I'll see her smile before I've done with her; besides, I want to outwit all these womenites."


Directly after dinner Mrs. Yorke fulfilled her son's calculation by withdrawing to her chamber.

After dinner Mrs. Yorke duly withdrew to her chamber.


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.

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 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.

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.


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.

Hortense could not have lived another hour without going to the Hollow and inspecting the state of matters in person.


Martin, 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.

Martin, 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.


"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."


He watched her down; he watched her in; himself shut the door.


The hard work was done; now for the pleasure.


He snatched his cap, and away for the wood.

He snatched his cap, and set off for the wood.


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.


To and fro he walked, while the flakes fell faster; and the wind, which at first had but moaned, pitifully howled.

, walking to and fro, while the flakes fell faster, and the wind howled pitifully.


"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?

"I wonder why I wish so much to see her?


But I have power over her, and I want her to come that I may use that power."

But I have power over her, and I want to use that power."


"Now," he resumed, when a further period had elapsed, "if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her."

"Now," he resumed after a while, "if she fails to come, I shall hate and scorn her."


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.

He heard a step so quick, so light, that it scarcely sounded on the wood-walk.


The wind blew fiercely now, and the thickening white storm waxed bewildering; but on she came, and not dismayed.

The wind blew fiercely now, and the snow-storm increased; but on she came.


"Well, Martin," she said eagerly, "how is he?"


"It is queer how she thinks of _him_," reflected Martin.

"It is queer how much 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."

I almost wish I had a cloak to wrap her in."


Thus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss Helstone.


Didn't I say _I_ don't care to see him?"


"But now it will be so long before I get to know any thing certain about him, and I am sick of waiting.

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."

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."


"Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold."


"But before I go promise me to come again to-morrow with news."


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.

: 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.


"You are going home; my nearest road lies in the opposite direction."


"Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you."


"But the wall--the hedge--it is such hard work climbing, and you are too slender and young to help me without hurting yourself."


Anything rather than return as anxious as I came."


This, however, I promise you: be ruled by me, and you shall see Moore yourself."

However, I promise you shall see Moore yourself."


Caroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she walked on with her guide.

Caroline mused silently, but she walked on with her guide


I _won't_ see him--that I tell you--except to announce your arrival."

I won't, except to announce your arrival."


"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.

"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all is strange now.


"Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?"


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.

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.


I open the door; the hall is empty, the staircase quiet; so is the gallery.

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."


I will shake off the snow and dry it for you.


He left his shoes on the mat, mounted the stair unshod.

He left his shoes on the mat, and 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.

At the end of a passage Martin paused before a door and tapped


A voice, known to one listener, at last said, "Come in."


"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you.


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."

It is washing-day, and the maids are up to their ears in soap-suds, so I brought her up here."


"Up here, sir; but if you object, she shall go down again."


"Is this a place or am I a person to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?"

"Is this a place to bring a lady to, you absurd lad?"


"Your grandmother from that chteau on the Scheldt Miss Moore talks about."


"Martin," said the softest whisper at the door, "don't be foolish."


She is standing on the mat, shocked at your want of filial affection."


"Martin, you are an evil cross between an imp and a page.


"More like me than you; for she is young and beautiful."


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.

And when Miss Caroline entered she was met by a standing, thin, wasted figure, who took both her hands.


"I give you a quarter of an hour," said Martin, as he withdrew, "no more.

"I give you a quarter of an hour," said Martin, as he withdrew.


Till it is past I will wait in the gallery; nothing shall approach; I'll see you safe away.

"I will wait in the gallery; nothing shall approach.


Should you persist in staying longer, I leave you to your fate."

But if you stay longer, I leave you to your fate."


In the gallery he was as elate as a king.

In the gallery he was as elated 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.

No adventure had ever made him feel so important or so interested.


"You are come at last," said the meagre man, gazing on his visitress with hollow eyes.

"You are come at last," said Moore, gazing on his visitress with hollow eyes.


"For a month, near two months, we have been very near; and I have been in sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary."

