"I do so wish it would come to grief, and be broken to pieces.


"I wonder whether the Swiss people think that we are going to be driven about here for ever."


There were moments, however, which seemed to indicate that Lady Glencora had something to tell her cousin, which, if told, would alter the monotony of their lives.

At some moments, it seemed that Lady Glencora had something to tell her cousin.


Alice, however, would not press her for her secret.


"If you have anything to tell, why don't you tell it?"


"So you tell me very often," Alice replied; "and it is not complimentary.


But hard or soft, I won't make a petition for your confidence."

"But hard or soft, I won't beg for your confidence."


Then Lady Glencora said something savage, and the subject was dropped for a while.


Mr. Palliser had put the ladies into their carriage, and was standing between the front door of the hotel and the lake on a certain day, doubting whether he would walk up the hill to the left or turn into the town on the right, when he was accosted by an English gentleman, who, raising his hat, said that he believed that he spoke to Mr. Palliser.

One day Mr. Palliser had put the ladies into their carriage, and was standing by the front door of the hotel, wondering whether to walk up the hill to the left or turn into the town on the right, when he was accosted by an English gentleman, who, raising his hat, said that he believed that he spoke to Mr. Palliser.


"I am Mr. Palliser," said our friend, very courteously, returning the salute, and smiling as he spoke.

"I am Mr. Palliser," said our friend, very courteously.


But though he smiled, and though he was courteous, and though he raised his hat, there was something in his look and voice which would not have encouraged any ordinary stranger to persevere.

But though he smiled and raised his hat, there was something in his look and voice which would not have encouraged any ordinary stranger to persevere.


Mr. Palliser was not a man with whom it was easy to open an acquaintance.


"My name is John Grey," said the stranger.


Then the smile was dropped, the look of extreme courtesy disappeared, the tone of Mr. Palliser's voice was altered, and he put out his hand.

Then the smile was dropped, the tone of Mr. Palliser's voice was altered, and he put out his hand.


He knew enough of Mr. John Grey's history to be aware that Mr. John Grey was a man with whom he might permit himself to become acquainted.

He knew enough of Mr. John Grey's history to be aware that he was a man with whom he might permit himself to become acquainted.


After the interchange of a very few words, the two men started off for a walk together.

After exchanging a few words, the two men started off for a walk together.


"Perhaps you don't wish to meet the carriage?"


"If so, we had better go through the town and up the river."


They went through the town, and up the river, and when Mr. Palliser, on his return, was seen by Alice and Lady Glencora, he was alone.

They went through the town, and up the river, where they would not meet the ladies' carriage, and when Mr. Palliser returned, he was alone.


They dined together, and nothing was said.

The three dined together, and nothing was said.


Together they sauntered out in the evening, and together came in and drank their tea; but still nothing was said.

Together they sauntered out in the evening, and came in and drank their tea; but still nothing was said.


At last, Alice and her cousin took their candles from Mr. Palliser's hands and left the sitting-room for the night.

At last, Alice and her cousin took their candles and left the sitting-room for the night.


"Alice," said Lady Glencora, as soon as they were in the passage together, "I have been dying for this time to come.

"Alice," said Lady Glencora, as soon as they were in the passage together, "I have been dying to say something.


I could not speak before, or I should have made blunders, and so would you.


Who do you think is here, at Lucerne, in this house, at this very moment?"

Who do you think is here, at Lucerne, in this hotel, at this very moment?"


She knew, immediately, that Mr. Grey had followed her, though no word had been written to her or spoken to her on the subject since that day on which he himself had told her that they would meet abroad.

knew, immediately, that Mr. Grey had followed her, though she had heard no word since that day on which he had told her that they would meet abroad.


But though she was quite sure, she did not mention his name.


"Whom in all the world would you best like to see?"


"My cousin Kate, certainly," said Alice.


And I don't believe you;--or else you're a fool."


Alice was accustomed to Lady Glencora's mode of talking, and therefore did not think much of this.


But I am not at all so sure as to your being no hypocrite.


The person I mean is a gentleman, of course.


