it was not very bad.\n","abridged":"\"That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself? If you have no work, I can supply you from the poor basket. There is the new calico, that was bought last week, not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my back cutting it out. You should learn to think of other people. It is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa.\"\nBefore half of this was said, Fanny had returned to the table and taken up her work; and Julia, who was in high good-humour, did her the justice of exclaiming, \"I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house.\"\n\"Fanny,\" said Edmund, looking at her attentively, \"I am sure you have the headache.\"\nShe could not deny it, but said it was not very bad.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I can hardly believe you,\" he replied; \"I know your looks too well. How long have you had it?\"\n\"Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat.\"\n\"Did you go out in the heat?\"\n\"Go out! to be sure she did,\" said Mrs. Norris: \"would you have her stay within such a fine day as this? Were not we _all_ out? Even your mother was out to-day for above an hour.\"\n","abridged":"\"I can hardly believe you,\" he replied; \"I know your looks too well. How long have you had it?\"\n\"Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat.\"\n\"Did you go out in the heat?\"\n\"To be sure she did,\" said Mrs. Norris: \"would you have her stay within on such a fine day? Even your mother was out to-day.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, indeed, Edmund,\" added her ladyship, who had been thoroughly awakened by Mrs. Norris's sharp reprimand to Fanny; \"I was out above an hour. I sat three-quarters of an hour in the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses; and very pleasant it was, I assure you, but very hot. It was shady enough in the alcove, but I declare I quite dreaded the coming home again.\"\n\"Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?\"\n\"Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. Poor thing! _She_ found it hot enough; but they were so full-blown that one could not wait.\"\n\"There was no help for it, certainly,\" rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a rather softened voice; \"but I question whether her headache might not be caught _then_, sister. There is nothing so likely to give it as standing and stooping in a hot sun; but I dare say it will be well to-morrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled.\"\n","abridged":"\"Yes, indeed, Edmund,\" added her ladyship. \"I sat in the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses; and very pleasant it was, but very hot.\"\n\"Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?\"\n\"Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. Poor thing! She found it hot enough; but they were so full-blown that one could not wait.\"\n\"There was no help for it,\" rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a rather softened voice; \"There is nothing so likely to give one a headache as standing in a hot sun; but I dare say it will be well to-morrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"She has got it,\" said Lady Bertram; \"she has had it ever since she came back from your house the second time.\"\n\"What!\" cried Edmund; \"has she been walking as well as cutting roses; walking across the hot park to your house, and doing it twice, ma'am? No wonder her head aches.\"\nMrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear.\n\"I was afraid it would be too much for her,\" said Lady Bertram; \"but when the roses were gathered, your aunt wished to have them, and then you know they must be taken home.\"\n\"But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?\"\n\"No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry; and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the room and bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again.\"\nEdmund got up and walked about the room, saying, \"And could nobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny? Upon my word, ma'am, it has been a very ill-managed business.\"\n","abridged":"\"She has had it since she came back from your house the second time,\" said Lady Bertram.\n\"What!\" cried Edmund; \"has she been walking twice across the hot park, ma'am? No wonder her head aches.\"\n\"I was afraid it would be too much for her,\" said Lady Bertram; \"but your aunt wished to have the roses.\"\n\"Were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?\"\n\"No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry; and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the room and bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again.\"\nEdmund got up and walked about, saying, \"And could nobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny? Upon my word, ma'am, it has been very ill-managed.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am sure I do not know how it was to have been done better,\" cried Mrs. Norris, unable to be longer deaf; \"unless I had gone myself, indeed; but I cannot be in two places at once; and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your mother's dairymaid, by _her_ desire, and had promised John Groom to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, and the poor fellow was waiting for me half an hour. I think nobody can justly accuse me of sparing myself upon any occasion, but really I cannot do everything at once. And as for Fanny's just stepping down to my house for me-it is not much above a quarter of a mile-I cannot think I was unreasonable to ask it. How often do I pace it three times a day, early and late, ay, and in all weathers too, and say nothing about it?\"\n\"I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am.\"\n\"If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would not be knocked up so soon. She has not been out on horseback now this long while, and I am persuaded that, when she does not ride, she ought to walk. If she had been riding before, I should not have asked it of her. But I thought it would rather do her good after being stooping among the roses; for there is nothing so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue of that kind; and though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot. Between ourselves, Edmund,\" nodding significantly at his mother, \"it was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the flower-garden, that did the mischief.\"\n","abridged":"\"I do not know how it was to have been done better,\" cried Mrs. Norris, \"unless I had gone myself; but I cannot be in two places at once; and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your mother's dairymaid. Really I cannot do everything at once. And as for Fanny's just stepping down to my house-it is not much above a quarter of a mile. How often do I pace it three times a day, and in all weathers too?\"\n\"I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am.\"\n\"If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would not be knocked up so soon. She has not been out on horseback this long while, and I am persuaded that, when she does not ride, she ought to walk. But I thought it would do her good after stooping among the roses; between ourselves, Edmund, it was cutting the roses that did the mischief.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am afraid it was, indeed,\" said the more candid Lady Bertram, who had overheard her; \"I am very much afraid she caught the headache there, for the heat was enough to kill anybody. It was as much as I could bear myself. Sitting and calling to Pug, and trying to keep him from the flower-beds, was almost too much for me.\"\nEdmund said no more to either lady; but going quietly to another table, on which the supper-tray yet remained, brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink the greater part. She wished to be able to decline it; but the tears, which a variety of feelings created, made it easier to swallow than to speak.\nVexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was still more angry with himself. His own forgetfulness of her was worse than anything which they had done. Nothing of this would have happened had she been properly considered; but she had been left four days together without any choice of companions or exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed to think that for four days together she had not had the power of riding, and very seriously resolved, however unwilling he must be to check a pleasure of Miss Crawford's, that it should never happen again.\n","abridged":"\"I am afraid it was, indeed,\" said the candid Lady Bertram; \"The heat was enough to kill anybody. Sitting and calling to Pug was almost too much for me.\"\nEdmund said no more; but going quietly to the supper-tray, brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink. She wished to decline it; but her tears made it easier to swallow than to speak.\nVexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was still more angry with himself. Fanny had been left without any exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed to think that for four days she had not been able to ride, and resolved that it should never happen again.\n"}
+{"original":"Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the first evening of her arrival at the Park. The state of her spirits had probably had its share in her indisposition; for she had been feeling neglected, and been struggling against discontent and envy for some days past. As she leant on the sofa, to which she had retreated that she might not be seen, the pain of her mind had been much beyond that in her head; and the sudden change which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her hardly know how to support herself.","abridged":"Fanny went to bed with her heart full. She had been struggling against discontent and envy for some days. As she leant on the sofa, the pain of her mind had been much beyond that in her head; and the sudden change which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her hardly know how to support herself."}
+{"original":"\"But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?\" said Lady Bertram. \"How came she to think of asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you know, in this sort of way. I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?\"\n\"If you put such a question to her,\" cried Edmund, preventing his cousin's speaking, \"Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go; and I can see no reason why she should not.\"\n\"I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her? She never did before. She used to ask your sisters now and then, but she never asked Fanny.\"\n","abridged":"\"But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?\" said Lady Bertram. \"Fanny never dines there. I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?\"\n\"If you ask her,\" cried Edmund, \"Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go.\"\n\"Why should Mrs. Grant think of asking her? She never did before.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"If you cannot do without me, ma'am-\" said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.\n\"But my mother will have my father with her all the evening.\"\n\"To be sure, so I shall.\"\n\"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am.\"\n\"That's well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her.\"\n\"As you please, ma'am, on that head; but I meant my father's opinion as to the _propriety_ of the invitation's being accepted or not; and I think he will consider it a right thing by Mrs. Grant, as well as by Fanny, that being the _first_ invitation it should be accepted.\"\n","abridged":"\"If you cannot do without me, ma'am-\" said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.\n\"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am.\"\n\"So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her.\"\n\"As you please, ma'am; but I meant my father's opinion as to the propriety of the invitation's being accepted; and I think he will consider that it should be.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all.\"\nThere was nothing more to be said, or that could be said to any purpose, till Sir Thomas were present; but the subject involving, as it did, her own evening's comfort for the morrow, was so much uppermost in Lady Bertram's mind, that half an hour afterwards, on his looking in for a minute in his way from his plantation to his dressing-room, she called him back again, when he had almost closed the door, with \"Sir Thomas, stop a moment-I have something to say to you.\"\n","abridged":"\"I do not know. But he will be very much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all.\"\nHalf an hour afterwards, on Sir Thomas's looking in for a minute, Lady Bertram called him back. \"Sir Thomas, stop a moment-I have something to say.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of raising her voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves could bear. She was anxious, she knew-more anxious perhaps than she ought to be-for what was it after all whether she went or staid? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive and indifferent. Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. It began, on Lady Bertram's part, with-\"I have something to tell you that will surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner.\"\n\"Well,\" said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.\n\"Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?\"\n","abridged":"Her tone of calm languor was always attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves could bear. She was more anxious perhaps than she ought to be-for what was it after all whether she went or stayed? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering with grave looks, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive.\nHer cause, meanwhile, went on well. Lady Bertram began, \"I have something to tell you that will surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner.\"\n\"Well,\" said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.\n\"Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"She will be late,\" said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; \"but what is your difficulty?\"\nEdmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks in his mother's story. He told the whole; and she had only to add, \"So strange! for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her.\"\n\"But is it not very natural,\" observed Edmund, \"that Mrs. Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?\"\n","abridged":"\"What is your difficulty?\"\nEdmund found himself obliged to speak. He told the whole; and she added, \"So strange! for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her.\"\n\"But is it not very natural,\" observed Edmund, \"that Mrs. Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nothing can be more natural,\" said Sir Thomas, after a short deliberation; \"nor, were there no sister in the case, could anything, in my opinion, be more natural. Mrs. Grant's shewing civility to Miss Price, to Lady Bertram's niece, could never want explanation. The only surprise I can feel is, that this should be the _first_ time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving only a conditional answer. She appears to feel as she ought. But as I conclude that she must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason why she should be denied the indulgence.\"\n\"But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?\"\n\"Indeed I think you may.\"\n\"She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here.\"\n\"Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day with us, and I shall certainly be at home.\"\n","abridged":"\"Nothing can be more natural,\" said Sir Thomas. \"Mrs. Grant's showing civility to Lady Bertram's niece could never want explanation. The only surprise is, that this should be the first time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving a conditional answer. But as I conclude that she must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason why she should be denied.\"\n\"But can I do without her, Sir Thomas? She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here.\"\n\"Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to stay with us, and I shall be at home.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund.\"\nThe good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door in his way to his own.\n\"Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the smallest hesitation on your uncle's side. He had but one opinion. You are to go.\"\n\"Thank you, I am _so_ glad,\" was Fanny's instinctive reply; though when she had turned from him and shut the door, she could not help feeling, \"And yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of seeing or hearing something there to pain me?\"\n","abridged":"\"Very well, then, Fanny may go.\"\nThe good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door.\n\"Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled. You are to go.\"\n\"Thank you, I am so glad,\" was Fanny's instinctive reply; though when she had shut the door, she could not help feeling, \"Yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of hearing something there to pain me?\"\n"}
+{"original":"In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. Simple as such an engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she had scarcely ever dined out before; and though now going only half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and all the little interests of preparation were enjoyments in themselves. She had neither sympathy nor assistance from those who ought to have entered into her feelings and directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence of an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill humour, and seemed intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure, both present and future, as much as possible.\n\"Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with such attention and indulgence! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go, and you ought to look upon it as something extraordinary; for I hope you are aware that there is no real occasion for your going into company in this sort of way, or ever dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon ever being repeated. Nor must you be fancying that the invitation is meant as any particular compliment to _you_; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to _us_ to take a little notice of you, or else it would never have come into her head, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have been asked at all.\"\nMrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny, who found herself expected to speak, could only say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, and that she was endeavouring to put her aunt's evening work in such a state as to prevent her being missed.\n","abridged":"In spite of this, however, she was glad. Simple as the engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in hers, for she had scarcely ever dined out before; and though going only half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and all the little preparations were enjoyments in themselves. She had no assistance from those who ought to have directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, was in a very ill humour, intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure.\n\"Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go; for there is no occasion for your going into company in this way, or ever dining out at all. Do not fancy that the invitation is meant as any compliment to you; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to us, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have been asked at all.\"\nMrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny could only say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, or you would not be allowed to go. _I_ shall be here, so you may be quite easy about your aunt. And I hope you will have a very _agreeable_ day, and find it all mighty _delightful_. But I must observe that five is the very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I cannot but be surprised that such an _elegant_ lady as Mrs. Grant should not contrive better! And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been contented to take my dining-table when I came away, as anybody in their senses would have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, which is wider, literally wider than the dinner-table here, how infinitely better it would have been! and how much more he would have been respected! for people are never respected when they step out of their proper sphere. Remember that, Fanny. ","abridged":"\"Oh! your aunt can do very well without you, or you would not be allowed to go. I shall be here, so you may be quite easy. And I hope you will find it all mighty delightful. But I must observe that five is the very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I am surprised at Mrs. Grant! And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been content to take my dining-table when I came away, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, how infinitely better it would have been! "}
+{"original":"Five-only five to be sitting round that table. However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say.\"\nMrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again.\n\"The nonsense and folly of people's stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give _you_ a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins-as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. _That_ will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last; and though Miss Crawford is in a manner at home at the Parsonage, you are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at night, you are to stay just as long as Edmund chuses. Leave him to settle _that_.\"\n\"Yes, ma'am, I should not think of anything else.\"\n","abridged":"Only five to be sitting round that table. However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say.\"\nMrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again.\n\"I must give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company; do not be putting yourself forward, and talking as if you were one of your cousins-as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last. And you are to stay just as long as Edmund chooses. Leave him to settle that.\"\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, for I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life, you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you. I certainly do not go home to-night, and, therefore, the carriage will not be out on my account; so you must make up your mind to what may happen, and take your things accordingly.\"\nHer niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas soon afterwards, just opening the door, said, \"Fanny, at what time would you have the carriage come round?\" she felt a degree of astonishment which made it impossible for her to speak.\n\"My dear Sir Thomas!\" cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, \"Fanny can walk.\"\n","abridged":"\"And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you.\"\nHer niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to comfort as low as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas, just opening the door, said, \"Fanny, at what time would you have the carriage come round?\" she felt astonished.\n\"My dear Sir Thomas!\" cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, \"Fanny can walk.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Walk!\" repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity, and coming farther into the room. \"My niece walk to a dinner engagement at this time of the year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you?\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" was Fanny's humble answer, given with the feelings almost of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and not bearing to remain with her in what might seem a state of triumph, she followed her uncle out of the room, having staid behind him only long enough to hear these words spoken in angry agitation-\n\"Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; true, it is upon Edmund's account. I observed he was hoarse on Thursday night.\"\n","abridged":"\"Walk!\" repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity. \"My niece walk to a dinner engagement at this time of the year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you?\"\n\"Yes, sir,\" was Fanny's humble answer, given with the feelings of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and as she followed her uncle out of the room, she heard these words spoken in angry agitation-\n\"Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; it is upon Edmund's account.\"\n"}
+{"original":"But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the carriage was for herself, and herself alone: and her uncle's consideration of her, coming immediately after such representations from her aunt, cost her some tears of gratitude when she was alone.\nThe coachman drove round to a minute; another minute brought down the gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most scrupulous fear of being late, been many minutes seated in the drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them off in as good time as his own correctly punctual habits required.\n\"Now I must look at you, Fanny,\" said Edmund, with the kind smile of an affectionate brother, \"and tell you how I like you; and as well as I can judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on?\"\n\"The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on my cousin's marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought I ought to wear it as soon as I could, and that I might not have such another opportunity all the winter. I hope you do not think me too fine.\"\n","abridged":"Fanny, however, felt that the carriage was for herself: and her uncle's consideration cost her some tears of gratitude when she was alone.\nThe coachman drove round promptly; and Sir Thomas saw Fanny and Edmund off in good time.\n\"Now I must look at you, Fanny,\" said Edmund, with the kind smile of a brother, \"and tell you how I like you; and as well as I can judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on?\"\n\"The new dress that my uncle kindly gave me on my cousin's marriage. I thought I ought to wear it, as I might not have another opportunity all winter. I hope you do not think me too fine.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. No, I see no finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly proper. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?\"\nIn approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard and coach-house.\n","abridged":"\"A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?\"\nIn approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Heyday!\" said Edmund, \"here's company, here's a carriage! who have they got to meet us?\" And letting down the side-glass to distinguish, \"'Tis Crawford's, Crawford's barouche, I protest! There are his own two men pushing it back into its old quarters. He is here, of course. This is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him.\"\nThere was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say how very differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe her was a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the very awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.\n","abridged":"\"Heyday!\" said Edmund, \"here's a carriage! who have they got to meet us? 'Tis Crawford's barouche! There are his men. This is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him.\"\nThere was no occasion for Fanny to say how differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe her caused a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.\n"}
+{"original":"In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was, having been just long enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the smiles and pleased looks of the three others standing round him, shewed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath. A very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to _her_ there might be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being suffered to sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of this herself; for though she must submit, as her own propriety of mind directed, in spite of her aunt Norris's opinion, to being the principal lady in company, and to all the little distinctions consequent thereon, she found, while they were at table, such a happy flow of conversation prevailing, in which she was not required to take any part-there was so much to be said between the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two young men about hunting, so much of politics between Mr. Crawford and Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together between Mr. Crawford and Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day. She could not compliment the newly arrived gentleman, however, with any appearance of interest, in a scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunters from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in possession of his mind, and which he seemed to want to be encouraged even by her to resolve on. Her opinion was sought as to the probable continuance of the open weather, but her answers were as short and indifferent as civility allowed. She could not wish him to stay, and would much rather not have him speak to her.\n","abridged":"In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was; and the smiles of the three others standing round him, showed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath. A very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general.\nHis presence at least meant that she could sit silent and unattended to. Though she must submit to being the principal lady in company, she found, while they were at table, a happy flow of conversation in which she was not required to take any part. There was so much to be said about Bath, and hunting, and politics, and everything else, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day.\nShe could not, however, show any eager interest in the gentleman's scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunters from Norfolk, which, urged by all the others, was in possession of his mind, and in which he seemed to want encouragement even from Fanny. Her answers to him were as short and indifferent as civility allowed. She would much rather not have him speak to her.\n"}
+{"original":"Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts on seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance affected _his_ spirits. Here he was again on the same ground where all had passed before, and apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. She heard them spoken of by him only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled in the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some matter of business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to engross them, and Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began talking of them with more particularity to his other sister. With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he said, \"So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I understand; happy man!\"\n\"Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price, have they not? And Julia is with them.\"\n\"And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off.\"\n","abridged":"Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts; but no embarrassing remembrance affected his spirits. He was apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. He spoke of them only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled in the drawing-room, when he began talking of them to Miss Crawford. With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he said, \"So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I understand; happy man!\"\n\"Yes, they have been there a fortnight. Julia is with them.\"\n\"And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr. Yates! Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I think my friend Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr. Yates.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I think Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr. Yates.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!\" continued Crawford. \"Nobody can ever forget them. Poor fellow! I see him now-his toil and his despair. Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and-forty speeches to her\"; adding, with a momentary seriousness, \"She is too good for him-much too good.\" And then changing his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, \"You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable patience in trying to make it possible for him to learn his part-in trying to give him a brain which nature had denied-to mix up an understanding for him out of the superfluity of your own! _He_ might not have sense enough himself to estimate your kindness, but I may venture to say that it had honour from all the rest of the party.\"\nFanny coloured, and said nothing.\n","abridged":"\"Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!\" continued Crawford. \"Nobody can ever forget them. Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and-forty speeches to her\"; adding, with a momentary seriousness, \"She is too good for him-much too good.\" Then changing again to gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, \"You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and patience to him can never be forgotten. He might not have sense enough himself to value your kindness, but it had honour from all the rest of the party.\"\nFanny coloured, and said nothing.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!\" he exclaimed, breaking forth again, after a few minutes' musing. \"I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit diffused. Everybody felt it. We were all alive. There was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, some little anxiety to be got over. I never was happier.\"\n","abridged":"\"It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!\" he exclaimed, after a few minutes' musing. \"I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an animation. We were all alive. There was employment, hope, bustle, for every hour of the day. I never was happier.\"\n"}
+{"original":"With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, \"Never happier!-never happier than when doing what you must know was not justifiable!-never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and unfeelingly! Oh! what a corrupted mind!\"\n\"We were unlucky, Miss Price,\" he continued, in a lower tone, to avoid the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not at all aware of her feelings, \"we certainly were very unlucky. Another week, only one other week, would have been enough for us. I think if we had had the disposal of events-if Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, about the equinox, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather-but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week's calm in the Atlantic at that season.\"\nHe seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting her face, said, with a firmer tone than usual, \"As far as _I_ am concerned, sir, I would not have delayed his return for a day. My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had gone quite far enough.\"\n","abridged":"With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, \"Never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and unfeelingly! Oh! what a corrupted mind!\"\n\"We were unlucky, Miss Price,\" he continued, in a lower tone, not at all aware of her feelings. \"Another week would have been enough for us. If Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather-but I think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week's calm in the Atlantic.\"\nFanny, averting her face, said, with a firmer tone than usual, \"I would not have delayed his return for a day, sir. My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had gone quite far enough.\"\n"}
+{"original":"She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life before, and never so angrily to any one; and when her speech was over, she trembled and blushed at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, and as if the candid result of conviction, \"I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy.\" And then turning the conversation, he would have engaged her on some other subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not advance in any.\nMiss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now observed, \"Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to discuss.\"\n","abridged":"She had never spoken so much at once to him before, and never so angrily to any one; and she trembled at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, \"I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy.\" He would have engaged her on some other subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not advance in any.\nMiss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now observed, \"Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to discuss.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"The most interesting in the world,\" replied her brother-\"how to make money; how to turn a good income into a better. Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into so soon. I find he takes orders in a few weeks. They were at it in the dining-parlour. I am glad to hear Bertram will be so well off. He will have a very pretty income to make ducks and drakes with, and earned without much trouble. I apprehend he will not have less than seven hundred a year. Seven hundred a year is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for his _menus_ _plaisirs_; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will be the sum total of sacrifice.\"\nHis sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, \"Nothing amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than themselves. You would look rather blank, Henry, if your _menus_ _plaisirs_ were to be limited to seven hundred a year.\"\n","abridged":"\"The most interesting in the world,\" replied her brother-\"how to make money. Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into soon. He takes orders in a few weeks. He will have a very pretty income, earned without much trouble: seven hundred a year. That is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for small luxuries; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will be the sum total of sacrifice.\"\nHis sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, \"Nothing amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than themselves. You would look rather blank, Henry, if your small luxuries were to be limited to seven hundred a year.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Perhaps I might; but all _that_ you know is entirely comparative. Birthright and habit must settle the business. Bertram is certainly well off for a cadet of even a baronet's family. By the time he is four or five and twenty he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing to do for it.\"\nMiss Crawford _could_ have said that there would be a something to do and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she checked herself and let it pass; and tried to look calm and unconcerned when the two gentlemen shortly afterwards joined them.\n","abridged":"\"Perhaps; but Bertram is certainly well off for a cadet of a baronet's family. By the time he is five and twenty he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing to do for it.\"\nMiss Crawford could have said that there would be a something to do for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she let it pass; and tried to look unconcerned when the two gentlemen joined them.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Bertram,\" said Henry Crawford, \"I shall make a point of coming to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. I shall come on purpose to encourage a young beginner. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me in encouraging your cousin? Will not you engage to attend with your eyes steadily fixed on him the whole time-as I shall do-not to lose a word; or only looking off just to note down any sentence preeminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a pencil. When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield, you know, that Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram may hear you.\"\n\"I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can,\" said Edmund; \"for you would be more likely to disconcert me, and I should be more sorry to see you trying at it than almost any other man.\"\n","abridged":"\"Bertram,\" said Henry Crawford, \"I shall make a point of coming to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me? Will not you fix your eyes steadily on him the whole time-as I shall do-only looking down to note any sentence pre-eminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a pencil. When will it be?\"\n\"I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can,\" said Edmund; \"for you would disconcert me, and I should be more sorry to see you trying at it than almost any other man.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Will he not feel this?\" thought Fanny. \"No, he can feel nothing as he ought.\"\nThe party being now all united, and the chief talkers attracting each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist-table was formed after tea-formed really for the amusement of Dr. Grant, by his attentive wife, though it was not to be supposed so-and Miss Crawford took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen; and her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then addressed to her a question or observation, which she could not avoid answering. Miss Crawford was too much vexed by what had passed to be in a humour for anything but music. With that she soothed herself and amused her friend.\n","abridged":"\"Will he not feel this?\" thought Fanny. \"No, he can feel nothing as he ought.\"\nThe party being now united, and the chief talkers attracting each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist-table was formed after tea for the amusement of Dr. Grant, and Miss Crawford took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen. Her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then addressed to her a question, which she could not avoid answering.\nMiss Crawford was too much vexed to be in a humour for anything but music. "}
+{"original":"The assurance of Edmund's being so soon to take orders, coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still hoped uncertain and at a distance, was felt with resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She _had_ begun to think of him; she felt that she had, with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond immediate amusement. If _he_ could so command his affections, _hers_ should do her no harm.","abridged":"Edmund's being so soon to take orders had come upon her like a blow; she had hoped it still uncertain, and felt resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She had begun to think of him with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference, and would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond her immediate amusement."}
+{"original":"Tom Bertram had of late spent so little of his time at home that he could be only nominally missed; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished to find how very well they did even without his father, how well Edmund could supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, writing to the attorney, settling with the servants, and equally saving her from all possible fatigue or exertion in every particular but that of directing her letters.\nThe earliest intelligence of the travellers' safe arrival at Antigua, after a favourable voyage, was received; though not before Mrs. Norris had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and trying to make Edmund participate them whenever she could get him alone; and as she depended on being the first person made acquainted with any fatal catastrophe, she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir Thomas's assurances of their both being alive and well made it necessary to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatory speeches for a while.\nThe winter came and passed without their being called for; the accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their toilets, displaying their accomplishments, and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to do as, in addition to all her own household cares, some interference in those of her sister, and Mrs. Grant's wasteful doings to overlook, left her very little occasion to be occupied in fears for the absent.\nThe Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the belles of the neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy, and carefully formed to general civility and obligingness, they possessed its favour as well as its admiration. Their vanity was in such good order that they seemed to be quite free from it, and gave themselves no airs; while the praises attending such behaviour, secured and brought round by their aunt, served to strengthen them in believing they had no faults.\nLady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. She was too indolent even to accept a mother's gratification in witnessing their success and enjoyment at the expense of any personal trouble, and the charge was made over to her sister, who desired nothing better than a post of such honourable representation, and very thoroughly relished the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to hire.\n","abridged":"Lady Bertram was soon astonished to find how well they did without Sir Thomas, how well Edmund could supply his place in carving, settling with the servants, and saving her from all possible exertion.\nNews of the travellers' safe arrival at Antigua was received; though not before Mrs. Norris had been indulging in very dreadful fears; and as she depended on being the first person to learn of any catastrophe, she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir Thomas's assurances of their being alive and well made it necessary to lay by preparatory speeches for a while.\nThe winter passed without their being called for; the accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for her nieces, displaying their accomplishments, and looking about for their future husbands, had very little time to fear for the absent.\nThe Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the neighbourhood's belles; and as they joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy and civil, they gained favour as well as admiration. Their vanity was in such good order that they seemed to be quite free from it, and gave themselves no airs; while the praises secured and brought round by their aunt strengthened them in believing they had no faults.\nLady Bertram was too indolent to go into public with her daughters. The charge was made over to her sister, who thoroughly relished the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to hire.\n"}
+{"original":"Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; but she enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt's companion when they called away the rest of the family; and, as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became everything to Lady Bertram during the night of a ball or a party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to her; and the tranquillity of such evenings, her perfect security in such a _tte--tte_ from any sound of unkindness, was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments. As to her cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with; but thought too lowly of her own situation to imagine she should ever be admitted to the same, and listened, therefore, without an idea of any nearer concern in them. Upon the whole, it was a comfortable winter to her; for though it brought no William to England, the never-failing hope of his arrival was worth much.\n","abridged":"Fanny had no share in the season's festivities; but she enjoyed being useful as her aunt's companion; and, as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became everything to Lady Bertram during the night of a party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to her; and the tranquillity of such evenings was unspeakably welcome to her mind. As to her cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with; but never imagined she should ever be admitted to the same. It was a comfortable winter to her; for though it brought no William to England, the never-failing hope of his arrival was worth much.\n"}
+{"original":"The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend, the old grey pony; and for some time she was in danger of feeling the loss in her health as well as in her affections; for in spite of the acknowledged importance of her riding on horse-back, no measures were taken for mounting her again, \"because,\" as it was observed by her aunts, \"she might ride one of her cousin's horses at any time when they did not want them,\" and as the Miss Bertrams regularly wanted their horses every fine day, and had no idea of carrying their obliging manners to the sacrifice of any real pleasure, that time, of course, never came. They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny either sat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at the instigation of the other: Lady Bertram holding exercise to be as unnecessary for everybody as it was unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walking all day, thinking everybody ought to walk as much. Edmund was absent at this time, or the evil would have been earlier remedied. When he returned, to understand how Fanny was situated, and perceived its ill effects, there seemed with him but one thing to be done; and that \"Fanny must have a horse\" was the resolute declaration with which he opposed whatever could be urged by the supineness of his mother, or the economy of his aunt, to make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help thinking that some steady old thing might be found among the numbers belonging to the Park that would do vastly well; or that one might be borrowed of the steward; or that perhaps Dr. Grant might now and then lend them the pony he sent to the post. She could not but consider it as absolutely unnecessary, and even improper, that Fanny should have a regular lady's horse of her own, in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir Thomas had never intended it: and she must say that, to be making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to the great expenses of his stable, at a time when a large part of his income was unsettled, seemed to her very unjustifiable. \"Fanny must have a horse,\" was Edmund's only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see it in the same light. Lady Bertram did: she entirely agreed with her son as to the necessity of it, and as to its being considered necessary by his father; she only pleaded against there being any hurry; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas's return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself. ","abridged":"The spring deprived her of her friend, the old grey pony; and she was in danger of feeling the loss in her health as well as in her affections; for despite the acknowledged importance of her riding, no measures were taken for mounting her again, \"because,\" as her aunts observed, \"she might ride her cousins' horses at any time when they did not want them.\" As the Miss Bertrams wanted their horses every fine day, and had no idea of sacrificing any real pleasure, that time never came. They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny either sat at home all day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at the instigation of the other: Lady Bertram holding exercise to be unnecessary; and Mrs. Norris thinking everybody ought to walk all day, as she did.\nEdmund was absent; but when he returned and saw how Fanny was affected, \"Fanny must have a horse\" was his resolute declaration. Mrs. Norris thought some steady old thing might be found at the Park that would do. She considered it as unnecessary, and even improper, that Fanny should have a lady's horse of her own, in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir Thomas had never intended it: and to be adding to the great expenses of his stable, at a time when his income was unsettled, seemed to her unjustifiable.\n\"Fanny must have a horse,\" was Edmund's only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see it in the same light. Lady Bertram agreed with her son; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas's return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it himself. "}
+{"original":"He would be at home in September, and where would be the harm of only waiting till September?\nThough Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help paying more attention to what she said; and at length determined on a method of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father's thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he knew where such a one was to be met with; and having once made up his mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; with a very little trouble she became exactly calculated for the purpose, and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. She had not supposed before that anything could ever suit her like the old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund's mare was far beyond any former pleasure of the sort; and the addition it was ever receiving in the consideration of that kindness from which her pleasure sprung, was beyond all her words to express. She regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great, as possessing worth which no one but herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender.\n","abridged":"He would be at home in September, and where would be the harm of waiting till then?\nEdmund determined on a method of proceeding which would not cost too much. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this third he exchanged for one that his cousin might ride. The whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; and Fanny was put in possession of her. She had not supposed that anything could suit her like the old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund's mare was far beyond her former pleasure; and her appreciation of his kindness was beyond words. She regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great, entitled to more gratitude than she could ever pay him. Her feelings towards him were all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender.\n"}
+{"original":"As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the property of Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny's use; and had Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objection again, he might have been excused in her eyes for not waiting till Sir Thomas's return in September, for when September came Sir Thomas was still abroad, and without any near prospect of finishing his business. Unfavourable circumstances had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning to turn all his thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty in which everything was then involved determined him on sending home his son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself. Tom arrived safely, bringing an excellent account of his father's health; but to very little purpose, as far as Mrs. Norris was concerned. Sir Thomas's sending away his son seemed to her so like a parent's care, under the influence of a foreboding of evil to himself, that she could not help feeling dreadful presentiments; and as the long evenings of autumn came on, was so terribly haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of her cottage, as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room of the Park. The return of winter engagements, however, was not without its effect; and in the course of their progress, her mind became so pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece, as tolerably to quiet her nerves. \"If poor Sir Thomas were fated never to return, it would be peculiarly consoling to see their dear Maria well married,\" she very often thought; always when they were in the company of men of fortune, and particularly on the introduction of a young man who had recently succeeded to one of the largest estates and finest places in the country.\n","abridged":"As the horse continued to be Edmund's property, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny's use; and had Lady Bertram ever thought about the matter, she might have excused Edmund for not waiting till Sir Thomas's return, for when September came Sir Thomas was still abroad.\nUnfavourable circumstances had suddenly arisen; and the great uncertainty of his affairs determined him on sending home his son, and staying on by himself. Tom arrived safely, bringing an excellent account of his father's health; but Mrs. Norris could not help feeling dreadful presentiments; and as the long autumn evenings came on, was so terribly haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of her cottage, as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room of the Park.\nThe return of winter engagements, however, was not without effect; her mind became pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece. \"If poor Sir Thomas were never to return, it would be consoling to see dear Maria well married,\" she often thought; always when they were in the company of men of fortune, particularly one young man who had recently succeeded to one of the largest estates in the country.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of Miss Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himself in love. He was a heavy young man, with not more than common sense; but as there was nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the young lady was well pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty; and as a marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her father's, as well as ensure her the house in town, which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. Mrs. Norris was most zealous in promoting the match, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to enhance its desirableness to either party; and, among other means, by seeking an intimacy with the gentleman's mother, who at present lived with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram to go through ten miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit. It was not long before a good understanding took place between this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself very desirous that her son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladies she had ever seen, Miss Bertram seemed, by her amiable qualities and accomplishments, the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment, and admired the nice discernment of character which could so well distinguish merit. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all-perfectly faultless-an angel; and, of course, so surrounded by admirers, must be difficult in her choice: but yet, as far as Mrs. Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an acquaintance, Mr. Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to deserve and attach her.\nAfter dancing with each other at a proper number of balls, the young people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a due reference to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much to the satisfaction of their respective families, and of the general lookers-on of the neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past, felt the expediency of Mr. Rushworth's marrying Miss Bertram.\nIt was some months before Sir Thomas's consent could be received; but, in the meanwhile, as no one felt a doubt of his most cordial pleasure in the connexion, the intercourse of the two families was carried on without restraint, and no other attempt made at secrecy than Mrs. Norris's talking of it everywhere as a matter not to be talked of at present.\n","abridged":"Mr. Rushworth was struck with the beauty of Miss Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himself in love. He was a heavy young man, with not more than common sense; but as there was nothing disagreeable in his address, the young lady was well pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was beginning to think that she ought to marry; and as marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her father's, as well as a house in town, it became her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could.\nMrs. Norris was zealous in promoting the match by every contrivance, and by seeking an intimacy with the gentleman's mother. It was not long before a good understanding took place between this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth desired that her son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladies she had seen, Miss Bertram seemed the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all-perfectly faultless-an angel; and, of course, surrounded by admirers: yet Mr. Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to attach her.\nAfter dancing with each other at a proper number of balls, the young people entered into an engagement, much to the satisfaction of their families, and of the general lookers-on of the neighbourhood.\nIt was some months before Sir Thomas's consent could be received; but as no one doubted his pleasure, the two families met without restraint, and with no other attempt made at secrecy than Mrs. Norris's talking of it everywhere as a matter not to be talked of at present.\n"}
+{"original":"Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault in the business; but no representation of his aunt's could induce him to find Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He could allow his sister to be the best judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that her happiness should centre in a large income; nor could he refrain from often saying to himself, in Mr. Rushworth's company-\"If this man had not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow.\"\nSir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an alliance so unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard nothing but the perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connexion exactly of the right sort-in the same county, and the same interest-and his most hearty concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only conditioned that the marriage should not take place before his return, which he was again looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong hopes of settling everything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving Antigua before the end of the summer.\n","abridged":"Edmund was the only one who could see a fault in the business; he could not find Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He allowed his sister to be the best judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that her happiness should centre in a large income; nor could he refrain from often saying to himself, when he was in Mr. Rushworth's company-\"If this man had not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow.\"\nSir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an alliance so advantageous. His hearty concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only asked that the marriage should not take place before his return. He wrote in April, and had strong hopes of settling everything to his satisfaction, and leaving Antigua before the end of the summer.\n"}
+{"original":"Such was the state of affairs in the month of July; and Fanny had just reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the village received an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. and Miss Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage. They were young people of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, the daughter twenty thousand pounds. As children, their sister had been always very fond of them; but, as her own marriage had been soon followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the care of a brother of their father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle's house they had found a kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else, were united in affection for these children, or, at least, were no farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their favourite, to whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. The Admiral delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady's death which now obliged her _protegee_, after some months' further trial at her uncle's house, to find another home. Admiral Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining his niece, to bring his mistress under his own roof; and to this Mrs. Grant was indebted for her sister's proposal of coming to her, a measure quite as welcome on one side as it could be expedient on the other; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time run through the usual resources of ladies residing in the country without a family of children-having more than filled her favourite sitting-room with pretty furniture, and made a choice collection of plants and poultry-was very much in want of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a sister whom she had always loved, and now hoped to retain with her as long as she remained single, was highly agreeable; and her chief anxiety was lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a young woman who had been mostly used to London.\n","abridged":"Such was the state of affairs in July; and Fanny had just reached her eighteenth year, when the village received an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. and Miss Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage.\nThey were young people of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, the daughter twenty thousand pounds. As Mrs Grant's own marriage had been soon followed by the death of their common parent, she had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle's house they had found a kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else, were united in affection for these children. The Admiral delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady's death which now obliged her protge to find another home. Admiral Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose to bring his mistress under his own roof; and Mrs. Grant's sister proposed to come to her, a measure welcome on both sides; for Mrs. Grant was in want of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a beloved sister was highly agreeable; and her chief anxiety was lest Mansfield should not satisfy a young woman who was used to London.\n"}
+{"original":"Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions, though they arose principally from doubts of her sister's style of living and tone of society; and it was not till after she had tried in vain to persuade her brother to settle with her at his own country house, that she could resolve to hazard herself among her other relations. To anything like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society, Henry Crawford had, unluckily, a great dislike: he could not accommodate his sister in an article of such importance; but he escorted her, with the utmost kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch her away again, at half an hour's notice, whenever she were weary of the place.\nThe meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss Crawford found a sister without preciseness or rusticity, a sister's husband who looked the gentleman, and a house commodious and well fitted up; and Mrs. Grant received in those whom she hoped to love better than ever a young man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was remarkably pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant immediately gave them credit for everything else. She was delighted with each, but Mary was her dearest object; and having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, she thoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her sister's. She had not waited her arrival to look out for a suitable match for her: she had fixed on Tom Bertram; the eldest son of a baronet was not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, with all the elegance and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in her; and being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not been three hours in the house before she told her what she had planned.\n","abridged":"Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions; and it was not till after she had tried in vain to persuade her brother to settle with her at his own country house, that she resolved to try her other relations. Henry Crawford had a great dislike of settling in one place; but he kindly escorted his sister into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch her away again, at half an hour's notice, whenever she might be weary of it.\nThe meeting was very satisfactory. Miss Crawford found a sister with refinement, a sister's husband who looked the gentleman, and a house commodious and well fitted up; and Mrs. Grant received a young man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was remarkably pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant immediately gave them credit for everything else. She was delighted with each, but Mary was her dearest object; and having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, she thoroughly enjoyed being proud of her sister's. She had already looked out for a suitable match for her: she had fixed on Tom Bertram; the eldest son of a baronet was not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds with elegance and accomplishments; and since she was a warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not been three hours in the house before she told her what she had planned.\n"}
+{"original":"Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence so very near them, and not at all displeased either at her sister's early care, or the choice it had fallen on. Matrimony was her object, provided she could marry well: and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that objection could no more be made to his person than to his situation in life. While she treated it as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to think of it seriously. The scheme was soon repeated to Henry.\n\"And now,\" added Mrs. Grant, \"I have thought of something to make it complete. I should dearly love to settle you both in this country; and therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, who will make you very happy.\"\nHenry bowed and thanked her.\n","abridged":"Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of consequence so near them, and not at all displeased at her sister's choice. Matrimony was her object, provided she could marry well: and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that no objection could be made to his person. While she treated it as a joke, she did not forget to think of it seriously. The scheme was repeated to Henry.\n\"And now,\" added Mrs. Grant, \"I have thought of something to make it complete. I should dearly love to settle you both here; and therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured girl, who will make you very happy.\"\nHenry bowed and thanked her.\n"}
+{"original":"\"My dear sister,\" said Mary, \"if you can persuade him into anything of the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to find myself allied to anybody so clever, and I shall only regret that you have not half a dozen daughters to dispose of. If you can persuade Henry to marry, you must have the address of a Frenchwoman. All that English abilities can do has been tried already. I have three very particular friends who have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains which they, their mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is inconceivable! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry.\"\n\"My dear brother, I will not believe this of you.\"\n","abridged":"\"My dear sister,\" said Mary, \"if you can persuade him into anything of the sort, I shall be delighted. I have three friends who have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains which they, their mothers, my dear aunt and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is inconceivable! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry.\"\n\"My dear brother, I will not believe this.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. I am of a cautious temper, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can think more highly of the matrimonial state than myself. I consider the blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of the poet-'Heaven's _last_ best gift.'\"\n\"There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look at his smile. I assure you he is very detestable; the Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him.\"\n\"I pay very little regard,\" said Mrs. Grant, \"to what any young person says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a disinclination for it, I only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person.\"\n","abridged":"\"No, I am sure you will be kinder than Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth. I am cautious, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can think more highly of matrimony than myself. I consider the blessing of a wife as most justly described by the poet-'Heaven's last best gift.'\"\n\"There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look at his smile. I assure you he is detestable; the Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him.\"\n\"I pay very little regard,\" said Mrs. Grant, \"to what any young person says about marriage. If they profess a disinclination for it, I know that they have not yet seen the right person.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling no disinclination to the state herself.\n\"Oh yes! I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have everybody marry if they can do it properly: I do not like to have people throw themselves away; but everybody should marry as soon as they can do it to advantage.\"","abridged":"Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling no disinclination to the state herself.\n\"Oh yes! I am not ashamed of it. I would have everybody marry if they can do it to advantage.\""}
+{"original":"Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted with all that Fanny could tell, or could leave to be conjectured of her sentiments, and he was satisfied. It had been, as he before presumed, too hasty a measure on Crawford's side, and time must be given to make the idea first familiar, and then agreeable to her. She must be used to the consideration of his being in love with her, and then a return of affection might not be very distant.\nHe gave this opinion as the result of the conversation to his father; and recommended there being nothing more said to her: no farther attempts to influence or persuade; but that everything should be left to Crawford's assiduities, and the natural workings of her own mind.\nSir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund's account of Fanny's disposition he could believe to be just; he supposed she had all those feelings, but he must consider it as very unfortunate that she _had_; for, less willing than his son to trust to the future, he could not help fearing that if such very long allowances of time and habit were necessary for her, she might not have persuaded herself into receiving his addresses properly before the young man's inclination for paying them were over. There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit quietly and hope the best.\n","abridged":"Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted with all that Fanny could tell, and he was satisfied. Crawford had been too hasty. Once she was used to the idea of his being in love with her, a return of affection might not be very distant.\nHe gave this opinion to his father; and recommended that nothing more be said to her: but that everything should be left to Crawford's diligence, and the natural workings of her own mind.\nSir Thomas promised that it should be so. He believed Edmund's account of Fanny's nature to be just, but he considered it as unfortunate; for he could not help fearing that if such very long allowances of time were necessary for her, she might not have persuaded herself into receiving his addresses before the young man's inclination for paying them were over. There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit and hope for the best.\n"}
+{"original":"The promised visit from \"her friend,\" as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said, and in another light so triumphant and secure, she was in every way an object of painful alarm. Her displeasure, her penetration, and her happiness were all fearful to encounter; and the dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny's only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.\n","abridged":"The promised visit from \"her friend,\" as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said, she was an object of painful alarm. The dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny's only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.\n"}
+{"original":"She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room, with her aunt, when Miss Crawford did come; and the first misery over, and Miss Crawford looking and speaking with much less particularity of expression than she had anticipated, Fanny began to hope there would be nothing worse to be endured than a half-hour of moderate agitation. But here she hoped too much; Miss Crawford was not the slave of opportunity. She was determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice, \"I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere\"; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.\n","abridged":"She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room, with her aunt, when Miss Crawford did come; and Fanny hoped there would be nothing worse to be endured than a half-hour of moderate agitation. But here she hoped too much; Miss Crawford was determined to see Fanny alone, and said to her, in a low voice, \"I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere\"; words that Fanny felt all over her. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her instantly rise and lead the way out of the room.\n"}
+{"original":"They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of countenance was over on Miss Crawford's side. She immediately shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach, and taking her hand, seemed hardly able to help beginning directly. She said nothing, however, but, \"Sad, sad girl! I do not know when I shall have done scolding you,\" and had discretion enough to reserve the rest till they might be secure of having four walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned upstairs, and took her guest to the apartment which was now always fit for comfortable use; opening the door, however, with a most aching heart, and feeling that she had a more distressing scene before her than ever that spot had yet witnessed. But the evil ready to burst on her was at least delayed by the sudden change in Miss Crawford's ideas; by the strong effect on her mind which the finding herself in the East room again produced.\n","abridged":"They were no sooner in the hall than Miss Crawford shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach, and took her hand: she said nothing, however, but, \"Sad, sad girl! I do not know when I shall have done scolding you.\"\nFanny turned upstairs, and took her guest to the East Room, opening the door, however, with a most aching heart, and feeling that she had a distressing scene before her. But the evil was delayed by the sudden change in Miss Crawford's ideas; by the strong effect on her mind which the finding herself in the East room again produced.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ha!\" she cried, with instant animation, \"am I here again? The East room! Once only was I in this room before\"; and after stopping to look about her, and seemingly to retrace all that had then passed, she added, \"Once only before. Do you remember it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it. ","abridged":"\"Ha!\" she cried, \"am I here again? Once only was I in this room before\"; and after stopping to look about her, \"Do you remember it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and you were our audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it. "}
+{"original":"Here we were, just in this part of the room: here was your cousin, here was I, here were the chairs. Oh! why will such things ever pass away?\"\nHappily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet remembrances.\n","abridged":"Oh! why will such things ever pass away?\"\nHappily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely self-engrossed, in a reverie of sweet remembrances.\n"}
+{"original":"\"The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! The subject of it so very-very-what shall I say? He was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me. I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. 'When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life.' I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I have of his looks and voice as he said those words. It was curious, very curious, that we should have such a scene to play! If I had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it should be that week-that acting week. Say what you would, Fanny, it should be _that_; for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did! ","abridged":"\"The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! The subject of it so very-very-what shall I say? He was recommending matrimony to me, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. 'When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life.' I can never forget his looks and voice as he said those words. If I could relive any one week of my existence, it should be that week; for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did! "}
+{"original":"Oh! it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you? Yet, Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all.\" And having said so, with a degree of tenderness and consciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before, and now thought only too becoming, she turned away for a moment to recover herself. ","abridged":"Oh! it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening destroyed it all, and brought your most unwelcome uncle. Yet, Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all.\" And with a degree of tenderness and consciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before, and now thought only too becoming, she turned away for a moment to recover herself.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I have had a little fit since I came into this room, as you may perceive,\" said she presently, with a playful smile, \"but it is over now; so let us sit down and be comfortable; for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending to do, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the point.\" And embracing her very affectionately, \"Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.\"\nFanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word \"last.\" She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could; and Miss Crawford, yet farther softened by the sight of such emotion, hung about her with fondness, and said, \"I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny.\"\n","abridged":"\"I have had a little fit since I came into this room, as you may perceive,\" said she presently, with a playful smile, \"but it is over; so let us sit down and be comfortable; for as to scolding you, Fanny, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the point.\" And embracing her affectionately, \"Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.\"\nFanny had not foreseen this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word \"last.\" She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could; and Miss Crawford, farther softened by the sight of such emotion, said, \"I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, \"But you are only going from one set of friends to another. You are going to a very particular friend.\"\n\"Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years. But I have not the least inclination to go near her. I can think only of the friends I am leaving: my excellent sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. You have all so much more _heart_ among you than one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you, which in common intercourse one knows nothing of. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till after Easter, a much better time for the visit, but now I cannot put her off. And when I have done with her I must go to her sister, Lady Stornaway, because _she_ was rather my most particular friend of the two, but I have not cared much for _her_ these three years.\"\n","abridged":"Fanny roused herself, and said, \"But you are going to a very particular friend.\"\n\"Very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years. But I have not the least inclination to go near her. I can think only of the friends I am leaving. You have all so much more heart among you than one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go till after Easter, but now I cannot put her off. And then I must go to her sister, Lady Stornaway, because she was my most particular friend of the two, but I have not cared much for her these three years.\"\n"}
+{"original":"After this speech the two girls sat many minutes silent, each thoughtful: Fanny meditating on the different sorts of friendship in the world, Mary on something of less philosophic tendency. _She_ first spoke again.\n\"How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for you upstairs, and setting off to find my way to the East room, without having an idea whereabouts it was! How well I remember what I was thinking of as I came along, and my looking in and seeing you here sitting at this table at work; and then your cousin's astonishment, when he opened the door, at seeing me here! To be sure, your uncle's returning that very evening! There never was anything quite like it.\"\nAnother short fit of abstraction followed, when, shaking it off, she thus attacked her companion.\n","abridged":"After this speech the two girls sat silent, before Mary spoke again.\n\"How perfectly I remember resolving to look for you upstairs, and setting off to find my way to the East room, without having an idea whereabouts it was! How well I remember looking in and seeing you sitting at work; and then your cousin's astonishment, when he opened the door, at seeing me here! There never was anything quite like it.\"\nAnother short fit of abstraction followed; then she thus attacked her companion.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie. Thinking, I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. Oh! that I could transport you for a short time into our circle in town, that you might understand how your power over Henry is thought of there! Oh! the envyings and heartburnings of dozens and dozens; the wonder, the incredulity that will be felt at hearing what you have done! For as to secrecy, Henry is quite the hero of an old romance, and glories in his chains. You should come to London to know how to estimate your conquest. If you were to see how he is courted, and how I am courted for his sake! Now, I am well aware that I shall not be half so welcome to Mrs. Fraser in consequence of his situation with you. ","abridged":"\"Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie. Thinking, I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. Oh! if only I could transport you into our circle in town, that you might understand how your power over Henry is thought of there! Oh! the envyings and heartburnings of dozens and dozens; the incredulity that will be felt at hearing what you have done! For as to secrecy, Henry glories in his chains. If you were to see how he is courted in London! I shall not be half so welcome to Mrs. Fraser"}
+{"original":"When she comes to know the truth she will, very likely, wish me in Northamptonshire again; for there is a daughter of Mr. Fraser, by a first wife, whom she is wild to get married, and wants Henry to take. Oh! she has been trying for him to such a degree. Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have an idea of the _sensation_ that you will be occasioning, of the curiosity there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall have to answer! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever about your eyes and your teeth, and how you do your hair, and who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret were married, for my poor friend's sake, for I look upon the Frasers to be about as unhappy as most other married people. And yet it was a most desirable match for Janet at the time. We were all delighted. She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich, and she had nothing; but he turns out ill-tempered and _exigeant_, and wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of five-and-twenty, to be as steady as himself. And my friend does not manage him well; she does not seem to know how to make the best of it. ","abridged":" when she knows the truth; for she has a step-daughter whom she is wild to get married, and wants Henry to take. Oh! she has been trying for him to such a degree. Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have an idea of the curiosity there will be about you, of the endless questions I shall have to answer! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever about how you do your hair, and who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret were married, for my poor friend's sake, for I think the Frasers are about as unhappy as most married people. And yet it was a most desirable match for Janet at the time. She had to accept him, for he was rich, and she had nothing; but he turns out ill-tempered and demanding, and wants a young woman of five-and-twenty to be as steady as himself. And my friend does not seem to know how to make the best of it. "}
+{"original":"There is a spirit of irritation which, to say nothing worse, is certainly very ill-bred. In their house I shall call to mind the conjugal manners of Mansfield Parsonage with respect. Even Dr. Grant does shew a thorough confidence in my sister, and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makes one feel there _is_ attachment; but of that I shall see nothing with the Frasers. I shall be at Mansfield for ever, Fanny. My own sister as a wife, Sir Thomas Bertram as a husband, are my standards of perfection. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in, and yet there was nothing improper on her side: she did not run into the match inconsiderately; there was no want of foresight. She took three days to consider of his proposals, and during those three days asked the advice of everybody connected with her whose opinion was worth having, and especially applied to my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the world made her judgment very generally and deservedly looked up to by all the young people of her acquaintance, and she was decidedly in favour of Mr. Fraser. This seems as if nothing were a security for matrimonial comfort. I have not so much to say for my friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues for the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway, who has about as much sense, Fanny, as Mr. Rushworth, but much worse-looking, and with a blackguard character. I _had_ my doubts at the time about her being right, for he has not even the air of a gentleman, and now I am sure she was wrong. ","abridged":"His irritation is certainly very ill-bred. Even Dr. Grant shows a confidence in my sister, and a consideration for her judgment, which makes one feel there is attachment; but of that I shall see nothing with the Frasers. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in, and yet she took three days to consider his proposals, and asked everyone's advice. I have not so much to say for my friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues for the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway, who has about as much sense as Mr. Rushworth, but is much worse-looking, and with a blackguard character. "}
+{"original":"By the bye, Flora Ross was dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to attempt to tell you of all the women whom I have known to be in love with him, I should never have done. It is you, only you, insensible Fanny, who can think of him with anything like indifference. But are you so insensible as you profess yourself? No, no, I see you are not.\"\nThere was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny's face at that moment as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed mind.\n","abridged":"Flora Ross was dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to tell you of all the women who have been in love with him, I should never finish. It is only you, unfeeling Fanny, who can think of him with indifference. But are you so insensible as you profess yourself? No, I see you are not.\"\nThere was, indeed, a deep blush over Fanny's face at that moment.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything shall take its course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that you were not so absolutely unprepared to have the question asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible but that you must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises as to what might be. You must have seen that he was trying to please you by every attention in his power. Was not he devoted to you at the ball? And then before the ball, the necklace! Oh! you received it just as it was meant. ","abridged":"\"Excellent creature! I will not tease you. But, dear Fanny, you cannot have been so unprepared as your cousin fancies. You must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises. You must have seen that Henry was trying to please you by every attention in his power. Was not he devoted to you at the ball? And the necklace! Oh! you received it just as it was meant. "}
+{"original":"You were as conscious as heart could desire. I remember it perfectly.\"\n\"Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace beforehand? Oh! Miss Crawford, _that_ was not fair.\"\n\"Knew of it! It was his own doing entirely, his own thought. I am ashamed to say that it had never entered my head, but I was delighted to act on his proposal for both your sakes.\"\n","abridged":"You were as conscious as heart could desire. I remember it perfectly.\"\n\"Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace beforehand? Oh! Miss Crawford, that was not fair.\"\n\"Knew of it! It was his own doing entirely. I am ashamed to say that it had never entered my head, but I was delighted to act on his proposal.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will not say,\" replied Fanny, \"that I was not half afraid at the time of its being so, for there was something in your look that frightened me, but not at first; I was as unsuspicious of it at first-indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here. And had I had an idea of it, nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, certainly I was sensible of a particularity: I had been sensible of it some little time, perhaps two or three weeks; but then I considered it as meaning nothing: I put it down as simply being his way, and was as far from supposing as from wishing him to have any serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss Crawford, been an inattentive observer of what was passing between him and some part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet, but I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford amused himself in gallantries which did mean nothing.\"\n","abridged":"\"I was half afraid at the time of its being so,\" said Fanny; \"but not at first; I was unsuspicious of it at first, indeed. If I had suspected it, nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, I had been aware of a particularity some two or three weeks, but I considered it as meaning nothing: I put it down as simply being his way. I observed what was passing between him and some of this family in the summer and autumn. I was not blind. I could not help seeing that Mr. Crawford allowed himself gallantries which did mean nothing.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so many; of having it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's sex! Oh! I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such a triumph.\"\nFanny shook her head. \"I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.\"\n","abridged":"\"Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so many! Oh! it is not in woman's nature to refuse such a triumph.\"\nFanny shook her head. \"I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy, and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how much you lecture him. But this I will say, that his fault, the liking to make girls a little in love with him, is not half so dangerous to a wife's happiness as a tendency to fall in love himself, which he has never been addicted to. And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he never was to any woman before; that he loves you with all his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any man ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you.\"\nFanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.\n\"I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier,\" continued Mary presently, \"than when he had succeeded in getting your brother's commission.\"\nShe had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here.\n","abridged":"\"I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy, and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how much you lecture him. I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he never was to any woman before; that he loves you with all his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any man ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you.\"\nFanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.\n\"He was never happier,\" continued Mary, \"than when he succeeded in getting your brother's commission.\"\nShe had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him.\"\n\"I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and scorns asking favours; and there are so many young men's claims to be attended to in the same way, that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is easily put by. What a happy creature William must be! I wish we could see him.\"\nPoor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing of all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done for William was always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr. Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply of it till Mary, who had been first watching her complacently, and then musing on something else, suddenly called her attention by saying: \"I should like to sit talking with you here all day, but we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though we shall nominally part in the breakfast-parlour, I must take leave of you here. And I do take leave, longing for a happy reunion, and trusting that when we meet again, it will be under circumstances which may open our hearts to each other without any remnant or shadow of reserve.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh! yes. How very kind of him.\"\n\"I know he must have exerted himself very much, for the Admiral hates trouble, and scorns asking favours. What a happy creature William must be!\"\nPoor Fanny's mind was distressed. The recollection of what had been done for William was always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr. Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply till Mary said: \"I should like to sit here talking to you all day, but we must not forget the ladies below: so good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for I must take leave of you here. And I do take leave, trusting that when we meet again, it will be under circumstances which may open our hearts to each other without any shadow of reserve.\"\n"}
+{"original":"A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, accompanied these words.\n\"I shall see your cousin in town soon: he talks of being there tolerably soon; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course of the spring; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia, I am sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have two favours to ask, Fanny: one is your correspondence. You must write to me. And the other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant, and make her amends for my being gone.\"\nThe first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not have been asked; but it was impossible for her to refuse the correspondence; it was impossible for her even not to accede to it more readily than her own judgment authorised. There was no resisting so much apparent affection. Her disposition was peculiarly calculated to value a fond treatment, and from having hitherto known so little of it, she was the more overcome by Miss Crawford's. Besides, there was gratitude towards her, for having made their _tte--tte_ so much less painful than her fears had predicted.\n","abridged":"A very kind embrace accompanied these words.\n\"I shall see your cousin in town soon: he talks of being there; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the spring; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia. I have two favours to ask, Fanny: one is, that you must write to me. And the other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant, and make her amends for my being gone.\"\nThe first of these favours Fanny would rather not have been asked; but it was impossible for her to refuse. There was no resisting so much apparent affection. Having hitherto known so little of it, she was the more overcome by Miss Crawford's. Besides, she was grateful to her for having made their tte--tte so much less painful than she had feared.\n"}
+{"original":"It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without detection. Her secret was still her own; and while that was the case, she thought she could resign herself to almost everything.\nIn the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford came and sat some time with them; and her spirits not being previously in the strongest state, her heart was softened for a while towards him, because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping she might never see him again till he were the husband of some other woman.\nWhen it came to the moment of parting, he would take her hand, he would not be denied it; he said nothing, however, or nothing that she heard, and when he had left the room, she was better pleased that such a token of friendship had passed.\nOn the morrow the Crawfords were gone.","abridged":"It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without detection. Her secret was still her own.\nIn the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford came and sat some time with them; and her heart was softened towards him, because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping she might never see him again till he were the husband of some other woman.\nWhen it came to the moment of parting, he took her hand; he said nothing, however, and left the room.\nOn the morrow the Crawfords were gone."}
+{"original":"How is the consternation of the party to be described? To the greater number it was a moment of absolute horror. Sir Thomas in the house! All felt the instantaneous conviction. Not a hope of imposition or mistake was harboured anywhere. Julia's looks were an evidence of the fact that made it indisputable; and after the first starts and exclamations, not a word was spoken for half a minute: each with an altered countenance was looking at some other, and almost each was feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, most ill-timed, most appalling! Mr. Yates might consider it only as a vexatious interruption for the evening, and Mr. Rushworth might imagine it a blessing; but every other heart was sinking under some degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm, every other heart was suggesting, \"What will become of us? what is to be done now?\" It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear were the corroborating sounds of opening doors and passing footsteps.\n","abridged":"How is the consternation of the party to be described? To most it was a moment of absolute horror. Sir Thomas in the house! After the first exclamations, not a word was spoken for half a minute: each with an altered countenance was looking at some other, and feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, most ill-timed! Mr. Yates might consider it only as an interruption, and Mr. Rushworth might imagine it a blessing; but every other heart was sinking under self-condemnation or undefined alarm. It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear were the sounds of opening doors and footsteps.\n"}
+{"original":"Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy and bitterness had been suspended: selfishness was lost in the common cause; but at the moment of her appearance, Frederick was listening with looks of devotion to Agatha's narrative, and pressing her hand to his heart; and as soon as she could notice this, and see that, in spite of the shock of her words, he still kept his station and retained her sister's hand, her wounded heart swelled again with injury, and looking as red as she had been white before, she turned out of the room, saying, \"_I_ need not be afraid of appearing before him.\"\n","abridged":"Julia was the first to move and speak again. At the moment of her appearance, Frederick was listening with devoted looks to Agatha, and pressing her hand to his heart; and as soon as Julia noticed this, and saw that he still retained her sister's hand, her wounded heart swelled again with injury. She left the room, saying, \"I need not be afraid of appearing before him.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Her going roused the rest; and at the same moment the two brothers stepped forward, feeling the necessity of doing something. A very few words between them were sufficient. The case admitted no difference of opinion: they must go to the drawing-room directly. Maria joined them with the same intent, just then the stoutest of the three; for the very circumstance which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support. Henry Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment, a moment of such peculiar proof and importance, was worth ages of doubt and anxiety. She hailed it as an earnest of the most serious determination, and was equal even to encounter her father. They walked off, utterly heedless of Mr. Rushworth's repeated question of, \"Shall I go too? Had not I better go too? Will not it be right for me to go too?\" but they were no sooner through the door than Henry Crawford undertook to answer the anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him by all means to pay his respects to Sir Thomas without delay, sent him after the others with delighted haste.\n","abridged":"Her going roused the rest. The two brothers stepped forward, and agreed they must go to the drawing-room directly. Maria joined them, just then the stoutest of the three; for the very circumstance which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support. Henry Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment was worth ages of doubt and anxiety. She hailed it as a sign of the most serious intent, and was equal even to encounter her father.\nThey walked off, heedless of Mr. Rushworth's repeated question of, \"Shall I go too? Had not I better go too?\" Henry Crawford answered the anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him to pay his respects to Sir Thomas, sent him after the others with delighted haste.\n"}
+{"original":"Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr. Yates. She had been quite overlooked by her cousins; and as her own opinion of her claims on Sir Thomas's affection was much too humble to give her any idea of classing herself with his children, she was glad to remain behind and gain a little breathing-time. Her agitation and alarm exceeded all that was endured by the rest, by the right of a disposition which not even innocence could keep from suffering. She was nearly fainting: all her former habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it compassion for him and for almost every one of the party on the development before him, with solicitude on Edmund's account indescribable. She had found a seat, where in excessive trembling she was enduring all these fearful thoughts, while the other three, no longer under any restraint, were giving vent to their feelings of vexation, lamenting over such an unlooked-for premature arrival as a most untoward event, and without mercy wishing poor Sir Thomas had been twice as long on his passage, or were still in Antigua.\nThe Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates, from better understanding the family, and judging more clearly of the mischief that must ensue. The ruin of the play was to them a certainty: they felt the total destruction of the scheme to be inevitably at hand; while Mr. Yates considered it only as a temporary interruption, a disaster for the evening, and could even suggest the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea, when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas were over, and he might be at leisure to be amused by it. The Crawfords laughed at the idea; and having soon agreed on the propriety of their walking quietly home and leaving the family to themselves, proposed Mr. Yates's accompanying them and spending the evening at the Parsonage. But Mr. Yates, having never been with those who thought much of parental claims, or family confidence, could not perceive that anything of the kind was necessary; and therefore, thanking them, said, \"he preferred remaining where he was, that he might pay his respects to the old gentleman handsomely since he _was_ come; and besides, he did not think it would be fair by the others to have everybody run away.\"\nFanny was just beginning to collect herself, and to feel that if she staid longer behind it might seem disrespectful, when this point was settled, and being commissioned with the brother and sister's apology, saw them preparing to go as she quitted the room herself to perform the dreadful duty of appearing before her uncle.\n","abridged":"Fanny was left with the Crawfords and Mr. Yates. She had been quite overlooked; and as her own opinion of her claim on Sir Thomas's affection was much too humble to give her any idea of classing herself with his children, she was glad to remain behind. Her agitation was excessive. She was nearly fainting: all her habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it, compassion for him and for the others, with solicitude on Edmund's account indescribable. She sat, trembling, while the other three were giving vent to their feelings, lamenting over such an unlooked-for arrival, and wishing Sir Thomas were still in Antigua.\nThe Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates, from better understanding the family. The ruin of the play was to them a certainty: while Mr. Yates considered it only as an interruption for the evening, and suggested the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea. The Crawfords laughed at the idea; and invited Mr. Yates to spend the evening with them at the Parsonage. But Mr. Yates, thanking them, said, \"he preferred remaining, that he might pay his respects to the old gentleman; and besides, he did not think it would be fair by the others to have everybody run away.\"\nFanny was commissioned with the Crawfords' apology, and went to perform the dreadful duty of appearing before her uncle.\n"}
+{"original":"Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door; and after pausing a moment for what she knew would not come, for a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to her, she turned the lock in desperation, and the lights of the drawing-room, and all the collected family, were before her. As she entered, her own name caught her ear. Sir Thomas was at that moment looking round him, and saying, \"But where is Fanny? Why do not I see my little Fanny?\"-and on perceiving her, came forward with a kindness which astonished and penetrated her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and observing with decided pleasure how much she was grown! Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. She was quite oppressed. He had never been so kind, so _very_ kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was quick from the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness. He led her nearer the light and looked at her again-inquired particularly after her health, and then, correcting himself, observed that he need not inquire, for her appearance spoke sufficiently on that point. ","abridged":"Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door. After pausing a moment for a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to her, she turned the lock in desperation, and the collected family were before her. Her own name caught her ear. Sir Thomas was looking round, and saying, \"Why do not I see my little Fanny?\"-and on perceiving her, came forward with a kindness which astonished her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and observing with pleasure how much she was grown!\nFanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. She was quite oppressed. He had never been so kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was joyful; and his awful dignity seemed lost in tenderness. He led her nearer the light and looked at her again-inquired after her health, and then, correcting himself, observed that he need not inquire, for her appearance spoke sufficiently on that point.\n"}
+{"original":"A fine blush having succeeded the previous paleness of her face, he was justified in his belief of her equal improvement in health and beauty. He inquired next after her family, especially William: and his kindness altogether was such as made her reproach herself for loving him so little, and thinking his return a misfortune; and when, on having courage to lift her eyes to his face, she saw that he was grown thinner, and had the burnt, fagged, worn look of fatigue and a hot climate, every tender feeling was increased, and she was miserable in considering how much unsuspected vexation was probably ready to burst on him.\nSir Thomas was indeed the life of the party, who at his suggestion now seated themselves round the fire. He had the best right to be the talker; and the delight of his sensations in being again in his own house, in the centre of his family, after such a separation, made him communicative and chatty in a very unusual degree; and he was ready to give every information as to his voyage, and answer every question of his two sons almost before it was put. His business in Antigua had latterly been prosperously rapid, and he came directly from Liverpool, having had an opportunity of making his passage thither in a private vessel, instead of waiting for the packet; and all the little particulars of his proceedings and events, his arrivals and departures, were most promptly delivered, as he sat by Lady Bertram and looked with heartfelt satisfaction on the faces around him-interrupting himself more than once, however, to remark on his good fortune in finding them all at home-coming unexpectedly as he did-all collected together exactly as he could have wished, but dared not depend on. Mr. Rushworth was not forgotten: a most friendly reception and warmth of hand-shaking had already met him, and with pointed attention he was now included in the objects most intimately connected with Mansfield. There was nothing disagreeable in Mr. Rushworth's appearance, and Sir Thomas was liking him already.\n","abridged":"He inquired next after her family, especially William: and his kindness made her reproach herself for loving him so little. When, on having courage to lift her eyes to his face, she saw that he was grown thinner, and looked worn and fatigued, every tender feeling was increased, and she was miserable in considering how much unsuspected vexation was ready to burst on him.\nSir Thomas was indeed the life of the party. His delight in being in the centre of his family, after such a separation, made him unusually communicative and chatty; and he was ready to answer every question of his two sons almost before it was put. His business in Antigua had prospered, and he came directly from Liverpool, having had an opportunity of making his passage in a private vessel, instead of waiting for the packet.\nAs he sat by Lady Bertram, he looked with heartfelt satisfaction on the faces around him-interrupting himself more than once, to remark on his good fortune in finding them all at home-all collected together exactly as he could have wished. Mr. Rushworth was not forgotten: a most friendly warmth of hand-shaking had already met him. There was nothing disagreeable in Mr. Rushworth's appearance, and Sir Thomas was liking him already.\n"}
+{"original":"By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unbroken, unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was really extremely happy to see him, and whose feelings were so warmed by his sudden arrival as to place her nearer agitation than she had been for the last twenty years. She had been _almost_ fluttered for a few minutes, and still remained so sensibly animated as to put away her work, move Pug from her side, and give all her attention and all the rest of her sofa to her husband. She had no anxieties for anybody to cloud _her_ pleasure: her own time had been irreproachably spent during his absence: she had done a great deal of carpet-work, and made many yards of fringe; and she would have answered as freely for the good conduct and useful pursuits of all the young people as for her own. It was so agreeable to her to see him again, and hear him talk, to have her ear amused and her whole comprehension filled by his narratives, that she began particularly to feel how dreadfully she must have missed him, and how impossible it would have been for her to bear a lengthened absence.\n","abridged":"By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was really extremely happy to see him, and whose feelings were so warmed by his sudden arrival as to make her almost fluttered for a few minutes. She put away her work, moved Pug from her side, and gave all her attention to her husband. It was so agreeable to see him again, that she began to feel how dreadfully she must have missed him, and how impossible it would have been for her to bear a lengthened absence.\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Norris was by no means to be compared in happiness to her sister. Not that _she_ was incommoded by many fears of Sir Thomas's disapprobation when the present state of his house should be known, for her judgment had been so blinded that, except by the instinctive caution with which she had whisked away Mr. Rushworth's pink satin cloak as her brother-in-law entered, she could hardly be said to shew any sign of alarm; but she was vexed by the _manner_ of his return. It had left her nothing to do. Instead of being sent for out of the room, and seeing him first, and having to spread the happy news through the house, Sir Thomas, with a very reasonable dependence, perhaps, on the nerves of his wife and children, had sought no confidant but the butler, and had been following him almost instantaneously into the drawing-room. Mrs. Norris felt herself defrauded of an office on which she had always depended, whether his arrival or his death were to be the thing unfolded; and was now trying to be in a bustle without having anything to bustle about, and labouring to be important where nothing was wanted but tranquillity and silence. Would Sir Thomas have consented to eat, she might have gone to the housekeeper with troublesome directions, and insulted the footmen with injunctions of despatch; but Sir Thomas resolutely declined all dinner: he would take nothing, nothing till tea came-he would rather wait for tea. Still Mrs. Norris was at intervals urging something different; and in the most interesting moment of his passage to England, when the alarm of a French privateer was at the height, she burst through his recital with the proposal of soup. \"Sure, my dear Sir Thomas, a basin of soup would be a much better thing for you than tea. Do have a basin of soup.\"\n","abridged":"Mrs. Norris was not as happy as her sister. Not that she feared Sir Thomas's disapprobation when the present state of his house should be known, for her judgment had been so blinded that she had no alarm; but she was vexed by the manner of his return. It had left her nothing to do. Instead of her seeing him first, and spreading the happy news through the house, Sir Thomas had sought no confidant but the butler. Mrs. Norris felt herself defrauded of an office on which she had depended, whether his arrival or his death were to be the thing unfolded; and was now trying to be in a bustle without having anything to bustle about, and when nothing was wanted but tranquillity and silence. Would Sir Thomas have consented to eat, she might have gone to the housekeeper with troublesome directions; but Sir Thomas resolutely declined all dinner: he would rather wait for tea. Still Mrs. Norris was at intervals urging something; and in the most interesting moment of his passage to England, when the alarm of a French privateer was at its height, she burst through his recital with the proposal of soup.\n"}
+{"original":"Sir Thomas could not be provoked. \"Still the same anxiety for everybody's comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris,\" was his answer. \"But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.\"\n\"Well, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you speak for tea directly; suppose you hurry Baddeley a little; he seems behindhand to-night.\" She carried this point, and Sir Thomas's narrative proceeded.\nAt length there was a pause. His immediate communications were exhausted, and it seemed enough to be looking joyfully around him, now at one, now at another of the beloved circle; but the pause was not long: in the elation of her spirits Lady Bertram became talkative, and what were the sensations of her children upon hearing her say, \"How do you think the young people have been amusing themselves lately, Sir Thomas? They have been acting. We have been all alive with acting.\"\n","abridged":"Sir Thomas could not be provoked. \"Still the same anxiety for everybody's comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris,\" was his answer. \"But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.\"\n\"Well, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you order tea directly.\" This done, Sir Thomas's narrative proceeded.\nAt length there was a pause. In her elation Lady Bertram became talkative, and what were the sensations of her children upon hearing her say, \"How do you think the young people have been amusing themselves, Sir Thomas? They have been acting.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Indeed! and what have you been acting?\"\n\"Oh! they'll tell you all about it.\"\n","abridged":"\"Indeed! and what have you been acting?\"\n\"Oh! they'll tell you all about it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"The _all_ will soon be told,\" cried Tom hastily, and with affected unconcern; \"but it is not worth while to bore my father with it now. You will hear enough of it to-morrow, sir. We have just been trying, by way of doing something, and amusing my mother, just within the last week, to get up a few scenes, a mere trifle. We have had such incessant rains almost since October began, that we have been nearly confined to the house for days together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the 3rd. Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been no attempting anything since. The first day I went over Mansfield Wood, and Edmund took the copses beyond Easton, and we brought home six brace between us, and might each have killed six times as many, but we respect your pheasants, sir, I assure you, as much as you could desire. I do not think you will find your woods by any means worse stocked than they were. _I_ never saw Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants in my life as this year. I hope you will take a day's sport there yourself, sir, soon.\"\n","abridged":"\"The all will soon be told,\" cried Tom hastily; \"but we will not bore my father with it now. You will hear enough of it to-morrow, sir. We have just been trying, by way of amusing my mother, to get up a few scenes, a mere trifle. We have had such incessant rains since October began, that we have been confined to the house for days together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the 3rd. Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been no attempting anything since. The first day I went over Mansfield Wood, and Edmund took the copses beyond Easton, and we brought home six brace between us, and might have killed six times as many, but we respect your pheasants, sir, as much as you could desire. I never saw Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants as this year. I hope you will take a day's sport there yourself, sir, soon.\"\n"}
+{"original":"For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sick feelings subsided; but when tea was soon afterwards brought in, and Sir Thomas, getting up, said that he found that he could not be any longer in the house without just looking into his own dear room, every agitation was returning. He was gone before anything had been said to prepare him for the change he must find there; and a pause of alarm followed his disappearance. Edmund was the first to speak-\n\"Something must be done,\" said he.\n\"It is time to think of our visitors,\" said Maria, still feeling her hand pressed to Henry Crawford's heart, and caring little for anything else. \"Where did you leave Miss Crawford, Fanny?\"\nFanny told of their departure, and delivered their message.\n\"Then poor Yates is all alone,\" cried Tom. \"I will go and fetch him. He will be no bad assistant when it all comes out.\"\n","abridged":"For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sick feelings subsided; but when tea was brought in, and Sir Thomas, getting up, said that he would just look into his own dear room, every agitation returned. He was gone before anything had been said to prepare him for the change he must find; and a pause of alarm followed his disappearance.\n\"Something must be done,\" said Edmund.\n\"We must think of our visitors,\" said Maria, still feeling her hand pressed to Henry Crawford's heart. \"Where did you leave Miss Crawford, Fanny?\"\nFanny told of their departure, and delivered their message.\n\"Then poor Yates is all alone,\" cried Tom. \"I will go and fetch him.\"\n"}