"For a month, near two months, I have been in sad pain, and danger, and misery, Cary."


But the rectory and Briarmains are very near--not two miles apart."

But the rectory and Briarmains are not two miles apart."


There 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.


"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.

"I came with mamma the very day we heard what had happened.


Mr. MacTurk then told us it was impossible to admit any stranger."


"But afterwards--every fine afternoon these many weeks past I have waited and listened.

"But afterwards - for 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.

My heart told me you must think of me, Cary.


Not that I merit thought; but we are old acquaintance--we are cousins."

Not that I deserve thought; but we are old friends - we are cousins."


"I came again, Robert; mamma and I came again."


Since you came again, we will sit down and talk about it."


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.


I am at present responsible for his life; it shall not be forfeited for half an hour's idle gossip.'

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.

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.

This time we thought we should conquer, as we were three against one.


Shirley laughed at last; I cried; mamma was seriously annoyed.

Shirley laughed; 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.

Since then I have walked past the house every day, just for the satisfaction of looking up at your window."


"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----"


"Mrs. Yorke would still have beaten you."


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."

In fact, it was far more the fear of intruding on you that baffled me than the fear of Mrs. Yorke."


"Only last night I despaired of ever seeing you again.


Weakness has wrought terrible depression in me--terrible depression."

Weakness has wrought terrible depression in me."


"But you must be getting better, since you can leave your bed?"


I see nothing for it, after such exhaustion, but decline."


"Dreariness would accompany, nothing cheerful come near me."


This _shall_ be altered, were there ten Mrs. Yorkes to do battle with."

This shall be altered, were there ten Mrs. Yorkes to do battle with."


I am Saul; but for music I should perish."


"I should like you to be brought to the rectory, and given to me and mamma."


I have not laughed since they shot me till now."


"Not so much pain now; but I am hopelessly weak, and the state of my mind is inexpressible--dark, barren, impotent.

"Not so much now; but I am hopelessly weak, and my mind is inexpressibly dark."


"Altered; yet I should have known you anywhere.


But I understand your feelings; I experienced something like it.

"I understand your feelings," she said; "I experienced something like it.


Since we met, I too have been very ill."


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.'

Every night, just at midnight, I used to wake from awful dreams; and I felt I was close to the end."


"I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin--as thin as you are now.

"I believed I should never see you again; and I grew so thin.


I could do nothing for myself--neither rise nor lie down; and I could not eat.

I could do nothing, and I could not eat.


I am too feeble to say what I feel; but while you speak I _do_ feel."

"I am too feeble to say what I feel; but while you speak I do feel."


"Here I am at your side, where I thought never more to be.


I see you listen to me willingly--look at me kindly.


Moore sighed--a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan.

Moore sighed - a sigh so deep it was nearly a groan.


"May I be spared to make some atonement."


"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?"


"Yes"--Caroline smiled brightly--"you know she is mamma?"

"Yes." Caroline smiled brightly. "You know she is my mamma?"


"I have heard--Hortense told me; but that tale too I will receive from yourself.


She is _dear_ to me; _how_ dear I cannot say.

She is dear to me; how dear I cannot say.


I was altogether weary, and she held me up."


"I deserve to hear that in a moment when I can scarce lift my hand to my head.


"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.

"That is a coal of fire heaped on my head; and so is every word you address to me.


Come still nearer, Lina; and give me your hand--if my thin fingers do not scare you."

Come nearer, Lina; give me your hand - if my thin fingers do not scare you."


She took those thin fingers between her two little hands; she bent her head _et les effleura de ses lvres_.

She took those thin fingers; she bent her head and touched them to her lips.


(I put that in French because the word _effleurer_ is an exquisite word.)


A large tear or two coursed down his hollow cheek.


"I'll keep these things in my heart, Cary; that kiss I will put by, and you shall hear of it again one day."


cried Martin, opening the door--"come away; you have had twenty minutes instead of a quarter of an hour."

cried Martin, opening the door - "come away; you have had twenty minutes."


It's very well for once; I'll not have it repeated."


don't vex him; we could not have met to-day but for him.

don't vex him," urged Caroline; "we could not have met today but for him.


But I will come again, if it is your wish that I should come."


"It _is_ my wish--my _one_ wish--almost the only wish I can feel."


My mother has coughed, got up, set her feet on the floor.


Let her only catch you on the stairs, Miss Caroline.

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."

You're not to bid him good-bye, you are to march."


I'll put it on for you when you are in the hall."


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."

, 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 ere the words had passed his lips she was across the snowy road, rather skimming than wading the drifts.

But she was already across the snowy road.


"She is my debtor, and I _will_ be paid."


He flattered himself that it was opportunity, not audacity, which had failed him.

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.


Lady Carbury had returned home from the soire of learned people, and had brought Roger Carbury with her.

Lady Carbury had returned from the soire with Roger.


They both came up to the drawing-room and found Paul and Henrietta together.

They 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.

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 certainly was a man not liable to suspicion, but the circumstances in this case were suspicious.

Roger was not a man liable to suspicion, but the circumstances 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.


"This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Montague."

"This is 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.

The moment she saw Paul she thought that the meeting between Hetta and him had been pre-arranged.


"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."

"Yes," he said lamely, "I had nothing to do, and thought I would come and see you."


Lady Carbury disbelieved him altogether, but Roger felt assured that his coming in Lady Carbury's absence had been an accident.

Lady Carbury disbelieved him, but Roger felt assured that his coming truly had been an accident.


The man had said so, and that was enough.


"I thought you were at Liverpool," said Roger.


"I came back to-day,--to be present at that Board in the city.

"I came back today, for that Board in the city.


Lady Carbury was angry, and hardly knew whether she ought or ought not to show her anger.


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.

knowing 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?"


"Have you had a pleasant evening, my dear?"


said Lady Carbury, forgetting herself in her desire to punish her daughter.


"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.

"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 wise men and the wise women, Roger?"

What did you think of the soire, Roger?"


"I was out of my element, of course; but I think your mother liked it."

"I was out of my element; but I think your mother liked it."


"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.

It seems that if we can only open the interior of Africa a little further, we can feed the human race.


"A little more elbow grease is the combination that I look to."


"Surely, Roger, if the Bible is to go for anything, we are to believe that labour is a curse and not a blessing.


"But he fell; and I doubt whether Dr. Palmoil will be able to put his descendants back into Eden."

"I doubt whether Dr. Palmoil will be able to put his descendants back into Eden."


"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.

I have quite decided that if I am ever able, I will visit the interior of Africa.


This 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.

This 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.


I meant that he came of his own accord."


I did not desire that he might be shown up."


"Mamma, if I am to be suspected, all is over between us."


"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?

If you will not trust me, how am I to live with you?


"Tell me this, Hetta; are you engaged to marry him?"


Hetta paused a moment, considering, before she answered this question.

Hetta paused a moment, considering, before she answered.


But he has said that which makes me know that he wishes me to be his wife."


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."

"Just before you came in, he said - I don't know what he said; but it meant that."


"You told me he had been here but a minute."


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."


I think his coming was an accident, and that what he said was--an accident."

I think his coming was an accident, and that what he said was also - an accident."


I have known it ever so long;--and so have you.

though I have known it ever so long; and so have you."


It was natural that he should say so when we were alone together."


"I am sorry that my coming should have been so inopportune.


But I must ask one other question, Hetta.


Hetta was again silent, and now for a longer space.

Hetta was again silent, and now for longer.


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 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 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.

But she was not sure that her mother, being so unsympathetic, had a right to know her thoughts.


I think it ought to have been enough for you to know that I should never give him encouragement without telling you about it.

You should know that I should never give him encouragement without telling you.


I do love him, and I shall never love any one else."

I do love him, and I shall never love anyone else."


Your cousin says that all this Company in which he is involved will go to pieces."