+{"original":"To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time to witness the first meeting of his father and his friend. Sir Thomas had been a good deal surprised to find candles burning in his room; and on casting his eye round it, to see other symptoms of recent habitation and a general air of confusion in the furniture. The removal of the bookcase from before the billiard-room door struck him especially, but he had scarcely more than time to feel astonished at all this, before there were sounds from the billiard-room to astonish him still farther. Some one was talking there in a very loud accent; he did not know the voice-more than talking-almost hallooing. He stepped to the door, rejoicing at that moment in having the means of immediate communication, and, opening it, found himself on the stage of a theatre, and opposed to a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered at the other end of the room; and never had he found greater difficulty in keeping his countenance. His father's looks of solemnity and amazement on this his first appearance on any stage, and the gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned Baron Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, making his bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such an exhibition, such a piece of true acting, as he would not have lost upon any account. It would be the last-in all probability-the last scene on that stage; but he was sure there could not be a finer. The house would close with the greatest eclat.\n","abridged":"To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time to witness the first meeting of his father and his friend. Sir Thomas had been a good deal surprised to find candles burning in his room; and on casting his eye round it, to see a general air of confusion in the furniture. The removal of the bookcase from before the billiard-room door struck him especially, but he had scarcely time to feel astonished, before there were sounds from the billiard-room to astonish him still farther. Some one was talking there loudly; he did not know the voice.\nHe stepped to the door, and, opening it, found himself on the stage of a theatre, opposite a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered; and never had he found greater difficulty in keeping his countenance. The gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned Baron Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, making his bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such a piece of true acting as he would not have lost upon any account. It would probably be the last scene on that stage; but he was sure there could not be a finer.\n"}
+{"original":"There was little time, however, for the indulgence of any images of merriment. It was necessary for him to step forward, too, and assist the introduction, and with many awkward sensations he did his best. Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with all the appearance of cordiality which was due to his own character, but was really as far from pleased with the necessity of the acquaintance as with the manner of its commencement. Mr. Yates's family and connexions were sufficiently known to him to render his introduction as the \"particular friend,\" another of the hundred particular friends of his son, exceedingly unwelcome; and it needed all the felicity of being again at home, and all the forbearance it could supply, to save Sir Thomas from anger on finding himself thus bewildered in his own house, making part of a ridiculous exhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense, and forced in so untoward a moment to admit the acquaintance of a young man whom he felt sure of disapproving, and whose easy indifference and volubility in the course of the first five minutes seemed to mark him the most at home of the two.\nTom understood his father's thoughts, and heartily wishing he might be always as well disposed to give them but partial expression, began to see, more clearly than he had ever done before, that there might be some ground of offence, that there might be some reason for the glance his father gave towards the ceiling and stucco of the room; and that when he inquired with mild gravity after the fate of the billiard-table, he was not proceeding beyond a very allowable curiosity. A few minutes were enough for such unsatisfactory sensations on each side; and Sir Thomas having exerted himself so far as to speak a few words of calm approbation in reply to an eager appeal of Mr. Yates, as to the happiness of the arrangement, the three gentlemen returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an increase of gravity which was not lost on all.\n","abridged":"It was necessary for him to step forward and assist the introduction, and with awkward sensations he did his best. Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with the appearance of cordiality, but was really far from pleased with the acquaintance. Mr. Yates's family were sufficiently known to him to render his introduction as the \"particular friend\" exceedingly unwelcome; and it needed all the joy of being at home to save Sir Thomas from anger.\nTom understood his father's thoughts, and began to see, more clearly than he had done before, that there might be some ground of offence, that there might be some reason for the glance his father gave towards the ceiling; and that when he inquired with mild gravity after the fate of the billiard-table, he was not proceeding beyond a very allowable curiosity. The three gentlemen returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an increase of gravity which was not lost on all.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I come from your theatre,\" said he composedly, as he sat down; \"I found myself in it rather unexpectedly. Its vicinity to my own room-but in every respect, indeed, it took me by surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however, as far as I could judge by candlelight, and does my friend Christopher Jackson credit.\" And then he would have changed the subject, and sipped his coffee in peace over domestic matters of a calmer hue; but Mr. Yates, without discernment to catch Sir Thomas's meaning, or diffidence, or delicacy, or discretion enough to allow him to lead the discourse while he mingled among the others with the least obtrusiveness himself, would keep him on the topic of the theatre, would torment him with questions and remarks relative to it, and finally would make him hear the whole history of his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir Thomas listened most politely, but found much to offend his ideas of decorum, and confirm his ill-opinion of Mr. Yates's habits of thinking, from the beginning to the end of the story; and when it was over, could give him no other assurance of sympathy than what a slight bow conveyed.\n\"This was, in fact, the origin of _our_ acting,\" said Tom, after a moment's thought. \"My friend Yates brought the infection from Ecclesford, and it spread-as those things always spread, you know, sir-the faster, probably, from _your_ having so often encouraged the sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading old ground again.\"\n","abridged":"\"I come from your theatre,\" said he composedly, as he sat down; \"It took me by surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however, and does my friend Christopher Jackson credit.\" And then he would have changed the subject; but Mr. Yates, without discernment or discretion, would keep him on the topic of the theatre, would torment him with remarks about it, and finally would make him hear the whole history of his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir Thomas listened most politely, but found much to confirm his ill-opinion of Mr. Yates.\n\"This was, in fact, the origin of our acting,\" said Tom. \"My friend Yates brought the infection from Ecclesford, and it spread-as those things always spread, you know, sir-the faster, probably, from your having encouraged the sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading old ground.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as possible, and immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they had done and were doing: told him of the gradual increase of their views, the happy conclusion of their first difficulties, and present promising state of affairs; relating everything with so blind an interest as made him not only totally unconscious of the uneasy movements of many of his friends as they sat, the change of countenance, the fidget, the hem! of unquietness, but prevented him even from seeing the expression of the face on which his own eyes were fixed-from seeing Sir Thomas's dark brow contract as he looked with inquiring earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwelling particularly on the latter, and speaking a language, a remonstrance, a reproof, which _he_ felt at his heart. Not less acutely was it felt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind her aunt's end of the sofa, and, screened from notice herself, saw all that was passing before her. Such a look of reproach at Edmund from his father she could never have expected to witness; and to feel that it was in any degree deserved was an aggravation indeed. Sir Thomas's look implied, \"On your judgment, Edmund, I depended; what have you been about?\" She knelt in spirit to her uncle, and her bosom swelled to utter, \"Oh, not to _him_! Look so to all the others, but not to _him_!\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Yates immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they were doing: told him of the happy conclusion of their first difficulties, and present state of affairs; blind to the uneasy movements of his friends, the fidget, the hem! of unquietness, and even to the expression of the face on which his own eyes were fixed. Sir Thomas's dark brow contracted as he looked with inquiring earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwelling particularly on the latter with reproof.\nFanny, screened from notice herself, saw all that was passing. Such a look of reproach at Edmund from his father she could never have expected to witness; and to feel that it was in any way deserved was terrible indeed.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Yates was still talking. \"To own the truth, Sir Thomas, we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived this evening. We were going through the three first acts, and not unsuccessfully upon the whole. Our company is now so dispersed, from the Crawfords being gone home, that nothing more can be done to-night; but if you will give us the honour of your company to-morrow evening, I should not be afraid of the result. We bespeak your indulgence, you understand, as young performers; we bespeak your indulgence.\"\n\"My indulgence shall be given, sir,\" replied Sir Thomas gravely, \"but without any other rehearsal.\" And with a relenting smile, he added, \"I come home to be happy and indulgent.\" Then turning away towards any or all of the rest, he tranquilly said, \"Mr. and Miss Crawford were mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable acquaintance?\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Yates was still talking. \"To own the truth, Sir Thomas, we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived. Nothing more can be done to-night; but if you will give us the honour of your company to-morrow, I should not be afraid of the result. We ask your indulgence as young performers.\"\n\"My indulgence shall be given, sir,\" replied Sir Thomas gravely, \"but without any other rehearsal.\" And with a relenting smile, he added, \"I come home to be happy and indulgent. Mr. and Miss Crawford were mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable acquaintance?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but he being entirely without particular regard for either, without jealousy either in love or acting, could speak very handsomely of both. \"Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant, gentleman-like man; his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, lively girl.\"\nMr. Rushworth could be silent no longer. \"I do not say he is not gentleman-like, considering; but you should tell your father he is not above five feet eight, or he will be expecting a well-looking man.\"\nSir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with some surprise at the speaker.\n\"If I must say what I think,\" continued Mr. Rushworth, \"in my opinion it is very disagreeable to be always rehearsing. It is having too much of a good thing. I am not so fond of acting as I was at first. I think we are a great deal better employed, sitting comfortably here among ourselves, and doing nothing.\"\n","abridged":"Tom was the only one ready with an answer. \"Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant, gentleman-like man; his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, lively girl.\"\nMr. Rushworth could be silent no longer. \"You should tell your father he is not above five feet eight, or he will be expecting a well-looking man.\"\nSir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with some surprise at the speaker.\nMr. Rushworth continued. \"In my opinion it is very disagreeable to be always rehearsing. I think we are a great deal better employed, sitting comfortably here among ourselves, and doing nothing.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Sir Thomas looked again, and then replied with an approving smile, \"I am happy to find our sentiments on this subject so much the same. It gives me sincere satisfaction. That I should be cautious and quick-sighted, and feel many scruples which my children do _not_ feel, is perfectly natural; and equally so that my value for domestic tranquillity, for a home which shuts out noisy pleasures, should much exceed theirs. But at your time of life to feel all this, is a most favourable circumstance for yourself, and for everybody connected with you; and I am sensible of the importance of having an ally of such weight.\"\nSir Thomas meant to be giving Mr. Rushworth's opinion in better words than he could find himself. He was aware that he must not expect a genius in Mr. Rushworth; but as a well-judging, steady young man, with better notions than his elocution would do justice to, he intended to value him very highly. It was impossible for many of the others not to smile. Mr. Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; but by looking, as he really felt, most exceedingly pleased with Sir Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely anything, he did his best towards preserving that good opinion a little longer.","abridged":"Sir Thomas replied with an approving smile, \"I am happy to find our sentiments so much the same. It gives me sincere satisfaction. That I should feel scruples which my children do not feel, is perfectly natural; and equally my love of domestic tranquillity should exceed theirs. But at your time of life to feel all this, is a most favourable circumstance for yourself; and I am glad to have an ally of such weight.\"\nSir Thomas was aware that he must not expect a genius in Mr. Rushworth; but as a well-judging, steady young man, with better notions than his elocution would do justice to, he intended to value him very highly. Mr. Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; but by looking exceedingly pleased with Sir Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely anything, he did his best towards preserving that good opinion a little longer."}
+{"original":"\"Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed, Never to be disquieted! My last Good Night--thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake.\" DR. KING.\nHome seemed unnaturally quiet after all this terror and noisy commotion. Her father had seen all due preparation made for her refreshment on her return; and then sate down again in his accustomed chair, to fall into one of his sad waking dreams. Dixon had got Mary Higgins to scold and direct in the kitchen; and her scolding was not the less energetic because it was delivered in an angry whisper; for, speaking above her breath she would have thought irreverent, as long as there was any one lying dead in the house. Margaret had resolved not to mention the crowning and closing affright to her father. There was no use in speaking about it; it had ended well; the only thing to be feared was lest Leonards should in some way borrow money enough to effect his purpose of following Frederick to London, and hunting him out there. But there were immense chances against the success of any such plan; and Margaret determined not to torment herself by thinking of what she could do nothing to prevent. Frederick would be as much on his guard as she could put him; and in a day or two at most he would be safely out of England.\n","abridged":"Home seemed unnaturally quiet after all this terror and noise. Her father sat in his usual chair, in one of his sad waking dreams. In the kitchen, Dixon was scolding Mary Higgins in an energetic, angry whisper, in deference to the dead one lying in the house.\nMargaret had resolved not to mention her fright to her father. There was no use in speaking about it; it had ended well; the only thing to be feared was lest Leonards should manage to follow Frederick to London, and hunt him out there. But that was unlikely; and Margaret determined not to torment herself by thinking of what she could not prevent. Frederick would be on his guard; and in a day or two he would be safely out of England.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I suppose we shall hear from Mr. Bell to-morrow,\" said Margaret.\n\"Yes,\" replied her father. \"I suppose so.\"\n\"If he can come, he will be here to-morrow evening, I should think.\"\n\"If he cannot come, I shall ask Mr. Thornton to go with me to the funeral. I cannot go alone. I should break down utterly.\"\n\"Don't ask Mr. Thornton, papa. Let me go with you,\" said Margaret, impetuously.\n","abridged":"'I suppose we shall hear from Mr. Bell tomorrow,' she said to her father. 'He may be here tomorrow evening.'\n'If he cannot come, I shall ask Mr. Thornton to go with me to the funeral. I cannot go alone. I should break down.'\n'Don't ask Mr. Thornton, papa. Let me go with you,' said Margaret, impetuously.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You! My dear, women do not generally go.\"\n\"No; because they can't control themselves. Women of our class don't go, because they have no power over their emotions, and yet are ashamed of showing them. Poor women go, and don't care if they are seen overwhelmed with grief. But I promise you, papa, that if you will let me go, I will be no trouble. Don't have a stranger, and leave me out. Dear papa! if Mr. Bell cannot come, I shall go. I won't urge my wish against your will, if he does.\"\n","abridged":"'You! My dear, women do not generally go.'\n'No: women of our class don't go, because they have no control over their emotions, and yet are ashamed of showing them. Poor women go, and don't care if they are seen overwhelmed with grief. But I promise you, papa, I will be no trouble. Don't have a stranger, and leave me out. Dear papa! if Mr. Bell cannot come, I shall go.'\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Bell could not come. He had the gout. It was a most affectionate letter, and expressed great and true regret for his inability to attend. He hoped to come and pay them a visit soon, if they would have him; his Milton property required some looking after, and his agent had written to him to say that his presence was absolutely necessary; or else he had avoided coming near Milton as long as he could, and now the only thing that would reconcile him to this necessary visit was the idea that he should see, and might possibly be able to comfort his old friend.\nMargaret had all the difficulty in the world to persuade her father not to invite Mr. Thornton. She had an indescribable repugnance to this step being taken. The night before the funeral, came a stately note from Mrs. Thornton to Miss Hale, saying that, at her son's desire, their carriage should attend the funeral, if it would not be disagreeable to the family. Margaret tossed the note to her father.\n","abridged":"Mr. Bell could not come. He had the gout. It was a most affectionate and regretful letter. He hoped to pay them a visit soon; his agent had told him that he needed to attend to his Milton property; otherwise he avoided coming near Milton, and now the only thing that would reconcile him to this necessary visit was the idea that he could see and comfort his old friend.\nMargaret had great difficulty in persuading her father not to invite Mr. Thornton. She had an indescribable repugnance to this step being taken. The night before the funeral, a stately note came from Mrs. Thornton, saying that, at her son's desire, their carriage should attend the funeral, if it was not disagreeable to the family. Margaret tossed the note to her father.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, don't let us have these forms,\" said she. \"Let us go alone--you and me, papa. They don't care for us, or else he would have offered to go himself, and not have proposed this sending an empty carriage.\"\n\"I thought you were so extremely averse to his going, Margaret,\" said Mr. Hale in some surprise.\n\"And so I am. I don't want him to come at all; and I should especially dislike the idea of our asking him. But this seems such a mockery of mourning that I did not expect it from him.\" She startled her father by bursting into tears. She had been so subdued in her grief, so thoughtful for others, so gentle and patient in all things, that he could not understand her impatient ways to-night; she seemed agitated and restless; and at all the tenderness which her father in his turn now lavished upon her, she only cried the more.\n","abridged":"'Oh, don't let us have these formalities,' said she. 'Let us go alone - you and me, papa. They don't care for us, or else he would have offered to go himself, and not have proposed sending an empty carriage.'\n'I thought you were averse to his going, Margaret,' said Mr. Hale in some surprise.\n'And so I am. I don't want him to come at all. But this seems such a mockery of mourning that I did not expect it from him.' She startled her father by bursting into tears. She had been so subdued in her grief, so thoughtful and patient, that he could not understand her. She seemed agitated and restless; and at her father's tenderness, she only cried the more.\n"}
+{"original":"She passed so bad a night that she was ill prepared for the additional anxiety caused by a letter received from Frederick. Mr. Lennox was out of town; his clerk said that he would return by the following Tuesday at the latest; that he might possibly be home on Monday. Consequently, after some consideration, Frederick had determined upon remaining in London a day or two longer. He had thought of coming down to Milton again; the temptation had been very strong; but the idea of Mr. Bell domesticated in his father's house, and the alarm he had received at the last moment at the railway station, had made him resolve to stay in London. Margaret might be assured he would take every precaution against being tracked by Leonards. Margaret was thankful that she received this letter while her father was absent in her mother's room. If he had been present, he would have expected her to read it aloud to him, and it would have raised in him a state of nervous alarm which she would have found it impossible to soothe away. There was not merely the fact, which disturbed her excessively, of Frederick's detention in London, but there were allusions to the recognition at the last moment at Milton, and the possibility of a pursuit, which made her blood run cold; and how then would it have affected her father? Many a time did Margaret repent of having suggested and urged on the plan of consulting Mr. Lennox. At the moment, it had seemed as if it would occasion so little delay--add so little to the apparently small chances of detection; and yet everything that had since occurred had tended to make it so undesirable. ","abridged":"She passed so bad a night that she was ill prepared for the additional anxiety caused by a letter from Frederick. Mr. Lennox was out of town; his clerk said that he would return by the following Tuesday at the latest. Therefore Frederick had decided to stay in London a day or two longer. Margaret might be assured that after their alarm at the railway station, he would take every precaution against being tracked by Leonards.\nMargaret was thankful that she received this letter while her father was absent. If he had been present, he would have expected her to read it aloud to him, and it would have worried him greatly. There was not merely the fact of Frederick's delay in London, but allusions to the recognition at Milton, and the possibility of a pursuit, which made her blood run cold; how then would it have affected her father? Many a time did Margaret repent of having urged the plan of consulting Mr. Lennox. At the time, it had seemed as if it would cause so little delay - and now it seemed so undesirable.\n"}
+{"original":"Margaret battled hard against this regret of hers for what could not now be helped; this self-reproach for having said what at the time appeared to be wise, but which after events were proving to have been so foolish. But her father was in too depressed a state of mind and body to struggle healthily; he would succumb to all these causes for morbid regret over what could not be recalled. Margaret summoned up all her forces to her aid. Her father seemed to have forgotten that they had any reason to expect a letter from Frederick that morning. He was absorbed in one idea--that the last visible token of the presence of his wife was to be carried away from him, and hidden from his sight. He trembled pitifully as the undertaker's man was arranging his crape draperies around him. He looked wistfully at Margaret; and, when released, he tottered towards her, murmuring, \"Pray for me, Margaret. I have no strength left in me. I cannot pray. I give her up because I must. ","abridged":"Her father had forgotten that they had any reason to expect a letter from Frederick that morning. He was absorbed only in the coming funeral, and the final removal of his wife from his sight. He trembled pitifully as the undertaker's man was arranging his crape draperies around him.\n'Pray for me, Margaret,' he murmured. 'I have no strength left. I cannot pray. "}
+{"original":"I try to bear it: indeed I do. I know it is God's will. But I cannot see why she died. Pray for me, Margaret, that I may have faith to pray. It is a great strait, my child.\"\nMargaret sat by him in the coach, almost supporting him in her arms; and repeating all the noble verses of holy comfort, or texts expressive of faithful resignation, that she could remember. Her voice never faltered; and she herself gained strength by doing this. Her father's lips moved after her, repeating the well-known texts as her words suggested them; it was terrible to see the patient struggling effort to obtain the resignation which he had not strength to take into his heart as part of himself.\n","abridged":"I try to bear it: indeed I do. I know it is God's will. But I cannot see why she died.'\nMargaret sat by him in the coach, almost supporting him in her arms; and repeating all the noble verses of holy comfort that she could remember. Her voice never faltered; and she herself gained strength by doing this. Her father's lips moved after her, repeating the well-known texts; it was terrible to see his patient struggle for resignation.\n"}
+{"original":"Margaret's fortitude nearly gave way as Dixon, with a slight motion of her hand, directed her notice to Nicholas Higgins and his daughter, standing a little aloof, but deeply attentive to the ceremonial. Nicholas wore his usual fustian clothes, but had a bit of black stuff sown round his hat--a mark of mourning which he had never shown to his daughter Bessy's memory. But Mr. Hale saw nothing. He went on repeating to himself, mechanically as it were, all the funeral service as it was read by the officiating clergyman; he sighed twice or thrice when all was ended; and then, putting his hand on Margaret's arm, he mutely entreated to be led away, as if he were blind, and she his faithful guide.\nDixon sobbed aloud; she covered her face with her handkerchief, and was so absorbed in her own grief that she did not perceive that the crowd, attracted on such occasions, was dispersing, till she was spoken to by some one close at hand. It was Mr. Thornton. He had been present all the time, standing, with bent head, behind a group of people, so that, in fact, no one had recognised him.\n\"I beg your pardon,--but, can you tell me how Mr. Hale is? And Miss Hale, too? I should like to know how they both are.\"\n","abridged":"At the church, Margaret's fortitude nearly gave way when she noticed Nicholas Higgins and his daughter, standing a little aloof. Nicholas wore his usual fustian clothes, but had a bit of black stuff sewn round his hat - a mark of mourning which he had never shown to his daughter Bessy's memory. But Mr. Hale saw nothing. He went on mechanically repeating to himself all the funeral service as it was read by the clergyman; he sighed when all was ended; and then, putting his hand on Margaret's arm, he mutely entreated to be led away, as if he were blind.\nDixon sobbed aloud; she covered her face with her handkerchief, and did not perceive that the crowd was dispersing, till she was spoken to by someone close at hand. It was Mr. Thornton. He had been present all the time, standing with bent head behind a group of people, so that no one had seen him.\n'I beg your pardon - but can you tell me how Mr. Hale is? And Miss Hale, too?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Of course, sir. They are much as is to be expected. Master is terribly broke down. Miss Hale bears up better than likely.\"\n","abridged":"'Of course, sir. They are much as is to be expected. Master is terribly broke down. Miss Hale bears up better than likely.'\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Thornton would rather have heard that she was suffering the natural sorrow. In the first place, there was selfishness enough in him to have taken pleasure in the idea that his great love might come in to comfort and console her; much the same kind of passionate pleasure which comes stinging through a mother's heart, when her drooping infant nestles close to her, and is dependent upon her for everything. But this delicious vision of what might have been--in which, in spite of all Margaret's repulse, he would have indulged only a few days ago--was miserably disturbed by the recollection of what he had seen near the Outwood station. \"Miserably disturbed!\" that is not strong enough. He was haunted by the remembrance of the handsome young man, with whom she stood in an attitude of such familiar confidence; and the remembrance shot through him like an agony, till it made him clench his hands tight in order to subdue the pain. At that late hour, so far from home! It took a great moral effort to galvanise his trust--erewhile so perfect--in Margaret's pure and exquisite maidenliness into life; as soon as the effort ceased, his trust dropped down dead and powerless: and all sorts of wild fancies chased each other like dreams, through his mind. Here was a little bit of miserable, gnawing confirmation. \"She bore up better than likely\" under this grief. ","abridged":"Mr. Thornton would rather have heard that she was suffering natural sorrow. In the first place, there was selfishness enough in him to have taken pleasure in the idea that his great love might come in to comfort and console her; much the same kind of strange passionate pleasure which stings a mother's heart when her drooping infant nestles close to her. But this delicious vision of what might have been was miserably disturbed by the recollection of what he had seen near the Outwood station.\nMiserably disturbed! That is not strong enough. He was haunted by the remembrance of the handsome young man, with whom she stood in such a familiar attitude; and the remembrance shot through him like an agony, till it made him clench his hands tight to subdue the pain. So late, so far from home!\nIt took a great moral effort to rouse his trust in Margaret's pure maidenliness; as soon as the effort ceased, his trust dropped down dead: and wild fancies chased each other like dreams through his mind. Here was a little piece of miserable, gnawing confirmation. 'She bore up better than likely.' "}
+{"original":"She had then some hope to look to, so bright that even in her affectionate nature it could come in to lighten the dark hours of a daughter newly made motherless. Yes! he knew how she would love. He had not loved her without gaining that instinctive knowledge of what capabilities were in her. Her soul would walk in glorious sunlight if any man was worthy, by his power of loving, to win back her love. Even in her mourning she would rest with a peaceful faith upon his sympathy. His sympathy! Whose? That other man's. And that it was another was enough to make Mr. Thornton's pale grave face grow doubly wan and stern at Dixon's answer.\n","abridged":"She had then some hope to look to, so bright that it could lighten the dark hours of a daughter newly made motherless.\nYes! he knew how she would love. He had not loved her without gaining that instinctive knowledge of what capabilities were in her. Her soul would walk in glorious sunlight if any man was worthy to win back her love. Even in her mourning she would rest with a peaceful faith upon his sympathy. His sympathy! Whose? That other man's. And Mr. Thornton's pale grave face grow doubly wan and stern at Dixon's answer.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I suppose I may call,\" said he coldly. \"On Mr. Hale, I mean. He will perhaps admit me after to-morrow or so.\"\nHe spoke as if the answer were a matter of indifference to him. But it was not so. For all his pain, he longed to see the author of it. Although he hated Margaret at times, when he thought of that gentle, familiar attitude and all the attendant circumstances, he had a restless desire to renew her picture in his mind--a longing for the very atmosphere she breathed. He was in the Charybdis of passion, and must perforce circle and circle ever nearer round the fatal centre.\n\"I dare say, sir, master will see you. He was very sorry to have to deny you the other day; but circumstances was not agreeable just then.\"\n","abridged":"'I suppose I may call,' said he coldly. 'On Mr. Hale, I mean.'\nHe spoke as if it were a matter of indifference to him. But it was not so. For all his pain, he longed to see the author of it. Although he hated Margaret at times, he had a restless desire to renew her picture in his mind - a longing for the very atmosphere she breathed.\n'I dare say, sir, master will see you.'\n"}
+{"original":"For some reason or other, Dixon never named this interview that she had had with Mr. Thornton to Margaret. It might have been mere chance, but so it was that Margaret never heard that he had attended her poor mother's funeral.","abridged":"For some reason or other, Dixon never mentioned this interview with Mr. Thornton to Margaret. It might have been mere chance, but so it was that Margaret never heard that he had attended her poor mother's funeral."}
+{"original":"\"But work grew scarce, while bread grew dear, And wages lessened, too; For Irish hordes were bidders here, Our half-paid work to do.\" CORN LAW RHYMES.\nMargaret was shown into the drawing-room. It had returned into its normal state of bag and covering. The windows were half open because of the heat, and the Venetian blinds covered the glass,--so that a gray grim light, reflected from the pavement below, threw all the shadows wrong, and combined with the green-tinged upper light to make even Margaret's own face, as she caught it in the mirrors, look ghastly and wan. She sat and waited; no one came. Every now and then, the wind seemed to bear the distant multitudinous sound nearer; and yet there was no wind! It died away into profound stillness between whiles.\nFanny came in at last.\n","abridged":"Margaret was shown into the drawing-room. It had returned into its normal state of bag and covering. The windows were half open because of the heat, and Venetian blinds covered the glass, giving the light a green tinge that made her face in the mirrors look ghastly and wan. She sat and waited; no one came. Every now and then, the distant multitudinous sound drew nearer; and then died away into profound stillness.\nFanny came in at last.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mamma will come directly, Miss Hale. She desired me to apologise to you as it is. Perhaps you know my brother has imported hands from Ireland, and it has irritated the Milton people excessively--as if he hadn't a right to get labour where he could; and the stupid wretches here wouldn't work for him; and now they've frightened these poor Irish starvelings so with their threats, that we daren't let them out. You may see them huddled in that top room in the mill,--and they're to sleep there, to keep them safe from those brutes, who will neither work or let them work. And mamma is seeing about their food, and John is speaking to them, for some of the women are crying to go back. Ah! here's mamma!\"\n","abridged":"'Mamma will come directly, Miss Hale. She desired me to apologise to you. Perhaps you know my brother has imported hands from Ireland, and it has irritated the Milton people excessively - as if he hadn't a right to get labour where he could; and now they've frightened these poor Irish starvelings so with their threats, that we daren't let them out. They're huddled in that top room in the mill - and they're to sleep there, to keep them safe from those brutes. Mamma is seeing about their food, and John is speaking to them. Ah! here's mamma!'\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Thornton came in with a look of black sternness on her face, which made Margaret feel she had arrived at a bad time to trouble her with her request. However, it was only in compliance with Mrs. Thornton's expressed desire, that she would ask for whatever they might want in the progress of her mother's illness. Mrs. Thornton's brow contracted, and her mouth grew set, while Margaret spoke with gentle modesty of her mother's restlessness, and Dr. Donaldson's wish that she should have the relief of a water-bed. She ceased. Mrs. Thornton did not reply immediately. Then she started up and exclaimed--\n","abridged":"Mrs. Thornton came in with a look of black sternness on her face, which made Margaret feel she had arrived at a bad time to trouble her. However, Mrs. Thornton had expressed the wish that she would ask for whatever they might need for her mother; though her brow contracted while Margaret spoke with gentle modesty of her mother's restlessness, and Dr. Donaldson's wish that she should have a water-bed.\nMrs. Thornton did not reply immediately. Then she started up and exclaimed:\n"}
+{"original":"\"They're at the gates! Call John, Fanny,--call him in from the mill! They're at the gates! They'll batter them in! Call John, I say!\"\nAnd simultaneously, the gathering tramp--to which she had been listening, instead of heeding Margaret's words--was heard just right outside the wall, and an increasing din of angry voices raged behind the wooden barrier, which shook as if the unseen maddened crowd made battering rams of their bodies, and retreated a short space only to come with more united steady impetus against it, till their great beats made the strong gates quiver, like reeds before the wind.\n","abridged":"'They're at the gates! Call John from the mill, Fanny! They're at the gates! They'll batter them in!'\nAnd the gathering tramp - to which she had been listening, instead of Margaret's words - was heard right outside the wall. An increasing din of angry voices raged behind the gates, which shook as if the unseen maddened crowd made battering-rams of their bodies, with a steady rhythm which made the strong gates quiver.\n"}
+{"original":"The women gathered round the windows, fascinated to look on the scene which terrified them. Mrs. Thornton, the women-servants, Margaret,--all were there. Fanny had returned, screaming upstairs as if pursued at every step, and had thrown herself in hysterical sobbing on the sofa. Mrs. Thornton watched for her son, who was still in the mill. He came out, looked up at them--the pale cluster of faces--and smiled good courage to them, before he locked the factory door. Then he called to one of the women to come down and undo his own door, which Fanny had fastened behind her in her mad flight. Mrs. Thornton herself went. And the sound of his well-known and commanding voice, seemed to have been like the taste of blood to the infuriated multitude outside. Hitherto they had been voiceless, wordless, needing all their breath for their hard-laboured efforts to break down the gates. But now, hearing him speak inside, they set up such a fierce, unearthly groan, that even Mrs. Thornton was white with fear as she preceded him into the room. ","abridged":"The women, servants and all, gathered round the windows, fascinated and terrified. Fanny had returned, screaming as if pursued at every step, and had thrown herself in hysterical sobbing on the sofa. Mrs. Thornton watched for her son, who was still in the mill. He came out, looked up at the pale cluster of faces - and smiled good courage to them, before he locked the factory-door. Then he called for someone to come down and undo his own door, which Fanny had fastened behind her in her mad flight. Mrs. Thornton went.\nThe sound of his well-known and commanding voice seemed to infuriate the mob outside. Hitherto they had been voiceless, needing all their breath for their efforts to break down the gates. But now, hearing him speak inside, they set up such a fierce unearthly groan, that even Mrs. Thornton was white with fear as she preceded him into the room. "}
+{"original":"He came in a little flushed, but his eyes gleamed, as in answer to the trumpet-call of danger, and with a proud look of defiance on his face, that made him a noble, if not a handsome man. Margaret had always dreaded lest her courage should fail her in any emergency, and she should be proved to be, what she dreaded lest she was--a coward. But now, in this real great time of reasonable fear and nearness of terror, she forgot herself, and felt only an intense sympathy--intense to painfulness--in the interests of the moment.\nMr. Thornton came frankly forwards:\n","abridged":"He came in a little flushed, but with his eyes gleaming, and a proud and noble look of defiance on his face.\nMargaret had always dreaded lest her courage should fail her in any emergency, and she should be proved a coward. But now, in this real nearness of terror, she forgot herself, and felt only an intense sympathy in the interests of the moment.\nMr. Thornton came forwards. "}
+{"original":"\"I'm sorry, Miss Hale, you have visited us at this unfortunate moment, when, I fear, you may be involved in whatever risk we have to bear. Mother! hadn't you better go into the back rooms? I'm not sure whether they may not have made their way from Pinner's Lane into the stable-yard; but if not, you will be safer there than here. Go, Jane!\" continued he, addressing the upper-servant. And she went, followed by the others.\n","abridged":"'I'm sorry, Miss Hale, you have visited us at this unfortunate moment, when I fear you may be at risk. Mother! hadn't you better go into the back rooms? I'm not sure whether they have got into the stable-yard; but if not, you will be safer there than here.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I stop here!\" said his mother. \"Where you are, there I stay.\" And indeed, retreat into the back rooms was of no avail; the crowd had surrounded the outbuildings at the rear, and were sending forth their awful threatening roar behind. The servants retreated into the garrets, with many a cry and shriek. Mr. Thornton smiled scornfully as he heard them. He glanced at Margaret, standing all by herself at the window nearest the factory. Her eyes glittered, her colour was deepened on cheek and lip. As if she felt his look, she turned to him and asked a question that had been for some time in her mind:\n","abridged":"'I stop here!' said his mother. 'Where you are, I stay.' And indeed, retreat into the back rooms was useless; the crowd had surrounded the outbuildings, and were sending forth their awful threatening roar. The servants retreated up into the garrets, with many a cry. Mr. Thornton smiled scornfully as he heard them. He glanced at Margaret, standing at the window. Her eyes glittered; her colour was deepened. As if she felt his look, she turned to him and asked:\n"}
+{"original":"\"Where are the poor imported workpeople? In the factory there?\"\n\"Yes! I left them cowed up in a small room, at the head of a back flight of stairs; bidding them run all risks, and escape down there, if they heard any attack made on the mill doors. But it is not them--it is me they want.\"\n\"When can the soldiers be here?\" asked his mother, in a low but not unsteady voice.\nHe took out his watch with the same steady composure with which he did everything. He made some little calculation:--\n\"Supposing Williams got straight off when I told him, and hadn't to dodge about amongst them--it must be twenty minutes yet.\"\n","abridged":"'Where are the poor imported work-people? In the factory there?'\n'Yes! I left them cowering in a small room, at the top of a back flight of stairs; bidding them escape down there, if they heard any attack made on the mill-doors. But it is me they want.'\n'When can the soldiers be here?' asked his mother, in a low but steady voice.\nHe took out his watch with measured composure. 'Supposing Williams managed to get straight off when I told him - it must be twenty minutes yet.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Twenty minutes!\" said his mother, for the first time showing her terror in the tones of her voice.\n\"Shut down the windows instantly, mother,\" exclaimed he: \"the gates won't bear such another shock. Shut down that window, Miss Hale.\"\nMargaret shut down her window, and then went to assist Mrs. Thornton's trembling fingers.\nFrom some cause or other, there was a pause of several minutes in the unseen street. Mrs. Thornton looked with wild anxiety at her son's countenance, as if to gain the interpretation of the sudden stillness from him. His face was set into rigid lines of contemptuous defiance; neither hope nor fear could be read there.\nFanny raised herself up:\n","abridged":"'Twenty minutes!' said his mother, her voice showing her terror for the first time.\n'Shut down the windows, mother. The gates won't bear such another shock. Shut down that window, Miss Hale.'\nMargaret shut down her window, and went to assist Mrs. Thornton's trembling fingers.\nThere was a pause of several minutes in the unseen street. Mrs. Thornton looked with wild anxiety at her son's face, which was set into rigid lines of contemptuous defiance. Neither hope nor fear could be read there.\nFanny raised herself up. "}
+{"original":"\"Are they gone?\" asked she, in a whisper.\n\"Gone!\" replied he. \"Listen!\"\nShe did listen; they all could hear the one great straining breath; the creak of wood slowly yielding; the wrench of iron; the mighty fall of the ponderous gates. Fanny stood up tottering--made a step or two towards her mother, and fell forwards into her arms in a fainting fit. Mrs. Thornton lifted her up with a strength that was as much that of the will as of the body, and carried her away.\n","abridged":"'Are they gone?' she whispered.\n'Listen!'\nShe listened. They all could hear the great straining breath; the creak of wood slowly yielding; the wrench of iron; the mighty fall of the gates. Fanny stood up tottering - and fell into her mother's arms in a fainting fit. Mrs. Thornton lifted her up with a strength that was as much that of the will as of the body, and carried her away.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Thank God!\" said Mr. Thornton, as he watched her out. \"Had you not better go upstairs, Miss Hale?\"\nMargaret's lips formed a \"No!\"--but he could not hear her speak, for the tramp of innumerable steps right under the very wall of the house, and the fierce growl of low deep angry voices that had a ferocious murmur of satisfaction in them, more dreadful than their baffled cries not many minutes before.\n\"Never mind!\" said he, thinking to encourage her. \"I am very sorry that you should have been entrapped into all this alarm; but it cannot last long now; a few minutes more, and the soldiers will be here.\"\n","abridged":"'Thank God!' said Mr. Thornton, as he watched her out. 'Had you not better go upstairs, Miss Hale?'\nMargaret's lips formed a 'No!' - but he could not hear her speak for the tramp of many steps right under the wall of the house, and the fierce growl of deep angry voices that had a ferocious murmur of satisfaction in them.\n'I am very sorry you have been entrapped into all this alarm; but it cannot last long now; a few minutes more, and the soldiers will be here.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, God!\" cried Margaret, suddenly; \"there is Boucher. I know his face, though he is livid with rage,--he is fighting to get to the front--look! look!\"\n\"Who is Boucher?\" asked Mr. Thornton coolly, and coming close to the window to discover the man in whom Margaret took such an interest. As soon as they saw Mr. Thornton, they set up a yell, to call it not human is nothing,--it was as the demoniac desire of some terrible wild beast for the food that is withheld from his ravening. Even he drew back for a moment, dismayed at the intensity of hatred he had provoked.\n","abridged":"'Oh, God!' cried Margaret, suddenly; 'there is Boucher. He is livid with rage, and fighting to get to the front - look! look!'\n'Who is Boucher?' asked Mr. Thornton coolly, coming close to the window to see. As soon as the men saw him, they set up a yell like the demoniac desire of some terrible wild beast for the food that is withheld from his ravening. Even he drew back for a moment, dismayed at the intensity of hatred he had provoked.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Let them yell!\" said he. \"In five minutes more--. I only hope my poor Irishmen are not terrified out of their wits by such a fiendlike noise. Keep up your courage for five minutes, Miss Hale.\"\n\"Don't be afraid for me,\" she said hastily. \"But what in five minutes? Can you do nothing to soothe these poor creatures? It is awful to see them.\"\n\"The soldiers will be here directly, and that will bring them to reason.\"\n","abridged":"'Let them yell!' said he. 'I only hope my poor Irishmen are not terrified out of their wits. Keep up your courage for five minutes, Miss Hale.'\n'Don't worry about me,' she said hastily. 'But what in five minutes? Can you do nothing to soothe these poor creatures? It is awful to see them.'\n'The soldiers will be here directly, and that will bring them to reason.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"To reason!\" said Margaret, quickly. \"What kind of reason?\"\n\"The only reason that does with men that make themselves into wild beasts. By heaven! they've turned to the mill-door!\"\n","abridged":"'To reason!' said Margaret, quickly. 'What kind of reason?'\n'The only reason that works with men that make themselves into wild beasts. By heaven! they've turned to the mill-door!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr. Thornton,\" said Margaret, shaking all over with her passion, \"go down this instant, if you are not a coward. Go down and face them like a man. Save these poor strangers, whom you have decoyed here. Speak to your workmen as if they were human beings. Speak to them kindly. Don't let the soldiers come in and cut down poor creatures who are driven mad. I see one there who is. If you have any courage or noble quality in you, go out and speak to them, man to man!\"\n","abridged":"'Mr. Thornton,' said Margaret, shaking all over with passion, 'go down this instant, if you are not a coward. Go down and face them like a man. Speak to your workmen as if they were human beings. Speak to them kindly. Don't let the soldiers come in and cut down poor creatures who are driven mad. I see one there who is. If you have any courage or noble quality in you, go out and speak to them, man to man.'\n"}
+{"original":"He turned and looked at her while she spoke. A dark cloud came over his face while he listened. He set his teeth as he heard her words.\n\"I will go. Perhaps I may ask you to accompany me downstairs, and bar the door behind me; my mother and sister will need that protection.\"\n\"Oh! Mr. Thornton! I do not know--I may be wrong--only--\"\n","abridged":"He turned and looked at her, a dark cloud coming over his face. He set his teeth as he listened.\n'I will go. Perhaps I may ask you to accompany me downstairs, and bar the door behind me, for my family's protection.'\n'Oh! Mr. Thornton! I do not know - I may be wrong - only-'\n"}
+{"original":"But he was gone; he was downstairs in the hall; he had unbarred the front door; all she could do, was to follow him quickly, and fasten it behind him, and clamber up the stairs again with a sick heart and a dizzy head. Again she took her place by the farthest window. He was on the steps below; she saw that by the direction of a thousand angry eyes; but she could neither see nor hear anything save the savage satisfaction of the rolling angry murmur. See threw the window wide open. Many in the crowd were mere boys; cruel and thoughtless,--cruel because they were thoughtless; some were men, gaunt as wolves, and mad for prey. She knew how it was; they were like Boucher,--with starving children at home--relying on ultimate success in their efforts to get higher wages, and enraged beyond measure at discovering that Irishmen were to be brought in to rob their little ones of bread. Margaret knew it all; she read it in Boucher's face, forlornly desperate and livid with rage. If Mr. Thornton would but say something to them--let them hear his voice only--it seemed as if it would be better than this wild beating and raging against the stony silence that vouchsafed them no word, even of anger or reproach. But perhaps he was speaking now; there was a momentary hush of their noise, inarticulate as that of a troop of animals. She tore her bonnet off, and bent forward to hear. ","abridged":"But he was gone downstairs; he had unbarred the front door; all she could do was to follow him quickly, and fasten it behind him, and clamber up the stairs again with a sick heart. Again she took her place by the window. He was on the steps below; she knew that by the direction of a thousand angry eyes; but she could neither see nor hear anything except the savage, rolling murmur.\nShe threw the window wide open. Many in the crowd were mere boys, cruel and thoughtless - cruel because they were thoughtless; some were men, gaunt as wolves, and mad for prey. She knew they were like Boucher, with starving children at home, enraged at discovering that Irishmen were brought in to rob their little ones of bread. Margaret knew it all; she read it in Boucher's desperate face. If Mr. Thornton would only speak to them - it would be better than the stony silence that gave them no word, even of anger or reproach.\nBut perhaps he was speaking now; there was a momentary hush. She bent forwards to hear,"}
+{"original":"She could only see; for if Mr. Thornton had indeed made the attempt to speak, the momentary instinct to listen to him was past and gone, and the people were raging worse than ever. He stood with his arms folded; still as a statue; his face pale with repressed excitement. They were trying to intimidate him--to make him flinch; each was urging the other on to some immediate act of personal violence. Margaret felt intuitively, that in an instant all would be uproar; the first touch would cause an explosion, in which, among such hundreds of infuriated men and reckless boys, even Mr. Thornton's life would be unsafe,--that in another instant the stormy passions would have passed their bounds, and swept away all barriers of reason, or apprehension of consequence. Even while she looked, she saw lads in the background stooping to take off their heavy wooden clogs--the readiest missile they could find; she saw it was the spark to the gunpowder, and, with a cry, which no one heard, she rushed out of the room, down stairs,--she had lifted the great iron bar of the door with an imperious force--had thrown the door open wide--and was there, in face of that angry sea of men, her eyes smiting them with flaming arrows of reproach. The clogs were arrested in the hands that held them--the countenances, so fell not a moment before, now looked irresolute, and as if asking what this meant. For she stood between them and their enemy. She could not speak, but held out her arms towards them till she could recover breath.\n","abridged":" but she could only see Mr. Thornton standing with his arms folded, still as a statue, his face pale with repressed excitement. They were trying to intimidate him - to make him flinch; each was urging the other on to some act of personal violence.\nMargaret felt intuitively that in an instant all would be uproar. The first touch would cause an explosion, in which even Mr. Thornton's life would be unsafe - in another instant, the stormy passions would have passed their bounds, and swept away all barriers of reason. Even while she looked, she saw lads at the back stooping to take off their heavy wooden clogs - the readiest missiles they could find. She saw it was the spark to the gunpowder, and with a cry, she rushed out of the room, down the stairs - had lifted the great iron bar of the door with imperious force - had thrown the door open - and was there, facing that angry sea of men, her eyes smiting them with reproach.\nThe clogs were arrested in the hands that held them. The faces looked irresolute, as if asking what this meant. For she stood between them and their enemy. She could not speak, but held out her arms towards them till she could recover breath.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, do not use violence! He is one man, and you are many;\" but her words died away, for there was no tone in her voice; it was but a hoarse whisper. Mr. Thornton stood a little on one side; he had moved away from behind her, as if jealous of anything that should come between him and danger.\n\"Go!\" said she, once more (and now her voice was like a cry). \"The soldiers are sent for--are coming. Go peaceably. Go away. You shall have relief from your complaints, whatever they are.\"\n","abridged":"'Oh, do not use violence! He is one man, and you are many\"; but her words died away, for her voice was only a hoarse whisper. Mr. Thornton moved away from behind her, as if jealous of anything that should come between him and danger.\n'Go!' said she, once more (and now her voice was like a cry). 'The soldiers are sent for - are coming. Go peaceably. You shall have relief from your complaints, whatever they are.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Shall them Irish blackguards be packed back again?\" asked one from out the crowd, with fierce threatening in his voice.\n","abridged":"'Shall them Irish blackguards be packed back again?' asked one of the crowd fiercely.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Never, for your bidding!\" exclaimed Mr. Thornton. And instantly the storm broke. The hootings rose and filled the air,--but Margaret did not hear them. Her eye was on the group of lads who had armed themselves with their clogs some time before. She saw their gesture--she knew its meaning--she read their aim. Another moment, and Mr. Thornton might be smitten down,--he whom she had urged and goaded to come to this perilous place. She only thought how she could save him. She threw her arms around him; she made her body into a shield from the fierce people beyond. Still, with his arms folded, he shook her off.\n","abridged":"'Never, for your bidding!' exclaimed Mr. Thornton.\nInstantly the storm broke. Hootings rose and filled the air, but Margaret did not hear them. Her eye was on the lads who had armed themselves with their clogs. She saw their gesture - she knew its meaning - she read their aim. Another moment, and Mr. Thornton might be smitten down - he whom she had urged to come to this perilous place.\nShe only thought how she could save him. She threw her arms around him; she made her body into a shield from the fierce people beyond. Still, with his arms folded, he shook her off.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Go away,\" said he, in his deep voice. \"This is no place for you.\"\n\"It is,\" said she. \"You did not see what I saw.\" If she thought her sex would be a protection,--if, with shrinking eyes she had turned away from the terrible anger of these men, in any hope that ere she looked again they would have paused and reflected, and slunk away, and vanished,--she was wrong. Their reckless passion had carried them too far to stop--at least had carried some of them too far; for it is always the savage lads, with their love of cruel excitement, who head the riot--reckless to what bloodshed it may lead. A clog whizzed through the air. Margaret's fascinated eyes watched its progress; it missed its aim, and she turned sick with affright, but changed not her position, only hid her face on Mr. Thornton's arm. Then she turned and spoke again:\n","abridged":"'Go away,' said he, in his deep voice. 'This is no place for you.'\n'It is!' said she. 'You did not see what I saw.' If she thought her sex would be a protection, and that the men would slink away, then she was wrong. Their reckless passion had carried them too far to stop - at least had carried some of them too far; for it is always the reckless savage lads, with their love of cruel excitement, who head the riot. A clog whizzed through the air. Margaret's fascinated eyes watched; it missed its aim, and she turned sick with fright, but did not move, only hid her face on Mr. Thornton s arm. Then she turned and spoke again"}
+{"original":"\"For God's sake! do not damage your cause by this violence. You do not know what you are doing.\" She strove to make her words distinct.\nA sharp pebble flew by her, grazing forehead and cheek, and drawing a blinding sheet of light before her eyes. She lay like one dead on Mr. Thornton's shoulder. Then he unfolded his arms, and held her encircled in one for an instant:\n","abridged":", trying to make her voice distinct:\n'For God's sake! do not damage your cause by this violence. You do not know what you are doing.'\nA sharp pebble flew by her, grazing forehead and cheek, and drawing a blinding sheet of light before her eyes. She lay like one dead on Mr. Thornton's shoulder. Then he unfolded his arms, and held her encircled in one for an instant:\n"}
+{"original":"\"You do well!\" said he. \"You come to oust the innocent stranger. You fall--you hundreds--on one man; and when a woman comes before you, to ask you for your own sakes to be reasonable creatures, your cowardly wrath falls upon her! You do well!\" They were silent while he spoke. They were watching, open-eyed and open-mouthed, the thread of dark-red blood which wakened them up from their trance of passion. Those nearest the gate stole out ashamed; there was a movement through all the crowd--a retreating movement. Only one voice called out:\n\"Th' stone was meant for thee; but thou wert sheltered behind a woman!\"\n","abridged":"'You do well!' said he. 'You fall - you hundreds - on one man; and when a woman comes before you, to ask you for your own sakes to be reasonable, your cowardly wrath falls upon her! You do well!'\nThey were silent, watching - open-eyed and open-mouthed - the thread of dark-red blood which wakened them from their trance of passion. Those nearest the gate stole out ashamed; there was a retreating movement through all the crowd. Only one voice cried out:\n'Th' stone were meant for thee; but thou wert sheltered behind a woman!'\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Thornton quivered with rage. The blood-flowing had made Margaret conscious--dimly, vaguely conscious. He placed her gently on the door-step, her head leaning against the frame.\n\"Can you rest there?\" he asked. But without waiting for her answer, he went slowly down the steps right into the middle of the crowd. \"Now kill me, if it is your brutal will. There is no woman to shield me here. You may beat me to death--you will never move me from what I have determined upon--not you!\" He stood amongst them with his arms folded, in precisely the same attitude as he had been in on the steps.\n","abridged":"Mr. Thornton quivered with rage. Margaret was dimly conscious. He placed her gently on the door-step, her head leaning against the frame.\n'Can you rest there?' he asked. But without waiting for her answer, he went slowly down the steps right into the middle of the crowd. 'Now kill me, if you wish. There is no woman to shield me here. You may beat me to death - but you will never move me from what I have determined upon!' He stood amongst them with his arms folded, in precisely the same attitude as he had been in on the steps.\n"}
+{"original":"But the retrograde movement towards the gate had begun--as unreasoningly, perhaps as blindly, as the simultaneous anger. Or, perhaps, the idea of the approach of the soldiers, and the sight of that pale, upturned face, with closed eyes, still and sad as marble, though the tears welled out of the long entanglement of eyelashes, and dropped down; and, heavier, slower plash than even tears, came the drip of blood from her wound. Even the most desperate--Boucher himself--drew back, faltered away, scowled, and finally went off, muttering curses on the master, who stood in his unchanging attitude, looking after their retreat with defiant eyes. The moment that retreat had changed into a flight (as it was sure from its very character to do), he darted up the steps to Margaret.\nShe tried to rise without his help.\n\"It is nothing,\" she said, with a sickly smile. \"The skin is grazed, and I was stunned at the moment. Oh, I am so thankful they are gone!\" And she cried without restraint.\n","abridged":"But the withdrawal towards the gate had begun. Perhaps it was the idea of the soldiers' approach; perhaps the sight of that pale, upturned face, with closed eyes, though the tears welled beneath the long eyelashes; and, heavier, slower than tears, came the drip of blood from her wound. Even the most desperate faltered, scowled, and finally went off, muttering curses on the master, who stood in his unchanging attitude. The moment the retreat had changed into a flight, he darted up the steps to Margaret. She tried to rise.\n'It is nothing,' she said, with a sickly smile. 'The skin is grazed, and I was stunned for the moment. Oh, I am so thankful they are gone!' And she cried without restraint.\n"}
+{"original":"He could not sympathise with her. His anger had not abated; it was rising the more as his sense of immediate danger was passing away. The distant clank of the soldiers was heard: just five minutes too late to make this vanished mob feel the power of authority and order. He hoped they would see the troops, and be quelled by the thought of their narrow escape. While these thoughts crossed his mind, Margaret clung to the doorpost to steady herself: but a film came over her eyes--he was only just in time to catch her. \"Mother--mother!\" cried he; \"Come down--they are gone, and Miss Hale is hurt!\" He bore her into the dining-room, and laid her on the sofa there; laid her down softly, and looking on her pure white face, the sense of what she was to him came upon him so keenly that he spoke it out in his pain:\n","abridged":"He could not sympathise with her. His anger had not abated; it was rather rising as the immediate danger passed. The distant clank of the soldiers was heard, five minutes too late to make this vanished mob feel the power of authority. He hoped they would see the troops, and be quelled by the thought of their narrow escape.\nWhile these thoughts crossed his mind, Margaret clung to the doorpost to steady herself: but a film came over her eyes - he was only just in time to catch her.\n'Mother!' cried he; 'Come down - they are gone, and Miss Hale is hurt!' He bore her into the dining-room, and laid her on the sofa there. Looking on her pure white face, the sense of what she was to him came upon him so keenly that he spoke it out in his pain:\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, my Margaret--my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! Dead--cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever loved! Oh, Margaret--Margaret!\"\nInarticulately as he spoke, kneeling by her, and rather moaning than saying the words, he started up, ashamed of himself, as his mother came in. She saw nothing, but her son a little paler, a little sterner than usual.\n\"Miss Hale is hurt, mother. A stone has grazed her temple. She has lost a good deal of blood, I'm afraid.\"\n\"She looks very seriously hurt,--I could almost fancy her dead,\" said Mrs. Thornton, a good deal alarmed.\n","abridged":"'Oh, my Margaret - my Margaret! no one can tell what you are to me! Cold as you lie there, you are the only woman I ever loved!' Inarticulately as he spoke, kneeling by her, he started up, ashamed of himself, as his mother came in. She saw nothing but her son, a little paler and sterner than usual.\n'Miss Hale is hurt, mother. A stone has grazed her temple. She has lost a good deal of blood, I'm afraid.'\n'She looks very seriously hurt,' said Mrs. Thornton, alarmed.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is only a fainting-fit. She has spoken to me since.\" But all the blood in his body seemed to rush inwards to his heart as he spoke, and he absolutely trembled.\n\"Go and call Jane,--she can find me the things I want; and do you go to your Irish people, who are crying and shouting as if they were mad with fright.\"\n","abridged":"'It is only a fainting-fit. She has spoken to me since.' But all the blood in his body seemed to rush inwards to his heart as he spoke, and he trembled.\n'Go and call Jane,' she said, 'and you go to your Irish people, who are crying and shouting, mad with fright.'\n"}
+{"original":"He went. He went away as if weights were tied to every limb that bore him from her. He called Jane; he called his sister. She should have all womanly care, all gentle tendance. But every pulse beat in him as he remembered how she had come down and placed herself in foremost danger--could it be to save him? At the time, he had pushed her aside, and spoken gruffly; he had seen nothing but the unnecessary danger she had placed herself in. He went to his Irish people, with every nerve in his body thrilling at the thought of her, and found it difficult to understand enough of what they were saying to soothe and comfort away their fears. There, they declared, they would not stop; they claimed to be sent back.\nAnd so he had to think, and talk, and reason.\n","abridged":"He went away as if weights were tied to every limb. He called the servant, and his sister. Margaret should have womanly care. But every pulse beat in him as he remembered how she had placed herself in foremost danger - could it be to save him? At the time, he had pushed her aside, and spoken gruffly; he had seen nothing but the unnecessary danger she had placed herself in.\nHe went to his Irish people, with every nerve in his body thrilling at the thought of her, and found it difficult to understand enough of what they were saying to soothe away their fears. They declared they would not stay; they wanted to be sent back. And so he had to think, and talk, and reason.\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Thornton bathed Margaret's temples with eau de Cologne. As the spirit touched the wound, which till then neither Mrs. Thornton nor Jane had perceived, Margaret opened her eyes; but it was evident she did not know where she was, nor who they were. The dark circles deepened, the lips quivered and contracted, and she became insensible once more.\n\"She has had a terrible blow,\" said Mrs. Thornton. \"Is there any one who will go for a doctor?\"\n\"Not me, ma'am, if you please,\" said Jane, shrinking back. \"Them rabble may be all about; I don't think the cut is so deep, ma'am, as it looks.\"\n","abridged":"Mrs. Thornton bathed Margaret's temples with eau de Cologne. As it touched the wound, which till then neither Mrs. Thornton nor Jane had perceived, Margaret opened her eyes; but it was evident she did not know where she was, nor who they were. The lips quivered, and she became insensible once more.\n'She has had a terrible blow,' said Mrs. Thornton. 'Is there anyone who will go for a doctor?'\n'Not me, ma'am, if you please,' said Jane, shrinking back. 'Them rabble may be all about; I don't think the cut is so deep as it looks.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will not run the chance. She was hurt in our house. If you are a coward, Jane, I am not. I will go.\"\n\"Pray, ma'am, let me send one of the police. There's ever so many come up, and soldiers too.\"\n","abridged":"'I will not run the chance. She was hurt in our house. If you are a coward, Jane, I will go. "}
+{"original":"\"And yet you're afraid to go! I will not have their time taken up with our errands. They'll have enough to do to catch some of the mob. You will not be afraid to stop in this house,\" she asked contemptuously, \"and go on bathing Miss Hale's forehead, shall you? I shall not be ten minutes away.\"\n\"Couldn't Hannah go, ma'am?\"\n\"Why Hannah? Why any but you? No, Jane, if you don't go, I do.\"\n","abridged":"You will not be afraid to stay in this house,' Mrs. Thornton asked contemptuously, 'and go on bathing Miss Hale's forehead, shall you?'\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Thornton went first to the room in which she had left Fanny stretched on the bed. She started up as her mother entered.\n\"Oh, mamma, how you terrified me! I thought you were a man that had got into the house.\"\n\"Nonsense! The men are all gone away. There are soldiers all round the place, seeking for their work now it is too late. Miss Hale is lying on the dining-room sofa badly hurt. I am going for the doctor.\"\n","abridged":"She went first to the room in which she had left Fanny on the bed. Fanny started up as her mother entered.\n'Oh, mamma, how you terrified me! I thought you were a man that had got into the house.'\n'Nonsense! The men are all gone away. There are soldiers everywhere, now it is too late. Miss Hale is lying on the dining-room sofa badly hurt. I am going for the doctor.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! don't, mamma! they'll murder you.\" She clung to her mother's gown. Mrs. Thornton wrenched it away with no gentle hand.\n\"Find me some one else to go; but that girl must not bleed to death.\"\n\"Bleed! oh, how horrid! How has she got hurt?\"\n","abridged":"'Oh! don't, mamma! they'll murder you.' She clung to her mother's gown. Mrs. Thornton wrenched it away.\n'That girl must not bleed to death.'\n'Bleed! oh, how horrid! How has she got hurt?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't know,--I have no time to ask. Go down to her, Fanny, and do try to make yourself of use. Jane is with her; and I trust it looks worse than it is. Jane has refused to leave the house, cowardly woman! And I won't put myself in the way of any more refusals from my servants, so I am going myself.\"\n\"Oh, dear, dear!\" said Fanny, crying, and preparing to go down rather than be left alone, with the thought of wounds and bloodshed in the very house.\n","abridged":"'I don't know; I have no time to ask. Go down to her, Fanny, and do try to make yourself of use. Jane is with her; and I trust it looks worse than it is. Jane has refused to leave the house, cowardly woman! So I am going myself.'\n'Oh, dear!' said Fanny, crying with the thought of wounds and bloodshed in the house.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, Jane!\" said she, creeping into the dining-room, \"What is the matter? How white she looks! How did she get hurt? Did they throw stones into the drawing-room?\"\nMargaret did indeed look white and wan, although her senses were beginning to return to her. But the sickly daze of the swoon made her still miserably faint. She was conscious of movement around her, and of refreshment from the eau de Cologne, and a craving for the bathing to go on without intermission; but when they stopped to talk, she could no more have opened her eyes, or spoken to ask for more bathing, than the people who lie in death-like trance can move, or utter sound, to arrest the awful preparations for their burial, while they are yet fully aware, not merely of the actions of those around them, but of the idea that is the motive for such actions.\nJane paused in her bathing, to reply to Miss Thornton's question.\n\"She'd have been safe enough, miss, if she'd stayed in the drawing-room, or come up to us; we were in the front garret, and could see it all, out of harm's way.\"\n","abridged":"'Oh, Jane!' said she, creeping into the dining-room, 'how did she get hurt? How white she looks! Did they throw stones into the drawing-room?'\nMargaret did indeed look white and wan, although her senses were beginning to return. But she still felt sick and faint. She was conscious of movement around her, and of the eau de Cologne; but when they stopped bathing her head, she could neither move her eyes nor speak.\nJane answered Miss Thornton.\n'She'd have been safe enough, miss, if she'd stayed in the drawing-room; we were in the front garret, and could see it all.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Where was she then?\" said Fanny, drawing nearer by slow degrees, as she became accustomed to the sight of Margaret's pale face.\n\"Just before the front door--with master!\" said Jane, significantly.\n\"With John! with my brother! How did she get there?\"\n\"Nay, miss, that's not for me to say,\" answered Jane, with a slight toss of her head. \"Sarah did----\"\n","abridged":"'Where was she, then?' said Fanny.\n'Just before the front door - with master!' said Jane, significantly.\n'With John! How did she get there?'\n'Nay, miss, that's not for me to say,' answered Jane, with a slight toss of her head. 'Sarah did-'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sarah what?\" said Fanny, with impatient curiosity.\nJane resumed her bathing, as if what Sarah did or said was not exactly the thing she liked to repeat.\n\"Sarah what?\" asked Fanny, sharply. \"Don't speak in these half sentences, or I can't understand you.\"\n\"Well, miss, since you will have it--Sarah, you see, was in the best place for seeing, being at the right-hand window; and she says, and said at the very time too, that she saw Miss Hale with her arms about master's neck, hugging him before all the people.\"\n\"I don't believe it,\" said Fanny. \"I know she cares for my brother; any one can see that; and I dare say, she'd give her eyes if he'd marry her,--which he never will, I can tell her. But I don't believe she'd be so bold and forward as to put her arms round his neck.\"\n","abridged":"'Sarah what?' said Fanny, with impatient curiosity, and then more sharply. 'Sarah what? Don't speak in these half sentences.'\n'Well, miss, Sarah says that she saw Miss Hale with her arms about master's neck, hugging him before all the people.'\n'I don't believe it,' said Fanny. 'I know she cares for my brother; any one can see that; and I dare say, she'd give her eyes if he'd marry her - which he never will, I can tell her. But I don't believe she'd be so bold as to put her arms round his neck.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Poor young lady! she's paid for it dearly if she did. It's my belief, that the blow has given her such an ascendancy of blood to the head as she'll never get the better from. She looks like a corpse now.\"\n\"Oh, I wish mamma would come!\" said Fanny, wringing her hands. \"I never was in the room with a dead person before.\"\n\"Stay, miss! She's not dead: her eye-lids are quivering, and here's wet tears a-coming down her cheeks. Speak to her, Miss Fanny!\"\n","abridged":"'Poor young lady! she's paid for it dearly if she did. It's my belief that she won't recover. She looks like a corpse.'\n'Oh, I wish mamma would come!' said Fanny, wringing her hands. 'I never was in the room with a dead person before.'\n'Stay, miss! She's not dead: her eyelids are quivering, and here's tears a-coming down her cheeks. Speak to her, Miss Fanny!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Are you better now?\" asked Fanny, in a quavering voice.\nNo answer; no sign of recognition; but a faint pink colour returned to her lips, although the rest of her face was ashen pale.\nMrs. Thornton came hurriedly in, with the nearest surgeon she could find.\n\"How is she? Are you better, my dear?\" as Margaret opened her filmy eyes, and gazed dreamily at her. \"Here is Mr. Lowe come to see you.\"\nMrs. Thornton spoke loudly and distinctly, as to a deaf person. Margaret tried to rise, and drew her ruffled, luxuriant hair instinctively over the cut.\n","abridged":"'Are you better now?' asked Fanny, in a quavering voice.\nNo answer; no sign of recognition; but a faint pink colour returned to her lips, although the rest of her face was ashen pale.\nMrs. Thornton came hurriedly in, with the nearest surgeon she could find. 'How is she? Are you better, my dear?' Margaret opened her filmy eyes, and gazed dreamily at her. 'Here is Mr. Lowe come to see you.' Mrs. Thornton spoke loudly and distinctly, as to a deaf person.\nMargaret tried to rise, and drew her ruffled hair instinctively over the cut.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am better now,\" said she, in a very low, faint voice. \"I was a little sick.\"\nShe let him take her hand and feel her pulse. The bright colour came for a moment into her face, when he asked to examine the wound in her forehead; and she glanced up at Jane, as if shrinking from her inspection more than from the doctor's.\n\"It is not much, I think. I am better now. I must go home.\"\n\"Not until I have applied some strips of plaster, and you have rested a little.\"\nShe sat down hastily, without another word, and allowed it to be bound up.\n","abridged":"'I am better now,' said she, in a very low voice. 'I was a little sick.' She let the doctor take her hand and feel her pulse. When he asked to examine the wound in her forehead, she shrank from the inspection.\n'It is not much, I think. I am better now. I must go home.'\n'Not until I have applied some strips of plaster; and you have rested a little.'\nShe sat down, and allowed it to be bound up. "}
+{"original":"\"Now, if you please,\" said she, \"I must go. Mamma will not see it, I think. It is under the hair, is it not?\"\n\"Quite; no one could tell.\"\n\"But you must not go,\" said Mrs. Thornton, impatiently. \"You are not fit to go.\"\n","abridged":"'Now, if you please,' said she, 'I must go. Mamma will not see it, I think. It is under the hair, is it not?'\n'Quite; no one could tell.'\n'But you are not fit to go,' said Mrs. Thornton.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I must,\" said Margaret, decidedly. \"Think of mamma. If they should hear---- Besides, I must go,\" said she, vehemently. \"I cannot stay here. May I ask for a cab?\"\n\"You are quite flushed and feverish,\" observed Mr. Lowe.\n\"It is only with being here, when I do so want to go. The air--getting away, would do me more good than anything,\" pleaded she.\n","abridged":"'I must,' said Margaret, decidedly. 'Think of mamma. If they should hear - I cannot stay here. May I ask for a cab?'\n'You are quite flushed and feverish,' observed Mr. Lowe.\n'It is only because I do so want to go. The air would do me more good than anything.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I really believe it is as she says,\" Mr. Lowe replied. \"If her mother is so ill as you told me on the way here, it may be very serious if she hears of this riot, and does not see her daughter back at the time she expects. The injury is not deep. I will fetch a cab, if your servants are still afraid to go out.\"\n\"Oh, thank you!\" said Margaret. \"It will do me more good than anything. It is the air of this room that makes me feel so miserable.\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Lowe spoke to Mrs. Thornton. 'If her mother is so ill as you told me on the way here, it may be very serious if she hears of this riot, and does not see her daughter back at the time she expects. The injury is not deep. I will fetch a cab.'\n'Oh, thank you!' said Margaret. "}
+{"original":"She leant back on the sofa, and closed her eyes. Fanny beckoned her mother out of the room, and told her something that made her equally anxious with Margaret for the departure of the latter. Not that she fully believed Fanny's statement; but she credited enough to make her manner to Margaret appear very much constrained, at wishing her good-bye.\nMr. Lowe returned in the cab.\n\"If you will allow me, I will see you home, Miss Hale. The streets are not very quiet yet.\"\nMargaret's thoughts were quite alive enough to the present to make her desirous of getting rid of both Mr. Lowe and the cab before she reached Crampton Crescent, for fear of alarming her father and mother. Beyond that one aim she would not look. That ugly dream of insolent words spoken about herself, could never be forgotten--but could be put aside till she was stronger--for, oh! she was very weak; and her mind sought for some present fact to steady itself upon, and keep it from utterly losing consciousness in another hideous, sickly swoon.","abridged":"She leant back on the sofa, and closed her eyes.\nFanny beckoned her mother out of the room, and told her something that made her equally anxious for Margaret to leave. Not that she fully believed Fanny's statement; but she believed enough to make her manner to Margaret appear very much constrained.\nMr. Lowe returned with the cab, saying, 'If you will allow me, I will see you home, Miss Hale. The streets are not quiet yet.'\nMargaret thought only of getting home without alarming her father and mother. Beyond that aim she would not look. That ugly dream of insolent words spoken about herself could be put aside till she was stronger - for, oh! she was very weak; and her mind sought for some fact to steady itself upon, and keep it from utterly losing consciousness in another hideous, sickly swoon."}
+{"original":"\"On earth is known to none The smile that is not sister to a tear.\" ELLIOTT.\nMargaret and her father walked home. The night was fine, the streets clean, and with her pretty white silk, like Leezie Lindsay's gown o' green satin, in the ballad, \"kilted up to her knee,\" she was off with her father--ready to dance along with the excitement of the cool, fresh night air.\n\"I rather think Thornton is not quite easy in his mind about this strike. He seemed very anxious to-night.\"\n\"I should wonder if he were not. But he spoke with his usual coolness to the others, when they suggested different things, just before we came away.\"\n\"So he did after dinner as well. It would take a good deal to stir him from his cool manner of speaking; but his face strikes me as anxious.\"\n","abridged":"Margaret and her father walked home. The night was fine, and with her pretty white silk hitched up, she was ready to dance along with the excitement of the cool, fresh night air.\n'I rather think Thornton is not easy in his mind about this strike,' said Mr. Hale. 'He seemed very anxious tonight.'\n'I should wonder if he were not. But he spoke with his usual coolness.'\n'It would take a good deal to stir him from his cool manner; but his face strikes me as anxious.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I should be, if I were he. He must know of the growing anger and hardly smothered hatred of his workpeople, who all looked upon him as what the Bible calls a 'hard man,'--not so much unjust as unfeeling; clear in judgment, standing upon his 'rights' as no human being ought to stand, considering what we and all our petty rights are in the sight of the Almighty. I am glad you think he looks anxious. When I remember Boucher's half mad words and ways, I cannot bear to think how coolly Mr. Thornton spoke.\"\n\"In the first place, I am not so convinced as you are about that man Boucher's utter distress; for the moment, he was badly off, I don't doubt. But there is always a mysterious supply of money from these Unions; and, from what you said, it was evident the man was of a passionate, demonstrative nature, and gave strong expression to all he felt.\"\n\"Oh, papa!\"\n\"Well! I only want you to do justice to Mr. Thornton, who is, I suspect, of an exactly opposite nature--a man who is far too proud to show his feelings. Just the character I should have thought beforehand, you would have admired, Margaret.\"\n","abridged":"'He must know of the growing anger and hatred of his workpeople, who look upon him as what the Bible calls a \"hard man\" - not so much unjust as unfeeling; standing upon his \"rights\" as no human being ought to stand, considering what our petty rights are in the sight of the Almighty. I am glad you think he looks anxious. When I remember Boucher's half mad words, I cannot bear to think how coolly Mr. Thornton spoke.'\n'I am not so convinced about that man Boucher's utter distress. For the moment, he was badly off, I don't doubt. But there is always a mysterious supply of money from these Unions; and it was evident the man was of a passionate nature, and gave strong expression to all he felt.'\n'Oh, papa!'\n'Well! I only want you to do justice to Mr. Thornton, who is, I suspect, exactly opposite - a man too proud to show his feelings. I should have thought you would admire that, Margaret.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"So I do--so I should; but I don't feel quite so sure as you do of the existence of those feelings. He is a man of great strength of character--of unusual intellect, considering the few advantages he has had.\"\n\"Not so few. He has led a practical life from a very early age, has been called upon to exercise judgment and self-control. All that developes one part of the intellect. To be sure, he needs some of the knowledge of the past, which gives the truest basis for conjecture as to the future; but he knows this need--he perceives it, and that is something. You are quite prejudiced against Mr. Thornton, Margaret.\"\n","abridged":"'So I do; but I don't feel quite so sure as you do of the existence of those feelings. He is a man of great strength of character - of unusual intellect, considering the few advantages he has had.'\n'Not so few. He has led a practical life from a very early age; has been called upon to exercise judgment and self-control. To be sure, he needs some knowledge of the past, which gives the truest basis for conjecture as to the future; but he perceives this need. You are quite prejudiced against Mr. Thornton, Margaret.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"He is the first specimen of a manufacturer--of a person engaged in trade--that I had ever the opportunity of studying, papa. He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it. I know he is good of his kind, and by and by I shall like the kind. I rather think I am already beginning to do so. I was very much interested by what the gentlemen were talking about, although I did not understand half of it. I was quite sorry when Miss Thornton came to take me to the other end of the room, saying she was sure I should be uncomfortable at being the only lady among so many gentlemen. I had never thought about it, I was so busy listening; and the ladies were so dull, papa--oh, so dull! Yet I think it was clever too. It reminded me of our old game of having each so many nouns to introduce into a sentence.\"\n","abridged":"'He is the first specimen of a manufacturer that I had ever the opportunity of studying, papa. He is my first olive: let me make a face while I swallow it. I know he is good of his kind, and by and by I shall like the kind. I think I am already beginning to do so. I was very much interested by what the gentlemen were talking about, although I did not understand half of it. I was quite sorry when Miss Thornton took me to the other end of the room, saying she was sure I was uncomfortable at being the only lady among so many gentlemen. I had never thought about it, I was so busy listening; and the ladies were so dull, papa! Yet clever too, at seeing how many nouns they could put into a sentence.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"What do you mean, child?\" asked Mr. Hale.\n\"Why, they took nouns that were signs of things which gave evidence of wealth,--housekeepers, under-gardeners, extent of glass, valuable lace, diamonds, and all such things; and each one formed her speech so as to bring them all in, in the prettiest accidental manner possible.\"\n\"You will be as proud of your one servant when you get her, if all is true about her that Mrs. Thornton says.\"\n\"To be sure, I shall. I felt like a great hypocrite to-night, sitting there in my white silk gown, with my idle hands before me, when I remembered all the good, thorough, house-work they had done to-day. They took me for a fine lady, I'm sure.\"\n\"Even I was mistaken enough to think you looked like a lady, my dear,\" said Mr. Hale, quietly smiling.\nBut smiles were changed to white and trembling looks when they saw Dixon's face, as she opened the door.\n","abridged":"'What do you mean, child?' asked Mr. Hale.\n'Why, they took nouns that indicated wealth: housekeepers, under-gardeners, glass, lace, diamonds, and so on; and brought them all into their speches, in the prettiest accidental manner possible.'\n'You will be as proud of your one servant when you get her.'\n'To be sure, I shall. I felt like a great hypocrite tonight, sitting idle in my white silk gown, when I remembered all the house-work I had done today. They took me for a fine lady, I'm sure.'\n'Even I thought you looked like a lady, my dear,' said Mr. Hale, smiling.\nBut smiles were changed to white and trembling looks, when they saw Dixon's face as she opened the door.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, master!--Oh, Miss Margaret! Thank God you are come! Dr. Donaldson is here. The servant next door went for him, for the charwoman is gone home. She's better now; but, oh sir! I thought she'd have died an hour ago.\"\nMr. Hale caught Margaret's arm to steady himself from falling. He looked at her face, and saw an expression upon it of surprise and extremest sorrow, but not the agony of terror that contracted his own unprepared heart. She knew more than he did, and yet she listened with that hopeless expression of awed apprehension.\n","abridged":"'Oh, master! - Oh, Miss Margaret! Thank God you are come! Dr. Donaldson is here. She's better now; but, oh, sir! I thought she'd have died an hour ago.'\nMr. Hale caught Margaret's arm to steady himself. He looked at her face, and saw upon it surprise and extreme sorrow, but not the agony of terror that contracted his own heart. She knew more than he did.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! I should not have left her--wicked daughter that I am!\" moaned forth Margaret, as she supported her trembling father's hasty steps upstairs. Dr. Donaldson met them on the landing.\n\"She is better now,\" he whispered. \"The opiate has taken effect. The spasms were very bad: no wonder they frightened your maid; but she'll rally this time.\"\n\"This time! Let me go to her!\" Half an hour ago Mr. Hale was a middle-aged man; now his sight was dim, his senses wavering, his walk tottering, as if he were seventy years of age.\n","abridged":"'Oh! I should not have left her - wicked daughter that I am!' she moaned as she supported her trembling father's steps. Dr. Donaldson met them on the landing.\n'She is better now,' he whispered. 'The opiate has taken effect. The spasms were very bad; but she'll rally this time.'\n'This time! Let me go to her!' Mr. Hale tottered as if he were seventy. "}
+{"original":"Dr. Donaldson took his arm, and led him into the bedroom. Margaret followed close. There lay her mother, with an unmistakeable look on her face. She might be better now; she was sleeping, but Death had signed her for his own, and it was clear that ere long he would return to take possession. Mr. Hale looked at her for some time without a word. Then he began to shake all over, and, turning away from Dr. Donaldson's anxious care, he groped to find the door; he could not see it, although several candles, brought in the sudden affright, were burning and flaring there. He staggered into the drawing-room, and felt about for a chair. Dr. Donaldson wheeled one to him, and placed him in it. He felt his pulse.\n","abridged":"Dr. Donaldson took his arm, and led him into the bedroom. Margaret followed.\nThere lay her mother, with an unmistakable look on her face. She was sleeping, but Death had signed her for his own, and it was clear that before long he would return to take possession. Mr. Hale looked at her for some time without a word. Then he began to shake all over, and, turning away from Dr. Donaldson, he groped blindly for the door. He staggered into the drawing-room, where Dr. Donaldson brought him a chair and felt his pulse.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Speak to him, Miss Hale. We must rouse him.\"\n\"Papa!\" said Margaret, with a crying voice that was wild with pain. \"Papa! Speak to me!\" The speculation came again into his eyes, and he made a great effort.\n\"Margaret, did you know of this? Oh, it was cruel of you!\"\n","abridged":"'Speak to him, Miss Hale. We must rouse him.'\n'Papa!' said Margaret, her voice wild with pain. 'Papa! Speak to me!'\nHe made a great effort. 'Margaret, did you know of this? Oh, it was cruel of you!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, sir, it was not cruel!\" replied Dr. Donaldson, with quick decision. \"Miss Hale acted under my directions. There may have been a mistake, but it was not cruel. Your wife will be a different creature to-morrow, I trust. She has had spasms, as I anticipated, though I did not tell Miss Hale of my apprehensions. She has taken the opiate I brought with me; she will have a good long sleep; and to-morrow that look which has alarmed you so much will have passed away.\"\n\"But not the disease?\"\nDr. Donaldson glanced at Margaret. Her bent head, her face raised with no appeal for a temporary reprieve, showed that quick observer of human nature that she thought it better that the whole truth should be told.\n","abridged":"'No, sir, it was not cruel!' replied Dr. Donaldson quickly. 'Miss Hale acted under my directions. Your wife will be a different creature tomorrow, I trust. She has had spasms, as I anticipated, though I did not tell Miss Hale of my apprehensions. She will have a good long sleep; and tomorrow, that alarming look will have passed.'\n'But not the disease?'\nDr. Donaldson glanced at Margaret. Her bent head showed him that she thought it better that the whole truth should be told.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not the disease. We cannot touch the disease, with all our poor vaunted skill. We can only delay its progress--alleviate the pain it causes. Be a man, sir--a Christian. Have faith in the immortality of the soul, which no pain, no mortal disease, can assail or touch!\"\nBut all the reply he got was in the choked words, \"You have never been married, Dr. Donaldson; you don't know what it is,\" and in the deep, manly sobs, which went through the stillness of the night like heavy pulses of agony.\nMargaret knelt by him, caressing him with tearful caresses. No one, not even Dr. Donaldson, knew how the time went by. Mr. Hale was the first to dare to speak of the necessities of the present moment.\n","abridged":"'Not the disease. We cannot touch the disease. We can only delay its progress and alleviate the pain. Be a man, sir - be a Christian. Have faith in the immortality of the soul, which no disease can touch!'\n'You have never been married, Dr. Donaldson; you do not know what it is.' Deep, manly sobs went through the stillness of the night like heavy pulses of agony. Margaret knelt by her father, caressing him tearfully. At last Mr. Hale spoke again.\n"}
+{"original":"\"What must we do?\" asked he. \"Tell us both. Margaret is my staff--my right hand.\"\nDr. Donaldson gave his clear, sensible directions. No fear for to-night--nay, even peace for to-morrow, and for many days yet. But no enduring hope of recovery. He advised Mr. Hale to go to bed, and leave only one to watch the slumber, which he hoped would be undisturbed. He promised to come again early in the morning. And, with a warm and kindly shake of the hand, he left them.\n","abridged":"'What must we do? Tell us both. Margaret is my right hand.'\nDr. Donaldson gave his clear, sensible directions. No fear for tonight - nay, even peace for many days yet. But no enduring hope of recovery. He advised Mr. Hale to go to bed, and leave only one person to watch the slumber, which he hoped would be undisturbed. He promised to come again early in the morning. And with a kindly shake of the hand, he left them.\n"}
+{"original":"They spoke but few words; they were too much exhausted by their terror to do more than decide upon the immediate course of action. Mr. Hale was resolved to sit up through the night, and all that Margaret could do was to prevail upon him to rest on the drawing-room sofa. Dixon stoutly and bluntly refused to go to bed; and, as for Margaret, it was simply impossible that she should leave her mother, let all the doctors in the world speak of \"husbanding resources,\" and \"one watcher only being required.\" So, Dixon sat, and stared, and winked, and drooped, and picked herself up again with a jerk, and finally gave up the battle, and fairly snored. Margaret had taken off her gown and tossed it aside with a sort of impatient disgust, and put on her dressing-gown. She felt as if she never could sleep again; as if her whole senses were acutely vital, and all endued with double keenness, for the purpose of watching. Every sight and sound--nay, even every thought, touched some nerve to the very quick. For more than two hours, she heard her father's restless movements in the next room. He came perpetually to the door of her mother's chamber, pausing there to listen, till she, not hearing his close unseen presence, went and opened it to tell him how all went on, in reply to the questions his baked lips could hardly form. At last he, too, fell asleep, and all the house was still. ","abridged":"They spoke but few words; they were too exhausted by their terror to do more than decide upon the immediate course of action. Mr. Hale was resolved to sit up through the night, and all that Margaret could do was to persuade him to rest on the drawing-room sofa. Dixon stoutly refused to go to bed; and, as for Margaret, it was simply impossible that she should leave her mother.\nSo Dixon sat, and stared, and drooped, and picked herself up again with a jerk, and finally gave up and fairly snored. Margaret, who had exchanged her gown for her dressing-gown, felt as if she never could sleep again; as if her senses were doubly keen. Every sight and sound touched some nerve to the very quick. She heard her father's restless movements in the next room, coming to the door of her mother's chamber, and pausing to listen, till she opened it to tell him how all went on.\nAt last he, too, fell asleep, and the house was still. "}
+{"original":"Margaret sat behind the curtain thinking. Far away in time, far away in space, seemed all the interests of past days. Not more than thirty-six hours ago, she cared for Bessy Higgins and her father, and her heart was wrung for Boucher; now, that was all like a dreaming memory of some former life;--everything that had passed out of doors seemed dissevered from her mother, and therefore unreal. Even Harley Street appeared more distinct; there she remembered, as if it were yesterday, how she had pleased herself with tracing out her mother's features in her Aunt Shaw's face,--and how letters had come, making her dwell on the thoughs of home with all the longing of love. Helstone, itself, was in the dim past. The dull gray days of the preceding winter and spring, so uneventless and monotonous, seemed more associated with what she cared for now above all price. She would fain have caught at the skirts of that departing time, and prayed it to return, and give her back what she had too little valued while it was yet in her possession. What a vain show Life seemed! How unsubstantial, and flickering, and flitting! It was as if from some arial belfry, high up above the stir and jar of the earth, there was a bell continually tolling, \"All are shadows!--all are passing!--all is past!\" ","abridged":"Margaret sat thinking. Only thirty-six hours ago, her heart was wrung for Bessy and for Boucher; now, that was like a dreaming memory of some former life. Even Harley Street appeared more distinct; she remembered, as if it were yesterday, how she had pleased herself with tracing out her mother's features in her Aunt Shaw's face - and the letters that had come from home.\nHelstone itself was in the dim past. She would fain have caught at the skirts of that departing time, and prayed it to return, and give her back what she had too little valued while she had it. What a vain show Life seemed! How unsubstantial, and flickering!\n"}
+{"original":"And when the morning dawned, cool and gray, like many a happier morning before--when Margaret looked one by one at the sleepers, it seemed as if the terrible night were unreal as a dream; it, too, was a shadow. It, too, was past.\nMrs. Hale herself was not aware when she awoke, how ill she had been the night before. She was rather surprised at Dr. Donaldson's early visit, and perplexed by the anxious faces of husband and child. She consented to remain in bed that day, saying she certainly was tired; but, the next, she insisted on getting up; and Dr. Donaldson gave his consent to her returning into the drawing-room. She was restless and uncomfortable in every position, and before night she became very feverish. Mr. Hale was utterly listless, and incapable of deciding on anything.\n\"What can we do to spare mamma such another night?\" asked Margaret on the third day.\n","abridged":"And when the morning dawned, cool and grey, like many a happier morning before - when Margaret looked at the sleepers, it seemed as if the terrible night were as unreal as a dream; it, too, was a shadow. It, too, was past.\nMrs. Hale herself was not aware, when she awoke, of how ill she had been the night before. She was rather surprised at Dr. Donaldson's early visit, and perplexed by the anxious faces of husband and child. She consented to remain in bed, saying she certainly was tired; but the next day, she insisted on getting up; and Dr. Donaldson allowed her to return into the drawing-room. She was restless and uncomfortable, and before night she became very feverish. Mr. Hale was utterly listless, and incapable of deciding on anything.\n'What can we do to spare mamma such another night?' Margaret asked the doctor on the third day.\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is to a certain degree, the reaction after the powerful opiates I have been obliged to use. It is more painful for you to see than for her to bear, I believe. But, I think, if we could get a water-bed it might be a good thing. Not but what she will be better to-morrow; pretty much like herself as she was before this attack. Still, I should like her to have a water-bed. Mrs. Thornton has one, I know. I'll try and call there this afternoon. Stay,\" said he, his eye catching on Margaret's face, blanched with watching in a sick room, \"I'm not sure whether I can go; I've a long round to take. It would do you no harm to have a brisk walk to Marlborough Street, and ask Mrs. Thornton if she can spare it.\"\n","abridged":"'It is, to some degree, the reaction after the powerful opiates I have been obliged to use. It is more painful for you to see than for her to bear, I believe. But, I think, if we could get a water-bed it might be a good thing. Though she will be better tomorrow; pretty much like herself again. Still, I should like her to have a water-bed. Mrs. Thornton has one, I know, made of rubber-coated canvas. I'll try and call there this afternoon. Stay,' said he, seeing Margaret's pale face. 'I'm not sure whether I can go; I've a long round to take. It would do you no harm to have a brisk walk to Marlborough Street, and ask Mrs. Thornton if she can spare it.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Certainly,\" said Margaret. \"I could go while mamma is asleep this afternoon. I'm sure Mrs. Thornton would lend it to us.\"\nDr. Donaldson's experience told him rightly. Mrs. Hale seemed to shake off the consequences of her attack, and looked brighter and better this afternoon than Margaret had ever hoped to see her again. Her daughter left her after dinner, sitting in her easy chair, with her hand lying in her husband's, who looked more worn and suffering than she by far. Still, he could smile now--rather slowly, rather faintly, it is true; but a day or two before, Margaret never thought to see him smile again.\n","abridged":"'Certainly,' said Margaret.\nThat afternoon Mrs. Hale seemed to shake off the consequences of her attack, and looked brighter and better than Margaret had hoped to see her again. Her daughter left her after dinner, sitting in her easy chair beside her husband, who looked more worn and suffering than she. Still, he could smile now - if only faintly.\n"}
+{"original":"It was about two miles from their house in Crampton Crescent to Marlborough Street. It was too hot to walk very quickly. An August sun beat straight down into the street at three o'clock in the afternoon. Margaret went along, without noticing anything very different from usual in the first mile and a half of her journey; she was absorbed in her own thoughts, and had learnt by this time to thread her way through the irregular stream of human beings that flowed through Milton streets. But, by and by, she was struck with an unusual heaving among the mass of people in the crowded road on which she was entering. They did not appear to be moving on, so much as talking, and listening, and buzzing with excitement without much stirring from the spot where they might happen to be. Still, as they made way for her, and, wrapt up in the purpose of her errand, and the necessities that suggested it, she was less quick of observation than she might have been, if her mind had been at ease. She had got into Marlborough Street before the full conviction forced itself upon her, that there was a restless, oppressive sense of irritation abroad among the people; a thunderous atmosphere, morally as well as physically, around her. From every narrow lane opening out on Marlborough Street came up a low distant roar, as of myriads of fierce indignant voices. The inhabitants of each poor squalid dwelling were gathered round the doors and windows, if indeed they were not actually standing in the middle of the narrow ways--all with looks intent towards one point. ","abridged":"It was about two miles to Marlborough Street. It was too hot to walk very quickly; an August sun beat down. At first Margaret went along without noticing anything very different from usual; she was absorbed in her own thoughts. But, by and by, she was struck with an unusual heaving among the mass of people in the crowded road. They did not appear to be moving on, so much as talking, and listening, and buzzing with excitement, without stirring from the spot. Still, since they made way for her, and she was wrapped in her errand and so less observant than she might have been, she had got into Marlborough Street before she realised that there was a restless, oppressive sense of irritation among the people; a thunderous atmosphere around her.\nFrom every narrow lane opening on to the street came a low distant roar of fierce indignant voices. The inhabitants of each squalid dwelling were gathered at the doors, or standing in the middle of the lane - all looking towards"}
+{"original":"Marlborough Street itself was the focus of all those human eyes, that betrayed intensest interest of various kinds; some fierce with anger, some lowering with relentless threats! some dilated with fear, or imploring entreaty; and as Margaret reached the small side-entrance by the folding doors, in the great dead wall of Marlborough mill-yard, and waited the porter's answer to the bell, she looked round and heard the first long far-off roll of the tempest;--saw the first slow-surging wave of the dark crowd come, with its threatening crest, tumble over, and retreat, at the far end of the street, which a moment ago seemed so full of repressed noise, but which now was ominously still; all these circumstances forced themselves on Margaret's notice, but did not sink down into her pre-occupied heart. She did not know what they meant--what was their deep significance; while she did know, did feel the keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab her through and through by leaving her motherless. She was trying to realise that, in order that, when it came, she might be ready to comfort her father.\nThe porter opened the door cautiously, not nearly wide enough to admit her.\n\"It's you, is it, ma'am?\" said he, drawing a long breath, and widening the entrance, but still not opening it fully. Margaret went in. He hastily bolted it behind her.\n","abridged":" Marlborough Street with intense interest in their eyes; some fierce with anger, some threatening, some dilated with fear, or imploring.\nAs Margaret reached the small side-entrance in the great dead wall of the mill-yard and waited for the porter to answer the bell, she looked round and heard the first long roll of the tempest; - saw the first slow-surging wave of the dark crowd come and then retreat, at the far end of the street, which now seemed ominously still.\nAlthough Margaret noticed all these things, she was still pre-occupied. She did not know what they meant; while she did know and feel the keen sharp pressure of the knife that was soon to stab her through by leaving her motherless. She was trying to realise that, so that she might be ready to comfort her father.\nThe porter opened the door cautiously.\n'It's you, is it, ma'am?' said he, drawing a long breath, and widening the entrance a little. Margaret went in. He hastily bolted it behind her.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Th' folk are all coming up here, I reckon?\" asked he.\n\"I don't know. Something unusual seemed going on; but this street is quite empty, I think.\"\nShe went across the yard and put up the steps to the house door. There was no near sound,--no steam engine at work with beat and pant,--no click of machinery, no mingling and clashing of many sharp voices; but far away, the ominous gathering roar, deep-clamouring.","abridged":"'Th' folk are all coming up here, I reckon?' asked he.\n'I don't know. Something unusual seemed to be going on; but this street is quite empty, I think.'\nShe went across the yard to the house door. There was no beat and pant of the steam-engine - no click of machinery; but far away, the ominous gathering roar."}
+{"original":"\"Show not that manner, and these features all, The serpent's cunning, and the sinner's fall?\" CRABBE.\nThe chill, shivery October morning came; not the October morning of the country, with soft, silvery mists, clearing off before the sunbeams that bring out all the gorgeous beauty of colouring, but the October morning of Milton, whose silvery mists were heavy fogs, and where the sun could only show long dusky streets when he did break through and shine. Margaret went languidly about, assisting Dixon in her task of arranging the house. Her eyes were continually blinded by tears, but she had no time to give way to regular crying. The father and brother depended upon her; while they were giving way to grief, she must be working, planning, considering. Even the necessary arrangements for the funeral seemed to devolve upon her.\nWhen the fire was bright and crackling--when everything was ready for breakfast, and the tea-kettle was singing away, Margaret gave a last look round the room before going to summon Mr. Hale and Frederick. She wanted everything to look as cheerful as possible; and yet, when it did so, the contrast between it and her own thoughts forced her into sudden weeping. She was kneeling by the sofa, hiding her face in the cushions that no one might hear her cry, when she was touched on the shoulder by Dixon.\n","abridged":"The chill, shivery October morning came; not the October morning of the country, with soft, silvery mists clearing before the sunbeams, but the October morning of Milton, whose silver mists were heavy fogs, and where the sun could only show long dusky streets when he did break through. Margaret went languidly about, helping Dixon. Her eyes were continually blinded by tears, but she had no time to cry. Her father and brother depended upon her; she must be working, planning, arranging the funeral.\nWhen the fire was bright and crackling, and everything was ready for breakfast, and the tea-kettle was singing away, Margaret gave a last look round the room before going to summon Mr. Hale and Frederick. She wanted everything to look as cheerful as possible; and yet the contrast between it and her own thoughts forced her into sudden weeping. She was hiding her face so that no one might hear her cry, when she was touched on the shoulder by Dixon.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Come, Miss Hale--come, my dear! You must not give way, or where shall we all be? There is not another person in the house fit to give a direction of any kind, and there is so much to be done. There's who's to manage the funeral; and who's to come to it; and where it's to be; and all to be settled: and Master Frederick's like one crazed with crying, and master never was a good one for settling; and, poor gentleman, he goes about now as if he was lost. It's bad enough, my dear, I know; but death comes to us all; and you're well off never to have lost any friend till now.\"\nPerhaps so. But this seemed a loss by itself; not to bear comparison with any other event in the world. Margaret did not take any comfort from what Dixon said, but the unusual tenderness of the prim old servant's manner touched her to the heart; and, more from a desire to show her gratitude for this than for any other reason, she roused herself up, and smiled in answer to Dixon's anxious look at her; and went to tell her father and brother that breakfast was ready.\n","abridged":"'Come, Miss Hale, my dear! You must not give way, or where shall we all be? There's the funeral to manage; and Master Frederick's crazed with crying, and master, poor gentleman, goes about as if he was lost. It's bad, my dear, I know; but death comes to us all; and you're well off never to have lost any friend till now.'\nPerhaps so. But this seemed a loss not to be compared to any other. Nevertheless, the unusual tenderness of the prim old servant touched Margaret to the heart. She smiled at Dixon; and went to tell her father and brother that breakfast was ready.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Hale came--as if in a dream, or rather with the unconscious motion of a sleep-walker, whose eyes and mind perceive other things than what are present. Frederick came briskly in, with a forced cheerfulness, grasped her hand, looked into her eyes and burst into tears. She had to try and think of little nothings to say all breakfast-time, in order to prevent the recurrence of her companions' thoughts too strongly to the last meal they had taken together, when there had been a continual strained listening for some sound or signal from the sick-room.\nAfter breakfast, she resolved to speak to her father about the funeral. He shook his head, and assented to all she proposed, though many of her propositions absolutely contradicted one another. Margaret gained no real decision from him; and was leaving the room languidly, to have a consultation with Dixon, when Mr. Hale motioned her back to his side.\n\"Ask Mr. Bell,\" said he in a hollow voice.\n\"Mr. Bell!\" said she, a little surprised. \"Mr. Bell of Oxford?\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Hale came in like a sleep-walker. Frederick entered briskly, with a forced cheerfulness, grasped her hand, looked into her eyes, and burst into tears. She had to try and think of little nothings to say all breakfast-time, to prevent her companions from thinking too much about the last meal they had taken together.\nAfter breakfast, she spoke to her father about the funeral. He shook his head, and agreed to all she proposed, though many of her propositions contradicted one another. Margaret was leaving the room when Mr. Hale beckoned her back.\n'Ask Mr. Bell,' said he in a hollow voice.\n'Mr. Bell of Oxford!' said she, a little surprised.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr. Bell,\" he repeated. \"Yes. He was my groom's-man.\"\nMargaret understood the association.\n\"I will write to-day,\" said she. He sank again into listlessness. All morning she toiled on, longing for rest, but in a continual whirl of melancholy business.\nTowards evening Dixon said to her:\n","abridged":"'Yes. He was my grooms-man at our wedding.'\nMargaret understood, and said, 'I will write today.' All morning she toiled on, longing for rest, but in a continual whirl of melancholy business.\nTowards evening, Dixon said to her:\n"}
+{"original":"\"I've done it, miss. I was really afraid for master, that he'd have a stroke with grief. He's been all this day with poor missus; and when I've listened at the door, I've heard him talking to her, and talking to her, as if she was alive. When I went in he would be quite quiet, but all in a maze like. So I thought to myself, he ought to be roused; and if it gives him a shock at first, it will, maybe, be the better for him afterwards. So I've been and told him, that I don't think it's safe for Master Frederick to be here. And I don't. It was only on Tuesday, when I was out, that I met a Southampton man--the first I've seen since I came to Milton; they don't make their way much up here, I think. Well, it was young Leonards, old Leonards the draper's son, as great a scamp as ever lived--who plagued his father almost to death, and then ran off to sea. I never could abide him. ","abridged":"'I've done it, miss. I was really afraid that master would have a stroke with grief. He's been all this day with poor missus; talking to her as if she was alive. When I went in he would be quiet, but all in a maze like. I thought to myself, he ought to be roused. So I've been and told him, that I don't think it's safe for Master Frederick to be here. And I don't. It was only on Tuesday, when I was out, that I met a Southampton man - young Leonards, old Leonards the draper's son, as great a scamp as ever lived - who plagued his father almost to death, and then ran off to sea. I never could abide him. "}
+{"original":"He was in the Orion at the same time as Frederick, I know; though I don't recollect if he was there at the mutiny.\"\n\"Did he know you?\" said Margaret, eagerly.\n","abridged":"He was on the Orion at the same time as Master Frederick, I know; though I don't recollect if he was there at the mutiny.'\n'Did he recognise you?' said Margaret eagerly.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why, that's the worst of it. I don't believe he would have known me but for my being such a fool as to call out his name. He were a Southampton man, in a strange place, or else I should never have been so ready to call cousins with him, a nasty, good-for-nothing-fellow. Says he, 'Miss Dixon! who would ha' thought of seeing you here? But perhaps I mistake, and you're Miss Dixon no longer?' So I told him he might still address me as an unmarried lady, though if I hadn't been so particular, I'd had good chances of matrimony. He was polite enough: 'He couldn't look at me and doubt me.' But I were not to be caught with such chaff from such a fellow as him, and so I told him; and, by way of being even, I asked him after his father (who I knew had turned him out of doors), as if they were the best friends as ever was. So then, to spite me--for you see we were getting savage, for all we were so civil to each other--he began to inquire after Master Frederick, and said, what a scrape he'd got into (as if Master Frederick's scrapes would ever wash George Leonards white, or make 'em look otherwise than nasty, dirty black), and how he'd be hung for mutiny if ever he were caught, and how a hundred pound reward had been offered for catching him, and what a disgrace he had been to his family--all to spite me, you see, my dear, because before now I've helped old Mr. Leonards to give George a good rating, down in Southampton. ","abridged":"'Why, that's the worst of it. I don't believe he would have known me but for my being such a fool as to call out his name. Says he, \"Miss Dixon! who would ha' thought of seeing you here? But perhaps I mistake, and you're Miss Dixon no longer?\" So I told him he might still address me as an unmarried lady, though if I hadn't been so particular, I'd had good chances of matrimony. He was polite enough; but I asked after his father (who I knew had turned him out), as if they was best friends. So then, to spite me - for you see we were getting savage, for all we were so civil to each other - he began to inquire after Master Frederick, and said what a scrape he'd got into, and how he'd be hung for mutiny if ever he were caught, and how a hundred pound reward had been offered for catching him, and what a disgrace he had been to his family. "}
+{"original":"So I said, there were other families as I knew, who had far more cause to blush for their sons, and to be thankful if they could think they were earning an honest living far away from home. To which he made answer, like the impudent chap he is, that he were in a confidential situation, and if I knew of any young man who had been so unfortunate as to lead vicious courses, and wanted to turn steady, he'd have no objection to lend him his patronage. He, indeed! Why, he'd corrupt a saint. I've not felt so bad myself for years as when I were standing talking to him the other day. I could have cried to think I couldn't spite him better, for he kept smiling in my face, as if he took all my compliments for earnest; and I couldn't see that he minded what I said in the least, while I was mad with all his speeches.\"\n\"But you did not tell him anything about us--about Frederick?\"\n","abridged":"So I said, there were other families who had far more cause to blush for their sons. To which he made answer, like the impudent chap he is, that if I knew of any young man who had been leading vicious courses, and wanted to turn steady, he'd lend a hand. He, indeed! Why, he'd corrupt a saint. I've not felt so bad for years. I could have cried to think I couldn't spite him better, for he kept smiling in my face, while I was mad with him.'\n'But you did not tell him anything about Frederick?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not I,\" said Dixon. \"He had never the grace to ask where I was staying; and I shouldn't have told him if he had asked. Nor did I ask him what his precious situation was. He was waiting for a bus, and just then it drove up, and he hailed it. But, to plague me to the last, he turned back before he got in, and said, 'If you can help me to trap Lieutenant Hale, Miss Dixon, we'll go partners in the reward. I know you'd like to be my partner, now wouldn't you? Don't be shy, but say yes.' And he jumped on the bus, and I saw his ugly face leering at me with a wicked smile to think how he'd had the last word of plaguing.\"\nMargaret was made very uncomfortable by this account of Dixon's.\n","abridged":"'Not I,' said Dixon. 'He had never the grace to ask where I was staying; and I shouldn't have told him if he had asked. He was waiting for a bus, and just then it drove up, and he hailed it. But he turned back before he got in, and said, \"If you can help me to trap Lieutenant Hale, Miss Dixon, we'll go partners in the reward. I know you'd like to be my partner, wouldn't you? Don't be shy.\" And he jumped on the bus, and I saw his ugly face leering at me with a wicked smile.'\nMargaret was made very uncomfortable by this account. "}