Your cousin says that this Company in which he is involved will go to pieces."


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."


"It makes me ill to hear you talk,--as if you understood these things.

"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.


I have not thought of marrying him, mamma.


You say things so hard, that I cannot bear them."


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.


Good night, mamma," she said, coming up to her mother and kissing her.


"Do be kind to me; and pray,--pray,--do believe me."

"Do be kind to me; and pray, do believe me."


Lady Carbury then allowed herself to be kissed, and allowed her daughter to leave the room.

Lady Carbury allowed herself to be kissed, and her daughter left the room.


[Illustration: Lady Carbury allowed herself to be kissed.]


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.

; but not a word about 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.

Paul asked about 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.

"I could not speak of it before Hetta," said Roger.


A girl has gone away from our neighbourhood.


"You do not mean that Ruby has levanted?


"Just so,--but she has gone off, leaving John Crumb in an unhappy frame of mind.

, but she has gone off, leaving him most unhappy.


John Crumb is an honest man and almost too good for her."


They think down there that Felix has,--well, made love to her, and that she has been taken to London by him."

They think that Felix has - well, made love to her, and that she has been taken to London by him."


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.

Though he lied when I first spoke to him, I got 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.

But I do not think that she came to London at his request."


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."


"He knows nothing about her coming to town?"


I am not sure, but I fancy that I was too quick after her.


I followed on the Sunday, and made him out at his club.


I think that he knew nothing then of her being in town.

I think that he knew nothing about it then.


I caught him once but only for half a minute, and then he swore that he had not seen her."


"No;--he did it very well, but I knew that he was prepared for me.


To make matters worse old Ruggles has now quarrelled with Crumb, and is no longer anxious to get back his granddaughter.

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."


After that Paul told all his own story,--the double story, both in regard to Melmotte and to Mrs. Hurtle.

After 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 explicitly the advice of his Liverpool friend.

As regarded the Railway, Roger could only tell him to follow the advice of his Liverpool friend.


"I never believed in the thing, you know."


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."

From what I hear Mr. Ramsbottom's character is good; do exactly what he tells you."


But the Railway business, though it comprised all that Montague had in the world, was not the heaviest of his troubles.

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.


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.

It was very hard to speak of his engagement with Mrs. Hurtle without 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.

Roger 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, in discussing the question of Mrs. Hurtle, he was to do so as though there were no such person existing as Henrietta Carbury.

And yet he had to discuss Mrs. Hurtle as though there were no such person as Henrietta.


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.

Paul told it all - the rumoured duel, the rumoured murder, and the rumour of the existing husband.


"It may be necessary that you should go out to Kansas,--and to Oregon," said Roger.

"It may be necessary that you should go out to Kansas," said Roger.


"But even if the rumours be untrue I will not marry her," said Paul.

"But even if the rumours are untrue I will not marry her," said Paul.


He was doubtless thinking of Hetta Carbury, but he said nothing.


"And what would she do, remaining here?"


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," continued Paul.


But of course, if there be a fair cause for my broken word, I will use it if I can."

But if there be a fair cause for my broken word, I will use it."


"You will get out of it, honestly if you can; but you will get out of it honestly or--any other way."

"Get out of it honestly if you can; but get out of it.


"Did you not advise me to get out of it, Roger;--before we knew as much as we do now?"


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.

If I were you, nothing should induce me to marry her.


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 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 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.

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, 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.

But Paul declared that, claws or no claws, he would never make Mrs. Hurtle his wife.


"I wish it were over, old fellow," said Roger.


"So do I," said Paul, as he took his leave.


He went to bed like a man condemned to die on the next morning, and he awoke in the same condition.

He went to bed like a man condemned to die on the next morning, and when he awoke


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.


Would it not be well that he should think of it further, and put off his execution till Monday?

Would it not be well to 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?

Were there not still matters to consider?


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?

Why should he go forth to execution today?


At last he jumped out of bed and into his tub, and dressed himself as quickly as he could.

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 about nine, and then asked himself whether he might not be too early were he to go at once to Islington.

He ate his breakfast, and then, although it was still early


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.


Paul had realised something of this when he threw himself into a Hansom cab, and ordered the man to drive him to Islington.


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.

Before Paul 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.

, the cab was in Islington and dashed noisily up to the house.


There was a little garden before the house.


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.

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.


"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."

"Leastways, she went out yesterday and won't be back till tonight."


But he almost forgot the reprieve, as he looked at the girl and saw that she was Ruby Ruggles.


Ruby Ruggles had often seen Paul down in Suffolk, and recognised him as quickly as he did her.

Ruby recognised Paul as quickly as he did her; and


It occurred to her at once that he had come in search of herself.

thought at once that he had come in search of her.


She knew that Roger Carbury was up in town looking for her.

She knew that Roger Carbury was 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.

She had learned this from Sir Felix - for 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.


In her terror she did not at first remember that the visitor had asked for Mrs. Hurtle.

In her terror she did not remember that the visitor had asked for Mrs. Hurtle.


"Yes, it is I. I was sorry to hear, Miss Ruggles, that you had left your home."

"Yes. I was sorry to hear, Miss Ruggles, that you had left your home."


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."


"Mrs. Hurtle has gone down to Southend?"


"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.


I did know as there was some friend as was expected and as didn't come.


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."

"I'm afraid they are very unhappy about you down at Bungay, Miss Ruggles," said Paul.


"Then they've got to be unhappy; that's all about it, Mr. Montague.

"Then they've got to be unhappy; that's all.


Grandfather is that provoking as a young woman can't live with him, nor yet I won't try never again.

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,--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.

And I did everything for him, his linen, and his victuals, and even cleaned his boots of a Sunday.


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."

You won't see me again at Sheep's Acre."


"But I thought there was somebody else was to give you a home."

"But I thought there was somebody else to give you a home."


There's plenty of people to give me a home, Mr. Montague."


"You were to have been married to John Crumb, I thought."

"You were to have married him, I thought."


"Ladies is to change their minds if they like it, Mr. Montague.

"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."

Grandfather made me say I'd have him, but I never cared that for him."


"I'm afraid, Miss Ruggles, you won't find a better man up here in London."


"I didn't come here to look for a man, Mr. Montague; I can tell you that.

"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."


Paul when he heard the little boast was quite sure that Roger's fear about Felix was well founded.

Paul 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."

"But there's Betsy a crying upstairs," said Ruby.


"I will tell the Squire that I saw you, Miss Ruggles."


I ain't nothing to the Squire,--except that I respects him.


"You can tell if you please, Mr. Montague, of course.


Paul made his way into Mrs. Hurtle's sitting-room and wrote a note for her in pencil.

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.


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.

Mrs. Hurtle would not return till late in the evening, and as the following day was Sunday there would be no postal delivery.


When the note was finished he left it on the table, and called to Ruby to tell her that he was going.

He left the note 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."

"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."


"Mr. Carbury is up in town looking after you."


"Your grandfather is very anxious about you."


Grandfather doesn't want me back, and I ain't a going.

He doesn't want me back, and I ain't a going.


Why should the Squire bother himself about me?"


"He's afraid, Miss Ruggles, that you are trusting yourself to a young man who is not trustworthy."


"I can mind myself very well, Mr. Montague."


"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.

"You may be sure that he means you no good."


What can come of an intimacy between you and such a one as he?"


"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."


"Then I ain't obliged to you one bit," said Ruby, shutting the door.


Paul as he walked away could not help thinking of the justice of Ruby's reproach to him.

Paul as he walked away could not help thinking of the justice of Ruby's reproach.


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?

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?


In 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.

In regard to Mrs. Hurtle he had got a reprieve, he thought, for two days; but it did not make him 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.

He thought 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.

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.


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.


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.

Roger went out 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.

Before starting he went into the garden and plucked a rose which he brought to Henrietta.


He only smiled as he gave it her, and then went his way.