+{"original":"\"Have you told Frederick?\" asked she.\n\"No,\" said Dixon. \"I were uneasy in my mind at knowing that bad Leonards was in town; but there was so much else to think about that I did not dwell on it all. But when I saw master sitting so stiff, and with his eyes so glazed and sad, I thought it might rouse him to have to think of Master Frederick in hiding, he would have to go, poor fellow, before Mr. Bell came.\"\n\"Oh, I'm not afraid of Mr. Bell; but I am afraid of this Leonards. I must tell Frederick. What did Leonards look like?\"\n","abridged":"'Have you told Frederick?'\n'No,' said Dixon. 'I were uneasy in my mind knowing that Leonards was in town; but there was so much else to think about that I did not dwell on it. But when I saw master sitting so stiff and sad, I thought it might rouse him to have to think of Master Frederick's safety. So I told him all; and it has done master good. And if we're to keep Master Frederick in hiding, he would have to go before Mr. Bell came.'\n'Oh, I'm not afraid of Mr. Bell; but I am afraid of this Leonards. What did he look like?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"A bad-looking fellow, I can assure you, miss. Whiskers such as I should be ashamed to wear--they are so red. And for all he said he'd got a confidential situation, he was dressed in fustian just like a working-man.\"\nIt was evident that Frederick must go. Go, too, when he had so completely vaulted into his place in the family, and promised to be such a stay and staff to his father and sister. Go, when his cares for the living mother, and sorrow for the dead, seemed to make him one of those peculiar people who are bound to us by a fellow-love for them that are taken away. Just as Margaret was thinking all this, sitting over the drawing-room fire--her father restless and uneasy under the pressure of this newly-aroused fear, of which he had not as yet spoken--Frederick came in, his brightness dimmed, but the extreme violence of his grief passed away. He came up to Margaret, and kissed her forehead.\n","abridged":"'A bad-looking fellow, miss. Whiskers such as I should be ashamed to wear - they are so red. And he was dressed in coarse fustian just like a working-man.'\nIt was evident that Frederick must go. Go, too, when he had promised to be such a support to his father and sister. Just as Margaret was thinking this, sitting by the drawing-room fire - her father restless and uneasy with this newly-aroused fear - Frederick came in. He kissed her forehead.\n"}
+{"original":"\"How wan you look, Margaret!\" said he in a low voice. \"You have been thinking of everybody, and no one has thought of you. Lie on this sofa--there is nothing for you to do.\"\n\"That is the worst,\" said Margaret, in a sad whisper. But she went and lay down, and her brother covered her feet with a shawl and then sate on the ground by her side; and the two began to talk together in a subdued tone.\nMargaret told him all that Dixon had related of her interview with young Leonards. Frederick's lips closed with a long whew of dismay.\n","abridged":"'How wan you look, Margaret! You have been thinking of everybody, and no one has thought of you. Lie on this sofa - there is nothing for you to do.'\n'That is the worst thing,' said Margaret sadly. But she went and lay down, and her brother sat on the floor by her side.\nThe two began to talk in a subdued tone. Margaret told him all that Dixon had related of her interview with young Leonards. Frederick's lips closed with a long whew of dismay.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I should just like to have it out with that young fellow. A worse sailor was never on board ship--nor a much worse man either. I declare, Margaret--you know the circumstances of the whole affair?\"\n\"Yes, mamma told me.\"\n\"Well, when all the sailors who were good for anything were indignant with our captain, this fellow to curry favour--pah! And to think of his being here! Oh, if he'd a notion I was within twenty miles of him, he'd ferret me out to pay all old grudges. I'd rather anybody had the hundred pounds they think I am worth than that rascal. What a pity poor old Dixon could not be persuaded to give me up, and make a provision for her old age!\"\n","abridged":"'A worse sailor was never on board ship - nor a much worse man either. You know the whole affair?'\n'Yes, mamma told me.'\n'Well, when all the sailors who were good for anything were indignant with our captain, this fellow, to curry favour - pah! And to think of his being here! If he knew I was within twenty miles of him, he'd ferret me out to pay off old grudges. I'd rather anybody had the hundred pounds reward than that rascal. What a pity poor old Dixon could not be persuaded to give me up, and provide for her old age!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, Frederick, hush! Don't talk so.\"\nMr. Hale came towards them, eager and trembling. He had overheard what they were saying. He took Frederick's hand in both of his:\n\"My boy, you must go. It is very bad--but I see you must. You have done all you could--you have been a comfort to her.\"\n\"Oh, papa, must he go?\" said Margaret, pleading against her own conviction of necessity.\n","abridged":"'Oh, Frederick, hush! Don't talk so.'\nMr. Hale came towards them, eager and trembling. He had overheard, and took Frederick's hand, saying:\n'My boy, you must go. You have done all you could - you have been a comfort to her.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I declare, I've a good mind to face it out, and stand my trial. If I could only pick up my evidence! I cannot endure the thought of being in the power of such a blackguard as Leonards. I could almost have enjoyed--in other circumstances--this stolen visit: it has had all the charm which the Frenchwoman attributed to forbidden pleasures.\"\n\"One of the earliest things I can remember,\" said Margaret, \"was your being in some great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples. We had plenty of our own--trees loaded with them; but some one had told you that stolen fruit tasted sweetest, which you took au pied de la lettre, and off you went a-robbing. You have not changed your feelings much since then.\"\n\"Yes--you must go,\" repeated Mr. Hale, answering Margaret's question, which she had asked some time ago. His thoughts were fixed on one subject, and it was an effort to him to follow the zigzag remarks of his children--an effort which he did not make.\n","abridged":"'I declare, I've a good mind to face it out, and stand my trial,' said Frederick. 'If I could only pick up my evidence! I cannot endure the thought of being in the power of a blackguard like Leonards. I could almost have enjoyed - in other circumstances - this stolen visit: it has had all the charm of forbidden pleasures.'\n'One of the earliest things I can remember,' said Margaret, 'was your being in great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples. We had plenty of our own, but someone had told you that stolen fruit tasted sweetest, and off you went a-robbing. You have not changed much since then.'\n'Yes - you must go,' repeated Mr. Hale, not following the zig-zag remarks of his children.\n"}
+{"original":"Margaret and Frederick looked at each other. That quick momentary sympathy would be theirs no longer if he went away. So much was understood through eyes that could not be put into words. Both coursed the same thought till it was lost in sadness. Frederick shook it off first:\n\"Do you know, Margaret, I was very nearly giving both Dixon and myself a good fright this afternoon. I was in my bedroom; I had heard a ring at the front door, but I thought the ringer must have done his business and gone away long ago; so I was on the point of making my appearance in the passage, when, as I opened my room door, I saw Dixon coming downstairs; and she frowned and kicked me into hiding again. I kept the door open, and heard a message given to some man that was in my father's study, and that then went away. What could it have been? Some of the shopmen?\"\n","abridged":"Margaret and Frederick looked at each other with quick sympathy. So much was understood that could not be put into words. Frederick said:\n'Do you know, Margaret, I nearly gave both Dixon and myself a good fright this afternoon. I was in my bedroom; I had heard a ring at the front door, but I thought the ringer must have gone away; so I was just coming out into the passage, when I saw Dixon; and she frowned and kicked me into hiding again. I kept the door open, and heard a message given to some man in my father's study, who then went away. Who could it have been? Some shopman? "}
+{"original":"\"Very likely,\" said Margaret indifferently. \"There was a little quiet man who came up for orders about two o'clock.\"\n\"But this was not a little man--a great powerful fellow; and it was past four when he was here.\"\n\"It was Mr. Thornton,\" said Mr. Hale. They were glad to have drawn him into the conversation.\n\"Mr. Thornton!\" said Margaret, a little surprised. \"I thought----\"\n\"Well, little one, what did you think?\" asked Frederick, as she did not finish her sentence.\n","abridged":"It was a great powerful fellow.'\n'It was Mr. Thornton,' said Mr. Hale.\n'Mr. Thornton!' said Margaret, a little surprised. 'I thought-'\n'Well, little one, what did you think?' asked Frederick.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, only,\" said she, reddening and looking straight at him, \"I fancied you meant some one of a different class, not a gentleman; somebody come on an errand.\"\n\"He looked like someone of that kind,\" said Frederick, carelessly. \"I took him for a shopman, and he turns out a manufacturer.\"\nMargaret was silent. She remembered how at first, before she knew his character, she had spoken and thought of him just as Frederick was doing. It was but a natural impression that was made upon him, and yet she was a little annoyed by it. She was unwilling to speak; she wanted to make Frederick understand what kind of person Mr. Thornton was--but she was tongue-tied.\n","abridged":"'Oh, only,' said she, reddening, 'I thought you meant someone come on an errand, not a gentleman.'\n'I took him for a shopman,' said Frederick, carelessly.\nMargaret was silent. She remembered how at first she had spoken of Mr. Thornton just as Frederick was doing. It was only natural, and yet she was a little annoyed by it. She wanted to make Frederick understand what kind of person Mr. Thornton was - but she was tongue-tied.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Hale went on. \"He came to offer any assistance in his power, I believe. But I could not see him. I told Dixon to ask him if he would like to see you--I think I asked her to find you, and you would go to him. I don't know what I said.\"\n\"He has been a very agreeable acquaintance, has he not?\" asked Frederick, throwing the question like a ball for any one to catch who chose.\n\"A very kind friend,\" said Margaret, when her father did not answer.\nFrederick was silent for a time. At last he spoke:\n","abridged":"Mr. Hale went on. 'He came to offer any assistance in his power. But I could not see him. I told Dixon to ask him if he would like to see you.'\n'He has been a very agreeable acquaintance, has he not?' asked Frederick.\n'A very kind friend,' said Margaret, when her father did not answer.\nFrederick was silent for a time. At last he spoke:\n"}
+{"original":"\"Margaret, it is painful to think I can never thank those who have shown you kindness. Your acquaintances and mine must be separate. Unless, indeed, I run the chances of a court-martial, or unless you and my father would come to Spain.\" He threw out this last suggestion as a kind of feeler; and then suddenly made the plunge. \"You don't know how I wish you would. I have a good position--the chance of a better,\" continued he, reddening like a girl. \"That Dolores Barbour that I was telling you of, Margaret--I only wish you knew her; I am sure you would like--no, love is the right word, like is so poor--you would love her, father, if you knew her. She is not eighteen; but if she is in the same mind another year, she is to be my wife. Mr. Barbour won't let us call it an engagement. But if you would come you would find friends everywhere, besides Dolores. ","abridged":"'Margaret, it is painful to think I can never thank those who have shown you kindness. Your acquaintances and mine must be separate - unless I run the chances of a court-martial, or you both come to Spain.' He threw out this last suggestion as a kind of feeler; and then suddenly made the plunge.\n'I wish you would. I have a good position,' continued he, reddening. 'That Dolores Barbour that I was telling you of, Margaret - I only wish you knew her; I am sure you would like - no, love is the right word - you would love her, father, if you knew her. She is not eighteen; but if she is in the same mind next year, she is to be my wife. Mr. Barbour won't let us call it an engagement. But if you would come, you would find friends everywhere, besides Dolores. "}
+{"original":"Think of it, father. Margaret be on my side.\"\n\"No--no more removals for me,\" said Mr. Hale. \"One has cost me my wife. No more removals in this life. She will be here; and here will I stay out my appointed time.\"\n\"Oh, Frederick,\" said Margaret, \"tell us more about her. I never thought of this; but I am so glad. You will have some one to love and care for you out there. Tell us all about it.\"\n","abridged":"Think of it, father.'\n'No more removals for me,' said Mr. Hale. 'One removal has cost me my wife. No more removals. She will be here; and here will I stay.'\n'Oh, Frederick,' said Margaret, 'tell us more about Dolores. I am so glad. You will have someone to love and care for you out there.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"In the first place, she is a Roman Catholic. That's the only objection I anticipated. But my father's change of opinion--nay, Margaret, don't sigh.\"\nMargaret had reason to sigh a little more before the conversation ended. Frederick himself was Roman Catholic in fact, though not in profession as yet. This was, then, the reason why his sympathy in her extreme distress at her father's leaving the church had been so faintly expressed in his letters. She had thought it was the carelessness of a sailor; but the truth was, that even then he was himself inclined to give up the form of religion into which had been baptized, only that his opinions were tending in exactly the opposite direction to those of his father. How much love had to do with this change not even Frederick himself could have told. Margaret gave up talking about this branch of the subject at last; and, returning to the fact of the engagement, she began to consider it in some fresh light.\n","abridged":"'In the first place, she is a Roman Catholic. But my father's change of opinion - nay, Margaret, don't sigh.'\nMargaret had reason to sigh a little more before long. Frederick himself was Roman Catholic, though not officially as yet. This, then, was the reason why he had shown so little distress at her father's leaving the Anglican Church. Margaret gave up talking about this subject. Returning to the engagement, she began to see it in a fresh light:\n"}
+{"original":"\"But for her sake, Fred, you surely will try and clear yourself of the exaggerated charges brought against you, even if the charge of mutiny itself be true. If there were to be a court-martial, and you could find your witnesses, you might, at any rate, show your disobedience to authority was because that authority was unworthily exercised.\"\nMr. Hale roused himself up to listen to his son's answer.\n\"In the first place, Margaret, who is to hunt up my witnesses? All of them are sailors, drafted off to other ships, except those whose evidence would go for very little, as they took part or sympathised in the affair. In the next place allow me to tell you, you don't know what a court-martial is, and consider it as an assembly where justice is administered, instead of what it really is--a court where authority weighs nine-tenths in the balance, and evidence forms only the other tenth. In such cases, evidence itself can hardly escape being influenced by the prestige of authority.\"\n","abridged":"'But for her sake, Fred, you surely will try and clear yourself of the charges brought against you. If there were to be a court-martial, and you could find your witnesses, you might show how your disobedience to authority was because that authority was unworthily exercised.'\n'Who is to hunt up my witnesses?' responded Frederick. 'All of them are sailors, drafted off to other ships, except those whose evidence would go for very little, as they took part in the affair. And you don't know what a court-martial is. You consider it as an assembly where justice is administered, but really it is a court where authority weighs nine-tenths in the balance, and evidence forms only the other tenth.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"But is it not worth trying, to see how much evidence might be discovered and arrayed on your behalf? At present, all those who knew you formerly, believe you guilty without any shadow of excuse. You have never tried to justify yourself, and we have never known where to seek for proofs of your justification. Now, for Miss Barbour's sake, make your conduct as clear as you can in the eye of the world. She may not care for it; she has, I am sure, that trust in you that we all have; but you ought not to let her ally herself to one under such a serious charge, without showing the world exactly how it is you stand. You disobeyed authority--that was bad; but to have stood by, without word or act, while the authority was brutally used, would have been infinitely worse. People know what you did; but not the motives that elevate it out of a crime into an heroic protection of the weak. For Dolores' sake, they ought to know.\"\n","abridged":"'But is it not worth trying, to see how much evidence might be discovered and arrayed on your behalf? At present, you are believed guilty without any shadow of excuse. You have never tried to justify yourself. Now, for Miss Barbour's sake, make your conduct as clear as you can in the eye of the world. She trusts in you, I am sure; but you ought not to let her ally herself to one under such a serious charge, without showing the world exactly how you stand. You disobeyed authority - that was bad; but to have stood by passively while the authority was brutally used, would have been infinitely worse. For Dolores' sake, people ought to know your motives.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"But how must I make them know? I am not sufficiently sure of the purity and justice of those who would be my judges, to give myself up to a court-martial, even if I could bring a whole array of truth-speaking witnesses. I can't send a bell-man about, to cry aloud and proclaim in the streets what you are pleased to call my heroism. No one would read a pamphlet of self-justification so long after the deed, even if I put one out.\"\n\"Will you consult a lawyer as to your chances of exculpation?\" asked Margaret, looking up, and turning very red.\n\"I must first catch my lawyer, and have a look at him, and see how I like him, before I make him into my confidant. Many a briefless barrister might twist his conscience into thinking, that he could earn a hundred pounds very easily by doing a good action--in giving me, a criminal up to justice.\"\n\"Nonsense, Frederick!--because I know a lawyer on whose honour I can rely; of whose cleverness in his profession people speak very highly; and who would, I think, take a good deal of trouble for any of--Aunt Shaw's relations. Mr. Henry Lennox, papa.\"\n","abridged":"'But I am not sure enough of the purity of my judges to give myself up to a court-martial, even if I could bring a whole array of witnesses.'\n'Will you consult a lawyer as to your chances?' asked Margaret, turning red.\n'I must first catch my lawyer, and have a look at him, before I confide in him. Many a briefless barrister might decide he could earn a hundred pounds very easily by giving me up to justice.'\n'I know a lawyer on whose honour I can rely; people speak very highly of his cleverness; and I think he would take a good deal of trouble for any of - of Aunt Shaw's relations. Mr. Henry Lennox, papa.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I think it is a good idea,\" said Mr. Hale. \"But don't propose anything which will detain Frederick in England. Don't, for your mother's sake.\"\n\"You could go to London by a night-train,\" continued Margaret, warming up into her plan. \"He must go to-morrow, I'm afraid, papa,\" said she, tenderly; \"we fixed that, because of Mr. Bell, and Dixon's disagreeable acquaintance.\"\n\"Yes; I must go to-morrow,\" said Frederick, decidedly.\nMr. Hale groaned. \"I can't bear to part with you, and yet I am miserable with anxiety as long as you stop here.\"\n","abridged":"'It is a good idea,' said Mr. Hale. 'But don't propose anything which will detain Frederick in England.'\n'You could go to London tomorrow evening by overnight train,' suggested Margaret.\nMr. Hale groaned. 'I can't bear to part with you, and yet I am miserable with anxiety as long as you stop here.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well then,\" said Margaret, \"listen to my plan. He gets to London on Friday morning. I will--you might--no! it would be better to give him a note to Mr. Lennox. You will find him at his chambers in the Temple.\"\n","abridged":"'Well then,' said Margaret, 'listen to my plan. He gets to London on Friday morning. I will give him a note to Mr. Lennox; his chambers are in the Temple.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will write down a list of all the names I can remember on board the Orion. I could leave it with him to ferret them out. He is Edith's husband's brother, isn't he? I remember your naming him in your letters. I have money in Barbour's hands. I can pay a pretty long bill, if there's any chance of success. Money, dear father, that I had meant for a different purpose; so I shall only consider it as borrowed from you and Margaret.\"\n","abridged":"'I will write down a list of all the names I can remember on board the Orion, and leave it with him to ferret them out. He is Edith's husband's brother, isn't he? I remember him from your letters. I have money in Barbour's hands. I can pay a pretty long bill, if there is any chance of success.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Don't do that,\" said Margaret. \"You won't risk it if you do. And it will be as risk; only it is worth trying. You can sail from London as well as from Liverpool?\"\n\"To be sure, little goose. Wherever I feel water heaving under a plank, there I feel at home. I'll pick up some craft or other to take me off, never fear. I won't stay twenty-four hours in London, away from you on the one hand, and from somebody else on the other.\"\n","abridged":"'You can sail from London as well as from Liverpool?' asked Margaret.\n'To be sure, little goose. Wherever I feel water heaving under a plank, there I feel at home. I'll pick up some craft or other to take me off, never fear. I won't stay twenty-four hours in London.'\n"}
+{"original":"It was rather a comfort to Margaret that Frederick took it into his head to look over her shoulder as she wrote to Mr. Lennox. If she had not been thus compelled to write steadily and concisely on, she might have hesitated over many a word, and been puzzled to choose between many an expression, in the awkwardness of being the first to resume the intercourse of which the concluding event had been so unpleasant to both sides. However, the note was taken from her before she had even had time to look it over, and treasured up in a pocket-book, out of which fell a long lock of black hair, the sight of which caused Frederick's eyes to glow with pleasure.\n\"Now you would like to see that, wouldn't you?\" said he. \"No! you must wait till you see her herself. She is too perfect to be known by fragments. No mean brick shall be a specimen of the building of my palace.\"","abridged":"It was rather a comfort to Margaret that Frederick looked over her shoulder as she wrote to Mr. Lennox. It made her write steadily and concisely, despite the awkwardness of being the first to resume communications after his proposal. The note was taken from her before she had even had time to look it over, and treasured up in a pocket-book, out of which fell a long lock of black hair, which caused Frederick's eyes to glow with pleasure.\n'Now you would like to see that, wouldn't you?' said he. 'No! you must wait till you see her herself.'"}
+{"original":"\"I ask Thee for a thoughtful love, Through constant watching wise, To meet the glad with joyful smiles, And to wipe the weeping eyes; And a heart at leisure from itself To soothe and sympathise.\" ANON.\nMargaret made a good listener to all her mother's little plans for adding some small comforts to the lot of the poorest parishioners. She could not help listening, though each new project was a stab to her heart. By the time the frost had set in, they should be far away from Helstone. Old Simon's rheumatism might be bad and his eyesight worse; there would be no one to go and read to him, and comfort him with little porringers of broth and good red flannel; or if there was, it would be a stranger, and the old man would watch in vain for her. Mary Domville's little crippled boy would crawl in vain to the door and look for her coming through the forest. These poor friends would never understand why she had forsaken them; and there were many others besides. \"Papa has always spent the income he derived from his living in the parish. I am, perhaps, encroaching upon the next dues, but the winter is likely to be severe, and our poor people must be helped.\"\n","abridged":"Margaret made a good listener to all her mother's little plans for helping the poorer parishioners, though each new project was a stab to her heart. Old Simon's rheumatism might be bad and his eyesight worse; there would be no one to go and read to him, and take him broth. Mary Domville's little crippled boy would crawl in vain to the door and look for her coming through the forest. These poor friends, and many others, would never understand why she had forsaken them.\n'The winter is likely to be severe,' said her mother, 'and the old people must be helped.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, mamma, let us do all we can,\" said Margaret eagerly, not seeing the prudential side of the question, only grasping at the idea that they were rendering such help for the last time; \"we may not be here long.\"\n\"Do you feel ill, my darling?\" asks Mrs. Hale, anxiously, misunderstanding Margaret's hint of the uncertainty of their stay at Helstone. \"You look pale and tired. It is this soft, damp, unhealthy air.\"\n\"No--no, mamma, it is not that: it is delicious air. It smells of the freshest, purest fragrance, after the smokiness of Harley Street. But I am tired: it surely must be near bedtime.\"\n","abridged":"'Oh, mamma, let us do all we can,' said Margaret eagerly; 'we may not be here long.'\n'Do you feel ill, my darling?' asked Mrs. Hale. 'You look pale and tired. It is this damp, unhealthy air.'\n'No. no, mamma: it is delicious air. It smells fresh and pure after the smokiness of Harley Street. But I am tired: it must be near bedtime.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not far off--it is half-past nine. You had better go to bed at once, dear. Ask Dixon for some gruel. I will come and see you as soon as you are in bed. I am afraid you have taken cold; or the bad air from some of the stagnant ponds--\"\n\"Oh, mamma,\" said Margaret, faintly smiling as she kissed her mother, \"I am quite well--don't alarm yourself about me; I am only tired.\"\n","abridged":"'You had better go to bed, dear. Ask Dixon for some gruel. I am afraid you have taken cold.'\n'Oh, mamma,' said Margaret, faintly smiling as she kissed her mother, 'I am quite well - don't alarm yourself.'\n"}
+{"original":"Margaret went up stairs. To soothe her mother's anxiety she submitted to a basin of gruel. She was lying languidly in bed when Mrs. Hale came up to make some last inquiries and kiss her before going to her own room for the night. But the instant she heard her mother's door locked, she sprang out of bed, and throwing her dressing-gown on, she began to pace up and down the room, until the creaking of one of the boards reminded her that she must make no noise. She went and curled herself upon the window-seat in the small, deeply-recessed window. That morning when she had looked out, her heart had danced at seeing the bright clear lights on the church tower, which foretold a fine and sunny day. This evening--sixteen hours at most had past by--she sat down, too full of sorrow to cry, but with a cold dull pain, which seemed to have pressed the youth and buoyancy out of her heart, never to return. Mr. Henry Lennox's visit--his offer--was like a dream, a thing beside her actual life. The hard reality was, that her father had so admitted tempting doubts into his mind as to become a schismatic--an outcast; all the changes consequent upon this grouped themselves around that one great blighting fact.\n","abridged":"To soothe her mother's anxiety, she submitted to a basin of gruel. She was lying in bed when Mrs. Hale came up to kiss her good-night. But the instant she heard her mother's door locked, she sprang out of bed, and throwing her dressing-gown on, began to pace up and down the room, until the creaking of the boards reminded her that she must make no noise.\nShe went and curled up on the window-seat. That morning when she had looked out, her heart had danced at seeing the sunlight on the church tower. This evening she sat down with a dull cold pain, which seemed to have pressed the youth and buoyancy out of her heart. Mr. Henry Lennox's visit was like a dream. The hard reality was that her father had made himself an outcast; all the resulting changes grouped themselves around that one great blighting fact.\n"}
+{"original":"She looked out upon the dark-grey lines of the church towers, square and straight in the centre of the view, cutting against the deep blue transparent depths beyond, into which she gazed, and felt that she might gaze for ever, seeing at every moment some farther distance, and yet no sign of God! It seemed to her at the moment, as if the earth was more utterly desolate than if girt in by an iron dome, behind which there might be the ineffaceable peace and glory of the Almighty: those never-ending depths of space, in their still serenity, were more mocking to her than any material bounds could be--shutting in the cries of earth's sufferers, which now might ascend into that infinite splendour of vastness and be lost--lost for ever, before they reached His throne. In this mood her father came in unheard. The moonlight was strong enough to let him see his daughter in her unusual place and attitude. He came to her and touched her shoulder before she was aware that he was there.\n\"Margaret, I heard you were up. I could not help coming in to ask you to pray with me--to say the Lord's Prayer; that will do good to both of us.\"\n","abridged":"She looked out upon the dark-grey lines of the church tower, square and straight, cutting against the deep blue transparent depths beyond, into which she gazed, and felt that she might gaze for ever, seeing at every moment some farther distance, and yet no sign of God! It seemed to her as if the earth was utterly desolate. Those never-ending depths of space, in their still serenity, were mocking to her. The cries of earth's sufferers might ascend into that infinite splendour of vastness and be lost for ever, before they reached His throne.\nHer father came in unheard, and touched her shoulder.\n'Margaret, I heard you were up. I could not help coming in to ask you to pray with me - to say the Lord's Prayer; that will do us both good.'\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Hale and Margaret knelt by the window-seat--he looking up, she bowed down in humble shame. God was there, close around them, hearing her father's whispered words. Her father might be a heretic; but had not she, in her despairing doubts not five minutes before, shown herself a far more utter sceptic? She spoke not a word, but stole to bed after her father had left her, like a child ashamed of its fault. If the world was full of perplexing problems she would trust, and only ask to see the one step needful for the hour. Mr. Lennox--his visit, his proposal--the remembrance of which had been so rudely pushed aside by the subsequent events of the day--haunted her dreams that night. He was climbing up some tree of fabulous height to reach the branch whereon was slung her bonnet: he was falling and she was struggling to save him, but held back by some invisible powerful hand. He was dead. And yet, with a shifting of the scene, she was once more in the Harley Street drawing-room, talking to him as of old, and still with a consciousness all the time that she had seen him killed by that terrible fall.\n","abridged":"They knelt by the window-seat - he looking up, she bowed in humble shame. God was there, hearing her father's whispered words. Her father might be a heretic; but had not she, in her despair five minutes before, shown herself a far more utter sceptic?\nAfter her father left her, she stole to bed like a child ashamed of its fault. If the world was full of perplexing problems, she would only ask to see the one step needful for the hour.\nMr. Lennox's proposal - the memory of which had been so rudely pushed aside by the day's events - haunted her dreams that night. He was climbing up some tall tree to reach the branch whereon was slung her bonnet: he was falling, and she was struggling to save him, but held back by some invisible powerful hand. He was dead. And then she was once more in the Harley Street drawing-room, talking to him as of old, and yet knowing that she had seen him killed by that terrible fall.\n"}
+{"original":"Miserable, unresting night! Ill preparation for the coming day! She awoke with a start, unrefreshed, and conscious of some reality worse even than her feverish dreams. It all came back upon her; not merely the sorrow, but the terrible discord in the sorrow. Where, to what distance apart, had her father wandered, led by doubts which were to her temptations of the Evil One? She longed to ask, and yet would not have heard for all the world.\nThe fine crisp morning made her mother feel particularly well and happy at breakfast-time. She talked on, planning village kindness, unheeding the silence of her husband and the monosyllabic answers of Margaret. Before the things were cleared away, Mr. Hale got up; he leaned one hand on the table, as if to support himself:\n","abridged":"Miserable night! She awoke with a start, unrefreshed, and conscious of a reality worse even than her feverish dreams. It all came back upon her; the sorrow and the terrible discord. Where had her father wandered, led by doubts which were to her temptations of the Evil One? She longed to ask, and yet did not want to hear.\nThe fine crisp morning made her mother particularly happy at breakfast-time. She talked on, not heeding her husband's silence and Margaret's monosyllabic answers. Before the things were cleared away, Mr. Hale got up.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I shall not be home till evening. I am going to Bracy Common, and will ask Farmer Dobson to give me something for dinner. I shall be back to tea at seven.\"\nHe did not look at either of them, but Margaret knew what he meant. By seven the announcement must be made to her mother. Mr. Hale would have delayed making it, but Margaret was of different stuff. She could not bear the impending weight on her mind all day long: better get the worst over; the day would be too short to comfort her mother. But while she stood by the window, thinking how to begin, and waiting for the servant to have left the room, her mother had gone up stairs to put on her things to go to the school. She came down ready equipped, in a brisker mood than usual.\n\"Mother, come round the garden with me this morning; just one turn,\" said Margaret, putting her arm round Mrs. Hale's waist.\n","abridged":"'I shall not be at home till evening. I am going to Bracy Common, and will be back to tea at seven.'\nMargaret knew what he meant. By seven the announcement must be made to her mother. Mr. Hale would have delayed making it till half-past six, but Margaret was of different stuff. She could not bear the weight on her mind all day long: better get it over. But while she stood by the window, waiting for the servant to leave the room, her mother had gone upstairs to put on her things to go to the school. She came down briskly, ready equipped.\n'Mother, come round the garden with me this morning,' said Margaret, putting her arm round Mrs. Hale's waist.\n"}
+{"original":"They passed through the open window. Mrs. Hale spoke--said something--Margaret could not tell what. Her eye caught on a bee entering a deep-belled flower: when that bee flew forth with his spoil she would begin--that should be the sign. Out he came.\n\"Mamma! Papa is going to leave Helstone!\" she blurted forth. \"He's going to leave the Church, and live in Milton-Northern.\" There were the three hard facts hardly spoken.\n","abridged":"They went outside. Mrs. Hale said something - Margaret could not tell what. Her eye caught on a bee entering a deep-belled flower: when that bee flew forth she would begin. Out he came.\n'Mamma! Papa is going to leave Helstone!' she blurted. 'He's going to leave the Church, and live in Milton-Northern.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"What makes you say so?\" asked Mrs. Hale, in a surprised, incredulous voice. \"Who has been telling you such nonsense?\"\n\"Papa himself,\" said Margaret, longing to say something gentle and consoling, but literally not knowing how. They were close to a garden-bench. Mrs. Hale sat down and began to cry.\n\"I don't understand you,\" she said. \"Either you have made some great mistake, or I don't quite understand you.\"\n","abridged":"'What makes you say so?' asked Mrs. Hale, in an incredulous voice. 'Who has been telling you such nonsense?'\n'Papa himself,' said Margaret, longing to say something gentle and consoling, but not knowing how. Mrs. Hale sat down on a garden bench, and began to cry.\n'I don't understand you,' she said. 'You have made some great mistake.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, mother, I have made no mistake. Papa has written to the bishop, saying that he has such doubts that he cannot conscientiously remain a priest of the Church of England, and that he must give up Helstone. He has also consulted Mr. Bell--Frederick's godfather, you know, mamma; and it is arranged that we go to live at Milton-Northern.\" Mrs. Hale looked up in Margaret's face all the time she was speaking these words: the shadow on her countenance told that she, at least, believed in the truth of what she said.\n\"I don't think it can be true,\" said Mrs. Hale, at length. \"He would surely have told me before it came to this.\"\nIt came strongly upon Margaret's mind that her mother ought to have been told: that whatever her faults of discontent and repining might have been, it was an error in her father to have left her to learn his change of opinion, and his approaching change of life, from her better-informed child. Margaret sat down by her mother, and took her unresisting head on her breast, bending her own soft cheeks down caressingly to touch her face.\n","abridged":"'No, mother, I have made no mistake. Papa has written to the bishop, saying that he has such doubts that he cannot remain a priest of the Church of England, and that he must give up Helstone. He has also consulted Mr. Bell - Frederick's godfather, you know; and it is arranged that we shall go to live in Milton-Northern.'\nMrs. Hale looked up in Margaret's face. 'I don't think it can be true,' said she, at length. 'He would surely have told me.'\nIt came strongly upon Margaret's mind that her mother ought to have been told: that whatever her faults of discontent, it was an error in her father to have left her to learn of this change from her child. She sat down by her mother, and took her unresisting head on her breast, bending her own soft cheeks down caressingly to touch her face.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Dear, darling mamma! we were so afraid of giving you pain. Papa felt so acutely--you know you are not strong, and there must have been such terrible suspense to go through.\"\n\"When did he tell you, Margaret?\"\n\"Yesterday, only yesterday,\" replied Margaret, detecting the jealousy which prompted the inquiry. \"Poor papa!\"--trying to divert her mother's thoughts into compassionate sympathy for all her father had gone through. Mrs. Hale raised her head.\n","abridged":"'Darling mamma! we were so afraid of giving you pain. Papa felt so acutely - you know you are not strong, and there would have been terrible suspense to go through.'\n'When did he tell you, Margaret?'\n'Yesterday, only yesterday,' replied Margaret, detecting the jealousy which prompted the inquiry. 'Poor papa!' - trying to divert her mother's thoughts into compassion for all her father had gone through. Mrs. Hale raised her head.\n"}
+{"original":"\"What does he mean by having doubts?\" she asked. \"Surely, he does not mean that he thinks differently--that he knows better than the Church.\"\nMargaret shook her head, and the tears came into her eyes, as her mother touched the bare nerve of her own regret.\n\"Can't the bishop set him right?\" asked Mrs. Hale half impatiently.\n","abridged":"'What does he mean by having doubts?' she asked. 'Surely, he does not mean that he knows better than the Church.'\nMargaret shook her head, and the tears came into her eyes.\n'Can't the bishop set him right?' asked Mrs. Hale, half impatiently.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'm afraid not,\" said Margaret. \"But I did not ask. I could not bear to hear what he might answer. It is all settled at any rate. He is going to leave Helstone in a fortnight. I am not sure if he did not say he had sent in his deed of resignation.\"\n","abridged":"'I'm afraid not,' said Margaret. 'But I did not ask. It is all settled at any rate. He is going to leave Helstone in a fortnight.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"In a fortnight!\" exclaimed Mrs. Hale, \"I do think this is very strange--not at all right. I call it very unfeeling,\" said she, beginning to take relief in tears. \"He has doubts you say, and gives up his living, and all without consulting me. I dare say, if he had told me his doubts at the first I could have nipped them in the bud.\"\nMistaken as Margaret felt her father's conduct to have been, she could not bear to hear it blamed by her mother. She knew that his very reserve had originated in a tenderness for her, which might be cowardly, but was not unfeeling.\n\"I almost hoped you might be glad to leave Helstone, mamma,\" said she, after a pause. \"You have never been well in this air, you know.\"\n","abridged":"'In a fortnight!' exclaimed Mrs. Hale, beginning to take relief in tears. 'This is very strange - very unfeeling. He has doubts, and gives up his living, all without consulting me. If he had told me his doubts at the start I could have nipped them in the bud.'\nMistaken as Margaret felt her father's conduct to have been, she could not bear to hear it blamed by her mother.\n'I hoped you might have been glad to leave Helstone, mamma,' said she. 'You have never been well in this air, you know.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"You can't think the smoky air of a manufacturing town, all chimneys and dirt like Milton-Northern, would be better than this air, which is pure and sweet, if it is too soft and relaxing. Fancy living in the middle of factories, and factory people! Though, of course, if your father leaves the Church, we shall not be admitted into society anywhere. It will be such a disgrace to us! Poor dear Sir John! It is well he is not alive to see what your father has come to! Every day after dinner, when I was a girl, living with your Aunt Shaw, at Beresford Court, Sir John used to give for the first toast--'Church and King, and down with the Rump.'\"\nMargaret was glad that her mother's thoughts were turned away from the fact of her husband's silence to her on the point which must have been so near his heart. Next to the serious vital anxiety as to the nature of her father's doubts, this was the one circumstance of the case that gave Margaret the most pain.\n","abridged":"'You can't think the smoky air of a manufacturing town, all chimneys and dirt, would be better than this air, which is pure and sweet, even if it is too soft. Fancy living in the middle of factories, and factory people! Though if your father leaves the Church, we shall not be admitted into society anywhere. It will be such a disgrace! Poor dear Sir John! It is well he is not alive to see this! Every day after dinner, when I was a girl at Beresford Court, Sir John used to give the first toast - \"Church and King, and down with the Rump.\"'\nMargaret was glad that her mother's thoughts were turned away from the fact of her husband's silence.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You know, we have very little society here, mamma. The Gormans, who are our nearest neighbours (to call society--and we hardly ever see them), have been in trade just as much as these Milton-Northern people.\"\n\"Yes,\" says Mrs. Hale, almost indignantly, \"but at any rate, the Gormans made carriages for half the gentlemen of the county, and were brought into some kind of intercourse with them; but these factory people, who on earth wears cotton that can afford linen?\"\n\"Well, mamma, I give up the cotton-spinners; I am not standing up for them, any more than for any other trades-people. Only we shall have little enough to do with them.\"\n\"Why on earth has your father fixed on Milton-Northern to live in?\"\n\"Partly,\" said Margaret, sighing, \"because it is so very different from Helstone--partly because Mr. Bell says there is an opening there for a private tutor.\"\n\"Private tutor in Milton! Why can't he go to Oxford, and be a tutor to gentlemen?\"\n","abridged":"'You know, we have very little society here, mamma. The Gormans, who are our nearest neighbours, have been in trade just as much as these Milton-Northern people.'\n'Yes,' said Mrs. Hale, almost indignantly, 'but the Gormans made carriages for half the gentry of the county; but these factory people - who on earth wears cotton that can afford linen?'\n'Well, mamma, I am not standing up for the cotton-spinners, any more than for any other trades-people. We shall have little enough to do with them.'\n'Why on earth has your father fixed on Milton-Northern to live in?'\n'Partly,' said Margaret, sighing, 'because it is so very different from Helstone - partly because Mr. Bell says there is an opening there for a private tutor.'\n'Why can't he go to Oxford, and be a tutor to gentlemen?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"You forget, mamma! He is leaving the Church on account of his opinions--his doubts would do him no good at Oxford.\"\nMrs. Hale was silent for some time, quietly crying. At last she said:--\n\"And the furniture--How in the world are we to manage the removal? I never removed in my life, and only a fortnight to think about it!\"\n","abridged":"'You forget, mamma! His doubts would do him no good at Oxford.'\nMrs. Hale was silent for some time, quietly crying. At last she said:\n'And the furniture - how in the world are we to manage the removal? We have only a fortnight to think about it!'\n"}
+{"original":"Margaret was inexpressibly relieved to find that her mother's anxiety and distress was lowered to this point, so insignificant to herself, and on which she could do so much to help. She planned and promised, and led her mother on to arrange fully as much as could be fixed before they knew somewhat more definitely what Mr. Hale intended to do. Throughout the day Margaret never left her mother; bending her whole soul to sympathise in all the various turns her feelings took; towards evening especially, as she became more and more anxious that her father should find a soothing welcome home awaiting him, after his return from his day of fatigue and distress. She dwelt upon what he must have borne in secret for long; her mother only replied coldly that he ought to have told her, and that then at any rate he would have had an adviser to give him counsel; and Margaret turned faint at heart when she heard her father's step in the hall. She dared not go to meet him, and tell him what she had done all day, for fear of her mother's jealous annoyance. She heard him linger, as if awaiting her, or some sign of her; and she dared not stir; she saw by her mother's twitching lips, and changing colour, that she too was aware that her husband had returned. Presently he opened the room-door, and stood there uncertain whether to come in. His face was gray and pale; he had a timid fearful look in his eyes; something almost pitiful to see in a man's face; but that look of despondent uncertainty, of mental and bodily languor, touched his wife's heart. She went to him, and threw herself on his breast, crying out:--\n","abridged":"Margaret was inexpressibly relieved to find that her mother's distress was lowered to this point, on which she could do so much to help. She promised to arrange as much as could be fixed before they knew more definitively what Mr. Hale intended to do.\nThroughout the day Margaret never left her mother; bending her whole soul to sympathise in all the various turns her feelings took. Towards evening, she became anxious that her father should find a soothing welcome awaiting him, after his day of fatigue and distress. She dwelt upon what he must have borne in secret for long; her mother only replied coldly that he ought to have told her; and Margaret turned faint at heart when she heard her father's step in the hall. She dared not go to meet him, for fear of her mother's jealous annoyance. She heard him linger, as if awaiting her, and she dared not stir; she saw by her mother's twitching lips that she too was aware that her husband had returned.\nPresently he opened the door, and stood there uncertain whether to come in. His face was pale; his eyes were timid; but that look of despondent uncertainty touched his wife's heart. She went to him, and threw herself on his breast, crying out-\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh! Richard, Richard, you should have told me sooner!\"\nAnd then, in tears, Margaret left her, as she rushed up stairs to throw herself on her bed, and hide her face in the pillows to stifle the hysteric sobs that would force their way out at last, after the rigid self-control of the whole day.\nHow long she lay thus she could not tell. She heard no noise, though the housemaid came in to arrange the room. The affrighted girl stole out again on tip-toe, and went and told Mrs. Dixon that Miss Hale was crying as if her heart would break: she was sure she would make herself deadly ill if she went on at that rate. In consequence of this, Margaret felt herself touched, and started up into a sitting posture; she saw the accustomed room, the figure of Dixon in shadow, as the latter stood holding a candle a little behind her, for fear of the effect on Miss Hale's startled eyes, swollen and blinded as they were.\n","abridged":"'Oh! Richard, Richard, you should have told me sooner!'\nAnd then Margaret left her, and rushed upstairs to throw herself on her bed, and hide her face in the pillows to stifle the hysteric sobs that would force their way out at last, after the rigid self-control of the day. How long she lay thus she could not tell. She heard no noise, though the housemaid came in to arrange the room. The affrighted girl stole out again on tip-toe, and told Mrs. Dixon that Miss Hale was crying as if her heart would break.\nMargaret felt herself touched, and started up; she saw the figure of Dixon in shadow, holding the candle away from her eyes, swollen and blinded as they were.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, Dixon! I did not hear you come into the room!\" said Margaret, resuming her trembling self-restraint. \"Is it very late?\" continued she, lifting herself languidly off the bed, yet letting her feet touch the ground without fairly standing down, as she shaded her wet ruffled hair off her face, and tried to look as though nothing were the matter; as if she had been asleep.\n","abridged":"'Oh, Dixon! I did not hear you come in!' said Margaret, resuming her trembling self-restraint. 'Is it very late?' She moved her wet ruffled hair off her face, and tried to look as though nothing were the matter; as if she had only been asleep.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I can hardly tell what time it is,\" replied Dixon in an aggrieved tone of voice. \"Since your mamma told me this terrible news, when I dressed her for tea, I've lost all count of time. I'm sure I don't know what is to become of us all. When Charlotte told me just now you were sobbing, Miss Hale, I thought, no wonder, poor thing! And master thinking of turning Dissenter at his time of life, when, if it is not to be said he's done well in the Church, he's not done badly after all. I had a cousin, miss, who turned Methodist preacher after he was fifty years of age, and a tailor all his life; but then he had never been able to make a pair of trousers to fit, for as long as he had been in the trade, so it was no wonder; but for master! as I said to missus, 'What would poor Sir John have said? he never liked your marrying Mr. Hale, but if he could have known it would have come to this, he would have sworn worse oaths than ever, if that was possible!'\"\nDixon had been so much accustomed to comment upon Mr. Hale's proceedings to her mistress (who listened to her, or not, as she was in the humour), that she never noticed Margaret's flashing eye and dilating nostril. To hear her father talked of in this way by a servant to her face!\n","abridged":"'I hardly can tell what time it is,' replied Dixon, in an aggrieved tone. 'Since your mamma told me this terrible news, I've lost all count of time. I'm sure I don't know what is to become of us all. When Charlotte told me you were sobbing, Miss Hale, I thought, no wonder, poor thing! And master turning Dissenter at his time of life! As I said to missus, \"What would poor Sir John have said? He never liked your marrying Mr. Hale, but if he could have known it would come to this, he would have sworn worse oaths than ever!\"'\nDixon was so used to commenting upon Mr. Hale's proceedings to her mistress that she never noticed Margaret's flashing eye. To hear her father talked of in this way by a servant!\n"}
+{"original":"\"Dixon,\" she said, in the low tone she always used when much excited, which had a sound in it as of some distant turmoil, or threatening storm breaking far away. \"Dixon! you forget to whom you are speaking.\" She stood upright and firm on her feet now, confronting the waiting-maid, and fixing her with her steady discerning eye. \"I am Mr. Hale's daughter. Go! You have made a strange mistake, and one that I am sure your own good feeling will make you sorry for when you think about it.\"\n","abridged":"'Dixon,' she said, in a low tone, which had a sound in it of some threatening storm. 'Dixon! you forget to whom you are speaking.' She stood upright and firm, fixing the maid with her steady eye. 'I am Mr. Hale's daughter. Go! You have made a strange mistake, and one that I am sure you will be sorry for when you think about it.'\n"}
+{"original":"Dixon hung irresolutely about the room for a minute or two. Margaret repeated, \"You may leave me, Dixon. I wish you to go.\" Dixon did not know whether to resent these decided words or to cry; either course would have suited her mistress: but as she said to herself, \"Miss Margaret has a touch of the old gentleman about her, as well as poor Master Frederick; I wonder where they get it from?\" and she, who would have resented such words from any one less haughty and determined in manner, was subdued enough to say, in a half humble, half injured tone:\n\"Mayn't I unfasten your gown, miss, and do your hair?\"\n","abridged":"Dixon hung irresolutely about the room for a minute. Margaret repeated, 'You may leave me.' Dixon did not know whether to resent these words or to cry; either course would have worked with her mistress: but, as she said to herself, 'Miss Margaret has a touch of the old gentleman about her, as well as poor Master Frederick.' She was subdued enough to say, in a half humble, half injured tone:\n'Mayn't I unfasten your gown, miss, and do your hair?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"No! not to-night, thank you.\" And Margaret gravely lighted her out of the room, and bolted the door. From henceforth Dixon obeyed and admired Margaret. She said it was because she was so like poor Master Frederick; but the truth was, that Dixon, as do many others, liked to feel herself ruled by a powerful and decided nature.\nMargaret needed all Dixon's help in action, and silence in words; for, for some time, the latter thought it her duty to show her sense of affront by saying as little as possible to her young lady; so the energy came out in doing rather than in speaking. A fortnight was a very short time to make arrangements for so serious a removal; as Dixon said, \"Anyone but a gentleman--indeed almost any other gentleman--\" but catching a look at Margaret's straight, stern brow just here, she coughed the remainder of the sentence away, and meekly took the horehound drop that Margaret offered her, to stop the \"little tickling at my chest, miss.\" But almost any one but Mr. Hale would have had practical knowledge enough to see, that in so short a time it would be difficult to fix on any house in Milton-Northern, or indeed elsewhere, to which they could remove the furniture that had of necessity been taken out of Helstone Vicarage.\n","abridged":"'No! not tonight, thank you.' And Margaret gravely saw her out of the room. From henceforth Dixon obeyed and admired Margaret. She said it was because she was so like poor Master Frederick; but the truth was, that Dixon liked to feel herself ruled by a powerful and decided nature.\nMargaret needed all Dixon's help. A fortnight was a very short time to make arrangements for their removal. Almost anyone but Mr. Hale would have been practical enough to see that in so short a time it would be difficult to fix on any house in Milton-Northern to which they could move their furniture. "}
+{"original":"Mrs. Hale, overpowered by all the troubles and necessities for immediate household decisions that seemed to come upon her at once, became really ill, and Margaret almost felt it as a relief when her mother fairly took to her bed, and left the management of affairs to her. Dixon, true to her post of body-guard, attended most faithfully to her mistress, and only emerged from Mrs. Hale's bedroom to shake her head, and murmur to herself in a manner which Margaret did not choose to hear. For, the one thing clear and straight before her, was the necessity for leaving Helstone. Mr. Hale's successor in the living was appointed; and, at any rate, after her father's decision, there must be no lingering now, for his sake, as well as from every other consideration. For he came home every evening more and more depressed, after the necessary leave-taking which he had resolved to have with every individual parishioner. Margaret, inexperienced as she was in all the necessary matter-of-fact business to be got through, did not know to whom to apply for advice. The cook and Charlotte worked away with willing arms and stout hearts at all the moving and packing; and as far as that went, Margaret's admirable sense enabled her to see what was best, and to direct how it should be done. But where were they to go to? In a week they must be gone. Straight to Milton, or where? ","abridged":"Mrs. Hale, overpowered by her troubles, became really ill, and Margaret felt almost relieved when her mother took to her bed, and left the management of affairs to her.\nFor the one thing clear was the necessity for leaving Helstone. Mr. Hale's successor was appointed; there must be no lingering. Her father came home every evening more and more depressed, after the leave-taking which he had resolved to have with every parishioner. Margaret did not know whom to ask for advice. The cook and Charlotte worked willingly at all the moving and packing; and as far as that went, Margaret's sense enabled her to direct how it should be done. But where were they to go to? Straight to Milton, or where?\n"}
+{"original":"So many arrangements depended on this precision that Margaret resolved to ask her father one evening, in spite of his evident fatigue and low spirits. He answered:\n\"My dear! I have really had too much to think about to settle this. What does your mother say? What does she wish? Poor Maria!\"\nHe met with an echo even louder than his sigh. Dixon had just come into the room for another cup of tea for Mrs. Hale, and catching Mr. Hale's last words, and protected by his presence from Margaret's upbraiding eyes, made bold to say, \"My poor mistress!\"\n\"You don't think her worse to-day,\" said Mr. Hale, turning hastily.\n","abridged":"Margaret resolved to ask her father one evening, in spite of his evident fatigue and low spirits. He answered:\n'My dear! I have really had too much to think about to settle this. What does your mother say? What does she wish? Poor Maria!'\nDixon had just come into the room, and catching Mr. Hale's last words, made bold to say, 'My poor mistress!'\n'You don't think her worse today?' said Mr. Hale.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am sure I can't say, sir. It's not for me to judge. The illness seems so much more on the mind than on the body.\"\nMr. Hale looked infinitely distressed.\n\"You had better take mamma her tea while it is hot, Dixon,\" said Margaret, in a tone of quiet authority.\n\"Oh! I beg your pardon, Miss! My thoughts was otherwise occupied in thinking of my poor---- of Mrs. Hale.\"\n","abridged":"'I'm sure I can't say, sir. The illness seems so much more on the mind than on the body.'\nMr. Hale looked distressed.\n'You had better take mamma her tea while it is hot, Dixon,' said Margaret, in a tone of quiet authority.\n'Oh! I beg your pardon, miss! My thoughts was otherwise occupied.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Papa!\" said Margaret, \"it is this suspense that is bad for you both. Of course, mamma must feel your change of opinions: we can't help that,\" she continued softly; \"but now the course is clear, at least to a certain point. And I think, papa, that I could get mamma to help me in planning, if you could tell me what to plan for. She has never expressed any wish in any way, and only thinks of what can't be helped. Are we to go straight to Milton? Have you taken a house there?\"\n\"No,\" he replied, \"I suppose we must go into lodgings, and look about for a house.\"\n\"And pack up the furniture so that it can be left at the railway station, till we have met with one?\"\n","abridged":"'Papa!' said Margaret, 'it is this suspense that is bad for you both. I think that I could get mamma to help me in planning, if you could tell me what to plan for. She has never expressed any wish, and only thinks of what can't be helped. Are we to go straight to Milton? Have you taken a house there?'\n'No,' he replied. 'I suppose we must go into lodgings, and look about for a house.'\n'And pack up the furniture so that it can be left at the railway station, till we have one?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I suppose so. Do what you think best. Only remember, we shall have much less money to spend.\"\nThey had never had much superfluity, as Margaret knew. She felt that it was a great weight suddenly thrown upon her shoulders. Four months ago, all the decisions she needed to make were what dress she would wear for dinner, and to help Edith to draw out the lists of who should take down whom in the dinner parties at home. Nor was the household in which she lived one that called for much decision. Except in the one grand case of Captain Lennox's offer, everything went on with the regularity of clockwork. Once a year, there was a long discussion between her aunt and Edith as to whether they should go to the Isle of Wight, abroad, or to Scotland; but at such times Margaret herself was secure of drifting, without any exertion of her own, into the quiet harbour of home. Now, since that day when Mr. Lennox came, and startled her into a decision, every day brought some question, momentous to her, and to those whom she loved, to be settled.\n","abridged":"'I suppose so. Do what you think best. Only remember, we shall have much less money to spend.'\nThey had never had much, as Margaret knew. She felt that it was a great weight suddenly thrown upon her shoulders. Four months ago, all the decisions she needed to make were what dress to wear, and to help Edith draw up the lists of who should take who in to dinner. Now every day brought some momentous question to be settled.\n"}
+{"original":"Her father went up after tea to sit with his wife. Margaret remained alone in the drawing-room. Suddenly she took a candle and went into her father's study for a great atlas, and lugging it back into the drawing-room, she began to pore over the map of England. She was ready to look up brightly when her father came down stairs.\n\"I have hit upon such a beautiful plan. Look here--in Darkshire, hardly the breadth of my finger from Milton, is Heston, which I have often heard of from people living in the north as such a pleasant little bathing-place. Now, don't you think we could get mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, and get one all ready for her in Milton? She would get a breath of sea air to set her up for the winter, and be spared all the fatigue, and Dixon would enjoy taking care of her.\"\n\"Is Dixon to go with us?\" asked Mr. Hale, in a kind of helpless dismay.\n","abridged":"Her father went up after tea to sit with his wife. Margaret remained alone in the drawing-room. Suddenly she took a candle and went into her father's study for a great atlas, and lugging it back into the drawing-room, she began to pore over the map of England. She looked up brightly when her father came downstairs.\n'I have hit upon such a beautiful plan. Look here - in Darkshire, not far from Milton, is Heston, which I have heard is such a pleasant little bathing-place. Now, don't you think we could get mamma there with Dixon, while you and I go and look at houses, and get one ready for her in Milton? She would get a breath of sea air to set her up for the winter, and be spared all the fatigue, and Dixon would enjoy taking care of her.'\n'Is Dixon to go with us?' asked Mr. Hale, in a kind of helpless dismay.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, yes!\" said Margaret. \"Dixon quite intends it, and I don't know what mamma would do without her.\"\n\"But we shall have to put up with a very different way of living, I am afraid. Everything is so much dearer in a town. I doubt if Dixon can make herself comfortable. To tell you the truth, Margaret, I sometimes feel as if that woman gave herself airs.\"\n\"To be sure she does, papa,\" replied Margaret; \"and if she has to put up with a different style of living, we shall have to put up with her airs, which will be worse. But she really loves us all, and would be miserable to leave us, I am sure--especially in this change; so, for mamma's sake, and for the sake of her faithfulness, I do think she must go.\"\n","abridged":"'Oh, yes!' said Margaret. 'Dixon quite intends it, and I don't know what mamma would do without her.'\n'But we shall have to put up with a very different way of living, I am afraid. Everything is so much dearer in a town. To tell you the truth, Margaret, I sometimes feel as if that woman gave herself airs.'\n'To be sure she does, papa,' replied Margaret; 'and if she has to put up with a different style of living, we shall have to put up with her airs. But she really loves us all, and would be miserable to leave us; so, for mamma's sake, I do think she must go.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Very well, my dear. Go on. I am resigned. How far is Heston from Milton? The breadth of one of your fingers does not give me a very clear idea of distance.\"\n\"Well, then, I suppose it is thirty miles; that is not much!\"\n\"Not in distance, but in--. Never mind! If you really think it will do your mother good, let it be fixed so.\"\n","abridged":"'Very well, my dear. How far is Heston from Milton?'\n'About thirty miles; that is not much!'\n'If you really think it will do your mother good, let it be fixed so.'\n"}
+{"original":"This was a great step. Now Margaret could work, and act, and plan in good earnest. And now Mrs. Hale could rouse herself from her languor, and forget her real suffering in thinking of the pleasure and the delight of going to the sea-side. Her only regret was that Mr. Hale could not be with her all the fortnight she was to be there, as he had been for a whole fortnight once, when they were engaged, and she was staying with Sir John and Lady Beresford at Torquay.","abridged":"This was a great step. Now Margaret could plan in good earnest. And now Mrs. Hale could rouse herself from her languor, and forget her suffering in thinking of the pleasure of going to the sea-side. Her only regret was that Mr. Hale could not be with her all the fortnight she was to be there, as he had been once, when they were engaged, and she had been staying with Sir John and Lady Beresford at Torquay."}
+{"original":"The evening was still and warm; close and sultry it even promised to become. Round the descending sun the clouds glowed purple; summer tints, rather Indian than English, suffused the horizon, and cast rosy reflections on hillside, house-front, tree-bole, on winding road and undulating pasture-ground. The two girls came down from the fields slowly. By the time they reached the churchyard the bells were hushed; the multitudes were gathered into the church. The whole scene was solitary.\n\"How pleasant and calm it is!\" said Caroline.\n","abridged":"The evening was still and warm; it promised to become sultry. Round the descending sun the clouds glowed purple; summer tints suffused the horizon, and cast rosy reflections on house and tree. The two girls came down from the fields slowly. By the time they reached the churchyard the bells were hushed; the multitudes were gathered into the church.\n\"How pleasant and calm it is!\" said Caroline.\n"}
+{"original":"\"And how hot it will be in the church!\" responded Shirley. \"And what a dreary long speech Dr. Boultby will make! And how the curates will hammer over their prepared orations! For my part, I would rather not enter.\"\n\"But my uncle will be angry if he observes our absence.\"\n","abridged":"\"And how hot it will be in the church!\" responded Shirley. \"And what a dreary long speech Dr. Boultby will make! And how the curates will hammer over their prepared orations! For my part, I would rather not enter.\"\n\"But my uncle will be angry if we are absent.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will bear the brunt of his wrath; he will not devour me. I shall be sorry to miss his pungent speech. I know it will be all sense for the church, and all causticity for schism. He'll not forget the battle of Royd Lane. I shall be sorry also to deprive you of Mr. Hall's sincere friendly homily, with all its racy Yorkshireisms; but here I must stay. The gray church and grayer tombs look divine with this crimson gleam on them. Nature is now at her evening prayers; she is kneeling before those red hills. I see her prostrate on the great steps of her altar, praying for a fair night for mariners at sea, for travellers in deserts, for lambs on moors, and unfledged birds in woods. Caroline, I see her, and I will tell you what she is like. She is like what Eve was when she and Adam stood alone on earth.\"\n","abridged":"\"I can bear his wrath; he will not devour me. I shall be sorry to miss his pungent speech. I shall be sorry also to deprive you of Mr. Hall's friendly homily; but here I must stay. Nature is now at her evening prayers; she is kneeling before those red hills. I see her prostrate on the great steps of her altar, praying for a fair night for mariners at sea, for travellers in deserts, for lambs on moors, and unfledged birds in woods. Caroline, she is like what Eve was when she and Adam stood alone on earth.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And that is not Milton's Eve, Shirley.\"\n","abridged":"\"That is not Milton's Eve, Shirley.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Milton's Eve! Milton's Eve! I repeat. No, by the pure Mother of God, she is not! Cary, we are alone; we may speak what we think. Milton was great; but was he good? His brain was right; how was his heart? He saw heaven; he looked down on hell. He saw Satan, and Sin his daughter, and Death their horrible offspring. Angels serried before him their battalions; the long lines of adamantine shields flashed back on his blind eyeballs the unutterable splendour of heaven. ","abridged":"\"Milton's Eve! No. Milton was great; but was he good? He saw heaven; he looked down on hell. He saw Satan, and Sin his daughter, and Death their horrible offspring. "}
+{"original":"Devils gathered their legions in his sight; their dim, discrowned, and tarnished armies passed rank and file before him. Milton tried to see the first woman; but, Cary, he saw her not.\"\n\"You are bold to say so, Shirley.\"\n\"Not more bold than faithful. It was his cook that he saw; or it was Mrs. Gill, as I have seen her, making custards, in the heat of summer, in the cool dairy, with rose-trees and nasturtiums about the latticed window, preparing a cold collation for the rectors--preserves and 'dulcet creams;' puzzled 'what choice to choose for delicacy best; what order so contrived as not to mix tastes, not well-joined, inelegant, but bring taste after taste, upheld with kindliest change.'\"\n\"All very well too, Shirley.\"\n\"I would beg to remind him that the first men of the earth were Titans, and that Eve was their mother; from her sprang Saturn, Hyperion, Oceanus; she bore Prometheus----\"\n\"Pagan that you are! what does that signify?\"\n","abridged":"He saw the tarnished armies of devils. Milton tried to see the first woman; but, Cary, he saw her not.\"\n\"You are bold to say so, Shirley.\"\n\"I would remind him that the first men of the earth were Titans, and that Eve was their mother; from her sprang Saturn, Hyperion, Oceanus; she bore Prometheus-\"\n\"Pagan!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I say, there were giants on the earth in those days--giants that strove to scale heaven. The first woman's breast that heaved with life on this world yielded the daring which could contend with Omnipotence, the strength which could bear a thousand years of bondage, the vitality which could feed that vulture death through uncounted ages, the unexhausted life and uncorrupted excellence, sisters to immortality, which, after millenniums of crimes, struggles, and woes, could conceive and bring forth a Messiah. The first woman was heaven-born. Vast was the heart whence gushed the well-spring of the blood of nations, and grand the undegenerate head where rested the consort-crown of creation.\"\n\"She coveted an apple, and was cheated by a snake; but you have got such a hash of Scripture and mythology into your head that there is no making any sense of you. You have not yet told me what you saw kneeling on those hills.\"\n","abridged":"\"I say, there were giants on the earth in those days - giants that strove to scale heaven, with the strength which could bear a thousand years of bondage, the vitality and uncorrupted excellence which, after millennia of struggles, could conceive and bring forth a Messiah. The first woman was heaven-born. Vast was the heart whence came the blood of nations, and grand the head where rested the crown of creation.\"\n\"She coveted an apple, and was cheated by a snake; but you have got such a hash of Scripture and mythology into your head that there is no making any sense of you.\"\n\"On those hills"}
+{"original":"\"I saw--I now see--a woman-Titan. Her robe of blue air spreads to the outskirts of the heath, where yonder flock is grazing; a veil white as an avalanche sweeps from her head to her feet, and arabesques of lightning flame on its borders. Under her breast I see her zone, purple like that horizon; through its blush shines the star of evening. Her steady eyes I cannot picture. They are clear, they are deep as lakes, they are lifted and full of worship, they tremble with the softness of love and the lustre of prayer. Her forehead has the expanse of a cloud, and is paler than the early moon, risen long before dark gathers. She reclines her bosom on the ridge of Stilbro' Moor; her mighty hands are joined beneath it. So kneeling, face to face she speaks with God. That Eve is Jehovah's daughter, as Adam was His son.\"\n","abridged":" I see a woman-Titan,\" announced Shirley. \"Her robe of blue air spreads to the outskirts of the heath; a veil white as an avalanche sweeps from her head to her feet, and arabesques of lightning flame on its borders. Her steady eyes are clear, as deep as lakes; they are lifted and full of worship, they tremble with the softness of love and prayer. Her forehead has the expanse of a cloud, and is paler than the moon. She reclines her bosom on the ridge of Stilbro' Moor; her mighty hands are joined beneath it. So kneeling, face to face she speaks with God. That Eve is Jehovah's daughter, as Adam was His son.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"She is very vague and visionary. Come, Shirley, we ought to go into church.\"\n\"Caroline, I will not; I will stay out here with my mother Eve, in these days called Nature. I love her--undying, mighty being! Heaven may have faded from her brow when she fell in paradise, but all that is glorious on earth shines there still. She is taking me to her bosom, and showing me her heart. Hush, Caroline! You will see her and feel as I do, if we are both silent.\"\n\"I will humour your whim; but you will begin talking again ere ten minutes are over.\"\n","abridged":"\"She is very vague and visionary. Come, Shirley, we ought to go into church.\"\n\"Caroline, I will not; I will stay out here with my mother Eve. I love her - undying, mighty being! Heaven may have faded from her brow when she fell in paradise, but all that is glorious on earth shines there still. She is showing me her heart. Hush, Caroline! You will see her and feel as I do, if we are both silent.\"\n\"I will humour your whim; but you will begin talking again within ten minutes.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Miss Keeldar, on whom the soft excitement of the warm summer evening seemed working with unwonted power, leaned against an upright headstone; she fixed her eyes on the deep-burning west, and sank into a pleasurable trance. Caroline, going a little apart, paced to and fro beneath the rectory garden wall, dreaming too in her way. Shirley had mentioned the word \"mother.\" That word suggested to Caroline's imagination not the mighty and mystical parent of Shirley's visions, but a gentle human form--the form she ascribed to her own mother, unknown, unloved, but not unlonged for.\n\"Oh that the day would come when she would remember her child! Oh that I might know her, and knowing, love her!\"\nSuch was her aspiration.\n","abridged":"Miss Keeldar leaned against a headstone; she fixed her eyes on the deep-burning west, and sank into a pleasurable trance. Caroline paced to and fro beneath the rectory wall, dreaming too in her way.\nShirley had mentioned the word \"mother.\" That word suggested to Caroline's imagination not the mighty and mystical parent of Shirley's visions, but a gentle human form - her own mother, unknown, unloved, but longed for.\n\"Oh, that the day would come when she would remember her child! Oh that I might know her, and love her!\"\n"}
+{"original":"The longing of her childhood filled her soul again. The desire which many a night had kept her awake in her crib, and which fear of its fallacy had of late years almost extinguished, relit suddenly, and glowed warm in her heart, that her mother might come some happy day, and send for her to her presence, look upon her fondly with loving eyes, and say to her tenderly, in a sweet voice, \"Caroline, my child, I have a home for you; you shall live with me. All the love you have needed, and not tasted, from infancy, I have saved for you carefully. Come; it shall cherish you now.\"\nA noise on the road roused Caroline from her filial hopes, and Shirley from her Titan visions. They listened, and heard the tramp of horses. They looked, and saw a glitter through the trees. They caught through the foliage glimpses of martial scarlet; helm shone, plume waved. Silent and orderly, six soldiers rode softly by.\n","abridged":"The longing of her childhood filled her soul again. The desire which many a night had kept her awake in her crib, relit suddenly, and glowed in her heart: that her mother might come some happy day, and look upon her with loving eyes, and say to her tenderly, \"Caroline, my child, I have a home for you. All the love you have needed, and not tasted, from infancy, I have saved for you carefully. Come; it shall cherish you now.\"\nA noise on the road roused Caroline and Shirley from their visions. They heard the tramp of horses, and saw a glitter through the trees, glimpses of martial scarlet. Silent and orderly, six soldiers rode by.\n"}
+{"original":"\"The same we saw this afternoon,\" whispered Shirley. \"They have been halting somewhere till now. They wish to be as little noticed as possible, and are seeking their rendezvous at this quiet hour, while the people are at church. Did I not say we should see unusual things ere long?\"\n","abridged":"\"The same we saw this afternoon,\" whispered Shirley. \"They wish to be as little noticed as possible, and are moving while the people are at church.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Scarcely were sight and sound of the soldiers lost, when another and somewhat different disturbance broke the night-hush--a child's impatient scream. They looked. A man issued from the church, carrying in his arms an infant--a robust, ruddy little boy of some two years old--roaring with all the power of his lungs. He had probably just awaked from a church-sleep. Two little girls, of nine and ten, followed. The influence of the fresh air, and the attraction of some flowers gathered from a grave, soon quieted the child. The man sat down with him, dandling him on his knee as tenderly as any woman; the two little girls took their places one on each side.\n","abridged":"Scarcely were the soldiers out of sight, when a different disturbance broke the night-hush - a child's impatient scream. A man came out of the church, carrying in his arms a robust little boy of some two years old - roaring with all the power of his lungs; he had probably just awoken. Two small girls followed. The fresh air soon quieted the child. The man sat down, dandling him tenderly on his knee; the little girls sat on either side.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Good-evening, William,\" said Shirley, after due scrutiny of the man. He had seen her before, and apparently was waiting to be recognized. He now took off his hat, and grinned a smile of pleasure. He was a rough-headed, hard-featured personage, not old, but very weather-beaten. His attire was decent and clean; that of his children singularly neat. It was our old friend Farren. The young ladies approached him.\n","abridged":"\"Good-evening, William,\" said Shirley. He took off his hat, and grinned in pleasure. He was a rough-headed, hard-featured personage, not old, but very weather-beaten. His attire was decent and clean; that of his children singularly neat. It was our old friend Farren.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You are not going into the church?\" he inquired, gazing at them complacently, yet with a mixture of bashfulness in his look--a sentiment not by any means the result of awe of their station, but only of appreciation of their elegance and youth. Before gentlemen--such as Moore or Helstone, for instance--William was often a little dogged; with proud or insolent ladies, too, he was quite unmanageable, sometimes very resentful; but he was most sensible of, most tractable to, good-humour and civility. His nature--a stubborn one--was repelled by inflexibility in other natures; for which reason he had never been able to like his former master, Moore; and unconscious of that gentleman's good opinion of himself, and of the service he had secretly rendered him in recommending him as gardener to Mr. Yorke, and by this means to other families in the neighbourhood, he continued to harbour a grudge against his austerity. Latterly he had often worked at Fieldhead. Miss Keeldar's frank, hospitable manners were perfectly charming to him. Caroline he had known from her childhood; unconsciously she was his ideal of a lady. Her gentle mien, step, gestures, her grace of person and attire, moved some artist-fibres about his peasant heart. He had a pleasure in looking at her, as he had in examining rare flowers or in seeing pleasant landscapes. Both the ladies liked William; it was their delight to lend him books, to give him plants; and they preferred his conversation far before that of many coarse, hard, pretentious people immeasurably higher in station.\n","abridged":"\"You are not going into the church?\" he inquired, a little bashfully. Before gentlemen, William was often dogged; with proud or insolent ladies, he was quite unmanageable, sometimes very resentful; but he responded to good-humour and civility. His stubborn nature was repelled by inflexibility in other natures; so he had never liked his former master, Moore. Unaware that Moore had recommended him as gardener to Mr. Yorke, he continued to harbour a grudge against him.\nLatterly he had often worked at Fieldhead. Miss Keeldar's frank manners charmed him. Caroline he had known from her childhood; unconsciously she was his ideal of a lady. Her gentle manner and grace moved his heart. Both the ladies liked William; they delighted to lend him books and give him plants, and they preferred his conversation over that of many coarse, pretentious people much higher in station.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Who was speaking, William, when you came out?\" asked Shirley.\n\"A gentleman ye set a deal of store on, Miss Shirley--Mr. Donne.\"\n\"You look knowing, William. How did you find out my regard for Mr. Donne?\"\n\"Ay, Miss Shirley, there's a gleg light i' your een sometimes which betrays you. You look raight down scornful sometimes when Mr. Donne is by.\"\n\"Do you like him yourself, William?\"\n","abridged":"\"Who was speaking, William, when you came out?\" asked Shirley.\n\"A gentleman ye set much store on, Miss Shirley - Mr. Donne. You look raight down scornful when Mr. Donne is by.\"\n\"Do you like him, William?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Me? I'm stalled o' t' curates, and so is t' wife. They've no manners. They talk to poor folk fair as if they thought they were beneath them. They're allus magnifying their office. It is a pity but their office could magnify them; but it does nought o' t' soart. I fair hate pride.\"\n","abridged":"\"Me? I'm stalled o' t' curates, and so is t' wife. They've no manners. They talk to poor folk as if they thought they were beneath them. They're allus magnifying their office. I fair hate pride.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But you are proud in your own way yourself,\" interposed Caroline. \"You are what you call house-proud: you like to have everything handsome about you. Sometimes you look as if you were almost too proud to take your wages. When you were out of work, you were too proud to get anything on credit. But for your children, I believe you would rather have starved than gone to the shops without money; and when I wanted to give you something, what a difficulty I had in making you take it!\"\n","abridged":"\"But you are proud in your own way yourself,\" interposed Caroline. \"You are house-proud: you like to have everything handsome about you. Sometimes you look as if you were almost too proud to take your wages. When you were out of work, you were too proud to get anything on credit. When I wanted to give you something, what a difficulty I had in making you take it!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is partly true, Miss Caroline. Ony day I'd rather give than take, especially from sich as ye. Look at t' difference between us. Ye're a little, young, slender lass, and I'm a great strong man; I'm rather more nor twice your age. It is not _my_ part, then, I think, to tak fro' _ye_--to be under obligations (as they say) to _ye_. And that day ye came to our house, and called me to t' door, and offered me five shillings, which I doubt ye could ill spare--for ye've no fortin', I know--that day I war fair a rebel, a radical, an insurrectionist; and _ye_ made me so. I thought it shameful that, willing and able as I was to work, I suld be i' such a condition that a young cratur about the age o' my own eldest lass suld think it needful to come and offer me her bit o' brass.\"\n\"I suppose you were angry with me, William?\"\n","abridged":"\"True, Miss Caroline. I'd rather give than take, especially from sich as ye. Ye're a little, slender lass, and I'm a great strong man, more than twice your age. It is not my part to take fro' ye. And that day ye came to our house, and offered me five shillings, which I doubt ye could spare - that day I war a rebel. I war ashamed to be i' such a condition that a young cratur the age o' my own eldest lass should think it needful to offer me her bit o' brass.\"\n\"I suppose you were angry with me, William?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I almost was, in a way. But I forgave ye varry soon. Ye meant well. Ay, _I am_ proud, and so are _ye_; but your pride and mine is t' raight mak--what we call i' Yorkshire clean pride--such as Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne knows nought about. Theirs is mucky pride. Now, I shall teach my lasses to be as proud as Miss Shirley there, and my lads to be as proud as myseln; but I dare ony o' 'em to be like t' curates. I'd lick little Michael if I seed him show any signs o' that feeling.\"\n\"What is the difference, William?\"\n","abridged":"\"In a way. But I forgave ye varry soon. Ye meant well. Ay, I am proud, and so are ye; but your pride and mine is clean pride - such as Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne knows nought about. Theirs is mucky pride. "}
+{"original":"\"Ye know t' difference weel enow, but ye want me to get a gate o' talking. Mr. Malone and Mr. Donne is almost too proud to do aught for theirseln; _we_ are almost too proud to let anybody do aught for us. T' curates can hardly bide to speak a civil word to them they think beneath them; _we_ can hardly bide to tak an uncivil word fro' them that thinks themseln aboon us.\"\n\"Now, William, be humble enough to tell me truly how you are getting on in the world. Are you well off?\"\n","abridged":"They can hardly speak a civil word to them they think beneath them.\"\n\"Now, William,\" said Shirley. \"be humble enough to tell me truly how you are getting on. Are you well off?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Miss Shirley, I am varry well off. Since I got into t' gardening line, wi' Mr. Yorke's help, and since Mr. Hall (another o' t' raight sort) helped my wife to set up a bit of a shop, I've nought to complain of. My family has plenty to eat and plenty to wear. My pride makes me find means to have an odd pound now and then against rainy days; for I think I'd die afore I'd come to t' parish; and me and mine is content. But t' neighbours is poor yet. I see a great deal of distress.\"\n\"And, consequently, there is still discontent, I suppose?\" inquired Miss Keeldar.\n","abridged":"\"Miss Shirley, I am varry well off. Since I got into t' gardening line, wi' Mr. Yorke's help, and since Mr. Hall helped my wife to set up a bit of a shop, I've nought to complain of. My family has plenty to eat. But t' neighbours is poor yet. I see a great deal of distress.\"\n\"And consequently, there is still discontent, I suppose?\" inquired Miss Keeldar.\n"}
+{"original":"\"_Consequently_--ye say right--_consequently_. In course, starving folk cannot be satisfied or settled folk. The country's not in a safe condition--I'll say so mich!\"\n\"But what can be done? What more can I do, for instance?\"\n\"Do? Ye can do not mich, poor young lass! Ye've gi'en your brass; ye've done well. If ye could transport your tenant, Mr. Moore, to Botany Bay, ye'd happen do better. Folks hate him.\"\n","abridged":"\"Ye say right. Starving folk cannot be settled folk.\"\n\"But what can be done? What more can I do?\"\n\"Do? Not much, poor young lass! Ye've given your brass; ye've done well. If ye could transport your tenant, Mr. Moore, to Botany Bay, ye'd do better. Folks hate him.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"William, for shame!\" exclaimed Caroline warmly. \"If folks _do_ hate him, it is to their disgrace, not his. Mr. Moore himself hates nobody. He only wants to do his duty, and maintain his rights. You are wrong to talk so.\"\n\"I talk as I think. He has a cold, unfeeling heart, yond' Moore.\"\n\"But,\" interposed Shirley, \"supposing Moore was driven from the country, and his mill razed to the ground, would people have more work?\"\n","abridged":"\"William, for shame!\" exclaimed Caroline warmly. \"If folks do hate him, it is to their disgrace, not his. Mr. Moore himself hates nobody. He only wants to maintain his rights. You are wrong to talk so.\"\n\"I talk as I think. He has a cold, unfeeling heart.\"\n\"But,\" interposed Shirley, \"supposing Moore was driven from the country, and his mill razed to the ground, would people have more work?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"They'd have less. I know that, and they know that; and there is many an honest lad driven desperate by the certainty that whichever way he turns he cannot better himself; and there is dishonest men plenty to guide them to the devil, scoundrels that reckons to be the 'people's friends,' and that knows nought about the people, and is as insincere as Lucifer. I've lived aboon forty year in the world, and I believe that 'the people' will never have any true friends but theirseln and them two or three good folk i' different stations that is friends to all the world. Human natur', taking it i' th' lump, is nought but selfishness. It is but excessive few, it is but just an exception here and there, now and then, sich as ye two young uns and me, that, being in a different sphere, can understand t' one t' other, and be friends wi'out slavishness o' one hand or pride o' t' other. Them that reckons to be friends to a lower class than their own fro' political motives is never to be trusted; they always try to make their inferiors tools. For my own part, I will neither be patronized nor misled for no man's pleasure. I've had overtures made to me lately that I saw were treacherous, and I flung 'em back i' the faces o' them that offered 'em.\"\n\"You won't tell us what overtures?\"\n","abridged":"\"They'd have less. I know that, and they know that; and there is many an honest lad driven desperate by the certainty that whichever way he turns he cannot better himself; and there is dishonest men aplenty to guide them to the devil, scoundrels that reckons to be the 'people's friends,' and that knows nought about the people, and is as insincere as Lucifer. Human natur' is nought but selfishness. It is but just an exception here and there, sich as ye two young uns and me, that, though in a different sphere, can understand t' one t' other, and be friends. Them that reckons to be friends to a lower class from political motives is never to be trusted; they always try to make their inferiors tools. For my own part, I will not be patronized. I've had overtures made to me lately that I saw were treacherous, and I flung 'em back i' the faces o' them that offered 'em.\"\n\"You won't tell us what overtures?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will not. It would do no good. It would mak no difference. Them they concerned can look after theirseln.\"\n\"Ay, we'se look after werseln,\" said another voice. Joe Scott had sauntered forth from the church to get a breath of fresh air, and there he stood.\n\"I'll warrant _ye_, Joe,\" observed William, smiling.\n\"And I'll warrant my maister,\" was the answer.--\"Young ladies,\" continued Joe, assuming a lordly air, \"ye'd better go into th' house.\"\n\"I wonder what for?\" inquired Shirley, to whom the overlooker's somewhat pragmatical manners were familiar, and who was often at war with him; for Joe, holding supercilious theories about women in general, resented greatly, in his secret soul, the fact of his master and his master's mill being, in a manner, under petticoat government, and had felt as wormwood and gall certain business visits of the heiress to the Hollow's counting-house.\n","abridged":"\"I will not. It would do no good. Them they concerned can look after theirseln.\"\n\"Ay, we'se look after werseln,\" said another voice. Joe Scott had sauntered forth from the church.\n\"I'll warrant ye, Joe,\" observed William, smiling.\n\"And I'll warrant my maister,\" was the answer. \"Young ladies,\" continued Joe, assuming a lordly air, \"ye'd better go into th' house.\"\n\"I wonder what for?\" inquired Shirley, who was often at war with the overlooker; for Joe, holding supercilious theories about women in general, resented greatly, in his secret soul, the fact of his master and his master's mill being under petticoat government.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Because there is nought agate that fits women to be consarned in.\"\n\"Indeed! There is prayer and preaching agate in that church. Are we not concerned in that?\"\n\"Ye have been present neither at the prayer nor preaching, ma'am, if I have observed aright. What I alluded to was politics. William Farren here was touching on that subject, if I'm not mista'en.\"\n\"Well, what then? Politics are our habitual study, Joe. Do you know I see a newspaper every day, and two of a Sunday?\"\n","abridged":"\"Because politics is not fit for women to be consarned in.\"\n\"But I study politics, Joe. Do you know I see a newspaper every day, and two of a Sunday?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I should think you'll read the marriages, probably, miss, and the murders, and the accidents, and sich like?\"\n\"I read the leading articles, Joe, and the foreign intelligence, and I look over the market prices. In short, I read just what gentlemen read.\"\nJoe looked as if he thought this talk was like the chattering of a pie. He replied to it by a disdainful silence.\n\"Joe,\" continued Miss Keeldar, \"I never yet could ascertain properly whether you are a Whig or a Tory. Pray, which party has the honour of your alliance?\"\n\"It is rayther difficult to explain where you are sure not to be understood,\" was Joe's haughty response; \"but as to being a Tory, I'd as soon be an old woman, or a young one, which is a more flimsier article still. It is the Tories that carries on the war and ruins trade; and if I be of any party--though political parties is all nonsense--I'm of that which is most favourable to peace, and, by consequence, to the mercantile interests of this here land.\"\n","abridged":"\"To read the marriages, probably, miss, and the murders, and sich like.\"\n\"I read the leading articles, Joe, and the foreign news, and I look over the market prices. In short, I read just what gentlemen read.\"\nJoe looked as disdainful as if this talk was the chattering of a magpie.\n\"Joe,\" continued Miss Keeldar, \"I cannot work out whether you are a Whig or a Tory. Pray, which are you?\"\n\"It is rather difficult to explain where you won't be understood,\" was Joe's haughty response; \"but as to being a Tory, I'd as soon be an old woman. It is the Tories that carries on the war and ruins trade; and if I be of any party - though political parties is all nonsense - I'm of that which is most favourable to peace, and, by consequence, to business.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"So am I, Joe,\" replied Shirley, who had rather a pleasure in teasing the overlooker, by persisting in talking on subjects with which he opined she, as a woman, had no right to meddle--\"partly, at least. I have rather a leaning to the agricultural interest, too; as good reason is, seeing that I don't desire England to be under the feet of France, and that if a share of my income comes from Hollow's Mill, a larger share comes from the landed estate around it. It would not do to take any measures injurious to the farmers, Joe, I think?\"\n\"The dews at this hour is unwholesome for females,\" observed Joe.\n\"If you make that remark out of interest in me, I have merely to assure you that I am impervious to cold. I should not mind taking my turn to watch the mill one of these summer nights, armed with your musket, Joe.\"\nJoe Scott's chin was always rather prominent. He poked it out, at this speech, some inches farther than usual.\n\"But--to go back to my sheep,\" she proceeded--\"clothier and mill-owner as I am, besides farmer, I cannot get out of my head a certain idea that we manufacturers and persons of business are sometimes a little--a _very little_--selfish and short-sighted in our views, and rather _too_ regardless of human suffering, rather heartless in our pursuit of gain. Don't you agree with me, Joe?\"\n","abridged":"\"So am I, Joe,\" replied Shirley, who rather enjoyed talking to him on subjects with which he thought women had no right to meddle. \"I have rather a leaning to the agricultural interest, too; if some of my income comes from Hollow's Mill, more comes from the landed estate around it. It would not do to take any measures injurious to the farmers, Joe, I think?\"\n\"The dews at this hour is unwholesome for females,\" observed Joe.\n\"I am impervious to cold. I should not mind taking my turn to watch the mill one of these summer nights, armed with your musket, Joe.\"\nAt this speech, Joe poked out his chin some inches farther than usual.\n\"But I cannot get out of my head,\" she proceeded, \"an idea that we manufacturers and people of business are sometimes a little selfish and short-sighted in our views, and too regardless of human suffering. Don't you agree, Joe?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I cannot argue where I cannot be comprehended,\" was again the answer.\n\"Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me sometimes, Joe. He is not so stiff as you are.\"\n\"Maybe not. We've all our own ways.\"\n\"Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world is lodged in male skulls?\"\n\"I think that women are a kittle and a froward generation; and I've a great respect for the doctrines delivered in the second chapter of St. Paul's first Epistle to Timothy.\"\n\"What doctrines, Joe?\"\n","abridged":"\"I cannot argue where I cannot be comprehended,\" was again the answer.\n\"Man of mystery! Your master will argue with me sometimes, Joe. He is not so stiff as you are.\"\n\"Maybe not. We've all our own ways.\"\n\"Joe, do you seriously think all the wisdom in the world is lodged in male skulls?\"\n\"I think that women are a kittle and a froward generation; and I've a great respect for the doctrines of St. Paul's first Epistle to Timothy. "}
+{"original":"\"'Let the woman learn in silence, with all subjection. I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve.'\"\n\"What has that to do with the business?\" interjected Shirley. \"That smacks of rights of primogeniture. I'll bring it up to Mr. Yorke the first time he inveighs against those rights.\"\n\"And,\" continued Joe Scott, \"Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression.\"\n","abridged":"'Let the woman learn in silence, with all subjection. I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve.'\"\n\"What has that to do with it?\" interjected Shirley. \"That smacks of rights of primogeniture. I'll bring it up with Mr. Yorke.\"\n\"And,\" continued Joe Scott, \"Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"More shame to Adam to sin with his eyes open!\" cried Miss Keeldar. \"To confess the honest truth, Joe, I never was easy in my mind concerning that chapter. It puzzles me.\"\n\"It is very plain, miss. He that runs may read.\"\n\"He may read it in his own fashion,\" remarked Caroline, now joining in the dialogue for the first time. \"You allow the right of private judgment, I suppose, Joe?\"\n\"My certy, that I do! I allow and claim it for every line of the holy Book.\"\n","abridged":"\"More shame to Adam to sin with his eyes open!\" cried Miss Keeldar. \"To confess the honest truth, Joe, I never was easy in my mind concerning that chapter. It puzzles me.\"\n\"It is very plain, miss.\"\nCaroline now joined in the dialogue for the first time. \"You allow the right of private judgment, I suppose, Joe?\"\n\"My certy, that I do! I allow it for every line of the holy Book.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Women may exercise it as well as men?\"\n\"Nay. Women is to take their husbands' opinion, both in politics and religion. It's wholesomest for them.\"\n\"Oh! oh!\" exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline.\n\"To be sure; no doubt on't,\" persisted the stubborn overlooker.\n","abridged":"\"Women may exercise it as well as men?\"\n\"Nay. Women is to take their husbands' opinion. It's wholesomest for them.\"\n\"Oh! oh!\" exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline. "}
+{"original":"\"Consider yourself groaned down, and cried shame over, for such a stupid observation,\" said Miss Keeldar. \"You might as well say men are to take the opinions of their priests without examination. Of what value would a religion so adopted be? It would be mere blind, besotted superstition.\"\n\"And what is _your_ reading, Miss Helstone, o' these words o' St. Paul's?\"\n","abridged":"\"Consider yourself groaned down, and cried shame over, for such a stupid observation,\" said Miss Keeldar. \"You might as well say men are to take the opinions of their priests without examination. Such a religion would be mere blind, besotted superstition.\"\n\"And what is your reading, Miss Helstone, o' these words o' St. Paul's?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Hem! I--I account for them in this way. He wrote that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians, under peculiar circumstances; and besides, I dare say, if I could read the original Greek, I should find that many of the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misapprehended altogether. It would be possible, I doubt not, with a little ingenuity, to give the passage quite a contrary turn--to make it say, 'Let the woman speak out whenever she sees fit to make an objection.' 'It is permitted to a woman to teach and to exercise authority as much as may be. Man, meantime, cannot do better than hold his peace;' and so on.\"\n\"That willn't wash, miss.\"\n","abridged":"\"I account for them in this way,\" said Caroline. \"He wrote that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians, under peculiar circumstances; and besides, I dare say, if I could read the original Greek, I should find that many of the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misunderstood altogether. It would be possible, I doubt not, to give the passage quite a contrary turn.\"\n\"That won't wash, miss.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I dare say it will. My notions are dyed in faster colours than yours, Joe. Mr. Scott, you are a thoroughly dogmatical person, and always were. I like William better than you.\"\n\"Joe is well enough in his own house,\" said Shirley. \"I have seen him as quiet as a lamb at home. There is not a better nor a kinder husband in Briarfield. He does not dogmatize to his wife.\"\n","abridged":"\"I dare say it will. Joe, you are a thoroughly dogmatical person. I like William better than you.\"\n\"Joe is well enough in his own house,\" said Shirley. \"I have seen him as quiet as a lamb at home. There is not a kinder husband in Briarfield. He does not dogmatize to his wife.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"My wife is a hard-working, plain woman; time and trouble has ta'en all the conceit out of her. But that is not the case with you, young misses. And then you reckon to have so much knowledge; and i' my thoughts it's only superficial sort o' vanities you're acquainted with. I can tell--happen a year sin'--one day Miss Caroline coming into our counting-house when I war packing up summat behind t' great desk, and she didn't see me, and she brought a slate wi' a sum on it to t' maister. It war only a bit of a sum in practice, that our Harry would have settled i' two minutes. She couldn't do it. Mr. Moore had to show her how. And when he did show her, she couldn't understand him.\"\n\"Nonsense, Joe!\"\n","abridged":"\"My wife is a hard-working, plain woman; time and trouble has ta'en all the conceit out of her. But that is not the case with you, young misses. And then you reckon to have so much knowledge; and it's only superficial. One day Miss Caroline came into our counting-house when I war behind t' great desk, and she didn't see me, and she brought a slate wi' a sum on it to t' maister. Uur Harry would have settled it i' two minutes. She couldn't do it. Mr. Moore had to show her how. And when he did show her, she couldn't understand him.\"\n\"Nonsense, Joe!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nay, it's no nonsense. And Miss Shirley there reckons to hearken to t' maister when he's talking ower trade, so attentive like, as if she followed him word for word, and all war as clear as a lady's looking-glass to her een; and all t' while she's peeping and peeping out o' t' window to see if t' mare stands quiet; and then looking at a bit of a splash on her riding-skirt; and then glancing glegly round at wer counting-house cobwebs and dust, and thinking what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she'll have just i' now ower Nunnely Common. She hears no more o' Mr. Moore's talk nor if he spake Hebrew.\"\n\"Joe, you are a real slanderer. I would give you your answer, only the people are coming out of church. We must leave you. Man of prejudice, good-bye.--William, good-bye.--Children, come up to Fieldhead to-morrow, and you shall choose what you like best out of Mrs. Gill's store-room.\"","abridged":"\"Nay, it's no nonsense. And Miss Shirley there reckons to hearken to t' maister when he's talking ower trade, so attentive like, as if she followed him word for word; and all t' while she's peeping out o' t' window to see t' mare; and then looking at a bit of a splash on her riding-skirt; and then glancing round at wer counting-house cobwebs, and thinking what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she'll have ower Nunnely Common. She hears no more o' Mr. Moore's talk nor if he spake Hebrew.\"\n\"Joe, you are a real slanderer. I would answer you, only the people are coming out of church. We must leave you. Man of prejudice, good-bye. William, good-bye. Children, come up to Fieldhead tomorrow, and you shall choose what you like best out of Mrs. Gill's store-room.\""}
+{"original":"Only half of Moore's activity and resolution had been seen in his defence of the mill; he showed the other half (and a terrible half it was) in the indefatigable, the relentless assiduity with which he pursued the leaders of the riot. The mob, the mere followers, he let alone. Perhaps an innate sense of justice told him that men misled by false counsel and goaded by privations are not fit objects of vengeance, and that he who would visit an even violent act on the bent head of suffering is a tyrant, not a judge. At all events, though he knew many of the number, having recognized them during the latter part of the attack when day began to dawn, he let them daily pass him on street and road without notice or threat.\n","abridged":"Only half of Moore's activity and resolution had been seen in his defence of the mill; he showed the other half (and a terrible half it was) in the relentless way in which he pursued the leaders of the riot. The mob, the mere followers, he let alone, perhaps thinking that men misled and goaded by hunger are not fit objects of vengeance. At all events, though he had recognised many of the mob, he daily let them pass on the street without threat.\n"}
+{"original":"The leaders he did not know. They were strangers--emissaries from the large towns. Most of these were not members of the operative class. They were chiefly \"down-draughts,\" bankrupts, men always in debt and often in drink, men who had nothing to lose, and much, in the way of character, cash, and cleanliness, to gain. These persons Moore hunted like any sleuth-hound, and well he liked the occupation. Its excitement was of a kind pleasant to his nature. He liked it better than making cloth.\n","abridged":"The leaders he did not know. They were strangers from the large towns. Most were not mill-workers; they were chiefly bankrupts, men in debt and often in drink, who had nothing to lose, and much to gain. These persons Moore hunted, and the occupation suited him. He liked it better than making cloth.\n"}
+{"original":"His horse must have hated these times, for it was ridden both hard and often. He almost lived on the road, and the fresh air was as welcome to his lungs as the policeman's quest to his mood; he preferred it to the steam of dye-houses. The magistrates of the district must have dreaded him. They were slow, timid men; he liked both to frighten and to rouse them. He liked to force them to betray a certain fear, which made them alike falter in resolve and recoil in action--the fear, simply, of assassination. This, indeed, was the dread which had hitherto hampered every manufacturer and almost every public man in the district. Helstone alone had ever repelled it. The old Cossack knew well he might be shot. He knew there was risk; but such death had for his nerves no terrors. It would have been his chosen, might he have had a choice.\n","abridged":"His horse must have hated these times, for it was ridden both hard and often. He almost lived on the road, welcoming the fresh air after the steam of dye-houses. The magistrates of the district dreaded him. They were slow, timid men, who faltered in resolve and recoiled through fear - the fear of assassination. This, indeed, was the dread which had hampered every manufacturer in the district.\n"}
+{"original":"Moore likewise knew his danger. The result was an unquenchable scorn of the quarter whence such danger was to be apprehended. The consciousness that he hunted assassins was the spur in his high-mettled temper's flank. As for fear, he was too proud, too hard-natured (if you will), too phlegmatic a man to fear. Many a time he rode belated over the moors, moonlit or moonless as the case might be, with feelings far more elate, faculties far better refreshed, than when safety and stagnation environed him in the counting-house. Four was the number of the leaders to be accounted for. Two, in the course of a fortnight, were brought to bay near Stilbro'; the remaining two it was necessary to seek farther off. Their haunts were supposed to lie near Birmingham.\n","abridged":"Moore knew his danger, and scorned those who would endanger him. The knowledge that he hunted assassins was a spur to him. As for fear, many a night he rode over the moors feeling far more elated and refreshed than when safety and stagnation cocooned him in the counting-house.\nFour leaders had to be accounted for. Two, within a fortnight, were caught near Stilbro'; the remaining two were thought to be near Birmingham.\n"}
+{"original":"Meantime the clothier did not neglect his battered mill. Its reparation was esteemed a light task, carpenters' and glaziers' work alone being needed. The rioters not having succeeded in effecting an entrance, his grim metal darlings--the machines--had escaped damage.\n","abridged":"Meantime Moore did not neglect his battered mill. Only the windows needed repairing; his grim metal darlings - the machines - had escaped damage.\n"}
+{"original":"Whether during this busy life--whether while stern justice and exacting business claimed his energies and harassed his thoughts--he now and then gave one moment, dedicated one effort, to keep alive gentler fires than those which smoulder in the fane of Nemesis, it was not easy to discover. He seldom went near Fieldhead; if he did, his visits were brief. If he called at the rectory, it was only to hold conferences with the rector in his study. He maintained his rigid course very steadily. Meantime the history of the year continued troubled. There was no lull in the tempest of war; her long hurricane still swept the Continent. There was not the faintest sign of serene weather, no opening amid \"the clouds of battle-dust and smoke,\" no fall of pure dews genial to the olive, no cessation of the red rain which nourishes the baleful and glorious laurel. Meantime, Ruin had her sappers and miners at work under Moore's feet, and whether he rode or walked, whether he only crossed his counting-house hearth or galloped over sullen Rushedge, he was aware of a hollow echo, and felt the ground shake to his tread.\n","abridged":"Whether during this busy life he nurtured any gentler thoughts, it was not easy to discover. He seldom went near Fieldhead. If he called at the rectory, it was only to confer with the rector in his study. He maintained his rigid course very steadily. Meanwhile there was no lull in the tempest of war; her long hurricane still swept the Continent. Ruin was mining under Moore's feet, and whether he rode or walked, he was aware of a hollow echo, and felt the ground shake to his tread.\n"}
+{"original":"While the summer thus passed with Moore, how did it lapse with Shirley and Caroline? Let us first visit the heiress. How does she look? Like a love-lorn maiden, pale and pining for a neglectful swain? Does she sit the day long bent over some sedentary task? Has she for ever a book in her hand, or sewing on her knee, and eyes only for that, and words for nothing, and thoughts unspoken?\n","abridged":"While the summer thus passed with Moore, how did it lapse with Shirley and Caroline? Let us first visit the heiress. How does she look? Like a love-lorn maiden, pale and pining?\n"}
+{"original":"By no means. Shirley is all right. If her wistful cast of physiognomy is not gone, no more is her careless smile. She keeps her dark old manor-house light and bright with her cheery presence. The gallery and the low-ceiled chambers that open into it have learned lively echoes from her voice; the dim entrance-hall, with its one window, has grown pleasantly accustomed to the frequent rustle of a silk dress, as its wearer sweeps across from room to room, now carrying flowers to the barbarous peach-bloom salon, now entering the dining-room to open its casements and let in the scent of mignonette and sweet-briar, anon bringing plants from the staircase window to place in the sun at the open porch door.\n","abridged":"By no means. Shirley is all right. If her wistful look is not gone, neither is her careless smile. She keeps her dark old manor-house bright with her cheery presence. The gallery has learned lively echoes from her voice; the dim entrance-hall has grown pleasantly accustomed to the frequent rustle of a silk dress, as its wearer sweeps from room to room, carrying flowers and opening windows.\n"}
+{"original":"She takes her sewing occasionally; but, by some fatality, she is doomed never to sit steadily at it for above five minutes at a time. Her thimble is scarcely fitted on, her needle scarce threaded, when a sudden thought calls her upstairs. Perhaps she goes to seek some just-then-remembered old ivory-backed needle-book or older china-topped work-box, quite unneeded, but which seems at the moment indispensable; perhaps to arrange her hair, or a drawer which she recollects to have seen that morning in a state of curious confusion; perhaps only to take a peep from a particular window at a particular view, whence Briarfield church and rectory are visible, pleasantly bowered in trees. She has scarcely returned, and again taken up the slip of cambric or square of half-wrought canvas, when Tartar's bold scrape and strangled whistle are heard at the porch door, and she must run to open it for him. It is a hot day; he comes in panting; she must convoy him to the kitchen, and see with her own eyes that his water-bowl is replenished. Through the open kitchen door the court is visible, all sunny and gay, and peopled with turkeys and their poults, peahens and their chicks, pearl-flecked Guinea-fowls, and a bright variety of pure white, and purple-necked, and blue and cinnamon plumed pigeons. Irresistible spectacle to Shirley! She runs to the pantry for a roll, and she stands on the door step scattering crumbs. Around her throng her eager, plump, happy feathered vassals. John is about the stables, and John must be talked to, and her mare looked at. ","abridged":"She takes up her sewing occasionally; but never sits steadily at it for above five minutes at a time. Her needle is scarce threaded when a sudden thought calls her upstairs. Perhaps she goes to seek some old ivory-backed needle-book; perhaps to arrange her hair, or tidy a drawer; perhaps only to take a peep from a window at the view of Briarfield church and rectory.\nShe has scarcely returned, and again taken up her sewing, when Tartar's scrape and strangled wheeze are heard at the porch door, and she runs to open it for him. It is a hot day; he comes in panting; she must take him to the kitchen for water. Through the open kitchen door the court is visible, sunny and gay, with turkeys, peahens and their chicks, pearl-flecked Guinea-fowls, and blue and cinnamon plumed pigeons. Irresistible spectacle! Shirley runs to the pantry for a roll, and stands on the doorstep scattering crumbs. John is in the stables, and he must be talked to, and her mare looked at.\n"}
+{"original":"She is still petting and patting it when the cows come in to be milked. This is important; Shirley must stay and take a review of them all. There are perhaps some little calves, some little new-yeaned lambs--it may be twins, whose mothers have rejected them. Miss Keeldar must be introduced to them by John, must permit herself the treat of feeding them with her own hand, under the direction of her careful foreman. Meantime John moots doubtful questions about the farming of certain \"crofts,\" and \"ings,\" and \"holmes,\" and his mistress is necessitated to fetch her garden-hat--a gipsy straw--and accompany him, over stile and along hedgerow, to hear the conclusion of the whole agricultural matter on the spot, and with the said \"crofts,\" \"ings,\" and \"holms\" under her eye. Bright afternoon thus wears into soft evening, and she comes home to a late tea, and after tea she never sews.\n","abridged":"Then the cows come in to be milked; Shirley must stay and take a review of them all. There are perhaps some little calves, some little new lambs - maybe twins, whose mothers have rejected them. Miss Keeldar must feed them with her own hand. Meantime John asks about the farming of certain \"crofts\" and \"ings\", and his mistress has to fetch her straw garden-hat and accompany him over stile and along hedgerow, to decide the matter on the spot, with the said \"crofts\" and \"ings\" under her eye. She comes home to a late tea.\n"}
+{"original":"After tea Shirley reads, and she is just about as tenacious of her book as she is lax of her needle. Her study is the rug, her seat a footstool, or perhaps only the carpet at Mrs. Pryor's feet: there she always learned her lessons when a child, and old habits have a strong power over her. The tawny and lionlike bulk of Tartar is ever stretched beside her, his negro muzzle laid on his fore paws--straight, strong, and shapely as the limbs of an Alpine wolf. One hand of the mistress generally reposes on the loving serf's rude head, because if she takes it away he groans and is discontented. Shirley's mind is given to her book. She lifts not her eyes; she neither stirs nor speaks--unless, indeed, it be to return a brief respectful answer to Mrs. Pryor, who addresses deprecatory phrases to her now and then.\n\"My dear, you had better not have that great dog so near you; he is crushing the border of your dress.\"\n\"Oh, it is only muslin. I can put a clean one on to-morrow.\"\n\"My dear, I wish you could acquire the habit of sitting to a table when you read.\"\n","abridged":"After tea Shirley reads. She is as tenacious of her book as she is lax of her needle. Her seat is a footstool, or perhaps the carpet at Mrs. Pryor's feet. The tawny bulk of Tartar is stretched beside her. One hand of his mistress reposes on his head, and if she takes it away he groans. Shirley's mind is on her book. She neither stirs nor speaks - unless to return a brief respectful answer to Mrs. Pryor, who addresses her now and then.\n\"My dear, that great dog is crushing the border of your dress.\"\n\"Oh, it is only muslin. I can put a clean one on tomorrow.\"\n\"My dear, I wish you could acquire the habit of sitting at a table when you read.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will try, ma'am, some time; but it is so comfortable to do as one has always been accustomed to do.\"\n\"My dear, let me beg of you to put that book down. You are trying your eyes by the doubtful firelight.\"\n\"No, ma'am, not at all; my eyes are never tired.\"\n","abridged":"\"I will try, ma'am, some time; but it is so comfortable here.\"\n\"My dear, you are tiring your eyes by the firelight.\"\n\"Not at all, ma'am; my eyes are never tired.\"\n"}
+{"original":"At last, however, a pale light falls on the page from the window. She looks; the moon is up. She closes the volume, rises, and walks through the room. Her book has perhaps been a good one; it has refreshed, refilled, rewarmed her heart; it has set her brain astir, furnished her mind with pictures. The still parlour, the clean hearth, the window opening on the twilight sky, and showing its \"sweet regent,\" new throned and glorious, suffice to make earth an Eden, life a poem, for Shirley. A still, deep, inborn delight glows in her young veins, unmingled, untroubled, not to be reached or ravished by human agency, because by no human agency bestowed--the pure gift of God to His creature, the free dower of Nature to her child. This joy gives her experience of a genii-life. Buoyant, by green steps, by glad hills, all verdure and light, she reaches a station scarcely lower than that whence angels looked down on the dreamer of Bethel, and her eye seeks, and her soul possesses, the vision of life as she wishes it. No, not as she wishes it; she has not time to wish. The swift glory spreads out, sweeping and kindling, and multiplies its splendours faster than Thought can effect his combinations, faster than Aspiration can utter her longings. ","abridged":"At last, however, she closes the volume, rises, and walks through the room. Her book has refilled and rewarmed her heart; it has set her brain astir. The still parlour, the clean hearth, the window opening on the twilight sky, suffice to make earth an Eden, life a poem, for Shirley. A deep, inborn delight glows in her young veins - the pure gift of God to His creature, the free dower of Nature to her child. Her eye seeks, and her soul possesses, the vision of life as she wishes it. The swift glory spreads, sweeping and kindling, and multiplies its splendours. "}