He only smiled as he gave it her, and then went on his way.


He had resolved that he would say nothing to her of his suit till Monday.

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 would be going out to dine at Caversham.

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.


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 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?


"I am afraid, my dear, we shall have a bad time of it here," said Lady Carbury.


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.

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!"


"I don't suppose, mamma, that Mr. and Mrs. Melmotte can be nice people."


"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."

I beg that you will not copy Roger with his superhuman virtue."


"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.

"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."


If you have any influence with your brother you should use it in inducing him to hurry this on.


"Then why does he not go to Mr. Melmotte?"


"I suppose he is delicate about it on the score of money.

"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 even with old Melmotte."

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."


"If your cousin were to die as he is now, it would be so.


"You should not think of such a thing, mamma."


"Why do you dare to tell me what I am to think?


Is he not to be dearer to me than any one?

Is he not to be dearer to me than anyone?


If Roger were to die to-morrow he would be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury."

If Roger were to die tomorrow he would be Sir Felix Carbury of Carbury."


"But, mamma, he will live and have a family.

"But, mamma, Roger will live and have a family.


"You say he is so old that you will not look at him."


You know I did not mean that he was too old to get married.


Men a great deal older get married every day."


"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 is so 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.


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.

But if you mean to be obstinate I wish that the Melmottes should understand that the property and title will go together.


It will be so, and why should not Felix have the advantage?"

Why should not Felix have that advantage?"


Roger is so violent and prejudiced that one cannot get him to speak rationally."

Roger is so prejudiced that one cannot get him to speak rationally."


"Oh, mamma;--you wouldn't suggest it to him;--that this place is to go to--Felix, when he--is dead!"

"Oh, mamma; you wouldn't suggest it to him!


"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."

He is not quick enough to understand how much it might help 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.

Henrietta was silent; but she thought that her cousin was too honest to take part in any such scheme


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.

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.


In the afternoon Lady Carbury, alone, had herself driven into Beccles that she might telegraph to her son.

In the afternoon Lady Carbury, alone, had herself driven into Beccles to telegraph to her son.


"You are to dine at Caversham on Monday.


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.

The female in the office might understand who the "She" was, and might also understand 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.

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 too probably stick to his plan and throw over the Longestaffes and their dinner-party.

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.


Again if he were told to come simply for the Monday, he would throw over the chance of wooing her on the Sunday.

But 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.

Lady Carbury desired to get him down for as long as possible.


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."

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 justly of idleness.

Nobody should ever accuse her 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.

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.


If the Carburys were unfortunate their misfortunes should come from no fault of hers.


She did not see her cousin from breakfast till he appeared in the drawing-room before dinner.

She did not see her cousin from breakfast till 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!

But she was thinking of him every minute - how good he was, how honest, how thoroughly entitled to demand at least kindness from her!


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?

Could it be true that he would never marry unless she would take his hand?


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.

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.

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.


In the evening the bishop came, and his wife, Mrs. Yeld, and the Hepworths of Eardly, and Father John Barham, the Beccles priest.

In the evening the bishop came, and Mrs. Yeld his wife, and the Hepworths, and Father John Barham, the 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.

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, 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.

Roger turned such matters over much in his mind.


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.

In the drawing-room he had been especially courteous to the young priest, introducing him to the others.


Henrietta watched him through the whole evening, and told herself that he was a very mirror of courtesy in his own house.

Henrietta, watching him, 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.

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.


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.

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 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 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


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.

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 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.

By those of the very high and the very low church, he was looked upon as a time-server.


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.

An 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,--or even to hold one, if it be necessary that a man should understand and define his creed before he can hold it.

But I doubt whether he was competent to teach a creed which he could neither understand nor define.


Whether he was free from, or whether he was scared by, any inward misgivings, who shall say?

Whether he had any inward misgivings, who shall say?


If there were such he never whispered a word of them even to the wife of his bosom.


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 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.

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.


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.

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 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.

Father John was thin, meagre and wasted in appearance.