+{"original":"Shirley says nothing while the trance is upon her--she is quite mute; but if Mrs. Pryor speaks to her now, she goes out quietly, and continues her walk upstairs in the dim gallery.\nIf Shirley were not an indolent, a reckless, an ignorant being, she would take a pen at such moments, or at least while the recollection of such moments was yet fresh on her spirit. She would seize, she would fix the apparition, tell the vision revealed. Had she a little more of the organ of acquisitiveness in her head, a little more of the love of property in her nature, she would take a good-sized sheet of paper and write plainly out, in her own queer but clear and legible hand, the story that has been narrated, the song that has been sung to her, and thus possess what she was enabled to create. But indolent she is, reckless she is, and most ignorant; for she does not know her dreams are rare, her feelings peculiar. She does not know, has never known, and will die without knowing, the full value of that spring whose bright fresh bubbling in her heart keeps it green.\n","abridged":"Shirley says nothing while the trance is upon her; but if Mrs. Pryor speaks to her now, she goes out quietly, and continues her walk upstairs in the dim gallery.\nIf Shirley were not an indolent, reckless, ignorant being, she would take a pen at such moments. She would seize and fix the apparition, tell the vision revealed. She would write out, in her queer but legible hand, the story that has been narrated, the song that has been sung to her, and thus possess what she was enabled to create. But indolent she is, reckless, and most ignorant; for she does not know her dreams are rare. She does not know the full value of that spring whose bright fresh bubbling in her heart keeps it green.\n"}
+{"original":"Shirley takes life easily. Is not that fact written in her eye? In her good-tempered moments is it not as full of lazy softness as in her brief fits of anger it is fulgent with quick-flashing fire? Her nature is in her eye. So long as she is calm, indolence, indulgence, humour, and tenderness possess that large gray sphere; incense her, a red ray pierces the dew, it quickens instantly to flame.\n","abridged":"Shirley takes life easily. Her nature is in her eye. So long as she is calm, a lazy softness, humour, and tenderness fill that grey sphere; anger her, and it quickens with fire.\n"}
+{"original":"Ere the month of July was past, Miss Keeldar would probably have started with Caroline on that northern tour they had planned; but just at that epoch an invasion befell Fieldhead. A genteel foraging party besieged Shirley in her castle, and compelled her to surrender at discretion. An uncle, an aunt, and two cousins from the south--a Mr., Mrs., and two Misses Sympson, of Sympson Grove, ----shire--came down upon her in state. The laws of hospitality obliged her to give in, which she did with a facility which somewhat surprised Caroline, who knew her to be prompt in action and fertile in expedient where a victory was to be gained for her will. Miss Helstone even asked her how it was she submitted so readily. She answered, old feelings had their power; she had passed two years of her early youth at Sympson Grove.\n\"How did she like her relatives?\"\nShe had nothing in common with them, she replied. Little Harry Sympson, indeed, the sole son of the family, was very unlike his sisters, and of him she had formerly been fond; but he was not coming to Yorkshire--at least not yet.\n","abridged":"By the end of July, Miss Keeldar would probably have started with Caroline on that northern tour they had planned; but just then an invasion befell Fieldhead. A genteel foraging party besieged Shirley in her castle, and compelled her to surrender.\nAn uncle, an aunt, and two cousins from the south - a Mr., Mrs., and two Misses Sympson, of Sympson Grove - arrived in state. The laws of hospitality obliged her to give in, which she did with a willingness which surprised Caroline. Miss Helstone asked her how it was she submitted so readily. Shirley answered that old feelings had their power; she had passed two years of her youth at Sympson Grove.\n\"How did she like her relatives?\"\nShe had nothing in common with them, she replied, except little Harry Sympson, the sole son, who was very unlike his sisters. She had been fond of him; but he was not coming to Yorkshire yet.\n"}
+{"original":"The next Sunday the Fieldhead pew in Briarfield Church appeared peopled with a prim, trim, fidgety, elderly gentleman, who shifted his spectacles, and changed his position every three minutes; a patient, placid-looking elderly lady in brown satin; and two pattern young ladies, in pattern attire, with pattern deportment. Shirley had the air of a black swan or a white crow in the midst of this party, and very forlorn was her aspect. Having brought her into respectable society, we will leave her there a while, and look after Miss Helstone.\nSeparated from Miss Keeldar for the present, as she could not seek her in the midst of her fine relatives, scared away from Fieldhead by the visiting commotion which the new arrivals occasioned in the neighbourhood, Caroline was limited once more to the gray rectory, the solitary morning walk in remote by-paths, the long, lonely afternoon sitting in a quiet parlour which the sun forsook at noon, or in the garden alcove where it shone bright, yet sad, on the ripening red currants trained over the trellis, and on the fair monthly roses entwined between, and through them fell chequered on Caroline sitting in her white summer dress, still as a garden statue. There she read old books, taken from her uncle's library. The Greek and Latin were of no use to her, and its collection of light literature was chiefly contained on a shelf which had belonged to her aunt Mary--some venerable Lady's Magazines, that had once performed a sea-voyage with their owner, and undergone a storm, and whose pages were stained with salt water; some mad Methodist Magazines, full of miracles and apparitions, of preternatural warnings, ominous dreams, and frenzied fanaticism; the equally mad letters of Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe from the Dead to the Living; a few old English classics. From these faded flowers Caroline had in her childhood extracted the honey; they were tasteless to her now. By way of change, and also of doing good, she would sew--make garments for the poor, according to good Miss Ainley's direction. Sometimes, as she felt and saw her tears fall slowly on her work, she would wonder how the excellent woman who had cut it out and arranged it for her managed to be so equably serene in _her_ solitude.\n","abridged":"The next Sunday the Fieldhead pew in Briarfield Church held a prim, trim, fidgety, elderly gentleman; a patient, placid-looking elderly lady in brown satin; and two model young ladies, in model attire, with model deportment. Shirley had the air of a black swan in the midst of this party, and looked very forlorn. Having brought her into respectable society, we will leave her there a while, and look for Miss Helstone.\nSeparated from Miss Keeldar by the presence of her fine relatives, Caroline was limited once more to the grey rectory, the solitary morning walk on remote paths, the long, lonely afternoon sitting in a quiet parlour, or in the garden alcove. There the sun shone on ripening red currants trained over the trellis, and on the fair roses entwined between, and fell chequered on Caroline, still as a garden statue. She read old books from her uncle's library - some venerable Lady's Magazines, some mad Methodist Magazines, and a few old English classics. From these faded flowers Caroline had in her childhood extracted the honey; they were tasteless to her now. By way of change, she would sew for the poor, according to good Miss Ainley's direction. Sometimes, as she saw her tears fall on her work, she would wonder how that excellent woman managed to be so serene in her solitude.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I never find Miss Ainley oppressed with despondency or lost in grief,\" she thought; \"yet her cottage is a still, dim little place, and she is without a bright hope or near friend in the world. I remember, though, she told me once she had tutored her thoughts to tend upwards to heaven. She allowed there was, and ever had been, little enjoyment in this world for her, and she looks, I suppose, to the bliss of the world to come. So do nuns, with their close cell, their iron lamp, their robe strait as a shroud, their bed narrow as a coffin. She says often she has no fear of death--no dread of the grave; no more, doubtless, had St. Simeon Stylites, lifted up terrible on his wild column in the wilderness; no more has the Hindu votary stretched on his couch of iron spikes. Both these having violated nature, their natural likings and antipathies are reversed; they grow altogether morbid. I do fear death as yet, but I believe it is because I am young. Poor Miss Ainley would cling closer to life if life had more charms for her. God surely did not create us and cause us to live with the sole end of wishing always to die. I believe in my heart we were intended to prize life and enjoy it so long as we retain it. ","abridged":"\"I never find Miss Ainley oppressed or lost in grief,\" she thought; \"yet her cottage is a dim little place, and she is without a close friend in the world. I remember she told me once she had tutored her thoughts to tend upwards to heaven, for there had been little enjoyment in this world for her, and she looks, I suppose, to the bliss of the world to come. So do nuns, with their close cell, their iron lamp, and their bed as narrow as a coffin. She says often she has no fear of death. Poor Miss Ainley would cling closer to life if life had more charms for her. God surely did not give us life with the sole end of wishing always to die. I believe we were intended to prize and enjoy life: it"}
+{"original":"Existence never was originally meant to be that useless, blank, pale, slow-trailing thing it often becomes to many, and is becoming to me among the rest.\n","abridged":" was never meant to be that useless, blank, slow-trailing thing it becomes to many, and is becoming to me too.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nobody,\" she went on--\"nobody in particular is to blame, that I can see, for the state in which things are; and I cannot tell, however much I puzzle over it, how they are to be altered for the better; but I feel there is something wrong somewhere. I believe single women should have more to do--better chances of interesting and profitable occupation than they possess now. And when I speak thus I have no impression that I displease God by my words; that I am either impious or impatient, irreligious or sacrilegious. My consolation is, indeed, that God hears many a groan, and compassionates much grief which man stops his ears against, or frowns on with impotent contempt. I say _impotent_, for I observe that to such grievances as society cannot readily cure it usually forbids utterance, on pain of its scorn, this scorn being only a sort of tinselled cloak to its deformed weakness. People hate to be reminded of ills they are unable or unwilling to remedy. Such reminder, in forcing on them a sense of their own incapacity, or a more painful sense of an obligation to make some unpleasant effort, troubles their ease and shakes their self-complacency. Old maids, like the houseless and unemployed poor, should not ask for a place and an occupation in the world; the demand disturbs the happy and rich--it disturbs parents. Look at the numerous families of girls in this neighbourhood--the Armitages, the Birtwhistles, the Sykeses. The brothers of these girls are every one in business or in professions; they have something to do. ","abridged":"\"Nobody,\" she went on, \"is to blame for this state of things; and I cannot tell how they are to be altered for the better; but I feel there is something wrong somewhere. I believe single women should have more to do - more interesting and profitable occupations than they have now. I do not think these words displease God, or that they are irreligious. Indeed, God hears many a groan which man stops his ears against, or frowns on with impotent contempt. I say impotent, for people hate to be reminded of ills they cannot remedy. It forces on them an awareness of their own incapacity, or a painful sense of an obligation to make some unpleasant effort. Old maids should not ask for a place and an occupation in the world; the demand disturbs the happy and rich.\n\"Look at the numerous families of girls in this neighbourhood - the Armitages, the Birtwhistles, the Sykeses. Their brothers are in business or in professions; they have something to do. "}
+{"original":"Their sisters have no earthly employment but household work and sewing, no earthly pleasure but an unprofitable visiting, and no hope, in all their life to come, of anything better. This stagnant state of things makes them decline in health. They are never well, and their minds and views shrink to wondrous narrowness. The great wish, the sole aim of every one of them is to be married, but the majority will never marry; they will die as they now live. They scheme, they plot, they dress to ensnare husbands. The gentlemen turn them into ridicule; they don't want them; they hold them very cheap. They say--I have heard them say it with sneering laughs many a time--the matrimonial market is overstocked. Fathers say so likewise, and are angry with their daughters when they observe their manuvres--they order them to stay at home. What do they expect them to do at home? If you ask, they would answer, sew and cook. ","abridged":"Their sisters have no earthly employment but household work and sewing, no earthly pleasure but visiting, and no hope, in all their life to come, of anything better. This stagnant state of things makes them decline in health. They are never well, and their minds and views shrink to wondrous narrowness. The great wish, the sole aim of every one of them is to be married, but the majority will never marry; they will die as they now live. They scheme, they plot, they dress to ensnare husbands. The gentlemen ridicule them; they don't want them; they hold them very cheap. I have heard them say with sneering laughs that the marriage market is overstocked. Fathers say so likewise, and order their daughters to stay at home. What do they expect them to do at home? They would answer, sew and cook"}
+{"original":"They expect them to do this, and this only, contentedly, regularly, uncomplainingly, all their lives long, as if they had no germs of faculties for anything else--a doctrine as reasonable to hold as it would be that the fathers have no faculties but for eating what their daughters cook or for wearing what they sew. Could men live so themselves? Would they not be very weary? And when there came no relief to their weariness, but only reproaches at its slightest manifestation, would not their weariness ferment in time to frenzy? Lucretia, spinning at midnight in the midst of her maidens, and Solomon's virtuous woman are often quoted as patterns of what 'the sex,' as they say, ought to be. I don't know. Lucretia, I dare say, was a most worthy sort of person, much like my cousin Hortense Moore; but she kept her servants up very late. I should not have liked to be amongst the number of the maidens. Hortense would just work me and Sarah in that fashion, if she could, and neither of us would bear it. The 'virtuous woman,' again, had her household up in the very middle of the night; she 'got breakfast over,' as Mrs. Sykes says, before one o'clock a.m.; but _she_ had something more to do than spin and give out portions. ","abridged":", and this only, contentedly, uncomplainingly, all their lives long, as if they had no faculties for anything else. Could men live so themselves? Would they not be very weary? And when there came no relief to their weariness, but only reproaches, would not their weariness ferment in time to frenzy?\n\"Solomon's virtuous woman in the Bible is often quoted as a pattern of what woman ought to be. But she had something more to do than spin. "}
+{"original":"She was a manufacturer--she made fine linen and sold it; she was an agriculturist--she bought estates and planted vineyards. _That_ woman was a manager. She was what the matrons hereabouts call 'a clever woman.' On the whole, I like her a good deal better than Lucretia; but I don't believe either Mr. Armitage or Mr. Sykes could have got the advantage of her in a bargain. Yet I like her. 'Strength and honour were her clothing; the heart of her husband safely trusted in her. She opened her mouth with wisdom; in her tongue was the law of kindness; her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband also praised her.' King of Israel! your model of a woman is a worthy model! But are we, in these days, brought up to be like her? ","abridged":"She was a manufacturer - she made fine linen and sold it; she was an agriculturist - she bought estates and planted vineyards. That woman was a manager, and I don't believe either Mr. Armitage or Mr. Sykes could have got the advantage of her in a bargain. Yet I like her. 'Strength and honour were her clothing; the heart of her husband safely trusted in her. She opened her mouth with wisdom; in her tongue was the law of kindness; her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband also praised her.' King of Israel! your model of a woman is a worthy model! But are we, in these days, brought up to be like her? "}
+{"original":"Men of Yorkshire! do your daughters reach this royal standard? Can they reach it? Can you help them to reach it? Can you give them a field in which their faculties may be exercised and grow? Men of England! look at your poor girls, many of them fading around you, dropping off in consumption or decline; or, what is worse, degenerating to sour old maids--envious, back-biting, wretched, because life is a desert to them; or, what is worst of all, reduced to strive, by scarce modest coquetry and debasing artifice, to gain that position and consideration by marriage which to celibacy is denied. Fathers! cannot you alter these things? Perhaps not all at once; but consider the matter well when it is brought before you, receive it as a theme worthy of thought; do not dismiss it with an idle jest or an unmanly insult. ","abridged":"Men of Yorkshire! can your daughters reach this royal standard? Can you give them a field in which their faculties may be exercised and grow? Men of England! look at your poor girls, many of them fading around you, because life is a desert to them; or reduced to strive, by coquetry and artifice, to gain a position by marriage.\n\"Fathers! Consider the matter well; do not dismiss it with an idle jest or an unmanly insult. "}
+{"original":"You would wish to be proud of your daughters, and not to blush for them; then seek for them an interest and an occupation which shall raise them above the flirt, the manuvrer, the mischief-making tale-bearer. Keep your girls' minds narrow and fettered; they will still be a plague and a care, sometimes a disgrace to you. Cultivate them--give them scope and work; they will be your gayest companions in health, your tenderest nurses in sickness, your most faithful prop in age.\"","abridged":"You would wish to be proud of your daughters, and not to blush for them; then seek for them an interest and an occupation which shall raise them above the flirt, the mischief-making tale-bearer. Keep your girls' minds narrow and fettered, and they will be a plague and a care to you. Cultivate them - give them scope and work; they will be your gayest companions in health, your tenderest nurses in sickness, your most faithful prop in age.\""}
+{"original":"Not always do those who dare such divine conflict prevail. Night after night the sweat of agony may burst dark on the forehead; the supplicant may cry for mercy with that soundless voice the soul utters when its appeal is to the Invisible. \"Spare my beloved,\" it may implore. \"Heal my life's life. Rend not from me what long affection entwines with my whole nature. God of heaven, bend, hear, be clement!\" And after this cry and strife the sun may rise and see him worsted. That opening morn, which used to salute him with the whisper of zephyrs, the carol of skylarks, may breathe, as its first accents, from the dear lips which colour and heat have quitted, \"Oh! I have had a suffering night. This morning I am worse. ","abridged":"Not always do those who dare such divine conflict prevail. Night after night the supplicant may cry in agonised, soundless voice: \"Spare my beloved. Heal my life's life. God of heaven, be merciful!\" And after this cry and strife the sun may rise and see him worsted. At morn the dear, pale lips may murmur of a night of yet worse suffering.\n"}
+{"original":"I have tried to rise. I cannot. Dreams I am unused to have troubled me.\"\nThen the watcher approaches the patient's pillow, and sees a new and strange moulding of the familiar features, feels at once that the insufferable moment draws nigh, knows that it is God's will his idol shall be broken, and bends his head, and subdues his soul to the sentence he cannot avert and scarce can bear.\nHappy Mrs. Pryor! She was still praying, unconscious that the summer sun hung above the hills, when her child softly woke in her arms. No piteous, unconscious moaning--sound which so wastes our strength that, even if we have sworn to be firm, a rush of unconquerable tears sweeps away the oath--preceded her waking. No space of deaf apathy followed. The first words spoken were not those of one becoming estranged from this world, and already permitted to stray at times into realms foreign to the living. Caroline evidently remembered with clearness what had happened.\n","abridged":"Then the watcher approaches the patient's pillow, and sees a new and strange moulding of the familiar features, feels that the unbearable moment draws nigh, that it is God's will his idol shall be broken. He bends his head, and subdues his soul to the sentence he cannot avert and scarce can bear.\nHappy Mrs. Pryor! She was still praying when her child softly woke in her arms. There was no piteous moaning, no deaf apathy. Caroline's first words showed no fever or delirium.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mamma, I have slept _so_ well. I only dreamed and woke twice.\"\nMrs. Pryor rose with a start, that her daughter might not see the joyful tears called into her eyes by that affectionate word \"mamma,\" and the welcome assurance that followed it.\nFor many days the mother dared rejoice only with trembling. That first revival seemed like the flicker of a dying lamp. If the flame streamed up bright one moment, the next it sank dim in the socket. Exhaustion followed close on excitement.\nThere was always a touching endeavour to _appear_ better, but too often ability refused to second will; too often the attempt to bear up failed. The effort to eat, to talk, to look cheerful, was unsuccessful. Many an hour passed during which Mrs. Pryor feared that the chords of life could never more be strengthened, though the time of their breaking might be deferred.\n","abridged":"\"Mamma, I have slept so well. I only dreamed and woke twice.\"\nMrs. Pryor rose with a start, joyful tears called into her eyes by that affectionate word \"mamma.\"\nFor many days the mother dared rejoice only with trembling. That first revival seemed like the flicker of a dying lamp. If the flame streamed up bright one moment, the next it sank dim. Exhaustion followed close on excitement.\nCaroline made a touching endeavour to appear better, but too often failed. The effort to eat, to talk, to look cheerful, was unsuccessful. Many an hour passed when Mrs. Pryor feared that she would never grow stronger.\n"}
+{"original":"During this space the mother and daughter seemed left almost alone in the neighbourhood. It was the close of August; the weather was fine--that is to say, it was very dry and very dusty, for an arid wind had been blowing from the east this month past; very cloudless, too, though a pale haze, stationary in the atmosphere, seemed to rob of all depth of tone the blue of heaven, of all freshness the verdure of earth, and of all glow the light of day. Almost every family in Briarfield was absent on an excursion. Miss Keeldar and her friends were at the seaside; so were Mrs. Yorke's household. Mr. Hall and Louis Moore, between whom a spontaneous intimacy seemed to have arisen--the result, probably, of harmony of views and temperament--were gone \"up north\" on a pedestrian excursion to the Lakes. Even Hortense, who would fain have stayed at home and aided Mrs. Pryor in nursing Caroline, had been so earnestly entreated by Miss Mann to accompany her once more to Wormwood Wells, in the hope of alleviating sufferings greatly aggravated by the insalubrious weather, that she felt obliged to comply; indeed, it was not in her nature to refuse a request that at once appealed to her goodness of heart, and, by a confession of dependency, flattered her _amour propre_. As for Robert, from Birmingham he had gone on to London, where he still sojourned.\nSo long as the breath of Asiatic deserts parched Caroline's lips and fevered her veins, her physical convalescence could not keep pace with her returning mental tranquillity; but there came a day when the wind ceased to sob at the eastern gable of the rectory, and at the oriel window of the church. A little cloud like a man's hand arose in the west; gusts from the same quarter drove it on and spread it wide; wet and tempest prevailed a while. When that was over the sun broke out genially, heaven regained its azure, and earth its green; the livid cholera-tint had vanished from the face of nature; the hills rose clear round the horizon, absolved from that pale malaria-haze.\n","abridged":"During this time the mother and daughter seemed left almost alone in the neighbourhood. It was the close of August; the weather was very dry and dusty, very cloudless, too, though a pale haze seemed to rob the heaven of blue, and the earth of freshness. Almost every family in Briarfield was away. Miss Keeldar and her friends were at the seaside; so were the Yorkes. Mr. Hall and Louis Moore, between whom a friendship had arisen, had gone to walk in the Lakes. Even Hortense, who would fain have stayed at home, had been so earnestly entreated by Miss Mann to accompany her again to Wormwood Wells that she felt obliged to comply. As for Robert, from Birmingham he had gone to London, where he still stayed.\nHowever, there came a day when the dry east wind dropped. A cloud arose in the west, and spread wide: rain and tempest followed. When that was over the sun broke out, heaven regained its azure, and earth its green; the hills rose clear, freed from that pale sickly haze.\n"}
+{"original":"Caroline's youth could now be of some avail to her, and so could her mother's nurture. Both, crowned by God's blessing, sent in the pure west wind blowing soft as fresh through the ever-open chamber lattice, rekindled her long-languishing energies. At last Mrs. Pryor saw that it was permitted to hope: a genuine, material convalescence had commenced. It was not merely Caroline's smile which was brighter, or her spirits which were cheered, but a certain look had passed from her face and eye--a look dread and indescribable, but which will easily be recalled by those who have watched the couch of dangerous disease. Long before the emaciated outlines of her aspect began to fill, or its departed colour to return, a more subtle change took place; all grew softer and warmer. Instead of a marble mask and glassy eye, Mrs. Pryor saw laid on the pillow a face pale and wasted enough, perhaps more haggard than the other appearance, but less awful; for it was a sick, living girl, not a mere white mould or rigid piece of statuary.\n","abridged":"Her mother's care and the pure, fresh wind, blowing soft through the window, rekindled Caroline's energies. At last Mrs. Pryor began to hope. It was not merely Caroline's smile which was brighter, but a certain look had passed from her face - a dread, glassy look, familiar to those who have watched by sickbeds. Mrs. Pryor saw laid on the pillow a face pale and wasted, but not white and rigid.\n"}
+{"original":"Now, too, she was not always petitioning to drink. The words, \"I am _so_ thirsty,\" ceased to be her plaint. Sometimes, when she had swallowed a morsel, she would say it had revived her. All descriptions of food were no longer equally distasteful; she could be induced, sometimes, to indicate a preference. With what trembling pleasure and anxious care did not her nurse prepare what was selected! How she watched her as she partook of it!\n","abridged":"Now, too, Caroline was not always saying she was thirsty; food was not so distasteful to her. With what anxious care her nurse prepared what she preferred! How she watched her as she ate!\n"}
+{"original":"Nourishment brought strength. She could sit up. Then she longed to breathe the fresh air, to revisit her flowers, to see how the fruit had ripened. Her uncle, always liberal, had bought a garden-chair for her express use. He carried her down in his own arms, and placed her in it himself, and William Farren was there to wheel her round the walks, to show her what he had done amongst her plants, to take her directions for further work.\nWilliam and she found plenty to talk about. They had a dozen topics in common--interesting to them, unimportant to the rest of the world. They took a similar interest in animals, birds, insects, and plants; they held similar doctrines about humanity to the lower creation, and had a similar turn for minute observation on points of natural history. The nest and proceedings of some ground-bees, which had burrowed in the turf under an old cherry-tree, was one subject of interest; the haunts of certain hedge-sparrows, and the welfare of certain pearly eggs and callow fledglings, another.\n","abridged":"Nourishment brought strength. Caroline could sit up. Then she longed to breathe the fresh air, to revisit her flowers, to see how the fruit had ripened. Her uncle had bought a garden-chair for her use. He carried her down in his arms, and placed her in it, and William Farren wheeled her round the walks, to show her what he had done amongst her plants.\nWilliam and she found plenty to talk about. They had a common interest in animals, birds and plants; they held similar views about humane treatment of the lower creation, and had a similar turn for observing natural history. The nest of some ground-bees, which had burrowed in the turf under a cherry-tree, was one subject of interest; the haunts of hedge-sparrows, and the welfare of certain fledglings, was another.\n"}
+{"original":"Had _Chambers's Journal_ existed in those days, it would certainly have formed Miss Helstone's and Farren's favourite periodical. She would have subscribed for it, and to him each number would duly have been lent; both would have put implicit faith and found great savour in its marvellous anecdotes of animal sagacity.\nThis is a digression, but it suffices to explain why Caroline would have no other hand than William's to guide her chair, and why his society and conversation sufficed to give interest to her garden-airings.\nMrs. Pryor, walking near, wondered how her daughter could be so much at ease with a \"man of the people.\" _She_ found it impossible to speak to him otherwise than stiffly. She felt as if a great gulf lay between her caste and his, and that to cross it or meet him half-way would be to degrade herself. She gently asked Caroline, \"Are you not afraid, my dear, to converse with that person so unreservedly? He may presume, and become troublesomely garrulous.\"\n","abridged":"Mrs. Pryor wondered how her daughter could be so at ease with a workman. She found it impossible to speak to him otherwise than stiffly. She felt as if a great gulf lay between her caste and his, and that to cross it or meet him half-way would be to degrade herself. She gently asked Caroline, \"Are you not afraid, my dear, to converse with that person so unreservedly? He may presume, and become troublesomely garrulous.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"William presume, mamma? You don't know him. He never presumes. He is altogether too proud and sensitive to do so. William has very fine feelings.\"\nAnd Mrs. Pryor smiled sceptically at the nave notion of that rough-handed, rough-headed, fustian-clad clown having \"fine feelings.\"\nFarren, for his part, showed Mrs. Pryor only a very sulky brow. He knew when he was misjudged, and was apt to turn unmanageable with such as failed to give him his due.\n","abridged":"\"You don't know William, mamma. He never presumes. He is too proud and sensitive to do so. William has very fine feelings.\"\nMrs. Pryor smiled sceptically at the nave notion of that rough-handed clown having \"fine feelings.\" Farren, for his part, was sulky towards Mrs. Pryor. He knew when he was misjudged.\n"}
+{"original":"The evening restored Caroline entirely to her mother, and Mrs. Pryor liked the evening; for then, alone with her daughter, no human shadow came between her and what she loved. During the day she would have her stiff demeanour and cool moments, as was her wont. Between her and Mr. Helstone a very respectful but most rigidly ceremonious intercourse was kept up. Anything like familiarity would have bred contempt at once in one or both these personages; but by dint of strict civility and well-maintained distance they got on very smoothly.\nTowards the servants Mrs. Pryor's bearing was not uncourteous, but shy, freezing, ungenial. Perhaps it was diffidence rather than pride which made her appear so haughty; but, as was to be expected, Fanny and Eliza failed to make the distinction, and she was unpopular with them accordingly. She felt the effect produced; it rendered her at times dissatisfied with herself for faults she could not help, and with all else dejected, chill, and taciturn.\n","abridged":"Mrs. Pryor liked the evening; for then she was alone with her daughter. During the day she would have her cool moments, as was her wont. Relations between her and Mr. Helstone were very respectful but rigidly ceremonious. By dint of strict civility and well-maintained distance they got on smoothly.\nTowards the servants Mrs. Pryor was shy; but her diffidence made her appear haughty to Fanny and Eliza, and she was unpopular with them. She knew it, and felt dissatisfied with herself.\n"}
+{"original":"This mood changed to Caroline's influence, and to that influence alone. The dependent fondness of her nursling, the natural affection of her child, came over her suavely. Her frost fell away, her rigidity unbent; she grew smiling and pliant. Not that Caroline made any wordy profession of love--that would ill have suited Mrs. Pryor; she would have read therein the proof of insincerity--but she hung on her with easy dependence; she confided in her with fearless reliance. These things contented the mother's heart.\nShe liked to hear her daughter say, \"Mamma, do this;\" \"Please, mamma, fetch me that;\" \"Mamma, read to me;\" \"Sing a little, mamma.\"\nNobody else--not one living thing--had ever so claimed her services, so looked for help at her hand. Other people were always more or less reserved and stiff with her, as she was reserved and stiff with them; other people betrayed consciousness of and annoyance at her weak points. Caroline no more showed such wounding sagacity or reproachful sensitiveness now than she had done when a suckling of three months old.\n","abridged":"This dejected mood changed under Caroline's influence. The affection of her child thawed her frost; she grew smiling and pliant. Caroline hung on her with easy dependence; she confided in her, and contented the mother's heart.\nShe liked to hear her daughter say, \"Mamma, do this;\" \"Please, mamma, fetch me that;\" \"Mamma, read to me;\" \"Sing a little, mamma.\" Nobody else had ever so looked for help at her hand. Other people were always reserved with her, as she was reserved and stiff with them. Caroline showed no such reproachful sensitivity.\n"}
+{"original":"Yet Caroline could find fault. Blind to the constitutional defects that were incurable, she had her eyes wide open to the acquired habits that were susceptible of remedy. On certain points she would quite artlessly lecture her parent; and that parent, instead of being hurt, felt a sensation of pleasure in discovering that the girl _dared_ lecture her, that she was so much at home with her.\n\"Mamma, I am determined you shall not wear that old gown any more. Its fashion is not becoming; it is too strait in the skirt. You shall put on your black silk every afternoon. In that you look nice; it suits you. And you shall have a black satin dress for Sundays--a real satin, not a satinet or any of the shams. And, mamma, when you get the new one, mind you must wear it.\"\n\"My dear, I thought of the black silk serving me as a best dress for many years yet, and I wished to buy you several things.\"\n","abridged":"Yet Caroline could find fault. She had her eyes wide open to habits that could be remedied. On certain points she would artlessly lecture her parent; and that parent, instead of being hurt, felt pleasure in discovering that the girl was so much at home with her.\n\"Mamma, I am determined you shall not wear that old gown any more. Its fashion is not becoming. You shall put on your black silk every afternoon. In that you look nice; it suits you. And you shall have a black satin dress for Sundays. "}
+{"original":"\"Nonsense, mamma. My uncle gives me cash to get what I want. You know he is generous enough; and I have set my heart on seeing you in a black satin. Get it soon, and let it be made by a dressmaker of my recommending. Let me choose the pattern. You always want to disguise yourself like a grandmother. You would persuade one that you are old and ugly. Not at all! On the contrary, when well dressed and cheerful you are very comely indeed; your smile is so pleasant, your teeth are so white, your hair is still such a pretty light colour. And then you speak like a young lady, with such a clear, fine tone, and you sing better than any young lady I ever heard. ","abridged":"My uncle gives me cash to get what I want. You know he is generous; and I have set my heart on seeing you in black satin. Let me choose the pattern. You always want to disguise yourself like a grandmother. You would persuade one that you are old and ugly. Not at all! On the contrary, when well dressed and cheerful you are very comely indeed. And then you speak like a young lady, with such a clear, fine tone, and you sing better than any young lady I ever heard. "}
+{"original":"Why do you wear such dresses and bonnets, mamma, such as nobody else ever wears?\"\n\"Does it annoy you, Caroline?\"\n\"Very much; it vexes me even. People say you are miserly; and yet you are not, for you give liberally to the poor and to religious societies--though your gifts are conveyed so secretly and quietly that they are known to few except the receivers. But I will be your lady's-maid myself. When I get a little stronger I will set to work, and you must be good, mamma, and do as I bid you.\"\nAnd Caroline, sitting near her mother, rearranged her muslin handkerchief and resmoothed her hair.\n","abridged":"Why do you wear such dresses and bonnets, mamma, such as nobody else ever wears?\"\n\"Does it annoy you, Caroline?\"\n\"Very much. People say you are miserly; and you are not, for you give liberally to the poor, though in secret. But I will be your lady's-maid myself. When I get a little stronger I will set to work, and you must be good, mamma, and do as I bid you. "}
+{"original":"\"My own mamma,\" then she went on, as if pleasing herself with the thought of their relationship, \"who belongs to me, and to whom I belong! I am a rich girl now. I have something I can love well, and not be afraid of loving. Mamma, who gave you this little brooch? Let me unpin it and look at it.\"\nMrs. Pryor, who usually shrank from meddling fingers and near approach, allowed the license complacently.\n\"Did papa give you this, mamma?\"\n\"My sister gave it me--my only sister, Cary. Would that your Aunt Caroline had lived to see her niece!\"\n\"Have you nothing of papa's--no trinket, no gift of his?\"\n","abridged":"My own mamma,\" she went on, \"who belongs to me, and to whom I belong! I am a rich girl now. I have something I can love, and not be afraid of loving. Mamma, who gave you this little brooch? Was it papa?\"\n\"My only sister gave it me, Cary. Would that your Aunt Caroline had lived to see her niece!\"\n\"Have you nothing of papa's - no gift of his?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I have one thing.\"\n\"That you prize?\"\n\"That I prize.\"\n\"Valuable and pretty?\"\n\"Invaluable and sweet to me.\"\n\"Show it, mamma. Is it here or at Fieldhead?\"\n\"It is talking to me now, leaning on me. Its arms are round me.\"\n\"Ah, mamma, you mean your teasing daughter, who will never let you alone; who, when you go into your room, cannot help running to seek for you; who follows you upstairs and down, like a dog.\"\n","abridged":"\"I have one thing that I prize, invaluable and sweet to me.\"\n\"Show it, mamma. Is it here or at Fieldhead?\"\n\"It is talking to me now. Its arms are round me.\"\n\"Ah, mamma, you mean your teasing daughter, who never lets you alone; who follows you upstairs and down, like a dog.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. I half fear your fair looks yet, child.\"\n\"You don't; you can't. Mamma, I am sorry papa was not good. I do so wish he had been. Wickedness spoils and poisons all pleasant things. It kills love. If you and I thought each other wicked, we could not love each other, could we?\"\n\"And if we could not trust each other, Cary?\"\n","abridged":"\"Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. I half fear your fair looks yet, child.\"\n\"I am sorry papa was not good. I do so wish he had been. Wickedness kills love. If you and I thought each other wicked,"}
+{"original":"\"How miserable we should be! Mother, before I knew you I had an apprehension that you were not good--that I could not esteem you. That dread damped my wish to see you. And now my heart is elate because I find you perfect--almost; kind, clever, nice. Your sole fault is that you are old-fashioned, and of that I shall cure you. Mamma, put your work down; read to me. I like your southern accent; it is so pure, so soft. It has no rugged burr, no nasal twang, such as almost every one's voice here in the north has. My uncle and Mr. Hall say that you are a fine reader, mamma. Mr. Hall said he never heard any lady read with such propriety of expression or purity of accent.\"\n","abridged":" how miserable we should be! Mother, before I knew you, I had a fear that you were not good. And now I am delighted to find you perfect - almost; kind, clever, nice. Your sole fault is that you are old-fashioned, and of that I shall cure you. Mamma, put your work down; read to me. I like your southern accent; it is so pure. "}
+{"original":"\"I wish I could reciprocate the compliment, Cary; but, really, the first time I heard your truly excellent friend read and preach I could not understand his broad northern tongue.\"\n\"Could you understand me, mamma? Did I seem to speak roughly?\"\n\"No. I almost wished you had, as I wished you had looked unpolished. Your father, Caroline, naturally spoke well, quite otherwise than your worthy uncle--correctly, gently, smoothly. You inherit the gift.\"\n\"Poor papa! When he was so agreeable, why was he not good?\"\n","abridged":"When you first met me, mamma, did I seem to speak roughly?\"\n\"No. I almost wished you had. Your father spoke well, and you inherit the gift.\"\n\"Poor papa! When he was so agreeable, why was he not good?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why he was _as_ he was--and happily of that you, child, can form no conception--I cannot tell. It is a deep mystery. The key is in the hands of his Maker. There I leave it.\"\n\"Mamma, you will keep stitching, stitching away. Put down the sewing; I am an enemy to it. It cumbers your lap, and I want it for my head; it engages your eyes, and I want them for a book. Here is your favourite--Cowper.\"\n","abridged":"\"Why he was as he was, I cannot tell. It is a deep mystery. The key is in the hands of his Maker. There I leave it.\"\n\"Mamma, put down your sewing; here is a book - your favourite - Cowper.\"\n"}
+{"original":"These importunities were the mother's pleasure. If ever she delayed compliance, it was only to hear them repeated, and to enjoy her child's soft, half-playful, half-petulant urgency. And then, when she yielded, Caroline would say archly, \"You will spoil me, mamma. I always thought I should like to be spoiled, and I find it very sweet.\" So did Mrs. Pryor.","abridged":"These commands were the mother's pleasure. If ever she delayed compliance, it was only to hear them repeated, and to enjoy her child's soft, half-playful urgency. And then, when she yielded, Caroline would say archly, \"You will spoil me, mamma. I always thought I should like to be spoiled, and I find it very sweet.\" So did Mrs. Pryor."}
+{"original":"MR. YORKE (_continued_)\nA Yorkshire gentleman he was, _par excellence_, in every point; about fifty-five years old, but looking at first sight still older, for his hair was silver white. His forehead was broad, not high; his face fresh and hale; the harshness of the north was seen in his features, as it was heard in his voice; every trait was thoroughly English--not a Norman line anywhere; it was an inelegant, unclassic, unaristocratic mould of visage. Fine people would perhaps have called it vulgar; sensible people would have termed it characteristic; shrewd people would have delighted in it for the pith, sagacity, intelligence, the rude yet real originality marked in every lineament, latent in every furrow. But it was an indocile, a scornful, and a sarcastic face--the face of a man difficult to lead, and impossible to drive. His stature was rather tall, and he was well made and wiry, and had a stately integrity of port; there was not a suspicion of the clown about him anywhere.\nI did not find it easy to sketch Mr. Yorke's person, but it is more difficult to indicate his mind. If you expect to be treated to a Perfection, reader, or even to a benevolent, philanthropic old gentleman in him, you are mistaken. He has spoken with some sense and with some good feeling to Mr. Moore, but you are not thence to conclude that he always spoke and thought justly and kindly.\n","abridged":"A Yorkshire gentleman he was in every point; about fifty-five years old, but looking older, for his hair was silver white. His forehead was broad; his face fresh and hale; the harshness of the north was seen in his features, and heard in his voice; every trait was thoroughly English - an inelegant, unaristocratic face. It held pith, intelligence and originality in every furrow; but it was scornful and sarcastic - the face of a man difficult to lead, and impossible to drive.\nIf you expect Mr. Yorke to be a benevolent, philanthropic old gentleman, reader, you are mistaken. He has spoken with some sense and good feeling to Mr. Moore, but you are not therefore to conclude that he always spoke and thought justly and kindly.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Yorke, in the first place, was without the organ of veneration--a great want, and which throws a man wrong on every point where veneration is required. Secondly, he was without the organ of comparison--a deficiency which strips a man of sympathy; and thirdly, he had too little of the organs of benevolence and ideality, which took the glory and softness from his nature, and for him diminished those divine qualities throughout the universe.\nThe want of veneration made him intolerant to those above him--kings and nobles and priests, dynasties and parliaments and establishments, with all their doings, most of their enactments, their forms, their rights, their claims, were to him an abomination, all rubbish; he found no use or pleasure in them, and believed it would be clear gain, and no damage to the world, if its high places were razed, and their occupants crushed in the fall. The want of veneration, too, made him dead at heart to the electric delight of admiring what is admirable; it dried up a thousand pure sources of enjoyment; it withered a thousand vivid pleasures. He was not irreligious, though a member of no sect; but his religion could not be that of one who knows how to venerate. He believed in God and heaven; but his God and heaven were those of a man in whom awe, imagination, and tenderness lack.\n","abridged":"Mr. Yorke lacked the ability to venerate; and he lacked the ability to compare - and hence to feel sympathy. He had too little benevolence and softness in his nature, and he did not value those divine qualities.\nHe was intolerant to those above him. Kings and priests, dynasties and parliaments, were to him an abomination. He found no use or pleasure in them. His lack of veneration, too, dried up a thousand pure sources of enjoyment. He was not irreligious - he believed in God and heaven; but his God and heaven were those of a man without awe, imagination, or tenderness.\n"}
+{"original":"The weakness of his powers of comparison made him inconsistent; while he professed some excellent general doctrines of mutual toleration and forbearance, he cherished towards certain classes a bigoted antipathy. He spoke of \"parsons\" and all who belonged to parsons, of \"lords\" and the appendages of lords, with a harshness, sometimes an insolence, as unjust as it was insufferable. He could not place himself in the position of those he vituperated; he could not compare their errors with their temptations, their defects with their disadvantages; he could not realize the effect of such and such circumstances on himself similarly situated, and he would often express the most ferocious and tyrannical wishes regarding those who had acted, as he thought, ferociously and tyrannically. To judge by his threats, he would have employed arbitrary, even cruel, means to advance the cause of freedom and equality. Equality! yes, Mr. Yorke talked about equality, but at heart he was a proud man--very friendly to his workpeople, very good to all who were beneath him, and submitted quietly to be beneath him, but haughty as Beelzebub to whomsoever the world deemed (for he deemed no man) his superior. Revolt was in his blood: he could not bear control; his father, his grandfather before him, could not bear it, and his children after him never could.\nThe want of general benevolence made him very impatient of imbecility, and of all faults which grated on his strong, shrewd nature; it left no check to his cutting sarcasm. As he was not merciful, he would sometimes wound and wound again, without noticing how much he hurt, or caring how deep he thrust.\n","abridged":"While he claimed to be tolerant, he was bigoted. He spoke of \"parsons\" and \"lords\" with unjust harshness and insolence. He could not place himself in the position of those he reviled; he could not allow for their temptations or disadvantages; he could not imagine how he would behave in a similar situation, and he would often express the most ferocious wishes regarding those who he thought had acted ferociously. Mr. Yorke talked about equality, but at heart he was a proud man - very friendly to his workpeople, good to those beneath him, but haughty as Beelzebub to anyone the world judged his superior. Revolt was in his blood: he could not bear control; his father and grandfather before him could not bear it, nor his children after him.\nHis lack of benevolence made him very impatient of others' faults; it left no check to his cutting sarcasm. He would sometimes wound and wound again, without noticing how much he hurt, or caring how deep he thrust.\n"}
+{"original":"As to the paucity of ideality in his mind, that can scarcely be called a fault: a fine ear for music, a correct eye for colour and form, left him the quality of taste; and who cares for imagination? Who does not think it a rather dangerous, senseless attribute, akin to weakness, perhaps partaking of frenzy--a disease rather than a gift of the mind?\nProbably all think it so but those who possess, or fancy they possess, it. To hear them speak, you would believe that their hearts would be cold if that elixir did not flow about them, that their eyes would be dim if that flame did not refine their vision, that they would be lonely if this strange companion abandoned them. You would suppose that it imparted some glad hope to spring, some fine charm to summer, some tranquil joy to autumn, some consolation to winter, which you do not feel. An illusion, of course; but the fanatics cling to their dream, and would not give it for gold.\nAs Mr. Yorke did not possess poetic imagination himself, he considered it a most superfluous quality in others. Painters and musicians he could tolerate, and even encourage, because he could relish the results of their art; he could see the charm of a fine picture, and feel the pleasure of good music; but a quiet poet--whatever force struggled, whatever fire glowed, in his breast--if he could not have played the man in the counting-house, of the tradesman in the Piece Hall, might have lived despised, and died scorned, under the eyes of Hiram Yorke.\n","abridged":"He had no imagination; but his fine ear for music, and correct eye for colour and form, left him the quality of taste; and who cares for imagination? Who does not think it a rather dangerous, senseless attribute - a disease of the mind rather than a gift?\nProbably all think it so but those who possess imagination, or fancy they possess it. To hear them speak, you would believe that their hearts would be cold and their eyes dim without that flame, that they would be lonely if this strange companion abandoned them. You would suppose that it gave some glad hope to spring, some fine charm to summer, some tranquil joy to autumn, some consolation to winter, which you do not feel. An illusion, of course; but the fanatics cling to their dream.\nAs Mr. Yorke did not possess poetic imagination himself, he considered it superfluous in others. Painters and musicians he could tolerate, because he could see the charm of a fine picture, and feel the pleasure of good music; but he would have despised a poet.\n"}
+{"original":"And as there are many Hiram Yorkes in the world, it is well that the true poet, quiet externally though he may be, has often a truculent spirit under his placidity, and is full of shrewdness in his meekness, and can measure the whole stature of those who look down on him, and correctly ascertain the weight and value of the pursuits they disdain him for not having followed. It is happy that he can have his own bliss, his own society with his great friend and goddess Nature, quite independent of those who find little pleasure in him, and in whom he finds no pleasure at all. It is just that while the world and circumstances often turn a dark, cold side to him--and properly, too, because he first turns a dark, cold, careless side to them--he should be able to maintain a festal brightness and cherishing glow in his bosom, which makes all bright and genial for him; while strangers, perhaps, deem his existence a Polar winter never gladdened by a sun. The true poet is not one whit to be pitied, and he is apt to laugh in his sleeve when any misguided sympathizer whines over his wrongs. Even when utilitarians sit in judgment on him, and pronounce him and his art useless, he hears the sentence with such a hard derision, such a broad, deep, comprehensive, and merciless contempt of the unhappy Pharisees who pronounce it, that he is rather to be chidden than condoled with. These, however, are not Mr. Yorke's reflections, and it is with Mr. Yorke we have at present to do.\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"I have told you some of his faults, reader: as to his good points, he was one of the most honourable and capable men in Yorkshire; even those who disliked him were forced to respect him. He was much beloved by the poor, because he was thoroughly kind and very fatherly to them. To his workmen he was considerate and cordial. When he dismissed them from an occupation, he would try to set them on to something else, or, if that was impossible, help them to remove with their families to a district where work might possibly be had. It must also be remarked that if, as sometimes chanced, any individual amongst his \"hands\" showed signs of insubordination, Yorke--who, like many who abhor being controlled, knew how to control with vigour--had the secret of crushing rebellion in the germ, of eradicating it like a bad weed, so that it never spread or developed within the sphere of his authority. Such being the happy state of his own affairs, he felt himself at liberty to speak with the utmost severity of those who were differently situated, to ascribe whatever was unpleasant in their position entirely to their own fault, to sever himself from the masters, and advocate freely the cause of the operatives.\n","abridged":"I have told you some of his faults, reader: yet he was one of the most honourable and capable men in Yorkshire. He was much beloved by the poor, because he was kind and fatherly to them. To his workmen he was considerate and cordial. When he dismissed them from an occupation, he would try to find them other work, or help them to move to a district where work might be found. It must also be remarked that if any of his workmen showed signs of insubordination, Yorke knew how to crush rebellion at the outset, so that it never spread. He spoke severely of those who did not do the same, saying that any difficulties they had were entirely their own fault, and sometimes taking the workmen's side.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Yorke's family was the first and oldest in the district; and he, though not the wealthiest, was one of the most influential men. His education had been good. In his youth, before the French Revolution, he had travelled on the Continent. He was an adept in the French and Italian languages. During a two years' sojourn in Italy he had collected many good paintings and tasteful rarities, with which his residence was now adorned. His manners, when he liked, were those of a finished gentleman of the old school; his conversation, when he was disposed to please, was singularly interesting and original; and if he usually expressed himself in the Yorkshire dialect, it was because he chose to do so, preferring his native Doric to a more refined vocabulary, \"A Yorkshire burr,\" he affirmed, \"was as much better than a cockney's lisp as a bull's bellow than a raton's squeak.\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Yorke's family was the oldest and most respected in the district; and he was one of the most influential men. His education had been good. In his youth, he had travelled on the Continent, and spoke French and Italian; he had collected many good paintings and tasteful rarities. His manners, when he liked, were those of an old-fashioned gentleman; his conversation, when he wished to please, was singularly interesting; and if he usually expressed himself in the Yorkshire dialect, it was because he chose to do so.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Yorke knew every one, and was known by every one, for miles round; yet his intimate acquaintances were very few. Himself thoroughly original, he had no taste for what was ordinary: a racy, rough character, high or low, ever found acceptance with him; a refined, insipid personage, however exalted in station, was his aversion. He would spend an hour any time in talking freely with a shrewd workman of his own, or with some queer, sagacious old woman amongst his cottagers, when he would have grudged a moment to a commonplace fine gentleman or to the most fashionable and elegant, if frivolous, lady. His preferences on these points he carried to an extreme, forgetting that there may be amiable and even admirable characters amongst those who cannot be original. Yet he made exceptions to his own rule. There was a certain order of mind, plain, ingenuous, neglecting refinement, almost devoid of intellectuality, and quite incapable of appreciating what was intellectual in him, but which, at the same time, never felt disgust at his rudeness, was not easily wounded by his sarcasm, did not closely analyze his sayings, doings, or opinions, with which he was peculiarly at ease, and, consequently, which he peculiarly preferred. He was lord amongst such characters. They, while submitting implicitly to his influence, never acknowledged, because they never reflected on, his superiority; they were quite tractable, therefore, without running the smallest danger of being servile; and their unthinking, easy, artless insensibility was as acceptable, because as convenient, to Mr. Yorke as that of the chair he sat on, or of the floor he trod.\n","abridged":"Mr. Yorke knew every one for miles round; yet his close friends were very few. He preferred racy, original characters to refined, insipid ones, no matter how exalted they might be. He would spend an hour talking with a shrewd workman, or with some wise old woman amongst his cottagers, yet would not spend a moment on a commonplace fine gentleman or fashionable lady. He forgot that there may be amiable and admirable characters amongst those who cannot be original.\n"}
+{"original":"It will have been observed that he was not quite uncordial with Mr. Moore. He had two or three reasons for entertaining a faint partiality to that gentleman. It may sound odd, but the first of these was that Moore spoke English with a foreign, and French with a perfectly pure, accent; and that his dark, thin face, with its fine though rather wasted lines, had a most anti-British and anti-Yorkshire look. These points seem frivolous, unlikely to influence a character like Yorke's; but the fact is they recalled old, perhaps pleasurable, associations--they brought back his travelling, his youthful days. He had seen, amidst Italian cities and scenes, faces like Moore's; he had heard, in Parisian cafs and theatres, voices like his. He was young then, and when he looked at and listened to the alien, he seemed young again.\nSecondly, he had known Moore's father, and had had dealings with him. That was a more substantial, though by no means a more agreeable tie; for as his firm had been connected with Moore's in business, it had also, in some measure, been implicated in its losses.\n","abridged":"He was cordial with Mr. Moore for several reasons. Firstly, Moore spoke French with a pure accent; and his un-British looks had pleasant associations for Mr. Yorke - they brought back his youthful travelling days in Italy and Paris.\nSecondly, he had known Moore's father, and had had business dealings with him. That tie was more substantial, though by no means more agreeable; for his firm had also been implicated in Moore's losses.\n"}
+{"original":"Thirdly, he had found Robert himself a sharp man of business. He saw reason to anticipate that he would, in the end, by one means or another, make money; and he respected both his resolution and acuteness--perhaps, also, his hardness. A fourth circumstance which drew them together was that of Mr. Yorke being one of the guardians of the minor on whose estate Hollow's Mill was situated; consequently Moore, in the course of his alterations and improvements, had frequent occasion to consult him.\nAs to the other guest now present in Mr. Yorke's parlour, Mr. Helstone, between him and his host there existed a double antipathy--the antipathy of nature and that of circumstances. The free-thinker hated the formalist; the lover of liberty detested the disciplinarian. Besides, it was said that in former years they had been rival suitors of the same lady.\nMr. Yorke, as a general rule, was, when young, noted for his preference of sprightly and dashing women: a showy shape and air, a lively wit, a ready tongue, chiefly seemed to attract him. He never, however, proposed to any of these brilliant belles whose society he sought; and all at once he seriously fell in love with and eagerly wooed a girl who presented a complete contrast to those he had hitherto noticed--a girl with the face of a Madonna; a girl of living marble--stillness personified. No matter that, when he spoke to her, she only answered him in monosyllables; no matter that his sighs seemed unheard, that his glances were unreturned, that she never responded to his opinions, rarely smiled at his jests, paid him no respect and no attention; no matter that she seemed the opposite of everything feminine he had ever in his whole life been known to admire. For him Mary Cave was perfect, because somehow, for some reason--no doubt he had a reason--he loved her.\n","abridged":"Thirdly, he had found Robert himself a sharp man of business. He respected his resolution and acuteness - perhaps also his hardness. A fourth circumstance which drew them together was that Mr. Yorke was one of the guardians of the landowner, not yet twenty-one, on whose estate Hollow's Mill was situated; so Moore frequently had to consult him.\nAs to Mr. Helstone - between him and Mr. Yorke there was antipathy. Their natures were opposite, and it was said that they had once been rival suitors of the same lady.\nMr. Yorke, when young, preferred sprightly and dashing women. A showy air, a lively wit, a ready tongue attracted him. He never, however, proposed to any of these brilliant belles; instead he fell seriously in love with a girl who presented a complete contrast to them - a girl with the face of a Madonna; a girl of living marble - stillness personified. No matter that she never responded to his opinions, rarely smiled at his jests, and paid him no attention. No matter that she seemed the opposite of every woman he had previously admired. For him Mary Cave was perfect.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Helstone, at that time curate of Briarfield, loved Mary too--or, at any rate, he fancied her. Several others admired her, for she was beautiful as a monumental angel; but the clergyman was preferred for his office's sake--that office probably investing him with some of the illusion necessary to allure to the commission of matrimony, and which Miss Cave did not find in any of the young wool-staplers, her other adorers. Mr. Helstone neither had, nor professed to have, Mr. Yorke's absorbing passion for her. He had none of the humble reverence which seemed to subdue most of her suitors; he saw her more as she really was than the rest did. He was, consequently, more master of her and himself. She accepted him at the first offer, and they were married.\n","abridged":"Mr. Helstone, at that time curate of Briarfield, loved Mary too - or at any rate, he fancied her. He did not pretend to have Mr. Yorke's absorbing passion for her, nor the humble reverence of her other suitors. He saw her as she really was. He was, consequently, more master of her and himself. She accepted him at the first offer, and they were married.\n"}
+{"original":"Nature never intended Mr. Helstone to make a very good husband, especially to a quiet wife. He thought so long as a woman was silent nothing ailed her, and she wanted nothing. If she did not complain of solitude, solitude, however continued, could not be irksome to her. If she did not talk and put herself forward, express a partiality for this, an aversion to that, she had no partialities or aversions, and it was useless to consult her tastes. He made no pretence of comprehending women, or comparing them with men. They were a different, probably a very inferior, order of existence. A wife could not be her husband's companion, much less his confidante, much less his stay. _His_ wife, after a year or two, was of no great importance to him in any shape; and when she one day, as he thought, suddenly--for he had scarcely noticed her decline--but, as others thought, gradually, took her leave of him and of life, and there was only a still, beautiful-featured mould of clay left, cold and white, in the conjugal couch, he felt his bereavement--who shall say how little? Yet, perhaps, more than he seemed to feel it; for he was not a man from whom grief easily wrung tears.\n","abridged":"Nature never intended Mr. Helstone to make a very good husband, especially to a quiet wife. He thought so long as a woman was silent, nothing could be wrong. If she did not express likes and dislikes, then she had none. He made no pretence of comprehending women. They were a different, probably a very inferior, order of existence to men. A wife could not be her husband's companion, much less his confidante. His wife, after a year or two, was of no great importance to him; and when she one day, as he thought, suddenly - for he had scarcely noticed her decline - took her leave of him and of life, he felt his bereavement - who shall say how little? Yet, perhaps, more than he seemed to feel it; for he was not a man from whom grief easily wrung tears.\n"}
+{"original":"His dry-eyed and sober mourning scandalized an old housekeeper, and likewise a female attendant, who had waited upon Mrs. Helstone in her sickness, and who, perhaps, had had opportunities of learning more of the deceased lady's nature, of her capacity for feeling and loving, than her husband knew. They gossiped together over the corpse, related anecdotes, with embellishments of her lingering decline, and its real or supposed cause. In short, they worked each other up to some indignation against the austere little man, who sat examining papers in an adjoining room, unconscious of what opprobrium he was the object.\nMrs. Helstone was hardly under the sod when rumours began to be rife in the neighbourhood that she had died of a broken heart. These magnified quickly into reports of hard usage, and, finally, details of harsh treatment on the part of her husband--reports grossly untrue, but not the less eagerly received on that account. Mr. Yorke heard them, partly believed them. Already, of course, he had no friendly feeling to his successful rival. Though himself a married man now, and united to a woman who seemed a complete contrast to Mary Cave in all respects, he could not forget the great disappointment of his life; and when he heard that what would have been so precious to him had been neglected, perhaps abused, by another, he conceived for that other a rooted and bitter animosity.\n","abridged":"His dry-eyed mourning scandalized the old housekeeper and Mrs. Helstone's nurse, who, perhaps, knew more of the deceased lady's capacity for feeling and loving than her husband did. They gossiped together over the corpse, and worked each other up to some indignation against the austere little man who sat in the next room going through papers.\nMrs. Helstone was hardly buried when rumours began to be rife in the neighbourhood that she had died of a broken heart. These magnified quickly into reports of harsh treatment by her husband - reports grossly untrue, but eagerly heard despite that. Mr. Yorke heard them, and partly believed them. Though himself a married man now, united to a woman who seemed a complete contrast to Mary Cave, still he could not forget his great disappointment; and when he heard that Mary had been neglected, perhaps abused, he felt a bitter hatred for Mr. Helstone.\n"}
+{"original":"Of the nature and strength of this animosity Mr. Helstone was but half aware. He neither knew how much Yorke had loved Mary Cave, what he had felt on losing her, nor was he conscious of the calumnies concerning his treatment of her, familiar to every ear in the neighbourhood but his own. He believed political and religious differences alone separated him and Mr. Yorke. Had he known how the case really stood, he would hardly have been induced by any persuasion to cross his former rival's threshold.\n* * * * *\nMr. Yorke did not resume his lecture of Robert Moore. The conversation ere long recommenced in a more general form, though still in a somewhat disputative tone. The unquiet state of the country, the various depredations lately committed on mill-property in the district, supplied abundant matter for disagreement, especially as each of the three gentlemen present differed more or less in his views on these subjects. Mr. Helstone thought the masters aggrieved, the workpeople unreasonable; he condemned sweepingly the widespread spirit of disaffection against constituted authorities, the growing indisposition to bear with patience evils he regarded as inevitable. The cures he prescribed were vigorous government interference, strict magisterial vigilance; when necessary, prompt military coercion.\n","abridged":"Mr. Helstone was only half aware of this. He neither knew how much Yorke had loved Mary Cave, nor what was rumoured about his own treatment of her. He believed political and religious differences alone separated him and Mr. Yorke. Had he known how the case really stood, he would not have crossed his former rival's threshold.\nMr. Yorke did not resume his lecture of Robert Moore. Instead they began to talk about the unquiet state of the country, and the recent attacks on mills, although each of the three gentlemen had different views on these subjects. Mr. Helstone thought the workpeople were unreasonable and impatient; he thought the government should interfere, and even use military force.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Yorke wished to know whether this interference, vigilance, and coercion would feed those who were hungry, give work to those who wanted work, and whom no man would hire. He scouted the idea of inevitable evils. He said public patience was a camel, on whose back the last atom that could be borne had already been laid, and that resistance was now a duty; the widespread spirit of disaffection against constituted authorities he regarded as the most promising sign of the times; the masters, he allowed, were truly aggrieved, but their main grievances had been heaped on them by a \"corrupt, base, and bloody\" government (these were Mr. Yorke's epithets). Madmen like Pitt, demons like Castlereagh, mischievous idiots like Perceval, were the tyrants, the curses of the country, the destroyers of her trade. It was their infatuated perseverance in an unjustifiable, a hopeless, a ruinous war, which had brought the nation to its present pass. It was their monstrously oppressive taxation, it was the infamous \"Orders in Council\"--the originators of which deserved impeachment and the scaffold, if ever public men did--that hung a millstone about England's neck.\n\"But where was the use of talking?\" he demanded. \"What chance was there of reason being heard in a land that was king-ridden, priest-ridden, peer-ridden; where a lunatic was the nominal monarch, an unprincipled debauchee the real ruler; where such an insult to common sense as hereditary legislators was tolerated; where such a humbug as a bench of bishops, such an arrogant abuse as a pampered, persecuting established church was endured and venerated; where a standing army was maintained, and a host of lazy parsons and their pauper families were kept on the fat of the land?\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Yorke wished to know whether this interference would feed the hungry, and give work to those who needed work. He said the public had borne enough, and resistance was now a duty. The mill masters, he believed, had been let down by a \"corrupt, base, and bloody\" government (these were his words). It was their perseverance in a hopeless, ruinous war which had brought the nation to its knees. It was their monstrously oppressive taxation and the infamous \"Orders in Council\" that hung a millstone about England's neck.\n\"But where was the use of talking?\" he demanded. \"What chance was there of reason being heard in a land whose king was a lunatic, and whose regent was a debauchee? Where such humbugs as the peerage and a bench of bishops were venerated; and a host of lazy parsons and their families were kept on the fat of the land?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Helstone, rising up and putting on his shovel-hat, observed in reply, \"that in the course of his life he had met with two or three instances where sentiments of this sort had been very bravely maintained so long as health, strength, and worldly prosperity had been the allies of him who professed them; but there came a time,\" he said, \"to all men, 'when the keepers of the house should tremble; when they should be afraid of that which is high, and fear should be in the way;' and that time was the test of the advocate of anarchy and rebellion, the enemy of religion and order. Ere now,\" he affirmed, \"he had been called upon to read those prayers our church has provided for the sick by the miserable dying-bed of one of her most rancorous foes; he had seen such a one stricken with remorse, solicitous to discover a place for repentance, and unable to find any, though he sought it carefully with tears. He must forewarn Mr. Yorke that blasphemy against God and the king was a deadly sin, and that there was such a thing as 'judgment to come.'\"\nMr. Yorke \"believed fully that there was such a thing as judgment to come. If it were otherwise, it would be difficult to imagine how all the scoundrels who seemed triumphant in this world, who broke innocent hearts with impunity, abused unmerited privileges, were a scandal to honourable callings, took the bread out of the mouths of the poor, browbeat the humble, and truckled meanly to the rich and proud, were to be properly paid off in such coin as they had earned. But,\" he added, \"whenever he got low-spirited about such-like goings-on, and their seeming success in this mucky lump of a planet, he just reached down t' owd book\" (pointing to a great Bible in the bookcase), \"opened it like at a chance, and he was sure to light of a verse blazing wi' a blue brimstone low that set all straight. He knew,\" he said, \"where some folk war bound for, just as weel as if an angel wi' great white wings had come in ower t' door-stone and told him.\"\n\"Sir,\" said Mr. Helstone, collecting all his dignity--\"sir, the great knowledge of man is to know himself, and the bourne whither his own steps tend.\"\n\"Ay, ay. You'll recollect, Mr. Helstone, that Ignorance was carried away from the very gates of heaven, borne through the air, and thrust in at a door in the side of the hill which led down to hell.\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Helstone, rising up and putting on his shovel-hat, replied \"that he had met with two or three men who held these opinions so long as they were healthy and wealthy; but there came a time,\" he said, \"to all men when they should tremble, and their views be tested. He had been called to the miserable death-bed of one of the church's most rancorous foes; he had seen him stricken with remorse, and desperate to repent. He must warn Mr. Yorke that blasphemy against God and the king was a deadly sin, and that there was such a thing as 'judgment to come.'\"\nMr. Yorke \"believed fully in the judgment to come. Otherwise, it would be difficult to imagine how the scoundrels who broke innocent hearts, took the bread out of the mouths of the poor, browbeat the humble, and truckled meanly to the rich, were to be properly paid off. But,\" he added, \"he knew that some folk were bound for Hell, just as well as if an angel had told him.\"\n\"Sir,\" said Mr. Helstone with dignity, \"Man must know himself, and the place whither his own steps tend.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nor have I forgotten, Mr. Yorke, that Vain-Confidence, not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit, which was on purpose there made by the prince of the grounds, to catch vainglorious fools withal, and was dashed to pieces with his fall.\"\n\"Now,\" interposed Mr. Moore, who had hitherto sat a silent but amused spectator of this worldly combat, and whose indifference to the party politics of the day, as well as to the gossip of the neighbourhood, made him an impartial, if apathetic, judge of the merits of such an encounter, \"you have both sufficiently blackballed each other, and proved how cordially you detest each other, and how wicked you think each other. For my part, my hate is still running in such a strong current against the fellows who have broken my frames that I have none to spare for my private acquaintance, and still less for such a vague thing as a sect or a government. But really, gentlemen, you both seem very bad by your own showing--worse than ever I suspected you to be.--I dare not stay all night with a rebel and blasphemer like you, Yorke; and I hardly dare ride home with a cruel and tyrannical ecclesiastic like Mr. Helstone.\"\n\"I am going, however, Mr. Moore,\" said the rector sternly. \"Come with me or not, as you please.\"\n\"Nay, he shall not have the choice; he _shall_ go with you,\" responded Yorke. \"It's midnight, and past; and I'll have nob'dy staying up i' my house any longer. Ye mun all go.\"\nHe rang the bell.\n","abridged":"\"Now,\" interposed Mr. Moore, who had sat silent till now, \"you have both proved how cordially you detest each other. For my part, I still hate the fellows who have broken my frames, and have no hate to spare for my acquaintances, and still less for such a vague thing as a government. But really, gentlemen, you both seem very bad. I dare not stay with a rebel and blasphemer like you, Yorke; and I hardly dare ride home with a tyrannical churchman like Mr. Helstone.\"\n\"I am going, however, Mr. Moore,\" said the rector sternly. \"Come with me or not, as you please.\"\n\"Nay, he shall go with you,\" responded Yorke. \"It's past midnight, and ye must all go.\" "}
+{"original":"\"Deb,\" said he to the servant who answered it, \"clear them folk out o' t' kitchen, and lock t' doors, and be off to bed.--Here is your way, gentlemen,\" he continued to his guests; and, lighting them through the passage, he fairly put them out at his front door.\nThey met their party hurrying out pell-mell by the back way. Their horses stood at the gate; they mounted, and rode off, Moore laughing at their abrupt dismissal, Helstone deeply indignant thereat.","abridged":"Leading his guests through the passage, he fairly pushed them out of his front door.\nThey met their companions hurrying out by the back way. Their horses stood at the gate; they mounted and rode off, Moore laughing, and Helstone deeply indignant."}
+{"original":"It was necessary to the arrangement of Martin's plan that he should stay at home that day. Accordingly, he found no appetite for breakfast, and just about school-time took a severe pain about his heart, which rendered it advisable that, instead of setting out to the grammar school with Mark, he should succeed to his father's arm-chair by the fireside, and also to his morning paper. This point being satisfactorily settled, and Mark being gone to Mr. Summer's class, and Matthew and Mr. Yorke withdrawn to the counting-house, three other exploits--nay, four--remained to be achieved.\nThe first of these was to realize the breakfast he had not yet tasted, and with which his appetite of fifteen could ill afford to dispense; the second, third, fourth, to get his mother, Miss Moore, and Mrs. Horsfall successfully out of the way before four o'clock that afternoon.\nThe first was, for the present, the most pressing, since the work before him demanded an amount of energy which the present empty condition of his youthful stomach did not seem likely to supply.\n","abridged":"It was necessary to Martin's plan that he should stay at home that day. Accordingly, he found no appetite for breakfast, and at school-time took a severe pain about his heart, which made it advisable that, instead of setting out to the grammar school with Mark, he should stay in his father's arm-chair by the fireside. With Mark gone to school, and Matthew and Mr. Yorke withdrawn to the counting-house, four other things remained to be done.\nThe first of these was to obtain some breakfast, which he could not do without; the second, third and fourth were to get his mother, Miss Hortense, and Mrs. Horsfall successfully out of the way before four o'clock that afternoon.\n"}
+{"original":"Martin knew the way to the larder, and knowing this way he took it. The servants were in the kitchen, breakfasting solemnly with closed doors; his mother and Miss Moore were airing themselves on the lawn, and discussing the closed doors aforesaid. Martin, safe in the larder, made fastidious selection from its stores. His breakfast had been delayed; he was determined it should be _recherch_. It appeared to him that a variety on his usual somewhat insipid fare of bread and milk was both desirable and advisable; the savoury and the salutary he thought might be combined. There was store of rosy apples laid in straw upon a shelf; he picked out three. There was pastry upon a dish; he selected an apricot puff and a damson tart. On the plain household bread his eye did not dwell; but he surveyed with favour some currant tea-cakes, and condescended to make choice of one. Thanks to his clasp-knife, he was able to appropriate a wing of fowl and a slice of ham; a cantlet of cold custard-pudding he thought would harmonize with these articles; and having made this final addition to his booty, he at length sallied forth into the hall.\n","abridged":"Martin set off to the larder. The servants were in the kitchen, breakfasting behind closed doors; his mother and Miss Moore were airing themselves on the lawn, and discussing the servants. Martin made a fastidious selection of food. There were apples laid upon a shelf; he picked out three. There was pastry on a dish; he selected an apricot puff and a damson tart. On the plain household bread his eye did not dwell; but he surveyed with favour some currant tea-cakes, and chose one. With his clasp-knife, he cut a wing of fowl and a slice of ham; he thought a cold custard-pudding would go with these; and with his booty, he sallied forth into the hall.\n"}
+{"original":"He was already half-way across--three steps more would have anchored him in the harbour of the back parlour--when the front door opened, and there stood Matthew. Better far had it been the Old Gentleman, in full equipage of horns, hoofs, and tail.\nMatthew, sceptic and scoffer, had already failed to subscribe a prompt belief in that pain about the heart. He had muttered some words, amongst which the phrase \"shamming Abraham\" had been very distinctly audible, and the succession to the armchair and newspaper had appeared to affect him with mental spasms. The spectacle now before him--the apples, the tarts, the tea-cakes, the fowl, ham, and pudding--offered evidence but too well calculated to inflate his opinion of his own sagacity.\n","abridged":"He was half-way across when the front door opened, and there stood Matthew. Better far had it been the Devil, horns, hoofs, and all.\nMatthew, sceptic and scoffer, had already expressed disbelief in Martin's pain about the heart, and had muttered something about \"shamming.\" The sight now before him - the apples, the tarts, the tea-cakes, and the rest - gave him proof of his own sagacity.\n"}
+{"original":"Martin paused _interdit_ one minute, one instant; the next he knew his ground, and pronounced all well. With the true perspicacity _des mes lites_, he at once saw how this at first sight untoward event might be turned to excellent account. He saw how it might be so handled as to secure the accomplishment of his second task--namely, the disposal of his mother. He knew that a collision between him and Matthew always suggested to Mrs. Yorke the propriety of a fit of hysterics. He further knew that, on the principle of calm succeeding to storm, after a morning of hysterics his mother was sure to indulge in an afternoon of bed. This would accommodate him perfectly.\n","abridged":"Martin paused one instant; then he saw how this untoward event might be turned to excellent account. It might be handled so as to accomplish his second task - the disposal of his mother. He knew that a collision between him and Matthew always gave Mrs. Yorke a fit of hysterics; after which his mother was sure to indulge in an afternoon in bed. This would suit him perfectly.\n"}
+{"original":"The collision duly took place in the hall. A dry laugh, an insulting sneer, a contemptuous taunt, met by a nonchalant but most cutting reply, were the signals. They rushed at it. Martin, who usually made little noise on these occasions, made a great deal now. In flew the servants, Mrs. Yorke, Miss Moore. No female hand could separate them. Mr. Yorke was summoned.\n\"Sons,\" said he, \"one of you must leave my roof if this occurs again. I will have no Cain and Abel strife here.\"\n","abridged":"The collision duly took place in the hall. A dry laugh, an insulting sneer, met by a cutting reply, were the signals. They rushed at it. Martin made a great deal of noise. In flew the servants, Mrs. Yorke, and Miss Moore; Mr. Yorke was summoned.\n\"Sons,\" said he, \"one of you must leave my roof if this occurs again.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Martin now allowed himself to be taken off. He had been hurt; he was the youngest and slightest. He was quite cool, in no passion; he even smiled, content that the most difficult part of the labour he had set himself was over.\nOnce he seemed to flag in the course of the morning.\n\"It is not worth while to bother myself for that Caroline,\" he remarked. But a quarter of an hour afterwards he was again in the dining-room, looking at the head with dishevelled tresses, and eyes turbid with despair.\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I made her sob, shudder, almost faint. I'll see her smile before I've done with her; besides, I want to outwit all these womenites.\"\nDirectly after dinner Mrs. Yorke fulfilled her son's calculation by withdrawing to her chamber. Now for Hortense.\n","abridged":"Martin now allowed himself to be taken off. He had been hurt; he was the younger and slighter; but he was quite cool. He even smiled.\nOnce during that morning, he seemed to flag. \"It is not worth while to bother myself for that Caroline,\" he remarked. But a quarter of an hour afterwards he was again in the dining-room, looking at the portrait of despair.\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"I made her sob and shudder. I'll see her smile before I've done with her; besides, I want to outwit all these womenites.\"\nAfter dinner Mrs. Yorke duly withdrew to her chamber. Now for Hortense.\n"}
+{"original":"That lady was just comfortably settled to stocking-mending in the back parlour, when Martin--laying down a book which, stretched on the sofa (he was still indisposed, according to his own account), he had been perusing in all the voluptuous ease of a yet callow pacha--lazily introduced some discourse about Sarah, the maid at the Hollow. In the course of much verbal meandering he insinuated information that this damsel was said to have three suitors--Frederic Murgatroyd, Jeremiah Pighills, and John-of-Mally's-of-Hannah's-of-Deb's; and that Miss Mann had affirmed she knew for a fact that, now the girl was left in sole charge of the cottage, she often had her swains to meals, and entertained them with the best the house afforded.\nIt needed no more. Hortense could not have lived another hour without betaking herself to the scene of these nefarious transactions, and inspecting the state of matters in person. Mrs. Horsfall remained.\nMartin, master of the field now, extracted from his mother's work-basket a bunch of keys; with these he opened the sideboard cupboard, produced thence a black bottle and a small glass, placed them on the table, nimbly mounted the stairs, made for Mr. Moore's door, tapped; the nurse opened.\n\"If you please, ma'am, you are invited to step into the back parlour and take some refreshment. You will not be disturbed; the family are out.\"\nHe watched her down; he watched her in; himself shut the door. He knew she was safe.\n","abridged":"That lady was just comfortably settled to stocking-mending in the back parlour, when Martin, stretched on the sofa, lazily began to chat about Sarah, the maid at the Hollow. In the course of much verbal meandering he hinted that this damsel was said to have three suitors; and that Miss Mann had said she knew for a fact that now the girl was left in sole charge of the cottage, she often had them to meals, and fed them with the best food in the house.\nIt needed no more. Hortense could not have lived another hour without going to the Hollow and inspecting the state of matters in person. Only Mrs. Horsfall remained.\nMartin, master of the field now, extracted from his mother's work-basket a bunch of keys; with these he opened the sideboard cupboard, produced a black bottle and a small glass, placed them on the table, nimbly mounted the stairs and tapped on Mr. Moore's door. The nurse opened it.\n\"If you please, ma'am, you are invited to step into the back parlour and take some refreshment. You will not be disturbed; the family are out.\"\nHe watched her down; he shut the door. He knew she was safe.\n"}
+{"original":"The hard work was done; now for the pleasure. He snatched his cap, and away for the wood.\nIt was yet but half-past three. It had been a fine morning, but the sky looked dark now. It was beginning to snow; the wind blew cold; the wood looked dismal, the old tree grim. Yet Martin approved the shadow on his path. He found a charm in the spectral aspect of the doddered oak.\nHe had to wait. To and fro he walked, while the flakes fell faster; and the wind, which at first had but moaned, pitifully howled.\n","abridged":"The hard work was done; now for the pleasure. He snatched his cap, and set off for the wood.\nIt was half-past three. It had been a fine morning, but the sky looked dark now. It was beginning to snow; the wind blew cold; the wood looked dismal, the old tree grim. Martin had to wait, walking to and fro, while the flakes fell faster, and the wind howled pitifully.\n"}
+{"original":"\"She is long in coming,\" he muttered, as he glanced along the narrow track. \"I wonder,\" he subjoined, \"what I wish to see her so much for? She is not coming for me. But I have power over her, and I want her to come that I may use that power.\"\nHe continued his walk.\n\"Now,\" he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, \"if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her.\"\nIt struck four. He heard the church clock far away. A step so quick, so light, that, but for the rustling of leaves, it would scarcely have sounded on the wood-walk, checked his impatience. The wind blew fiercely now, and the thickening white storm waxed bewildering; but on she came, and not dismayed.\n","abridged":"\"She is long in coming,\" he muttered. \"I wonder why I wish so much to see her? She is not coming for me. But I have power over her, and I want to use that power.\"\nHe continued his walk.\n\"Now,\" he resumed after a while, \"if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her.\"\nThe church clock struck four. He heard a step so quick, so light, that it scarcely sounded on the wood-walk. The wind blew fiercely now, and the snow-storm increased; but on she came.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Well, Martin,\" she said eagerly, \"how is he?\"\n\"It is queer how she thinks of _him_,\" reflected Martin. \"The blinding snow and bitter cold are nothing to her, I believe; yet she is but a 'chitty-faced creature,' as my mother would say. I could find in my heart to wish I had a cloak to wrap her in.\"\nThus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss Helstone.\n\"You have seen him?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Oh! you promised you would.\"\n","abridged":"\"Well, Martin,\" she said eagerly, \"how is he?\"\n\"It is queer how much she thinks of him,\" reflected Martin. \"The blinding snow and bitter cold are nothing to her, I believe; I almost wish I had a cloak to wrap her in.\"\n\"You have seen him?\" she asked.\n\"No.\"\n\"Oh! you promised you would. "}
+{"original":"\"I mean to do better by you than that. Didn't I say _I_ don't care to see him?\"\n\"But now it will be so long before I get to know any thing certain about him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, _do_ see him, and give him Caroline Helstone's regards, and say she wished to know how he was, and if anything could be done for his comfort.\"\n\"I won't.\"\n\"You are changed. You were so friendly last night.\"\n\"Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold.\"\n\"But before I go promise me to come again to-morrow with news.\"\n","abridged":"Now it will be so long before I know anything certain about him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, do see him, and give him Caroline Helstone's regards, and say she wished to know how he was, and if anything could be done for his comfort.\"\n\"I won't.\"\n\"You are changed. You were so friendly last night.\"\n\"Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold. "}
+{"original":"\"No such thing. I am much too delicate to make and keep such appointments in the winter season. If you knew what a pain I had in my chest this morning, and how I went without breakfast, and was knocked down besides, you'd feel the impropriety of bringing me here in the snow. Come, I say.\"\n\"Are you really delicate, Martin?\"\n\"Don't I look so?\"\n\"You have rosy cheeks.\"\n\"That's hectic. Will you come--or you won't?\"\n\"Where?\"\n","abridged":"I am delicate: if you knew what a pain I had in my chest this morning, and how I went without breakfast, you wouldn't bring me here in the snow. Come, I say.\"\n\"Are you really delicate, Martin? You have rosy cheeks.\"\n\"That's hectic. Will you come, or not?\"\n\"Where?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"With me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. I would have made you cosy.\"\n\"You are going home; my nearest road lies in the opposite direction.\"\n\"Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you.\"\n\"But the wall--the hedge--it is such hard work climbing, and you are too slender and young to help me without hurting yourself.\"\n\"You shall go through the gate.\"\n\"But----\"\n\"But, but--will you trust me or not?\"\nShe looked into his face.\n","abridged":"\"Home with me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you. Will you trust me?\"\nShe looked into his face. "}
+{"original":"\"I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious as I came.\"\n\"I can't answer for that. This, however, I promise you: be ruled by me, and you shall see Moore yourself.\"\n\"See him myself?\"\n\"Yourself.\"\n\"But, dear Martin, does he know?\"\n\"Ah! I'm dear now. No, he doesn't know.\"\n","abridged":"\"I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious as I came.\"\n\"I can't answer for that. However, I promise you shall see Moore yourself.\"\n\"Dear Martin, does he know?\"\n\"Ah! I'm dear now. No, he doesn't know.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And your mother and the others?\"\n\"All is right.\"\nCaroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she walked on with her guide. They came in sight of Briarmains.\n\"Have you made up your mind?\" he asked.\nShe was silent.\n\"Decide; we are just on the spot. I _won't_ see him--that I tell you--except to announce your arrival.\"\n","abridged":"\"And your mother and the others?\"\n\"All is right.\"\nCaroline mused silently, but she walked on with her guide to Briarmains.\n\"Will you see him? I won't, except to announce your arrival.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all I feel _is_ and _has_ been, for a long time, strange. I will see him.\"\n\"Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?\"\n\"No.\"\n\"Here we are, then. Do not be afraid of passing the parlour window; no one will see you. My father and Matthew are at the mill, Mark is at school, the servants are in the back kitchen, Miss Moore is at the cottage, my mother in her bed, and Mrs. Horsfall in paradise. Observe--I need not ring. I open the door; the hall is empty, the staircase quiet; so is the gallery. The whole house and all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I will not break till you are gone.\"\n","abridged":"\"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all is strange now. I will see him.\"\n\"Here we are, then. Don't worry; my father and Matthew are at the mill, Mark is at school, the servants are in the back kitchen, Miss Moore is at the cottage, my mother in her bed, and Mrs. Horsfall in paradise. Observe - the hall is empty, the staircase quiet. The whole house and all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I will not break till you are gone.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Martin, I trust you.\"\n\"You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl. I will shake off the snow and dry it for you. You are cold and wet. Never mind; there is a fire upstairs. Are you ready?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Follow me.\"\n","abridged":"\"Martin, I trust you.\"\n\"You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl. I will dry it for you. You are cold and wet. Never mind; there is a fire upstairs. Follow me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"He left his shoes on the mat, mounted the stair unshod. Caroline stole after, with noiseless step. There was a gallery, and there was a passage; at the end of that passage Martin paused before a door and tapped. He had to tap twice--thrice. A voice, known to one listener, at last said, \"Come in.\"\nThe boy entered briskly.\n\"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None of the women were about. It is washing-day, and the maids are over the crown of the head in soap-suds in the back kitchen, so I asked her to step up.\"\n\"Up here, sir?\"\n","abridged":"He left his shoes on the mat, and mounted the stair unshod. Caroline stole after, with noiseless step. At the end of a passage Martin paused before a door and tapped twice - thrice. At last a voice said, \"Come in.\"\nHe entered briskly.\n\"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None of the women were about. It is washing-day, and the maids are up to their ears in soap-suds, so I brought her up here.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again.\"\n\"Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?\"\n\"No; so I'll take her off.\"\n\"Martin, you will stay here. Who is she?\"\n\"Your grandmother from that chteau on the Scheldt Miss Moore talks about.\"\n\"Martin,\" said the softest whisper at the door, \"don't be foolish.\"\n\"Is she there?\" inquired Moore hastily. He had caught an imperfect sound.\n","abridged":"\"Is this a place to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?\"\n\"No; so I'll take her off.\"\n\"Martin, stay here. Who is she?\"\n\"Your grandmother.\"\n\"Martin,\" said the softest whisper at the door, \"don't be foolish.\"\n\"Is she there?\" inquired Moore hastily.\n"}
+{"original":"\"She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat, shocked at your want of filial affection.\"\n\"Martin, you are an evil cross between an imp and a page. What is she like?\"\n\"More like me than you; for she is young and beautiful.\"\n\"You are to show her forward. Do you hear?\"\n\"Come, Miss Caroline.\"\n\"Miss Caroline!\" repeated Moore.\n","abridged":"\"She is there, fit to faint. She is standing on the mat.\"\n\"Martin, you are an imp. Show her in.\"\n\"Come, Miss Caroline.\"\n\"Miss Caroline!\" repeated Moore.\n"}
+{"original":"And when Miss Caroline entered she was encountered in the middle of the chamber by a tall, thin, wasted figure, who took both her hands.\n\"I give you a quarter of an hour,\" said Martin, as he withdrew, \"no more. Say what you have to say in that time. Till it is past I will wait in the gallery; nothing shall approach; I'll see you safe away. Should you persist in staying longer, I leave you to your fate.\"\nHe shut the door. In the gallery he was as elate as a king. He had never been engaged in an adventure he liked so well, for no adventure had ever invested him with so much importance or inspired him with so much interest.\n\"You are come at last,\" said the meagre man, gazing on his visitress with hollow eyes.\n\"Did you expect me before?\"\n","abridged":"And when Miss Caroline entered she was met by a standing, thin, wasted figure, who took both her hands.\n\"I give you a quarter of an hour,\" said Martin, as he withdrew. \"I will wait in the gallery; nothing shall approach. But if you stay longer, I leave you to your fate.\"\nHe shut the door. In the gallery he was as elated as a king. No adventure had ever made him feel so important or so interested.\n\"You are come at last,\" said Moore, gazing on his visitress with hollow eyes.\n\"Did you expect me before?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"For a month, near two months, we have been very near; and I have been in sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary.\"\n\"I could not come.\"\n\"Couldn't you? But the rectory and Briarmains are very near--not two miles apart.\"\nThere was pain and there was pleasure in the girl's face as she listened to these implied reproaches. It was sweet, it was bitter to defend herself.\n\"When I say I could not come, I mean I could not see you; for I came with mamma the very day we heard what had happened. Mr. MacTurk then told us it was impossible to admit any stranger.\"\n","abridged":"\"For a month, near two months, I have been in sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary.\"\n\"I could not come.\"\n\"Couldn't you? But the rectory and Briarmains are not two miles apart.\"\nThere was pain and there was pleasure in the girl's face as she defended herself.\n\"I came with mamma the very day we heard what had happened. Mr. MacTurk then told us it was impossible to admit any stranger.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But afterwards--every fine afternoon these many weeks past I have waited and listened. Something here, Cary\"--laying his hand on his breast--\"told me it was impossible but that you should think of me. Not that I merit thought; but we are old acquaintance--we are cousins.\"\n\"I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again.\"\n\"Did you? Come, that is worth hearing. Since you came again, we will sit down and talk about it.\"\n","abridged":"\"But afterwards - for many weeks past I have waited and listened. My heart told me you must think of me, Cary. Not that I deserve thought; but we are old friends - we are cousins.\"\n\"I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again. "}
+{"original":"They sat down. Caroline drew her chair up to his. The air was now dark with snow; an Iceland blast was driving it wildly. This pair neither heard the long \"wuthering\" rush, nor saw the white burden it drifted. Each seemed conscious but of one thing--the presence of the other.\n\"So mamma and you came again?\"\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"\"And Mrs. Yorke did treat us strangely. We asked to see you. 'No,' said she, 'not in my house. I am at present responsible for his life; it shall not be forfeited for half an hour's idle gossip.' But I must not tell you all she said; it was very disagreeable. However, we came yet again--mamma, Miss Keeldar, and I. This time we thought we should conquer, as we were three against one, and Shirley was on our side. But Mrs. Yorke opened such a battery.\"\nMoore smiled. \"What did she say?\"\n","abridged":"And Mrs. Yorke turned us away, saying, 'I am responsible for his life; it shall not be forfeited for half an hour's idle gossip.' But I must not tell you all she said; it was very disagreeable. However, we came yet again - mamma, Miss Keeldar, and I. This time we thought we should conquer, as we were three against one. But Mrs. Yorke opened such a battery.\"\nMoore smiled. \"What did she say?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Things that astonished us. Shirley laughed at last; I cried; mamma was seriously annoyed. We were all three driven from the field. Since that time I have only walked once a day past the house, just for the satisfaction of looking up at your window, which I could distinguish by the drawn curtains. I really dared not come in.\"\n\"I _have_ wished for you, Caroline.\"\n\"I did not know that; I never dreamt one instant that you thought of me. If I had but most distantly imagined such a possibility----\"\n\"Mrs. Yorke would still have beaten you.\"\n","abridged":"\"Things that astonished us. Shirley laughed; I cried; mamma was seriously annoyed. We were all three driven away. Since then I have walked past the house every day, just for the satisfaction of looking up at your window.\"\n\"I have wished for you, Caroline.\"\n\"I did not know that; I never dreamt one instant that you thought of me. If I had imagined-\"\n\"Mrs. Yorke would still have beaten you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"She would not. Stratagem should have been tried, if persuasion failed. I would have come to the kitchen door; the servants should have let me in, and I would have walked straight upstairs. In fact, it was far more the fear of intrusion--the fear of yourself--that baffled me than the fear of Mrs. Yorke.\"\n\"Only last night I despaired of ever seeing you again. Weakness has wrought terrible depression in me--terrible depression.\"\n\"And you sit alone?\"\n\"Worse than alone.\"\n\"But you must be getting better, since you can leave your bed?\"\n","abridged":"\"She would not. I would have come to the kitchen door; the servants should have let me in, and I would have walked straight upstairs. In fact, it was far more the fear of intruding on you that baffled me than the fear of Mrs. Yorke.\"\n\"Only last night I despaired of ever seeing you again. Weakness has wrought terrible depression in me.\"\n\"And you sit alone?\"\n\"Worse than alone.\"\n\"But you must be getting better, since you can leave your bed?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I doubt whether I shall live. I see nothing for it, after such exhaustion, but decline.\"\n\"You--you shall go home to the Hollow.\"\n\"Dreariness would accompany, nothing cheerful come near me.\"\n\"I _will_ alter this. This _shall_ be altered, were there ten Mrs. Yorkes to do battle with.\"\n\"Cary, you make me smile.\"\n\"Do smile; smile again. Shall I tell you what I should like?\"\n","abridged":"\"I doubt whether I shall live, after such exhaustion.\"\n\"You shall go home to the Hollow. I will alter this. This shall be altered, were there ten Mrs. Yorkes to do battle with.\"\n\"Cary, you make me smile.\"\n\"Do smile; smile again. Shall I tell you what I should like? "}
+{"original":"\"Tell me anything--only keep talking. I am Saul; but for music I should perish.\"\n\"I should like you to be brought to the rectory, and given to me and mamma.\"\n\"A precious gift! I have not laughed since they shot me till now.\"\n\"Do you suffer pain, Robert?\"\n\"Not so much pain now; but I am hopelessly weak, and the state of my mind is inexpressible--dark, barren, impotent. Do you not read it all in my face? I look a mere ghost.\"\n","abridged":"I should like you to be brought to the rectory, and given to me and mamma.\"\n\"A precious gift! I have not laughed since they shot me till now.\"\n\"Do you suffer pain, Robert?\"\n\"Not so much now; but I am hopelessly weak, and my mind is inexpressibly dark.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Altered; yet I should have known you anywhere. But I understand your feelings; I experienced something like it. Since we met, I too have been very ill.\"\n\"_Very_ ill?\"\n\"I thought I should die. The tale of my life seemed told. Every night, just at midnight, I used to wake from awful dreams; and the book lay open before me at the last page, where was written 'Finis.' I had strange feelings.\"\n\"You speak my experience.\"\n","abridged":"\"I understand your feelings,\" she said; \"I experienced something like it. Since we met, I too have been very ill.\"\n\"Very ill?\"\n\"I thought I should die. The tale of my life seemed told. Every night, just at midnight, I used to wake from awful dreams; and I felt I was close to the end.\"\n\"You speak my experience,\" said Moore.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin--as thin as you are now. I could do nothing for myself--neither rise nor lie down; and I could not eat. Yet you see I am better.\"\n\"Comforter--sad as sweet. I am too feeble to say what I feel; but while you speak I _do_ feel.\"\n\"Here I am at your side, where I thought never more to be. Here I speak to you. I see you listen to me willingly--look at me kindly. Did I count on that? I despaired.\"\n","abridged":"\"I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin. I could do nothing, and I could not eat. Yet you see I am better.\"\n\"I am too feeble to say what I feel; but while you speak I do feel.\"\n\"Here I am at your side, where I thought never more to be. You look at me kindly. I despaired of that.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Moore sighed--a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan. He covered his eyes with his hand.\n\"May I be spared to make some atonement.\"\nSuch was his prayer.\n\"And for what?\"\n\"We will not touch on it now, Cary; unmanned as I am, I have not the power to cope with such a topic. Was Mrs. Pryor with you during your illness?\"\n\"Yes\"--Caroline smiled brightly--\"you know she is mamma?\"\n\"I have heard--Hortense told me; but that tale too I will receive from yourself. Does she add to your happiness?\"\n","abridged":"Moore sighed - a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan. \"May I be spared to make atonement.\"\n\"For what?\"\n\"We will not touch on it now, Cary. Was Mrs. Pryor with you during your illness?\"\n\"Yes.\" Caroline smiled brightly. \"You know she is my mamma?\"\n\"I have heard - Hortense told me. Does she make you happy?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What! mamma? She is _dear_ to me; _how_ dear I cannot say. I was altogether weary, and she held me up.\"\n\"I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce lift my hand to my head. I deserve it.\"\n\"It is no reproach against you.\"\n\"It is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every word you address to me, and every look that lights your sweet face. Come still nearer, Lina; and give me your hand--if my thin fingers do not scare you.\"\n","abridged":"\"What! mamma? She is dear to me; how dear I cannot say. I was altogether weary, and she held me up.\"\n\"That is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every word you address to me. Come nearer, Lina; give me your hand - if my thin fingers do not scare you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"She took those thin fingers between her two little hands; she bent her head _et les effleura de ses lvres_. (I put that in French because the word _effleurer_ is an exquisite word.) Moore was much moved. A large tear or two coursed down his hollow cheek.\n\"I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I will put by, and you shall hear of it again one day.\"\n\"Come out!\" cried Martin, opening the door--\"come away; you have had twenty minutes instead of a quarter of an hour.\"\n\"She will not stir yet, you hempseed.\"\n\"I dare not stay longer, Robert.\"\n\"Can you promise to return?\"\n","abridged":"She took those thin fingers; she bent her head and touched them to her lips. Moore was much moved. A tear coursed down his hollow cheek.\n\"I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I will put by, and you shall hear of it again one day.\"\n\"Come out!\" cried Martin, opening the door - \"come away; you have had twenty minutes.\"\n\"She will not stir yet, you hempseed.\"\n\"I dare not stay longer, Robert.\"\n\"Can you promise to return?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, she can't,\" responded Martin. \"The thing mustn't become customary. I can't be troubled. It's very well for once; I'll not have it repeated.\"\n\"_You_'ll not have it repeated.\"\n\"Hush! don't vex him; we could not have met to-day but for him. But I will come again, if it is your wish that I should come.\"\n\"It _is_ my wish--my _one_ wish--almost the only wish I can feel.\"\n","abridged":"\"No, she can't,\" responded Martin. \"The thing mustn't become customary; I'll not have it repeated.\"\n\"You'll not have it repeated?\"\n\"Hush! don't vex him,\" urged Caroline; \"we could not have met today but for him. But I will come again, if you wish.\"\n\"It is my one wish.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Come this minute. My mother has coughed, got up, set her feet on the floor. Let her only catch you on the stairs, Miss Caroline. You're not to bid him good-bye\"--stepping between her and Moore--\"you are to march.\"\n\"My shawl, Martin.\"\n\"I have it. I'll put it on for you when you are in the hall.\"\n","abridged":"\"Come away this minute. My mother has coughed, and got up. Let her only catch you on the stairs, Miss Caroline! You're not to bid him good-bye, you are to march.\"\n"}
+{"original":"He made them part. He would suffer no farewell but what could be expressed in looks. He half carried Caroline down the stairs. In the hall he wrapped her shawl round her, and, but that his mother's tread then creaked in the gallery, and but that a sentiment of diffidence--the proper, natural, therefore the noble impulse of his boy's heart--held him back, he would have claimed his reward; he would have said, \"Now, Miss Caroline, for all this give me one kiss.\" But ere the words had passed his lips she was across the snowy road, rather skimming than wading the drifts.\n\"She is my debtor, and I _will_ be paid.\"\nHe flattered himself that it was opportunity, not audacity, which had failed him. He misjudged the quality of his own nature, and held it for something lower than it was.","abridged":"Martin made them part. He half carried Caroline down the stairs, and wrapped her shawl round her, and if his mother's tread had not then creaked in the gallery, and diffidence held him back, he would have claimed his reward. He would have said, \"Now, Miss Caroline, for all this give me one kiss.\" But she was already across the snowy road.\n\"She is my debtor, and I will be paid.\" He flattered himself that it was opportunity, not boldness, which had failed him. He misjudged the quality of his own nature, and held it for something lower than it was."}
+{"original":"So it was. Lady Carbury had returned home from the soire of learned people, and had brought Roger Carbury with her. They both came up to the drawing-room and found Paul and Henrietta together. It need hardly be said that they were both surprised. Roger supposed that Montague was still at Liverpool, and, knowing that he was not a frequent visitor in Welbeck Street, could hardly avoid a feeling that a meeting between the two had now been planned in the mother's absence. The reader knows that it was not so. Roger certainly was a man not liable to suspicion, but the circumstances in this case were suspicious. There would have been nothing to suspect,--no reason why Paul should not have been there,--but from the promise which had been given. There was, indeed, no breach of that promise proved by Paul's presence in Welbeck Street; but Roger felt rather than thought that the two could hardly have spent the evening together without such breach. Whether Paul had broken the promise by what he had already said the reader must be left to decide.\n","abridged":"Lady Carbury had returned from the soire with Roger. They came up to the drawing-room and found Paul and Henrietta together. Roger had supposed that Montague was still at Liverpool, and could hardly avoid feeling that a meeting between the two had been planned in the mother's absence. Roger was not a man liable to suspicion, but the circumstances were suspicious.\n"}
+{"original":"Lady Carbury was the first to speak. \"This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Montague.\" Whether Roger suspected anything or not, she did. The moment she saw Paul the idea occurred to her that the meeting between Hetta and him had been preconcerted.\n\"Yes,\" he said,--making a lame excuse, where no excuse should have been made,--\"I had nothing to do, and was lonely, and thought that I would come up and see you.\" Lady Carbury disbelieved him altogether, but Roger felt assured that his coming in Lady Carbury's absence had been an accident. The man had said so, and that was enough.\n\"I thought you were at Liverpool,\" said Roger.\n","abridged":"Lady Carbury was the first to speak. \"This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Montague.\" The moment she saw Paul she thought that the meeting between Hetta and him had been pre-arranged.\n\"Yes,\" he said lamely, \"I had nothing to do, and thought I would come and see you.\" Lady Carbury disbelieved him, but Roger felt assured that his coming truly had been an accident.\n\"I thought you were at Liverpool,\" said Roger.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I came back to-day,--to be present at that Board in the city. I have had a good deal to trouble me. I will tell you all about it just now. What has brought you to London?\"\n\"A little business,\" said Roger.\n","abridged":"\"I came back today, for that Board in the city. I will tell you all about it later. What has brought you to London?\"\n\"A little business,\" said Roger.\n"}
+{"original":"Then there was an awkward silence. Lady Carbury was angry, and hardly knew whether she ought or ought not to show her anger. For Henrietta it was very awkward. She, too, could not but feel that she had been caught, though no innocence could be whiter than hers. She knew well her mother's mind, and the way in which her mother's thoughts would run. Silence was frightful to her, and she found herself forced to speak. \"Have you had a pleasant evening, mamma?\"\n\"Have you had a pleasant evening, my dear?\" said Lady Carbury, forgetting herself in her desire to punish her daughter.\n","abridged":"There was an awkward silence. Lady Carbury was angry, and Henrietta, knowing the way in which her mother's thoughts would run, forced herself to speak.\n\"Have you had a pleasant evening, mamma?\"\n\"Have you had a pleasant evening, my dear?\" said Lady Carbury, forgetting herself in her desire to punish her daughter.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Indeed, no,\" said Hetta, attempting to laugh, \"I have been trying to work hard at Dante, but one never does any good when one has to try to work. I was just going to bed when Mr. Montague came in. What did you think of the wise men and the wise women, Roger?\"\n\"I was out of my element, of course; but I think your mother liked it.\"\n\"I was very glad indeed to meet Dr. Palmoil. It seems that if we can only open the interior of Africa a little further, we can get everything that is wanted to complete the chemical combination necessary for feeding the human race. Isn't that a grand idea, Roger?\"\n\"A little more elbow grease is the combination that I look to.\"\n\"Surely, Roger, if the Bible is to go for anything, we are to believe that labour is a curse and not a blessing. Adam was not born to labour.\"\n","abridged":"\"Indeed, no,\" said Hetta, attempting to laugh, \"I have been trying to work at Dante, but I was just going to bed when Mr. Montague came in. What did you think of the soire, Roger?\"\n\"I was out of my element; but I think your mother liked it.\"\n\"I was very glad indeed to meet Dr. Palmoil. It seems that if we can only open the interior of Africa a little further, we can feed the human race. Isn't that a grand idea, Roger?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But he fell; and I doubt whether Dr. Palmoil will be able to put his descendants back into Eden.\"\n\"Roger, for a religious man, you do say the strangest things! I have quite made up my mind to this;--if ever I can see things so settled here as to enable me to move, I will visit the interior of Africa. It is the garden of the world.\"\nThis scrap of enthusiasm so carried them through their immediate difficulties that the two men were able to take their leave and to get out of the room with fair comfort. As soon as the door was closed behind them Lady Carbury attacked her daughter. \"What brought him here?\"\n\"He brought himself, mamma.\"\n","abridged":"\"I doubt whether Dr. Palmoil will be able to put his descendants back into Eden.\"\n\"Roger, for a religious man, you do say the strangest things! I have quite decided that if I am ever able, I will visit the interior of Africa. It is the garden of the world.\"\nThis scrap of enthusiasm so carried them through their difficulties that the two men were able to take their leave with fair comfort. As soon as the door was closed behind them Lady Carbury attacked her daughter.\n\"What brought him here?\"\n\"He brought himself, mamma.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Don't answer me in that way, Hetta. Of course he brought himself. That is insolent.\"\n\"Insolent, mamma! How can you say such hard words? I meant that he came of his own accord.\"\n\"How long was he here?\"\n","abridged":"\"Don't answer me in that way, Hetta. Of course he brought himself. That is insolent.\"\n\"Insolent, mamma! How can you say such hard words? I meant that he came of his own accord.\"\n\"How long was he here?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Two minutes before you came in. Why do you cross-question me like this? I could not help his coming. I did not desire that he might be shown up.\"\n\"You did not know that he was to come?\"\n\"Mamma, if I am to be suspected, all is over between us.\"\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\"If you can think that I would deceive you, you will think so always. If you will not trust me, how am I to live with you as though you did? I knew nothing of his coming.\"\n","abridged":"\"Two minutes before you came in. Why do you cross-question me like this? I could not help his coming. I did not desire that he might be shown up.\"\n\"You did not know that he was to come?\"\n\"Mamma, if I am to be suspected, all is over between us.\"\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\"If you can think that I would deceive you, you will think so always. If you will not trust me, how am I to live with you? I knew nothing of his coming.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Tell me this, Hetta; are you engaged to marry him?\"\n\"No;--I am not.\"\n\"Has he asked you to marry him?\"\nHetta paused a moment, considering, before she answered this question. \"I do not think he ever has.\"\n\"You do not think?\"\n\"I was going on to explain. He never has asked me. But he has said that which makes me know that he wishes me to be his wife.\"\n","abridged":"\"Tell me this, Hetta; are you engaged to marry him?\"\n\"No; I am not.\"\n\"Has he asked you to marry him?\"\nHetta paused a moment, considering, before she answered. \"I do not think he ever has.\"\n\"You do not think?\"\n\"I was going on to explain. He never has asked me. But he has said that which makes me know that he wishes me to be his wife.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What has he said? When did he say it?\"\nAgain she paused. But again she answered with straightforward simplicity. \"Just before you came in, he said--; I don't know what he said; but it meant that.\"\n\"You told me he had been here but a minute.\"\n\"It was but very little more. If you take me at my word in that way, of course you can make me out to be wrong, mamma. It was almost no time, and yet he said it.\"\n\"He had come prepared to say it.\"\n","abridged":"\"What has he said? When did he say it?\"\nAgain Hetta paused. But again she answered with straightforward simplicity. \"Just before you came in, he said - I don't know what he said; but it meant that.\"\n\"You told me he had been here but a minute.\"\n\"It was very little more. It was almost no time, and yet he said it.\"\n\"He had come prepared to say it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"How could he,--expecting to find you?\"\n\"Psha! He expected nothing of the kind.\"\n\"I think you do him wrong, mamma. I am sure you are doing me wrong. I think his coming was an accident, and that what he said was--an accident.\"\n\"An accident!\"\n\"It was not intended,--not then, mamma. I have known it ever so long;--and so have you. It was natural that he should say so when we were alone together.\"\n","abridged":"\"How could he, expecting to find you?\"\n\"Psha! He expected nothing of the kind.\"\n\"I think you do him wrong, mamma. I am sure you are doing me wrong. I think his coming was an accident, and that what he said was also - an accident.\"\n\"An accident!\"\n\"It was not intended, mamma, though I have known it ever so long; and so have you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And you;--what did you say?\"\n\"Nothing. You came.\"\n","abridged":"\"And what did you say?\"\n\"Nothing. You came.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am sorry that my coming should have been so inopportune. But I must ask one other question, Hetta. What do you intend to say?\" Hetta was again silent, and now for a longer space. She put her hand up to her brow and pushed back her hair as she thought whether her mother had a right to continue this cross-examination. She had told her mother everything as it had happened. She had kept back no deed done, no word spoken, either now or at any time. But she was not sure that her mother had a right to know her thoughts, feeling as she did that she had so little sympathy from her mother. \"How do you intend to answer him?\" demanded Lady Carbury.\n","abridged":"\"I am sorry that my coming should have been so inopportune. But I must ask one other question, Hetta. What do you intend to say?\"\nHetta was again silent, and now for longer. She put her hand up and pushed back her hair as she thought whether her mother had a right to continue this cross-examination. She had told her mother everything as it had happened. She had kept back no word spoken. But she was not sure that her mother, being so unsympathetic, had a right to know her thoughts.\n\"How do you intend to answer him?\" demanded Lady Carbury.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I do not know that he will ask again.\"\n\"That is prevaricating.\"\n\"No, mamma;--I do not prevaricate. It is unfair to say that to me. I do love him. There. I think it ought to have been enough for you to know that I should never give him encouragement without telling you about it. I do love him, and I shall never love any one else.\"\n\"He is a ruined man. Your cousin says that all this Company in which he is involved will go to pieces.\"\n","abridged":"\"I do not know that he will ask again.\"\n\"That is prevaricating.\"\n\"No, mamma; I do not prevaricate. It is unfair to say that. I do love him. There. You should know that I should never give him encouragement without telling you. I do love him, and I shall never love anyone else.\"\n\"He is a ruined man. Your cousin says that this Company in which he is involved will go to pieces.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Hetta was too clever to allow this argument to pass. She did not doubt that Roger had so spoken of the Railway to her mother, but she did doubt that her mother had believed the story. \"If so,\" said she, \"Mr. Melmotte will be a ruined man too, and yet you want Felix to marry Marie Melmotte.\"\n\"It makes me ill to hear you talk,--as if you understood these things. And you think you will marry this man because he is to make a fortune out of the Railway!\" Lady Carbury was able to speak with an extremity of scorn in reference to the assumed pursuit by one of her children of an advantageous position which she was doing all in her power to recommend to the other child.\n\"I have not thought of his fortune. I have not thought of marrying him, mamma. I think you are very cruel to me. You say things so hard, that I cannot bear them.\"\n","abridged":"Hetta was too clever to allow this argument to pass. \"If so,\" said she, \"Mr. Melmotte will be a ruined man too, and yet you want Felix to marry Marie Melmotte.\"\n\"It makes me ill to hear you talk - as if you understood these things. And you think you will marry this man because he is to make a fortune out of the Railway!\" Lady Carbury spoke with extreme scorn.\n\"I have not thought of his fortune. I have not thought of marrying him, mamma. I think you are very cruel to me. You say things so hard, that I cannot bear them.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why will you not marry your cousin?\"\n\"I am not good enough for him.\"\n\"Nonsense!\"\n","abridged":"\"Why will you not marry your cousin?\"\n\"I am not good enough for him.\"\n\"Nonsense!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Very well; you say so. But that is what I think. He is so much above me, that, though I do love him, I cannot think of him in that way. And I have told you that I do love some one else. I have no secret from you now. Good night, mamma,\" she said, coming up to her mother and kissing her. \"Do be kind to me; and pray,--pray,--do believe me.\" Lady Carbury then allowed herself to be kissed, and allowed her daughter to leave the room.\n[Illustration: Lady Carbury allowed herself to be kissed.]\n","abridged":"\"Very well; but that is what I think. He is so much above me, that, though I do love him, I cannot think of him in that way. I have no secret from you now. Good night, mamma,\" she said, coming up to her mother and kissing her. \"Do be kind to me; and pray, do believe me.\"\nLady Carbury allowed herself to be kissed, and her daughter left the room.\n"}
+{"original":"There was a great deal said that night between Roger Carbury and Paul Montague before they parted. As they walked together to Roger's hotel he said not a word as to Paul's presence in Welbeck Street. Paul had declared his visit in Lady Carbury's absence to have been accidental,--and therefore there was nothing more to be said. Montague then asked as to the cause of Carbury's journey to London. \"I do not wish it to be talked of,\" said Roger after a pause,--\"and of course I could not speak of it before Hetta. A girl has gone away from our neighbourhood. You remember old Ruggles?\"\n\"You do not mean that Ruby has levanted? She was to have married John Crumb.\"\n","abridged":"There was a great deal said that night between Roger Carbury and Paul Montague; but not a word about Paul's presence in Welbeck Street. Paul asked about the cause of Carbury's journey to London.\n\"I could not speak of it before Hetta,\" said Roger. \"You remember Ruby Ruggles? She was to have married John Crumb"}
+{"original":"\"Just so,--but she has gone off, leaving John Crumb in an unhappy frame of mind. John Crumb is an honest man and almost too good for her.\"\n\"Ruby is very pretty. Has she gone with any one?\"\n\"No;--she went alone. But the horror of it is this. They think down there that Felix has,--well, made love to her, and that she has been taken to London by him.\"\n\"That would be very bad.\"\n","abridged":", but she has gone off, leaving him most unhappy. John Crumb is almost too good for her.\"\n\"Ruby is very pretty. Has she gone with anyone?\"\n\"No; she went alone. But the horror of it is this. They think that Felix has - well, made love to her, and that she has been taken to London by him.\"\n\"That would be very bad.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"He certainly has known her. Though he lied, as he always lies, when I first spoke to him, I brought him to admit that he and she had been friends down in Suffolk. Of course we know what such friendship means. But I do not think that she came to London at his instance. Of course he would lie about that. He would lie about anything. If his horse cost him a hundred pounds, he would tell one man that he gave fifty, and another two hundred. But he has not lived long enough yet to be able to lie and tell the truth with the same eye. When he is as old as I am he'll be perfect.\"\n\"He knows nothing about her coming to town?\"\n","abridged":"\"He certainly knew her. Though he lied when I first spoke to him, I got him to admit that he and she had been friends down in Suffolk. And we know what that means. But I do not think that she came to London at his request.\"\n\"He knows nothing about her coming to town?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"He did not when I first asked him. I am not sure, but I fancy that I was too quick after her. She started last Saturday morning. I followed on the Sunday, and made him out at his club. I think that he knew nothing then of her being in town. He is very clever if he did. Since that he has avoided me. I caught him once but only for half a minute, and then he swore that he had not seen her.\"\n\"You still believed him?\"\n","abridged":"\"No. I found him the day after she left, and I think that he knew nothing about it then. Since that he has avoided me. "}
+{"original":"\"No;--he did it very well, but I knew that he was prepared for me. I cannot say how it may have been. To make matters worse old Ruggles has now quarrelled with Crumb, and is no longer anxious to get back his granddaughter. He was frightened at first; but that has gone off, and he is now reconciled to the loss of the girl and the saving of his money.\"\nAfter that Paul told all his own story,--the double story, both in regard to Melmotte and to Mrs. Hurtle. As regarded the Railway, Roger could only tell him to follow explicitly the advice of his Liverpool friend. \"I never believed in the thing, you know.\"\n\"Nor did I. But what could I do?\"\n","abridged":"To make matters worse, old Ruggles has now quarrelled with Crumb, and is no longer anxious to get back his granddaughter.\"\nAfter that Paul told all his own story - the double story, about both Melmotte and Mrs. Hurtle. As regarded the Railway, Roger could only tell him to follow the advice of his Liverpool friend. \"I never believed in it, you know. "}
+{"original":"\"I'm not going to blame you. Indeed, knowing you as I do, feeling sure that you intend to be honest, I would not for a moment insist on my own opinion, if it did not seem that Mr. Ramsbottom thinks as I do. In such a matter, when a man does not see his own way clearly, it behoves him to be able to show that he has followed the advice of some man whom the world esteems and recognises. You have to bind your character to another man's character; and that other man's character, if it be good, will carry you through. From what I hear Mr. Ramsbottom's character is sufficiently good;--but then you must do exactly what he tells you.\"\n","abridged":"From what I hear Mr. Ramsbottom's character is good; do exactly what he tells you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"But the Railway business, though it comprised all that Montague had in the world, was not the heaviest of his troubles. What was he to do about Mrs. Hurtle? He had now, for the first time, to tell his friend that Mrs. Hurtle had come to London, and that he had been with her three or four times. There was this difficulty in the matter, too,--that it was very hard to speak of his engagement with Mrs. Hurtle without in some sort alluding to his love for Henrietta Carbury. Roger knew of both loves;--had been very urgent with his friend to abandon the widow, and at any rate equally urgent with him to give up the other passion. Were he to marry the widow, all danger on the other side would be at an end. And yet, in discussing the question of Mrs. Hurtle, he was to do so as though there were no such person existing as Henrietta Carbury. The discussion did take place exactly as though there were no such person as Henrietta Carbury. Paul told it all,--the rumoured duel, the rumoured murder, and the rumour of the existing husband.\n\"It may be necessary that you should go out to Kansas,--and to Oregon,\" said Roger.\n","abridged":"But the Railway business was not the heaviest of Paul's troubles. He had now, for the first time, to tell his friend that Mrs. Hurtle had come to London, and that he had been with her three or four times. It was very hard to speak of his engagement with Mrs. Hurtle without alluding to his love for Henrietta Carbury.\nRoger knew of both loves; he had urged his friend to abandon the widow, and equally urged him to give up the other passion. Were he to marry the widow, all danger on the other side would be at an end. And yet he had to discuss Mrs. Hurtle as though there were no such person as Henrietta. Paul told it all - the rumoured duel, the rumoured murder, and the rumour of the existing husband.\n\"It may be necessary that you should go out to Kansas,\" said Roger.\n"}
+{"original":"\"But even if the rumours be untrue I will not marry her,\" said Paul. Roger shrugged his shoulders. He was doubtless thinking of Hetta Carbury, but he said nothing. \"And what would she do, remaining here?\" continued Paul. Roger admitted that it would be awkward. \"I am determined that under no circumstances will I marry her. I know I have been a fool. I know I have been wrong. But of course, if there be a fair cause for my broken word, I will use it if I can.\"\n","abridged":"\"But even if the rumours are untrue I will not marry her,\" said Paul. Roger shrugged, but said nothing. \"I know I have been a fool,\" continued Paul. \"I know I have been wrong. But if there be a fair cause for my broken word, I will use it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You will get out of it, honestly if you can; but you will get out of it honestly or--any other way.\"\n\"Did you not advise me to get out of it, Roger;--before we knew as much as we do now?\"\n\"I did,--and I do. If you make a bargain with the Devil, it may be dishonest to cheat him,--and yet I would have you cheat him if you could. As to this woman, I do believe she has deceived you. If I were you, nothing should induce me to marry her;--not though her claws were strong enough to tear me utterly in pieces. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go and see her if you like it.\"\n","abridged":"\"Get out of it honestly if you can; but get out of it. I advised you to do this before. I believe this woman has deceived you. If I were you, nothing should induce me to marry her. I'll go and see her if you like.\"\n"}
+{"original":"But Paul would not submit to this. He felt that he was bound himself to incur the risk of those claws, and that no substitute could take his place. They sat long into the night, and it was at last resolved between them that on the next morning Paul should go to Islington, should tell Mrs. Hurtle all the stories which he had heard, and should end by declaring his resolution that under no circumstances would he marry her. They both felt how improbable it was that he should ever be allowed to get to the end of such a story,--how almost certain it was that the breeding of the wild cat would show itself before that time should come. But, still, that was the course to be pursued as far as circumstances would admit; and Paul was at any rate to declare, claws or no claws, husband or no husband,--whether the duel or the murder was admitted or denied,--that he would never make Mrs. Hurtle his wife. \"I wish it were over, old fellow,\" said Roger.\n\"So do I,\" said Paul, as he took his leave.\n","abridged":"But Paul would not allow this. They sat long into the night, and it was at last resolved that Paul should go next day to Islington, tell Mrs. Hurtle all the stories he had heard, and declare his resolution not to marry her. They both felt how improbable it was that he should get to the end of such a story before the wild cat would show its claws. But Paul declared that, claws or no claws, he would never make Mrs. Hurtle his wife.\n\"I wish it were over, old fellow,\" said Roger.\n\"So do I,\" said Paul.\n"}
+{"original":"He went to bed like a man condemned to die on the next morning, and he awoke in the same condition. He had slept well, but as he shook from him his happy dream, the wretched reality at once overwhelmed him. But the man who is to be hung has no choice. He cannot, when he wakes, declare that he has changed his mind, and postpone the hour. It was quite open to Paul Montague to give himself such instant relief. He put his hand up to his brow, and almost made himself believe that his head was aching. This was Saturday. Would it not be well that he should think of it further, and put off his execution till Monday? Monday was so far distant that he felt that he could go to Islington quite comfortably on Monday. Was there not some hitherto forgotten point which it would be well that he should discuss with his friend Roger before he saw the lady? ","abridged":"He went to bed like a man condemned to die on the next morning, and when he awoke the wretched reality at once overwhelmed him. He put his hand up to his brow, and almost made himself believe that his head was aching. This was Saturday. Would it not be well to put off his execution till Monday? Were there not still matters to consider? "}
+{"original":"Should he not rush down to Liverpool, and ask a few more questions of Mr. Ramsbottom? Why should he go forth to execution, seeing that the matter was in his own hands?\n","abridged":"Should he not rush down to Liverpool, and ask a few more questions of Mr. Ramsbottom? Why should he go forth to execution today?\n"}
+{"original":"At last he jumped out of bed and into his tub, and dressed himself as quickly as he could. He worked himself up into a fit of fortitude, and resolved that the thing should be done before the fit was over. He ate his breakfast about nine, and then asked himself whether he might not be too early were he to go at once to Islington. But he remembered that she was always early. In every respect she was an energetic woman, using her time for some purpose, either good or bad, not sleeping it away in bed. If one has to be hung on a given day, would it not be well to be hung as soon after waking as possible? I can fancy that the hangman would hardly come early enough. And if one had to be hung in a given week, would not one wish to be hung on the first day of the week, even at the risk of breaking one's last Sabbath day in this world? Whatever be the misery to be endured, get it over. The horror of every agony is in its anticipation. ","abridged":"At last he jumped out of bed and into his bath-tub, and dressed quickly. He worked himself up into a fit of fortitude, and resolved that the thing should be done before the fit was over. He ate his breakfast, and then, although it was still early,"}
+{"original":"Paul had realised something of this when he threw himself into a Hansom cab, and ordered the man to drive him to Islington.\n","abridged":" he threw himself into a Hansom cab, and ordered the man to drive him to Islington.\n"}
+{"original":"How quick that cab went! Nothing ever goes so quick as a Hansom cab when a man starts for a dinner-party a little too early;--nothing so slow when he starts too late. Of all cabs this, surely, was the quickest. Paul was lodging in Suffolk Street, close to Pall Mall,--whence the way to Islington, across Oxford Street, across Tottenham Court Road, across numerous squares north-east of the Museum, seems to be long. The end of Goswell Road is the outside of the world in that direction, and Islington is beyond the end of Goswell Road. And yet that Hansom cab was there before Paul Montague had been able to arrange the words with which he would begin the interview. He had given the street and the number of the street. It was not till after he had started that it occurred to him that it might be well that he should get out at the end of the street, and walk to the house,--so that he might, as it were, fetch his breath before the interview was commenced. But the cabman dashed up to the door in a manner purposely devised to make every inmate of the house aware that a cab had just arrived before it. There was a little garden before the house. ","abridged":"How quick that cab went! Before Paul had been able to arrange the words with which he would begin the interview, the cab was in Islington and dashed noisily up to the house. "}
+{"original":"We all know the garden;--twenty-four feet long, by twelve broad;--and an iron-grated door, with the landlady's name on a brass plate. Paul, when he had paid the cabman,--giving the man half-a-crown, and asking for no change in his agony,--pushed in the iron gate and walked very quickly up to the door, rang rather furiously, and before the door was well opened asked for Mrs. Hurtle.\n","abridged":"Paul paid the cabman, pushed open the iron gate and walked very quickly past the little garden up to the door. He rang rather furiously, and asked for Mrs. Hurtle.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mrs. Hurtle is out for the day,\" said the girl who opened the door. \"Leastways, she went out yesterday and won't be back till to-night.\" Providence had sent him a reprieve! But he almost forgot the reprieve, as he looked at the girl and saw that she was Ruby Ruggles. \"Oh laws, Mr. Montague, is that you?\" Ruby Ruggles had often seen Paul down in Suffolk, and recognised him as quickly as he did her. It occurred to her at once that he had come in search of herself. She knew that Roger Carbury was up in town looking for her. So much she had of course learned from Sir Felix,--for at this time she had seen the baronet more than once since her arrival. Montague, she knew, was Roger Carbury's intimate friend, and now she felt that she was caught. ","abridged":"\"Mrs. Hurtle is out for the day,\" said the girl who opened the door. \"Leastways, she went out yesterday and won't be back till tonight.\"\nProvidence had sent him a reprieve! But he almost forgot the reprieve, as he looked at the girl and saw that she was Ruby Ruggles.\n\"Oh laws, Mr. Montague, is that you?\" Ruby recognised Paul as quickly as he did her; and thought at once that he had come in search of her. She knew that Roger Carbury was in town looking for her. She had learned this from Sir Felix - for she had seen the baronet more than once since her arrival. Now she felt that she was caught. "}
+{"original":"In her terror she did not at first remember that the visitor had asked for Mrs. Hurtle.\n\"Yes, it is I. I was sorry to hear, Miss Ruggles, that you had left your home.\"\n\"I'm all right, Mr. Montague;--I am. Mrs. Pipkin is my aunt, or, leastways, my mother's brother's widow, though grandfather never would speak to her. She's quite respectable, and has five children, and lets lodgings. There's a lady here now, and has gone away with her just for one night down to Southend. They'll be back this evening, and I've the children to mind, with the servant girl. I'm quite respectable here, Mr. Montague, and nobody need be a bit afraid about me.\"\n\"Mrs. Hurtle has gone down to Southend?\"\n","abridged":"In her terror she did not remember that the visitor had asked for Mrs. Hurtle.\n\"Yes. I was sorry to hear, Miss Ruggles, that you had left your home.\"\n\"I'm all right, Mr. Montague. Mrs. Pipkin is my aunt, or, leastways, my mother's brother's widow, though grandfather never would speak to her. She's quite respectable, and has five children, and lets lodgings. There's a lady here now, and has gone away with her just for one night down to Southend. They'll be back this evening, and I've the children to mind, with the servant girl. I'm quite respectable here, Mr. Montague, and nobody need be a bit afraid about me.\"\n\"Mrs. Hurtle has gone down to Southend?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes, Mr. Montague; she wasn't quite well, and wanted a breath of air, she said. And aunt didn't like she should go alone, as Mrs. Hurtle is such a stranger. And Mrs. Hurtle said as she didn't mind paying for two, and so they've gone, and the baby with them. Mrs. Pipkin said as the baby shouldn't be no trouble. And Mrs. Hurtle,--she's most as fond of the baby as aunt. Do you know Mrs. Hurtle, sir?\"\n\"Yes; she's a friend of mine.\"\n\"Oh; I didn't know. I did know as there was some friend as was expected and as didn't come. Be I to say, sir, as you was here?\"\n","abridged":"\"Yes, Mr. Montague; she wasn't quite well, and wanted a breath of air, she said. And aunt didn't like she should go alone, so they've gone, and the baby with them. Do you know Mrs. Hurtle, sir?\"\n\"Yes; she's a friend of mine.\"\n\"Oh, I didn't know. Should I say, sir, as you was here?\"\n"}
+{"original":"Paul thought it might be as well to shift the subject and to ask Ruby a few questions about herself while he made up his mind what message he would leave for Mrs. Hurtle. \"I'm afraid they are very unhappy about you down at Bungay, Miss Ruggles.\"\n\"Then they've got to be unhappy; that's all about it, Mr. Montague. Grandfather is that provoking as a young woman can't live with him, nor yet I won't try never again. He lugged me all about the room by my hair, Mr. Montague. How is a young woman to put up with that? And I did everything for him,--that careful that no one won't do it again;--did his linen, and his victuals, and even cleaned his boots of a Sunday, 'cause he was that mean he wouldn't have anybody about the place only me and the girl who had to milk the cows. There wasn't nobody to do anything, only me. And then he went to drag me about by the hairs of my head. You won't see me again at Sheep's Acre, Mr. Montague;--nor yet won't the Squire.\"\n","abridged":"\"I'm afraid they are very unhappy about you down at Bungay, Miss Ruggles,\" said Paul.\n\"Then they've got to be unhappy; that's all. Grandfather is that provoking a young woman can't live with him. He lugged me all about the room by my hair, Mr. Montague. How is a young woman to put up with that? And I did everything for him, his linen, and his victuals, and even cleaned his boots of a Sunday. You won't see me again at Sheep's Acre.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But I thought there was somebody else was to give you a home.\"\n\"John Crumb! Oh, yes, there's John Crumb. There's plenty of people to give me a home, Mr. Montague.\"\n\"You were to have been married to John Crumb, I thought.\"\n\"Ladies is to change their minds if they like it, Mr. Montague. I'm sure you've heard that before. Grandfather made me say I'd have him,--but I never cared that for him.\"\n\"I'm afraid, Miss Ruggles, you won't find a better man up here in London.\"\n","abridged":"\"But I thought there was somebody else to give you a home.\"\n\"Oh, yes, there's John Crumb.\"\n\"You were to have married him, I thought.\"\n\"Ladies is to change their minds if they like, Mr. Montague. Grandfather made me say I'd have him, but I never cared that for him.\"\n\"I'm afraid, Miss Ruggles, you won't find a better man up here in London.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I didn't come here to look for a man, Mr. Montague; I can tell you that. They has to look for me, if they want me. But I am looked after; and that by one as John Crumb ain't fit to touch.\" That told the whole story. Paul when he heard the little boast was quite sure that Roger's fear about Felix was well founded. And as for John Crumb's fitness to touch Sir Felix, Paul felt that the Bungay mealman might have an opinion of his own on that matter. \"But there's Betsy a crying up-stairs, and I promised not to leave them children for one minute.\"\n\"I will tell the Squire that I saw you, Miss Ruggles.\"\n","abridged":"\"I didn't come here to look for a man, Mr. Montague. They has to look for me, if they want me. But I am looked after; and that by one as John Crumb ain't fit to touch.\"\nThat told the whole story. Paul was quite sure that Roger's fear about Felix was well founded.\n\"But there's Betsy a crying upstairs,\" said Ruby.\n\"I will tell the Squire that I saw you, Miss Ruggles.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What does the Squire want o' me? I ain't nothing to the Squire,--except that I respects him. You can tell if you please, Mr. Montague, of course. I'm a coming, my darling.\"\n","abridged":"\"You can tell if you please, Mr. Montague, of course. I'm a coming, my darling.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Paul made his way into Mrs. Hurtle's sitting-room and wrote a note for her in pencil. He had come, he said, immediately on his return from Liverpool, and was sorry to find that she was away for the day. When should he call again? If she would make an appointment he would attend to it. He felt as he wrote this that he might very safely have himself made an appointment for the morrow; but he cheated himself into half believing that the suggestion he now made was the more gracious and civil. At any rate it would certainly give him another day. Mrs. Hurtle would not return till late in the evening, and as the following day was Sunday there would be no delivery by post. When the note was finished he left it on the table, and called to Ruby to tell her that he was going. \"Mr. Montague,\" she said in a confidential whisper, as she tripped down the stairs, \"I don't see why you need be saying anything about me, you know.\"\n\"Mr. Carbury is up in town looking after you.\"\n","abridged":"Paul made his way into Mrs. Hurtle's sitting-room and wrote a note for her. He had come, he said, immediately on his return from Liverpool, and was sorry to find that she was away for the day. When should he call again? If she would make an appointment he would attend to it.\nThis would give him another day. Mrs. Hurtle would not return till late in the evening, and as the following day was Sunday there would be no postal delivery. He left the note on the table, and called to Ruby to tell her that he was going.\n\"Mr. Montague,\" she said in a confidential whisper, tripping down the stairs, \"I don't see why you need be saying anything about me, you know.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What 'm I to Mr. Carbury?\"\n\"Your grandfather is very anxious about you.\"\n\"Not a bit of it, Mr. Montague. Grandfather knows very well where I am. There! Grandfather doesn't want me back, and I ain't a going. Why should the Squire bother himself about me? I don't bother myself about him.\"\n\"He's afraid, Miss Ruggles, that you are trusting yourself to a young man who is not trustworthy.\"\n\"I can mind myself very well, Mr. Montague.\"\n","abridged":"\"Your grandfather is very anxious about you.\"\n\"Not a bit of it, Mr. Montague. Grandfather knows very well where I am. He doesn't want me back, and I ain't a going. Why should the Squire bother himself about me?\"\n\"He's afraid, Miss Ruggles, that you are trusting yourself to a young man who is not trustworthy.\"\n\"I can mind myself very well, Mr. Montague.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Tell me this. Have you seen Sir Felix Carbury since you've been in town?\" Ruby, whose blushes came very easily, now flushed up to her forehead. \"You may be sure that he means no good to you. What can come of an intimacy between you and such a one as he?\"\n\"I don't see why I shouldn't have my friend, Mr. Montague, as well as you. Howsomever, if you'll not tell, I'll be ever so much obliged.\"\n\"But I must tell Mr. Carbury.\"\n\"Then I ain't obliged to you one bit,\" said Ruby, shutting the door.\n","abridged":"\"Have you seen Sir Felix Carbury since you've been in town?\" Ruby flushed up to her forehead. \"You may be sure that he means you no good.\"\n\"I don't see why I shouldn't have my friend, Mr. Montague, as well as you. Howsomever, if you'll not tell, I'll be ever so much obliged.\"\n\"But I must tell Mr. Carbury.\"\n\"Then I ain't obliged to you one bit,\" said Ruby, shutting the door.\n"}
+{"original":"Paul as he walked away could not help thinking of the justice of Ruby's reproach to him. What business had he to take upon himself to be a Mentor to any one in regard to an affair of love;--he, who had engaged himself to marry Mrs. Hurtle, and who the evening before had for the first time declared his love to Hetta Carbury?\nIn regard to Mrs. Hurtle he had got a reprieve, as he thought, for two days;--but it did not make him happy or even comfortable. As he walked back to his lodgings he knew it would have been better for him to have had the interview over. But, at any rate, he could now think of Hetta Carbury, and the words he had spoken to her. Had he heard that declaration which she had made to her mother, he would have been able for the hour to have forgotten Mrs. Hurtle.","abridged":"Paul as he walked away could not help thinking of the justice of Ruby's reproach. What business had he to advise her in love - he, who had engaged himself to marry Mrs. Hurtle, and who the evening before had declared his love to Hetta Carbury?\nIn regard to Mrs. Hurtle he had got a reprieve, he thought, for two days; but it did not make him comfortable. He thought of Hetta Carbury, and the words he had spoken to her. If he had heard the declaration which she had made to her mother, he would have been able for the hour to forget Mrs. Hurtle."}
+{"original":"The afternoon on which Lady Carbury arrived at her cousin's house had been very stormy. Roger Carbury had been severe, and Lady Carbury had suffered under his severity,--or had at least so well pretended to suffer as to leave on Roger's mind a strong impression that he had been cruel to her. She had then talked of going back at once to London, and when consenting to remain, had remained with a very bad feminine headache. She had altogether carried her point, but had done so in a storm. The next morning was very calm. That question of meeting the Melmottes had been settled, and there was no need for speaking of them again. Roger went out by himself about the farm, immediately after breakfast, having told the ladies that they could have the waggonnette when they pleased. \"I'm afraid you'll find it tiresome driving about our lanes,\" he said. Lady Carbury assured him that she was never dull when left alone with books. Just as he was starting he went into the garden and plucked a rose which he brought to Henrietta. ","abridged":"After that day of storm, the next morning was very calm. Roger went out about the farm immediately after breakfast, having told the ladies that they could have the waggonnette when they pleased. Lady Carbury assured him that she was never dull when left alone with books.\nBefore starting he went into the garden and plucked a rose which he brought to Henrietta. "}
+{"original":"He only smiled as he gave it her, and then went his way. He had resolved that he would say nothing to her of his suit till Monday. If he could prevail with her then he would ask her to remain with him when her mother and brother would be going out to dine at Caversham. She looked up into his face as she took the rose and thanked him in a whisper. She fully appreciated the truth, and honour, and honesty of his character, and could have loved him so dearly as her cousin if he would have contented himself with such cousinly love! She was beginning, within her heart, to take his side against her mother and brother, and to feel that he was the safest guide that she could have. But how could she be guided by a lover whom she did not love?\n\"I am afraid, my dear, we shall have a bad time of it here,\" said Lady Carbury.\n\"Why so, mamma?\"\n","abridged":"He only smiled as he gave it her, and then went on his way. He had resolved to say nothing to her of his suit till Monday. If he could prevail with her then, he would ask her to remain with him when her mother and brother went to dine at Caversham.\nShe looked up into his face as she took the rose and thanked him in a whisper. She fully appreciated the truth, honour, and honesty of his character, and could have loved him so dearly as her cousin if he would have contented himself with such cousinly love! She was beginning, within her heart, to take his side against her mother and brother, and to feel that he was the safest guide that she could have. But how could she be guided by a lover whom she did not love?\n\"I am afraid, my dear, we shall have a bad time of it here,\" said Lady Carbury.\n\"Why so, mamma?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It will be so dull. Your cousin is the best friend in all the world, and would make as good a husband as could be picked out of all the gentlemen of England; but in his present mood with me he is not a comfortable host. What nonsense he did talk about the Melmottes!\"\n\"I don't suppose, mamma, that Mr. and Mrs. Melmotte can be nice people.\"\n\"Why shouldn't they be as nice as anybody else? Pray, Henrietta, don't let us have any of that nonsense from you. When it comes from the superhuman virtue of poor dear Roger it has to be borne, but I beg that you will not copy him.\"\n\"Mamma, I think that is unkind.\"\n\"And I shall think it very unkind if you take upon yourself to abuse people who are able and willing to set poor Felix on his legs. A word from you might undo all that we are doing.\"\n","abridged":"\"It will be so dull. Your cousin is the best friend in all the world, but in his present mood he is not a comfortable host. What nonsense he did talk about the Melmottes!\"\n\"I don't suppose, mamma, that Mr. and Mrs. Melmotte can be nice people.\"\n\"Why shouldn't they be as nice as anybody else? Pray, Henrietta, don't let us have any of that nonsense from you. I beg that you will not copy Roger with his superhuman virtue.\"\n\"Mamma, I think that is unkind.\"\n\"And I shall think it very unkind if you abuse people who are able and willing to set poor Felix on his legs. A word from you might undo all that we are doing.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"What word?\"\n\"What word? Any word! If you have any influence with your brother you should use it in inducing him to hurry this on. I am sure the girl is willing enough. She did refer him to her father.\"\n\"Then why does he not go to Mr. Melmotte?\"\n\"I suppose he is delicate about it on the score of money. If Roger could only let it be understood that Felix is the heir to this place, and that some day he will be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury, I don't think there would be any difficulty even with old Melmotte.\"\n\"How could he do that, mamma?\"\n","abridged":"\"What word?\"\n\"Any word! If you have any influence with your brother you should use it in inducing him to hurry this on. I am sure the girl is willing enough. She did refer him to Mr. Melmotte.\"\n\"Then why does he not go?\"\n\"I suppose he is delicate about the money side of it. If Roger could only let it be understood that Felix is the heir to this place, and that some day he will be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury, I don't think there would be any difficulty with old Melmotte.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"If your cousin were to die as he is now, it would be so. Your brother would be his heir.\"\n\"You should not think of such a thing, mamma.\"\n\"Why do you dare to tell me what I am to think? Am I not to think of my own son? Is he not to be dearer to me than any one? And what I say, is so. If Roger were to die to-morrow he would be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury.\"\n\"But, mamma, he will live and have a family. Why should he not?\"\n","abridged":"\"You should not think of such a thing, mamma.\"\n\"Am I not to think of my own son? Is he not to be dearer to me than anyone? And it is so. If Roger were to die tomorrow he would be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury.\"\n\"But, mamma, Roger will live and have a family. Why should he not?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You say he is so old that you will not look at him.\"\n\"I never said so. When we were joking, I said he was old. You know I did not mean that he was too old to get married. Men a great deal older get married every day.\"\n","abridged":"\"You say he is so old that you will not look at him.\"\n\"I never said so. I did not mean that he was too old to get married. Men a great deal older get married every day.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"If you don't accept him he will never marry. He is a man of that kind,--so stiff and stubborn and old-fashioned that nothing will change him. He will go on boodying over it, till he will become an old misanthrope. If you would take him I would be quite contented. You are my child as well as Felix. But if you mean to be obstinate I do wish that the Melmottes should be made to understand that the property and title and name of the place will all go together. It will be so, and why should not Felix have the advantage?\"\n\"Who is to say it?\"\n\"Ah;--that's where it is. Roger is so violent and prejudiced that one cannot get him to speak rationally.\"\n","abridged":"\"If you don't accept him he will never marry. He is so stubborn and old-fashioned that nothing will change him. If you would take him I would be quite contented. But if you mean to be obstinate I wish that the Melmottes should understand that the property and title will go together. Why should not Felix have that advantage?\"\n\"Who is to say it?\"\n\"Ah; that's the thing. Roger is so prejudiced that one cannot get him to speak rationally.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, mamma;--you wouldn't suggest it to him;--that this place is to go to--Felix, when he--is dead!\"\n\"It would not kill him a day sooner.\"\n\"You would not dare to do it, mamma.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh, mamma; you wouldn't suggest it to him! You would not dare, mamma.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I would dare to do anything for my children. But you need not look like that, Henrietta. I am not going to say anything to him of the kind. He is not quick enough to understand of what infinite service he might be to us without in any way hurting himself.\" Henrietta would fain have answered that their cousin was quick enough for anything, but was by far too honest to take part in such a scheme as that proposed. She refrained, however, and was silent. There was no sympathy on the matter between her and her mother. She was beginning to understand the tortuous mazes of manoeuvres in which her mother's mind had learned to work, and to dislike and almost to despise them. But she felt it to be her duty to abstain from rebukes.\n","abridged":"\"I would dare anything for my children. But you need not look like that, Henrietta. I am not going to say anything to him of the kind. He is not quick enough to understand how much it might help us without in any way hurting himself.\"\nHenrietta was silent; but she thought that her cousin was too honest to take part in any such scheme. She was beginning to understand the tortuous manuvres in which her mother's mind had learned to work, and to dislike them. But she felt it to be her duty to abstain from rebukes.\n"}
+{"original":"In the afternoon Lady Carbury, alone, had herself driven into Beccles that she might telegraph to her son. \"You are to dine at Caversham on Monday. Come on Saturday if you can. She is there.\" Lady Carbury had many doubts as to the wording of this message. The female in the office might too probably understand who was the \"She,\" who was spoken of as being at Caversham, and might understand also the project, and speak of it publicly. But then it was essential that Felix should know how great and certain was the opportunity afforded to him. He had promised to come on Saturday and return on Monday,--and, unless warned, would too probably stick to his plan and throw over the Longestaffes and their dinner-party. Again if he were told to come simply for the Monday, he would throw over the chance of wooing her on the Sunday. It was Lady Carbury's desire to get him down for as long a period as was possible, and nothing surely would so tend to bring him and to keep him, as a knowledge that the heiress was already in the neighbourhood. ","abridged":"In the afternoon Lady Carbury, alone, had herself driven into Beccles to telegraph to her son. \"You are to dine at Caversham on Monday. Come on Saturday if you can. She is there.\"\nLady Carbury had many doubts as to the wording of this message. The female in the office might understand who the \"She\" was, and might also understand the project, and speak of it publicly. But it was essential that Felix should know how great was the opportunity given him. He had promised to come on Saturday and return on Monday - and, unless warned, would probably stick to his plan and throw over the Longestaffes' dinner-party. But if he were told to come simply for the Monday, he would throw over the chance of wooing her on the Sunday. Lady Carbury desired to get him down for as long as possible.\n"}
+{"original":"Then she returned, and shut herself up in her bedroom, and worked for an hour or two at a paper which she was writing for the \"Breakfast Table.\" Nobody should ever accuse her justly of idleness. And afterwards, as she walked by herself round and round the garden, she revolved in her mind the scheme of a new book. Whatever might happen she would persevere. If the Carburys were unfortunate their misfortunes should come from no fault of hers. Henrietta passed the whole day alone. She did not see her cousin from breakfast till he appeared in the drawing-room before dinner. But she was thinking of him during every minute of the day,--how good he was, how honest, how thoroughly entitled to demand at any rate kindness at her hand! Her mother had spoken of him as of one who might be regarded as all but dead and buried, simply because of his love for her. Could it be true that his constancy was such that he would never marry unless she would take his hand? ","abridged":"On her return, she shut herself up in her bedroom, and worked for an hour or two on an article for the Breakfast Table. Nobody should ever accuse her of idleness. Afterwards, as she walked by herself round the garden, she revolved in her mind the scheme of a new book. Whatever might happen she would persevere.\nHenrietta passed the whole day alone. She did not see her cousin from breakfast till dinner. But she was thinking of him every minute - how good he was, how honest, how thoroughly entitled to demand at least kindness from her! Could it be true that he would never marry unless she would take his hand? "}
+{"original":"She came to think of him with more tenderness than she had ever felt before, but, yet, she would not tell herself she loved him. It might, perhaps, be her duty to give herself to him without loving him,--because he was so good; but she was sure that she did not love him.\nIn the evening the bishop came, and his wife, Mrs. Yeld, and the Hepworths of Eardly, and Father John Barham, the Beccles priest. The party consisted of eight, which is, perhaps, the best number for a mixed gathering of men and women at a dinner-table,--especially if there be no mistress whose prerogative and duty it is to sit opposite to the master. In this case Mr. Hepworth faced the giver of the feast, the bishop and the priest were opposite to each other, and the ladies graced the four corners. Roger, though he spoke of such things to no one, turned them over much in his mind, believing it to be the duty of a host to administer in all things to the comfort of his guests. In the drawing-room he had been especially courteous to the young priest, introducing him first to the bishop and his wife, and then to his cousins. Henrietta watched him through the whole evening, and told herself that he was a very mirror of courtesy in his own house. She had seen it all before, no doubt; but she had never watched him as she now watched him since her mother had told her that he would die wifeless and childless because she would not be his wife and the mother of his children.\n","abridged":"She thought of him with more tenderness than she had ever felt before, yet she would not tell herself she loved him. It might, perhaps, be her duty to give herself to him without loving him, because he was so good; but she was sure that she did not love him.\nIn the evening the bishop came, and Mrs. Yeld his wife, and the Hepworths, and Father John Barham, the priest. Mr. Hepworth sat facing Roger at the table, the bishop and the priest were opposite each other, and the ladies graced the four corners. Roger turned such matters over much in his mind. In the drawing-room he had been especially courteous to the young priest, introducing him to the others. Henrietta, watching him, told herself that he was a very mirror of courtesy in his own house. She had never watched him as she now watched him, since her mother had said that he would die wifeless and childless because she would not be his wife.\n"}
+{"original":"The bishop was a man sixty years of age, very healthy and handsome, with hair just becoming grey, clear eyes, a kindly mouth, and something of a double chin. He was all but six feet high, with a broad chest, large hands, and legs which seemed to have been made for clerical breeches and clerical stockings. He was a man of fortune outside his bishopric; and, as he never went up to London, and had no children on whom to spend his money, he was able to live as a nobleman in the country. He did live as a nobleman, and was very popular. Among the poor around him he was idolized, and by such clergy of his diocese as were not enthusiastic in their theology either on the one side or on the other, he was regarded as a model bishop. By the very high and the very low,--by those rather who regarded ritualism as being either heavenly or devilish,--he was looked upon as a time-server, because he would not put to sea in either of those boats. He was an unselfish man, who loved his neighbour as himself, and forgave all trespasses, and thanked God for his daily bread from his heart, and prayed heartily to be delivered from temptation. But I doubt whether he was competent to teach a creed,--or even to hold one, if it be necessary that a man should understand and define his creed before he can hold it. Whether he was free from, or whether he was scared by, any inward misgivings, who shall say? If there were such he never whispered a word of them even to the wife of his bosom. ","abridged":"The bishop was a tall man of sixty, healthy and handsome, with hair just becoming grey, clear eyes, a kindly mouth, and a double chin. He was a man of fortune; and, as he had no children on whom to spend his money, he was able to live as a nobleman in the country - where he was very popular. Among the poor he was idolized, and by such clergy as were not enthusiastic about their theology, he was regarded as a model bishop. By those of the very high and the very low church, he was looked upon as a time-server.\nAn unselfish man, he loved his neighbour and forgave all trespasses, thanked God for his daily bread from his heart, and prayed sincerely to be delivered from temptation. But I doubt whether he was competent to teach a creed which he could neither understand nor define. Whether he had any inward misgivings, who shall say? "}
+{"original":"From the tone of his voice and the look of his eye, you would say that he was unscathed by that agony which doubt on such a matter would surely bring to a man so placed. And yet it was observed of him that he never spoke of his faith, or entered into arguments with men as to the reasons on which he had based it. He was diligent in preaching,--moral sermons that were short, pithy, and useful. He was never weary in furthering the welfare of his clergymen. His house was open to them and to their wives. The edifice of every church in his diocese was a care to him. He laboured at schools, and was zealous in improving the social comforts of the poor; but he was never known to declare to man or woman that the human soul must live or die for ever according to its faith. Perhaps there was no bishop in England more loved or more useful in his diocese than the Bishop of Elmham.\n","abridged":"He never spoke of his faith.\nHe was diligent in preaching - moral sermons that were short, pithy, and useful. His house was open to his fellow-clergymen; he laboured at schools, and was zealous in improving the comforts of the poor; but he was never known to declare that the human soul must live or die for ever according to its faith. Perhaps there was no bishop in England more loved or more useful in his diocese than the Bishop of Elmham.\n"}
+{"original":"A man more antagonistic to the bishop than Father John Barham, the lately appointed Roman Catholic priest at Beccles, it would be impossible to conceive;--and yet they were both eminently good men. Father John was not above five feet nine in height, but so thin, so meagre, so wasted in appearance, that, unless when he stooped, he was taken to be tall. He had thick dark brown hair, which was cut short in accordance with the usage of his Church; but which he so constantly ruffled by the action of his hands, that, though short, it seemed to be wild and uncombed. In his younger days, when long locks straggled over his forehead, he had acquired a habit, while talking energetically, of rubbing them back with his finger, which he had not since dropped. In discussions he would constantly push back his hair, and then sit with his hand fixed on the top of his head. He had a high, broad forehead, enormous blue eyes, a thin, long nose, cheeks very thin and hollow, a handsome large mouth, and a strong square chin. He was utterly without worldly means, except those which came to him from the ministry of his church, and which did not suffice to find him food and raiment; but no man ever lived more indifferent to such matters than Father John Barham. He had been the younger son of an English country gentleman of small fortune, had been sent to Oxford that he might hold a family living, and on the eve of his ordination had declared himself a Roman Catholic. His family had resented this bitterly, but had not quarrelled with him till he had drawn a sister with him. When banished from the house he had still striven to achieve the conversion of other sisters by his letters, and was now absolutely an alien from his father's heart and care. ","abridged":"A man more antagonistic to the bishop than Father John Barham, the new Roman Catholic priest at Beccles, it would be impossible to conceive; and yet they were both eminently good men. Father John was thin, meagre and wasted in appearance. His thick brown hair was cut short in accordance with the usage of his Church; but he so constantly ruffled it with his hands that it seemed to be wild and uncombed. In discussions he would constantly push back his hair, and then sit with his hand fixed on the top of his head. He had a high forehead, enormous blue eyes, a long nose, hollow cheeks, a handsome large mouth, and a strong square chin.\nHe was utterly without income, except that which came to him from the ministry of his church, and which was not enough for food and clothing; but he was indifferent to such matters. The younger son of an English country gentleman, he had been sent to Oxford to be ordained, and on the eve of his ordination had declared himself a Roman Catholic. His family had resented this bitterly, but had not quarrelled with him till he converted a sister. When banished from the house he had still striven to convert the other sisters by his letters, and was now an alien from his father's heart. "}
+{"original":"But of this he never complained. It was a part of the plan of his life that he should suffer for his faith. Had he been able to change his creed without incurring persecution, worldly degradation, and poverty, his own conversion would not have been to him comfortable and satisfactory as it was. He considered that his father, as a Protestant,--and in his mind Protestant and heathen were all the same,--had been right to quarrel with him. But he loved his father, and was endless in prayer, wearying his saints with supplications, that his father might see the truth and be as he was.\n","abridged":"But it was part of the plan of his life that he should suffer for his faith. If he had not suffered persecution and poverty, his own conversion would not have seemed to him as satisfactory as it was.\n"}
+{"original":"To him it was everything that a man should believe and obey,--that he should abandon his own reason to the care of another or of others, and allow himself to be guided in all things by authority. Faith being sufficient and of itself all in all, moral conduct could be nothing to a man, except as a testimony of faith; for to him, whose belief was true enough to produce obedience, moral conduct would certainly be added. The dogmas of his Church were to Father Barham a real religion; and he would teach them in season and out of season, always ready to commit himself to the task of proving their truth, afraid of no enemy, not even fearing the hostility which his perseverance would create. He had but one duty before him,--to do his part towards bringing over the world to his faith. It might be that with the toil of his whole life he should convert but one; that he should but half convert one; that he should do no more than disturb the thoughts of one so that future conversion might be possible. But even that would be work done. He would sow the seed if it might be so; but if it were not given to him to do that, he would at any rate plough the ground.\n","abridged":"He held that a man should believe and obey - that he should abandon his own reason, and allow himself to be guided by authority. Faith being all in all, moral conduct could be nothing to a man, except as a testimony of faith. The dogmas of his Church were to Father Barham a real religion; and he had but one duty before him: to bring over the world to his faith. It might be that with the toil of his whole life he should convert but one person, or only half convert one; or do no more than disturb the thoughts of one so that future conversion might be possible. But even that would be work done. If he could not sow the seed, he would at any rate plough the ground.\n"}
+{"original":"He had come to Beccles lately, and Roger Carbury had found out that he was a gentleman by birth and education. Roger had found out also that he was very poor, and had consequently taken him by the hand. The young priest had not hesitated to accept his neighbour's hospitality, having on one occasion laughingly protested that he should be delighted to dine at Carbury, as he was much in want of a dinner. He had accepted presents from the garden and the poultry yard, declaring that he was too poor to refuse anything. The apparent frankness of the man about himself had charmed Roger, and the charm had not been seriously disturbed when Father Barham, on one winter evening in the parlour at Carbury, had tried his hand at converting his host. \"I have the most thorough respect for your religion,\" Roger had said; \"but it would not suit me.\" The priest had gone on with his logic; if he could not sow the seed he might plough the ground. This had been repeated two or three times, and Roger had begun to feel it to be disagreeable. But the man was in earnest, and such earnestness commanded respect. And Roger was quite sure that though he might be bored, he could not be injured by such teaching. ","abridged":"When he came to Beccles, Roger Carbury had learned that he was a gentleman by birth and education, and also very poor, and had consequently taken him in hand. The young priest had accepted his neighbour's hospitality, laughingly saying that he was much in want of a dinner. He had accepted presents from the garden and the poultry yard, declaring that he was too poor to refuse anything. This frankness had charmed Roger, and the charm had not been seriously disturbed when Father Barham, one winter evening at Carbury, had tried his hand at converting his host.\n\"I have the greatest respect for your religion,\" Roger had said; \"but it would not suit me.\" The priest repeated his attempt two or three times, and Roger had begun to feel it to be disagreeable. But the man's earnestness commanded respect. And Roger was quite sure that though he might be bored, he could not be injured by such preaching. "}
+{"original":"Then it occurred to him one day that he had known the Bishop of Elmham intimately for a dozen years, and had never heard from the bishop's mouth,--except when in the pulpit,--a single word of religious teaching; whereas this man, who was a stranger to him, divided from him by the very fact of his creed, was always talking to him about his faith. Roger Carbury was not a man given to much deep thinking, but he felt that the bishop's manner was the pleasanter of the two.\n","abridged":"It occurred to him that he had known the Bishop of Elmham intimately for a dozen years, and had never heard from the bishop's mouth - except when in the pulpit - a single word of religious teaching; whereas this man, who was a stranger, was always talking to him about his faith. Roger felt that the bishop's manner was the pleasanter of the two.\n"}
+{"original":"Lady Carbury at dinner was all smiles and pleasantness. No one looking at her, or listening to her, could think that her heart was sore with many troubles. She sat between the bishop and her cousin, and was skilful enough to talk to each without neglecting the other. She had known the bishop before, and had on one occasion spoken to him of her soul. The first tone of the good man's reply had convinced her of her error, and she never repeated it. To Mr. Alf she commonly talked of her mind; to Mr. Broune of her heart; to Mr. Booker of her body--and its wants. She was quite ready to talk of her soul on a proper occasion, but she was much too wise to thrust the subject even on a bishop. Now she was full of the charms of Carbury and its neighbourhood. \"Yes, indeed,\" said the bishop, \"I think Suffolk is a very nice county; and as we are only a mile or two from Norfolk, I'll say as much for Norfolk too. 'It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest.'\"\n","abridged":"Lady Carbury at dinner was all smiles. No one would think that her heart was sore with many troubles. She sat between the bishop and her cousin, and was skilful enough to talk to each without neglecting the other. She was too wise to talk to the bishop of her soul; so she was full of the charms of Carbury and its neighbourhood.\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said the bishop, \"Suffolk is a very nice county; and Norfolk too.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I like a county in which there is something left of county feeling,\" said Lady Carbury. \"Staffordshire and Warwickshire, Cheshire and Lancashire have become great towns, and have lost all local distinctions.\"\n\"We still keep our name and reputation,\" said the bishop; \"Silly Suffolk!\"\n\"But that was never deserved.\"\n\"As much, perhaps, as other general epithets. I think we are a sleepy people. We've got no coal, you see, and no iron. We have no beautiful scenery, like the lake country,--no rivers great for fishing, like Scotland,--no hunting grounds, like the shires.\"\n\"Partridges!\" pleaded Lady Carbury, with pretty energy.\n","abridged":"\"I like a county which has something left of county feeling,\" said Lady Carbury. \"Staffordshire and Warwickshire, Cheshire and Lancashire have become great towns, and have lost local distinctions.\"\n\"We still keep our name and reputation,\" said the bishop; \"Silly Suffolk!\"\n\"That was never deserved.\"\n\"I think we are a sleepy people. We've got no industry and no beautiful scenery. No rivers great for fishing, like Scotland - no hunting grounds, like the shires.\"\n\"Partridges!\" pleaded Lady Carbury, with pretty energy.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Yes; we have partridges, fine churches, and the herring fishery. We shall do very well if too much is not expected of us. We can't increase and multiply as they do in the great cities.\"\n\"I like this part of England so much the best for that very reason. What is the use of a crowded population?\"\n\"The earth has to be peopled, Lady Carbury.\"\n\"Oh, yes,\" said her ladyship, with some little reverence added to her voice, feeling that the bishop was probably adverting to a divine arrangement. \"The world must be peopled; but for myself I like the country better than the town.\"\n","abridged":"\"Yes; we have partridges, fine churches, and herring. We shall do very well if too much is not expected of us.\"\n\"For myself I like the country better than the town.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"So do I,\" said Roger; \"and I like Suffolk. The people are hearty, and radicalism is not quite so rampant as it is elsewhere. The poor people touch their hats, and the rich people think of the poor. There is something left among us of old English habits.\"\n\"That is so nice,\" said Lady Carbury.\n\"Something left of old English ignorance,\" said the bishop. \"All the same I dare say we're improving, like the rest of the world. What beautiful flowers you have here, Mr. Carbury! At any rate, we can grow flowers in Suffolk.\"\n","abridged":"\"So do I,\" said Roger; \"and I like Suffolk. The people are hearty, and not so radical as elsewhere. The poor people touch their hats, and the rich people think of the poor. There is something left among us of old English habits.\"\n\"That is so nice,\" said Lady Carbury.\n\"Something left of old English ignorance,\" said the bishop. \"All the same I dare say we're improving, like the rest of the world. What beautiful flowers you have here, Mr. Carbury! At any rate, we can grow flowers in Suffolk.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife, was sitting next to the priest, and was in truth somewhat afraid of her neighbour. She was, perhaps, a little stauncher than her husband in Protestantism; and though she was willing to admit that Mr. Barham might not have ceased to be a gentleman when he became a Roman Catholic priest, she was not quite sure that it was expedient for her or her husband to have much to do with him. Mr. Carbury had not taken them unawares. Notice had been given that the priest was to be there, and the bishop had declared that he would be very happy to meet the priest. But Mrs. Yeld had had her misgivings. She never ventured to insist on her opinion after the bishop had expressed his; but she had an idea that right was right, and wrong wrong,--and that Roman Catholics were wrong, and therefore ought to be put down. And she thought also that if there were no priests there would be no Roman Catholics. Mr. Barham was, no doubt, a man of good family, which did make a difference.\n","abridged":"Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife, was sitting next to the priest, and was in truth somewhat afraid of him. She had an idea that Roman Catholics were wrong, and ought to be suppressed. Mr. Barham was, no doubt, a gentleman of good family, which did make a difference.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Barham always made his approaches very gradually. The taciturn humility with which he commenced his operations was in exact proportion to the enthusiastic volubility of his advanced intimacy. Mrs. Yeld thought that it became her to address to him a few civil words, and he replied to her with a shame-faced modesty that almost overcame her dislike to his profession. She spoke of the poor of Beccles, being very careful to allude only to their material position. There was too much beer drunk, no doubt, and the young women would have finery. Where did they get the money to buy those wonderful bonnets which appeared every Sunday? Mr. Barham was very meek, and agreed to everything that was said. No doubt he had a plan ready formed for inducing Mrs. Yeld to have mass said regularly within her husband's palace, but he did not even begin to bring it about on this occasion. It was not till he made some apparently chance allusion to the superior church-attending qualities of \"our people,\" that Mrs. Yeld drew herself up and changed the conversation by observing that there had been a great deal of rain lately.\n","abridged":"Mr. Barham always made his approaches very gradually. He started with quiet humility, and advanced to talkative enthusiasm. When Mrs. Yeld said a few civil words, he replied with a shame-faced modesty that she approved of. She spoke of the poor of Beccles: there was too much beer drunk, no doubt, and the young women would have finery. Where did they get the money for those wonderful Sunday bonnets?\nMr. Barham agreed meekly to everything. No doubt he already had a plan for inducing Mrs. Yeld to have mass said regularly in her husband's palace, but he did not attempt it on this occasion. It was not till he made some apparently chance allusion to the superior church-attending qualities of \"our people,\" that Mrs. Yeld drew herself up and changed the conversation, observing that there had been a great deal of rain lately.\n"}
+{"original":"When the ladies were gone the bishop at once put himself in the way of conversation with the priest, and asked questions as to the morality of Beccles. It was evidently Mr. Barham's opinion that \"his people\" were more moral than other people, though very much poorer. \"But the Irish always drink,\" said Mr. Hepworth.\n\"Not so much as the English, I think,\" said the priest. \"And you are not to suppose that we are all Irish. Of my flock the greater proportion are English.\"\n\"It is astonishing how little we know of our neighbours,\" said the bishop. \"Of course I am aware that there are a certain number of persons of your persuasion round about us. Indeed, I could give the exact number in this diocese. But in my own immediate neighbourhood I could not put my hand upon any families which I know to be Roman Catholic.\"\n","abridged":"When the ladies were gone the bishop began to talk to the priest, and asked about the morality of Beccles. It was Mr. Barham's opinion that \"his people\" were more moral than other people, though very much poorer.\n\"But the Irish always drink,\" said Mr. Hepworth.\n\"Not so much as the English, I think,\" said the priest. \"And we are not all Irish. Most of my flock are English.\"\n\"It is astonishing how little we know of our neighbours,\" said the bishop. \"Of course I am aware that there are a certain number of Catholics round about us. But I could not name any Catholic families.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is not, my lord, because there are none.\"\n\"Of course not. It is because, as I say, I do not know my neighbours.\"\n\"I think, here in Suffolk, they must be chiefly the poor,\" said Mr. Hepworth.\n\"They were chiefly the poor who at first put their faith in our Saviour,\" said the priest.\n\"I think the analogy is hardly correctly drawn,\" said the bishop, with a curious smile. \"We were speaking of those who are still attached to an old creed. Our Saviour was the teacher of a new religion. That the poor in the simplicity of their hearts should be the first to acknowledge the truth of a new religion is in accordance with our idea of human nature. But that an old faith should remain with the poor after it has been abandoned by the rich is not so easily intelligible.\"\n","abridged":"\"I think, here in Suffolk, they must be chiefly the poor,\" said Mr. Hepworth.\n\"They were chiefly the poor who first put their faith in our Saviour,\" said the priest.\n\"I think the analogy is hardly correct,\" said the bishop, with a curious smile. \"We are speaking of those who are still attached to an old creed. Our Saviour was the teacher of a new religion. That the poor in the simplicity of their hearts should be the first to acknowledge the truth of a new religion is natural. But that the poor should keep to an old faith abandoned by the rich is not so easy to understand.\"\n"}
+{"original":"[Illustration: The bishop thinks that the priest's analogy is not correct.]\n\"The Roman population still believed,\" said Carbury, \"when the patricians had learned to regard their gods as simply useful bugbears.\"\n\"The patricians had not ostensibly abandoned their religion. The people clung to it thinking that their masters and rulers clung to it also.\"\n\"The poor have ever been the salt of the earth, my lord,\" said the priest.\n","abridged":"\"The poor have ever been the salt of the earth, my lord,\" said the priest.\n"}
+{"original":"\"That begs the whole question,\" said the bishop, turning to his host, and beginning to talk about a breed of pigs which had lately been imported into the palace styes. Father Barham turned to Mr. Hepworth and went on with his argument, or rather began another. It was a mistake to suppose that the Catholics in the county were all poor. There were the A----s and the B----s, and the C----s and the D----s. He knew all their names and was proud of their fidelity. To him these faithful ones were really the salt of the earth, who would some day be enabled by their fidelity to restore England to her pristine condition. The bishop had truly said that of many of his neighbours he did not know to what Church they belonged; but Father Barham, though he had not as yet been twelve months in the county, knew the name of nearly every Roman Catholic within its borders.\n\"Your priest is a very zealous man,\" said the bishop afterwards to Roger Carbury, \"and I do not doubt but that he is an excellent gentleman; but he is perhaps a little indiscreet.\"\n\"I like him because he is doing the best he can according to his lights; without any reference to his own worldly welfare.\"\n\"That is all very grand, and I am perfectly willing to respect him. But I do not know that I should care to talk very freely in his company.\"\n","abridged":"\"That begs the question,\" said the bishop, turning to Roger Carbury, and beginning to talk about a breed of pigs which had lately been imported into the palace sties.\nFather Barham continued his argument with Mr. Hepworth. It was a mistake to suppose that the Catholics in the county were all poor. The wealthier families of his faith - whom he named - would some day restore England to her pristine condition.\n\"Your priest is a very zealous man,\" said the bishop afterwards to Roger Carbury, \"and no doubt an excellent gentleman; but he is perhaps a little indiscreet.\"\n\"I like him because he is doing the best he can, without any reference to his own worldly welfare.\"\n\"That is all very grand, and I am perfectly willing to respect him. But I do not know that I should care to talk very freely in his company.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I am sure he would repeat nothing.\"\n\"Perhaps not; but he would always be thinking that he was going to get the best of me.\"\n\"I don't think it answers,\" said Mrs. Yeld to her husband as they went home. \"Of course I don't want to be prejudiced; but Protestants are Protestants, and Roman Catholics are Roman Catholics.\"\n\"You may say the same of Liberals and Conservatives, but you wouldn't have them decline to meet each other.\"\n\"It isn't quite the same, my dear. After all religion is religion.\"\n\"It ought to be,\" said the bishop.\n\"Of course I don't mean to put myself up against you, my dear; but I don't know that I want to meet Mr. Barham again.\"\n\"I don't know that I do, either,\" said the bishop; \"but if he comes in my way I hope I shall treat him civilly.\"","abridged":"\"I am sure he would repeat nothing.\"\n\"Perhaps not; but he would always be thinking that he was going to get the better of me.\"\nMrs. Yeld said to her husband as they went home, \"Of course I don't mean to oppose you, my dear; but I don't know that I want to meet Mr. Barham again.\"\n\"I don't know that I do, either,\" said the bishop; \"but if he comes in my way I hope I shall treat him civilly.\""}
+{"original":"No election of a Member of Parliament by ballot in a borough so large as that of Westminster had as yet been achieved in England since the ballot had been established by law. Men who heretofore had known, or thought that they knew, how elections would go, who counted up promises, told off professed enemies, and weighed the doubtful ones, now confessed themselves to be in the dark. Three days since the odds had been considerably in Melmotte's favour; but this had come from the reputation attached to his name, rather than from any calculation as to the politics of the voters. Then Sunday had intervened. On the Monday Melmotte's name had continued to go down in the betting from morning to evening. Early in the day his supporters had thought little of this, attributing the fall to that vacillation which is customary in such matters; but towards the latter part of the afternoon the tidings from the City had been in everybody's mouth, and Melmotte's committee-room had been almost deserted. At six o'clock there were some who suggested that his name should be withdrawn. No such suggestion, however, was made to him,--perhaps because no one dared to make it. On the Monday evening all work and strategy for the election, as regarded Melmotte and his party, died away; and the interest of the hour was turned to the dinner.\n","abridged":"No parliamentary election in a borough as large as Westminster had yet happened in England since the secret ballot had been established. Men who previously had known how elections would go, now confessed themselves to be in the dark. Three days ago, the odds had been in Melmotte's favour; but on Monday his name had gone down in the betting. Early in the day his supporters had thought little of this, but by late afternoon the news from the City had spread. At six o'clock there were some who suggested that his name should be withdrawn. However, no one dared suggest it to him. On Monday evening the interest of the hour was turned to the dinner.\n"}
+{"original":"But Mr. Alf's supporters were very busy. There had been a close consultation among a few of them as to what should be done by their Committee as to these charges against the opposite candidate. In the \"Pulpit\" of that evening an allusion had been made to the affair, which was of course sufficiently intelligible to those who were immediately concerned in the matter, but which had given no name and mentioned no details. Mr. Alf explained that this had been put in by the sub-editor, and that it only afforded such news as the paper was bound to give to the public. He himself pointed out the fact that no note of triumph had been sounded, and that the rumour had not been connected with the election.\n","abridged":"But Mr. Alf's supporters were very busy. Their Committee had consulted about what should be done as to these charges against Melmotte. The Pulpit of that evening alluded to the affair, but gave no name and mentioned no details. "}
+{"original":"One old gentleman was of opinion that they were bound to make the most of it. \"It's no more than we've all believed all along,\" said the old gentleman, \"and why are we to let a fellow like that get the seat if we can keep him out?\" He was of opinion that everything should be done to make the rumour with all its exaggerations as public as possible,--so that there should be no opening for an indictment for libel; and the clever old gentleman was full of devices by which this might be effected. But the Committee generally was averse to fight in this manner. Public opinion has its Bar as well as the Law Courts. If, after all, Melmotte had committed no fraud,--or, as was much more probable, should not be convicted of fraud,--then it would be said that the accusation had been forged for purely electioneering purposes, and there might be a rebound which would pretty well crush all those who had been concerned. Individual gentlemen could, of course, say what they pleased to individual voters; but it was agreed at last that no overt use should be made of the rumours by Mr. Alf's Committee. In regard to other matters, they who worked under the Committee were busy enough. The dinner to the Emperor was turned into ridicule, and the electors were asked whether they felt themselves bound to return a gentleman out of the City to Parliament because he had offered to spend a fortune on entertaining all the royalties then assembled in London. There was very much said on placards and published in newspapers to the discredit of Melmotte, but nothing was so printed which would not have appeared with equal venom had the recent rumours never been sent out from the City. ","abridged":"The Committee was averse to fighting the election by making the rumours public. If, after all, Melmotte had committed no fraud - or, as was more probable, should not be convicted of fraud - then it would be said that the accusation had been invented for electioneering purposes.\nHowever, the dinner to the Emperor was ridiculed in the newspaper, and the electors were asked whether they felt they should elect a gentleman to Parliament because he had offered to spend a fortune on entertaining royalty. "}
+{"original":"At twelve o'clock at night, when Mr. Alf's committee-room was being closed, and when Melmotte was walking home to bed, the general opinion at the clubs was very much in favour of Mr. Alf.\n","abridged":"At midnight, when Melmotte was walking home to bed, the general opinion at the clubs was in favour of Mr. Alf.\n"}
+{"original":"On the next morning Melmotte was up before eight. As yet no policeman had called for him, nor had any official intimation reached him that an accusation was to be brought against him. On coming down from his bedroom he at once went into the back-parlour on the ground floor, which Mr. Longestaffe called his study, and which Mr. Melmotte had used since he had been in Mr. Longestaffe's house for the work which he did at home. He would be there often early in the morning, and often late at night after Lord Alfred had left him. There were two heavy desk-tables in the room, furnished with drawers down to the ground. One of these the owner of the house had kept locked for his own purposes. When the bargain for the temporary letting of the house had been made, Mr. Melmotte and Mr. Longestaffe were close friends. Terms for the purchase of Pickering had just been made, and no cause for suspicion had as yet arisen. Everything between the two gentlemen had been managed with the greatest ease. Oh dear, yes! ","abridged":"On the next morning Melmotte was up before eight. As yet no policeman had called for him, nor had any official word reached him that an accusation was to be brought against him. On rising he at once went into the back-parlour which Mr. Longestaffe called his study, and which Mr. Melmotte often used for the work he did at home early in the morning, and late at night.\nThere were two heavy desks in the room: one of these Mr. Longstaffe had kept locked for his own purposes. When the house had first been let to Melmotte, everything between the two gentlemen had been managed with the greatest ease. Oh dear, yes! "}
+{"original":"Mr. Longestaffe could come whenever he pleased. He, Melmotte, always left the house at ten and never returned till six. The ladies would never enter that room. The servants were to regard Mr. Longestaffe quite as master of the house as far as that room was concerned. If Mr. Longestaffe could spare it, Mr. Melmotte would take the key of one of the tables. The matter was arranged very pleasantly.\n","abridged":"Mr. Longestaffe could come whenever he pleased. The ladies would never enter that room. If Mr. Longestaffe could spare it, Mr. Melmotte would take the key of one of the desks. The matter was arranged very pleasantly.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Melmotte, on entering the room bolted the door, and then, sitting at his own table, took certain papers out of the drawers,--a bundle of letters and another of small documents. From these, with very little examination, he took three or four,--two or three perhaps from each. These he tore into very small fragments and burned the bits,--holding them over a gas-burner and letting the ashes fall into a large china plate. Then he blew the ashes into the yard through the open window. This he did to all these documents but one. This one he put bit by bit into his mouth, chewing the paper into a pulp till he swallowed it. When he had done this, and had re-locked his own drawers, he walked across to the other table, Mr. Longestaffe's table, and pulled the handle of one of the drawers. It opened;--and then, without touching the contents, he again closed it. He then knelt down and examined the lock, and the hole above into which the bolt of the lock ran. Having done this he again closed the drawer, drew back the bolt of the door, and, seating himself at his own desk, rang the bell which was close to hand. ","abridged":"Mr. Melmotte, on entering the room, bolted the door, and then, sitting at his own desk, took certain papers out of the drawers: a bundle of letters and another of documents. From these he took three or four. He tore them into very small fragments and burned the bits over a gas-burner, letting the ashes fall into a large china plate. Then he blew the ashes into the yard through the open window. This he did to all these documents but one. This one he put bit by bit into his mouth, chewing the paper into a pulp till he swallowed it.\nWhen he had done this, and had re-locked his own drawers, he walked across to Mr. Longestaffe's desk and pulled the handle of one of the drawers. It opened. Without touching the contents, he again closed it. He then knelt down and examined the lock, and the hole above, into which the bolt of the lock ran. He again closed the drawer, unlocked the study door, and rang the bell. "}
+{"original":"The servant found him writing letters after his usual hurried fashion, and was told that he was ready for breakfast. He always breakfasted alone with a heap of newspapers around him, and so he did on this day. He soon found the paragraph alluding to himself in the \"Pulpit,\" and read it without a quiver in his face or the slightest change in his colour. There was no one to see him now,--but he was acting under a resolve that at no moment, either when alone, or in a crowd, or when suddenly called upon for words,--not even when the policemen with their first hints of arrest should come upon him,--would he betray himself by the working of a single muscle, or the loss of a drop of blood from his heart. He would go through it, always armed, without a sign of shrinking. It had to be done, and he would do it.\n","abridged":"The servant found him writing letters at his desk, and was told that he was ready for breakfast. He always breakfasted alone with a heap of newspapers around him, and so he did on this day.\nHe soon found the paragraph about himself in the Pulpit, and read it without a quiver in his face. There was no one to see him, but he had resolved that at no moment would he betray himself by the working of a single muscle. Whatever happened, he would go through it without any sign of shrinking.\n"}
+{"original":"At ten he walked down to the central committee-room at Whitehall Place. He thought that he would face the world better by walking than if he were taken in his own brougham. He gave orders that the carriage should be at the committee-room at eleven, and wait an hour for him if he was not there. He went along Bond Street and Piccadilly, Regent Street and through Pall Mall to Charing Cross, with the blandly triumphant smile of a man who had successfully entertained the great guest of the day. As he got near the club he met two or three men whom he knew, and bowed to them. They returned his bow graciously enough, but not one of them stopped to speak to him. Of one he knew that he would have stopped, had it not been for the rumour. Even after the man had passed on he was careful to show no displeasure on his face. He would take it all as it would come and still be the blandly triumphant Merchant Prince,--as long as the police would allow him. He probably was not aware how very different was the part he was now playing from that which he had assumed at the India Office.\n","abridged":"At ten he walked down to the central committee-room at Whitehall Place. He thought that he would face the world better walking than in his carriage. He went along Bond Street and Piccadilly, Regent Street and Pall Mall to Charing Cross, with the blandly triumphant smile of a man who had successfully entertained the great guest of the day. As he got near the club he met two or three men whom he knew, and bowed to them. They returned his bow graciously enough, but not one of them stopped to speak to him. He was careful to show no displeasure on his face. He would still be the blandly triumphant Merchant Prince - as long as the police would allow him.\n"}
+{"original":"At the committee-room he only found a few understrappers, and was informed that everything was going on regularly. The electors were balloting; but with the ballot,--so said the leader of the understrappers,--there never was any excitement. The men looked half-frightened,--as though they did not quite know whether they ought to seize their candidate, and hold him till the constable came. They certainly had not expected to see him there. \"Has Lord Alfred been here?\" Melmotte asked, standing in the inner room with his back to the empty grate. No,--Lord Alfred had not been there. \"Nor Mr. Grendall?\" The senior understrapper knew that Melmotte would have asked for \"his Secretary,\" and not for Mr. Grendall, but for the rumours. It is so hard not to tumble into Scylla when you are avoiding Charybdis. ","abridged":"At the committee-room he only found a few underlings. The ballot was under way; but with the ballot - so said these men - there never was any excitement. They looked half-frightened; they had not expected to see him there.\n\"Has Lord Alfred been here?\" Melmotte asked. \"Or Mr. Grendall?\" "}
+{"original":"Mr. Grendall had not been there. Indeed, nobody had been there. \"In fact, there is nothing more to be done, I suppose?\" said Mr. Melmotte. The senior understrapper thought that there was nothing more to be done. He left word that his brougham should be sent away, and strolled out again on foot.\n","abridged":"No, nobody had been there.\n\"There is nothing more to be done, I suppose?\" said Mr. Melmotte. The senior underling thought that there was nothing more to be done, and Melmotte strolled out again on foot.\n"}
+{"original":"He went up into Covent Garden, where there was a polling booth. The place seemed to him, as one of the chief centres for a contested election, to be wonderfully quiet. He was determined to face everybody and everything, and he went close up to the booth. Here he was recognised by various men, mechanics chiefly, who came forward and shook hands with him. He remained there for an hour conversing with people, and at last made a speech to a little knot around him. He did not allude to the rumour of yesterday, nor to the paragraph in the \"Pulpit\" to which his name had not been attached; but he spoke freely enough of the general accusations that had been brought against him previously. He wished the electors to understand that nothing which had been said against him made him ashamed to meet them here or elsewhere. He was proud of his position, and proud that the electors of Westminster should recognise it. He did not, he was glad to say, know much of the law, but he was told that the law would protect him from such aspersions as had been unfairly thrown upon him. He flattered himself that he was too good an Englishman to regard the ordinary political attacks to which candidates were, as a matter of course, subject at elections;--and he could stretch his back to bear perhaps a little more than these, particularly as he looked forward to a triumphant return. ","abridged":"He went up into Covent Garden, where there was a polling booth. The place seemed to him to be wonderfully quiet. He was determined to face everything, and he went up to the booth. Here he was recognised by various men, mechanics chiefly, who came forward and shook hands with him. He remained for an hour conversing with people, and at last made a speech to a little knot around him.\nHe did not allude to the rumour of yesterday; but he spoke freely of the general accusations that had been brought against him previously. He wished the electors to understand that he was proud of his position, and that the law would protect him from such unfair aspersions. He flattered himself that he was too good an Englishman to bother about the attacks which were made on candidates at elections; particularly as he looked forward to a triumphant return. "}
+{"original":"But things had been said, and published, which the excitement of an election could not justify, and as to these things he must have recourse to the law. Then he made some allusion to the Princes and the Emperor, and concluded by observing that it was the proudest boast of his life to be an Englishman and a Londoner.\nIt was asserted afterwards that this was the only good speech he had ever been known to make; and it was certainly successful, as he was applauded throughout Covent Garden. A reporter for the \"Breakfast Table\" who was on duty at the place, looking for paragraphs as to the conduct of electors, gave an account of the speech in that paper, and made more of it, perhaps, than it deserved. It was asserted afterwards, and given as a great proof of Melmotte's cleverness, that he had planned the thing and gone to Covent Garden all alone having considered that in that way could he best regain a step in reputation; but in truth the affair had not been preconcerted. It was while in Whitehall Place that he had first thought of going to Covent Garden, and he had had no idea of making a speech till the people had gathered round him.\n","abridged":"But things had been said, and published, which an election could not justify, and as to these things he must go to law. Then he made some allusion to the Princes and the Emperor, and concluded by saying that it was the proudest boast of his life to be an Englishman and a Londoner.\nIt was asserted afterwards that this was the only good speech he had ever made; and it was certainly successful. A reporter for the Breakfast Table, who was on duty at the place, gave an account of the speech in that paper, and made more of it, perhaps, than it deserved.\n"}
+{"original":"It was then noon, and he had to determine what he should do next. He was half inclined to go round to all the booths and make speeches. His success at Covent Garden had been very pleasant to him. But he feared that he might not be so successful elsewhere. He had shown that he was not afraid of the electors. Then an idea struck him that he would go boldly into the City,--to his own offices in Abchurch Lane. He had determined to be absent on this day, and would not be expected. But his appearance there could not on that account be taken amiss. Whatever enmities there might be, or whatever perils, he would face them. He got a cab therefore and had himself driven to Abchurch Lane.\n","abridged":"It was then noon, and he had to decide what to do next. He was half inclined to go round to all the booths and make speeches. His success at Covent Garden had been very pleasant. But he feared that he might not be so successful elsewhere. An idea struck him that he would go boldly into the City, to his offices in Abchurch Lane, although he would not be expected today. Whatever perils there might be, he would face them.\nHe got a cab and had himself driven to Abchurch Lane. "}
+{"original":"The clerks were hanging about doing nothing, as though it were a holiday. The dinner, the election, and the rumour together had altogether demoralized them. But some of them at least were there, and they showed no signs of absolute insubordination. \"Mr. Grendall has not been here?\" he asked. No; Mr. Grendall had not been there; but Mr. Cohenlupe was in Mr. Grendall's room. At this moment he hardly desired to see Mr. Cohenlupe. That gentleman was privy to many of his transactions, but was by no means privy to them all. Mr. Cohenlupe knew that the estate at Pickering had been purchased, and knew that it had been mortgaged. He knew also what had become of the money which had so been raised. ","abridged":"The clerks there were hanging about doing nothing, as though it were a holiday.\n\"Mr. Grendall has not been here?\" he asked. No; but Mr. Cohenlupe was in Mr. Grendall's room. At this moment he hardly desired to see Mr. Cohenlupe. That gentleman was privy to many of his transactions, but by no means all. Cohenlupe knew that the estate at Pickering had been purchased and mortgaged. "}
+{"original":"But he knew nothing of the circumstances of the purchase, although he probably surmised that Melmotte had succeeded in getting the title-deeds on credit, without paying the money. He was afraid that he could hardly see Cohenlupe and hold his tongue, and that he could not speak to him without danger. He and Cohenlupe might have to stand in a dock together; and Cohenlupe had none of his spirit. But the clerks would think, and would talk, were he to leave the office without seeing his old friend. He went therefore into his own room, and called to Cohenlupe as he did so.\n\"Ve didn't expect you here to-day,\" said the member for Staines.\n\"Nor did I expect to come. But there isn't much to do at Westminster while the ballot is going on; so I came up, just to look at the letters. The dinner went off pretty well yesterday, eh?\"\n","abridged":"But he knew nothing of the circumstances of the purchase. Melmotte felt that he could not speak to Cohenlupe without danger. They might have to stand in a dock together. But the clerks would talk if he were to leave the office without seeing his old friend. He went therefore into his room, and called to Cohenlupe.\n\"Ve didn't expect you here today.\"\n\"Nor did I expect to come,\" said Melmotte. \"But there isn't much to do at Westminster while the ballot is going on; so I came to look at the letters. The dinner went off pretty well yesterday, eh?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Uncommon;--nothing better. Vy did the Lord Mayor stay away, Melmotte?\"\n\"Because he's an ass and a cur,\" said Mr. Melmotte with an assumed air of indignation. \"Alf and his people had got hold of him. There was ever so much fuss about it at first,--whether he would accept the invitation. I say it was an insult to the City to take it and not to come. I shall be even with him some of these days.\"\n\"Things will go on just the same as usual, Melmotte?\"\n","abridged":"\"Uncommon. Vy did the Lord Mayor stay away, Melmotte?\"\n\"Because he's an ass and a cur,\" said Mr. Melmotte, with assumed indignation. \"Alf and his people had got hold of him. I say it was an insult to the City. I shall be even with him one of these days.\"\n\"Things will go on just the same as usual, Melmotte?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Go on. Of course they'll go. What's to hinder them?\"\n\"There's ever so much been said,\" whispered Cohenlupe.\n\"Said;--yes,\" ejaculated Melmotte very loudly. \"You're not such a fool, I hope, as to believe every word you hear. You'll have enough to believe, if you do.\"\n\"There's no knowing vat anybody does know, and vat anybody does not know,\" said Cohenlupe.\n","abridged":"\"Of course. What's to hinder them?\"\n\"There's ever so much been said,\" whispered Cohenlupe.\n\"Said; yes,\" ejaculated Melmotte very loudly. \"You're not such a fool, I hope, as to believe every word you hear.\"\n\"There's no knowing vat anybody knows,\" said Cohenlupe.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Look you here, Cohenlupe,\"--and now Melmotte also sank his voice to a whisper,--\"keep your tongue in your mouth; go about just as usual, and say nothing. It's all right. There has been some heavy pulls upon us.\"\n\"Oh dear, there has indeed!\"\n\"But any paper with my name to it will come right.\"\n\"That's nothing;--nothing at all,\" said Cohenlupe.\n\"And there is nothing;--nothing at all! I've bought some property and have paid for it; and I have bought some, and have not yet paid for it. There's no fraud in that.\"\n\"No, no,--nothing in that.\"\n","abridged":"\"Look here, Cohenlupe,\" - and Melmotte also sank his voice to a whisper - \"go about just as usual, and say nothing. It's all right. Any paper with my name to it will come right. I've bought some property and have paid for it; and I have bought some, and have not yet paid for it. There's no fraud in that.\"\n\"No, nothing in that.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You hold your tongue, and go about your business. I'm going to the bank now.\" Cohenlupe had been very low in spirits, and was still low in spirits; but he was somewhat better after the visit of the great man to the City.\n","abridged":"\"Hold your tongue, and go about your business. I'm going to the bank now.\" Cohenlupe had been very low in spirits; but he was somewhat better after Melmotte's visit.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Melmotte was as good as his word and walked straight to the bank. He kept two accounts at different banks, one for his business, and one for his private affairs. The one he now entered was that which kept what we may call his domestic account. He walked straight through, after his old fashion, to the room behind the bank in which sat the manager and the manager's one clerk, and stood upon the rug before the fire-place just as though nothing had happened,--or as nearly as though nothing had happened as was within the compass of his powers. He could not quite do it. In keeping up an appearance intended to be natural he was obliged to be somewhat milder than his wont. The manager did not behave nearly as well as he did, and the clerks manifestly betrayed their emotion. Melmotte saw that it was so;--but he had expected it, and had come there on purpose to \"put it down.\"\n\"We hardly expected to see you in the City to-day, Mr. Melmotte.\"\n","abridged":"Mr. Melmotte walked to the bank where he kept his domestic account rather than his business accounts. He walked straight through to the back room in which sat the manager and the manager's clerk, and stood before the fire-place just as though nothing had happened.\nThe manager did not behave nearly as well, and the clerks betrayed their emotion. Melmotte saw it; but he had expected it, and had come on purpose to \"put it down.\"\n\"We hardly expected to see you in the City today, Mr. Melmotte.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And I didn't expect to see myself here. But it always happens that when one expects that there's most to be done, there's nothing to be done at all. They're all at work down at Westminster, balloting; but as I can't go on voting for myself, I'm of no use. I've been at Covent Garden this morning, making a stump speech, and if all that they say there is true, I haven't much to be afraid of.\"\n\"And the dinner went off pretty well?\" asked the manager.\n","abridged":"\"And I didn't expect to see myself here. But they're all at work down at Westminster, balloting; and as I can't vote for myself, I'm of no use. I've been at Covent Garden this morning, making a stump speech.\"\n\"And the dinner went off pretty well?\" asked the manager.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Very well, indeed. They say the Emperor liked it better than anything that has been done for him yet.\" This was a brilliant flash of imagination. \"For a friend to dine with me every day, you know, I should prefer somebody who had a little more to say for himself. But then, perhaps, you know, if you or I were in China we shouldn't have much to say for ourselves;--eh?\" The manager acceded to this proposition. \"We had one awful disappointment. His lordship from over the way didn't come.\"\n\"The Lord Mayor, you mean.\"\n","abridged":"\"Very well, indeed. They say the Emperor liked it better than anything that has been done for him yet.\" This was a brilliant flash of imagination. \"For a dining companion, I should prefer somebody with a little more to say for himself. But then, perhaps, if you or I were in China we shouldn't have much to say for ourselves; eh? We had one disappointment. "}
+{"original":"\"The Lord Mayor didn't come! He was frightened at the last moment;--took it into his head that his authority in the City was somehow compromised. But the wonder was that the dinner went on without him.\" Then Melmotte referred to the purport of his call there that day. He would have to draw large cheques for his private wants. \"You don't give a dinner to an Emperor of China for nothing, you know.\" He had been in the habit of over-drawing on his private account,--making arrangements with the manager. But now, in the manager's presence, he drew a regular cheque on his business account for a large sum, and then, as a sort of afterthought, paid in the 250 which he had received from Mr. Broune on account of the money which Sir Felix had taken from Marie.\n\"There don't seem much the matter with him,\" said the manager, when Melmotte had left the room.\n","abridged":"The Lord Mayor didn't come. But the dinner went on without him.\"\nThen Melmotte referred to the purpose of his call. He would have to draw large cheques for his private wants. \"You don't give a dinner to an Emperor of China for nothing.\" He drew a regular cheque on his business account for a large sum, and then, as a sort of afterthought, paid in the 250 which he had received from Mr. Broune.\n\"There don't seem much the matter with him,\" said the manager, when Melmotte had left.\n"}
+{"original":"\"He brazens it out, don't he?\" said the senior clerk. But the feeling of the room after full discussion inclined to the opinion that the rumours had been a political manoeuvre. Nevertheless, Mr. Melmotte would not now have been allowed to overdraw at the present moment.","abridged":"\"He brazens it out, don't he?\" said the senior clerk. They inclined to the opinion that the rumours had been a political manuvre. Nevertheless, Mr. Melmotte would not have been allowed to overdraw at the present moment."}
+{"original":"In another part of Suffolk, not very far from Bungay, there was a lady whose friends had not managed her affairs as well as Ruby's friends had done for Ruby. Miss Georgiana Longestaffe in the early days of August was in a very miserable plight. Her sister's marriage with Mr. George Whitstable was fixed for the first of September, a day which in Suffolk is of all days the most sacred; and the combined energies of the houses of Caversham and Toodlam were being devoted to that happy event. Poor Georgey's position was in every respect wretched, but its misery was infinitely increased by the triumph of those hymeneals. It was but the other day that she had looked down from a very great height on her elder sister, and had utterly despised the squire of Toodlam. And at that time, still so recent, this contempt from her had been accepted as being almost reasonable. Sophia had hardly ventured to rebel against it, and Mr. Whitstable himself had been always afraid to encounter the shafts of irony with which his fashionable future sister-in-law attacked him. But all that was now changed. Sophia in her pride of place had become a tyrant, and George Whitstable, petted in the house with those sweetmeats which are always showered on embryo bridegrooms, absolutely gave himself airs. At this time Mr. Longestaffe was never at home. ","abridged":"In another part of Suffolk, not far from Bungay, Miss Georgiana Longestaffe was in a very miserable plight. Her sister's marriage with Mr. George Whitstable was fixed for the first of September, and poor Georgey's misery was greatly increased by the triumph of that coming wedding. It was only the other day that she had looked down from a great height on her elder sister, and had utterly despised the squire of Toodlam. But now Sophia in her pride of place had become a tyrant, and George Whitstable absolutely gave himself airs.\nAt this time Mr. Longestaffe was never at home. "}
+{"original":"Having assured himself that there was no longer any danger of the Brehgert alliance he had remained in London, thinking his presence to be necessary for the winding up of Melmotte's affairs, and leaving poor Lady Pomona to bear her daughter's ill-humour. The family at Caversham consisted therefore of the three ladies, and was enlivened by daily visits from Toodlam. It will be owned that in this state of things there was very little consolation for Georgiana.\nIt was not long before she quarrelled altogether with her sister,--to the point of absolutely refusing to act as bridesmaid. The reader may remember that there had been a watch and chain, and that two of the ladies of the family had expressed an opinion that these trinkets should be returned to Mr. Brehgert who had bestowed them. But Georgiana had not sent them back when a week had elapsed since the receipt of Mr. Brehgert's last letter. The matter had perhaps escaped Lady Pomona's memory, but Sophia was happily alive to the honour of her family. \"Georgey,\" she said one morning in their mother's presence, \"don't you think Mr. Brehgert's watch ought to go back to him without any more delay?\"\n\"What have you got to do with anybody's watch? The watch wasn't given to you.\"\n","abridged":"He had remained in London for the winding up of Melmotte's affairs, leaving poor Lady Pomona to bear her daughter's ill-humour. The family at Caversham consisted therefore of the three ladies, and was enlivened by daily visits from Toodlam.\nIt was not long before Georgiana quarrelled altogether with her sister, to the point of refusing to act as bridesmaid. The reader may remember that there had been a watch and chain, which two of the ladies of the family had said should be returned to Mr. Brehgert. But a week later Georgiana had not sent them back, as Sophia was happy to point out.\n\"Georgey,\" she said one morning in their mother's presence, \"don't you think Mr. Brehgert's watch ought to go back to him without any more delay?\"\n\"What have you got to do with it? The watch wasn't given to you.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I think it ought to go back. When papa finds that it has been kept I'm sure he'll be very angry.\"\n\"It's no business of yours whether he's angry or not.\"\n\"If it isn't sent George will tell Dolly. You know what would happen then.\"\nThis was unbearable! That George Whitstable should interfere in her affairs,--that he should talk about her watch and chain. \"I never will speak to George Whitstable again the longest day that ever I live,\" she said, getting up from her chair.\n\"My dear, don't say anything so horrible as that,\" exclaimed the unhappy mother.\n","abridged":"\"I think it ought to go back, or I'm sure papa will be very angry.\"\n\"It's no business of yours whether he's angry or not.\"\n\"If it isn't sent George will tell Dolly.\"\nThis was unbearable! That George Whitstable should interfere in her affairs! \"I never will speak to George Whitstable again,\" she said, getting up from her chair.\n\"My dear, don't say anything so horrible as that,\" exclaimed the unhappy mother.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I do say it. What has George Whitstable to do with me? A miserably stupid fellow! Because you've landed him, you think he's to ride over the whole family.\"\n\"I think Mr. Brehgert ought to have his watch and chain back,\" said Sophia.\n\"Certainly he ought,\" said Lady Pomona. \"Georgiana, it must be sent back. It really must,--or I shall tell your papa.\"\n","abridged":"\"I do say it. George Whitstable is a miserably stupid fellow! Because you've landed him, you think he's to ride over the whole family.\"\n\"I think Mr. Brehgert ought to have his watch and chain back,\" said Sophia.\n\"Certainly he ought,\" said Lady Pomona. \"Georgiana, it must be sent back, or I shall tell your papa.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Subsequently, on the same day, Georgiana brought the watch and chain to her mother, protesting that she had never thought of keeping them, and explaining that she had intended to hand them over to her papa as soon as he should have returned to Caversham. Lady Pomona was now empowered to return them, and they were absolutely confided to the hands of the odious George Whitstable, who about this time made a journey to London in reference to certain garments which he required. But Georgiana, though she was so far beaten, kept up her quarrel with her sister. She would not be bridesmaid. She would never speak to George Whitstable. And she would shut herself up on the day of the marriage.\n","abridged":"So Georgiana brought the watch and chain to her mother, protesting that she had never thought of keeping them. They were confided to the hands of the odious George Whitstable, who was going to a tailor in London. But Georgiana, though she was so far beaten, kept up her quarrel with her sister. She would not be bridesmaid. She would never speak to George Whitstable. And she would shut herself up on the wedding day.\n"}
+{"original":"She did think herself to be very hardly used. What was there left in the world that she could do in furtherance of her future cause? And what did her father and mother expect would become of her? Marriage had ever been so clearly placed before her eyes as a condition of things to be achieved by her own efforts, that she could not endure the idea of remaining tranquil in her father's house and waiting till some fitting suitor might find her out. She had struggled and struggled,--struggling still in vain,--till every effort of her mind, every thought of her daily life, was pervaded by a conviction that as she grew older from year to year, the struggle should be more intense. The swimmer when first he finds himself in the water, conscious of his skill and confident in his strength, can make his way through the water with the full command of all his powers. But when he begins to feel that the shore is receding from him, that his strength is going, that the footing for which he pants is still far beneath his feet,--that there is peril where before he had contemplated no danger,--then he begins to beat the water with strokes rapid but impotent, and to waste in anxious gaspings the breath on which his very life must depend. So it was with poor Georgey Longestaffe. Something must be done at once, or it would be of no avail. Twelve years had been passed by her since first she plunged into the stream,--the twelve years of her youth,--and she was as far as ever from the bank; nay, farther, if she believed her eyes. ","abridged":"She did think herself to be very badly treated. What did her father and mother expect would become of her? Marriage had always been so clearly placed before her eyes as a position to be achieved by her own efforts, that she could not endure the idea of waiting in her father's house till some fitting suitor might find her. She had struggled and struggled, till every thought of her daily life was pervaded by a conviction that as she grew older the struggle would be more intense.\nThe swimmer when first he finds himself in the water is confident in his strength. But when he begins to feel that the shore is receding, that his strength is going, then he begins to beat the water with strokes rapid but impotent, and to waste his breath in anxious gaspings. So it was with poor Georgey Longestaffe. Something must be done at once, or it would be of no avail. Twelve years had passed since first she plunged into the stream; and she was as far as ever from the bank - nay, farther. "}
+{"original":"She too must strike out with rapid efforts, unless, indeed, she would abandon herself and let the waters close over her head. But immersed as she was here at Caversham, how could she strike at all? Even now the waters were closing upon her. The sound of them was in her ears. The ripple of the wave was already round her lips; robbing her of breath. Ah!--might not there be some last great convulsive effort which might dash her on shore, even if it were upon a rock!\n","abridged":"She must strike out with rapid efforts, unless she would let the waters close over her head.\nBut immersed as she was here at Caversham, the waters were even now closing upon her. The sound of them was in her ears. The ripple of the wave was already robbing her of breath.\n"}
+{"original":"That ultimate failure in her matrimonial projects would be the same as drowning she never for a moment doubted. It had never occurred to her to consider with equanimity the prospect of living as an old maid. It was beyond the scope of her mind to contemplate the chances of a life in which marriage might be well if it came, but in which unmarried tranquillity might also be well should that be her lot. Nor could she understand that others should contemplate it for her. No doubt the battle had been carried on for many years so much under the auspices of her father and mother as to justify her in thinking that their theory of life was the same as her own. Lady Pomona had been very open in her teaching, and Mr. Longestaffe had always given a silent adherence to the idea that the house in London was to be kept open in order that husbands might be caught. And now when they deserted her in her real difficulty,--when they first told her to live at Caversham all the summer, and then sent her up to the Melmottes, and after that forbade her marriage with Mr. Brehgert,--it seemed to her that they were unnatural parents who gave her a stone when she wanted bread, a serpent when she asked for a fish. She had no friend left. There was no one living who seemed to care whether she had a husband or not. She took to walking in solitude about the park, and thought of many things with a grim earnestness which had not hitherto belonged to her character.\n","abridged":"She never doubted that failure in her matrimonial projects would be the same as drowning. It had never occurred to her to consider the prospect of living as a tranquil old maid. Nor could she understand that others should contemplate it for her. The battle had been carried on for so many years under the auspices of her parents that she assumed their theory of life was the same as her own.\nAnd now when they deserted her in her real difficulty - when they first told her to live at Caversham all the summer, and then sent her up to the Melmottes, and after that forbade her marriage with Mr. Brehgert - it seemed to her that they were unnatural parents who gave her a stone when she wanted bread, a serpent when she asked for a fish. She had no friend left. There was no one living who seemed to care whether she had a husband or not. She took to walking in solitude about the park, and thought of many things with grim earnestness.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mamma,\" she said one morning when all the care of the household was being devoted to the future comforts,--chiefly in regard to linen,--of Mrs. George Whitstable, \"I wonder whether papa has any intention at all about me.\"\n\"In what sort of way, my dear?\"\n\"In any way. Does he mean me to live here for ever and ever?\"\n\"I don't think he intends to have a house in town again.\"\n\"And what am I to do?\"\n\"I suppose we shall stay here at Caversham.\"\n\"And I'm to be buried just like a nun in a convent,--only that the nun does it by her own consent and I don't! Mamma, I won't stand it. I won't indeed.\"\n","abridged":"\"Mamma,\" she said one morning, \"I wonder whether papa has any intention at all about me.\"\n\"In what way, my dear?\"\n\"In any way. Does he mean me to live here for ever?\"\n\"I don't think he intends to have a house in town again.\"\n\"And what am I to do?\"\n\"I suppose we shall stay here at Caversham.\"\n\"And I'm to be buried just like a nun in a convent! Mamma, I won't stand it.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I think, my dear, that that is nonsense. You see company here, just as other people do in the country;--and as for not standing it, I don't know what you mean. As long as you are one of your papa's family of course you must live where he lives.\"\n","abridged":"\"My dear, that is nonsense. You see company here; and as for not standing it, I don't know what you mean. As long as you are one of your papa's family of course you must live where he lives.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, mamma, to hear you talk like that!--It is horrible--horrible! As if you didn't know! As if you couldn't understand! Sometimes I almost doubt whether papa does know, and then I think that if he did he would not be so cruel. But you understand it all as well as I do myself. What is to become of me? Is it not enough to drive me mad to be going about here by myself, without any prospect of anything? Should you have liked at my age to have felt that you had no chance of having a house of your own to live in? Why didn't you, among you, let me marry Mr. Brehgert?\" As she said this she was almost eloquent with passion.\n","abridged":"\"Oh, mamma, to hear you talk like that! It is horrible! As if you didn't know! Sometimes I almost doubt whether papa does know. But you understand it all as well as I do myself. What is to become of me? Is it not enough to drive me mad to be here by myself, without any prospect of anything? Should you have liked at my age to have felt that you had no chance of having a house of your own to live in? Why didn't you let me marry Mr. Brehgert?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"You know, my dear,\" said Lady Pomona, \"that your papa wouldn't hear of it.\"\n\"I know that if you would have helped me I would have done it in spite of papa. What right has he to domineer over me in that way? Why shouldn't I have married the man if I chose? I am old enough to know surely. You talk now of shutting up girls in convents as being a thing quite impossible. This is much worse. Papa won't do anything to help me. Why shouldn't he let me do something for myself?\"\n\"You can't regret Mr. Brehgert!\"\n","abridged":"\"You know, my dear,\" said Lady Pomona, \"that your papa wouldn't hear of it.\"\n\"If you would have helped me I would have done it in spite of papa. What right has he to domineer over me in that way? Why shouldn't I have married the man if I chose? I am old enough, surely. Papa won't do anything to help me. Why shouldn't he let me do something for myself?\"\n\"You can't regret Mr. Brehgert!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Why can't I regret him? I do regret him. I'd have him to-morrow if he came. Bad as it might be, it couldn't be so bad as Caversham.\"\n\"You couldn't have loved him, Georgiana.\"\n","abridged":"\"Why not? I do regret him. I'd have him tomorrow if he came. It couldn't be so bad as Caversham.\"\n\"You couldn't have loved him, Georgiana.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Loved him! Who thinks about love nowadays? I don't know any one who loves any one else. You won't tell me that Sophy is going to marry that idiot because she loves him! Did Julia Triplex love that man with the large fortune? When you wanted Dolly to marry Marie Melmotte you never thought of his loving her. I had got the better of all that kind of thing before I was twenty.\"\n\"I think a young woman should love her husband.\"\n","abridged":"\"Loved him! Who thinks about love nowadays? You won't tell me that Sophy is going to marry that idiot because she loves him! When you wanted Dolly to marry Marie Melmotte you never thought of his loving her. I had got over all that kind of thing before I was twenty.\"\n\"I think a young woman should love her husband.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It makes me sick, mamma, to hear you talk in that way. It does indeed. When one has been going on for a dozen years trying to do something,--and I have never had any secrets from you,--then that you should turn round upon me and talk about love! Mamma, if you would help me I think I could still manage with Mr. Brehgert.\" Lady Pomona shuddered. \"You have not got to marry him.\"\n\"It is too horrid.\"\n","abridged":"\"It makes me sick, mamma, to hear you talk in that way. When one has been going on for a dozen years trying to do something - and then you turn round upon me and talk about love! Mamma, if you would help me I think I could still manage with Mr. Brehgert.\" Lady Pomona shuddered. \"You have not got to marry him.\"\n\"It is too horrid.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Who would have to put up with it? Not you, or papa, or Dolly. I should have a house of my own at least, and I should know what I had to expect for the rest of my life. If I stay here I shall go mad,--or die.\"\n\"It is impossible.\"\n\"If you will stand to me, mamma, I am sure it may be done. I would write to him, and say that you would see him.\"\n\"Georgiana, I will never see him.\"\n\"Why not?\"\n\"He is a Jew!\"\n","abridged":"\"I should have a house of my own at least. If I stay here I shall go mad - or die.\"\n\"It is impossible.\"\n\"If you will stand by me, mamma, I am sure it may be done. I would write to him, and say that you would see him.\"\n\"Georgiana, I will never see him.\"\n\"Why not?\"\n\"He is a Jew! "}
+{"original":"\"What abominable prejudice;--what wicked prejudice! As if you didn't know that all that is changed now! What possible difference can it make about a man's religion? Of course I know that he is vulgar, and old, and has a lot of children. But if I can put up with that, I don't think that you and papa have a right to interfere. As to his religion it cannot signify.\"\n","abridged":""}
+{"original":"\"Georgiana, you make me very unhappy. I am wretched to see you so discontented. If I could do anything for you, I would. But I will not meddle about Mr. Brehgert. I shouldn't dare to do so. I don't think you know how angry your papa can be.\"\n","abridged":"I don't think you know how angry your papa can be.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'm not going to let papa be a bugbear to frighten me. What can he do? I don't suppose he'll beat me. And I'd rather he would than shut me up here. As for you, mamma, I don't think you care for me a bit. Because Sophy is going to be married to that oaf, you are become so proud of her that you haven't half a thought for anybody else.\"\n\"That's very unjust, Georgiana.\"\n","abridged":"\"I'm not going to let papa frighten me. What can he do? I don't suppose he'll beat me. As for you, mamma, I don't think you care for me a bit. Because Sophy is going to be married to that oaf, you are become so proud of her that you haven't a thought for anybody else.\"\n\"That's very unjust, Georgiana.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I know what's unjust,--and I know who's ill-treated. I tell you fairly, mamma, that I shall write to Mr. Brehgert and tell him that I am quite ready to marry him. I don't know why he should be afraid of papa. I don't mean to be afraid of him any more, and you may tell him just what I say.\"\nAll this made Lady Pomona very miserable. She did not communicate her daughter's threat to Mr. Longestaffe, but she did discuss it with Sophia. Sophia was of opinion that Georgiana did not mean it, and gave two or three reasons for thinking so. In the first place had she intended it she would have written her letter without saying a word about it to Lady Pomona. And she certainly would not have declared her purpose of writing such letter after Lady Pomona had refused her assistance. And moreover,--Lady Pomona had received no former hint of the information which was now conveyed to her,--Georgiana was in the habit of meeting the curate of the next parish almost every day in the park.\n","abridged":"\"I know what's unjust. I tell you, mamma, that I shall write to Mr. Brehgert and say that I am quite ready to marry him. You may tell papa just what I say.\"\nAll this made Lady Pomona very miserable. She did not tell Mr. Longestaffe, but she did discuss her daughter's threat with Sophia. Sophia thought that Georgiana did not mean it, because - amongst other reasons - she was in the habit of meeting the curate of the next parish almost every day in the park.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Mr. Batherbolt!\" exclaimed Lady Pomona.\n\"She is walking with Mr. Batherbolt almost every day.\"\n\"But he is so very strict.\"\n\"It is true, mamma.\"\n\"And he's five years younger than she! And he's got nothing but his curacy! And he's a celibate! I heard the bishop laughing at him because he called himself a celibate.\"\n","abridged":"\"Mr. Batherbolt!\" exclaimed Lady Pomona.\n\"She is walking with Mr. Batherbolt almost every day.\"\n\"But he's five years younger than she! And he's got nothing but his curacy! And he's a celibate! I heard the bishop laughing at him because he called himself a celibate.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"It doesn't signify, mamma. I know she is with him constantly. Wilson has seen them,--and I know it. Perhaps papa could get him a living. Dolly has a living of his own that came to him with his property.\"\n\"Dolly would be sure to sell the presentation,\" said Lady Pomona.\n\"Perhaps the bishop would do something,\" said the anxious sister, \"when he found that the man wasn't a celibate. Anything, mamma, would be better than the Jew.\" To this latter proposition Lady Pomona gave a cordial assent. \"Of course it is a come-down to marry a curate,--but a clergyman is always considered to be decent.\"\n","abridged":"\"It doesn't signify, mamma. I know she is with him constantly. Wilson has seen them, and I know it. Perhaps papa could get him a living. Or perhaps the bishop would do something. Anything, mamma, would be better than the Jew.\"\nTo this, Lady Pomona agreed. \"Of course it is a come-down to marry a curate; but a clergyman is always considered to be decent.\"\n"}