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.

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 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 had a high forehead, enormous blue eyes, a long nose, hollow cheeks, 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 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.


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.

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 had drawn a sister with him.

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 achieve the conversion of other sisters by his letters, and was now absolutely an alien from his father's heart and care.

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.


It was a part of the plan of his life that he should suffer for his faith.

But it was 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.

If he had not suffered persecution and poverty, his own conversion would not have seemed to him as 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.


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.

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 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.

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 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.

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; 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.

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.


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.

If he could not sow the seed, he would at any rate plough the ground.


He had come to Beccles lately, and Roger Carbury had found out that he was a gentleman by birth and education.

When he came to Beccles, Roger Carbury had learned that he was a gentleman by birth and education, and


Roger had found out also that he was very poor, and had consequently taken him by the hand.

also very poor, and had consequently taken him in 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.

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.


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.

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.


"I have the most thorough respect for your religion," Roger had said; "but it would not suit me."

"I have the greatest 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.

repeated his attempt 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.

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 teaching.

And Roger was quite sure that though he might be bored, he could not be injured by such preaching.


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.

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 Carbury was not a man given to much deep thinking, but he felt that the bishop's manner was the pleasanter of the two.

Roger felt that the bishop's manner was the pleasanter of the two.


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.

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 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.

She was too wise to talk to the bishop of her soul


Now she was full of the charms of Carbury and its neighbourhood.

; so 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.

"Yes, indeed," said the bishop, "Suffolk is a very nice county; and Norfolk too."


'It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest.'"


"I like a county in which there is something left of county feeling," said Lady Carbury.

"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 all local distinctions."

"Staffordshire and Warwickshire, Cheshire and Lancashire have become great towns, and have lost local distinctions."


"We still keep our name and reputation," said the bishop; "Silly Suffolk!"


"As much, perhaps, as other general epithets.


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."

no beautiful scenery. No rivers great for fishing, like Scotland - no hunting grounds, like the shires."


pleaded Lady Carbury, with pretty energy.


"Yes; we have partridges, fine churches, and the herring fishery.

"Yes; we have partridges, fine churches, and herring.


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."


"I like this part of England so much the best for that very reason.


What is the use of a crowded population?"


"The earth has to be peopled, Lady Carbury."


"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."

"For myself I like the country better than the town."


"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 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."


"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."


Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife, was sitting next to the priest, and was in truth somewhat afraid of her neighbour.

Mrs. Yeld, the bishop's wife, was sitting next to the priest, and was in truth somewhat afraid of him.


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.


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.

She had an idea that Roman Catholics were wrong, and ought to be suppressed.


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.

Mr. Barham was, no doubt, a gentleman of good family, which did make a difference.


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.

He started with quiet humility, and advanced to talkative enthusiasm.


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.

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, 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.

: 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?

Where did they get the money for those wonderful Sunday bonnets?


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.

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 by observing that there had been a great deal of rain lately.

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.


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.

When the ladies were gone the bishop began to talk to the priest, and asked about the morality of Beccles.


It was evidently Mr. Barham's opinion that "his people" were more moral than other people, though very much poorer.

It was 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.


"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."


"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.

"Of course I am aware that there are a certain number of Catholics 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."

But I could not name any Catholic families."


"It is not, my lord, because there are none."


It is because, as I say, I do not know my neighbours."


"I think, here in Suffolk, they must be chiefly the poor," said Mr. Hepworth.


"They were chiefly the poor who at first put their faith in our Saviour," said the priest.

"They were chiefly the poor who first put their faith in our Saviour," said the priest.


"I think the analogy is hardly correctly drawn," said the bishop, with a curious smile.

"I think the analogy is hardly correct," said the bishop, with a curious smile.


"We were speaking of those who are still attached to an old creed.

"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 in accordance with our idea of human nature.

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 an old faith should remain with the poor after it has been abandoned by the rich is not so easily intelligible."

But that the poor should keep to an old faith abandoned by the rich is not so easy to understand."


[Illustration: The bishop thinks that the priest's analogy is not correct.]


"The Roman population still believed," said Carbury, "when the patricians had learned to regard their gods as simply useful bugbears."


"The patricians had not ostensibly abandoned their religion.


The people clung to it thinking that their masters and rulers clung to it also."


"The poor have ever been the salt of the earth, my lord," said the priest.


"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.

"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.


Father Barham turned to Mr. Hepworth and went on with his argument, or rather began another.

Father Barham continued his argument with Mr. Hepworth.


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.

The wealthier families of his faith - whom he


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.

named - would some day 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.


"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."

"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."


"I like him because he is doing the best he can according to his lights; without any reference to his own worldly welfare."

"I like him because he is doing the best he can, without any reference to his own worldly welfare."


"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."


"Perhaps not; but he would always be thinking that he was going to get the best of me."

"Perhaps not; but he would always be thinking that he was going to get the better of me."


"I don't think it answers," said Mrs. Yeld to her husband as they went home.

Mrs. Yeld said 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."


"You may say the same of Liberals and Conservatives, but you wouldn't have them decline to meet each other."


"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."

"Of course I don't mean to oppose you, my dear; but I don't know that I want to meet Mr. Barham again."


"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."


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.

No parliamentary election in a borough as large as Westminster had yet happened in England since the secret ballot had been established.


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.

Men who previously had known how elections would go, 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.

Three days ago, the odds had been in Melmotte's favour; but on Monday his name had


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.

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.


No such suggestion, however, was made to him,--perhaps because no one dared to make it.

However, no one dared suggest it to him.


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.

On Monday evening the interest of the hour was turned to the dinner.


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.

Their Committee had consulted about what should be done as to these charges against Melmotte.


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.

The Pulpit of that evening alluded to the affair, but gave 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.


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.

The Committee was averse to fighting the election by making the rumours public.


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.

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.


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.

However, 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.


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.


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.

At midnight, when Melmotte was walking home to bed, the general opinion at the clubs was in favour of Mr. Alf.


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.

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 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.

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


He would be there often early in the morning, and often late at night after Lord Alfred had left him.

early in the morning, and late at night.


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.

: one of these Mr. Longstaffe 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.

When the house had first been let to Melmotte,


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.

everything between the two gentlemen had been managed with the greatest ease.


Mr. Longestaffe could come whenever he pleased.


He, Melmotte, always left the house at ten and never returned till six.


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.

If Mr. Longestaffe could spare it, Mr. Melmotte would take the key of one of the desks.


The matter was arranged very pleasantly.


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.

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, 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.

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.


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.

When 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;--and then, without touching the contents, he again closed it.

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 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.

He again closed the drawer, unlocked the study door, and rang the bell.


The servant found him writing letters after his usual hurried fashion, and was told that he was ready for breakfast.

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.


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.

He 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 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.

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.


He would go through it, always armed, without a sign of shrinking.

Whatever happened, he would go through it without any sign of shrinking.


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 thought that he would face the world better walking than in his carriage.


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.

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.


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 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 would 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.


At the committee-room he only found a few understrappers, and was informed that everything was going on regularly.

At the committee-room he only found a few underlings.


The electors were balloting; but with the ballot,--so said the leader of the understrappers,--there never was any excitement.

The ballot was under way; but with the ballot - so said these men - 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.


Melmotte asked, standing in the inner room with his back to the empty grate.


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.


"In fact, there is nothing more to be done, I suppose?"

"There is nothing more to be done, I suppose?"


The senior understrapper thought that there was nothing more to be done.

The senior underling 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.

, and Melmotte strolled out again on foot.


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.

The place seemed to him to be wonderfully quiet.


He was determined to face everybody and everything, and he went close up to the booth.

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 there for an hour conversing with people, and at last made a speech to a little knot around him.

He remained 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 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 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.

that the law would protect him from such unfair aspersions.


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.

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.


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.

But things had been said, and published, which an election could not justify, and as to these things he must go to law.