+{"original":"The preparations for the Whitstable marriage went on without any apparent attention to the intimacy which was growing up between Mr. Batherbolt and Georgiana. There was no room to apprehend anything wrong on that side. Mr. Batherbolt was so excellent a young man, and so exclusively given to religion, that, even should Sophy's suspicion be correct, he might be trusted to walk about the park with Georgiana. Should he at any time come forward and ask to be allowed to make the lady his wife, there would be no disgrace in the matter. He was a clergyman and a gentleman,--and the poverty would be Georgiana's own affair.\n","abridged":"They did not apprehend anything wrong on Mr. Batherbolt's part. He was so excellent a young man, and so exclusively given to religion, that, even should Sophy's suspicion be correct, he might be trusted to walk about the park with Georgiana. Should he at any time ask if he could make the lady his wife, there would be no disgrace in it. He was a clergyman and a gentleman, and the poverty would be Georgiana's affair.\n"}
+{"original":"Mr. Longestaffe returned home only on the eve of his eldest daughter's marriage, and with him came Dolly. Great trouble had been taken to teach him that duty absolutely required his presence at his sister's marriage, and he had at last consented to be there. It is not generally considered a hardship by a young man that he should have to go into a good partridge country on the 1st of September, and Dolly was an acknowledged sportsman. Nevertheless, he considered that he had made a great sacrifice to his family, and he was received by Lady Pomona as though he were a bright example to other sons. He found the house not in a very comfortable position, for Georgiana still persisted in her refusal either to be a bridesmaid or to speak to Mr. Whitstable; but still his presence, which was very rare at Caversham, gave some assistance: and, as at this moment his money affairs had been comfortably arranged, he was not called upon to squabble with his father. It was a great thing that one of the girls should be married, and Dolly had brought down an enormous china dog, about five feet high, as a wedding present, which added materially to the happiness of the meeting. Lady Pomona had determined that she would tell her husband of those walks in the park, and of other signs of growing intimacy which had reached her ears;--but this she would postpone until after the Whitstable marriage.\n","abridged":"Mr. Longestaffe returned home on the eve of Sophia's marriage, and with him came Dolly. Dolly considered this a great sacrifice to his family. He found the house not very comfortable, for Georgiana still persisted in her refusal either to be a bridesmaid or to speak to Mr. Whitstable; but still his presence, which was rare at Caversham, gave some assistance. He had brought down an enormous china dog, about five feet high, as a wedding present, which added to the happiness of the meeting. Lady Pomona had determined to tell her husband of those walks in the park with Mr. Batherbolt; but not until after the Whitstable marriage.\n"}
+{"original":"But at nine o'clock on the morning set apart for that marriage, they were all astounded by the news that Georgiana had run away with Mr. Batherbolt. She had been up before six. He had met her at the park gate, and had driven her over to catch the early train at Stowmarket. Then it appeared, too, that by degrees various articles of her property had been conveyed to Mr. Batherbolt's lodgings in the adjacent village, so that Lady Pomona's fear that Georgiana would not have a thing to wear, was needless. When the fact was first known it was almost felt, in the consternation of the moment, that the Whitstable marriage must be postponed. But Sophia had a word to say to her mother on that head, and she said it. The marriage was not postponed. At first Dolly talked of going after his younger sister, and the father did dispatch various telegrams. But the fugitives could not be brought back, and with some little delay,--which made the marriage perhaps uncanonical but not illegal,--Mr. George Whitstable was made a happy man.\n","abridged":"But at nine o'clock on the morning of the wedding, they were all astounded by the news that Georgiana had run away with Mr. Batherbolt. She had been up before six. He had met her at the park gate, and had driven her over to catch the early train at Stowmarket.\nWhen the fact was first known it was almost felt, in the consternation of the moment, that the Whitstable marriage must be postponed. But Sophia said a word to her mother on that head, and the marriage was not postponed. At first Dolly talked of going after his younger sister, and the father did dispatch various telegrams. But the fugitives could not be brought back, and with some little delay, Mr. George Whitstable was made a happy man.\n"}
+{"original":"It need only be added that in about a month's time Georgiana returned to Caversham as Mrs. Batherbolt, and that she resided there with her husband in much connubial bliss for the next six months. At the end of that time they removed to a small living, for the purchase of which Mr. Longestaffe had managed to raise the necessary money.","abridged":"It need only be added that in about a month's time Georgiana returned to Caversham as Mrs. Batherbolt, and that she resided there with her husband in much connubial bliss for the next six months. After that they removed to a small living, for which Mr. Longestaffe had managed to raise the necessary money."}
+{"original":"Georgiana Longestaffe had now been staying with the Melmottes for a fortnight, and her prospects in regard to the London season had not much improved. Her brother had troubled her no further, and her family at Caversham had not, as far as she was aware, taken any notice of Dolly's interference. Twice a week she received a cold, dull letter from her mother,--such letters as she had been accustomed to receive when away from home; and these she had answered, always endeavouring to fill her sheet with some customary description of fashionable doings, with some bit of scandal such as she would have repeated for her mother's amusement,--and her own delectation in the telling of it,--had there been nothing painful in the nature of her sojourn in London. Of the Melmottes she hardly spoke. She did not say that she was taken to the houses in which it was her ambition to be seen. She would have lied directly in saying so. But she did not announce her own disappointment. She had chosen to come up to the Melmottes in preference to remaining at Caversham, and she would not declare her own failure. \"I hope they are kind to you,\" Lady Pomona always said. But Georgiana did not tell her mother whether the Melmottes were kind or unkind.\n","abridged":"Georgiana Longestaffe had now been staying with the Melmottes for a fortnight, and her prospects in regard to the London season had not much improved. Her father had, apparently, taken no notice of Dolly's interference. Twice a week she received a cold, dull letter from her mother; and she had answered with descriptions of fashionable doings, and bits of scandal, as if there was nothing painful in the nature of her stay in London. Of the Melmottes she hardly spoke. She had not been taken to those houses where she wished to be seen; but she did not announce her disappointment. She had chosen to come here rather than remaining at Caversham, and she would not declare her own failure.\n"}
+{"original":"In truth, her \"season\" was a very unpleasant season. Her mode of living was altogether different to anything she had already known. The house in Bruton Street had never been very bright, but the appendages of life there had been of a sort which was not known in the gorgeous mansion in Grosvenor Square. It had been full of books and little toys and those thousand trifling household gods which are accumulated in years, and which in their accumulation suit themselves to the taste of their owners. In Grosvenor Square there were no Lares;--no toys, no books, nothing but gold and grandeur, pomatum, powder and pride. The Longestaffe life had not been an easy, natural, or intellectual life; but the Melmotte life was hardly endurable even by a Longestaffe. She had, however, come prepared to suffer much, and was endowed with considerable power of endurance in pursuit of her own objects. Having willed to come, even to the Melmottes, in preference to remaining at Caversham, she fortified herself to suffer much. Could she have ridden in the park at mid-day in desirable company, and found herself in proper houses at midnight, she would have borne the rest, bad as it might have been. But it was not so. ","abridged":"In truth, her \"season\" was very unpleasant. Her way of life was altogether different to anything she had known. The house in Bruton Street had never been very bright, but at least it had been full of books and little toys and those thousand trifling household gods which are accumulated over years. In Grosvenor Square there were no toys, no books, nothing but gold and grandeur, powder and pride. The Longestaffe life had not been an easy or intellectual life; but the Melmotte life was hardly endurable.\nShe had, however, come prepared to suffer much. If she could have ridden in the park, and visited proper houses, she would have borne the rest. But it was not so. "}
+{"original":"She had her horse, but could with difficulty get any proper companion. She had been in the habit of riding with one of the Primero girls,--and old Primero would accompany them, or perhaps a brother Primero, or occasionally her own father. And then, when once out, she would be surrounded by a cloud of young men,--and though there was but little in it, a walking round and round the same bit of ground with the same companions and with the smallest attempt at conversation, still it had been the proper thing and had satisfied her. Now it was with difficulty that she could get any cavalier such as the laws of society demand. Even Penelope Primero snubbed her,--whom she, Georgiana Longestaffe, had hitherto endured and snubbed. She was just allowed to join them when old Primero rode, and was obliged even to ask for that assistance.\n","abridged":"She had her horse, but could hardly get any proper companion. She had been in the habit of riding with one of the Primero girls, accompanied by their father or a brother; and when out, she would be surrounded by a cloud of young men. Even though they had been walking round and round the same bit of ground with the same companions and conversation, still it had satisfied her. Now even Penelope Primero snubbed her.\n"}
+{"original":"But the nights were still worse. She could only go where Madame Melmotte went, and Madame Melmotte was more prone to receive people at home than to go out. And the people she did receive were antipathetic to Miss Longestaffe. She did not even know who they were, whence they came, or what was their nature. They seemed to be as little akin to her as would have been the shopkeepers in the small town near Caversham. She would sit through long evenings almost speechless, trying to fathom the depth of the vulgarity of her associates. Occasionally she was taken out, and was then, probably, taken to very grand houses. The two duchesses and the Marchioness of Auld Reekie received Madame Melmotte, and the garden parties of royalty were open to her. And some of the most elaborate ftes of the season,--which indeed were very elaborate on behalf of this and that travelling potentate,--were attained. On these occasions Miss Longestaffe was fully aware of the struggle that was always made for invitations, often unsuccessfully, but sometimes with triumph. ","abridged":"But the evenings were still worse. She could only go where Madame Melmotte went, and Madame Melmotte preferred to receive people at home rather than going out. And the people she received were antipathetic to Miss Longestaffe. She did not know who they were, or whence they came. They were no more akin to her than the shopkeepers of Caversham. She would sit through long evenings almost speechless, trying to fathom the depth of their vulgarity. Occasionally she was taken out to very grand houses, to the garden parties of royalty, and some of the most elaborate ftes of the season, held on behalf of travelling potentates.\nMiss Longestaffe was fully aware of the struggle that was made for invitations. "}
+{"original":"Even the bargains, conducted by the hands of Lord Alfred and his mighty sister, were not altogether hidden from her. The Emperor of China was to be in London and it was thought proper that some private person, some untitled individual, should give the Emperor a dinner, so that the Emperor might see how an English merchant lives. Mr. Melmotte was chosen on condition that he would spend 10,000 on the banquet;--and, as a part of his payment for this expenditure, was to be admitted with his family, to a grand entertainment given to the Emperor at Windsor Park. Of these good things Georgiana Longestaffe would receive her share. But she went to them as a Melmotte and not as a Longestaffe,--and when amidst these gaieties, though she could see her old friends, she was not with them. She was ever behind Madame Melmotte, till she hated the make of that lady's garments and the shape of that lady's back.\n","abridged":"The Emperor of China was to be in London; and it was thought proper that some private person should give a dinner, so that the Emperor might see how an English merchant lives. Mr. Melmotte was chosen on condition that he would spend 10,000 on the banquet; and in return his family would be admitted to a grand entertainment for the Emperor at Windsor Park. Of these good things Georgiana would receive her share. But she went to them as a Melmotte and not as a Longestaffe.\n"}
+{"original":"She had told both her father and mother very plainly that it behoved her to be in London at this time of the year that she might--look for a husband. She had not hesitated in declaring her purpose; and that purpose, together with the means of carrying it out, had not appeared to them to be unreasonable. She wanted to be settled in life. She had meant, when she first started on her career, to have a lord;--but lords are scarce. She was herself not very highly born, not very highly gifted, not very lovely, not very pleasant, and she had no fortune. She had long made up her mind that she could do without a lord, but that she must get a commoner of the proper sort. He must be a man with a place in the country and sufficient means to bring him annually to London. He must be a gentleman,--and, probably, in parliament. And above all things he must be in the right set. She would rather go on for ever struggling than take some country Whitstable as her sister was about to do. ","abridged":"She had told her parents very plainly that she needed to be in London at this time of year to look for a husband. She wanted to be settled in life, and had meant, when she first started on her career, to have a lord; but lords are scarce. She was herself not very highly born, not very gifted, not very lovely, not very pleasant, and she had no fortune. She had long made up her mind that she could do without a lord, but that she must get a commoner of the proper sort. He must be a man with a place in the country and sufficient means to come yearly to London. He must be a gentleman, and, probably, in parliament. And above all, he must be in the right set; she would not take some country Whitstable as her sister was about to do.\n"}
+{"original":"But now the men of the right sort never came near her. The one object for which she had subjected herself to all this ignominy seemed to have vanished altogether in the distance. When by chance she danced or exchanged a few words with the Nidderdales and Grassloughs whom she used to know, they spoke to her with a want of respect which she felt and tasted but could hardly analyse. Even Miles Grendall, who had hitherto been below her notice, attempted to patronise her in a manner that bewildered her. All this nearly broke her heart.\n","abridged":"But now the men of the right sort never came near her. The one object for which she had subjected herself to all this ignominy seemed to have vanished in the distance. When by chance she exchanged a few words with the Nidderdales and Grassloughs, they spoke to her with a lack of respect. Even Miles Grendall tried to patronise her. All this nearly broke her heart.\n"}
+{"original":"And then from time to time little rumours reached her ears which made her aware that, in the teeth of all Mr. Melmotte's social successes, a general opinion that he was a gigantic swindler was rather gaining ground than otherwise. \"Your host is a wonderful fellow, by George!\" said Lord Nidderdale. \"No one seems to know which way he'll turn up at last.\" \"There's nothing like being a robber, if you can only rob enough,\" said Lord Grasslough,--not exactly naming Melmotte, but very clearly alluding to him. There was a vacancy for a member of parliament at Westminster, and Melmotte was about to come forward as a candidate. \"If he can manage that I think he'll pull through,\" she heard one man say. \"If money'll do it, it will be done,\" said another. She could understand it all. Mr. Melmotte was admitted into society, because of some enormous power which was supposed to lie in his hands; but even by those who thus admitted him he was regarded as a thief and a scoundrel. ","abridged":"And from time to time little rumours reached her ears which made her aware that, despite Mr. Melmotte's social successes, a general opinion that he was a gigantic swindler was rather gaining ground than otherwise.\n\"Your host is a wonderful fellow, by George!\" said Lord Nidderdale. \"No one seems to know which way he'll turn up at last.\"\nThere was a vacancy for a member of parliament at Westminster, and Melmotte was to come forward as a candidate.\n\"If he can manage that I think he'll pull through,\" she heard one man say. \"If money'll do it, it will be done.\" She understood it all. Mr. Melmotte was admitted into society, because of some enormous power which was supposed to lie in his hands; but even those who admitted him regarded him as a scoundrel. "}
+{"original":"This was the man whose house had been selected by her father in order that she might make her search for a husband from beneath his wing!\n","abridged":"This was the man whose house her father had sent her to, in order to search for a husband!\n"}
+{"original":"In her agony she wrote to her old friend Julia Triplex, now the wife of Sir Damask Monogram. She had been really intimate with Julia Triplex, and had been sympathetic when a brilliant marriage had been achieved. Julia had been without fortune, but very pretty. Sir Damask was a man of great wealth, whose father had been a contractor. But Sir Damask himself was a sportsman, keeping many horses on which other men often rode, a yacht in which other men sunned themselves, a deer forest, a moor, a large machinery for making pheasants. He shot pigeons at Hurlingham, drove four-in-hand in the park, had a box at every race-course, and was the most good-natured fellow known. He had really conquered the world, had got over the difficulty of being the grandson of a butcher, and was now as good as though the Monograms had gone to the crusades. Julia Triplex was equal to her position, and made the very most of it. She dispensed champagne and smiles, and made everybody, including herself, believe that she was in love with her husband. Lady Monogram had climbed to the top of the tree, and in that position had been, of course, invaluable to her old friend. ","abridged":"In her agony she wrote to her old friend Julia Triplex, now the wife of Sir Damask Monogram. She had been really intimate with Julia Triplex, and had been sympathetic when she made a brilliant marriage. Julia had been without fortune, but very pretty. Sir Damask, though the grandson of a butcher, was a man of great wealth. He kept a yacht, a deer forest, and a moor for pheasants. He shot pigeons at Hurlingham, drove four-in-hand in the park, had a box at every race-course, and was a good-natured fellow.\nJulia Triplex made the most of her position as Lady Monogram. She dispensed champagne and smiles, and made everybody, including herself, believe that she was in love with her husband. "}
+{"original":"We must give her her due and say that she had been fairly true to friendship while Georgiana--behaved herself. She thought that Georgiana in going to the Melmottes had--not behaved herself, and therefore she had determined to drop Georgiana. \"Heartless, false, purse-proud creature,\" Georgiana said to herself as she wrote the following letter in humiliating agony.\nDEAR LADY MONOGRAM,\n","abridged":"She had been fairly true in friendship while Georgiana behaved herself. But she thought that Georgiana in going to the Melmottes had not behaved herself, and therefore she had determined to drop her.\n\"Heartless, false creature,\" Georgiana said to herself as she wrote the following letter in humiliating agony.\nDear Lady Monogram,\n"}
+{"original":"I think you hardly understand my position. Of course you have cut me. Haven't you? And of course I must feel it very much. You did not use to be ill-natured, and I hardly think you can have become so now when you have everything pleasant around you. I do not think that I have done anything that should make an old friend treat me in this way, and therefore I write to ask you to let me see you. Of course it is because I am staying here. You know me well enough to be sure that it can't be my own choice. Papa arranged it all. If there is anything against these people, I suppose papa does not know it. ","abridged":"I think you hardly understand my position. Of course you have cut me. Haven't you? And of course I feel it very much. You did not use to be ill-natured, and I do not think that I have done anything that should make an old friend treat me in this way. Of course it is because I am staying here. You may be sure that it is not my own choice. Papa arranged it all. If there is anything against these people, I suppose papa does not know it. "}
+{"original":"Of course they are not nice. Of course they are not like anything that I have been used to. But when papa told me that the house in Bruton Street was to be shut up and that I was to come here, of course I did as I was bid. I don't think an old friend like you, whom I have always liked more than anybody else, ought to cut me for it. It's not about the parties, but about yourself that I mind. I don't ask you to come here, but if you will see me I can have the carriage and will go to you.\nYours, as ever,\nGEORGIANA LONGESTAFFE.\n","abridged":"Of course they are not nice, nor like anything that I have been used to. But when papa told me that the house in Bruton Street was to be shut up and that I was to come here, of course I did as I was bid. I don't think an old friend like you, whom I have always liked more than anybody else, ought to cut me for it. It's not about the parties, but about yourself that I mind. I don't ask you to come here, but if you will see me I can have the carriage and will go to you.\nYours, as ever,\nGeorgiana Longestaffe.\n"}
+{"original":"It was a troublesome letter to get written. Lady Monogram was her junior in age and had once been lower than herself in social position. In the early days of their friendship she had sometimes domineered over Julia Triplex, and had been entreated by Julia, in reference to balls here and routes there. The great Monogram marriage had been accomplished very suddenly, and had taken place,--exalting Julia very high,--just as Georgiana was beginning to allow her aspirations to descend. It was in that very season that she moved her castle in the air from the Upper to the Lower House. And now she was absolutely begging for notice, and praying that she might not be cut! She sent her letter by post and on the following day received a reply, which was left by a footman.\nDEAR GEORGIANA,\n","abridged":"It was a troublesome letter to write. Lady Monogram was her junior, and in the early days of their friendship Georgiana had sometimes domineered over her. The great Monogram marriage had exalted Julia very high, just as Georgiana's own aspirations were beginning to descend. And now she was absolutely begging and praying that she might not be cut!\nOn the following day a reply was brought by a footman.\nDear Georgiana,\n"}
+{"original":"Of course I shall be delighted to see you. I don't know what you mean by cutting. I never cut anybody. We happen to have got into different sets, but that is not my fault. Sir Damask won't let me call on the Melmottes. I can't help that. You wouldn't have me go where he tells me not. I don't know anything about them myself, except that I did go to their ball. But everybody knows that's different. I shall be at home all to-morrow till three,--that is to-day I mean, for I'm writing after coming home from Lady Killarney's ball; but if you wish to see me alone you had better come before lunch.\n","abridged":"Of course I shall be delighted to see you. I don't know what you mean by cutting. I never cut anybody. We happen to have got into different sets, but that is not my fault. Sir Damask won't let me call on the Melmottes. I can't help that. I did go to their ball, but everybody knows that's different. I shall be at home all tomorrow till three; but if you wish to see me alone you had better come before lunch.\n"}
+{"original":"Yours affectionately,\nJ. MONOGRAM.\nGeorgiana condescended to borrow the carriage and reached her friend's house a little after noon. The two ladies kissed each other when they met--of course, and then Miss Longestaffe at once began. \"Julia, I did think that you would at any rate have asked me to your second ball.\"\n\"Of course you would have been asked if you had been up in Bruton Street. You know that as well as I do. It would have been a matter of course.\"\n\"What difference does a house make?\"\n","abridged":"Yours affectionately,\nJ. Monogram.\nGeorgiana reached her friend's house a little after noon. The two ladies kissed each other, and then Miss Longestaffe at once began.\n\"Julia, I did think that you would at least have asked me to your second ball.\"\n\"Of course you would have been asked if you had been up in Bruton Street.\"\n\"What difference does a house make?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"But the people in a house make a great deal of difference, my dear. I don't want to quarrel with you, my dear; but I can't know the Melmottes.\"\n\"Who asks you?\"\n\"You are with them.\"\n\"Do you mean to say that you can't ask anybody to your house without asking everybody that lives with that person? It's done every day.\"\n\"Somebody must have brought you.\"\n\"I would have come with the Primeros, Julia.\"\n","abridged":"\"The people in a house make a great deal of difference, my dear. I don't want to quarrel with you; but I can't know the Melmottes. "}
+{"original":"\"I couldn't do it. I asked Damask and he wouldn't have it. When that great affair was going on in February, we didn't know much about the people. I was told that everybody was going and therefore I got Sir Damask to let me go. He says now that he won't let me know them; and after having been at their house I can't ask you out of it, without asking them too.\"\n\"I don't see it at all, Julia.\"\n\"I'm very sorry, my dear, but I can't go against my husband.\"\n\"Everybody goes to their house,\" said Georgiana, pleading her cause to the best of her ability. \"The Duchess of Stevenage has dined in Grosvenor Square since I have been there.\"\n\"We all know what that means,\" replied Lady Monogram.\n","abridged":"I asked Damask and he wouldn't have it. He won't let me know them; and I'm very sorry, my dear, but I can't go against my husband.\"\n\"Everybody goes to their house,\" pleaded Georgiana. \"The Duchess of Stevenage has dined there. "}
+{"original":"\"And people are giving their eyes to be asked to the dinner party which he is to give to the Emperor in July;--and even to the reception afterwards.\"\n\"To hear you talk, Georgiana, one would think that you didn't understand anything,\" said Lady Monogram. \"People are going to see the Emperor, not to see the Melmottes. I dare say we might have gone,--only I suppose we shan't now because of this row.\"\n\"I don't know what you mean by a row, Julia.\"\n\"Well;--it is a row, and I hate rows. Going there when the Emperor of China is there, or anything of that kind, is no more than going to the play. Somebody chooses to get all London into his house, and all London chooses to go. But it isn't understood that that means acquaintance. I should meet Madame Melmotte in the park afterwards and not think of bowing to her.\"\n","abridged":"And people are giving their eyes to be asked to the dinner party which he is to give to the Emperor in July.\"\n\"To hear you talk, Georgiana, one would think that you didn't understand anything,\" said Lady Monogram. \"People are going to see the Emperor, not to see the Melmottes. I dare say we might have gone, only I suppose we shan't now because of this row.\"\n\"I don't know what you mean by a row, Julia.\"\n\"Well, it is a row, and I hate rows. Going there to see the Emperor of China doesn't mean acquaintance. I should meet Madame Melmotte in the park afterwards and not think of bowing to her.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I should call that rude.\"\n\"Very well. Then we differ. But really it does seem to me that you ought to understand these things as well as anybody. I don't find any fault with you for going to the Melmottes,--though I was very sorry to hear it; but when you have done it, I don't think you should complain of people because they won't have the Melmottes crammed down their throats.\"\n\"Nobody has wanted it,\" said Georgiana sobbing. At this moment the door was opened, and Sir Damask came in. \"I'm talking to your wife about the Melmottes,\" she continued, determined to take the bull by the horns. \"I'm staying there, and--I think it--unkind that Julia--hasn't been--to see me. That's all.\"\n","abridged":"\"I should call that rude.\"\n\"Then we differ. But really you ought to understand these things. I don't find any fault with you for staying with the Melmottes, though I was very sorry to hear it; but I don't think you should complain of people because they won't have the Melmottes crammed down their throats.\"\n\"Nobody has wanted it,\" said Georgiana, with a sob. At this moment the door was opened, and Sir Damask came in. \"I'm talking to your wife about the Melmottes,\" she continued, determined to take the bull by the horns. \"I'm staying there, and I think it - unkind that Julia - hasn't been to see me.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"How'd you do, Miss Longestaffe? She doesn't know them.\" And Sir Damask, folding his hands together, raising his eyebrows, and standing on the rug, looked as though he had solved the whole difficulty.\n[Illustration: Sir Damask solving the difficulty.]\n\"She knows me, Sir Damask.\"\n","abridged":"\"How'd you do, Miss Longestaffe? She doesn't know them.\" And Sir Damask, folding his hands together, looked as though he had solved the whole difficulty.\n\"She knows me, Sir Damask.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh yes;--she knows you. That's a matter of course. We're delighted to see you, Miss Longestaffe--I am, always. Wish we could have had you at Ascot. But--.\" Then he looked as though he had again explained everything.\n\"I've told her that you don't want me to go to the Melmottes,\" said Lady Monogram.\n\"Well, no;--not just to go there. Stay and have lunch, Miss Longestaffe.\"\n\"No, thank you.\"\n","abridged":"\"Oh yes. We're delighted to see you, Miss Longestaffe. Wish we could have had you at Ascot. But-\" He looked as though he had again explained everything. \"Stay and have lunch, Miss Longestaffe.\"\n\"No, thank you. "}
+{"original":"\"Now you're here, you'd better,\" said Lady Monogram.\n\"No, thank you. I'm sorry that I have not been able to make you understand me. I could not allow our very long friendship to be dropped without a word.\"\n\"Don't say--dropped,\" exclaimed the baronet.\n\"I do say dropped, Sir Damask. I thought we should have understood each other;--your wife and I. But we haven't. Wherever she might have gone, I should have made it my business to see her; but she feels differently. Good-bye.\"\n","abridged":"I'm sorry that I have not been able to make you understand me, Julia. I could not allow our very long friendship to be dropped without a word.\"\n\"Don't say dropped,\" exclaimed the baronet.\n\"I do say dropped, Sir Damask. I thought your wife and I would understand each other; but we haven't. Wherever she might have gone, I should have seen her; but she feels differently. Good-bye.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Good-bye, my dear. If you will quarrel, it isn't my doing.\" Then Sir Damask led Miss Longestaffe out, and put her into Madame Melmotte's carriage. \"It's the most absurd thing I ever knew in my life,\" said the wife as soon as her husband had returned to her. \"She hasn't been able to bear to remain down in the country for one season, when all the world knows that her father can't afford to have a house for them in town. Then she condescends to come and stay with these abominations and pretends to feel surprised that her old friends don't run after her. She is old enough to have known better.\"\n\"I suppose she likes parties,\" said Sir Damask.\n","abridged":"\"It's the most absurd thing I ever knew,\" said his wife as soon as Georgiana had left. \"She couldn't bear to remain down in the country for one season. So she condescends to stay with these abominations and pretends to feel surprised that her old friends don't run after her. "}
+{"original":"\"Likes parties! She'd like to get somebody to take her. It's twelve years now since Georgiana Longestaffe came out. I remember being told of the time when I was first entered myself. Yes, my dear, you know all about it, I dare say. And there she is still. I can feel for her, and do feel for her. But if she will let herself down in that way she can't expect not to be dropped. You remember the woman;--don't you?\"\n\"What woman?\"\n","abridged":"I feel for her. But she must expect to be dropped. You remember the woman, don't you?\"\n\"What woman?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Madame Melmotte?\"\n\"Never saw her in my life.\"\n\"Oh yes, you did. You took me there that night when Prince ---- danced with the girl. Don't you remember the blowsy fat woman at the top of the stairs;--a regular horror?\"\n\"Didn't look at her. I was only thinking what a lot of money it all cost.\"\n\"I remember her, and if Georgiana Longestaffe thinks I'm going there to make an acquaintance with Madame Melmotte she is very much mistaken. And if she thinks that that is the way to get married, I think she is mistaken again.\" Nothing perhaps is so efficacious in preventing men from marrying as the tone in which married women speak of the struggles made in that direction by their unmarried friends.","abridged":"\"Madame Melmotte. The blowsy fat woman at the top of the stairs at the ball; a regular horror? If Georgiana Longestaffe thinks I'm going to make acquaintance with Madame Melmotte she is very much mistaken. And if she thinks that that is the way to get married, she is mistaken again.\"\nPerhaps nothing is so effective in preventing men from marrying, as the tone in which married women speak of these struggles of their unmarried friends."}
+{"original":"In the beginning of the last chapter, I informed you exactly _when_ I was born; but I did not inform you _how. No_, that particular was reserved entirely for a chapter by itself; --besides, Sir, as you and I are in a manner perfect strangers to each other, it would not have been proper to have let you into too many circumstances relating to myself all at once. --You must have a little patience. I have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that your knowledge of my character, and of what kind of a mortal I am, by the one, would give you a better relish for the other: As you proceed farther with me, the slight acquaintance, which is now beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity; and that, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship. --_O diem prclarum!_--then nothing which has touched me will be thought trifling in its nature, or tedious in its telling. Therefore, my dear friend and companion, if you should think me somewhat sparing of my narrative on my first setting out--bear with me, --and let me go on, and tell my story my own way: --Or, if I should seem now and then to trifle upon the road, --or should sometimes put on a fool's cap with a bell to it, for a moment or two as we pass along, --don't fly off, --but rather courteously give me credit for a little more wisdom than appears upon my outside; --and as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, or in short, do anything, --only keep your temper.","abridged":"In the beginning of the last chapter, I informed you exactly when I was born; but I did not inform you how. That is reserved for a chapter by itself; - besides, Sir, as you and I are perfect strangers, it would not be proper to let you into too many circumstances relating to me all at once. You must have a little patience.\nI have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that your knowledge of the one will give you a better relish for the other. As you proceed farther with me, the slight acquaintance, which is now beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity; and, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship. O famous day! - then nothing which has touched me will be thought trifling or tedious.\nTherefore, my dear friend and companion, bear with me, and let me tell my story my own way. Or, if I should seem now and then to trifle upon the road - or should sometimes put on a fool's cap with a bell to it - don't fly off, but rather give me credit for a little more wisdom than appears upon my outside; and as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, or in short, do anything, only keep your temper."}
+{"original":"There are a thousand resolutions, Sir, both in church and state, as well as in matters, Madam, of a more private concern; --which though they have carried all the appearance in the world of being taken, and entered upon in a hasty, hare-brained, and unadvised manner, were, notwithstanding this (and could you or I have got into the cabinet, or stood behind the curtain, we should have found it was so), weighed, poized, and perpended----argued upon--canvassed through----entered into, and examined on all sides with so much coolness, that the GODDESS of COOLNESS herself (I do not take upon me to prove her existence) could neither have wished it, or done it better.\nOf the number of these was my father's resolution of putting me into breeches; which, though determined at once, --in a kind of huff, and a defiance of all mankind, had, nevertheless, been _pro'd_ and _conn'd_, and judicially talked over betwixt him and my mother about a month before, in two several _beds of justice_, which my father had held for that purpose. I shall explain the nature of these beds of justice in my next chapter; and in the chapter following that, you shall step with me, Madam, behind the curtain, only to hear in what kind of manner my father and my mother debated between themselves, this affair of the breeches, --from which you may form an idea, how they debated all lesser matters.","abridged":"There are a thousand resolutions, Sir, both in church and state, as well as in private concerns, which, though they have the appearance of being taken in a hasty, hare-brained manner, were, however, weighed - argued about - entered into, and examined on all sides with so much coolness, that the Goddess of Coolness herself could not have done it better.\nOne of these was my father's resolution of putting me into breeches; which, though decided in a huff, and a defiance of all mankind, had, nevertheless, been judicially talked over betwixt him and my mother about a month before, in two different beds of justice, which my father had for that purpose.\nI shall explain the nature of these beds of justice in my next chapter; and in the chapter following that, you shall step with me, Madam, behind the curtain, to hear how my father and my mother debated this affair of the breeches - from which you may form an idea of how they debated all lesser matters."}
+{"original":"Doctor _Slop_ and _Susannah_ filed cross-bills against each other in the parlour; which done, as the cataplasm had failed, they retired into the kitchen to prepare a fomentation for me; --and whilst that was doing, my father determined the point as you will read.","abridged":"After this, as the cataplasm had failed, Dr. Slop and Susannah retired into the kitchen to prepare a fomentation for me; and meanwhile, my father decided the point as you will read."}
+{"original":"It was some time in the summer of that year in which _Dendermond_ was taken by the allies, --which was about seven years before my father came into the country, --and about as many, after the time, that my uncle _Toby_ and _Trim_ had privately decamped from my father's house in town, in order to lay some of the finest sieges to some of the finest fortified cities in _Europe_----when my uncle _Toby_ was one evening getting his supper, with _Trim_ sitting behind him at a small sideboard, --I say, sitting--for in consideration of the corporal's lame knee (which sometimes gave him exquisite pain)--when my uncle _Toby_ dined or supped alone, he would never suffer the corporal to stand; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my uncle _Toby_ could have taken _Dendermond_ itself, with less trouble than he was able to gain this point over him; for many a time when my uncle _Toby_ supposed the corporal's leg was at rest, he would look back, and detect him standing behind him with the most dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all other causes for five-and-twenty years together --But this is neither here nor there--why do I mention it? ----Ask my pen, --it governs me, --I govern not it.\nHe was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour, with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of sack; 'Tis for a poor gentleman, --I think, of the army, said the landlord, who has been taken ill at my house four days ago, and has never held up his head since, or had a desire to taste anything, till just now, that he has a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast, ----_I think_, says he, taking his hand from his forehead, _it would comfort me_.\n----If I could neither beg, borrow, or buy such a thing--added the landlord, --I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill. ----I hope in God he will still mend, continued he, --we are all of us concerned for him.\nThou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my uncle _Toby_; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself, --and take a couple of bottles with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they will do him good.\nThough I am persuaded, said my uncle _Toby_, as the landlord shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow--_Trim_, --yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in him, that in so short a time should win so much upon the affections of his host; ----And of his whole family, added the corporal, for they are all concerned for him. ----Step after him, said my uncle _Toby_, --do, _Trim_, --and ask if he knows his name.\n----I have quite forgot it truly, said the landlord, coming back into the parlour with the corporal, --but I can ask his son again: ----Has he a son with him then? said my uncle _Toby_. --A boy, replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age; --but the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father; he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day: ----He has not stirred from the bed-side these two days.\n","abridged":"It was in the summer of that year in which Dendermond was taken by the allies, which was about seven years after my uncle Toby and Trim had gone into the country to lay siege upon the bowling-green to some of the finest fortified cities in Europe.\nMy uncle Toby was one evening at home having his supper, with Trim sitting behind him - for in consideration of the corporal's lame and painful knee, when my uncle Toby dined, he would never allow the corporal to stand; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such that my uncle Toby had some trouble in maintaining this point; for often he would look back and see the corporal standing behind him with the most dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all other causes in five-and-twenty years-\nBut this is neither here nor there. Why do I mention it? Ask my pen, it governs me - I govern not it.\nHe was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour, with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass of sherry.\n''Tis for a poor gentleman - I think, of the army,' said the landlord, 'who was taken ill at my house four days ago, and has had no desire to taste anything, till just now, when he took a fancy for a glass of sherry and thin toast. If I could not beg it, I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill. We are all of us concerned for him.'\n'Thou art a good-natured soul,' cried my uncle Toby; 'and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass thyself: take a couple of bottles, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they will do him good.'\nAs the landlord shut the door, my uncle said to Trim: 'I am sure he is a very compassionate fellow, Trim - yet I cannot help thinking that there must be something uncommon in his guest, too, to make the landlord and his family care so much for him. Step after him, Trim, do; and ask if he knows his name.'\n'I have quite forgot it, truly,' said the landlord, on returning with the corporal, 'but I can ask his son. He has a boy of eleven or twelve years of age; - but the poor creature has eaten as little as his father; he does nothing but mourn for him, and has not stirred from the bedside these two days.'\n"}
+{"original":"My uncle _Toby_ laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and _Trim_, without being ordered, took away, without saying one word, and in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco.\n----Stay in the room a little, said my uncle _Toby_.\n_Trim!_----said my uncle _Toby_, after he lighted his pipe, and smoak'd about a dozen whiffs. ----_Trim_ came in front of his master, and made his bow; --my uncle _Toby_ smoak'd on, and said no more. ----Corporal! said my uncle _Toby_----the corporal made his bow. ----My uncle _Toby_ proceeded no farther, but finished his pipe.\n","abridged":"My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate away. Trim brought him his pipe and tobacco.\n'Stay a little,' said my uncle Toby, lighting his pipe. After he had smoked about a dozen whiffs, he said,\n'Trim! "}
+{"original":"_Trim!_ said my uncle _Toby_, I have a project in my head, as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman. ----Your honour's roquelaure, replied the corporal, has not once been had on, since the night before your honour received your wound, when we mounted guard in the trenches before the gate of St. _Nicolas_; ----and besides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that what with the roquelaure, and what with the weather, 'twill be enough to give your honour your death, and bring on your honour's torment in your groin. I fear so, replied my uncle _Toby_; but I am not at rest in my mind, _Trim_, since the account the landlord has given me. ----I wish I had not known so much of this affair, --added my uncle _Toby_, --or that I had known more of it: ----How shall we manage it? Leave it, an't please your honour, to me, quoth the corporal; ----I'll take my hat and stick and go to the house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will bring your honour a full account in an hour. ----Thou shalt go, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_, and here's a shilling for thee to drink with his servant. ----I shall get it all out of him, said the corporal, shutting the door.\nMy uncle _Toby_ filled his second pipe; and had it not been, that he now and then wandered from the point, with considering whether it was not full as well to have the curtain of the tenaille a straight line, as a crooked one, --he might be said to have thought of nothing else but poor _Le Fever_ and his boy the whole time he smoaked it.","abridged":"As it is a bad night, I am thinking of wrapping myself up in my cloak, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman.'\n'Your honour has not worn your cloak,' replied the corporal, 'since the night before your honour received your wound; and it is so cold and rainy a night, that even with the cloak, 'twill bring on your honour's torment in your groin.'\n'I fear so,' replied my uncle Toby; 'but I am not at rest in my mind, Trim, since the landlord's account.'\n'Leave it to me, your honour,' quoth the corporal. 'I'll go to the house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will bring your honour a full account in an hour.'\n'Go, Trim,' said my uncle; 'here's a shilling for thee to drink with his servant.'\n'I shall get it all out of him,' said the corporal, shutting the door.\nMy uncle Toby filled his second pipe; and apart from wondering whether a fortified outwork was as well in a straight line, as a crooked one, - he might be said to have thought of nothing but poor Le Fever and his boy the whole time he smoked it."}
+{"original":"------How could you, Madam, be so inattentive in reading the last chapter? I told you in it, _That my mother was not a papist_. ----Papist! You told me no such thing, Sir. --Madam, I beg leave to repeat it over again, that I told you as plain, at least, as words, by direct inference, could tell you such a thing. --Then, Sir, I must have miss'd a page. --No, Madam, --you have not miss'd a word. ----Then I was asleep, Sir. --My pride, Madam, cannot allow you that refuge. ----Then, I declare, I know nothing at all about the matter. ","abridged":"How could you, Madam, be so inattentive? I told you in that last chapter, that my mother was not a papist.\n- Papist! You told me no such thing, Sir.\n- Madam, I repeat that I told you as plain as words could tell.\n- Then I must have missed a page.\n- No, Madam, you have not missed a word.\n- Then I was asleep, Sir.\n"}
+{"original":"--That, Madam, is the very fault I lay to your charge; and as a punishment for it, I do insist upon it, that you immediately turn back, that is, as soon as you get to the next full stop, and read the whole chapter over again. I have imposed this penance upon the lady, neither out of wantonness nor cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore shall make her no apology for it when she returns back: --'Tis to rebuke a vicious taste, which has crept into thousands besides herself, --of reading straight forwards, more in quest of the adventures, than of the deep erudition and knowledge which a book of this cast, if read over as it should be, would infallibly impart with them ----The mind should be accustomed to make wise reflections, and draw curious conclusions as it goes along; the habitude of which made _Pliny_ the younger affirm, \"That he never read a book so bad, but he drew some profit from it.\" The stories of _Greece_ and _Rome_, run over without this turn and application, --do less service, I affirm it, than the history of _Parismus_ and _Parismenus_, or of the Seven Champions of _England_, read with it.\n------But here comes my fair lady. Have you read over again the chapter, Madam, as I desired you? --You have: And did you not observe the passage, upon the second reading, which admits the inference? ----Not a word like it! Then, Madam, be pleased to ponder well the last line but one of the chapter, where I take upon me to say, \"It was _necessary_ I should be born before I was christen'd.\" Had my mother, Madam, been a Papist, that consequence did not follow.[1.1]\n","abridged":"- No, Madam. I insist that you immediately turn back, and read the whole chapter over again.\nI have imposed this penance upon the lady, not out of cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore make her no apology. 'Tis to rebuke a vicious taste which has crept into thousands besides herself, of reading more in quest of the adventures, than of the deep knowledge which a book of this type should impart. The reader should be accustomed to make wise reflections as he goes; a habit which made Pliny the younger affirm, 'That he never read a book so bad that he could not draw some profit from it.'\nBut here comes my fair lady. - Have you read over again the chapter, Madam, as I asked? You have: And did you not observe the passage? No? Then, Madam, please ponder well the last line but one, where I say, 'It was necessary I should be born before I was christened.' Had my mother, Madam, been a Papist, that consequence would not follow.\n"}
+{"original":"It is a terrible misfortune for this same book of mine, but more so to the Republick of letters; --so that my own is quite swallowed up in the consideration of it, --that this selfsame vile pruriency for fresh adventures in all things, has got so strongly into our habit and humour, --and so wholly intent are we upon satisfying the impatience of our concupiscence that way, --that nothing but the gross and more carnal parts of a composition will go down: --The subtle hints and sly communications of science fly off, like spirits upwards, ----the heavy moral escapes downwards; and both the one and the other are as much lost to the world, as if they were still left in the bottom of the ink-horn.\nI wish the male-reader has not pass'd by many a one, as quaint and curious as this one, in which the female-reader has been detected. I wish it may have its effects; --and that all good people, both male and female, from her example, may be taught to think as well as read.\nMEMOIRE present Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE[1.2]\n_Un Chirurgien Accoucheur, represente Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE, qu'il y a des cas, quoique trs rares, o une mere ne sauroit accoucher, & mme o l'enfant est tellement renferm dans le sein de sa mere, qu'il ne fait paritre aucune partie de son corps, ce qui seroit un cas, suivant les Rituels, de lui confrer, du moins sous condition, le baptme. Le Chirurgien, qui consulte, prtend, par le moyen d'une _petite canulle_, de pouvoir baptiser immediatement l'enfant, sans faire aucun tort la mere. ----Il demand si ce moyen, qu'il vient de proposer, est permis & lgitime, & s'il peut s'en servir dans les cas qu'il vient d'exposer._\n[Footnote 1.1: The _Romish_ Rituals direct the baptizing of the child, in cases of danger, _before_ it is born; --but upon this proviso, That some part or other of the child's body be seen by the baptizer: ----But the Doctors of the _Sorbonne_, by a deliberation held amongst them, _April_ 10, 1733, --have enlarged the powers of the midwives, by determining, That though no part of the child's body should appear, ----that baptism shall, nevertheless, be administered to it by injection, --_par le moyen d'une petite canulle_, --Anglic _a squirt_. ----'Tis very strange that St. _Thomas Aquinas_, who had so good a mechanical head, both for tying and untying the knots of school-divinity, --should, after so much pains bestowed upon this, --give up the point at last, as a second _La chose impossible_, --\"Infantes in maternis uteris existentes (quoth St. _Thomas!_) baptizari possunt _nullo modo_.\" --O _Thomas!_ _Thomas!_\n","abridged":"- For the Romish rituals direct the baptising of the child, if it is in danger, before it is born; and the Doctors of the Sorbonne have determined that baptism may be administered to the unborn child by injection, using une petite canulle - or in English, a squirt. ('Tis very strange that St. Thomas Aquinas should have rejected this possibility. - 'Infantes in maternis uteris existentes,' quoth he, 'baptizari possunt nullo modo.' - O Thomas! Thomas!)\nIt is a terrible misfortune for this book of mine - as for all literature - that the vile lust for fresh adventures has got so strongly into our habit. So intent are we upon satisfying the impatience of our desire that nothing but the gross and carnal parts of a book go in. Subtle hints fly off like spirits upwards; the heavy moral escapes downwards; and both are as much lost to the world, as if they were left in the bottom of the ink-well.\nI wish that from this reader's example, all good people may be taught to think as well as read.\nIf the reader is curious to see the question upon baptism by injection, as presented to the Doctors of the Sorbonne, with their response thereupon, it is as follows.\n(Note: A translation from the French by the abridger follows each section below:)\nMEMOIRE present Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE . [Vide Deventer, Paris edit., 4to, 1734, p. 366.]\nUn Chirurgien Accoucheur, represente Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE, qu'il y a des cas, quoique trs rares, o une mere ne sauroit accoucher, & mme o l'enfant est tellement renferm dans le sein de sa mere, qu'il ne fait paritre aucune partie de son corps, ce qui seroit un cas, suivant les Rituels, de lui confrer, du moins sous condition, le baptme. Le Chirurgien, qui consulte, prtend, par le moyen d'une petite canulle, de pouvoir baptiser immediatement l'enfant, sans faire aucun tort la mere. Il demand si ce moyen, qu'il vient de proposer, est permis & lgitime, & s'il peut s'en servir dans les cas qu'il vient d'exposer.\n(Translation: A baby may be baptised before it is born, in certain cases, by means of a little tube.)\n"}
+{"original":"If the reader has the curiosity to see the question upon baptism _by injection_, as presented to the Doctors of the _Sorbonne_, with their consultation thereupon, it is as follows.]\n[Footnote 1.2: Vide Deventer, Paris edit., 4to, 1734, p. 366.]\nREPONSE\n_Le Conseil estime, que la question propose souffre de grandes difficults. Les Thologiens posent d'un ct pour principe, que le baptme, qui est une naissance spirituelle, suppose une premiere naissance; il faut tre n dans le monde, pour renatre en _Jesus Christ_, comme ils l'enseignent. _S. Thomas, 3 part, qust. 88, artic. II_, suit cette doctrine comme une verit constante; l'on ne peut, dit ce S. Docteur, baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, & _S. Thomas_ est fond sur ce, que les enfans ne sont point ns, & ne peuvent tre compts parmi les autres hommes; d'o il conclud, qu'ils ne peuvent tre l'objet d'une action extrieure, pour reevoir par leur ministre, les sacremens ncessaires au salut:_ Pueri in maternis uteris existentes nondum prodierunt in lucem ut cum aliis hominibus vitam ducant; unde non possunt subjici actioni human, ut per eorum ministerium sacramenta recipiant ad salutem. _Les rituels ordonnent dans la pratique ce que les thologiens ont tabli sur les mmes matires, & ils deffendent tous d'une manire uniforme, de baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, s'ils ne font parotre quelque partie de leurs corps. Le concours des thologiens, & des rituels, qui sont les rgles des diocses, paroit former une autorit qui termine la question presente; cependant le conseil de conscience considerant d'un ct, que le raisonnement des thologiens est uniquement fond sur une raison de convenance, & que la deffense des rituels suppose que l'on ne peut baptiser immediatement les enfans ainsi renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, ce qui est contre la supposition presente; & d'un autre ct, considerant que les mmes thologiens enseignent, que l'on peut risquer les sacremens que _Jesus Christ_ a tablis comme des moyens faciles, mais ncessaires pour sanctifier les hommes; & d'ailleurs estimant, que les enfans renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, pourroient tre capables de salut, parcequ'ils sont capables de damnation; --pour ces considerations, & en egard l'expos, suivant lequel on assure avoir trouv un moyen certain de baptiser ces enfans ainsi renferms, sans faire aucun tort la mere, le Conseil estime que l'on pourroit se servir du moyen propos, dans la confiance qu'il a, que Dieu n'a point laiss ces sortes d'enfans sans aucuns secours, & supposant, comme il est expos, que le moyen dont il s'agit est propre leur procurer le baptme; cependant comme il s'agiroit, en autorisant la pratique propose, de changer une regie universellement tablie, le Conseil croit que celui qui consulte doit s'addresser son evque, & qui il appartient de juger de l'utilit, & du danger du moyen propos, & comme, sous le bon plaisir de l'evque, le Conseil estime qu'il faudroit recourir au Pape, qui a le droit d'expliquer les rgles de l'eglise, & d'y droger dans le cas, ou la loi ne sauroit obliger, quelque sage & quelque utile que paroisse la manire de baptiser dont il s'agit, le Conseil ne pourroit l'approuver sans le concours de ces deux autorits. On conseile au moins celui qui consulte, de s'addresser son evque, & de lui faire part de la presente dcision, afin que, si le prelat entre dans les raisons sur lesquelles les docteurs soussigns s'appuyent, il puisse tre autoris dans le cas de ncessit, ou il risqueroit trop d'attendre que la permission ft demande & accorde d'employer le moyen qu'il propose si avantageux au salut de l'enfant. Au reste, le Conseil, en estimant que l'on pourroit s'en servir, croit cependant, que si les enfans dont il s'agit, venoient au monde, contre l'esperance de ceux qui se seroient servis du mme moyen, il seroit ncessaire de les baptiser sous condition; & en cela le Conseil se conforme tous les rituels, qui en autorisant le baptme d'un enfant qui fait parotre quelque partie de son corps, enjoignent nantmoins, & ordonnent de le baptiser sous condition, s'il vient heureusement au monde._\n","abridged":"RESPONSE\nLe Conseil estime, que la question propose souffre de grandes difficults. Les Thologiens posent d'un ct pour principe, que le baptme, qui est une naissance spirituelle, suppose une premiere naissance; il faut tre n dans le monde, pour renatre en Jesus Christ, comme ils l'enseignent. S. Thomas, 3 part, qust. 88, artic. II, suit cette doctrine comme une verit constante; l'on ne peut, dit ce S. Docteur, baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, & S. Thomas est fond sur ce, que les enfans ne sont point ns, & ne peuvent tre compts parmi les autres hommes; d'o il conclud, qu'ils ne peuvent tre l'objet d'une action extrieure, pour reevoir par leur ministre, les sacremens ncessaires au salut: Pueri in maternis uteris existentes nondum prodierunt in lucem ut cum aliis hominibus vitam ducant; unde non possunt subjici actioni human, ut per eorum ministerium sacramenta recipiant ad salutem. Les rituels ordonnent dans la pratique ce que les thologiens ont tabli sur les mmes matires, & ils deffendent tous d'une manire uniforme, de baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, s'ils ne font parotre quelque partie de leurs corps. Le concours des thologiens, & des rituels, qui sont les rgles des diocses, paroit former une autorit qui termine la question presente; cependant le conseil de conscience considerant d'un ct, que le raisonnement des thologiens est uniquement fond sur une raison de convenance, & que la deffense des rituels suppose que l'on ne peut baptiser immediatement les enfans ainsi renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, ce qui est contre la supposition presente; & d'un autre ct, considerant que les mmes thologiens enseignent, que l'on peut risquer les sacremens que Jesus Christ a tablis comme des moyens faciles, mais ncessaires pour sanctifier les hommes; & d'ailleurs estimant, que les enfans renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, pourroient tre capables de salut, parcequ'ils sont capables de damnation; -pour ces considerations, & en egard l'expos, suivant lequel on assure avoir trouv un moyen certain de baptiser ces enfans ainsi renferms, sans faire aucun tort la mere, le Conseil estime que l'on pourroit se servir du moyen propos, dans la confiance qu'il a, que Dieu n'a point laiss ces sortes d'enfans sans aucuns secours, & supposant, comme il est expos, que le moyen dont il s'agit est propre leur procurer le baptme; cependant comme il s'agiroit, en autorisant la pratique propose, de changer une regie universellement tablie, le Conseil croit que celui qui consulte doit s'addresser son evque, & qui il appartient de juger de l'utilit, & du danger du moyen propos, & comme, sous le bon plaisir de l'evque, le Conseil estime qu'il faudroit recourir au Pape, qui a le droit d'expliquer les rgles de l'eglise, & d'y droger dans le cas, ou la loi ne sauroit obliger, quelque sage & quelque utile que paroisse la manire de baptiser dont il s'agit, le Conseil ne pourroit l'approuver sans le concours de ces deux autorits. On conseile au moins celui qui consulte, de s'addresser son evque, & de lui faire part de la presente dcision, afin que, si le prelat entre dans les raisons sur lesquelles les docteurs soussigns s'appuyent, il puisse tre autoris dans le cas de ncessit, ou il risqueroit trop d'attendre que la permission ft demande & accorde d'employer le moyen qu'il propose si avantageux au salut de l'enfant.\n(Translation: No! If a child is not born it cannot be baptised. Though if you really must, perhaps it can.)\n"}
+{"original":"Deliber en _Sorbonne_, le 10 _Avril_, 1733.\nA. LE MOYNE. L. DE ROMIGNY. DE MARCILLY.\nMr. _Tristram Shandy's_ compliments to Messrs. _Le Moyne_, _De Romigny_, and _De Marcilly_; hopes they all rested well the night after so tiresome a consultation. --He begs to know, whether after the ceremony of marriage, and before that of consummation, the baptizing all the HOMUNCULI at once, slapdash, by _injection_, would not be a shorter and safer cut still; on condition, as above, That if the HOMUNCULI do well, and come safe into the world after this, that each and every of them shall be baptized again (_sous condition_) ----And provided, in the second place, That the thing can be done, which _Mr. Shandy_ apprehends it may, _par le moyen d'une petite canulle_, and _sans faire aucun tort au pere_.","abridged":"Sorbonne, le 10 Avril, 1733.\nA. LE MOYNE.\nL. DE ROMIGNY.\nDE MARCILLY.\nMr. Tristram Shandy's compliments to Messrs. Le Moyne, De Romigny, and De Marcilly; he hopes they rested well the night after so tiresome a consultation. He begs to know whether after the ceremony of marriage, and before that of consummation, the baptizing of all the Homunculi at once, slapdash, by injection, would not be a shorter and safer cut still; if they come safe into the world after this, they shall be baptized again.\n- Provided that the thing can be done, which Mr. Shandy believes it may, par le moyen d'une petite canulle, and sans faire aucun tort au pere (by means of a tiny tube, and without doing any damage to the father.)"}
+{"original":"When Jos's fine carriage drove up to the inn door at Chatham, the first face which Amelia recognized was the friendly countenance of Captain Dobbin, who had been pacing the street for an hour past in expectation of his friends' arrival. The Captain, with shells on his frockcoat, and a crimson sash and sabre, presented a military appearance, which made Jos quite proud to be able to claim such an acquaintance, and the stout civilian hailed him with a cordiality very different from the reception which Jos vouchsafed to his friend in Brighton and Bond Street.\n","abridged":"When Jos's carriage drove Amelia to the inn at Chatham, the first face she recognized was Captain Dobbin's. He had been pacing the street for an hour waiting for his friends' arrival. The Captain, with a crimson sash and sabre, had such a military appearance that Jos was quite proud to claim acquaintance with him, and he hailed him much more cordially than he had in London.\n"}
+{"original":"Along with the Captain was Ensign Stubble; who, as the barouche neared the inn, burst out with an exclamation of \"By Jove! what a pretty girl\"; highly applauding Osborne's choice. Indeed, Amelia dressed in her wedding-pelisse and pink ribbons, with a flush in her face, occasioned by rapid travel through the open air, looked so fresh and pretty, as fully to justify the Ensign's compliment. Dobbin liked him for making it. As he stepped forward to help the lady out of the carriage, Stubble saw what a pretty little hand she gave him, and what a sweet pretty little foot came tripping down the step. He blushed profusely, and made the very best bow of which he was capable; to which Amelia, seeing the number of the the regiment embroidered on the Ensign's cap, replied with a blushing smile, and a curtsey on her part; which finished the young Ensign on the spot. Dobbin took most kindly to Mr. Stubble from that day, and encouraged him to talk about Amelia in their private walks, and at each other's quarters. It became the fashion, indeed, among all the honest young fellows of the --th to adore and admire Mrs. Osborne. Her simple artless behaviour, and modest kindness of demeanour, won all their unsophisticated hearts; all which simplicity and sweetness are quite impossible to describe in print. But who has not beheld these among women, and recognised the presence of all sorts of qualities in them, even though they say no more to you than that they are engaged to dance the next quadrille, or that it is very hot weather? ","abridged":"With the Captain was Ensign Stubble; who, as the barouche approached, exclaimed \"By Jove! what a pretty girl!\"\nIndeed, Amelia, dressed in her wedding-pelisse, flushed with travel and the open air, looked so fresh and pretty as fully to justify the Ensign's compliment. Dobbin liked him for making it. As he helped her out of the carriage, Stubble saw what a pretty little hand she gave him, and what a sweet little foot came tripping down the step. He blushed profusely, and made his very best bow; to which Amelia replied with a smile and a curtsey which finished the young Ensign on the spot.\nDobbin took most kindly to Mr. Stubble from that day, and encouraged him to talk about Amelia. It became the fashion, indeed, among all the honest young fellows of the Regiment to admire Mrs. Osborne. Her artless behaviour and modest kindness won their unsophisticated hearts. "}
+{"original":"George, always the champion of his regiment, rose immensely in the opinion of the youth of the corps, by his gallantry in marrying this portionless young creature, and by his choice of such a pretty kind partner.\nIn the sitting-room which was awaiting the travellers, Amelia, to her surprise, found a letter addressed to Mrs. Captain Osborne. It was a triangular billet, on pink paper, and sealed with a dove and an olive branch, and a profusion of light blue sealing wax, and it was written in a very large, though undecided female hand.\n\"It's Peggy O'Dowd's fist,\" said George, laughing. \"I know it by the kisses on the seal.\" And in fact, it was a note from Mrs. Major O'Dowd, requesting the pleasure of Mrs. Osborne's company that very evening to a small friendly party. \"You must go,\" George said. \"You will make acquaintance with the regiment there. O'Dowd goes in command of the regiment, and Peggy goes in command.\"\nBut they had not been for many minutes in the enjoyment of Mrs. O'Dowd's letter, when the door was flung open, and a stout jolly lady, in a riding-habit, followed by a couple of officers of Ours, entered the room.\n","abridged":"George, always the champion of his regiment, rose immensely in their opinion by his gallantry in marrying this portionless, pretty young creature.\nOn her arrival, Amelia, to her surprise, found a letter addressed to her. It was on pink paper, and sealed with a dove and an olive branch, and a profusion of light blue sealing wax, and it was written in a very large female hand.\n\"It's Peggy O'Dowd's writing,\" said George, laughing. And indeed it was a note from Mrs. Major O'Dowd, requesting the pleasure of Mrs. Osborne's company that evening at a small party. \"You must go,\" George said. \"O'Dowd goes in command of the regiment, and Peggy just goes in command.\"\nBut minutes later the door was flung open, and a stout jolly lady in a riding-habit, followed by a couple of officers, entered the room.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Sure, I couldn't stop till tay-time. Present me, Garge, my dear fellow, to your lady. Madam, I'm deloighted to see ye; and to present to you me husband, Meejor O'Dowd\"; and with this, the jolly lady in the riding-habit grasped Amelia's hand very warmly, and the latter knew at once that the lady was before her whom her husband had so often laughed at. \"You've often heard of me from that husband of yours,\" said the lady, with great vivacity.\n\"You've often heard of her,\" echoed her husband, the Major.\nAmelia answered, smiling, \"that she had.\"\n\"And small good he's told you of me,\" Mrs. O'Dowd replied; adding that \"George was a wicked divvle.\"\n\"That I'll go bail for,\" said the Major, trying to look knowing, at which George laughed; and Mrs. O'Dowd, with a tap of her whip, told the Major to be quiet; and then requested to be presented in form to Mrs. Captain Osborne.\n\"This, my dear,\" said George with great gravity, \"is my very good, kind, and excellent friend, Auralia Margaretta, otherwise called Peggy.\"\n\"Faith, you're right,\" interposed the Major.\n","abridged":"\"Sure, I couldn't stop till tay-time. Present me, Garge, my dear fellow, to your lady. Madam, I'm deloighted to see ye; and to present to you me husband, Meejor O'Dowd.\" The jolly lady grasped Amelia's hand very warmly. \"You've often heard of me from that husband of yours,\" she said with vivacity.\n\"You've often heard of her,\" echoed her husband, the Major.\nAmelia answered, smiling, that she had.\n\"And small good he's told you of me,\" Mrs. O'Dowd replied; adding that \"George was a wicked divvle.\"\n\"This, my dear,\" said George, \"is my very good excellent friend Auralia, otherwise called Peggy.\"\n\"Faith, you're right,\" interposed the Major.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Otherwise called Peggy, lady of Major Michael O'Dowd, of our regiment, and daughter of Fitzjurld Ber'sford de Burgo Malony of Glenmalony, County Kildare.\"\n\"And Muryan Squeer, Doblin,\" said the lady with calm superiority.\n\"And Muryan Square, sure enough,\" the Major whispered.\n\"'Twas there ye coorted me, Meejor dear,\" the lady said; and the Major assented to this as to every other proposition which was made generally in company.\nMajor O'Dowd, who had served his sovereign in every quarter of the world, and had paid for every step in his profession by some more than equivalent act of daring and gallantry, was the most modest, silent, sheep-faced and meek of little men, and as obedient to his wife as if he had been her tay-boy. At the mess-table he sat silently, and drank a great deal. When full of liquor, he reeled silently home. When he spoke, it was to agree with everybody on every conceivable point; and he passed through life in perfect ease and good-humour. The hottest suns of India never heated his temper; and the Walcheren ague never shook it. He walked up to a battery with just as much indifference as to a dinner-table; had dined on horse-flesh and turtle with equal relish and appetite; and had an old mother, Mrs. O'Dowd of O'Dowdstown indeed, whom he had never disobeyed but when he ran away and enlisted, and when he persisted in marrying that odious Peggy Malony.\n","abridged":"\"Lady of Major Michael O'Dowd, of our regiment, and daughter of Fitzjurld Ber'sford de Burgo Malony of Glenmalony, County Kildare.\"\n\"And Muryan Squeer, Doblin,\" said the lady with calm superiority.\n\"And Muryan Square, sure enough,\" the Major whispered.\n\"'Twas there ye coorted me, Meejor dear,\" the lady said; and the Major assented to this as to every other thing she said.\nMajor O'Dowd, who had served his sovereign gallantly in every quarter of the world, was the most modest and meek of little men, totally obedient to his wife. At the mess-table he sat silently, and drank a great deal. When full of liquor, he reeled silently home. When he spoke, it was to agree with everybody; and he passed through life in perfect good-humour. He had an old mother whom he had never disobeyed except when he ran away and enlisted, and when he married that odious Peggy Malony.\n"}
+{"original":"Peggy was one of five sisters, and eleven children of the noble house of Glenmalony; but her husband, though her own cousin, was of the mother's side, and so had not the inestimable advantage of being allied to the Malonys, whom she believed to be the most famous family in the world. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two at Bath and Cheltenham, and not finding a partner for life, Miss Malony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her when she was about thirty-three years of age; and the honest fellow obeying, carried her off to the West Indies, to preside over the ladies of the --th regiment, into which he had just exchanged.\nBefore Mrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's (or indeed in anybody else's) company, this amiable lady told all her birth and pedigree to her new friend. \"My dear,\" said she, good-naturedly, \"it was my intention that Garge should be a brother of my own, and my sister Glorvina would have suited him entirely. But as bygones are bygones, and he was engaged to yourself, why, I'm determined to take you as a sister instead, and to look upon you as such, and to love you as one of the family. Faith, you've got such a nice good-natured face and way widg you, that I'm sure we'll agree; and that you'll be an addition to our family anyway.\"\n\"'Deed and she will,\" said O'Dowd, with an approving air, and Amelia felt herself not a little amused and grateful to be thus suddenly introduced to so large a party of relations.\n","abridged":"Peggy was one of eleven children of the noble house of Glenmalony; her husband was her cousin on her mother's side. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two at Bath without finding a husband, Miss Malony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her when she was about thirty-three; and the honest fellow obeyed.\nBefore Mrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's (or indeed in anybody's) company, this amiable lady told all her pedigree to her new friend.\n\"My dear,\" said she, good-naturedly, \"I meant for Garge to marry my sister Glorvina; she would have suited him entirely. But as he was engaged to yourself, I'm determined to love you as a sister. Faith, I'm sure you'll be an addition to our family.\"\n\"'Deed and she will,\" said O'Dowd, and Amelia felt amused and grateful to be thus suddenly introduced to so many relations.\n"}
+{"original":"\"We're all good fellows here,\" the Major's lady continued. \"There's not a regiment in the service where you'll find a more united society nor a more agreeable mess-room. There's no quarrelling, bickering, slandthering, nor small talk amongst us. We all love each other.\"\n\"Especially Mrs. Magenis,\" said George, laughing.\n\"Mrs. Captain Magenis and me has made up, though her treatment of me would bring me gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.\"\n\"And you with such a beautiful front of black, Peggy, my dear,\" the Major cried.\n","abridged":"\"We're all good fellows in this regiment,\" the Major's lady continued. \"There's no quarrelling, bickering, nor slandthering amongst us. We all love each other.\"\n\"Especially Mrs. Magenis,\" said George, laughing.\n\"Mrs. Captain Magenis and me has made up, though her treatment of me would bring me grey hairs.\"\n\"And you with such beautiful black locks, Peggy, my dear,\" the Major cried.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Hould your tongue, Mick, you booby. Them husbands are always in the way, Mrs. Osborne, my dear; and as for my Mick, I often tell him he should never open his mouth but to give the word of command, or to put meat and drink into it. I'll tell you about the regiment, and warn you when we're alone. Introduce me to your brother now; sure he's a mighty fine man, and reminds me of me cousin, Dan Malony (Malony of Ballymalony, my dear, you know who mar'ied Ophalia Scully, of Oystherstown, own cousin to Lord Poldoody). Mr. Sedley, sir, I'm deloighted to be made known te ye. I suppose you'll dine at the mess to-day. (Mind that divvle of a docther, Mick, and whatever ye du, keep yourself sober for me party this evening.)\"\n\"It's the 150th gives us a farewell dinner, my love,\" interposed the Major, \"but we'll easy get a card for Mr. Sedley.\"\n","abridged":"\"Hould your tongue, Mick, you booby. Them husbands are always in the way, Mrs. Osborne, my dear; and I often tell my Mick he should never open his mouth but to give the word of command, or to put meat and drink into it. Introduce me to your brother now; sure he's a mighty fine man. Mr. Sedley, sir, I'm deloighted to be made known te ye. I suppose you'll dine at the mess today.\"\n\"It's a farewell dinner, my love,\" interposed the Major, \"but we'll easy get a card for Mr. Sedley.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Run Simple (Ensign Simple, of Ours, my dear Amelia. I forgot to introjuice him to ye). Run in a hurry, with Mrs. Major O'Dowd's compliments to Colonel Tavish, and Captain Osborne has brought his brothernlaw down, and will bring him to the 150th mess at five o'clock sharp--when you and I, my dear, will take a snack here, if you like.\" Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concluded, the young Ensign was trotting downstairs on his commission.\n\"Obedience is the soul of the army. We will go to our duty while Mrs. O'Dowd will stay and enlighten you, Emmy,\" Captain Osborne said; and the two gentlemen, taking each a wing of the Major, walked out with that officer, grinning at each other over his head.\n","abridged":"\"Ensign Simple, run with Mrs. Major O'Dowd's compliments to Colonel Tavish, and Captain Osborne has brought his brothernlaw down, and will bring him to the mess at five o'clock.\" Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concluded, the young Ensign was trotting downstairs.\n\"Obedience is the soul of the army. We will go to our duty while Mrs. O'Dowd will stay and enlighten you, Emmy,\" Captain Osborne said; and the two gentlemen walked out with the Major, grinning at each other.\n"}
+{"original":"And, now having her new friend to herself, the impetuous Mrs. O'Dowd proceeded to pour out such a quantity of information as no poor little woman's memory could ever tax itself to bear. She told Amelia a thousand particulars relative to the very numerous family of which the amazed young lady found herself a member. \"Mrs. Heavytop, the Colonel's wife, died in Jamaica of the yellow faver and a broken heart comboined, for the horrud old Colonel, with a head as bald as a cannon-ball, was making sheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there. Mrs. Magenis, though without education, was a good woman, but she had the divvle's tongue, and would cheat her own mother at whist. Mrs. Captain Kirk must turn up her lobster eyes forsooth at the idea of an honest round game (wherein me fawther, as pious a man as ever went to church, me uncle Dane Malony, and our cousin the Bishop, took a hand at loo, or whist, every night of their lives). Nayther of 'em's goin' with the regiment this time,\" Mrs. O'Dowd added. \"Fanny Magenis stops with her mother, who sells small coal and potatoes, most likely, in Islington-town, hard by London, though she's always bragging of her father's ships, and pointing them out to us as they go up the river: and Mrs. Kirk and her children will stop here in Bethesda Place, to be nigh to her favourite preacher, Dr. Ramshorn. Mrs. Bunny's in an interesting situation--faith, and she always is, then--and has given the Lieutenant seven already. And Ensign Posky's wife, who joined two months before you, my dear, has quarl'd with Tom Posky a score of times, till you can hear'm all over the bar'ck (they say they're come to broken pleets, and Tom never accounted for his black oi), and she'll go back to her mother, who keeps a ladies' siminary at Richmond--bad luck to her for running away from it! Where did ye get your finishing, my dear? ","abridged":"And, now having her new friend to herself, Mrs. O'Dowd poured out such a quantity of information as no poor little woman's memory could bear. She told Amelia a thousand details of the regimental family.\n\"Mrs. Heavytop, the Colonel's wife, died in Jamaica of the yellow faver and a broken heart, for the horrud old Colonel was making sheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there. Mrs. Magenis, though without education, was a good woman, but she had the divvle's tongue, and would cheat her own mother at whist. Mrs. Captain Kirk turns up her lobster eyes at the idea of an honest game (although me father and me cousin the Bishop played whist every night of their lives). Mrs. Bunny's in an interesting situation - faith, she always is - and has given the Lieutenant seven already. And Ensign Posky's wife, who joined two months before you, my dear, has quarl'd with Tom Posky a score of times, till you can hear'm all over the barrack; and Tom's never accounted for his black oi, and she'll go back to her mother at Richmond.\"\n"}
+{"original":"I had moin, and no expince spared, at Madame Flanahan's, at Ilyssus Grove, Booterstown, near Dublin, wid a Marchioness to teach us the true Parisian pronunciation, and a retired Mejor-General of the French service to put us through the exercise.\"\nOf this incongruous family our astonished Amelia found herself all of a sudden a member: with Mrs. O'Dowd as an elder sister. She was presented to her other female relations at tea-time, on whom, as she was quiet, good-natured, and not too handsome, she made rather an agreeable impression until the arrival of the gentlemen from the mess of the 150th, who all admired her so, that her sisters began, of course, to find fault with her.\n\"I hope Osborne has sown his wild oats,\" said Mrs. Magenis to Mrs. Bunny. \"If a reformed rake makes a good husband, sure it's she will have the fine chance with Garge,\" Mrs. O'Dowd remarked to Posky, who had lost her position as bride in the regiment, and was quite angry with the usurper. And as for Mrs. Kirk: that disciple of Dr. Ramshorn put one or two leading professional questions to Amelia, to see whether she was awakened, whether she was a professing Christian and so forth, and finding from the simplicity of Mrs. Osborne's replies that she was yet in utter darkness, put into her hands three little penny books with pictures, viz., the \"Howling Wilderness,\" the \"Washerwoman of Wandsworth Common,\" and the \"British Soldier's best Bayonet,\" which, bent upon awakening her before she slept, Mrs. Kirk begged Amelia to read that night ere she went to bed.\n","abridged":"Of this incongruous family our astonished Amelia found herself suddenly a member: with Mrs. O'Dowd as an elder sister. She was presented to her other female relations at tea-time; and being quiet, good-natured, and not too handsome, she made an agreeable impression until the arrival of the gentlemen, who all admired her; so that her sisters began, of course, to find fault with her.\n\"I hope Osborne has sown his wild oats,\" said Mrs. Magenis to Mrs. Bunny.\n\"If a reformed rake makes a good husband, sure she'll have a fine chance with Garge,\" said Mrs. O'Dowd.\n"}
+{"original":"But all the men, like good fellows as they were, rallied round their comrade's pretty wife, and paid her their court with soldierly gallantry. She had a little triumph, which flushed her spirits and made her eyes sparkle. George was proud of her popularity, and pleased with the manner (which was very gay and graceful, though naive and a little timid) with which she received the gentlemen's attentions, and answered their compliments. And he in his uniform--how much handsomer he was than any man in the room! She felt that he was affectionately watching her, and glowed with pleasure at his kindness. \"I will make all his friends welcome,\" she resolved in her heart. \"I will love all as I love him. I will always try and be gay and good-humoured and make his home happy.\"\n","abridged":"But the men rallied round their comrade's pretty wife, and paid her their court with soldierly gallantry, making her eyes sparkle. George was proud of her popularity, and pleased with the graceful, gay manner with which she received the gentlemen's attentions. And he - so handsome in his uniform! She felt him watching her, and glowed with pleasure at his kindness.\n\"I will make all his friends welcome,\" she resolved. \"I will always try and be gay and good-humoured and make his home happy.\"\n"}
+{"original":"The regiment indeed adopted her with acclamation. The Captains approved, the Lieutenants applauded, the Ensigns admired. Old Cutler, the Doctor, made one or two jokes, which, being professional, need not be repeated; and Cackle, the Assistant M.D. of Edinburgh, condescended to examine her upon leeterature, and tried her with his three best French quotations. Young Stubble went about from man to man whispering, \"Jove, isn't she a pretty gal?\" and never took his eyes off her except when the negus came in.\n","abridged":"The regiment indeed adopted her with acclaim. Young Stubble kept whispering, \"Jove, isn't she a pretty gal?\" and never took his eyes off her.\n"}
+{"original":"As for Captain Dobbin, he never so much as spoke to her during the whole evening. But he and Captain Porter of the 150th took home Jos to the hotel, who was in a very maudlin state, and had told his tiger-hunt story with great effect, both at the mess-table and at the soiree, to Mrs. O'Dowd in her turban and bird of paradise. Having put the Collector into the hands of his servant, Dobbin loitered about, smoking his cigar before the inn door. George had meanwhile very carefully shawled his wife, and brought her away from Mrs. O'Dowd's after a general handshaking from the young officers, who accompanied her to the fly, and cheered that vehicle as it drove off. So Amelia gave Dobbin her little hand as she got out of the carriage, and rebuked him smilingly for not having taken any notice of her all night.\nThe Captain continued that deleterious amusement of smoking, long after the inn and the street were gone to bed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-room windows, and shine out in the bedroom close at hand. It was almost morning when he returned to his own quarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships in the river, where the transports were already taking in their cargoes preparatory to dropping down the Thames.","abridged":"As for Captain Dobbin, he never spoke to her the whole evening. But he and Captain Porter took Jos, who was in a very maudlin state, back to the hotel. Having put him into the hands of his servant, Dobbin loitered about, smoking his cigar before the inn door. George had meanwhile brought his wife away from Mrs. O'Dowd's. Amelia gave Dobbin her hand as she got out of the carriage, and rebuked him smilingly for not having taken any notice of her all night.\nThe Captain kept smoking, long after everyone had gone to bed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-room windows, and shine out in the bedroom. It was almost morning when he returned to his own quarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships in the river, where the transports were taking in their cargoes before moving down the Thames."}
+{"original":"We must suppose little George Osborne has ridden from Knightsbridge towards Fulham, and will stop and make inquiries at that village regarding some friends whom we have left there. How is Mrs. Amelia after the storm of Waterloo? Is she living and thriving? What has come of Major Dobbin, whose cab was always hankering about her premises? And is there any news of the Collector of Boggley Wollah? The facts concerning the latter are briefly these:\n","abridged":"We must now make inquiries at Fulham about some friends whom we have left there. How is Mrs. Amelia? Is she living and thriving? What has become of Major Dobbin? And is there any news of the Collector of Boggley Wollah? The facts about him are briefly these:\n"}
+{"original":"Our worthy fat friend Joseph Sedley returned to India not long after his escape from Brussels. Either his furlough was up, or he dreaded to meet any witnesses of his Waterloo flight. However it might be, he went back to his duties in Bengal very soon after Napoleon had taken up his residence at St. Helena, where Jos saw the ex-Emperor. To hear Mr. Sedley talk on board ship you would have supposed that it was not the first time he and the Corsican had met, and that the civilian had bearded the French General at Mount St. John. He had a thousand anecdotes about the famous battles; he knew the position of every regiment and the loss which each had incurred. He did not deny that he had been concerned in those victories--that he had been with the army and carried despatches for the Duke of Wellington. And he described what the Duke did and said on every conceivable moment of the day of Waterloo, with such an accurate knowledge of his Grace's sentiments and proceedings that it was clear he must have been by the conqueror's side throughout the day; though, as a non-combatant, his name was not mentioned in the public documents relative to the battle. Perhaps he actually worked himself up to believe that he had been engaged with the army; certain it is that he made a prodigious sensation for some time at Calcutta, and was called Waterloo Sedley during the whole of his subsequent stay in Bengal.\nThe bills which Jos had given for the purchase of those unlucky horses were paid without question by him and his agents. He never was heard to allude to the bargain, and nobody knows for a certainty what became of the horses, or how he got rid of them, or of Isidor, his Belgian servant, who sold a grey horse, very like the one which Jos rode, at Valenciennes sometime during the autumn of 1815.\n","abridged":"Our worthy friend Joseph Sedley returned to India not long after his escape from Brussels, soon after Napoleon had been confined to St. Helena. To hear Mr. Sedley talk on board ship, you would have supposed that he had confronted the French General personally. He had a thousand tales about the famous battles; he knew the position of every regiment. He did not deny that he had carried despatches for the Duke of Wellington. He described what the Duke did and said at Waterloo with such accurate knowledge that it was clear he must have been by the conqueror's side throughout the day. Perhaps he actually worked himself up to believe that he had been engaged with the army; certainly he made a sensation for some time at Calcutta, and was called Waterloo Sedley during his stay in Bengal.\n"}
+{"original":"Jos's London agents had orders to pay one hundred and twenty pounds yearly to his parents at Fulham. It was the chief support of the old couple; for Mr. Sedley's speculations in life subsequent to his bankruptcy did not by any means retrieve the broken old gentleman's fortune. He tried to be a wine-merchant, a coal-merchant, a commission lottery agent, &c., &c. He sent round prospectuses to his friends whenever he took a new trade, and ordered a new brass plate for the door, and talked pompously about making his fortune still. But Fortune never came back to the feeble and stricken old man. One by one his friends dropped off, and were weary of buying dear coals and bad wine from him; and there was only his wife in all the world who fancied, when he tottered off to the City of a morning, that he was still doing any business there. At evening he crawled slowly back; and he used to go of nights to a little club at a tavern, where he disposed of the finances of the nation. It was wonderful to hear him talk about millions, and agios, and discounts, and what Rothschild was doing, and Baring Brothers. He talked of such vast sums that the gentlemen of the club (the apothecary, the undertaker, the great carpenter and builder, the parish clerk, who was allowed to come stealthily, and Mr. Clapp, our old acquaintance,) respected the old gentleman. \"I was better off once, sir,\" he did not fail to tell everybody who \"used the room.\" \"My son, sir, is at this minute chief magistrate of Ramgunge in the Presidency of Bengal, and touching his four thousand rupees per mensem. ","abridged":"His agents had orders to pay one hundred and twenty pounds yearly to his parents at Fulham. It was the couple's chief support; for old Mr. Sedley's speculations did not succeed. He tried to be a wine-merchant, a coal-merchant, and a lottery agent; he sent round prospectuses, and ordered a new brass plate for the door, and talked pompously about making his fortune. But Fortune never came back to the feeble old man. His friends dropped off, weary of buying dear coals and bad wine from him. He used to go of nights to a little club at a tavern, where he talked about millions, what Rothschild was doing, and Baring Brothers.\n\"I was better off once, sir,\" he told everybody. \"My son, sir, is chief magistrate of Ramgunge in Bengal. "}
+{"original":"My daughter might be a Colonel's lady if she liked. I might draw upon my son, the first magistrate, sir, for two thousand pounds to-morrow, and Alexander would cash my bill, down sir, down on the counter, sir. But the Sedleys were always a proud family.\" You and I, my dear reader, may drop into this condition one day: for have not many of our friends attained it? Our luck may fail: our powers forsake us: our place on the boards be taken by better and younger mimes--the chance of life roll away and leave us shattered and stranded. Then men will walk across the road when they meet you--or, worse still, hold you out a couple of fingers and patronize you in a pitying way--then you will know, as soon as your back is turned, that your friend begins with a \"Poor devil, what imprudences he has committed, what chances that chap has thrown away!\" Well, well--a carriage and three thousand a year is not the summit of the reward nor the end of God's judgment of men. If quacks prosper as often as they go to the wall--if zanies succeed and knaves arrive at fortune, and, vice versa, sharing ill luck and prosperity for all the world like the ablest and most honest amongst us--I say, brother, the gifts and pleasures of Vanity Fair cannot be held of any great account, and that it is probable . . . but we are wandering out of the domain of the story.\n","abridged":"I might draw upon my son, sir, for two thousand pounds tomorrow. But the Sedleys were always a proud family.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Had Mrs. Sedley been a woman of energy, she would have exerted it after her husband's ruin and, occupying a large house, would have taken in boarders. The broken Sedley would have acted well as the boarding-house landlady's husband; the Munoz of private life; the titular lord and master: the carver, house-steward, and humble husband of the occupier of the dingy throne. I have seen men of good brains and breeding, and of good hopes and vigour once, who feasted squires and kept hunters in their youth, meekly cutting up legs of mutton for rancorous old harridans and pretending to preside over their dreary tables--but Mrs. Sedley, we say, had not spirit enough to bustle about for \"a few select inmates to join a cheerful musical family,\" such as one reads of in the Times. She was content to lie on the shore where fortune had stranded her--and you could see that the career of this old couple was over.\n","abridged":"Had Mrs. Sedley been a woman of energy, she would have taken in boarders. The broken Sedley would have acted well as a boarding-house carver and steward. But Mrs. Sedley had not spirit enough for that. She was content to lie on the shore where fortune had stranded her; and you could see that the career of this old couple was over.\n"}
+{"original":"I don't think they were unhappy. Perhaps they were a little prouder in their downfall than in their prosperity. Mrs. Sedley was always a great person for her landlady, Mrs. Clapp, when she descended and passed many hours with her in the basement or ornamented kitchen. The Irish maid Betty Flanagan's bonnets and ribbons, her sauciness, her idleness, her reckless prodigality of kitchen candles, her consumption of tea and sugar, and so forth occupied and amused the old lady almost as much as the doings of her former household, when she had Sambo and the coachman, and a groom, and a footboy, and a housekeeper with a regiment of female domestics--her former household, about which the good lady talked a hundred times a day. And besides Betty Flanagan, Mrs. Sedley had all the maids-of-all-work in the street to superintend. She knew how each tenant of the cottages paid or owed his little rent. She stepped aside when Mrs. Rougemont the actress passed with her dubious family. She flung up her head when Mrs. Pestler, the apothecary's lady, drove by in her husband's professional one-horse chaise. She had colloquies with the greengrocer about the pennorth of turnips which Mr. Sedley loved; she kept an eye upon the milkman and the baker's boy; and made visitations to the butcher, who sold hundreds of oxen very likely with less ado than was made about Mrs. Sedley's loin of mutton: and she counted the potatoes under the joint on Sundays, on which days, dressed in her best, she went to church twice and read Blair's Sermons in the evening.\n","abridged":"I don't think they were unhappy. Perhaps they were a little prouder in their downfall than in their prosperity. Mrs. Sedley was always a great person for her landlady, Mrs. Clapp. The Irish maid's bonnets and ribbons, her sauciness, her idleness, her reckless prodigality of candles, amused the old lady almost as much as the doings of her former household, when she had a regiment of female domestics. And besides Betty, Mrs. Sedley had all the maids in the street to superintend.\nOn Sundays"}
+{"original":"On that day, for \"business\" prevented him on weekdays from taking such a pleasure, it was old Sedley's delight to take out his little grandson Georgy to the neighbouring parks or Kensington Gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. Georgy loved the redcoats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others with Waterloo medals on their breasts, to whom the old grandfather pompously presented the child as the son of Captain Osborne of the --th, who died gloriously on the glorious eighteenth. He has been known to treat some of these non-commissioned gentlemen to a glass of porter, and, indeed, in their first Sunday walks was disposed to spoil little Georgy, sadly gorging the boy with apples and parliament, to the detriment of his health--until Amelia declared that George should never go out with his grandpapa unless the latter promised solemnly, and on his honour, not to give the child any cakes, lollipops, or stall produce whatever.\nBetween Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a sort of coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy--for one evening in George's very early days, Amelia, who had been seated at work in their little parlour scarcely remarking that the old lady had quitted the room, ran upstairs instinctively to the nursery at the cries of the child, who had been asleep until that moment--and there found Mrs. Sedley in the act of surreptitiously administering Daffy's Elixir to the infant. Amelia, the gentlest and sweetest of everyday mortals, when she found this meddling with her maternal authority, thrilled and trembled all over with anger. Her cheeks, ordinarily pale, now flushed up, until they were as red as they used to be when she was a child of twelve years old. She seized the baby out of her mother's arms and then grasped at the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her, furious, and holding the guilty tea-spoon.\nAmelia flung the bottle crashing into the fire-place. \"I will NOT have baby poisoned, Mamma,\" cried Emmy, rocking the infant about violently with both her arms round him and turning with flashing eyes at her mother.\n","abridged":", it was old Sedley's delight to take his little grandson Georgy to the neighbouring parks or Kensington Gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. Georgy loved the redcoats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others wearing Waterloo medals, to whom the old grandfather pompously presented the child as the son of Captain Osborne, who died gloriously on the glorious eighteenth. He spoiled little Georgy, sadly gorging the boy until Amelia declared that George should never go out with his grandpapa unless the latter promised solemnly not to give the child any cakes or lollipops.\nBetween Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy. For one evening in George's very early days, Amelia ran upstairs to the nursery at the cries of the child, who had been asleep until that moment - and there found Mrs. Sedley surreptitiously giving him Daffy's Elixir. Amelia, the gentlest of everyday mortals, trembled all over with anger. Her pale cheeks flushed up; she seized the baby from her mother's arms and grasped the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her, and holding the guilty tea-spoon.\nAmelia flung the bottle crashing into the fire-place. \"I will not have baby poisoned, Mamma,\" she cried, turning with flashing eyes at her mother.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Poisoned, Amelia!\" said the old lady; \"this language to me?\"\n\"He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr. Pestler sends for him. He told me that Daffy's Elixir was poison.\"\n\"Very good: you think I'm a murderess then,\" replied Mrs. Sedley. \"This is the language you use to your mother. I have met with misfortunes: I have sunk low in life: I have kept my carriage, and now walk on foot: but I did not know I was a murderess before, and thank you for the NEWS.\"\n\"Mamma,\" said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears--\"you shouldn't be hard upon me. I--I didn't mean--I mean, I did not wish to say you would do any wrong to this dear child, only--\"\n","abridged":"\"Poisoned, Amelia!\"\n\"He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr. Pestler sends. He told me that Daffy's Elixir was poison.\"\n\"Very good: you think I'm a murderess,\" replied Mrs. Sedley. \"This is the language you use to your mother. I have sunk low in life: but I did not know I was a murderess, and thank you for the news.\"\n\"Mamma,\" said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears, \"I didn't mean - I did not wish to say you would do any wrong to the dear child, only-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, no, my love,--only that I was a murderess; in which case I had better go to the Old Bailey. Though I didn't poison YOU, when you were a child, but gave you the best of education and the most expensive masters money could procure. Yes; I've nursed five children and buried three; and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and teething, and measles, and hooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, and with accomplishments at Minerva House--which I never had when I was a girl--when I was too glad to honour my father and mother, that I might live long in the land, and to be useful, and not to mope all day in my room and act the fine lady--says I'm a murderess. Ah, Mrs. Osborne! may YOU never nourish a viper in your bosom, that's MY prayer.\"\n\"Mamma, Mamma!\" cried the bewildered girl; and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts. \"A murderess, indeed! Go down on your knees and pray to God to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do.\" And Mrs. Sedley tossed out of the room, hissing out the word poison once more, and so ending her charitable benediction.\n","abridged":"\"Oh, no, my love, only that I was a murderess. Though I didn't poison you, when you were a child, but gave you the best education money could buy. Yes; I've nursed five children and buried three; and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and measles, and whooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, which I never had when I was a girl - says I'm a murderess.\"\n\"Mamma, Mamma!\" cried the bewildered girl; and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts.\n\"Pray to God to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do.\" And Mrs. Sedley tossed out of the room.\n"}
+{"original":"Till the termination of her natural life, this breach between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The quarrel gave the elder lady numberless advantages which she did not fail to turn to account with female ingenuity and perseverance. For instance, she scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards. She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs. Osborne might be offended. She asked her daughter to see and satisfy herself that there was no poison prepared in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy. When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. SHE never ventured to ask whether the baby was well or not. SHE would not touch the child although he was her grandson, and own precious darling, for she was not USED to children, and might kill it. And whenever Mr. Pestler came upon his healing inquisition, she received the doctor with such a sarcastic and scornful demeanour, as made the surgeon declare that not Lady Thistlewood herself, whom he had the honour of attending professionally, could give herself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedley, from whom he never took a fee. And very likely Emmy was jealous too, upon her own part, as what mother is not, of those who would manage her children for her, or become candidates for the first place in their affections. ","abridged":"Till the end of her life, this breach between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The elder lady scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks. She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs. Osborne might be offended. She asked her daughter to satisfy herself that there was no poison in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy. When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. She would not touch the child although he was her own precious darling, for she might kill him.\nAnd whenever Mr. Pestler called, she received the doctor with such a sarcastic manner that he declared that even Lady Thistlewood could not give herself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedley, from whom he never took a fee. Very likely Emmy was jealous too, as what mother is not, of those who would manage her children for her. "}
+{"original":"It is certain that when anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy, and that she would no more allow Mrs. Clapp or the domestic to dress or tend him than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature which hung up over her little bed--the same little bed from which the poor girl had gone to his; and to which she retired now for many long, silent, tearful, but happy years.\n","abridged":"When anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy; and she would no more allow Mrs. Clapp to tend him than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature, which hung in the room to which she retired now for many silent, tearful, but happy years.\n"}
+{"original":"In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Here it was that she tended her boy and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with a constant passion of love. The elder George returned in him somehow, only improved, and as if come back from heaven. In a hundred little tones, looks, and movements, the child was so like his father that the widow's heart thrilled as she held him to it; and he would often ask the cause of her tears. It was because of his likeness to his father, she did not scruple to tell him. She talked constantly to him about this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and wondering child; much more than she ever had done to George himself, or to any confidante of her youth. To her parents she never talked about this matter, shrinking from baring her heart to them. Little George very likely could understand no better than they, but into his ears she poured her sentimental secrets unreservedly, and into his only. The very joy of this woman was a sort of grief, or so tender, at least, that its expression was tears. Her sensibilities were so weak and tremulous that perhaps they ought not to be talked about in a book. ","abridged":"In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Here she tended her boy and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with a constant passion of love. The elder George returned in him somehow, only improved, as if come back from heaven. In a hundred little ways the child was so like his father that her heart thrilled. She talked constantly to him about this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and wondering child. To her parents she never talked about this matter, but into little George's uncomprehending ears she poured her sentimental secrets.\n"}
+{"original":"I was told by Dr. Pestler (now a most flourishing lady's physician, with a sumptuous dark green carriage, a prospect of speedy knighthood, and a house in Manchester Square) that her grief at weaning the child was a sight that would have unmanned a Herod. He was very soft-hearted many years ago, and his wife was mortally jealous of Mrs. Amelia, then and long afterwards.\nPerhaps the doctor's lady had good reason for her jealousy: most women shared it, of those who formed the small circle of Amelia's acquaintance, and were quite angry at the enthusiasm with which the other sex regarded her. For almost all men who came near her loved her; though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell you why. She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor wise over much, nor extraordinarily handsome. But wherever she went she touched and charmed every one of the male sex, as invariably as she awakened the scorn and incredulity of her own sisterhood. I think it was her weakness which was her principal charm--a kind of sweet submission and softness, which seemed to appeal to each man she met for his sympathy and protection. We have seen how in the regiment, though she spoke but to few of George's comrades there, all the swords of the young fellows at the mess-table would have leapt from their scabbards to fight round her; and so it was in the little narrow lodging-house and circle at Fulham, she interested and pleased everybody. If she had been Mrs. Mango herself, of the great house of Mango, Plantain, and Co., Crutched Friars, and the magnificent proprietress of the Pineries, Fulham, who gave summer dejeuners frequented by Dukes and Earls, and drove about the parish with magnificent yellow liveries and bay horses, such as the royal stables at Kensington themselves could not turn out--I say had she been Mrs. Mango herself, or her son's wife, Lady Mary Mango (daughter of the Earl of Castlemouldy, who condescended to marry the head of the firm), the tradesmen of the neighbourhood could not pay her more honour than they invariably showed to the gentle young widow, when she passed by their doors, or made her humble purchases at their shops.\n","abridged":"Most men who came near her loved her; though they would be at a loss to tell you why. She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor extraordinarily handsome. But she charmed every one of the male sex, as invariably as she awakened the scorn and incredulity of her own sisterhood. I think it was her weakness which was her principal charm - a kind of sweet submission, which seemed to appeal to men for sympathy and protection. In the regiment, the young officers would have leapt to fight round her; and so it was in the little circle at Fulham, where she interested and pleased everybody.\n"}
+{"original":"Thus it was not only Mr. Pestler, the medical man, but Mr. Linton the young assistant, who doctored the servant maids and small tradesmen, and might be seen any day reading the Times in the surgery, who openly declared himself the slave of Mrs. Osborne. He was a personable young gentleman, more welcome at Mrs. Sedley's lodgings than his principal; and if anything went wrong with Georgy, he would drop in twice or thrice in the day to see the little chap, and without so much as the thought of a fee. He would abstract lozenges, tamarinds, and other produce from the surgery-drawers for little Georgy's benefit, and compounded draughts and mixtures for him of miraculous sweetness, so that it was quite a pleasure to the child to be ailing. He and Pestler, his chief, sat up two whole nights by the boy in that momentous and awful week when Georgy had the measles; and when you would have thought, from the mother's terror, that there had never been measles in the world before. Would they have done as much for other people? Did they sit up for the folks at the Pineries, when Ralph Plantagenet, and Gwendoline, and Guinever Mango had the same juvenile complaint? Did they sit up for little Mary Clapp, the landlord's daughter, who actually caught the disease of little Georgy? Truth compels one to say, no. They slept quite undisturbed, at least as far as she was concerned--pronounced hers to be a slight case, which would almost cure itself, sent her in a draught or two, and threw in bark when the child rallied, with perfect indifference, and just for form's sake.\n","abridged":"Mr. Linton, the doctor's young assistant, openly declared himself her slave. He was a personable young gentleman, and if anything went wrong with Georgy, he would drop in twice or thrice in the day to see the little chap, without thinking of a fee. He would bring Georgy lozenges, and made such sweet mixtures for him that it was quite a pleasure to the child to be ailing. He and Dr. Pestler sat up two whole nights by the boy in that awful week when Georgy had the measles; and when you would have thought, from the mother's terror, that there had never been measles in the world before. Did they sit up for little Polly Clapp, the landlord's daughter, who caught the disease from Georgy? No. They pronounced hers a slight case, which would cure itself, and sent her a draught or two.\n"}
+{"original":"Again, there was the little French chevalier opposite, who gave lessons in his native tongue at various schools in the neighbourhood, and who might be heard in his apartment of nights playing tremulous old gavottes and minuets on a wheezy old fiddle. Whenever this powdered and courteous old man, who never missed a Sunday at the convent chapel at Hammersmith, and who was in all respects, thoughts, conduct, and bearing utterly unlike the bearded savages of his nation, who curse perfidious Albion, and scowl at you from over their cigars, in the Quadrant arcades at the present day--whenever the old Chevalier de Talonrouge spoke of Mistress Osborne, he would first finish his pinch of snuff, flick away the remaining particles of dust with a graceful wave of his hand, gather up his fingers again into a bunch, and, bringing them up to his mouth, blow them open with a kiss, exclaiming, Ah! la divine creature! He vowed and protested that when Amelia walked in the Brompton Lanes flowers grew in profusion under her feet. He called little Georgy Cupid, and asked him news of Venus, his mamma; and told the astonished Betty Flanagan that she was one of the Graces, and the favourite attendant of the Reine des Amours.\n","abridged":"Again, there was the little French chevalier opposite, who gave lessons in French at various schools, at night playing tremulous gavottes on a wheezy old fiddle. Whenever this courteous old man spoke of Mistress Osborne, he would gather his fingers into a bunch, and blow them open with a kiss, exclaiming, Ah! la divine creature! He vowed that when Amelia walked, flowers grew under her feet. He called Georgy Cupid, and asked him news of Venus, his mamma.\n"}
+{"original":"Instances might be multiplied of this easily gained and unconscious popularity. Did not Mr. Binny, the mild and genteel curate of the district chapel, which the family attended, call assiduously upon the widow, dandle the little boy on his knee, and offer to teach him Latin, to the anger of the elderly virgin, his sister, who kept house for him? \"There is nothing in her, Beilby,\" the latter lady would say. \"When she comes to tea here she does not speak a word during the whole evening. She is but a poor lackadaisical creature, and it is my belief has no heart at all. It is only her pretty face which all you gentlemen admire so. Miss Grits, who has five thousand pounds, and expectations besides, has twice as much character, and is a thousand times more agreeable to my taste; and if she were good-looking I know that you would think her perfection.\"\n","abridged":"And did not Mr. Binny, the mild curate of the chapel, call assiduously upon the widow, dandle the little boy on his knee, and offer to teach him Latin, to the anger of his sister, who kept house for him?\n\"There is nothing in her, Beilby,\" his sister would say. \"When she comes to tea she does not speak a word. She is a poor lackadaisical creature, and it is only her pretty face which you gentlemen admire so.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Very likely Miss Binny was right to a great extent. It IS the pretty face which creates sympathy in the hearts of men, those wicked rogues. A woman may possess the wisdom and chastity of Minerva, and we give no heed to her, if she has a plain face. What folly will not a pair of bright eyes make pardonable? What dulness may not red lips and sweet accents render pleasant? And so, with their usual sense of justice, ladies argue that because a woman is handsome, therefore she is a fool. O ladies, ladies! there are some of you who are neither handsome nor wise.\n","abridged":"Very likely Miss Binny was right. It is the pretty face which creates sympathy in the hearts of men. A woman may possess the wisdom of Minerva, and we give no heed to her, if she is plain. And so, with their usual sense of justice, ladies argue that because a woman is handsome, therefore she is a fool. O ladies, ladies! there are some of you who are neither handsome nor wise.\n"}
+{"original":"These are but trivial incidents to recount in the life of our heroine. Her tale does not deal in wonders, as the gentle reader has already no doubt perceived; and if a journal had been kept of her proceedings during the seven years after the birth of her son, there would be found few incidents more remarkable in it than that of the measles, recorded in the foregoing page. Yes, one day, and greatly to her wonder, the Reverend Mr. Binny, just mentioned, asked her to change her name of Osborne for his own; when, with deep blushes and tears in her eyes and voice, she thanked him for his regard for her, expressed gratitude for his attentions to her and to her poor little boy, but said that she never, never could think of any but--but the husband whom she had lost.\n","abridged":"These are but trivial incidents. During the seven years after the birth of Amelia's son, the most notable event that occurred to her was Georgy's measles. And one day, greatly to her wonder, the Reverend Mr. Binny asked her to marry him. With deep blushes and tears in her eyes, she thanked him, but said that she never could think of any but the husband whom she had lost.\n"}
+{"original":"On the twenty-fifth of April, and the eighteenth of June, the days of marriage and widowhood, she kept her room entirely, consecrating them (and we do not know how many hours of solitary night-thought, her little boy sleeping in his crib by her bedside) to the memory of that departed friend. During the day she was more active. She had to teach George to read and to write and a little to draw. She read books, in order that she might tell him stories from them. As his eyes opened and his mind expanded under the influence of the outward nature round about him, she taught the child, to the best of her humble power, to acknowledge the Maker of all, and every night and every morning he and she--(in that awful and touching communion which I think must bring a thrill to the heart of every man who witnesses or who remembers it)--the mother and the little boy--prayed to Our Father together, the mother pleading with all her gentle heart, the child lisping after her as she spoke. And each time they prayed to God to bless dear Papa, as if he were alive and in the room with them. To wash and dress this young gentleman--to take him for a run of the mornings, before breakfast, and the retreat of grandpapa for \"business\"--to make for him the most wonderful and ingenious dresses, for which end the thrifty widow cut up and altered every available little bit of finery which she possessed out of her wardrobe during her marriage--for Mrs. Osborne herself (greatly to her mother's vexation, who preferred fine clothes, especially since her misfortunes) always wore a black gown and a straw bonnet with a black ribbon--occupied her many hours of the day. Others she had to spare, at the service of her mother and her old father. She had taken the pains to learn, and used to play cribbage with this gentleman on the nights when he did not go to his club. She sang for him when he was so minded, and it was a good sign, for he invariably fell into a comfortable sleep during the music. ","abridged":"On the twenty-fifth of April, and the eighteenth of June, the days of her marriage and widowhood, she kept to her room. On other days she was more active, teaching George to read, write and draw. She taught the child, to the best of her humble power, to acknowledge the Maker of all, and every night and morning they prayed together, asking God to bless dear Papa, as if he were in the room.\nTo wash and dress this young gentleman - to take him for a run in the mornings - to make him the most ingenious outfits, for which the thrifty widow cut up every bit of finery she possessed - occupied her many hours of the day. Others she spent at the service of her parents. She played cribbage with her father, and sang for him"}
+{"original":"She wrote out his numerous memorials, letters, prospectuses, and projects. It was in her handwriting that most of the old gentleman's former acquaintances were informed that he had become an agent for the Black Diamond and Anti-Cinder Coal Company and could supply his friends and the public with the best coals at --s. per chaldron. All he did was to sign the circulars with his flourish and signature, and direct them in a shaky, clerklike hand. One of these papers was sent to Major Dobbin,--Regt., care of Messrs. Cox and Greenwood; but the Major being in Madras at the time, had no particular call for coals. He knew, though, the hand which had written the prospectus. Good God! what would he not have given to hold it in his own! A second prospectus came out, informing the Major that J. Sedley and Company, having established agencies at Oporto, Bordeaux, and St. Mary's, were enabled to offer to their friends and the public generally the finest and most celebrated growths of ports, sherries, and claret wines at reasonable prices and under extraordinary advantages. Acting upon this hint, Dobbin furiously canvassed the governor, the commander-in-chief, the judges, the regiments, and everybody whom he knew in the Presidency, and sent home to Sedley and Co. orders for wine which perfectly astonished Mr. Sedley and Mr. Clapp, who was the Co. in the business. But no more orders came after that first burst of good fortune, on which poor old Sedley was about to build a house in the City, a regiment of clerks, a dock to himself, and correspondents all over the world. ","abridged":"; she wrote out his letters, prospectuses, and projects. It was in her handwriting that the old gentleman's acquaintances were informed that he had become an agent for the Anti-Cinder Coal Company and could supply the public with the best coals.\nOne of these papers was sent to Major Dobbin, through his agents; but the Major, being in Madras at the time, had no call for coals. He knew, though, the hand which had written the prospectus. Good God! what would he not have given to hold it in his own!\nA second prospectus followed, informing the Major that J. Sedley and Company offered to their friends and the public the finest ports, sherries, and claret wines at reasonable prices. Dobbin furiously canvassed the governor, the commander-in-chief, the regiments, and everybody he knew, and sent home to Sedley and Co. orders for wine which perfectly astonished Mr. Sedley and Mr. Clapp, who was the Co. in the business. But no more orders came after that first burst of good fortune. "}
+{"original":"The old gentleman's former taste in wine had gone: the curses of the mess-room assailed Major Dobbin for the vile drinks he had been the means of introducing there; and he bought back a great quantity of the wine and sold it at public outcry, at an enormous loss to himself. As for Jos, who was by this time promoted to a seat at the Revenue Board at Calcutta, he was wild with rage when the post brought him out a bundle of these Bacchanalian prospectuses, with a private note from his father, telling Jos that his senior counted upon him in this enterprise, and had consigned a quantity of select wines to him, as per invoice, drawing bills upon him for the amount of the same. Jos, who would no more have it supposed that his father, Jos Sedley's father, of the Board of Revenue, was a wine merchant asking for orders, than that he was Jack Ketch, refused the bills with scorn, wrote back contumeliously to the old gentleman, bidding him to mind his own affairs; and the protested paper coming back, Sedley and Co. had to take it up, with the profits which they had made out of the Madras venture, and with a little portion of Emmy's savings.\nBesides her pension of fifty pounds a year, there had been five hundred pounds, as her husband's executor stated, left in the agent's hands at the time of Osborne's demise, which sum, as George's guardian, Dobbin proposed to put out at 8 per cent in an Indian house of agency. Mr. Sedley, who thought the Major had some roguish intentions of his own about the money, was strongly against this plan; and he went to the agents to protest personally against the employment of the money in question, when he learned, to his surprise, that there had been no such sum in their hands, that all the late Captain's assets did not amount to a hundred pounds, and that the five hundred pounds in question must be a separate sum, of which Major Dobbin knew the particulars. More than ever convinced that there was some roguery, old Sedley pursued the Major. As his daughter's nearest friend, he demanded with a high hand a statement of the late Captain's accounts. Dobbin's stammering, blushing, and awkwardness added to the other's convictions that he had a rogue to deal with, and in a majestic tone he told that officer a piece of his mind, as he called it, simply stating his belief that the Major was unlawfully detaining his late son-in-law's money.\n","abridged":"The curses of the mess-room assailed Major Dobbin for the vile drinks he had introduced; and he bought back a great quantity of the wine, at an enormous loss to himself.\nAs for Jos, who had been promoted to the Revenue Board at Calcutta, he was wild with rage when the post brought him a bundle of these prospectuses, with a note from his father telling Jos that he had consigned a quantity of select wines to him, as per invoice, asking for payment. Jos refused the bills with scorn, and wrote back bidding the old gentleman to mind his own affairs. Sedley and Co. had to pay for the order with the profits which they had made from Madras, and with some of Emmy's savings.\nBesides her pension of fifty pounds a year, there had been five hundred pounds, left in the agent's hands at Osborne's death, which Dobbin, as George's guardian, proposed to invest at 8 per cent in an Indian house of agency. Mr. Sedley, who thought the Major had some roguish intentions about the money, went to the agents to protest; and he learned, to his surprise, that the late Captain had not left anywhere near five hundred pounds, and that it must be a separate sum, of which Major Dobbin knew the details. Old Sedley pursued the Major and demanded a statement of the late Captain's accounts. Dobbin's stammering, blushing, and awkwardness added to the other's convictions that he had a rogue to deal with, and in a majestic tone he stated his belief that the Major was unlawfully keeping his late son-in-law's money.\n"}
+{"original":"Dobbin at this lost all patience, and if his accuser had not been so old and so broken, a quarrel might have ensued between them at the Slaughters' Coffee-house, in a box of which place of entertainment the gentlemen had their colloquy. \"Come upstairs, sir,\" lisped out the Major. \"I insist on your coming up the stairs, and I will show which is the injured party, poor George or I\"; and, dragging the old gentleman up to his bedroom, he produced from his desk Osborne's accounts, and a bundle of IOU's which the latter had given, who, to do him justice, was always ready to give an IOU. \"He paid his bills in England,\" Dobbin added, \"but he had not a hundred pounds in the world when he fell. I and one or two of his brother officers made up the little sum, which was all that we could spare, and you dare tell us that we are trying to cheat the widow and the orphan.\" Sedley was very contrite and humbled, though the fact is that William Dobbin had told a great falsehood to the old gentleman; having himself given every shilling of the money, having buried his friend, and paid all the fees and charges incident upon the calamity and removal of poor Amelia.\nAbout these expenses old Osborne had never given himself any trouble to think, nor any other relative of Amelia, nor Amelia herself, indeed. She trusted to Major Dobbin as an accountant, took his somewhat confused calculations for granted, and never once suspected how much she was in his debt.\n","abridged":"Dobbin at this lost all patience, and if his accuser had not been so old and so broken, a quarrel might have ensued.\n\"Come upstairs, sir,\" said the Major, \"and I will show which is the injured party, poor George or I.\" Dragging the old gentleman up to his room, he produced Osborne's accounts, and a bundle of IOU's which George had given. \"He paid his bills in England,\" Dobbin said, \"but he had not a hundred pounds in the world when he fell. I and one or two of his brother officers made up the little sum, which was all that we could spare, and you dare tell us that we are trying to cheat the widow and the orphan.\"\nSedley was very contrite, though in fact William Dobbin had told him a great falsehood; having himself given every shilling of the money.\nAmelia herself had never given any thought to all this. She trusted to Major Dobbin as an accountant, took his somewhat confused calculations for granted, and never suspected how much she was in his debt.\n"}
+{"original":"Twice or thrice in the year, according to her promise, she wrote him letters to Madras, letters all about little Georgy. How he treasured these papers! Whenever Amelia wrote he answered, and not until then. But he sent over endless remembrances of himself to his godson and to her. He ordered and sent a box of scarfs and a grand ivory set of chess-men from China. The pawns were little green and white men, with real swords and shields; the knights were on horseback, the castles were on the backs of elephants. \"Mrs. Mango's own set at the Pineries was not so fine,\" Mr. Pestler remarked. These chess-men were the delight of Georgy's life, who printed his first letter in acknowledgement of this gift of his godpapa. He sent over preserves and pickles, which latter the young gentleman tried surreptitiously in the sideboard and half-killed himself with eating. He thought it was a judgement upon him for stealing, they were so hot. ","abridged":"Twice or thrice a year, as promised, she wrote him letters, all about little Georgy. How he treasured them! Whenever Amelia wrote he answered, and not until then. But he sent over endless gifts to his godson and to her: a box of scarfs and a grand ivory set of chess-men from China, with real swords and shields, and the castles on the backs of elephants. These chess-men delighted Georgy, who wrote his first letter in acknowledgement of this gift. Dobbin sent over preserves and pickles, which Georgy tried surreptitiously and half-killed himself with eating, they were so hot. "}
+{"original":"Emmy wrote a comical little account of this mishap to the Major: it pleased him to think that her spirits were rallying and that she could be merry sometimes now. He sent over a pair of shawls, a white one for her and a black one with palm-leaves for her mother, and a pair of red scarfs, as winter wrappers, for old Mr. Sedley and George. The shawls were worth fifty guineas apiece at the very least, as Mrs. Sedley knew. She wore hers in state at church at Brompton, and was congratulated by her female friends upon the splendid acquisition. Emmy's, too, became prettily her modest black gown. \"What a pity it is she won't think of him!\" Mrs. Sedley remarked to Mrs. Clapp and to all her friends of Brompton. \"Jos never sent us such presents, I am sure, and grudges us everything. It is evident that the Major is over head and ears in love with her; and yet, whenever I so much as hint it, she turns red and begins to cry and goes and sits upstairs with her miniature. I'm sick of that miniature. ","abridged":"Emmy wrote a comical little account of this mishap to the Major: it pleased him to think that she could be merry sometimes now. He sent over a pair of shawls, a white one for her and a black one with palm-leaves for her mother, worth fifty guineas apiece at the very least, as Mrs. Sedley knew. She wore hers in state to church, and was congratulated by her female friends.\n\"What a pity it is she won't think of him!\" Mrs. Sedley remarked to Mrs. Clapp. \"Jos never sent us such presents, and grudges us everything. The Major is clearly head over heels in love with her; and yet, whenever I hint it, she begins to cry and goes and sits upstairs with her miniature. I'm sick of that miniature. "}
+{"original":"I wish we had never seen those odious purse-proud Osbornes.\"\nAmidst such humble scenes and associates George's early youth was passed, and the boy grew up delicate, sensitive, imperious, woman-bred--domineering the gentle mother whom he loved with passionate affection. He ruled all the rest of the little world round about him. As he grew, the elders were amazed at his haughty manner and his constant likeness to his father. He asked questions about everything, as inquiring youth will do. The profundity of his remarks and interrogatories astonished his old grandfather, who perfectly bored the club at the tavern with stories about the little lad's learning and genius. He suffered his grandmother with a good-humoured indifference. The small circle round about him believed that the equal of the boy did not exist upon the earth. Georgy inherited his father's pride, and perhaps thought they were not wrong.\n","abridged":"I wish we had never seen those odious Osbornes.\"\nAmidst such humble scenes George's early youth was passed. The boy grew up delicate, sensitive, imperious, woman-bred - domineering his gentle mother and ruling the rest of the little world around him. The elders were amazed at his haughty manner and his likeness to his father. He asked questions about everything, astonishing his old grandfather; the small circle about Georgy believed that the boy had no equal upon the earth. Georgy inherited his father's pride, and perhaps thought they were not wrong.\n"}
+{"original":"When he grew to be about six years old, Dobbin began to write to him very much. The Major wanted to hear that Georgy was going to a school and hoped he would acquit himself with credit there: or would he have a good tutor at home? It was time that he should begin to learn; and his godfather and guardian hinted that he hoped to be allowed to defray the charges of the boy's education, which would fall heavily upon his mother's straitened income. The Major, in a word, was always thinking about Amelia and her little boy, and by orders to his agents kept the latter provided with picture-books, paint-boxes, desks, and all conceivable implements of amusement and instruction. Three days before George's sixth birthday a gentleman in a gig, accompanied by a servant, drove up to Mr. Sedley's house and asked to see Master George Osborne: it was Mr. Woolsey, military tailor, of Conduit Street, who came at the Major's order to measure the young gentleman for a suit of clothes. He had had the honour of making for the Captain, the young gentleman's father. Sometimes, too, and by the Major's desire no doubt, his sisters, the Misses Dobbin, would call in the family carriage to take Amelia and the little boy to drive if they were so inclined. The patronage and kindness of these ladies was very uncomfortable to Amelia, but she bore it meekly enough, for her nature was to yield; and, besides, the carriage and its splendours gave little Georgy immense pleasure. The ladies begged occasionally that the child might pass a day with them, and he was always glad to go to that fine garden-house at Denmark Hill, where they lived, and where there were such fine grapes in the hot-houses and peaches on the walls.\nOne day they kindly came over to Amelia with news which they were SURE would delight her--something VERY interesting about their dear William.\n","abridged":"When he was about six, Dobbin began to write to him. The Major wanted to hear that Georgy was going to school: or would he have a good tutor at home? It was time that he should begin to learn; and Dobbin hinted that he hoped to be allowed to pay for the boy's education.\nThe Major, in a word, was always thinking about Amelia and her little boy, and through his agents sent him picture-books, paint-boxes and desks. Three days before George's sixth birthday a gentleman in a gig drove up to Mr. Sedley's house and asked to see Master George Osborne: it was a military tailor, who came at the Major's order to measure the young gentleman for a suit.\nSometimes, too, by the Major's desire no doubt, his sisters would call in the family carriage to take Amelia and the little boy for a drive. This kind patronage was very uncomfortable to Amelia, but she bore it meekly, and the carriage and its splendours gave little Georgy immense pleasure. The ladies begged occasionally that the child might pass a day with them, and he was always glad to go to their fine house, where there were grapes in the hot-houses and peaches on the walls.\nOne day they kindly came over to Amelia with news which they were sure would delight her, about their dear William.\n"}
+{"original":"\"What was it: was he coming home?\" she asked with pleasure beaming in her eyes.\n\"Oh, no--not the least--but they had very good reason to believe that dear William was about to be married--and to a relation of a very dear friend of Amelia's--to Miss Glorvina O'Dowd, Sir Michael O'Dowd's sister, who had gone out to join Lady O'Dowd at Madras--a very beautiful and accomplished girl, everybody said.\"\nAmelia said \"Oh!\" Amelia was very VERY happy indeed. But she supposed Glorvina could not be like her old acquaintance, who was most kind--but--but she was very happy indeed. And by some impulse of which I cannot explain the meaning, she took George in her arms and kissed him with an extraordinary tenderness. Her eyes were quite moist when she put the child down; and she scarcely spoke a word during the whole of the drive--though she was so very happy indeed.","abridged":"\"What was it: was he coming home?\" she asked with pleasure.\n\"Oh, no - but they had good reason to believe that dear William was about to be married - and to a relation of a very dear friend of Amelia's - to Miss Glorvina O'Dowd, who had gone out to join Lady O'Dowd - a very beautiful and accomplished girl, everybody said.\"\nAmelia said \"Oh!\" She was very happy, although - but she was very happy indeed. She took George in her arms and kissed him, and her eyes were quite moist when she put the child down. She scarcely spoke a word during the drive - though she was so very happy indeed."}
+{"original":"While the present century was in its teens, and on one sunshiny morning in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's academy for young ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large family coach, with two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles an hour. A black servant, who reposed on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's shining brass plate, and as he pulled the bell at least a score of young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately old brick house. Nay, the acute observer might have recognized the little red nose of good-natured Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself, rising over some geranium pots in the window of that lady's own drawing-room.\n\"It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister,\" said Miss Jemima. \"Sambo, the black servant, has just rung the bell; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat.\"\n\"Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to Miss Sedley's departure, Miss Jemima?\" asked Miss Pinkerton herself, that majestic lady; the Semiramis of Hammersmith, the friend of Doctor Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Chapone herself.\n\"The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister,\" replied Miss Jemima; \"we have made her a bow-pot.\"\n\"Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 'tis more genteel.\"\n\"Well, a booky as big almost as a haystack; I have put up two bottles of the gillyflower water for Mrs. Sedley, and the receipt for making it, in Amelia's box.\"\n","abridged":"Early in this nineteenth century, on a sunshiny morning in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's academy for young ladies on Chiswick Mall a large coach, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig. A black servant, who sat on the box beside the coachman, uncurled his legs as the coach drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's, and when he rang the bell twenty young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately old house. Amongst them was good-natured Miss Jemima Pinkerton, looking from the window of her drawing-room.\n\"It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister,\" said Miss Jemima. \"Sambo has just rung the bell.\"\n\"Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to Miss Sedley's departure, Miss Jemima?\" asked Miss Pinkerton, that majestic lady; queen of Hammersmith, and friend of Doctor Johnson.\n\"The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister,\" replied Miss Jemima. \"We have made her a bunch of flowers.\"\n\"Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 'tis more genteel.\"\n\"Well, a booky almost as big as a haystack.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"And I trust, Miss Jemima, you have made a copy of Miss Sedley's account. This is it, is it? Very good--ninety-three pounds, four shillings. Be kind enough to address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and to seal this billet which I have written to his lady.\"\nIn Miss Jemima's eyes an autograph letter of her sister, Miss Pinkerton, was an object of as deep veneration as would have been a letter from a sovereign. Only when her pupils quitted the establishment, or when they were about to be married, and once, when poor Miss Birch died of the scarlet fever, was Miss Pinkerton known to write personally to the parents of her pupils; and it was Jemima's opinion that if anything could console Mrs. Birch for her daughter's loss, it would be that pious and eloquent composition in which Miss Pinkerton announced the event.\nIn the present instance Miss Pinkerton's \"billet\" was to the following effect:--\nThe Mall, Chiswick, June 15, 18\nMADAM,--After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honour and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a young lady not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their polished and refined circle. Those virtues which characterize the young English gentlewoman, those accomplishments which become her birth and station, will not be found wanting in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose INDUSTRY and OBEDIENCE have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her AGED and her YOUTHFUL companions.\n","abridged":"\"And I trust, Miss Jemima, you have made a copy of Miss Sedley's account? Is this it? Ninety-three pounds, four shillings. Please address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and seal this letter which I have written to his lady.\"\nIn Miss Jemima's eyes a signed letter from her sister, Miss Pinkerton, was an object of deep veneration. Only when her pupils left the school, or when they were about to be married, and once when poor Miss Birch died of the scarlet fever, was Miss Pinkerton known to write personally to the parents of her pupils. Jemima thought that if anything could console Mrs. Birch for her daughter's loss, it would be that pious and eloquent letter in which Miss Pinkerton announced her death.\nIn the present instance Miss Pinkerton's letter went thus:\nThe Mall, Chiswick, June 15\nMadam, - After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honour and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a young lady not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their refined circle. Those virtues and accomplishments which characterize the young English gentlewoman will not be found lacking in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose INDUSTRY and OBEDIENCE have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her AGED and YOUTHFUL companions.\n"}
+{"original":"In music, in dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery and needlework, she will be found to have realized her friends' fondest wishes. In geography there is still much to be desired; and a careful and undeviating use of the backboard, for four hours daily during the next three years, is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of that dignified DEPORTMENT AND CARRIAGE, so requisite for every young lady of FASHION.\nIn the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley will be found worthy of an establishment which has been honoured by the presence of THE GREAT LEXICOGRAPHER, and the patronage of the admirable Mrs. Chapone. In leaving the Mall, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts of her companions, and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the honour to subscribe herself,\nMadam, Your most obliged humble servant, BARBARA PINKERTON\nP.S.--Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days. The family of distinction with whom she is engaged, desire to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible.\n","abridged":"In music, in dancing, in writing, in every variety of needlework, she will realize her friends' fondest wishes. In geography there is still much to be desired; and an undeviating use of the backboard, for four hours daily during the next three years, is recommended for that dignified DEPORTMENT so requisite for every young lady of FASHION.\nIn the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley will be found worthy of an establishment which has been honoured by the presence of THE GREAT LEXICOGRAPHER Dr Johnson. In leaving us, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts of her companions, and the affectionate regards of her head-mistress, who has the honour to subscribe herself,\nYour most obliged humble servant, BARBARA PINKERTON\nP.S. Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days. The family with whom she is engaged wish to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible.\n"}
+{"original":"This letter completed, Miss Pinkerton proceeded to write her own name, and Miss Sedley's, in the fly-leaf of a Johnson's Dictionary--the interesting work which she invariably presented to her scholars, on their departure from the Mall. On the cover was inserted a copy of \"Lines addressed to a young lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton's school, at the Mall; by the late revered Doctor Samuel Johnson.\" In fact, the Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman, and a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her fortune.\nBeing commanded by her elder sister to get \"the Dictionary\" from the cupboard, Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in question. When Miss Pinkerton had finished the inscription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air, handed her the second.\n\"For whom is this, Miss Jemima?\" said Miss Pinkerton, with awful coldness.\n\"For Becky Sharp,\" answered Jemima, trembling very much, and blushing over her withered face and neck, as she turned her back on her sister. \"For Becky Sharp: she's going too.\"\n","abridged":"Next Miss Pinkerton wrote her own name, and Miss Sedley's, in the fly-leaf of a Johnson's Dictionary - the work which she always presented to her scholars on their departure. On the cover was a copy of \"Lines addressed to a young lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton's school, by the late revered Doctor Samuel Johnson.\" In fact, the Lexicographer's name was always on Miss Pinkerton's lips, and a visit he had once paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her fortune.\nBeing commanded by her elder sister to get \"the Dictionary\" from the cupboard, Miss Jemima had taken out two copies of the book. When Miss Pinkerton had finished writing in the first, Jemima timidly handed her the second.\n\"For whom is this?\" said Miss Pinkerton, with awful coldness.\n\"For Becky Sharp,\" answered Jemima, trembling and blushing. \"She's going too.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"MISS JEMIMA!\" exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in the largest capitals. \"Are you in your senses? Replace the Dixonary in the closet, and never venture to take such a liberty in future.\"\n\"Well, sister, it's only two-and-ninepence, and poor Becky will be miserable if she don't get one.\"\n\"Send Miss Sedley instantly to me,\" said Miss Pinkerton. And so venturing not to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off, exceedingly flurried and nervous.\nMiss Sedley's papa was a merchant in London, and a man of some wealth; whereas Miss Sharp was an articled pupil, for whom Miss Pinkerton had done, as she thought, quite enough, without conferring upon her at parting the high honour of the Dixonary.\nAlthough schoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted no more nor less than churchyard epitaphs; yet, as it sometimes happens that a person departs this life who is really deserving of all the praises the stone cutter carves over his bones; who IS a good Christian, a good parent, child, wife, or husband; who actually DOES leave a disconsolate family to mourn his loss; so in academies of the male and female sex it occurs every now and then that the pupil is fully worthy of the praises bestowed by the disinterested instructor. Now, Miss Amelia Sedley was a young lady of this singular species; and deserved not only all that Miss Pinkerton said in her praise, but had many charming qualities which that pompous old Minerva of a woman could not see, from the differences of rank and age between her pupil and herself.\n","abridged":"\"MISS JEMIMA!\" exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in the largest capitals. \"Are you in your senses? Replace the Dictionary in the closet, and never take such a liberty again.\"\n\"Well, sister, it's only two-and-ninepence, and poor Becky will be miserable if she don't get one.\"\n\"Send Miss Amelia Sedley instantly to me,\" said Miss Pinkerton. Not daring to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off, exceedingly flurried and nervous.\nMiss Sedley's papa was a wealthy merchant in London; whereas Miss Sharp was an articled pupil, working as an assistant teacher. For her, Miss Pinkerton thought she had done quite enough, without giving her the honour of the Dictionary.\nAlthough schoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted no more than churchyard epitaphs, yet sometimes a person is really deserving of all the praises carved on his gravestone; and so in academies, every now and then a pupil is fully worthy of the praises bestowed by their teacher. Miss Amelia Sedley was a young lady of this sort. She deserved not only all that Miss Pinkerton said in her praise, but had many charming qualities which that pompous old woman could not see.\n"}
+{"original":"For she could not only sing like a lark, or a Mrs. Billington, and dance like Hillisberg or Parisot; and embroider beautifully; and spell as well as a Dixonary itself; but she had such a kindly, smiling, tender, gentle, generous heart of her own, as won the love of everybody who came near her, from Minerva herself down to the poor girl in the scullery, and the one-eyed tart-woman's daughter, who was permitted to vend her wares once a week to the young ladies in the Mall. She had twelve intimate and bosom friends out of the twenty-four young ladies. Even envious Miss Briggs never spoke ill of her; high and mighty Miss Saltire (Lord Dexter's granddaughter) allowed that her figure was genteel; and as for Miss Swartz, the rich woolly-haired mulatto from St. Kitt's, on the day Amelia went away, she was in such a passion of tears that they were obliged to send for Dr. Floss, and half tipsify her with salvolatile. Miss Pinkerton's attachment was, as may be supposed from the high position and eminent virtues of that lady, calm and dignified; but Miss Jemima had already whimpered several times at the idea of Amelia's departure; and, but for fear of her sister, would have gone off in downright hysterics, like the heiress (who paid double) of St. Kitt's. Such luxury of grief, however, is only allowed to parlour-boarders. Honest Jemima had all the bills, and the washing, and the mending, and the puddings, and the plate and crockery, and the servants to superintend. But why speak about her? It is probable that we shall not hear of her again from this moment to the end of time, and that when the great filigree iron gates are once closed on her, she and her awful sister will never issue therefrom into this little world of history.\n","abridged":"For she could not only sing like a lark, dance, embroider beautifully, and spell as well as a Dictionary; but she had such a kindly, smiling, tender, generous heart, as won the love of everybody who came near her, right down to the poor girl in the scullery. She had twelve intimate friends out of the twenty-four young ladies. Even envious Miss Briggs never spoke ill of her; high and mighty Miss Saltire allowed that she was genteel; and as for Miss Swartz, the rich mulatto from St. Kitt's, when Amelia went away, she was in a passion of tears.\nMiss Jemima had already whimpered several times at the idea of Amelia's departure; and, but for fear of her sister, would have had downright hysterics. Such luxury of grief, however, is only allowed to parlour-boarders. Honest Jemima had all the bills, and the washing, and the mending, and the puddings, and the crockery, and the servants to superintend. But why speak about her? We shall probably not hear of her again from this moment to the end of time.\n"}
+{"original":"But as we are to see a great deal of Amelia, there is no harm in saying, at the outset of our acquaintance, that she was a dear little creature; and a great mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (and the latter especially) abound in villains of the most sombre sort, that we are to have for a constant companion so guileless and good-natured a person. As she is not a heroine, there is no need to describe her person; indeed I am afraid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for a heroine; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her lips with the freshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes which sparkled with the brightest and honestest good-humour, except indeed when they filled with tears, and that was a great deal too often; for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary-bird; or over a mouse, that the cat haply had seized upon; or over the end of a novel, were it ever so stupid; and as for saying an unkind word to her, were any persons hard-hearted enough to do so--why, so much the worse for them. Even Miss Pinkerton, that austere and godlike woman, ceased scolding her after the first time, and though she no more comprehended sensibility than she did Algebra, gave all masters and teachers particular orders to treat Miss Sedley with the utmost gentleness, as harsh treatment was injurious to her.\n","abridged":"But as we are to see a great deal of Amelia, there is no harm in saying at the outset that she was a dear little creature; and a great mercy it is, both in life and in novels, to have so guileless and good-natured a companion.\nAs she is not a heroine, there is no need to describe her looks. Indeed I am afraid that her nose was rather short, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for a heroine; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her lips with the freshest of smiles, and her eyes sparkled with bright good-humour, except when they filled with tears, and that was a great deal too often; for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary-bird, or the end of a novel, even a stupid one. If anybody were so hard-hearted as to say an unkind word to her, so much the worse for them. Even the austere Miss Pinkerton ceased scolding her after the first time, and gave all the teachers particular orders to treat Miss Sedley with the utmost gentleness.\n"}
+{"original":"So that when the day of departure came, between her two customs of laughing and crying, Miss Sedley was greatly puzzled how to act. She was glad to go home, and yet most woefully sad at leaving school. For three days before, little Laura Martin, the orphan, followed her about like a little dog. She had to make and receive at least fourteen presents--to make fourteen solemn promises of writing every week: \"Send my letters under cover to my grandpapa, the Earl of Dexter,\" said Miss Saltire (who, by the way, was rather shabby). \"Never mind the postage, but write every day, you dear darling,\" said the impetuous and woolly-headed, but generous and affectionate Miss Swartz; and the orphan little Laura Martin (who was just in round-hand), took her friend's hand and said, looking up in her face wistfully, \"Amelia, when I write to you I shall call you Mamma.\" All which details, I have no doubt, JONES, who reads this book at his Club, will pronounce to be excessively foolish, trivial, twaddling, and ultra-sentimental. Yes; I can see Jones at this minute (rather flushed with his joint of mutton and half pint of wine), taking out his pencil and scoring under the words \"foolish, twaddling,\" &c., and adding to them his own remark of \"QUITE TRUE.\" Well, he is a lofty man of genius, and admires the great and heroic in life and novels; and so had better take warning and go elsewhere.\n","abridged":"When the day of departure came, Miss Sedley was glad to go home, and yet woefully sad at leaving school. For three days before, little Laura Martin, the orphan, followed her about like a dog. She had to make and receive fourteen presents - to make fourteen solemn promises of writing every week.\n\"Write every day, you dear darling,\" said the impetuous but affectionate Miss Swartz; and Laura Martin took her hand and said wistfully, \"Amelia, when I write to you I shall call you Mamma.\" All of which details, no doubt Jones, who reads this book at his Club, will pronounce to be excessively foolish, trivial, twaddling, and ultra-sentimental. Well, he is a lofty man of genius, and admires the great and heroic; and so he had better take warning and go elsewhere.\n"}
+{"original":"Well, then. The flowers, and the presents, and the trunks, and bonnet-boxes of Miss Sedley having been arranged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with a very small and weather-beaten old cow's-skin trunk with Miss Sharp's card neatly nailed upon it, which was delivered by Sambo with a grin, and packed by the coachman with a corresponding sneer--the hour for parting came; and the grief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil. Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to philosophise, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably dull, pompous, and tedious; and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, Miss Sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ebullitions of private grief. A seed-cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing-room, as on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents, and these refreshments being partaken of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart.\n\"You'll go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky!\" said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom nobody took any notice, and who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox.\n\"I suppose I must,\" said Miss Sharp calmly, and much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter having knocked at the door, and receiving permission to come in, Miss Sharp advanced in a very unconcerned manner, and said in French, and with a perfect accent, \"Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux.\"\nMiss Pinkerton did not understand French; she only directed those who did: but biting her lips and throwing up her venerable and Roman-nosed head (on the top of which figured a large and solemn turban), she said, \"Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning.\" As the Hammersmith Semiramis spoke, she waved one hand, both by way of adieu, and to give Miss Sharp an opportunity of shaking one of the fingers of the hand which was left out for that purpose.\n","abridged":"Well, then. Miss Sedley's flowers, presents, trunks, and bonnet-boxes were arranged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with a very small and weather-beaten old trunk with Miss Sharp's card nailed to it. The grief of parting was considerably lessened by the speech which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil, and which was intolerably dull. A seed-cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing-room; and after these refreshments, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart.\n\"You'll go in and say goodbye to Miss Pinkerton, Becky?\" said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom nobody took any notice, who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox.\n\"I suppose I must,\" said Miss Sharp calmly, much to the wonder of Miss Jemima. Miss Sharp entered Miss Pinkerton's room in a very unconcerned manner, and said in French, with a perfect accent, \"Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux.\"\nMiss Pinkerton did not understand French; but throwing up her turbaned head, she said, \"Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning.\" She majestically waved one hand, both by way of adieu, and to allow Miss Sharp an opportunity of shaking it.\n"}
+{"original":"Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very frigid smile and bow, and quite declined to accept the proffered honour; on which Semiramis tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever. In fact, it was a little battle between the young lady and the old one, and the latter was worsted. \"Heaven bless you, my child,\" said she, embracing Amelia, and scowling the while over the girl's shoulder at Miss Sharp. \"Come away, Becky,\" said Miss Jemima, pulling the young woman away in great alarm, and the drawing-room door closed upon them for ever.\nThen came the struggle and parting below. Words refuse to tell it. All the servants were there in the hall--all the dear friends--all the young ladies--the dancing-master who had just arrived; and there was such a scuffling, and hugging, and kissing, and crying, with the hysterical YOOPS of Miss Swartz, the parlour-boarder, from her room, as no pen can depict, and as the tender heart would fain pass over. The embracing was over; they parted--that is, Miss Sedley parted from her friends. Miss Sharp had demurely entered the carriage some minutes before. Nobody cried for leaving HER.\n","abridged":"Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very frigid smile and bow, and Miss Pinkerton tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever. It was a little battle between the young lady and the old one, and the latter was worsted.\n\"Heaven bless you, my child,\" said she, embracing Amelia, and scowling over the girl's shoulder at Miss Sharp.\n\"Come away, Becky,\" said Miss Jemima, pulling the young woman away in alarm, and the drawing-room door closed upon them.\nThen came the parting with the young ladies. There was such a hugging, and kissing, and crying, as no pen can depict. The embracing was over; they parted - that is, Miss Sedley parted from her friends. Miss Sharp had demurely entered the carriage some minutes before. Nobody cried at leaving her.\n"}
+{"original":"Sambo of the bandy legs slammed the carriage door on his young weeping mistress. He sprang up behind the carriage. \"Stop!\" cried Miss Jemima, rushing to the gate with a parcel.\n\"It's some sandwiches, my dear,\" said she to Amelia. \"You may be hungry, you know; and Becky, Becky Sharp, here's a book for you that my sister--that is, I--Johnson's Dixonary, you know; you mustn't leave us without that. Good-by. Drive on, coachman. God bless you!\"\nAnd the kind creature retreated into the garden, overcome with emotion.\n","abridged":"Sambo slammed the carriage door on his young weeping mistress, and sprang up behind the carriage.\n\"Stop!\" cried Miss Jemima, rushing to the gate with a parcel. \"It's some sandwiches, my dear,\" said she to Amelia. \"You may be hungry, you know; and Becky Sharp, here's a book for you that my sister - that is, I - Johnson's Dictionary, you know; you mustn't leave us without that. Good-bye. God bless you!\"\nAnd the kind creature retreated.\n"}
+{"original":"But, lo! and just as the coach drove off, Miss Sharp put her pale face out of the window and actually flung the book back into the garden.\nThis almost caused Jemima to faint with terror. \"Well, I never\"--said she--\"what an audacious\"--Emotion prevented her from completing either sentence. The carriage rolled away; the great gates were closed; the bell rang for the dancing lesson. The world is before the two young ladies; and so, farewell to Chiswick Mall.","abridged":"But, lo! as the coach drove off, Miss Sharp put her pale face out of the window and flung the book back into the garden.\nJemima almost fainted with terror. \"Well, I never,\" said she; \"what an audacious-\" Emotion prevented her from finishing.\nThe carriage rolled away; the great gates were closed. The world is before the two young ladies; and so, farewell to Chiswick Mall."}
+{"original":"Our Major had rendered himself so popular on board the Ramchunder that when he and Mr. Sedley descended into the welcome shore-boat which was to take them from the ship, the whole crew, men and officers, the great Captain Bragg himself leading off, gave three cheers for Major Dobbin, who blushed very much and ducked his head in token of thanks. Jos, who very likely thought the cheers were for himself, took off his gold-laced cap and waved it majestically to his friends, and they were pulled to shore and landed with great dignity at the pier, whence they proceeded to the Royal George Hotel.\n","abridged":"Our Major had made himself so popular on board that when he and Mr. Sedley left the ship, the whole crew gave three cheers for Major Dobbin, who blushed and ducked his head in thanks. Jos, thinking the cheers were for himself, took off his gold-laced cap and waved it majestically. They landed with great dignity at the pier, and proceeded to the Royal George Hotel.\n"}
+{"original":"Although the sight of that magnificent round of beef, and the silver tankard suggestive of real British home-brewed ale and porter, which perennially greet the eyes of the traveller returning from foreign parts who enters the coffee-room of the George, are so invigorating and delightful that a man entering such a comfortable snug homely English inn might well like to stop some days there, yet Dobbin began to talk about a post-chaise instantly, and was no sooner at Southampton than he wished to be on the road to London. Jos, however, would not hear of moving that evening. Why was he to pass a night in a post-chaise instead of a great large undulating downy feather-bed which was there ready to replace the horrid little narrow crib in which the portly Bengal gentleman had been confined during the voyage? He could not think of moving till his baggage was cleared, or of travelling until he could do so with his chillum. So the Major was forced to wait over that night, and dispatched a letter to his family announcing his arrival, entreating from Jos a promise to write to his own friends. Jos promised, but didn't keep his promise. The Captain, the surgeon, and one or two passengers came and dined with our two gentlemen at the inn, Jos exerting himself in a sumptuous way in ordering the dinner and promising to go to town the next day with the Major. The landlord said it did his eyes good to see Mr. Sedley take off his first pint of porter. If I had time and dared to enter into digressions, I would write a chapter about that first pint of porter drunk upon English ground. Ah, how good it is! ","abridged":"There, although the sight of a magnificent round of beef and a silver tankard of real British home-brewed ale greeted their delighted eyes, yet Dobbin began instantly to talk about a post-chaise, and wished to be on the road to London. Jos, however, would not hear of moving that evening. Why pass a night in a post-chaise instead of a downy feather-bed?\nSo the Major was forced to wait over that night, and wrote to his family announcing his arrival. Jos promised to write to his own family, but didn't. He ordered a sumptuous dinner; the landlord said it did him good to see Mr. Sedley drink off his first pint of porter.\n"}
+{"original":"It is worth-while to leave home for a year, just to enjoy that one draught.\nMajor Dobbin made his appearance the next morning very neatly shaved and dressed, according to his wont. Indeed, it was so early in the morning that nobody was up in the house except that wonderful Boots of an inn who never seems to want sleep; and the Major could hear the snores of the various inmates of the house roaring through the corridors as he creaked about in those dim passages. Then the sleepless Boots went shirking round from door to door, gathering up at each the Bluchers, Wellingtons, Oxonians, which stood outside. Then Jos's native servant arose and began to get ready his master's ponderous dressing apparatus and prepare his hookah; then the maidservants got up, and meeting the dark man in the passages, shrieked, and mistook him for the devil. He and Dobbin stumbled over their pails in the passages as they were scouring the decks of the Royal George. When the first unshorn waiter appeared and unbarred the door of the inn, the Major thought that the time for departure was arrived, and ordered a post-chaise to be fetched instantly, that they might set off.\nHe then directed his steps to Mr. Sedley's room and opened the curtains of the great large family bed wherein Mr. Jos was snoring. \"Come, up! Sedley,\" the Major said, \"it's time to be off; the chaise will be at the door in half an hour.\"\n","abridged":"Next morning Major Dobbin was neatly shaved and dressed so early that nobody was up in the house except the Boots. The Major could hear snores roaring through the corridors as he creaked about. The sleepless Boots went from door to door, gathering up the footwear which stood outside each one. Then Jos's native servant arose and began to get ready his master's ponderous dressing apparatus and prepare his hookah; then the maidservants got up. When the first waiter appeared and unbarred the door of the inn, the Major ordered a post-chaise to be fetched instantly, so that they might set off.\nHe went to Mr. Sedley's room, saying, \"Wake up, Sedley! the chaise will be at the door in half an hour.\"\n"}
+{"original":"Jos growled from under the counterpane to know what the time was; but when he at last extorted from the blushing Major (who never told fibs, however they might be to his advantage) what was the real hour of the morning, he broke out into a volley of bad language, which we will not repeat here, but by which he gave Dobbin to understand that he would jeopardy his soul if he got up at that moment, that the Major might go and be hanged, that he would not travel with Dobbin, and that it was most unkind and ungentlemanlike to disturb a man out of his sleep in that way; on which the discomfited Major was obliged to retreat, leaving Jos to resume his interrupted slumbers.\nThe chaise came up presently, and the Major would wait no longer.\nIf he had been an English nobleman travelling on a pleasure tour, or a newspaper courier bearing dispatches (government messages are generally carried much more quietly), he could not have travelled more quickly. The post-boys wondered at the fees he flung amongst them. How happy and green the country looked as the chaise whirled rapidly from mile-stone to mile-stone, through neat country towns where landlords came out to welcome him with smiles and bows; by pretty roadside inns, where the signs hung on the elms, and horses and waggoners were drinking under the chequered shadow of the trees; by old halls and parks; rustic hamlets clustered round ancient grey churches--and through the charming friendly English landscape. Is there any in the world like it? To a traveller returning home it looks so kind--it seems to shake hands with you as you pass through it. Well, Major Dobbin passed through all this from Southampton to London, and without noting much beyond the milestones along the road. You see he was so eager to see his parents at Camberwell.\n","abridged":"Jos growled from under the counterpane, and gave Dobbin to understand that he might go and be hanged, that Jos would not travel with him, and that it was most ungentlemanlike to disturb a man out of his sleep in that way; on which the Major was obliged to retreat. The chaise soon came up, and he could wait no longer.\nIf he had been a newspaper courier bearing dispatches, he could not have travelled more quickly. The post-boys wondered at the fees he flung amongst them. How happy and green the country looked as the chaise whirled rapidly from mile-stone to mile-stone; past pretty roadside inns, where the signs hung on the elms, and horses and waggoners were drinking under the trees; by old halls and parks; by rustic hamlets clustered round ancient grey churches - through the charming friendly English landscape. Is there any in the world like it? Well, Major Dobbin passed through all this without noticing it.\n"}
+{"original":"He grudged the time lost between Piccadilly and his old haunt at the Slaughters', whither he drove faithfully. Long years had passed since he saw it last, since he and George, as young men, had enjoyed many a feast, and held many a revel there. He had now passed into the stage of old-fellow-hood. His hair was grizzled, and many a passion and feeling of his youth had grown grey in that interval. There, however, stood the old waiter at the door, in the same greasy black suit, with the same double chin and flaccid face, with the same huge bunch of seals at his fob, rattling his money in his pockets as before, and receiving the Major as if he had gone away only a week ago. \"Put the Major's things in twenty-three, that's his room,\" John said, exhibiting not the least surprise. \"Roast fowl for your dinner, I suppose. You ain't got married? They said you was married--the Scotch surgeon of yours was here. No, it was Captain Humby of the thirty-third, as was quartered with the --th in Injee. ","abridged":"He drove first to his old haunt at the Slaughters. Long years had passed since he saw it last; since he and George, as young men, had enjoyed many a feast there. However, the old waiter stood at the door in the same greasy black suit, receiving the Major as if he had gone away only a week ago.\n\"Put the Major's things in twenty-three, that's his room,\" said John. \"Roast fowl for your dinner, I suppose. You ain't got married? "}
+{"original":"Like any warm water? What do you come in a chay for--ain't the coach good enough?\" And with this, the faithful waiter, who knew and remembered every officer who used the house, and with whom ten years were but as yesterday, led the way up to Dobbin's old room, where stood the great moreen bed, and the shabby carpet, a thought more dingy, and all the old black furniture covered with faded chintz, just as the Major recollected them in his youth.\nHe remembered George pacing up and down the room, and biting his nails, and swearing that the Governor must come round, and that if he didn't, he didn't care a straw, on the day before he was married. He could fancy him walking in, banging the door of Dobbin's room, and his own hard by--\n\"You ain't got young,\" John said, calmly surveying his friend of former days.\nDobbin laughed. \"Ten years and a fever don't make a man young, John,\" he said. \"It is you that are always young--no, you are always old.\"\n","abridged":"Like any warm water?\" And with this, the faithful waiter, with whom ten years were but as yesterday, led the way up to Dobbin's old room. The Major remembered George pacing up and down in here, and biting his nails, the day before he was married.\n"}
+{"original":"\"What became of Captain Osborne's widow?\" John said. \"Fine young fellow that. Lord, how he used to spend his money. He never came back after that day he was marched from here. He owes me three pound at this minute. Look here, I have it in my book. 'April 10, 1815, Captain Osborne: 3 pounds.' I wonder whether his father would pay me,\" and so saying, John of the Slaughters' pulled out the very morocco pocket-book in which he had noted his loan to the Captain, upon a greasy faded page still extant, with many other scrawled memoranda regarding the bygone frequenters of the house.\nHaving inducted his customer into the room, John retired with perfect calmness; and Major Dobbin, not without a blush and a grin at his own absurdity, chose out of his kit the very smartest and most becoming civil costume he possessed, and laughed at his own tanned face and grey hair, as he surveyed them in the dreary little toilet-glass on the dressing-table.\n","abridged":"\"What became of Captain Osborne's widow?\" John said. \"Fine young fellow, that. Lord, how he used to spend his money. He owes me three pound at this minute.\"\nJohn then retired; and Major Dobbin, with a grin at his own absurdity, chose the very smartest costume he possessed, and laughed at his own tanned face and grey hair in the mirror.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'm glad old John didn't forget me,\" he thought. \"She'll know me, too, I hope.\" And he sallied out of the inn, bending his steps once more in the direction of Brompton.\n","abridged":"\"I'm glad old John didn't forget me,\" he thought. \"She'll know me, too, I hope.\" And he left the inn, making towards Brompton.\n"}
+{"original":"Every minute incident of his last meeting with Amelia was present to the constant man's mind as he walked towards her house. The arch and the Achilles statue were up since he had last been in Piccadilly; a hundred changes had occurred which his eye and mind vaguely noted. He began to tremble as he walked up the lane from Brompton, that well-remembered lane leading to the street where she lived. Was she going to be married or not? If he were to meet her with the little boy--Good God, what should he do? He saw a woman coming to him with a child of five years old--was that she? He began to shake at the mere possibility. When he came up to the row of houses, at last, where she lived, and to the gate, he caught hold of it and paused. He might have heard the thumping of his own heart. \"May God Almighty bless her, whatever has happened,\" he thought to himself. ","abridged":"Every minute of his last meeting with Amelia was in his mind as he walked towards her house. A hundred changes had occurred which he vaguely noticed. He began to tremble as he walked up the well-remembered lane from Brompton to the street where she lived.\nWas she going to be married or not? If he were to meet her with the little boy - what should he do? He saw a woman coming towards him with a child of five - was that she? He began to shake at the mere possibility. When he came to her gate at last, he caught hold of it and paused, his heart thumping.\n\"May God bless her, whatever has happened,\" he thought. "}
+{"original":"\"Psha! she may be gone from here,\" he said and went in through the gate.\nThe window of the parlour which she used to occupy was open, and there were no inmates in the room. The Major thought he recognized the piano, though, with the picture over it, as it used to be in former days, and his perturbations were renewed. Mr. Clapp's brass plate was still on the door, at the knocker of which Dobbin performed a summons.\nA buxom-looking lass of sixteen, with bright eyes and purple cheeks, came to answer the knock and looked hard at the Major as he leant back against the little porch.\nHe was as pale as a ghost and could hardly falter out the words--\"Does Mrs. Osborne live here?\"\n","abridged":"\"Psha! she may be gone from here.\" He went in through the gate.\nThe parlour window was open, and there was no-one in the room. The Major thought he recognized the piano, though. He knocked on the door.\nA buxom-looking lass of sixteen, with bright eyes, answered the knock and looked hard at the Major.\nHe was as pale as a ghost and could hardly falter out - \"Does Mrs. Osborne live here?\"\n"}
+{"original":"She looked him hard in the face for a moment--and then turning white too--said, \"Lord bless me--it's Major Dobbin.\" She held out both her hands shaking--\"Don't you remember me?\" she said. \"I used to call you Major Sugarplums.\" On which, and I believe it was for the first time that he ever so conducted himself in his life, the Major took the girl in his arms and kissed her. She began to laugh and cry hysterically, and calling out \"Ma, Pa!\" with all her voice, brought up those worthy people, who had already been surveying the Major from the casement of the ornamental kitchen, and were astonished to find their daughter in the little passage in the embrace of a great tall man in a blue frock-coat and white duck trousers.\n","abridged":"\"Lord bless me - it's Major Dobbin.\" She held out both her hands. \"Don't you remember me? Polly Clapp. I used to call you Major Sugarplums.\"\nOn which, and I believe it was for the first time that he ever so conducted himself in his life, the Major took the girl in his arms and kissed her. She began to laugh and cry hysterically, and calling out \"Ma, Pa!\" brought up those worthy people, who were astonished to find their daughter in the little passage in the embrace of a great tall man in a blue frock-coat.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'm an old friend,\" he said--not without blushing though. \"Don't you remember me, Mrs. Clapp, and those good cakes you used to make for tea? Don't you recollect me, Clapp? I'm George's godfather, and just come back from India.\" A great shaking of hands ensued--Mrs. Clapp was greatly affected and delighted; she called upon heaven to interpose a vast many times in that passage.\nThe landlord and landlady of the house led the worthy Major into the Sedleys' room (whereof he remembered every single article of furniture, from the old brass ornamented piano, once a natty little instrument, Stothard maker, to the screens and the alabaster miniature tombstone, in the midst of which ticked Mr. Sedley's gold watch), and there, as he sat down in the lodger's vacant arm-chair, the father, the mother, and the daughter, with a thousand ejaculatory breaks in the narrative, informed Major Dobbin of what we know already, but of particulars in Amelia's history of which he was not aware--namely of Mrs. Sedley's death, of George's reconcilement with his grandfather Osborne, of the way in which the widow took on at leaving him, and of other particulars of her life. Twice or thrice he was going to ask about the marriage question, but his heart failed him. He did not care to lay it bare to these people. Finally, he was informed that Mrs. O. was gone to walk with her pa in Kensington Gardens, whither she always went with the old gentleman (who was very weak and peevish now, and led her a sad life, though she behaved to him like an angel, to be sure), of a fine afternoon, after dinner.\n","abridged":"\"I'm an old friend,\" he said, blushing. \"Don't you remember me, Mrs. Clapp, and those good cakes you used to make for tea? I'm George's godfather, just come back from India.\" A great shaking of hands followed.\nThe landlord and landlady led the worthy Major into the Sedleys' room (whereof he remembered every single article of furniture), and there, as he sat down, they informed Major Dobbin of events in Amelia's history of which he was not aware - namely Mrs. Sedley's death, George's reconcilement with his grandfather Osborne, the widow's sorrow at leaving him, and other details. He was going to ask about the marriage question, but his heart failed him. Finally, he was informed that Mrs. O. was gone to walk in Kensington Gardens with her pa, who was very weak and peevish now, and led her a sad life, though she behaved to him like an angel.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'm very much pressed for time,\" the Major said, \"and have business to-night of importance. I should like to see Mrs. Osborne tho'. Suppose Miss Polly would come with me and show me the way?\"\nMiss Polly was charmed and astonished at this proposal. She knew the way. She would show Major Dobbin. She had often been with Mr. Sedley when Mrs. O. was gone--was gone Russell Square way--and knew the bench where he liked to sit. She bounced away to her apartment and appeared presently in her best bonnet and her mamma's yellow shawl and large pebble brooch, of which she assumed the loan in order to make herself a worthy companion for the Major.\n","abridged":"\"I'm very much pressed for time,\" the Major said, \"but I should like to see Mrs. Osborne. Suppose Miss Polly would show me the way?\"\nMiss Polly was charmed. She bounced away to her apartment and appeared presently in her best bonnet and her mamma's yellow shawl to make herself a worthy companion for the Major.\n"}
+{"original":"That officer, then, in his blue frock-coat and buckskin gloves, gave the young lady his arm, and they walked away very gaily. He was glad to have a friend at hand for the scene which he dreaded somehow. He asked a thousand more questions from his companion about Amelia: his kind heart grieved to think that she should have had to part with her son. How did she bear it? Did she see him often? Was Mr. Sedley pretty comfortable now in a worldly point of view? Polly answered all these questions of Major Sugarplums to the very best of her power.\n","abridged":"He gave the young lady his arm, and they walked away very gaily. He was glad to have a friend at hand for the scene which he dreaded somehow. He asked a thousand more questions about Amelia, and Polly answered Major Sugarplums to the very best of her power.\n"}
+{"original":"And in the midst of their walk an incident occurred which, though very simple in its nature, was productive of the greatest delight to Major Dobbin. A pale young man with feeble whiskers and a stiff white neckcloth came walking down the lane, en sandwich--having a lady, that is, on each arm. One was a tall and commanding middle-aged female, with features and a complexion similar to those of the clergyman of the Church of England by whose side she marched, and the other a stunted little woman with a dark face, ornamented by a fine new bonnet and white ribbons, and in a smart pelisse, with a rich gold watch in the midst of her person. The gentleman, pinioned as he was by these two ladies, carried further a parasol, shawl, and basket, so that his arms were entirely engaged, and of course he was unable to touch his hat in acknowledgement of the curtsey with which Miss Mary Clapp greeted him.\nHe merely bowed his head in reply to her salutation, which the two ladies returned with a patronizing air, and at the same time looking severely at the individual in the blue coat and bamboo cane who accompanied Miss Polly.\n\"Who's that?\" asked the Major, amused by the group, and after he had made way for the three to pass up the lane. Mary looked at him rather roguishly.\n","abridged":"In the midst of their walk an incident occurred which, though very simple, gave the Major great delight. A pale young man with feeble whiskers came walking down the lane with a lady on each arm. One was a tall and commanding middle-aged female, and the other a stunted little woman with a dark face. The gentleman carried a parasol, shawl, and basket, so that his arms were entirely engaged, and he was unable to touch his hat when Miss Polly Clapp greeted him. He merely bowed his head, while the two ladies looked severe.\n\"Who's that?\" asked the Major, amused by the group. Polly looked at him rather roguishly.\n"}
+{"original":"\"That is our curate, the Reverend Mr. Binny (a twitch from Major Dobbin), and his sister Miss B. Lord bless us, how she did use to worret us at Sunday-school; and the other lady, the little one with a cast in her eye and the handsome watch, is Mrs. Binny--Miss Grits that was; her pa was a grocer, and kept the Little Original Gold Tea Pot in Kensington Gravel Pits. They were married last month, and are just come back from Margate. She's five thousand pound to her fortune; but her and Miss B., who made the match, have quarrelled already.\"\nIf the Major had twitched before, he started now, and slapped the bamboo on the ground with an emphasis which made Miss Clapp cry, \"Law,\" and laugh too. He stood for a moment, silent, with open mouth, looking after the retreating young couple, while Miss Mary told their history; but he did not hear beyond the announcement of the reverend gentleman's marriage; his head was swimming with felicity. After this rencontre he began to walk double quick towards the place of his destination--and yet they were too soon (for he was in a great tremor at the idea of a meeting for which he had been longing any time these ten years)--through the Brompton lanes, and entering at the little old portal in Kensington Garden wall.\n\"There they are,\" said Miss Polly, and she felt him again start back on her arm. She was a confidante at once of the whole business. She knew the story as well as if she had read it in one of her favourite novel-books--Fatherless Fanny, or the Scottish Chiefs.\n","abridged":"\"That is our curate, the Reverend Mr. Binny\" (a twitch from Major Dobbin) \"and his sister Miss B; and the other lady, the little one with a cast in her eye, is Mrs. Binny - Miss Grits that was; her pa was a grocer, and they were married last month, but her and Miss B. have quarrelled already.\"\nThe Major stood silent while Miss Polly told this history; but his head was swimming with happiness. He began to walk double quick towards his destination - yet he was in a great tremor as they entered the old portal in Kensington Garden wall.\n\"There they are,\" said Miss Polly, and she felt him again start back on her arm. She understood the whole business.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Suppose you were to run on and tell her,\" the Major said. Polly ran forward, her yellow shawl streaming in the breeze.\nOld Sedley was seated on a bench, his handkerchief placed over his knees, prattling away, according to his wont, with some old story about old times to which Amelia had listened and awarded a patient smile many a time before. She could of late think of her own affairs, and smile or make other marks of recognition of her father's stories, scarcely hearing a word of the old man's tales. As Mary came bouncing along, and Amelia caught sight of her, she started up from her bench. Her first thought was that something had happened to Georgy, but the sight of the messenger's eager and happy face dissipated that fear in the timorous mother's bosom.\n","abridged":"\"Suppose you run on and tell her,\" the Major said. Polly ran forward, her yellow shawl streaming in the breeze.\nOld Sedley was seated on a bench, prattling away as usual, while Amelia listened with a patient smile, scarcely hearing a word. As Polly came bouncing along, Amelia started up. Her first thought was that something had happened to Georgy, but the sight of the messenger's eager face dissipated that fear.\n"}
+{"original":"\"News! News!\" cried the emissary of Major Dobbin. \"He's come! He's come!\"\n\"Who is come?\" said Emmy, still thinking of her son.\n","abridged":"\"News! News!\" cried Polly. \"He's come!\"\n\"Who is come?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Look there,\" answered Miss Clapp, turning round and pointing; in which direction Amelia looking, saw Dobbin's lean figure and long shadow stalking across the grass. Amelia started in her turn, blushed up, and, of course, began to cry. At all this simple little creature's fetes, the grandes eaux were accustomed to play. He looked at her--oh, how fondly--as she came running towards him, her hands before her, ready to give them to him. She wasn't changed. She was a little pale, a little stouter in figure. Her eyes were the same, the kind trustful eyes. There were scarce three lines of silver in her soft brown hair. She gave him both her hands as she looked up flushing and smiling through her tears into his honest homely face. He took the two little hands between his two and held them there. ","abridged":"\"Look there,\" answered Miss Clapp, pointing; and Amelia saw Dobbin's lean figure and long shadow stalking across the grass. Amelia started in her turn, blushed up, and, of course, began to cry. He looked at her - oh, how fondly - as she came running towards him, her hands held out to him. She wasn't changed. She was a little pale, a little stouter. Her eyes were the same kind trustful eyes. There were scarce three lines of silver in her soft brown hair.\nShe gave him both her hands as she looked up flushing and smiling through her tears into his honest homely face. He took the two little hands between his"}
+{"original":"He was speechless for a moment. Why did he not take her in his arms and swear that he would never leave her? She must have yielded: she could not but have obeyed him.\n\"I--I've another arrival to announce,\" he said after a pause.\n\"Mrs. Dobbin?\" Amelia said, making a movement back--why didn't he speak?\n\"No,\" he said, letting her hands go: \"Who has told you those lies? I mean, your brother Jos came in the same ship with me, and is come home to make you all happy.\"\n","abridged":" own, speechless for a moment. Why did he not take her in his arms and swear that he would never leave her? She must have yielded.\n\"I - I've another arrival to announce,\" he said after a pause.\n\"Mrs. Dobbin?\" Amelia said, making a movement back. Why didn't he declare himself?\n\"No,\" he said, letting her hands go: \"Who has told you those lies? I mean your brother Jos, who is come home with me to make you all happy.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Papa, Papa!\" Emmy cried out, \"here are news! My brother is in England. He is come to take care of you. Here is Major Dobbin.\"\nMr. Sedley started up, shaking a great deal and gathering up his thoughts. Then he stepped forward and made an old-fashioned bow to the Major, whom he called Mr. Dobbin, and hoped his worthy father, Sir William, was quite well. He proposed to call upon Sir William, who had done him the honour of a visit a short time ago. Sir William had not called upon the old gentleman for eight years--it was that visit he was thinking of returning.\n\"He is very much shaken,\" Emmy whispered as Dobbin went up and cordially shook hands with the old man.\n","abridged":"\"Papa, Papa!\" Emmy cried, \"My brother is in England! He is come to take care of you. Here is Major Dobbin.\"\nMr. Sedley stepped forward and made an old-fashioned bow to the Major, and hoped his worthy father, Sir William, was quite well. He proposed to call upon Sir William, who had visited him a short time ago. Sir William had not called upon the old gentleman for eight years.\n\"He is very much shaken,\" Emmy whispered as Dobbin shook hands with the old man.\n"}
+{"original":"Although he had such particular business in London that evening, the Major consented to forego it upon Mr. Sedley's invitation to him to come home and partake of tea. Amelia put her arm under that of her young friend with the yellow shawl and headed the party on their return homewards, so that Mr. Sedley fell to Dobbin's share. The old man walked very slowly and told a number of ancient histories about himself and his poor Bessy, his former prosperity, and his bankruptcy. His thoughts, as is usual with failing old men, were quite in former times. The present, with the exception of the one catastrophe which he felt, he knew little about. The Major was glad to let him talk on. His eyes were fixed upon the figure in front of him--the dear little figure always present to his imagination and in his prayers, and visiting his dreams wakeful or slumbering.\n","abridged":"Although he had such particular business in London that evening, the Major took up Mr. Sedley's invitation to come home for tea. Amelia put her arm under Polly's on their return home, so that Mr. Sedley fell to Dobbin's share. The old man walked very slowly and told a number of ancient histories about himself and his former prosperity. The Major was glad to let him talk on. His eyes were fixed upon the figure in front of him - the dear little figure always present in his thoughts and dreams.\n"}
+{"original":"Amelia was very happy, smiling, and active all that evening, performing her duties as hostess of the little entertainment with the utmost grace and propriety, as Dobbin thought. His eyes followed her about as they sat in the twilight. How many a time had he longed for that moment and thought of her far away under hot winds and in weary marches, gentle and happy, kindly ministering to the wants of old age, and decorating poverty with sweet submission--as he saw her now. I do not say that his taste was the highest, or that it is the duty of great intellects to be content with a bread-and-butter paradise, such as sufficed our simple old friend; but his desires were of this sort, whether for good or bad, and, with Amelia to help him, he was as ready to drink as many cups of tea as Doctor Johnson.\nAmelia seeing this propensity, laughingly encouraged it and looked exceedingly roguish as she administered to him cup after cup. It is true she did not know that the Major had had no dinner and that the cloth was laid for him at the Slaughters', and a plate laid thereon to mark that the table was retained, in that very box in which the Major and George had sat many a time carousing, when she was a child just come home from Miss Pinkerton's school.\nThe first thing Mrs. Osborne showed the Major was Georgy's miniature, for which she ran upstairs on her arrival at home. It was not half handsome enough of course for the boy, but wasn't it noble of him to think of bringing it to his mother? Whilst her papa was awake she did not talk much about Georgy. To hear about Mr. Osborne and Russell Square was not agreeable to the old man, who very likely was unconscious that he had been living for some months past mainly on the bounty of his richer rival, and lost his temper if allusion was made to the other.\n","abridged":"Amelia was very happy, smiling and active all that evening, performing her duties as hostess with the utmost grace, Dobbin thought. His eyes followed her about as they sat in the twilight. How many a time had he longed for that moment, and thought of her far away under hot winds and in weary marches, gentle and happy as he saw her now.\nWith Amelia to help him, he was ready to drink as many cups of tea as Doctor Johnson, and Amelia laughingly poured him cup after cup. She did not know that the Major had had no dinner and that the table was laid for him at the Slaughters'.\nThe first thing Mrs. Osborne had showed the Major was Georgy's miniature. It was not half handsome enough, of course, but wasn't it noble of Georgy to think of it for her? Whilst her papa was awake she did not talk much about Georgy, for old Sedley did not like to hear about Mr. Osborne and Russell Square. He did now know that for some months he had been living on his rival's bounty, and lost his temper if Osborne was mentioned.\n"}
+{"original":"Dobbin told him all, and a little more perhaps than all, that had happened on board the Ramchunder, and exaggerated Jos's benevolent dispositions towards his father and resolution to make him comfortable in his old days. The truth is that during the voyage the Major had impressed this duty most strongly upon his fellow-passenger and extorted promises from him that he would take charge of his sister and her child. He soothed Jos's irritation with regard to the bills which the old gentleman had drawn upon him, gave a laughing account of his own sufferings on the same score and of the famous consignment of wine with which the old man had favoured him, and brought Mr. Jos, who was by no means an ill-natured person when well-pleased and moderately flattered, to a very good state of feeling regarding his relatives in Europe.\nAnd in fine I am ashamed to say that the Major stretched the truth so far as to tell old Mr. Sedley that it was mainly a desire to see his parent which brought Jos once more to Europe.\n","abridged":"Dobbin told them all that had happened on board the ship, and exaggerated Jos's benevolent wishes for his father. The truth is that during the voyage the Major had impressed this duty most strongly upon his fellow-passenger, soothing Jos's irritation about the bills which the old gentleman had drawn upon him, and bringing Mr. Jos to a good state of feeling about his relatives. The Major stretched the truth so far as to tell old Mr. Sedley that it was mainly a desire to see his father which brought Jos home.\n"}
+{"original":"At his accustomed hour Mr. Sedley began to doze in his chair, and then it was Amelia's opportunity to commence her conversation, which she did with great eagerness--it related exclusively to Georgy. She did not talk at all about her own sufferings at breaking from him, for indeed, this worthy woman, though she was half-killed by the separation from the child, yet thought it was very wicked in her to repine at losing him; but everything concerning him, his virtues, talents, and prospects, she poured out. She described his angelic beauty; narrated a hundred instances of his generosity and greatness of mind whilst living with her; how a Royal Duchess had stopped and admired him in Kensington Gardens; how splendidly he was cared for now, and how he had a groom and a pony; what quickness and cleverness he had, and what a prodigiously well-read and delightful person the Reverend Lawrence Veal was, George's master. \"He knows EVERYTHING,\" Amelia said. \"He has the most delightful parties. You who are so learned yourself, and have read so much, and are so clever and accomplished--don't shake your head and say no--HE always used to say you were--you will be charmed with Mr. Veal's parties. The last Tuesday in every month. He says there is no place in the bar or the senate that Georgy may not aspire to. Look here,\" and she went to the piano-drawer and drew out a theme of Georgy's composition. This great effort of genius, which is still in the possession of George's mother, is as follows:\n","abridged":"When Mr. Sedley began to doze in his chair, it was Amelia's opportunity to talk, which she did with great eagerness - all about Georgy. She did not talk at all about her own sufferings; but everything concerning him, his virtues, talents, and prospects, she poured out. She described his angelic beauty; a hundred instances of his generosity; how a Royal Duchess had stopped and admired him in Kensington Gardens; how splendidly he was cared for now, with a groom and a pony; how clever he was, and what a well-read teacher he had in the Reverend Veal.\n\"He knows everything,\" Amelia said. \"He has the most delightful parties. You who are so learned yourself - don't shake your head - he always used to say you were - you will be charmed with Mr. Veal's parties. He says there is no place that Georgy may not aspire to. Look here,\" and she went to the piano-drawer and took out a composition by Georgy, as follows:\n"}
+{"original":"On Selfishness--Of all the vices which degrade the human character, Selfishness is the most odious and contemptible. An undue love of Self leads to the most monstrous crimes and occasions the greatest misfortunes both in States and Families. As a selfish man will impoverish his family and often bring them to ruin, so a selfish king brings ruin on his people and often plunges them into war.\nExample: The selfishness of Achilles, as remarked by the poet Homer, occasioned a thousand woes to the Greeks--muri Achaiois alge etheke--(Hom. Il. A. 2). The selfishness of the late Napoleon Bonaparte occasioned innumerable wars in Europe and caused him to perish, himself, in a miserable island--that of Saint Helena in the Atlantic Ocean.\nWe see by these examples that we are not to consult our own interest and ambition, but that we are to consider the interests of others as well as our own.\nGeorge S. Osborne Athene House, 24 April, 1827\n\"Think of him writing such a hand, and quoting Greek too, at his age,\" the delighted mother said. \"Oh, William,\" she added, holding out her hand to the Major, \"what a treasure Heaven has given me in that boy! He is the comfort of my life--and he is the image of--of him that's gone!\"\n","abridged":"On Selfishness - Of all the vices which degrade the human character, Selfishness is the most odious and contemptible. An undue love of Self leads to the most monstrous crimes and occasions the greatest misfortunes both in States and Families. As a selfish man will impoverish his family and often bring them to ruin, so a selfish king brings ruin on his people and often plunges them into war.\nExample: The selfishness of Achilles, as remarked by the poet Homer, occasioned a thousand woes to the Greeks - - (Hom. Il. A. 2). The selfishness of the late Napoleon Bonaparte occasioned wars in Europe and caused him to perish himself, in the miserable island of Saint Helena in the Atlantic Ocean.\nWe see by these examples that we are not to consult our own interest and ambition, but that we are to consider the interests of others as well as our own.\nGeorge S. Osborne.\n\"Think of him writing such a hand, and quoting Greek, at his age,\" the delighted mother said. \"What a treasure Heaven has given me! He is the comfort of my life - and the image of - of him that's gone!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ought I to be angry with her for being faithful to him?\" William thought. \"Ought I to be jealous of my friend in the grave, or hurt that such a heart as Amelia's can love only once and for ever? Oh, George, George, how little you knew the prize you had, though.\" This sentiment passed rapidly through William's mind as he was holding Amelia's hand, whilst the handkerchief was veiling her eyes.\n\"Dear friend,\" she said, pressing the hand which held hers, \"how good, how kind you always have been to me! See! Papa is stirring. You will go and see Georgy tomorrow, won't you?\"\n","abridged":"\"Ought I to be angry with her for being faithful to him?\" William thought. \"Ought I to be jealous of my friend in the grave, or feel hurt that Amelia's heart can love only once and forever? Oh, George, how little you knew the prize you had.\"\n\"Dear friend,\" she said, pressing his hand, \"how good you have always been to me! Papa is stirring. You will go and see Georgy tomorrow, won't you?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not to-morrow,\" said poor old Dobbin. \"I have business.\" He did not like to own that he had not as yet been to his parents' and his dear sister Anne--a remissness for which I am sure every well-regulated person will blame the Major. And presently he took his leave, leaving his address behind him for Jos, against the latter's arrival. And so the first day was over, and he had seen her.\nWhen he got back to the Slaughters', the roast fowl was of course cold, in which condition he ate it for supper. And knowing what early hours his family kept, and that it would be needless to disturb their slumbers at so late an hour, it is on record, that Major Dobbin treated himself to half-price at the Haymarket Theatre that evening, where let us hope he enjoyed himself.","abridged":"\"Not tomorrow,\" said poor Dobbin. \"I have business.\" He had not yet been to visit his parents and his sisters. Presently he took his leave; and so the first day was over, and he had seen her."}
+{"original":"The heir of Crawley arrived at home, in due time, after this catastrophe, and henceforth may be said to have reigned in Queen's Crawley. For though the old Baronet survived many months, he never recovered the use of his intellect or his speech completely, and the government of the estate devolved upon his elder son. In a strange condition Pitt found it. Sir Pitt was always buying and mortgaging; he had twenty men of business, and quarrels with each; quarrels with all his tenants, and lawsuits with them; lawsuits with the lawyers; lawsuits with the Mining and Dock Companies in which he was proprietor; and with every person with whom he had business. To unravel these difficulties and to set the estate clear was a task worthy of the orderly and persevering diplomatist of Pumpernickel, and he set himself to work with prodigious assiduity. His whole family, of course, was transported to Queen's Crawley, whither Lady Southdown, of course, came too; and she set about converting the parish under the Rector's nose, and brought down her irregular clergy to the dismay of the angry Mrs Bute. Sir Pitt had concluded no bargain for the sale of the living of Queen's Crawley; when it should drop, her Ladyship proposed to take the patronage into her own hands and present a young protege to the Rectory, on which subject the diplomatic Pitt said nothing.\n","abridged":"Though the old Baronet survived many months, he never completely recovered the use of his intellect or his speech. The estate was governed by his elder son.\nIn a strange condition Pitt found it. Old Sir Pitt was always buying and mortgaging; he had twenty men of business, and quarrels with each. He had lawsuits with all his tenants, his lawyers, the Mining and Dock Companies in which he had a share, and with every person with whom he had business. To unravel these difficulties was a task worthy of the orderly Pitt, and he set to work. His whole family moved to Queen's Crawley, and Lady Southdown came too, bringing her irregular clergy, to the dismay of the angry Mrs. Bute.\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Bute's intentions with regard to Miss Betsy Horrocks were not carried into effect, and she paid no visit to Southampton Gaol. She and her father left the Hall when the latter took possession of the Crawley Arms in the village, of which he had got a lease from Sir Pitt. The ex-butler had obtained a small freehold there likewise, which gave him a vote for the borough. The Rector had another of these votes, and these and four others formed the representative body which returned the two members for Queen's Crawley.\n","abridged":"Mrs. Bute's threats to Miss Betsy Horrocks were not carried out. Betsy's father took over the Crawley Arms in the village, of which he had got a lease from Sir Pitt. He had obtained a small freehold there likewise, which gave him a vote for the borough. The Rector had another of these votes, and these and four others formed the electorate which returned the two Members of Parliament for Queen's Crawley.\n"}
+{"original":"There was a show of courtesy kept up between the Rectory and the Hall ladies, between the younger ones at least, for Mrs. Bute and Lady Southdown never could meet without battles, and gradually ceased seeing each other. Her Ladyship kept her room when the ladies from the Rectory visited their cousins at the Hall. Perhaps Mr. Pitt was not very much displeased at these occasional absences of his mamma-in-law. He believed the Binkie family to be the greatest and wisest and most interesting in the world, and her Ladyship and his aunt had long held ascendency over him; but sometimes he felt that she commanded him too much. To be considered young was complimentary, doubtless, but at six-and-forty to be treated as a boy was sometimes mortifying. Lady Jane yielded up everything, however, to her mother. She was only fond of her children in private, and it was lucky for her that Lady Southdown's multifarious business, her conferences with ministers, and her correspondence with all the missionaries of Africa, Asia, and Australasia, &c., occupied the venerable Countess a great deal, so that she had but little time to devote to her granddaughter, the little Matilda, and her grandson, Master Pitt Crawley. The latter was a feeble child, and it was only by prodigious quantities of calomel that Lady Southdown was able to keep him in life at all.\n","abridged":"There was a show of courtesy kept up between the Rectory and the Hall ladies; between the younger ones at least, for Mrs. Bute and Lady Southdown could never meet without battles. Lady Southdown kept to her room when the ladies from the Rectory visited. Perhaps Mr. Pitt was not displeased at these occasional absences of his mamma-in-law. Sometimes she commanded him too much; to be treated as a boy at forty-six was mortifying. Lady Jane yielded up everything to her mother. It was lucky for her that Lady Southdown's meetings with ministers and correspondence with missionaries so occupied her that she had little time to devote to her grandchildren.\n"}
+{"original":"As for Sir Pitt he retired into those very apartments where Lady Crawley had been previously extinguished, and here was tended by Miss Hester, the girl upon her promotion, with constant care and assiduity. What love, what fidelity, what constancy is there equal to that of a nurse with good wages? They smooth pillows; and make arrowroot; they get up at nights; they bear complaints and querulousness; they see the sun shining out of doors and don't want to go abroad; they sleep on arm-chairs and eat their meals in solitude; they pass long long evenings doing nothing, watching the embers, and the patient's drink simmering in the jug; they read the weekly paper the whole week through; and Law's Serious Call or the Whole Duty of Man suffices them for literature for the year--and we quarrel with them because, when their relations come to see them once a week, a little gin is smuggled in in their linen basket. Ladies, what man's love is there that would stand a year's nursing of the object of his affection? Whereas a nurse will stand by you for ten pounds a quarter, and we think her too highly paid. At least Mr. Crawley grumbled a good deal about paying half as much to Miss Hester for her constant attendance upon the Baronet his father.\n","abridged":"As for old Sir Pitt, he retired into those same rooms where Lady Crawley had lived, and was tended by Miss Hester with constant care. What love, what fidelity is there equal to that of a nurse with good wages? They get up at nights; they bear complaints; they see the sun shining and don't want to go out; they sleep on armchairs and eat their meals in solitude; they pass long long evenings doing nothing.\n"}
+{"original":"Of sunshiny days this old gentleman was taken out in a chair on the terrace--the very chair which Miss Crawley had had at Brighton, and which had been transported thence with a number of Lady Southdown's effects to Queen's Crawley. Lady Jane always walked by the old man, and was an evident favourite with him. He used to nod many times to her and smile when she came in, and utter inarticulate deprecatory moans when she was going away. When the door shut upon her he would cry and sob--whereupon Hester's face and manner, which was always exceedingly bland and gentle while her lady was present, would change at once, and she would make faces at him and clench her fist and scream out \"Hold your tongue, you stoopid old fool,\" and twirl away his chair from the fire which he loved to look at--at which he would cry more. For this was all that was left after more than seventy years of cunning, and struggling, and drinking, and scheming, and sin and selfishness--a whimpering old idiot put in and out of bed and cleaned and fed like a baby.\nAt last a day came when the nurse's occupation was over. Early one morning, as Pitt Crawley was at his steward's and bailiff's books in the study, a knock came to the door, and Hester presented herself, dropping a curtsey, and said,\n\"If you please, Sir Pitt, Sir Pitt died this morning, Sir Pitt. I was a-making of his toast, Sir Pitt, for his gruel, Sir Pitt, which he took every morning regular at six, Sir Pitt, and--I thought I heard a moan-like, Sir Pitt--and--and--and--\" She dropped another curtsey.\n","abridged":"On sunshiny days this old gentleman was taken out in a chair on the terrace. Lady Jane always walked by the old man, and was a favourite with him. He used to smile when she came in, and utter inarticulate moans when she was going away. When the door shut upon her he would cry and sob - whereupon Hester's face and manner, which was always exceedingly bland while her lady was present, would change at once, and she would clench her fist and scream, \"Hold your tongue, you stoopid old fool,\" and twirl away his chair from the fire which he loved to look at - at which he would cry more. For this was all that was left after years of cunning, drinking, scheming and selfishness - a whimpering old idiot put in and out of bed and cleaned and fed like a baby.\nAt last a day came when the nurse's task was over. Early one morning, when Pitt Crawley was in the study, a knock came to the door, and Hester presented herself, curtseyed, and said,\n\"If you please, Sir Pitt, Sir Pitt died this morning, Sir Pitt. I was a-making of his toast for his gruel, and - and I thought I heard a moan like, Sir Pitt - and - and-\" She dropped another curtsey.\n"}
+{"original":"What was it that made Pitt's pale face flush quite red? Was it because he was Sir Pitt at last, with a seat in Parliament, and perhaps future honours in prospect? \"I'll clear the estate now with the ready money,\" he thought and rapidly calculated its incumbrances and the improvements which he would make. He would not use his aunt's money previously lest Sir Pitt should recover and his outlay be in vain.\nAll the blinds were pulled down at the Hall and Rectory: the church bell was tolled, and the chancel hung in black; and Bute Crawley didn't go to a coursing meeting, but went and dined quietly at Fuddleston, where they talked about his deceased brother and young Sir Pitt over their port. Miss Betsy, who was by this time married to a saddler at Mudbury, cried a good deal. The family surgeon rode over and paid his respectful compliments, and inquiries for the health of their ladyships. The death was talked about at Mudbury and at the Crawley Arms, the landlord whereof had become reconciled with the Rector of late, who was occasionally known to step into the parlour and taste Mr. Horrocks' mild beer.\n\"Shall I write to your brother--or will you?\" asked Lady Jane of her husband, Sir Pitt.\n","abridged":"What was it that made Pitt's pale face flush? Was it because he was Sir Pitt at last, with a seat in Parliament? \"I'll clear the estate now,\" he thought, rapidly calculating the improvements which he would make.\nAll the blinds were pulled down at the Hall and Rectory: the church bell was tolled. Miss Betsy, who was by this time married to a saddler at Mudbury, cried a good deal.\n\"Shall I write to your brother - or will you?\" asked Lady Jane of her husband, Sir Pitt.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will write, of course,\" Sir Pitt said, \"and invite him to the funeral: it will be but becoming.\"\n\"And--and--Mrs. Rawdon,\" said Lady Jane timidly.\n\"Jane!\" said Lady Southdown, \"how can you think of such a thing?\"\n\"Mrs. Rawdon must of course be asked,\" said Sir Pitt, resolutely.\n\"Not whilst I am in the house!\" said Lady Southdown.\n\"Your Ladyship will be pleased to recollect that I am the head of this family,\" Sir Pitt replied. \"If you please, Lady Jane, you will write a letter to Mrs. Rawdon Crawley, requesting her presence upon this melancholy occasion.\"\n","abridged":"\"I will write,\" he said, \"and invite him to the funeral.\"\n\"And - and Mrs. Rawdon,\" said Lady Jane timidly.\n\"Jane!\" said Lady Southdown, \"how can you think of such a thing?\"\n\"Mrs. Rawdon must of course be asked,\" said Sir Pitt resolutely.\n\"Not whilst I am in the house!\" said Lady Southdown.\n\"Your Ladyship will be pleased to recollect that I am the head of this family,\" Sir Pitt replied. \"Lady Jane, please write to Mrs. Rawdon Crawley, requesting her presence upon this melancholy occasion.\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Jane, I forbid you to put pen to paper!\" cried the Countess.\n\"I believe I am the head of this family,\" Sir Pitt repeated; \"and however much I may regret any circumstance which may lead to your Ladyship quitting this house, must, if you please, continue to govern it as I see fit.\"\nLady Southdown rose up as magnificent as Mrs. Siddons in Lady Macbeth and ordered that horses might be put to her carriage. If her son and daughter turned her out of their house, she would hide her sorrows somewhere in loneliness and pray for their conversion to better thoughts.\n\"We don't turn you out of our house, Mamma,\" said the timid Lady Jane imploringly.\n\"You invite such company to it as no Christian lady should meet, and I will have my horses to-morrow morning.\"\n\"Have the goodness to write, Jane, under my dictation,\" said Sir Pitt, rising and throwing himself into an attitude of command, like the portrait of a Gentleman in the Exhibition, \"and begin. 'Queen's Crawley, September 14, 1822.--My dear brother--'\"\n","abridged":"\"Jane, I forbid you to put pen to paper!\" cried the Countess.\n\"I believe I am the head of this family,\" Sir Pitt repeated; \"and however much I may regret any circumstance which may lead to your Ladyship quitting this house, I must govern it as I see fit.\"\nLady Southdown rose magnificently and ordered that horses might be put to her carriage. If her son and daughter turned her out of their house, she would hide her sorrows somewhere in loneliness and pray for their conversion to better thoughts.\n\"We don't turn you out of our house, Mamma,\" said the timid Lady Jane imploringly.\n\"You invite such company to it as no Christian lady should meet, and I will have my horses tomorrow morning.\"\n\"Please write this, Jane,\" said Sir Pitt, rising in an attitude of command. 'Queen's Crawley, September 14. My dear brother-'\"\n"}
+{"original":"Hearing these decisive and terrible words, Lady Macbeth, who had been waiting for a sign of weakness or vacillation on the part of her son-in-law, rose and, with a scared look, left the library. Lady Jane looked up to her husband as if she would fain follow and soothe her mamma, but Pitt forbade his wife to move.\n\"She won't go away,\" he said. \"She has let her house at Brighton and has spent her last half-year's dividends. A Countess living at an inn is a ruined woman. I have been waiting long for an opportunity--to take this--this decisive step, my love; for, as you must perceive, it is impossible that there should be two chiefs in a family: and now, if you please, we will resume the dictation. 'My dear brother, the melancholy intelligence which it is my duty to convey to my family must have been long anticipated by,'\" &c.\n","abridged":"Hearing these decisive words, Lady Southdown, who had been waiting for a sign of weakness from her son-in-law, rose and, with a scared look, left the library. Lady Jane looked as if she would follow, but Pitt forbade his wife to move.\n\"She won't go away,\" he said. \"She has let her house at Brighton. I have been waiting long for an opportunity to take this decisive step, my love; and now, if you please, we will resume the dictation. 'My dear brother, the melancholy news which it is my duty to convey must have been long anticipated,' etc.\"\n"}
+{"original":"In a word, Pitt having come to his kingdom, and having by good luck, or desert rather, as he considered, assumed almost all the fortune which his other relatives had expected, was determined to treat his family kindly and respectably and make a house of Queen's Crawley once more. It pleased him to think that he should be its chief. He proposed to use the vast influence that his commanding talents and position must speedily acquire for him in the county to get his brother placed and his cousins decently provided for, and perhaps had a little sting of repentance as he thought that he was the proprietor of all that they had hoped for. In the course of three or four days' reign his bearing was changed and his plans quite fixed: he determined to rule justly and honestly, to depose Lady Southdown, and to be on the friendliest possible terms with all the relations of his blood.\nSo he dictated a letter to his brother Rawdon--a solemn and elaborate letter, containing the profoundest observations, couched in the longest words, and filling with wonder the simple little secretary, who wrote under her husband's order. \"What an orator this will be,\" thought she, \"when he enters the House of Commons\" (on which point, and on the tyranny of Lady Southdown, Pitt had sometimes dropped hints to his wife in bed); \"how wise and good, and what a genius my husband is! I fancied him a little cold; but how good, and what a genius!\"\nThe fact is, Pitt Crawley had got every word of the letter by heart and had studied it, with diplomatic secrecy, deeply and perfectly, long before he thought fit to communicate it to his astonished wife.\n","abridged":"Pitt, having come to his kingdom and his fortune, was determined to treat his family kindly and respectably and make a house of Queen's Crawley once more. It pleased him to think that he should be its chief. He proposed to use his influence to get his brother placed and his cousins decently provided for. In the course of three or four days' reign his bearing was changed and his plans quite fixed: he determined to rule justly and honestly, to depose Lady Southdown, and to be on the friendliest possible terms with all his relations.\nSo he dictated a letter to his brother Rawdon - a solemn and elaborate letter, containing the profoundest observations, and filling his simple little secretary with wonder.\n\"What an orator he will be,\" thought she, \"when he enters the House of Commons. How wise and good, and what a genius my husband is!\" The fact is, Pitt Crawley had composed the letter long before he dictated it to his astonished wife.\n"}
+{"original":"This letter, with a huge black border and seal, was accordingly despatched by Sir Pitt Crawley to his brother the Colonel, in London. Rawdon Crawley was but half-pleased at the receipt of it. \"What's the use of going down to that stupid place?\" thought he. \"I can't stand being alone with Pitt after dinner, and horses there and back will cost us twenty pound.\"\nHe carried the letter, as he did all difficulties, to Becky, upstairs in her bedroom--with her chocolate, which he always made and took to her of a morning.\nHe put the tray with the breakfast and the letter on the dressing-table, before which Becky sat combing her yellow hair. She took up the black-edged missive, and having read it, she jumped up from the chair, crying \"Hurray!\" and waving the note round her head.\n","abridged":"This letter, with a black border and seal, was sent to Colonel Rawdon Crawley. He was only half-pleased at receiving it.\n\"What's the use of going down to that stupid place?\" thought he. \"I can't stand being alone with Pitt after dinner, and horses there and back will cost us twenty pound.\"\nHe carried the letter, as he did all difficulties, to Becky, in her bedroom - with her chocolate, which he always made for her of a morning. She took up the black-edged missive, and having read it, jumped up, crying \"Hurray!\" and waving the note round her head.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Hurray?\" said Rawdon, wondering at the little figure capering about in a streaming flannel dressing-gown, with tawny locks dishevelled. \"He's not left us anything, Becky. I had my share when I came of age.\"\n\"You'll never be of age, you silly old man,\" Becky replied. \"Run out now to Madam Brunoy's, for I must have some mourning: and get a crape on your hat, and a black waistcoat--I don't think you've got one; order it to be brought home to-morrow, so that we may be able to start on Thursday.\"\n\"You don't mean to go?\" Rawdon interposed.\n","abridged":"\"Hurray?\" said Rawdon, wondering at the little figure capering about in a streaming flannel dressing-gown. \"He's not left us anything, Becky. I had my share when I came of age.\"\n\"You'll never be of age, you silly old man,\" Becky replied. \"Run out now and get some black crape on your hat, and a black waistcoat - order it for tomorrow, so that we may be able to start on Thursday.\"\n\"You don't mean to go?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"Of course I mean to go. I mean that Lady Jane shall present me at Court next year. I mean that your brother shall give you a seat in Parliament, you stupid old creature. I mean that Lord Steyne shall have your vote and his, my dear, old silly man; and that you shall be an Irish Secretary, or a West Indian Governor: or a Treasurer, or a Consul, or some such thing.\"\n\"Posting will cost a dooce of a lot of money,\" grumbled Rawdon.\n\"We might take Southdown's carriage, which ought to be present at the funeral, as he is a relation of the family: but, no--I intend that we shall go by the coach. They'll like it better. It seems more humble--\"\n\"Rawdy goes, of course?\" the Colonel asked.\n","abridged":"\"Of course I mean to go. I mean Lady Jane to present me at Court next year. I mean your brother to give you a seat in Parliament, you stupid old creature. I mean Lord Steyne to have your vote, my dear old silly man; and you shall be an Irish Secretary, or a West Indian Governor, or some such thing.\"\n\"Going by post-chaise will cost a dooce of a lot of money,\" grumbled the Colonel. \"Rawdy goes, of course?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"No such thing; why pay an extra place? He's too big to travel bodkin between you and me. Let him stay here in the nursery, and Briggs can make him a black frock. Go you, and do as I bid you. And you had best tell Sparks, your man, that old Sir Pitt is dead and that you will come in for something considerable when the affairs are arranged. He'll tell this to Raggles, who has been pressing for money, and it will console poor Raggles.\" And so Becky began sipping her chocolate.\nWhen the faithful Lord Steyne arrived in the evening, he found Becky and her companion, who was no other than our friend Briggs, busy cutting, ripping, snipping, and tearing all sorts of black stuffs available for the melancholy occasion.\n","abridged":"\"No; why pay for an extra place? Let him stay here in the nursery, with Briggs. Go and do as I bid you. And you had best tell Sparks that old Sir Pitt is dead and that you will come in for some money. He'll tell Raggles, who has been pressing for rent.\" Becky began sipping her chocolate.\nWhen Lord Steyne arrived in the evening, he found Becky and her companion, who was no other than our friend Briggs, busy cutting, ripping and snipping all sorts of black stuff for the melancholy occasion.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Miss Briggs and I are plunged in grief and despondency for the death of our Papa,\" Rebecca said. \"Sir Pitt Crawley is dead, my lord. We have been tearing our hair all the morning, and now we are tearing up our old clothes.\"\n\"Oh, Rebecca, how can you--\" was all that Briggs could say as she turned up her eyes.\n\"Oh, Rebecca, how can you--\" echoed my Lord. \"So that old scoundrel's dead, is he? He might have been a Peer if he had played his cards better. Mr. Pitt had very nearly made him; but he ratted always at the wrong time. What an old Silenus it was!\"\n","abridged":"\"Sir Pitt Crawley is dead, my lord,\" Rebecca said. \"We have been tearing our hair with grief all the morning, and now we are tearing up our old clothes.\"\n\"So that old scoundrel's dead, is he?\" my Lord said. \"What an old Silenus he was!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I might have been Silenus's widow,\" said Rebecca. \"Don't you remember, Miss Briggs, how you peeped in at the door and saw old Sir Pitt on his knees to me?\" Miss Briggs, our old friend, blushed very much at this reminiscence, and was glad when Lord Steyne ordered her to go downstairs and make him a cup of tea.\nBriggs was the house-dog whom Rebecca had provided as guardian of her innocence and reputation. Miss Crawley had left her a little annuity. She would have been content to remain in the Crawley family with Lady Jane, who was good to her and to everybody; but Lady Southdown dismissed poor Briggs as quickly as decency permitted; and Mr. Pitt (who thought himself much injured by the uncalled-for generosity of his deceased relative towards a lady who had only been Miss Crawley's faithful retainer a score of years) made no objection to that exercise of the dowager's authority. Bowls and Firkin likewise received their legacies and their dismissals, and married and set up a lodging-house, according to the custom of their kind.\n","abridged":"\"I might have been Silenus's widow,\" said Rebecca. \"Don't you remember, Miss Briggs, how you peeped in at the door and saw old Sir Pitt on his knees to me?\" Miss Briggs blushed very much, and was glad when Lord Steyne ordered her to go downstairs and make him a cup of tea.\nBriggs was the house-dog whom Rebecca had wanted as guardian of her reputation. Miss Crawley had left Briggs a little annuity. She would have been content to remain with Lady Jane, who was good to her; but Lady Southdown dismissed her. Bowls and Firkin likewise received their legacies and their dismissals, and married and set up a lodging-house.\n"}
+{"original":"Briggs tried to live with her relations in the country, but found that attempt was vain after the better society to which she had been accustomed. Briggs's friends, small tradesmen, in a country town, quarrelled over Miss Briggs's forty pounds a year as eagerly and more openly than Miss Crawley's kinsfolk had for that lady's inheritance. Briggs's brother, a radical hatter and grocer, called his sister a purse-proud aristocrat, because she would not advance a part of her capital to stock his shop; and she would have done so most likely, but that their sister, a dissenting shoemaker's lady, at variance with the hatter and grocer, who went to another chapel, showed how their brother was on the verge of bankruptcy, and took possession of Briggs for a while. The dissenting shoemaker wanted Miss Briggs to send his son to college and make a gentleman of him. Between them the two families got a great portion of her private savings out of her, and finally she fled to London followed by the anathemas of both, and determined to seek for servitude again as infinitely less onerous than liberty. And advertising in the papers that a \"Gentlewoman of agreeable manners, and accustomed to the best society, was anxious to,\" &c., she took up her residence with Mr. Bowls in Half Moon Street, and waited the result of the advertisement.\nSo it was that she fell in with Rebecca. Mrs. Rawdon's dashing little carriage and ponies was whirling down the street one day, just as Miss Briggs, fatigued, had reached Mr. Bowls's door, after a weary walk to the Times Office in the City to insert her advertisement for the sixth time. Rebecca was driving, and at once recognized the gentlewoman with agreeable manners, and being a perfectly good-humoured woman, as we have seen, and having a regard for Briggs, she pulled up the ponies at the doorsteps, gave the reins to the groom, and jumping out, had hold of both Briggs's hands, before she of the agreeable manners had recovered from the shock of seeing an old friend.\nBriggs cried, and Becky laughed a great deal and kissed the gentlewoman as soon as they got into the passage; and thence into Mrs. Bowls's front parlour, with the red moreen curtains, and the round looking-glass, with the chained eagle above, gazing upon the back of the ticket in the window which announced \"Apartments to Let.\"\n","abridged":"Briggs tried to live with her relations in the country, but found that her family quarrelled over her forty pounds a year as eagerly as Miss Crawley's kinsfolk had over that lady's inheritance. Briggs's brother called her purse-proud, because she would not advance her money to stock his shop; while her sister told her that their brother was on the verge of bankruptcy, and wanted Miss Briggs to send her own son to college.\nBetween them the two families got a great portion of her private savings, and finally she fled to London, determined to seek for servitude again as infinitely less burdensome than liberty. And advertising in the papers that a \"Gentlewoman of agreeable manners, and accustomed to the best society, was anxious to,\" etc., she took up her residence in Mr. Bowls's lodging-house, and awaited the result.\nRebecca's dashing little carriage was whirling down the street one day, just as Miss Briggs reached Mr. Bowls's door after a weary walk to the Times Office to insert her advertisement for the sixth time. Rebecca at once recognized Briggs. She pulled up the ponies, and jumping out, took hold of both Briggs's hands.\nBriggs cried, and Becky laughed and kissed her; and they went into Mrs. Bowls's front parlour,"}
+{"original":"Briggs told all her history amidst those perfectly uncalled-for sobs and ejaculations of wonder with which women of her soft nature salute an old acquaintance, or regard a rencontre in the street; for though people meet other people every day, yet some there are who insist upon discovering miracles; and women, even though they have disliked each other, begin to cry when they meet, deploring and remembering the time when they last quarrelled. So, in a word, Briggs told all her history, and Becky gave a narrative of her own life, with her usual artlessness and candour.\nMrs. Bowls, late Firkin, came and listened grimly in the passage to the hysterical sniffling and giggling which went on in the front parlour. Becky had never been a favourite of hers. Since the establishment of the married couple in London they had frequented their former friends of the house of Raggles, and did not like the latter's account of the Colonel's menage. \"I wouldn't trust him, Ragg, my boy,\" Bowls remarked; and his wife, when Mrs. Rawdon issued from the parlour, only saluted the lady with a very sour curtsey; and her fingers were like so many sausages, cold and lifeless, when she held them out in deference to Mrs. Rawdon, who persisted in shaking hands with the retired lady's maid. She whirled away into Piccadilly, nodding with the sweetest of smiles towards Miss Briggs, who hung nodding at the window close under the advertisement-card, and at the next moment was in the park with a half-dozen of dandies cantering after her carriage.\nWhen she found how her friend was situated, and how having a snug legacy from Miss Crawley, salary was no object to our gentlewoman, Becky instantly formed some benevolent little domestic plans concerning her. This was just such a companion as would suit her establishment, and she invited Briggs to come to dinner with her that very evening, when she should see Becky's dear little darling Rawdon.\n","abridged":" where Briggs told all her history, with sniffles, and Becky gave a narrative of her own life, with her usual candour. Becky instantly decided that this was just such a companion as would suit her, and she invited Briggs to dinner with her that very evening, when she should see Becky's dear little darling Rawdon.\nMrs. Bowls, late Firkin, came and listened grimly in the passage. Becky had never been a favourite of hers. She did not like Raggles's account of the Colonel's household.\n\"I wouldn't trust him, Ragg, my boy,\" Mr. Bowls remarked; and his wife, when Mrs. Rawdon left the parlour, saluted the lady with a very sour curtsey. With the sweetest of smiles towards Miss Briggs, Rebecca whirled away into Piccadilly, and next moment was in the park with half a dozen dandies cantering after her carriage.\n"}
+{"original":"Mrs. Bowls cautioned her lodger against venturing into the lion's den, \"wherein you will rue it, Miss B., mark my words, and as sure as my name is Bowls.\" And Briggs promised to be very cautious. The upshot of which caution was that she went to live with Mrs. Rawdon the next week, and had lent Rawdon Crawley six hundred pounds upon annuity before six months were over.","abridged":"Mrs. Bowls cautioned Miss Briggs: \"You will rue it, Miss B., mark my words.\" And Briggs promised to be very cautious. The upshot was that she went to live with Mrs. Rawdon the next week, and had lent Rawdon Crawley six hundred pounds upon annuity before six months were over."}
+{"original":"Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.-I dine between twelve and one o'clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five)-on mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a four-miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden-gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow shower.\nOn that bleak hill top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.\n","abridged":"Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. After dinner, however - (I dine between twelve and one o'clock, since the housekeeper cannot comprehend my request to be served at five) - I stepped into my study to see a servant-girl on her knees surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust. So I took my hat, and, after a four-miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden-gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower.\nOn that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. I jumped over the gate, and, running up the flag-stoned path, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Wretched inmates!\" I ejaculated, mentally, \"you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in the day-time. I don't care-I will get in!\" So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn.\n\"What are ye for?\" he shouted. \"T' maister's down i' t' fowld. Go round by th' end o' t' laith, if ye went to spake to him.\"\n","abridged":"'Wretched, unwelcoming inmates!' I thought; 'I would not keep my doors barred in the day-time. I will get in!'\nI grasped the latch and shook it. Vinegar-faced Joseph put his head out from a round window of the barn.\n'What do ye want?' he shouted. 'T' master's down in t' fold. Go round by t' barn, if ye want to speak to him.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Is there nobody inside to open the door?\" I hallooed, responsively.\n\"There's nobbut t' missis; and shoo'll not oppen 't an ye mak' yer flaysome dins till neeght.\"\n\"Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph?\"\n\"Nor-ne me! I'll hae no hend wi't,\" muttered the head, vanishing.\n","abridged":"'Is there nobody inside to open the door?' I cried.\n'There's nobbut t' missis; and she'll not open it for ye.'\n'Why? Can't you tell her who I am, Joseph?'\n'No! I'll have no hand in it,' muttered the head, vanishing.\n"}
+{"original":"The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the \"missis,\" an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute.\n\"Rough weather!\" I remarked. \"I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance: I had hard work to make them hear me.\"\n","abridged":"The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to try again; when a young man shouldering a pitchfork appeared in the yard. He called me to follow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed and pump, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful room where I was formerly received.\nIt glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire. Near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the 'missis,' a person whose existence I had not suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and said nothing.\n'Rough weather!' I remarked. 'I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, I had hard work to make your servants hear me.'\n"}
+{"original":"She never opened her mouth. I stared-she stared also: at any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.\n\"Sit down,\" said the young man, gruffly. \"He'll be in soon.\"\nI obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance.\n\"A beautiful animal!\" I commenced again. \"Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?\"\n\"They are not mine,\" said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.\n","abridged":"She never opened her mouth. I stared - she stared also, in a cool manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.\n'Sit down,' said the young man, gruffly. 'He'll be in soon.'\nI obeyed; and called the villainous dog, Juno, who deigned, at this second meeting, to move the extreme tip of her tail in acknowledgment.\n'A beautiful animal!' I said. 'Do you intend parting with the pups, madam?'\n'They are not mine,' said the amiable hostess repellingly.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ah, your favourites are among these?\" I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.\n\"A strange choice of favourites!\" she observed scornfully.\nUnluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the evening.\n\"You should not have come out,\" she said, rising and reaching from the chimney-piece two of the painted canisters.\nHer position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me as a miser might turn if any one attempted to assist him in counting his gold.\n","abridged":"'Ah, your favourites are these?' I continued, turning to a cushion full of something like cats.\n'A strange choice of favourites!' she said scornfully.\nUnluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I coughed, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the evening.\n'You should not have come out,' she said, rising to take a canister from the chimney-piece.\nNow I had a clear view of her face and figure. She was slender, and scarcely past girlhood: with an admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have seen; small features, very fair; golden ringlets hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes which would have been irresistible if their expression had been more agreeable. Fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only emotions they showed were scorn and a kind of desperation. The canister was almost out of her reach; I rose to aid her, and she turned on me.\n"}
+{"original":"\"I don't want your help,\" she snapped; \"I can get them for myself.\"\n\"I beg your pardon!\" I hastened to reply.\n\"Were you asked to tea?\" she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot.\n\"I shall be glad to have a cup,\" I answered.\n\"Were you asked?\" she repeated.\n\"No,\" I said, half smiling. \"You are the proper person to ask me.\"\n","abridged":"'I don't want your help,' she snapped.\n'I beg your pardon!'\n'Were you asked to tea?' she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoon poised over the pot.\n'I shall be glad to have a cup,' I answered.\n'Were you asked?' she repeated.\n'No,' I said, half smiling. 'You are the proper person to ask me.'\n"}
+{"original":"She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a child's ready to cry.\nMeanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer: still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed none of a domestic's assiduity in attending on the lady of the house. In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state.\n\"You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!\" I exclaimed, assuming the cheerful; \"and I fear I shall be weather-bound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter during that space.\"\n\"Half an hour?\" he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; \"I wonder you should select the thick of a snow-storm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can tell you there is no chance of a change at present.\"\n","abridged":"She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and sat down again petulantly; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a child's ready to cry.\nMeanwhile, the young man had slung on a shabby coat, and looked at me sidelong as if there were some mortal feud between us. I could not be sure whether he were a servant or not: his dress and speech were both rough, entirely unlike Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff's; his thick brown curls were uncombed, his cheeks unshaven, and his hands tanned like a common labourer's. Still his attitude was almost haughty, and he showed none of a servant's haste to attend on Mrs Heathcliff. I thought it best to ignore his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me.\n'You see, sir, I have come, as I promised!' I exclaimed with pretended cheerfulness. 'I fear I shall be weather-bound for half an hour, if you can give me shelter for that time.'\n'Half an hour?' he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; 'I wonder you should choose a snow-storm to ramble about in. You risk being lost in the marshes. Even people familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and there is no chance of a change at present.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might stay at the Grange till morning-could you spare me one?\"\n\"No, I could not.\"\n\"Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sagacity.\"\n\"Umph!\"\n\"Are you going to mak' the tea?\" demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady.\n\"Is _he_ to have any?\" she asked, appealing to Heathcliff.\n","abridged":"'Perhaps one of your lads can guide me - could you spare one?'\n'No, I could not.'\n'Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own judgement.'\n'Umph!'\n'Are you going to make the tea?' demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady.\n'Is he to have any?' she asked, appealing to Heathcliff.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Get it ready, will you?\" was the answer, uttered so savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the preparations were finished, he invited me with-\"Now, sir, bring forward your chair.\" And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round the table: an austere silence prevailing while we discussed our meal.\nI thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however ill-tempered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was their every-day countenance.\n\"It is strange,\" I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another-\"it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I'll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart-\"\n","abridged":"'Get it ready, will you?' he answered, so savagely that I was startled. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow.\n'Now, sir, bring forward your chair,' he said. We all drew round the table and began our meal in silence.\nI thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn and scowling.\n'It is strange,' I began, 'how custom can mould our tastes: many could not imagine any happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as this, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I'll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady presiding over your home and heart-\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"My amiable lady!\" he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. \"Where is she-my amiable lady?\"\n\"Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.\"\n\"Well, yes-oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?\"\nPerceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen.\n","abridged":"'My amiable lady!' he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. 'Where is she?'\n'Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.'\n'Oh, you mean that her spirit guards Wuthering Heights, even though she is dead. Is that it?'\nPerceiving my blunder, I tried to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a difference in their ages to make it likely that they were man and wife. He was about forty: she did not look seventeen.\n"}
+{"original":"Then it flashed upon me-\"The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity-I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice.\" The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive.\n\"Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,\" said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.\n\"Ah, certainly-I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy,\" I remarked, turning to my neighbour.\nThis was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice.\n","abridged":"Then it flashed upon me - 'The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better people existed! A sad pity-I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice.' The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as repulsive; I knew that I was tolerably attractive.\n'Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,' said Heathcliff, corroborating my guess. As he spoke, he gave her a most peculiar look of hatred.\n'Ah, I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the good fairy,' I remarked, turning to my neighbour.\nThis was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist as if to strike me, before smothering the storm in a brutal curse.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,\" observed my host; \"we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.\"\n\"And this young man is-\"\n\"Not my son, assuredly.\"\nHeathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.\n\"My name is Hareton Earnshaw,\" growled the other; \"and I'd counsel you to respect it!\"\n\"I've shown no disrespect,\" was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself.\nHe fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time.\n","abridged":"'An unhappy guess, sir,' said my host; 'we neither of us own your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.'\n'And this young man is-'\n'Not my son, assuredly.' Heathcliff smiled again.\n'My name is Hareton Earnshaw,' growled the other; 'and I'd counsel you to respect it!'\n'I've shown no disrespect,' I replied, laughing internally at his dignity.\nHe fixed his eye on me until I feared I might be tempted either to box his ears or to laugh aloud. I began to feel out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal atmosphere overcame the glowing comfort of the fire; and I resolved to be cautious about visiting a third time.\n"}
+{"original":"The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.\n\"I don't think it possible for me to get home now without a guide,\" I could not help exclaiming. \"The roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance.\"\n\"Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. They'll be covered if left in the fold all night: and put a plank before them,\" said Heathcliff.\n\"How must I do?\" I continued, with rising irritation.\n","abridged":"The meal eaten, without a word of conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.\n'I don't think it's possible for me to get home now without a guide,' I exclaimed. 'The roads will be buried.'\n'Hareton, drive those sheep into the barn porch. They'll be covered if left in the fold all night,' said Heathcliff.\n'What must I do?' I continued, with irritation.\n"}
+{"original":"There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out-\"Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i' idleness un war, when all on 'ems goan out! Bud yah're a nowt, and it's no use talking-yah'll niver mend o'yer ill ways, but goa raight to t' divil, like yer mother afore ye!\"\nI imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence was addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her answer.\n","abridged":"There was no reply; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning matches. Joseph, in cracked tones, grated out, 'I wonder how yah can stand there i' idleness, when all them's gone out! But yah're a nowt, and it's no use talking - yah'll never mend yer ill ways, but go right to t' devil, like yer mother afore ye!'\nI imagined, for a moment, that this speech was addressed to me; and, enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal intending to kick him out of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, answered.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You scandalous old hypocrite!\" she replied. \"Are you not afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devil's name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me, or I'll ask your abduction as a special favour! Stop! look here, Joseph,\" she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; \"I'll show you how far I've progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didn't die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among providential visitations!\"\n\"Oh, wicked, wicked!\" gasped the elder; \"may the Lord deliver us from evil!\"\n","abridged":"'You scandalous old hypocrite!' she replied. 'Don't provoke me, or I'll ask the devil to carry you away! Look here, Joseph,' she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; 'I'll show you how far I've progressed in the Black Art. The red cow didn't die by chance; and your rheumatism isn't caused by bad luck either!'\n'Oh, wicked, wicked!' gasped the old man; 'may the Lord deliver us from evil!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"No, reprobate! you are a castaway-be off, or I'll hurt you seriously! I'll have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the first who passes the limits I fix shall-I'll not say what he shall be done to-but, you'll see! Go, I'm looking at you!\"\nThe little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying, and ejaculating \"wicked\" as he went. I thought her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her in my distress.\n\"Mrs. Heathcliff,\" I said earnestly, \"you must excuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, I'm sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home: I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get to London!\"\n","abridged":"'Be off, scoundrel, or I'll have you modelled in wax! and I shall - I'll not say what - but, you'll see! Go, I'm looking at you!'\nThe little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with horror, hurried out, praying, and crying 'wicked' as he went. I thought she must be prompted by a sort of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I tried to interest her in my distress.\n'Mrs. Heathcliff,' I said earnestly, 'with that face, I'm sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Take the road you came,\" she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her. \"It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give.\"\n\"Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full of snow, your conscience won't whisper that it is partly your fault?\"\n\"How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn't let me go to the end of the garden wall.\"\n\"_You_! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my convenience, on such a night,\" I cried. \"I want you to tell me my way, not to _show_ it: or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide.\"\n","abridged":"'Take the road you came,' she answered, sitting in a chair, with a candle, and the book open before her. 'That's the best advice I can give.'\n'Then, if you hear of me being found dead in a pit full of snow, you won't feel that it is your fault?'\n'How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn't let me go to the end of the garden.'\n'I want you to tell me my way, not to show it,' I cried; 'or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I. Which would you have?\"\n\"Are there no boys at the farm?\"\n\"No; those are all.\"\n\"Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.\"\n\"That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to do with it.\"\n\"I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on these hills,\" cried Heathcliff's stern voice from the kitchen entrance. \"As to staying here, I don't keep accommodations for visitors: you must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do.\"\n","abridged":"'Who? There is him, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I. Which would you have?'\n'Are there no boys at the farm?'\n'No.'\n'Then I am compelled to stay.'\n'That you may settle with your host,' she said. 'I have nothing to do with it.'\n'I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on these hills,' cried Heathcliff's stern voice from the entrance. 'As to staying here, I don't keep rooms for visitors: you must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I can sleep on a chair in this room,\" I replied.\n\"No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard!\" said the unmannerly wretch.\nWith this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each other. At first the young man appeared about to befriend me.\n\"I'll go with him as far as the park,\" he said.\n","abridged":"'I can sleep on a chair in this room,' I replied.\n'No, no! I will not permit any one the run of the place while I am asleep!' said the unmannerly wretch.\nWith this insult, my patience was at an end. In disgust, I pushed past him into the yard, running into Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the gate.\nAt first the young man appeared about to befriend me. 'I'll go with him to the park,' he said.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You'll go with him to hell!\" exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. \"And who is to look after the horses, eh?\"\n\"A man's life is of more consequence than one evening's neglect of the horses: somebody must go,\" murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.\n\"Not at your command!\" retorted Hareton. \"If you set store on him, you'd better be quiet.\"\n\"Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin,\" she answered, sharply.\n\"Hearken, hearken, shoo's cursing on 'em!\" muttered Joseph, towards whom I had been steering.\n","abridged":"'You'll go with him to hell!' exclaimed Heathcliff. 'And who is to look after the horses, eh?'\n'A man's life matters more than one evening's neglect of the horses: somebody must go,' murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.\n'Not at your command!' retorted Hareton. 'You'd better be quiet.'\n'Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin,' she answered sharply.\n'Hearken, hearken, she's cursing 'em!' muttered Joseph. "}
+{"original":"He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern.\n\"Maister, maister, he's staling t' lanthern!\" shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat. \"Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey Wolf, holld him, holld him!\"\nOn opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning, and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me: then, hatless and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me out-on their peril to keep me one minute longer-with several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.\n","abridged":"He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized. Calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, I rushed to the gate.\n'Master, master, he's stealing t' lanthern!' shouted Joseph. 'Hey, Gnasher! Hey Wolf, hold him, hold him!'\nTwo hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the lid on my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on yawning than devouring me alive; but they would not let me up, and I was forced to lie till their masters freed me. Then, hatless and trembling with anger, I ordered the rascals to let me out - on their peril to keep me one minute longer - with incoherent threats.\n"}
+{"original":"The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I don't know what would have concluded the scene, had there not been one person at hand rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel.\n\"Well, Mr. Earnshaw,\" she cried, \"I wonder what you'll have agait next? Are we going to murder folk on our very door-stones? I see this house will never do for me-look at t' poor lad, he's fair choking! Wisht, wisht; you mun'n't go on so. Come in, and I'll cure that: there now, hold ye still.\"\n","abridged":"My agitation brought on a copious nosebleed, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I don't know how it would have ended, had not Zillah, the housekeeper, come out to see what was happening. She thought that they had been laying violent hands on me; and not daring to attack her master, she turned on the younger scoundrel.\n'Well, Mr. Earnshaw,' she cried, 'Are we going to murder folk on our very door-stones? Look at t' poor lad, he's fair choking! Hush; don't go on so. Come in, and I'll cure that: now hold still.'\n"}
+{"original":"With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr. Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment expiring quickly in his habitual moroseness.\nI was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was somewhat revived, ushered me to bed.","abridged":"With these words she splashed a pint of icy water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr. Heathcliff followed, lapsing into his habitual moroseness.\nI was sick and faint; and was thus compelled to accept lodgings under his roof. He told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she ushered me to bed."}
+{"original":"While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious.\nToo stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table.\nI slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.\nThe ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small-_Catherine Earnshaw_, here and there varied to _Catherine Heathcliff_, and then again to _Catherine Linton_.\n","abridged":"While leading the way upstairs, she asked me to hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody stay there. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had many queer goings on.\nI fastened my bedroom door and glanced around. The furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out resembling coach windows. Approaching this, I looked inside, and found it to be a strange sort of old-fashioned couch, designed to make a little, private closet. It enclosed a window-ledge, which served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against Heathcliff and everyone else.\nI placed my candle on the window-ledge. It had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of lettering, large and small: Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton.\n"}
+{"original":"In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw-Heathcliff-Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres-the air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin.\nI snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription-\"Catherine Earnshaw, her book,\" and a date some quarter of a century back.\nI shut it, and took up another and another, till I had examined all. Catherine's library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped a pen-and-ink commentary-at least the appearance of one-covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph,-rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.\n","abridged":"Listlessly I leant my head against the window, and read Catherine Earnshaw - Heathcliff - Linton, till my eyes closed; but then a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres - the air swarmed with Catherines. I discovered my candle-wick was lying on one of the old books, and perfuming the place with an odour of burnt leather. I snuffed out the candle and, still feeling cold and sick, sat up and spread open the book on my knee. It was a Testament, smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription: 'Catherine Earnshaw, her book,' and a date some quarter of a century back.\nI shut it, and took up another and another, till I had examined all Catherine's library. The books had been well used, though not for their proper purpose: she had scribbled over every morsel of blank paper in them. There was a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of one page I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of Joseph, rudely, yet powerfully sketched. I felt an immediate interest in the unknown Catherine, and began to decipher her faded writing.\n"}
+{"original":"\"An awful Sunday,\" commenced the paragraph beneath. \"I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute-his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious-H. and I are going to rebel-we took our initiatory step this evening.\n\"All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire-doing anything but reading their Bibles, I'll answer for it-Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending, 'What, done already?' On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.\n","abridged":"'An awful Sunday,' it began. 'I wish my father were back again. Hindley is detestable. His conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious - H. and I are going to rebel. We took our first step this evening.\n'All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph had a prayer-meeting in the garret. While Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire - doing anything but reading their Bibles - Heathcliff, myself, and the ploughboy had to take our prayer-books, and sit groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short sermon. A vain idea! The service lasted three hours; and yet my brother had the cheek to exclaim, when he saw us descending, \"What, done already?\" He will no longer let us play on Sunday evenings; now the smallest laugh gets us sent into the corner.\n"}
+{"original":"\"'You forget you have a master here,' says the tyrant. 'I'll demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.' Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husband's knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour-foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my ears, and croaks:\n","abridged":"'\"You forget you have a master here,\" says the tyrant. \"Silence! Boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.\" Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and sat on her husband's knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour - foolish chatter that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as we could under the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, tears it down, boxes my ears, and croaks:\n"}
+{"original":"\"'T' maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o'ered, und t' sound o' t' gospel still i' yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there's good books eneugh if ye'll read 'em: sit ye down, and think o' yer sowls!'\n\"Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub!\n","abridged":"'\"T' master only just buried, and Sabbath not over, and t' sound o' t' gospel still in yer ears, and ye dare be larking! Shame on ye! Sit down, and think o' yer souls!\"\n'He made us sit and read sermon-books. I hurled my dingy volume into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub!\n"}
+{"original":"\"'Maister Hindley!' shouted our chaplain. 'Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy's riven th' back off \"Th' Helmet o' Salvation,\" un' Heathcliff's pawsed his fit into t' first part o' \"T' Brooad Way to Destruction!\" It's fair flaysome that ye let 'em go on this gait. Ech! th' owd man wad ha' laced 'em properly-but he's goan!'\n\"Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, 'owd Nick' would fetch us as sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman's cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion-and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified-we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.\"\n","abridged":"'\"Master Hindley!\" shouted Joseph. \"Miss Cathy's torn th' back off 'Th' Helmet o' Salvation,' and Heathcliff's ripped 'T' Broad Way to Destruction!' It's fearsome that ye let 'em go on this way!\"\n'Hindley hurried up, and hurled us both into the back-kitchen. I took this book and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door open to give me light, and I have been writing for twenty minutes; but Heathcliff is impatient, and proposes that we should take the dairywoman's cloak, and have a scamper on the moors under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion - we cannot be damper, or colder, out in the rain than we are here.'\n"}
+{"original":"* * * * * *\nI suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.\n\"How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!\" she wrote. \"My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can't give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place-\"\n* * * * * *\n","abridged":"I suppose Catherine fulfilled her plan, for the next sentence was tearful.\n'How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!' she wrote. 'My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more. He says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house. He has been blaming our father for treating Heathcliff too kindly; and swears he will reduce him to his right place-'\n"}
+{"original":"I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title-\"Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.\" And while I was, half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don't remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.\n","abridged":"I began to nod drowsily over the dim page. My eye wandered to the print, and I saw a red ornamented title: 'Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Branderham.' While I was wondering what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I fell asleep.\nAlas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could have made me pass such a terrible night? I don't remember another as dreadful.\n"}
+{"original":"I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text-\"Seventy Times Seven;\" and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the \"First of the Seventy-First,\" and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.\n","abridged":"I began to dream. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow was deep; and, as we floundered on, my companion reproached me because I had not brought a pilgrim's staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing his own heavy cudgel.\nThen a new idea flashed across me. I was not going home: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach on seventy times seven sins; and either Joseph or I had committed the 'First of the Seventy-First,' and were to be publicly exposed.\n"}
+{"original":"We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman's stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached-good God! what a sermon; divided into _four hundred and ninety_ parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously.\n","abridged":"We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks a few times; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: a deserted and half-ruined building. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full congregation; and he preached - good God! what a sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each discussing a separate sin.\n"}
+{"original":"Oh, how weary I grow. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would _ever_ have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the \"_First of the Seventy-First_.\" At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon.\n\"Sir,\" I exclaimed, \"sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart-Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!\"\n","abridged":"Oh, how weary I grew. How I writhed, and yawned! How I pinched myself, and rubbed my eyes, until finally, he reached the 'First of the Seventy-First.' Sudden inspiration came to me; I rose to denounce Jabez Branderham.\n'Sir,' I exclaimed, 'I have endured the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"_Thou art the Man!_\" cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. \"Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage-seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul-Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such honour have all His saints!\"\n","abridged":"'Thou art the Man!' cried Jabez. 'Seventy times seven times didst thou gape and yawn. Brethren, execute judgment upon him!'\n"}
+{"original":"With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every man's hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabez's part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before.\n","abridged":"With that, the whole meeting, lifting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me; and I, having no weapon, began to grapple with Joseph for his. Soon the whole chapel resounded with blows: every man attacked his neighbour; and Branderham tapped so loudly on the pulpit that, to my unspeakable relief, the sounds woke me.\nAnd what had suggested the tremendous tumult? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my window as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before.\n"}
+{"original":"This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. \"I must stop it, nevertheless!\" I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!\nThe intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed,\n\"Let me in-let me in!\"\n\"Who are you?\" I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself.\n\"Catherine Linton,\" it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of _Linton_? I had read _Earnshaw_ twenty times for Linton)-\"I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!\"\n","abridged":"This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow. I heard, also, the fir bough tapping: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it. I thought I rose and tried to unfasten the casement; but the hook was stuck.\n'I must stop it, nevertheless!' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!\nThe intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!'\n'Who are you?' I asked, struggling to free myself.\n'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton). 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' "}
+{"original":"As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, \"Let me in!\" and maintained its tenacious grip, almost maddening me with fear.\n\"How can I!\" I said at length. \"Let _me_ go, if you want me to let you in!\"\nThe fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer.\nI seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on!\n","abridged":"As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding I could not shake the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes. Still it wailed, 'Let me in!' and kept its tenacious grip, maddening me with fear.\n'How can I?' I said at last. 'Let me go, if you want me to let you in!'\nThe fingers relaxed. I snatched my hand through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to shut out the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on!\n"}
+{"original":"\"Begone!\" I shouted. \"I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.\"\n\"It is twenty years,\" mourned the voice: \"twenty years. I've been a waif for twenty years!\"\nThereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward.\nI tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright.\nTo my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering, yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself.\nAt last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer,\n","abridged":"'Begone!' I shouted. 'I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.'\n'It is twenty years,' mourned the voice: 'I've been a waif for twenty years!' There began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and I yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright.\nHasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead. The intruder appeared to hesitate. At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer,"}
+{"original":"\"Is any one here?\"\nI considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff's accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet.\nWith this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.\nHeathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up.\n\"It is only your guest, sir,\" I called out, desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. \"I had the misfortune to scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. I'm sorry I disturbed you.\"\n","abridged":" 'Is anyone here?'\nI thought it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff's voice, so I turned and opened the panels.\nHeathcliff stood near the door, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak panel startled him like an electric shock: the candle leaped from his hold, and his agitation was so extreme that he could hardly pick it up.\n'It is only your guest, sir,' I called out, to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. 'I screamed in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. I'm sorry I disturbed you.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the-\" commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. \"And who showed you up into this room?\" he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. \"Who was it? I've a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment?\"\n","abridged":"'Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood!' My host set the candle on a chair, finding it impossible to hold it steady. 'And who showed you into this room?' he continued, grinding his teeth. 'Who was it? I've a good mind to turn them out of the house!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"It was your servant Zillah,\" I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. \"I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is-swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!\"\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Heathcliff, \"and what are you doing? Lie down and finish out the night, since you _are_ here; but, for Heaven's sake! don't repeat that horrid noise: nothing could excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut!\"\n","abridged":"'It was Zillah,' I replied, standing and rapidly pulling on my clothes. 'I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted. Well, it is - swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have good reason to shut it up, I assure you!'\n'What do you mean?' asked Heathcliff, 'and why are you getting dressed? Lie down and sleep, since you are here; but, for heaven's sake! don't repeat that horrid noise. Nothing could excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have strangled me!\" I returned. \"I'm not going to endure the persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabez Branderham akin to you on the mother's side? And that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called-she must have been a changeling-wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I've no doubt!\"\nScarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of Heathcliff's with Catherine's name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration: but, without showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add-\"The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in-\" Here I stopped afresh-I was about to say \"perusing those old volumes,\" then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went on-\"in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or-\"\n","abridged":"'If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have strangled me!' I returned. 'That minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called - she must have been a changeling. Wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her sins, no doubt!'\nScarcely were these words uttered when I recollected seeing Heathcliff's name with Catherine's in the book. I blushed, and hastened to add, 'The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in-'\nHere I stopped again: I was about to say 'reading those old books,' but that would have revealed my knowledge of their contents. So I went on-'in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge, an occupation to set me asleep, like counting, or-'\n"}
+{"original":"\"What _can_ you mean by talking in this way to _me!_\" thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. \"How-how _dare_ you, under my roof?-God! he's mad to speak so!\" And he struck his forehead with rage.\nI did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation of \"Catherine Linton\" before, but reading it often over produced an impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination under control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night: \"Not three o'clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!\"\n","abridged":"'What can you mean by talking in this way to me!' thundered Heathcliff savagely. 'How dare you? God! he's mad to speak so!' And he struck his forehead with rage.\nHe seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity on him. I told him my dreams; affirming I had never heard the name of 'Catherine Linton' before, but reading it had produced an impression which had affected my sleep.\nHeathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular breathing, that he struggled to vanquish violent emotion. Not liking to show that I had heard him, I continued to dress rather noisily, looked at my watch, and commented: 'Not three o'clock yet! I could have sworn it was six. We must surely have retired to rest at eight!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,\" said my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm's shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. \"Mr. Lockwood,\" he added, \"you may go into my room: you'll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.\"\n\"And for me, too,\" I replied. \"I'll walk in the yard till daylight, and then I'll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion. I'm now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.\"\n","abridged":"'At nine in winter, and rise at four,' said my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, dashing a tear from his eyes. 'Mr. Lockwood,' he added, 'you may go into my room: you'll only be in the way, coming down-stairs so early: and your outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.'\n'For me, too,' I replied. 'I'll walk in the yard till daylight, and then I'll be off; and you need not dread my return.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Delightful company!\" muttered Heathcliff. \"Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house-Juno mounts sentinel there, and-nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! I'll come in two minutes!\"\n","abridged":"'Take the candle, and go where you please,' he said. 'I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and Juno guards the house. You can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! I'll come in two minutes!'\n"}
+{"original":"I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. \"Come in! come in!\" he sobbed. \"Cathy, do come. Oh, do-_once_ more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me _this_ time, Catherine, at last!\" ","abridged":"I obeyed, quitting the chamber; then, not knowing which way to go, I stood still, and saw a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the window, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears.\n'Come in! come in!' he sobbed. 'Cathy, do come. Oh, do - once more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!' "}
+{"original":"The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.\nThere was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though _why_ was beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew.\nTwo benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other. We were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trap: the ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco. My presence in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark: he silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh, he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came.\n","abridged":"The spectre gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, blowing out the light.\nThere was such anguish in his grief and raving, that I was moved to compassion; half angry to have listened, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that baffling agony. I went cautiously downstairs, and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire enabled me to relight my candle. Nothing was stirring except a grey cat, which crept from the ashes with a querulous mew.\nTwo benches nearly enclosed the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and the cat mounted the other. We were both of us nodding, when Joseph came shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trapdoor: the way to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the fire, swept the cat from its bed, and sitting down in its place, began to stuff a pipe with tobacco. My presence was evidently a piece of impudence too shameful for remark: he smoked silently, arms folded; then heaved a deep sigh and left as solemnly as he came.\n"}
+{"original":"A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a \"good-morning,\" but closed it again, the salutation unachieved; for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison _sotto voce_, in a series of curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the cat. I guessed, by his preparations, that egress was allowed, and, leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow him. He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that there was the place where I must go, if I changed my locality.\nIt opened into the house, where the females were already astir; Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan.\n","abridged":"A stronger footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a 'good-morning,' but closed it again: for Hareton Earnshaw was cursing every object he touched, while he rummaged for a spade to dig through the snowdrifts. He glanced at me without any greeting.\nLeaving my hard couch, I moved to follow him. He thrust at an inner door with the end of his spade, meaning that there was the place where I must go.\nIt opened into the main room, where the females were already astir. Zillah was urging flames up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, was reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in it; stopping only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog that snoozled its nose into her face.\nI was surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah.\n"}
+{"original":"\"And you, you worthless-\" he broke out as I entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash-. \"There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread-you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight-do you hear, damnable jade?\"\n\"I'll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,\" answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. \"But I'll not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!\"\n","abridged":"'And you, you worthless ___' he broke out, turning to his daughter-in-law, and using a term generally represented by a dash ___. 'There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them earn their bread - you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight - do you hear, damnable jade?'\n'I'll put my trash away,' answered the young lady, throwing her book on a chair. 'But I'll not do anything except what I please!'\n"}
+{"original":"Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice.\nMy landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday's walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.\n","abridged":"Heathcliff lifted his hand, and she sprang away. Having no desire to be entertained by a fight, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to warm myself at the fire. Heathcliff placed his fists in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she played the part of a statue during the rest of my stay.\nThat was not long. I declined breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, escaped into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as ice.\nBefore I reached the end of the garden, my landlord called to me to stop, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hill was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls gave no sign of the rises and depressions in the ground. Many pits were filled level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, were blotted from the scene of my walk yesterday. I had noticed a line of upright stones along the road, daubed with whitewash to serve as guides in the dark or in the snow: but almost all traces of them had vanished. My companion had to warn me frequently to steer to right or left, when I imagined I was following the road.\n"}
+{"original":"We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there. Our adieux were limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own resources; for the porter's lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights.\nMy human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment.","abridged":"We talked little, and he left me at the entrance of Thrushcross Park; then I pushed forward alone. The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles. I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow. The clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; so I had taken exactly an hour for every mile of the way from Wuthering Heights.\nMy housekeeper and servants rushed to welcome me, exclaiming that they thought that I had perished last night. I bid them be quiet, and numbly dragged upstairs. After putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro for thirty minutes to restore warmth to my limbs, I retired to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too weak to enjoy the cheerful fire and steaming coffee which the servant had prepared for me."}
+{"original":"Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and-a thing that amazed us, and set the neighbours gossiping right and left-he brought a wife with him. What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably, she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have kept the union from his father.\nShe was not one that would have disturbed the house much on her own account. Every object she saw, the moment she crossed the threshold, appeared to delight her; and every circumstance that took place about her: except the preparing for the burial, and the presence of the mourners. I thought she was half silly, from her behaviour while that went on: she ran into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I should have been dressing the children: and there she sat shivering and clasping her hands, and asking repeatedly-\"Are they gone yet?\" Then she began describing with hysterical emotion the effect it produced on her to see black; and started, and trembled, and, at last, fell a-weeping-and when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didn't know; but she felt so afraid of dying! I imagined her as little likely to die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and fresh-complexioned, and her eyes sparkled as bright as diamonds. I did remark, to be sure, that mounting the stairs made her breathe very quick; that the least sudden noise set her all in a quiver, and that she coughed troublesomely sometimes: but I knew nothing of what these symptoms portended, and had no impulse to sympathise with her. We don't in general take to foreigners here, Mr. Lockwood, unless they take to us first.\n","abridged":"Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; and to our amazement, brought a wife with him. What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably, she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have kept the marriage secret from his father.\nI thought she was half silly: when the mourners came before the burial, she ran into her room, sat there shivering and clasping her hands, and asked repeatedly, 'Are they gone yet?' Then she trembled, and fell a-weeping. When I asked what was the matter, she answered, she didn't know; but she felt so afraid of dying!\nI imagined her as little likely to die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and pink-cheeked, and her eyes sparkled as bright as diamonds. I did remark, to be sure, that mounting the stairs made her breathe very quick, and that she coughed troublesomely sometimes: but I knew nothing of what these symptoms meant.\n"}
+{"original":"Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of his absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and spoke and dressed quite differently; and, on the very day of his return, he told Joseph and me we must thenceforth quarter ourselves in the back-kitchen, and leave the house for him. Indeed, he would have carpeted and papered a small spare room for a parlour; but his wife expressed such pleasure at the white floor and huge glowing fireplace, at the pewter dishes and delf-case, and dog-kennel, and the wide space there was to move about in where they usually sat, that he thought it unnecessary to her comfort, and so dropped the intention.\nShe expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning. Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish, Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy. He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the farm.\n","abridged":"Young Earnshaw was altered in the three years of his absence. He spoke and dressed quite differently; and, on the day of his return, he told Joseph and me that we must keep ourselves in the back-kitchen, and leave the main room for him. He would have carpeted a small spare room as a parlour for his wife; but she expressed such pleasure at the white floor and huge glowing fireplace, the pewter dishes and wide space, that he dropped the intention.\nShe expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new family, and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and gave her many presents, at the beginning. Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish, Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, expressing a dislike of Heathcliff, roused Hindley's old hatred of the boy. He drove Heathcliff from their company to the servants, deprived him of the curate's lessons, and insisted that he should labour out of doors instead.\n"}
+{"original":"Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the fields. They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the young master being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they did, so they kept clear of him. He would not even have seen after their going to church on Sundays, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to order Heathcliff a flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or supper. But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at. The curate might set as many chapters as he pleased for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph might thrash Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they were together again: at least the minute they had contrived some naughty plan of revenge; and many a time I've cried to myself to watch them growing more reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable, for fear of losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended creatures. One Sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from the sitting-room, for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind; and when I went to call them to supper, I could discover them nowhere. We searched the house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they were invisible: and, at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. The household went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in spite of the prohibition, should they return. In a while, I distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over my head and ran to prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by knocking. ","abridged":"Heathcliff bore this pretty well at first, because Cathy taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the fields. They were both growing up as rude as savages; the young master not caring what they did so long as they kept clear of him. He would not even have made them go to church, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded him when they were absent; then he ordered Heathcliff to be flogged, and Catherine to have no dinner.\nBut it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, and they laughed at punishments. Joseph might thrash Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they were together again: or at least the minute they had thought of some naughty plan of revenge. I saw them growing more reckless daily, but did not dare to speak a word, for fear of losing the small power I still had over them.\nOne Sunday evening, Cathy and Heathcliff were banished from the sitting-room, for making a noise; and when I went to call them to supper, I could find them nowhere. We searched the house, and the yard and stables; they were invisible. At last, Hindley in fury told us to bolt the doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night.\nThe household went to bed. I opened my window and put my head out to listen, though it rained, determined to let them in if they returned. In a while, I heard steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over my head and ran to prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by knocking. "}
+{"original":"There was Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a start to see him alone.\n","abridged":"There was Heathcliff, by himself: it gave me a start to see him alone.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Where is Miss Catherine?\" I cried hurriedly. \"No accident, I hope?\" \"At Thrushcross Grange,\" he answered; \"and I would have been there too, but they had not the manners to ask me to stay.\" \"Well, you will catch it!\" I said: \"you'll never be content till you're sent about your business. What in the world led you wandering to Thrushcross Grange?\" \"Let me get off my wet clothes, and I'll tell you all about it, Nelly,\" he replied. I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while he undressed and I waited to put out the candle, he continued-\"Cathy and I escaped from the wash-house to have a ramble at liberty, and getting a glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, while their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and singing and laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire. Do you think they do? ","abridged":"'Where is Miss Catherine?' I cried.\n'At Thrushcross Grange,' he answered; 'and I would have been there too, but they had not the manners to ask me to stay.'\n'Well, you will catch it!' I said: \"What in the world made you wander to Thrushcross Grange?'\n'Let me get off my wet clothes, and I'll tell you all about it, Nelly,' he replied. While he undressed, he continued: 'Cathy and I escaped for a ramble, and getting a glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see if the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, while their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and singing and laughing. Do you think they do?'\n"}
+{"original":"Or reading sermons, and being catechised by their manservant, and set to learn a column of Scripture names, if they don't answer properly?\" \"Probably not,\" I responded. \"They are good children, no doubt, and don't deserve the treatment you receive, for your bad conduct.\" \"Don't cant, Nelly,\" he said: \"nonsense! We ran from the top of the Heights to the park, without stopping-Catherine completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. You'll have to seek for her shoes in the bog to-morrow. We crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the basement, and clinging to the ledge, and we saw-ah! it was beautiful-a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft tapers. ","abridged":"'Probably not,' I responded. 'They are good children, no doubt, and don't deserve the treatment you get for your bad conduct.'\n'Nonsense, Nelly!' he said. 'We ran from the top of the Heights without stopping - Catherine completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. You'll have to seek for her shoes in the bog tomorrow. We crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves under the drawing-room window. The curtains were only half closed, and we could look in by clinging to the ledge.\n'Ah! it was beautiful - a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold. "}
+{"original":"Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar and his sisters had it entirely to themselves. Shouldn't they have been happy? We should have thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what your good children were doing? Isabella-I believe she is eleven, a year younger than Cathy-lay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots! That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap of warm hair, and each begin to cry because both, after struggling to get it, refused to take it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we did despise them! ","abridged":"Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar and his sister had it to themselves. Shouldn't they have been happy? We should have thought ourselves in heaven!\n'And now, guess what your good children were doing? Isabella - I believe she is eleven, a year younger than Cathy - lay screaming at the far end of the room, shrieking as if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the hearth weeping, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots! We laughed outright; we did despise them! "}
+{"original":"When would you catch me wishing to have what Catherine wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment in yelling, and sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by the whole room? I'd not exchange, for a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Linton's at Thrushcross Grange-not if I might have the privilege of flinging Joseph off the highest gable, and painting the house-front with Hindley's blood!\"\n\"Hush, hush!\" I interrupted. \"Still you have not told me, Heathcliff, how Catherine is left behind?\"\n","abridged":"When would you find us yelling, and sobbing, and rolling on the ground? I'd not exchange my condition here, for Edgar Linton's - not if I might paint the house-front with Hindley's blood!'\n'Hush, hush!' I interrupted. 'Still you have not told me, Heathcliff, how Catherine is left behind?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I told you we laughed,\" he answered. \"The Lintons heard us, and with one accord they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and then a cry, 'Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here. Oh, papa, oh!' They really did howl out something in that way. We made frightful noises to terrify them still more, and then we dropped off the ledge, because somebody was drawing the bars, and we felt we had better flee. I had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all at once she fell down. 'Run, Heathcliff, run!' she whispered. ","abridged":"'The Lintons heard us laughing, and they howled out, \"Oh, mamma, papa! Oh, come here. Oh, papa, oh!\" We made frightful noises to terrify them, and then we dropped off the ledge, because somebody was opening the door, and we felt we had better flee. I was urging Cathy on, when she fell.\n'\"Run, Heathcliff, run!\" she whispered. "}
+{"original":"'They have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!' The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly: I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell out-no! she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns of a mad cow. I did, though: I vociferated curses enough to annihilate any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast of a servant came up with a lantern, at last, shouting-'Keep fast, Skulker, keep fast!' He changed his note, however, when he saw Skulker's game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips streaming with bloody slaver. The man took Cathy up; she was sick: not from fear, I'm certain, but from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling execrations and vengeance. ","abridged":"\"The bull-dog holds me!\" The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly. She did not yell out - no! But I cursed it, and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A servant came up with a lantern shouting, \"Hold fast, Skulker!\" He changed his note, however, when he saw the dog half throttled; his huge, purple tongue hanging out of his mouth, and slavering.\n'The man took Cathy up; she was sick from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling vengeance.\n"}
+{"original":"'What prey, Robert?' hallooed Linton from the entrance. 'Skulker has caught a little girl, sir,' he replied; 'and there's a lad here,' he added, making a clutch at me, 'who looks an out-and-outer! Very like the robbers were for putting them through the window to open the doors to the gang after all were asleep, that they might murder us at their ease. Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed thief, you! you shall go to the gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir, don't lay by your gun.' 'No, no, Robert,' said the old fool. 'The rascals knew that yesterday was my rent-day: they thought to have me cleverly. Come in; I'll furnish them a reception. ","abridged":"'\"What prey, Robert?\" called Linton.\n'\"Skulker has caught a little girl, sir,\" he replied; \"and there's a lad here who looks a rogue! Very likely robbers were going to put them through the window to open the doors after all were asleep. Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed thief, you! Mr. Linton, sir, don't lay aside your gun.\"\n'\"No, Robert,\" said the old fool. "}
+{"original":"There, John, fasten the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop? Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don't be afraid, it is but a boy-yet the villain scowls so plainly in his face; would it not be a kindness to the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in acts as well as features?' He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton placed her spectacles on her nose and raised her hands in horror. The cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella lisping-'Frightful thing! Put him in the cellar, papa. He's exactly like the son of the fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant. ","abridged":"\"To rob a magistrate in his home, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop? Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don't be afraid, it is only a boy - yet the villain scowls; would it not be a kindness to the country to hang him at once?\"\n'He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton raised her hands in horror. The cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella lisping - \"Frightful thing! Put him in the cellar, papa. He's like the son of the fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant. "}
+{"original":"Isn't he, Edgar?'\n\"While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the last speech, and laughed. Edgar Linton, after an inquisitive stare, collected sufficient wit to recognise her. They see us at church, you know, though we seldom meet them elsewhere. 'That's Miss Earnshaw?' he whispered to his mother, 'and look how Skulker has bitten her-how her foot bleeds!'\n\"'Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense!' cried the dame; 'Miss Earnshaw scouring the country with a gipsy! And yet, my dear, the child is in mourning-surely it is-and she may be lamed for life!'\n","abridged":"Isn't he, Edgar?\"\n'Cathy heard her, and laughed. Edgar Linton then recognised her from church.\n'\"That's Miss Earnshaw!\" he whispered to his mother, \"and look how Skulker has bitten her - how she bleeds!\"\n'\"Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense!\" cried she; \"Miss Earnshaw scouring the country with a gipsy! And yet the child is in mourning - surely it is her - and she may be lamed for life!\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"'What culpable carelessness in her brother!' exclaimed Mr. Linton, turning from me to Catherine. 'I've understood from Shielders'\" (that was the curate, sir) \"'that he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism. But who is this? Where did she pick up this companion? Oho! I declare he is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey to Liverpool-a little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway.'\n\"'A wicked boy, at all events,' remarked the old lady, 'and quite unfit for a decent house! Did you notice his language, Linton? I'm shocked that my children should have heard it.'\n","abridged":"'\"What carelessness in her brother!\" exclaimed Mr. Linton. \"The curate says he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism. But where did she pick up this companion? Oho! He is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey to Liverpool-a little Lascar, or a Spanish castaway.\"\n'\"A wicked boy, at all events,\" remarked the old lady, \"and quite unfit for a decent house! Did you hear his language?\"\n"}
+{"original":"\"I recommenced cursing-don't be angry, Nelly-and so Robert was ordered to take me off. I refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the garden, pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march directly, secured the door again. The curtains were still looped up at one corner, and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had wished to return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a million of fragments, unless they let her out. She sat on the sofa quietly. Mrs. Linton took off the grey cloak of the dairy-maid which we had borrowed for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with her, I suppose: she was a young lady, and they made a distinction between her treatment and mine. Then the woman-servant brought a basin of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar stood gaping at a distance. Afterwards, they dried and combed her beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintons-a dim reflection from her own enchanting face. I saw they were full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to them-to everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?\"\n","abridged":"'I began cursing again - don't be angry, Nelly - and Robert was ordered to take me off. He dragged me into the garden, and, bidding me march, locked the door. But I spied on them; because, if Catherine wished to leave, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a million fragments, unless they let her out.\n'She sat on the sofa quietly. Mrs. Linton took off her cloak. The woman-servant brought a basin of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed wine and lemon for her, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar stood gaping. They dried and combed her beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire, where she was as merry as she could be, dividing her food between the little dog and Skulker, and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintons - a dim reflection from her own enchanting face. They were full of stupid admiration; she is so superior to them - to everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"There will more come of this business than you reckon on,\" I answered, covering him up and extinguishing the light. \"You are incurable, Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if he won't.\" My words came truer than I desired. The luckless adventure made Earnshaw furious. And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a lecture on the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to look about him, in earnest. Heathcliff received no flogging, but he was told that the first word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure a dismissal; and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook to keep her sister-in-law in due restraint when she returned home; employing art, not force: with force she would have found it impossible.","abridged":"'More will come of this,' I answered. 'You are incurable, Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will punish you.' My words came true: the adventure made Earnshaw furious. And then Mr. Linton paid us a visit the next day, and read Hindley a lecture on how he guided his family.\nHeathcliff was not flogged, but he was told that the first word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure his dismissal. Mrs. Earnshaw tried to keep Catherine restrained when she returned home; using art, not force: with force she would have found it impossible."}
+{"original":"Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Linton's state. The havoc that months had previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads of hours. Catherine we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick spirit refused to delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful probability, gradually ripening into certainty. She had not the heart to mention her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and obtained permission to order her out of doors: for the library, where her father stopped a short time daily-the brief period he could bear to sit up-and his chamber, had become her whole world. She grudged each moment that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by his side. Her countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my master gladly dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a happy change of scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope that she would not now be left entirely alone after his death.\nHe had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let fall, that, as his nephew resembled him in person, he would resemble him in mind; for Linton's letters bore few or no indications of his defective character. And I, through pardonable weakness, refrained from correcting the error; asking myself what good there would be in disturbing his last moments with information that he had neither power nor opportunity to turn to account.\nWe deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive. Catherine's face was just like the landscape-shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; and her poor little heart reproached itself for even that passing forgetfulness of its cares.\n","abridged":"In the next seven days Edgar Linton's state grew rapidly worse. Catherine could no longer be deluded: she brooded on the dreadful probability of her father's death, gradually ripening into certainty.\nShe had not the heart to mention her ride when Thursday came round. I obtained permission to send her out of doors: for her father's chamber had become her whole world. She grudged each moment that she did not spend bending over his pillow, or seated by his side. She grew pale with watching, and my master gladly dismissed her to what he thought would be a happy change of scene; drawing comfort from the hope that she would not now be left entirely alone after his death.\nHe had a fixed idea, that, as his nephew resembled him in looks, he would resemble him in mind; for Linton's letters bore few signs of his defective character. I did not correct the error, since there was no point disturbing his last moments.\nWe set off on a golden afternoon of August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever breathed it, even though dying, might revive. Catherine's face was just like the landscape - shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer.\n"}
+{"original":"We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected before. My young mistress alighted, and told me that, as she was resolved to stay a very little while, I had better hold the pony and remain on horseback; but I dissented: I wouldn't risk losing sight of the charge committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. Master Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this occasion: not the animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it looked more like fear.\n\"It is late!\" he said, speaking short and with difficulty. \"Is not your father very ill? I thought you wouldn't come.\"\n","abridged":"We found Linton watching at the same spot as before. He received us with greater animation this time: not the animation of joy, though; it looked more like fear.\n'It is late!' he said, speaking with difficulty. 'Is not your father very ill? I thought you wouldn't come.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"_Why_ won't you be candid?\" cried Catherine, swallowing her greeting. \"Why cannot you say at once you don't want me? It is strange, Linton, that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose, apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides!\"\nLinton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half ashamed; but his cousin's patience was not sufficient to endure this enigmatical behaviour.\n\"My father _is_ very ill,\" she said; \"and why am I called from his bedside? Why didn't you send to absolve me from my promise, when you wished I wouldn't keep it? Come! I desire an explanation: playing and trifling are completely banished out of my mind; and I can't dance attendance on your affectations now!\"\n","abridged":"'Why cannot you say at once you don't want me?' cried Catherine. 'It is strange, Linton, that for the second time you have brought me here apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides!'\nLinton shivered, and glanced at her, half ashamed; but his cousin was out of patience.\n'My father is very ill,' she said; 'why am I called from his bedside, when you didn't really want me?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"My affectations!\" he murmured; \"what are they? For heaven's sake, Catherine, don't look so angry! Despise me as much as you please; I am a worthless, cowardly wretch: I can't be scorned enough; but I'm too mean for your anger. Hate my father, and spare me for contempt.\"\n","abridged":"'Catherine, don't look so angry!' he murmured. 'Despise me if you please; I am a worthless, cowardly wretch. Hate my father: but don't hate me.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Nonsense!\" cried Catherine in a passion. \"Foolish, silly boy! And there! he trembles: as if I were really going to touch him! You needn't bespeak contempt, Linton: anybody will have it spontaneously at your service. Get off! I shall return home: it is folly dragging you from the hearth-stone, and pretending-what do we pretend? Let go my frock! If I pitied you for crying and looking so very frightened, you should spurn such pity. ","abridged":"'Nonsense!' cried Catherine in a passion. 'Silly boy! He trembles as if I were really going to touch him! I shall return home: let go my frock! Don't cry and look so frightened. "}
+{"original":"Ellen, tell him how disgraceful this conduct is. Rise, and don't degrade yourself into an abject reptile-_don't_!\"\nWith streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had thrown his nerveless frame along the ground: he seemed convulsed with exquisite terror.\n","abridged":"Ellen, tell him how disgraceful this conduct is. Don't degrade yourself into an abject reptile - don't!'\nWith a streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had thrown himself upon the ground: he seemed convulsed with terror.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Oh!\" he sobbed, \"I cannot bear it! Catherine, Catherine, I'm a traitor, too, and I dare not tell you! But leave me, and I shall be killed! _Dear_ Catherine, my life is in your hands: and you have said you loved me, and if you did, it wouldn't harm you. You'll not go, then? kind, sweet, good Catherine! And perhaps you _will_ consent-and he'll let me die with you!\"\nMy young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to raise him. The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame her vexation, and she grew thoroughly moved and alarmed.\n","abridged":"'Oh!' he sobbed, 'I cannot bear it! Catherine, I'm a traitor, and I dare not tell you! But leave me, and I shall be killed! Dear Catherine, my life is in your hands: and you have said you loved me. You'll not go, then? kind, sweet, good Catherine! And perhaps you will consent - and he'll let me die with you!'\nMy young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to raise him. The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame her vexation, and she grew thoroughly moved and alarmed.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Consent to what?\" she asked. \"To stay! tell me the meaning of this strange talk, and I will. You contradict your own words, and distract me! Be calm and frank, and confess at once all that weighs on your heart. You wouldn't injure me, Linton, would you? You wouldn't let any enemy hurt me, if you could prevent it? I'll believe you are a coward, for yourself, but not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend.\"\n","abridged":"'Consent to what?' she asked. 'To stay? tell me the meaning of this strange talk, and I will. Be calm, and confess all that weighs on your heart. You wouldn't injure me, Linton, would you? You wouldn't let any enemy hurt me, if you could prevent it? I'll believe you are a coward, but not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"But my father threatened me,\" gasped the boy, clasping his attenuated fingers, \"and I dread him-I dread him! I _dare_ not tell!\"\n\"Oh, well!\" said Catherine, with scornful compassion, \"keep your secret: _I'm_ no coward. Save yourself: I'm not afraid!\"\nHer magnanimity provoked his tears: he wept wildly, kissing her supporting hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak out. I was cogitating what the mystery might be, and determined Catherine should never suffer to benefit him or any one else, by my good will; when, hearing a rustle among the ling, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff almost close upon us, descending the Heights. He didn't cast a glance towards my companions, though they were sufficiently near for Linton's sobs to be audible; but hailing me in the almost hearty tone he assumed to none besides, and the sincerity of which I couldn't avoid doubting, he said-\n","abridged":"'But my father threatened me,' gasped the boy, 'and I dread him - I dread him! I dare not tell!'\n'Oh, well!' said Catherine, with scornful compassion, 'keep your secret: I'm not afraid!'\nHe wept wildly, kissing her hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak out. I was wondering what the mystery might be, when, hearing a rustle, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff close upon us. He didn't cast a glance towards my companions, though Linton's sobs were audible; but hailing me in the hearty tone he assumed to none besides, he said-\n"}
+{"original":"\"It is something to see you so near to my house, Nelly. How are you at the Grange? Let us hear. The rumour goes,\" he added, in a lower tone, \"that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his illness?\"\n\"No; my master is dying,\" I replied: \"it is true enough. A sad thing it will be for us all, but a blessing for him!\"\n\"How long will he last, do you think?\" he asked.\n\"I don't know,\" I said.\n","abridged":"'How are you at the Grange, Nelly? Let us hear. The rumour goes,' he added, in a lower tone, 'that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his illness?'\n'No; my master is dying,' I replied. 'A sad thing it will be for us all, but a blessing for him!'\n'How long will he last, do you think?' he asked.\n'I don't know,' I said.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Because,\" he continued, looking at the two young people, who were fixed under his eye-Linton appeared as if he could not venture to stir or raise his head, and Catherine could not move, on his account-\"because that lad yonder seems determined to beat me; and I'd thank his uncle to be quick, and go before him! Hallo! has the whelp been playing that game long? I _did_ give him some lessons about snivelling. Is he pretty lively with Miss Linton generally?\"\n\"Lively? no-he has shown the greatest distress,\" I answered. \"To see him, I should say, that instead of rambling with his sweetheart on the hills, he ought to be in bed, under the hands of a doctor.\"\n","abridged":"'Because,' he continued, looking at the two young people, 'that lad seems determined to beat me; and I'd thank his uncle to be quick, and go before him! Hallo! has the whelp been playing that game long? I did give him some lessons about snivelling. Is he pretty lively with Miss Linton generally?'\n'Lively? No - he has shown the greatest distress,' I answered. 'I should say that instead of rambling on the hills, he ought to be in bed, under the hands of a doctor.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"He shall be, in a day or two,\" muttered Heathcliff. \"But first-get up, Linton! Get up!\" he shouted. \"Don't grovel on the ground there: up, this moment!\"\nLinton had sunk prostrate again in another paroxysm of helpless fear, caused by his father's glance towards him, I suppose: there was nothing else to produce such humiliation. He made several efforts to obey, but his little strength was annihilated for the time, and he fell back again with a moan. Mr. Heathcliff advanced, and lifted him to lean against a ridge of turf.\n\"Now,\" said he, with curbed ferocity, \"I'm getting angry and if you don't command that paltry spirit of yours-_damn_ you! get up directly!\"\n","abridged":"'He shall be, in a day or two,' muttered Heathcliff. 'But first - get up, Linton!' he shouted. 'Don't grovel on the ground. Up, this moment!'\nLinton had sunk down in helpless fear. He made several efforts to obey, but had no strength, and fell back again with a moan. Mr. Heathcliff advanced, and lifted him to lean against a ridge of turf.\n'Now,' said he, with curbed ferocity, 'I'm getting angry. If you don't command that paltry spirit of yours - damn you! get up directly!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I will, father,\" he panted. \"Only, let me alone, or I shall faint. I've done as you wished, I'm sure. Catherine will tell you that I-that I-have been cheerful. Ah! keep by me, Catherine; give me your hand.\"\n","abridged":"'I will, father,' he panted. 'Only, let me alone, or I shall faint. I've done as you wished. Catherine will tell you that I - that I - have been cheerful. Ah! keep by me, Catherine; give me your hand.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Take mine,\" said his father; \"stand on your feet. There now-she'll lend you her arm: that's right, look at her. You would imagine I was the devil himself, Miss Linton, to excite such horror. Be so kind as to walk home with him, will you? He shudders if I touch him.\"\n\"Linton dear!\" whispered Catherine, \"I can't go to Wuthering Heights: papa has forbidden me. He'll not harm you: why are you so afraid?\"\n\"I can never re-enter that house,\" he answered. \"I'm _not_ to re-enter it without you!\"\n","abridged":"'Take mine,' said his father; 'stand on your feet. She'll lend you her arm: that's right. You would imagine I was the devil himself, Miss Linton, to excite such horror. Be so kind as to walk home with him, will you? He shudders if I touch him.'\n'Linton dear!' whispered Catherine, 'I can't go to Wuthering Heights: papa has forbidden me. Why are you so afraid?'\n'I'm not to re-enter that house without you!' he said.\n'Stop!' "}
+{"original":"\"Stop!\" cried his father. \"We'll respect Catherine's filial scruples. Nelly, take him in, and I'll follow your advice concerning the doctor, without delay.\"\n\"You'll do well,\" replied I. \"But I must remain with my mistress: to mind your son is not my business.\"\n\"You are very stiff,\" said Heathcliff, \"I know that: but you'll force me to pinch the baby and make it scream before it moves your charity. Come, then, my hero. Are you willing to return, escorted by me?\"\n","abridged":"cried his father. 'We'll respect Catherine's scruples. Nelly, take him in, and I'll follow your advice concerning the doctor.'\n'Good,' replied I. 'But I must remain with my mistress: minding your son is not my business.'\n'You'll force me to pinch the baby and make it scream,' said Heathcliff. 'Come, then, my hero. Shall I escort you?'\n"}
+{"original":"He approached once more, and made as if he would seize the fragile being; but, shrinking back, Linton clung to his cousin, and implored her to accompany him, with a frantic importunity that admitted no denial. However I disapproved, I couldn't hinder her: indeed, how could she have refused him herself? What was filling him with dread we had no means of discerning; but there he was, powerless under its grip, and any addition seemed capable of shocking him into idiocy. We reached the threshold; Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting till she had conducted the invalid to a chair, expecting her out immediately; when Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward, exclaimed-\"My house is not stricken with the plague, Nelly; and I have a mind to be hospitable to-day: sit down, and allow me to shut the door.\"\nHe shut and locked it also. I started.\n","abridged":"He approached his son once more; but, shrinking back, Linton clung to Cathy, and frantically implored her to accompany him. How could she refuse? We did not know the reason for his dread; but he was powerless under its grip.\nWe reached the threshold. Catherine walked in and was leading the invalid to a chair; when Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward, exclaimed, 'Nelly, I have a mind to be hospitable today: sit down, and allow me to shut the door.'\nHe shut and locked it also.\n"}
+{"original":"\"You shall have tea before you go home,\" he added. \"I am by myself. Hareton is gone with some cattle to the Lees, and Zillah and Joseph are off on a journey of pleasure; and, though I'm used to being alone, I'd rather have some interesting company, if I can get it. Miss Linton, take your seat by _him_. I give you what I have: the present is hardly worth accepting; but I have nothing else to offer. It is Linton, I mean. How she does stare! It's odd what a savage feeling I have to anything that seems afraid of me! Had I been born where laws are less strict and tastes less dainty, I should treat myself to a slow vivisection of those two, as an evening's amusement.\"\n","abridged":"'You shall have tea before you go home,' he added. 'Hareton is gone with some cattle to the Lees, and Zillah and Joseph have a day off; and, though I'm used to being alone, I'd rather have some interesting company. Miss Linton, take your seat by Linton: the present is hardly worth accepting; but I have nothing else to offer. How she does stare! It's odd how savage I feel towards anything that seems afraid of me! Had I been born where laws are less strict, I should treat myself to a slow vivisection of those two, as an evening's amusement.'\n"}
+{"original":"He drew in his breath, struck the table, and swore to himself, \"By hell! I hate them.\"\n\"I am not afraid of you!\" exclaimed Catherine, who could not hear the latter part of his speech. She stepped close up; her black eyes flashing with passion and resolution. \"Give me that key: I will have it!\" she said. \"I wouldn't eat or drink here, if I were starving.\"\n","abridged":"He drew in his breath, struck the table, and swore to himself: 'By hell! I hate them.'\n'I am not afraid of you!' exclaimed Catherine. She stepped close up, her black eyes flashing with passion and resolution. 'Give me that key: I will have it!' she said. 'I wouldn't eat or drink here, if I were starving.'\n"}
+{"original":"Heathcliff had the key in his hand that remained on the table. He looked up, seized with a sort of surprise at her boldness; or, possibly, reminded, by her voice and glance, of the person from whom she inherited it. She snatched at the instrument, and half succeeded in getting it out of his loosened fingers: but her action recalled him to the present; he recovered it speedily.\n\"Now, Catherine Linton,\" he said, \"stand off, or I shall knock you down; and, that will make Mrs. Dean mad.\"\nRegardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and its contents again. \"We _will_ go!\" she repeated, exerting her utmost efforts to cause the iron muscles to relax; and finding that her nails made no impression, she applied her teeth pretty sharply. Heathcliff glanced at me a glance that kept me from interfering a moment. Catherine was too intent on his fingers to notice his face. He opened them suddenly, and resigned the object of dispute; but, ere she had well secured it, he seized her with the liberated hand, and, pulling her on his knee, administered with the other a shower of terrific slaps on both sides of the head, each sufficient to have fulfilled his threat, had she been able to fall.\n","abridged":"Heathcliff had the key in his hand. He looked up with surprise at her boldness; or, possibly, reminded by her voice of the person from whom she inherited it. She snatched at the key, and half succeeded in getting it out of his fingers: but he recovered it speedily.\n'Now, Catherine Linton,' he said, 'stand off, or I shall knock you down; and that will make Mrs. Dean mad.'\nRegardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and its contents again.\n'We will go!' she repeated, trying to make the iron muscles relax; and finding that her nails made no impression, she applied her teeth sharply. Heathcliff glanced at me to keep me from interfering. Then he opened his fingers suddenly, but before she could take the key, he seized her and gave her a shower of terrific slaps on both sides of the head.\n"}
+{"original":"At this diabolical violence I rushed on him furiously. \"You villain!\" I began to cry, \"you villain!\" A touch on the chest silenced me: I am stout, and soon put out of breath; and, what with that and the rage, I staggered dizzily back and felt ready to suffocate, or to burst a blood-vessel. The scene was over in two minutes; Catherine, released, put her two hands to her temples, and looked just as if she were not sure whether her ears were off or on. She trembled like a reed, poor thing, and leant against the table perfectly bewildered.\n\"I know how to chastise children, you see,\" said the scoundrel, grimly, as he stooped to repossess himself of the key, which had dropped to the floor. \"Go to Linton now, as I told you; and cry at your ease! I shall be your father, to-morrow-all the father you'll have in a few days-and you shall have plenty of that. You can bear plenty; you're no weakling: you shall have a daily taste, if I catch such a devil of a temper in your eyes again!\"\n","abridged":"At this diabolical violence I rushed on him furiously. 'You villain!' I began to cry. A touch on the chest silenced me: I am stout, and soon put out of breath; and I staggered dizzily back, feeling ready to burst a blood-vessel.\nThe scene was over in two minutes. Catherine, released, put her hands to her head, as if she were not sure whether her ears were off or on. She trembled like a reed, poor thing, and leant against the table perfectly bewildered.\n'I know how to chastise children, you see,' said the scoundrel grimly. 'Go to Linton now, and cry at your ease! I shall be your father, tomorrow - all the father you'll have in a few days - and you shall have plenty of that. You can bear plenty; you're no weakling: you shall have a daily taste, if I catch such a devil of a temper in you again!'\n"}
+{"original":"Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down and put her burning cheek on my lap, weeping aloud. Her cousin had shrunk into a corner of the settle, as quiet as a mouse, congratulating himself, I dare say, that the correction had alighted on another than him. Mr. Heathcliff, perceiving us all confounded, rose, and expeditiously made the tea himself. The cups and saucers were laid ready. He poured it out, and handed me a cup.\n\"Wash away your spleen,\" he said. \"And help your own naughty pet and mine. It is not poisoned, though I prepared it. I'm going out to seek your horses.\"\n","abridged":"Cathy ran to me instead of to Linton, and knelt down and put her burning cheek on my lap, weeping aloud. Her cousin had shrunk into a corner of the settle, as quiet as a mouse, congratulating himself, I dare say, that the correction had alighted on another than him. Mr. Heathcliff, perceiving us all confounded, rose, and made the tea himself. He poured it out, and handed me a cup.\n'Wash away your annoyance,' he said. 'It is not poisoned, though I prepared it. I'm going out to seek your horses.'\n"}
+{"original":"Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside: we looked at the windows-they were too narrow for even Cathy's little figure.\n\"Master Linton,\" I cried, seeing we were regularly imprisoned, \"you know what your diabolical father is after, and you shall tell us, or I'll box your ears, as he has done your cousin's.\"\n\"Yes, Linton, you must tell,\" said Catherine. \"It was for your sake I came; and it will be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse.\"\n","abridged":"Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was locked: and the windows were too narrow for even Cathy's little figure.\n'Master Linton,' I cried, 'you know what your diabolical father is after, and you shall tell us, or I'll box your ears.'\n'Yes, Linton, you must tell,' said Catherine. 'It was for your sake I came; and it will be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Give me some tea, I'm thirsty, and then I'll tell you,\" he answered. \"Mrs. Dean, go away. I don't like you standing over me. Now, Catherine, you are letting your tears fall into my cup. I won't drink that. Give me another.\" Catherine pushed another to him, and wiped her face. I felt disgusted at the little wretch's composure, since he was no longer in terror for himself. The anguish he had exhibited on the moor subsided as soon as ever he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been menaced with an awful visitation of wrath if he failed in decoying us there; and, that accomplished, he had no further immediate fears.\n","abridged":"'Give me some tea - I'm thirsty. Then I'll tell you,' he answered. 'Mrs. Dean, go away. I don't like you standing over me. Now, Catherine, you are letting your tears fall into my cup. I won't drink that. Give me another.'\nCatherine pushed another cup to him, and wiped her face. I felt disgusted at the little wretch's composure, since he was no longer in terror for himself. His anguish had subsided as soon as he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been menaced if he failed to decoy us there; and now had no further fears.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Papa wants us to be married,\" he continued, after sipping some of the liquid. \"And he knows your papa wouldn't let us marry now; and he's afraid of my dying if we wait; so we are to be married in the morning, and you are to stay here all night; and, if you do as he wishes, you shall return home next day, and take me with you.\"\n","abridged":"'Papa wants us to be married,' he continued, sipping some tea. 'And he knows your papa wouldn't let us marry now; and he's afraid of my dying if we wait; so we are to be married in the morning, and you are to stay here all night; and, if you do as he wishes, you shall return home next day, and take me with you.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Take you with her, pitiful changeling!\" I exclaimed. \"_You_ marry? Why, the man is mad! or he thinks us fools, every one. And do you imagine that beautiful young lady, that healthy, hearty girl, will tie herself to a little perishing monkey like you? Are you cherishing the notion that anybody, let alone Miss Catherine Linton, would have you for a husband? You want whipping for bringing us in here at all, with your dastardly puling tricks: and-don't look so silly, now! I've a very good mind to shake you severely, for your contemptible treachery, and your imbecile conceit.\"\nI did give him a slight shaking; but it brought on the cough, and he took to his ordinary resource of moaning and weeping, and Catherine rebuked me.\n","abridged":"'Take you with her, pitiful changeling!' I exclaimed. 'You marry? Do you imagine that beautiful young lady, that healthy girl, will tie herself to a little perishing monkey like you? You want whipping for bringing us here at all, with your dastardly tricks: and - don't look so silly! I've a good mind to shake you, for your treachery, and your imbecile conceit.'\nI did give him a slight shaking; but it brought on the cough. He started moaning and weeping, and Catherine rebuked me.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Stay all night? No,\" she said, looking slowly round. \"Ellen, I'll burn that door down but I'll get out.\"\nAnd she would have commenced the execution of her threat directly, but Linton was up in alarm for his dear self again. He clasped her in his two feeble arms sobbing:-\"Won't you have me, and save me? not let me come to the Grange? Oh, darling Catherine! you mustn't go and leave, after all. You _must_ obey my father-you _must_!\"\n","abridged":"'Stay all night? No,' she said, looking round. 'Ellen, I'll burn that door down to get out.'\nAt once Linton was up in alarm for his dear self again. He clasped her in his feeble arms sobbing: 'Won't you have me, and save me? Oh, darling Catherine! You must obey my father - you must!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I must obey my own,\" she replied, \"and relieve him from this cruel suspense. The whole night! What would he think? He'll be distressed already. I'll either break or burn a way out of the house. Be quiet! You're in no danger; but if you hinder me-Linton, I love papa better than you!\" The mortal terror he felt of Mr. Heathcliff's anger restored to the boy his coward's eloquence. Catherine was near distraught: still, she persisted that she must go home, and tried entreaty in her turn, persuading him to subdue his selfish agony. While they were thus occupied, our jailor re-entered.\n","abridged":"'I must obey my own,' she replied, 'and relieve him from this cruel suspense. The whole night! What would he think? He'll be distressed already. I'll either break or burn a way out of the house. Be quiet! I love papa better than you!' Catherine was near distraught: she persisted that she must go home, and was entreating him when our jailor re-entered.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Your beasts have trotted off,\" he said, \"and-now Linton! snivelling again? What has she been doing to you? Come, come-have done, and get to bed. In a month or two, my lad, you'll be able to pay her back her present tyrannies with a vigorous hand. You're pining for pure love, are you not? nothing else in the world: and she shall have you! There, to bed! Zillah won't be here to-night; you must undress yourself. Hush! ","abridged":"'Your horses have trotted off,' he said. 'Linton! snivelling again? Have done, and get to bed. In a month or two, my lad, you'll be able to pay her back with a vigorous hand. There, to bed! Zillah won't be here tonight; you must undress yourself. Hush! "}
+{"original":"hold your noise! Once in your own room, I'll not come near you: you needn't fear. By chance, you've managed tolerably. I'll look to the rest.\"\n","abridged":"I'll not come near you: you needn't fear. By chance, you've managed tolerably. I'll see to the rest.'\n"}
+{"original":"He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass, and the latter achieved his exit exactly as a spaniel might which suspected the person who attended on it of designing a spiteful squeeze. The lock was re-secured. Heathcliff approached the fire, where my mistress and I stood silent. Catherine looked up, and instinctively raised her hand to her cheek: his neighbourhood revived a painful sensation. Anybody else would have been incapable of regarding the childish act with sternness, but he scowled on her and muttered-\"Oh! you are not afraid of me? Your courage is well disguised: you seem damnably afraid!\"\n\"I _am_ afraid now,\" she replied, \"because, if I stay, papa will be miserable: and how can I endure making him miserable-when he-when he-Mr. Heathcliff, let _me_ go home! I promise to marry Linton: papa would like me to: and I love him. Why should you wish to force me to do what I'll willingly do of myself?\"\n","abridged":"He held the door open for his son, who slunk out like a frightened spaniel. Heathcliff locked the door, and approached the fire, where my mistress and I stood silent. Catherine looked up, instinctively raising her hand to her cheek. He scowled on her and muttered, 'Oh! so you are not afraid of me? Your courage is well disguised: you seem damnably afraid!'\n'I am afraid now,' she replied, 'because, if I stay, papa will be miserable: and how can I endure that - when he - when he - Mr. Heathcliff, let me go home! I promise to marry Linton: papa would like me to: and I love him. Why should you wish to force me to do what I'll willingly do myself?'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Let him dare to force you,\" I cried. \"There's law in the land, thank God! there is; though we be in an out-of-the-way place. I'd inform if he were my own son: and it's felony without benefit of clergy!\"\n","abridged":"'Let him dare to force you,' I cried. 'There's law in the land, thank God!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Silence!\" said the ruffian. \"To the devil with your clamour! I don't want _you_ to speak. Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in thinking your father will be miserable: I shall not sleep for satisfaction. You could have hit on no surer way of fixing your residence under my roof for the next twenty-four hours than informing me that such an event would follow. As to your promise to marry Linton, I'll take care you shall keep it; for you shall not quit this place till it is fulfilled.\"\n","abridged":"'Silence!' said the ruffian. 'To the devil with you! Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in thinking your father will be miserable: I shall not sleep for satisfaction. You could have hit on no surer way of fixing your residence under my roof for the next twenty-four hours than telling me of his misery. As to your promise to marry Linton, I'll take care you shall keep it; for you shall not quit this place till it is done.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Send Ellen, then, to let papa know I'm safe!\" exclaimed Catherine, weeping bitterly. \"Or marry me now. Poor papa! Ellen, he'll think we're lost. What shall we do?\"\n","abridged":"'Send Ellen, then, to let papa know I'm safe!' exclaimed Catherine, weeping bitterly. 'Or let me be married now. Poor papa! Ellen, he'll think we're lost!'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Not he! He'll think you are tired of waiting on him, and run off for a little amusement,\" answered Heathcliff. \"You cannot deny that you entered my house of your own accord, in contempt of his injunctions to the contrary. And it is quite natural that you should desire amusement at your age; and that you would weary of nursing a sick man, and that man _only_ your father. Catherine, his happiest days were over when your days began. He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the world (I did, at least); and it would just do if he cursed you as _he_ went out of it. I'd join him. I don't love you! How should I? Weep away. ","abridged":"'Not he! He'll think you are tired of waiting on him, and have run off for amusement,' answered Heathcliff. 'It is quite natural that you should weary of nursing a sick man. Catherine, his happiest days were over when your days began. He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the world (I did, at least); and he should curse you as he goes out of it. I'd join him. I don't love you! How should I? Weep away. "}
+{"original":"As far as I can see, it will be your chief diversion hereafter; unless Linton make amends for other losses: and your provident parent appears to fancy he may. His letters of advice and consolation entertained me vastly. In his last he recommended my jewel to be careful of his; and kind to her when he got her. Careful and kind-that's paternal. But Linton requires his whole stock of care and kindness for himself. Linton can play the little tyrant well. He'll undertake to torture any number of cats, if their teeth be drawn and their claws pared. You'll be able to tell his uncle fine tales of his _kindness_, when you get home again, I assure you.\"\n","abridged":"You'll be doing plenty of weeping hereafter; unless Linton improves as your father hopes. His letters of advice entertained me vastly. In his last he recommended my jewel to be kind and careful of his. But Linton requires his whole stock of care and kindness for himself: he can play the tyrant well. He'll undertake to torture any number of cats, if their teeth be drawn and their claws cut. You'll be able to tell his uncle fine tales of his kindness, when you get home, I assure you.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"You're right there!\" I said; \"explain your son's character. Show his resemblance to yourself: and then, I hope, Miss Cathy will think twice before she takes the cockatrice!\"\n\"I don't much mind speaking of his amiable qualities now,\" he answered; \"because she must either accept him or remain a prisoner, and you along with her, till your master dies. I can detain you both, quite concealed, here. If you doubt, encourage her to retract her word, and you'll have an opportunity of judging!\"\n","abridged":"'You're right there!' I said; 'Show your son's resemblance to yourself, and Miss Cathy will think twice before she takes him!'\n'It doesn't matter now,' he answered; 'because she must either accept him, or remain a prisoner, till your master dies. I can keep you both concealed here.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"I'll not retract my word,\" said Catherine. \"I'll marry him within this hour, if I may go to Thrushcross Grange afterwards. Mr. Heathcliff, you're a cruel man, but you're not a fiend; and you won't, from _mere_ malice, destroy irrevocably all my happiness. If papa thought I had left him on purpose, and if he died before I returned, could I bear to live? I've given over crying: but I'm going to kneel here, at your knee; and I'll not get up, and I'll not take my eyes from your face till you look back at me! No, don't turn away! _do look_! you'll see nothing to provoke you. I don't hate you. I'm not angry that you struck me. ","abridged":"'I'll marry him within the hour,' said Catherine, 'if I may go home afterwards. Mr. Heathcliff, you're a cruel man, but you're not a fiend. If papa thought I had left him on purpose, and if he died before I returned, could I bear to live? I'm going to kneel here, and I'll not get up till you look back at me! No, don't turn away! do look! I don't hate you. I'm not angry that you struck me. "}
+{"original":"Have you never loved _anybody_ in all your life, uncle? _never_? Ah! you must look once. I'm so wretched, you can't help being sorry and pitying me.\"\n\"Keep your eft's fingers off; and move, or I'll kick you!\" cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. \"I'd rather be hugged by a snake. How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I _detest_ you!\"\n","abridged":"Have you never loved anybody in all your life, uncle? never? Ah! you must look once. I'm so wretched, you can't help pitying me.'\n'Keep your lizard's fingers off; and move away, or I'll kick you!' cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. 'I'd rather be hugged by a snake. How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I detest you!' "}
+{"original":"He shrugged his shoulders: shook himself, indeed, as if his flesh crept with aversion; and thrust back his chair; while I got up, and opened my mouth, to commence a downright torrent of abuse. But I was rendered dumb in the middle of the first sentence, by a threat that I should be shown into a room by myself the very next syllable I uttered. It was growing dark-we heard a sound of voices at the garden-gate. Our host hurried out instantly: _he_ had his wits about him; _we_ had not. There was a talk of two or three minutes, and he returned alone.\n\"I thought it had been your cousin Hareton,\" I observed to Catherine. \"I wish he would arrive! Who knows but he might take our part?\"\n","abridged":"He shook himself, as if his flesh crept; and thrust back his chair. I opened my mouth to abuse him; but was silenced by a threat.\nIt was growing dark - we heard voices at the garden-gate. Our host hurried out instantly: after two or three minutes, he returned alone.\n'I thought it had been your cousin Hareton,' I observed to Catherine. 'I wish he would arrive! He might take our part.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange,\" said Heathcliff, overhearing me. \"You should have opened a lattice and called out: but I could swear that chit is glad you didn't. She's glad to be obliged to stay, I'm certain.\"\nAt learning the chance we had missed, we both gave vent to our grief without control; and he allowed us to wail on till nine o'clock. Then he bid us go upstairs, through the kitchen, to Zillah's chamber; and I whispered my companion to obey: perhaps we might contrive to get through the window there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight. The window, however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret trap was safe from our attempts; for we were fastened in as before. We neither of us lay down: Catherine took her station by the lattice, and watched anxiously for morning; a deep sigh being the only answer I could obtain to my frequent entreaties that she would try to rest. I seated myself in a chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment on my many derelictions of duty; from which, it struck me then, all the misfortunes of my employers sprang. It was not the case, in reality, I am aware; but it was, in my imagination, that dismal night; and I thought Heathcliff himself less guilty than I.\n","abridged":"'It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange,' said Heathcliff, overhearing me. 'You should have called through the window; but that chit is glad you didn't. She's glad to be obliged to stay, I'm certain.'\nAt learning the chance we had missed, we both wept; and he allowed us to wail on till nine o'clock. Then he bid us go upstairs to Zillah's chamber; and I whispered to my companion to obey: thinking perhaps we might get through the window there, or out by the garret skylight. The window, however, was too narrow, and the garret was locked.\nWe neither of us lay down. Catherine waited by the window, and watched anxiously for morning; a deep sigh being her only answer when I begged her to rest. I sat in a chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment on myself; for, that dismal night, I thought Heathcliff himself less guilty than I.\n"}
+{"original":"At seven o'clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen. She ran to the door immediately, and answered, \"Yes.\" \"Here, then,\" he said, opening it, and pulling her out. I rose to follow, but he turned the lock again. I demanded my release.\n\"Be patient,\" he replied; \"I'll send up your breakfast in a while.\"\nI thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily and Catherine asked why I was still shut up? He answered, I must try to endure it another hour, and they went away. I endured it two or three hours; at length, I heard a footstep: not Heathcliff's.\n\"I've brought you something to eat,\" said a voice; \"oppen t' door!\"\n","abridged":"At seven o'clock he came for Catherine. She ran to the door immediately, and he pulled her out. When I rose to follow, he turned the lock again. I demanded my release.\n'Be patient,' he replied; 'I'll send up your breakfast in a while.'\nI thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily. He told me I must endure it another hour, and then went away. I endured it two or three hours, until at length, I heard a footstep: not Heathcliff's.\n'I've brought you something to eat,' said a voice; 'open t' door!'\n"}
+{"original":"Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me all day.\n\"Tak' it,\" he added, thrusting the tray into my hand.\n\"Stay one minute,\" I began.\n\"Nay,\" cried he, and retired, regardless of any prayers I could pour forth to detain him.\nAnd there I remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of the next night; and another, and another. Five nights and four days I remained, altogether, seeing nobody but Hareton once every morning; and he was a model of a jailor: surly, and dumb, and deaf to every attempt at moving his sense of justice or compassion.","abridged":"It was Hareton, laden with food. 'Take it,' he added, thrusting the tray into my hand, and retired, ignoring my prayers.\nI remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of the next night; and another, and another. Five nights and four days I remained, seeing nobody but Hareton; and he was a model jailor: surly, and dumb, and deaf to every appeal to his compassion."}
+{"original":"A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my master's return. Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me get mourning for his daughter, and arrange a room, and other accommodations, for his youthful nephew. Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and indulged most sanguine anticipations of the innumerable excellencies of her \"real\" cousin. The evening of their expected arrival came. Since early morning she had been busy ordering her own small affairs; and now attired in her new black frock-poor thing! her aunt's death impressed her with no definite sorrow-she obliged me, by constant worrying, to walk with her down through the grounds to meet them.\n","abridged":"A letter, edged with black, came from my master. Isabella was dead; and Edgar was returning with his youthful nephew. Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and looked forward to seeing her 'real' cousin. On the evening of their expected arrival, she persuaded me to walk with her through the grounds to meet them.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Linton is just six months younger than I am,\" she chattered, as we strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under shadow of the trees. \"How delightful it will be to have him for a playfellow! Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was lighter than mine-more flaxen, and quite as fine. I have it carefully preserved in a little glass box; and I've often thought what a pleasure it would be to see its owner. Oh! I am happy-and papa, dear, dear papa! Come, Ellen, let us run! come, run.\"\nShe ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my sober footsteps reached the gate, and then she seated herself on the grassy bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was impossible: she couldn't be still a minute.\n","abridged":"'Linton is just six months younger than I am,' she chattered, as we strolled under the trees. 'How delightful it will be to have him for a playfellow! Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was lighter than mine. I've often thought what a pleasure it would be to see its owner. Oh! I am happy - and dear papa! Come, Ellen, let us run!'\nShe ran to the gate, and then sat on the grassy bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was impossible.\n"}
+{"original":"\"How long they are!\" she exclaimed. \"Ah, I see, some dust on the road-they are coming! No! When will they be here? May we not go a little way-half a mile, Ellen, only just half a mile? Do say yes: to that clump of birches at the turn!\"\n","abridged":"'How long they are!' she exclaimed. 'Ah, I see some dust on the road - they are coming!'\n"}
+{"original":"I refused staunchly. At length her suspense was ended: the travelling carriage rolled in sight. Miss Cathy shrieked and stretched out her arms as soon as she caught her father's face looking from the window. He descended, nearly as eager as herself; and a considerable interval elapsed ere they had a thought to spare for any but themselves. While they exchanged caresses I took a peep in to see after Linton. He was asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak, as if it had been winter. A pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for my master's younger brother, so strong was the resemblance: but there was a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had. The latter saw me looking; and having shaken hands, advised me to close the door, and leave him undisturbed; for the journey had fatigued him. Cathy would fain have taken one glance, but her father told her to come, and they walked together up the park, while I hastened before to prepare the servants.\n","abridged":"The travelling carriage rolled into sight. Miss Cathy shrieked and stretched out her arms as soon as she saw her father's face looking from the window. Edgar descended, and while they exchanged caresses I took a peep in at Linton. He was asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak. A pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for my master's younger brother, so strong was the resemblance: but there was a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had.\nMr Linton saw me looking; and advised me not to disturb him; for the journey had fatigued him.\n"}
+{"original":"\"Now, darling,\" said Mr. Linton, addressing his daughter, as they halted at the bottom of the front steps: \"your cousin is not so strong or so merry as you are, and he has lost his mother, remember, a very short time since; therefore, don't expect him to play and run about with you directly. And don't harass him much by talking: let him be quiet this evening, at least, will you?\"\n\"Yes, yes, papa,\" answered Catherine: \"but I do want to see him; and he hasn't once looked out.\"\nThe carriage stopped; and the sleeper being roused, was lifted to the ground by his uncle.\n\"This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,\" he said, putting their little hands together. \"She's fond of you already; and mind you don't grieve her by crying to-night. Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is at an end, and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse yourself as you please.\"\n\"Let me go to bed, then,\" answered the boy, shrinking from Catherine's salute; and he put his fingers to remove incipient tears.\n\"Come, come, there's a good child,\" I whispered, leading him in. \"You'll make her weep too-see how sorry she is for you!\"\n","abridged":"'Now, darling,' he said to his daughter, 'your cousin is not so strong or so merry as you are, and he has lost his mother, remember; so don't expect him to play and run about with you. Let him be quiet this evening, at least.'\nEdgar and Cathy walked up to the house, while the carriage was driven round to the steps. There he roused Linton and lifted him out.\n'This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,' he said, putting their little hands together. 'She's fond of you already; and mind you don't grieve her by crying. Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is at an end, and you can rest and amuse yourself as you please.'\n'Let me go to bed, then,' answered the boy, shrinking from Catherine, and starting to weep.\n'Come, come, there's a good child,' I whispered, leading him in. 'You'll make her weep too - see how sorry she is for you!'\n"}
+{"original":"I do not know whether it was sorrow for him, but his cousin put on as sad a countenance as himself, and returned to her father. All three entered, and mounted to the library, where tea was laid ready. I proceeded to remove Linton's cap and mantle, and placed him on a chair by the table; but he was no sooner seated than he began to cry afresh. My master inquired what was the matter.\n\"I can't sit on a chair,\" sobbed the boy.\n\"Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea,\" answered his uncle patiently.\n","abridged":"Certainly, his cousin looked as sad as he did. All three went to the library, where tea was laid ready. I removed Linton's cap and cloak, and placed him on a chair by the table; but he began to cry afresh. My master inquired what was the matter.\n'I can't sit on a chair,' sobbed the boy.\n'Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea,' answered his uncle patiently.\n"}
+{"original":"He had been greatly tried, during the journey, I felt convinced, by his fretful ailing charge. Linton slowly trailed himself off, and lay down. Cathy carried a footstool and her cup to his side. At first she sat silent; but that could not last: she had resolved to make a pet of her little cousin, as she would have him to be; and she commenced stroking his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea in her saucer, like a baby. This pleased him, for he was not much better: he dried his eyes, and lightened into a faint smile.\n\"Oh, he'll do very well,\" said the master to me, after watching them a minute. \"Very well, if we can keep him, Ellen. The company of a child of his own age will instil new spirit into him soon, and by wishing for strength he'll gain it.\"\n","abridged":"He had been greatly tried during the journey, I felt convinced, by his fretful, ailing charge. Linton slowly trailed off, and lay down, and Cathy carried a footstool to his side. At first she sat silent; but that could not last: she had resolved to make a pet of her little cousin; and she commenced stroking his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea in her saucer, like a baby. This pleased him: he dried his eyes, and lightened into a faint smile.\n'Oh, he'll do very well,' said the master to me, watching them. 'Very well, if we can keep him, Ellen. The company of a child of his own age will give him new spirit.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Ay, if we can keep him!\" I mused to myself; and sore misgivings came over me that there was slight hope of that. And then, I thought, how ever will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights? Between his father and Hareton, what playmates and instructors they'll be. Our doubts were presently decided-even earlier than I expected. I had just taken the children upstairs, after tea was finished, and seen Linton asleep-he would not suffer me to leave him till that was the case-I had come down, and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom candle for Mr. Edgar, when a maid stepped out of the kitchen and informed me that Mr. Heathcliff's servant Joseph was at the door, and wished to speak with the master.\n\"I shall ask him what he wants first,\" I said, in considerable trepidation. \"A very unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the instant they have returned from a long journey. I don't think the master can see him.\"\n","abridged":"'Ay, if we can keep him!' I mused to myself; I felt that there was little hope of that. I thought, how ever will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights, with Heathcliff and Hareton? what playmates and instructors they'll be.\nOur doubts were soon decided. I had just taken the children upstairs to bed, and had come back down, when a maid informed me that Joseph was at the door, and wished to speak with the master.\n'It is an unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the instant they have returned from a long journey,' I said. 'I don't think the master can see him.'\n"}
+{"original":"Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and now presented himself in the hall. He was donned in his Sunday garments, with his most sanctimonious and sourest face, and, holding his hat in one hand, and his stick in the other, he proceeded to clean his shoes on the mat.\n\"Good-evening, Joseph,\" I said, coldly. \"What business brings you here to-night?\"\n\"It's Maister Linton I mun spake to,\" he answered, waving me disdainfully aside.\n\"Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to say, I'm sure he won't hear it now,\" I continued. \"You had better sit down in there, and entrust your message to me.\"\n\"Which is his rahm?\" pursued the fellow, surveying the range of closed doors.\n","abridged":"However, Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and now presented himself in his Sunday clothes, with his most sanctimonious and sourest face.\n'Good-evening, Joseph,' I said, coldly. 'What brings you here tonight?'\n'It's Master Linton I must speak to,' he answered, waving me disdainfully aside.\n'Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to say, I'm sure he won't hear it now,' I continued. 'You had better entrust your message to me.'\n'Which is his room?' he pursued, surveying the range of closed doors.\n"}
+{"original":"I perceived he was bent on refusing my mediation, so very reluctantly I went up to the library, and announced the unseasonable visitor, advising that he should be dismissed till next day. Mr. Linton had no time to empower me to do so, for Joseph mounted close at my heels, and, pushing into the apartment, planted himself at the far side of the table, with his two fists clapped on the head of his stick, and began in an elevated tone, as if anticipating opposition-\n\"Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munn't goa back 'bout him.\"\nEdgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding sorrow overcast his features: he would have pitied the child on his own account; but, recalling Isabella's hopes and fears, and anxious wishes for her son, and her commendations of him to his care, he grieved bitterly at the prospect of yielding him up, and searched in his heart how it might be avoided. No plan offered itself: the very exhibition of any desire to keep him would have rendered the claimant more peremptory: there was nothing left but to resign him. However, he was not going to rouse him from his sleep.\n\"Tell Mr. Heathcliff,\" he answered calmly, \"that his son shall come to Wuthering Heights to-morrow. He is in bed, and too tired to go the distance now. You may also tell him that the mother of Linton desired him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his health is very precarious.\"\n","abridged":"Reluctantly I went to the library, and announced him. But Joseph followed close at my heels, and, pushing into the room, began in a high tone, as if anticipating opposition:\n'Heathcliff has sent me for his lad, and I mustn't go back without him.'\nEdgar Linton was silent a minute; sorrow overcast his features. Recalling Isabella's anxious wishes for her son, he grieved bitterly at the prospect of yielding him up, and searched in his heart how it might be avoided. No plan offered itself: there was nothing left but to resign him. However, he was not going to rouse him from his sleep.\n'Tell Mr. Heathcliff,' he answered calmly, 'that his son shall come to Wuthering Heights tomorrow. He is in bed, and too tired to travel now. You may also tell him that Linton's mother desired him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his health is very precarious.'\n"}
+{"original":"\"Noa!\" said Joseph, giving a thud with his prop on the floor, and assuming an authoritative air. \"Noa! that means naught. Hathecliff maks noa 'count o' t' mother, nor ye norther; but he'll heu' his lad; und I mun tak' him-soa now ye knaw!\"\n\"You shall not to-night!\" answered Linton decisively. \"Walk down stairs at once, and repeat to your master what I have said. Ellen, show him down. Go-\"\n","abridged":"'No!' said Joseph. 'Heathcliff makes no account o' the mother; he'll have his lad; and I must take him - so now yah know!'\n'Not tonight!' answered Linton decisively. 'Walk downstairs at once, and repeat to your master what I have said. Ellen, show him down. Go!'\n"}
+{"original":"And, aiding the indignant elder with a lift by the arm, he rid the room of him and closed the door.\n\"Varrah weell!\" shouted Joseph, as he slowly drew off. \"To-morn, he's come hisseln, and thrust _him_ out, if ye darr!\"","abridged":"And, aiding the indignant elder with his arm, he rid the room of him and closed the door.\n'Very weell!' shouted Joseph as he left. 'To-morn, he'll come hisself; and thrust him out, if yah dare!'"}