Why don't you show a little excitement, at any rate?


When Plantagenet told me, just before dinner, I almost jumped out of my shoes.


He was going to tell you himself after dinner, in the politest way in the world, no doubt, and just as the servants were carrying away the apples.


I thought it best to save you from that; but, I declare, I believe I might have left him to do it; it would have had no effect upon you.

but I thought it best to save you from that.


Who is it that has come, do you suppose?"


"Of course I know now," said Alice, very calmly, "that Mr. John Grey has come."


He is here in this house at this minute;--or, more probably, waiting outside by the lake till he shall see a light in your bedroom."

"Yes, he is in this house; or, more probably, waiting outside by the lake till he shall see a light in your bedroom."


Then Lady Glencora paused for a moment, waiting that Alice might say something.


said Lady Glencora, rising up from her chair.


Is it the same to you as though Mr. Smith had come?"


I am quite alive to the importance of Mr. Grey's arrival, and shall probably lie awake all night thinking about it,--if it will do you any good to know that; but I don't feel that I have much to say about it."

"I am quite aware of the importance of Mr. Grey's arrival, and shall probably lie awake all night thinking about it; but I don't feel that I have much to say about it."


"I wish I had let Mr. Palliser tell you, in an ordinary way, before all the servants.

"I wish I had let Mr. Palliser tell you before all the servants.


"It would not have made much difference."


I wonder whether you ever did care for anybody in your life,--for him, or for that other one, or for anybody.


For nobody, I believe;--except your cousin Kate.


Still waters, they say, run deep; and sometimes I think your waters run too deep for me to fathom.

Still waters run deep; and sometimes I think your waters run too deep for me to fathom.


I suppose I may go now, if you have got nothing more to say?"


"And you have never said a word about it."


"He told me he should come, and I thought it better not to say a word about it.


He might change his mind, or anything might happen.


I told him not to come; and it would have been much better that he should have remained away."

I told him not to come; and it would have been much better if he had stayed away."


"Because his being here will do no good to any one."

"Because his being here will do no good to anyone."


It seems to me impossible but that it should do all the good in the world.


If you do not altogether make it up with him before to-morrow evening, I shall believe you to be utterly heartless.

If you do not make it up with him before tomorrow evening, I shall believe you to be utterly heartless.


Had I been you I should have been in his arms before this.


I'll go now, and leave you to lie awake, as you say you will."

I'll go now, and leave you to lie awake."


Then she left the room, but returned in a moment to ask another question.


"What is Plantagenet to say to him about seeing you to-morrow?

, "What is Plantagenet to say to him about seeing you tomorrow?


Of course he has asked permission to come and call."


You don't think I have quarrelled with him, or would refuse to see him!"


"And make up a picnic, and all the rest of it.


In fact, he is to be regarded as only an ordinary person.

"In fact, he is to be regarded as an ordinary person.


It may be doubted whether Alice understood herself.


As soon as her friend was gone, she put out her candle and seated herself at the open window of her room, looking out upon the moonlight as it played upon the lake.

As soon as her friend was gone, she put out her candle and sat at the open window of her room, looking out upon the moonlight as it played upon the lake.


Would he be there, thinking of her, looking up, perhaps, as Glencora had hinted, to see if he could distinguish her light among the hundred that would be flickering across the long front of the house.

Would he be there, thinking of her, as Glencora had hinted?


If it were so, at any rate he should not see her, so she drew the curtain, and sat there watching the lake.

If it were so, he should not see her, so she drew the curtain.


It was a pity that he should have come, and yet she loved him dearly for coming.


It was a pity that he should have come, as his coming could lead to no good result.

It was a pity that he should have come, as his coming could lead to no good result; and yet she loved him dearly for coming.


Of this she assured herself over and over again, and yet she hardly knew why she was so sure of it.


Glencora had called her hard; but her conviction on that matter had not come from hardness.


Now that she was alone, her heart was full of love, of the soft romance of love towards this man; and yet she felt that she ought not to marry him, even though he might still be willing to take her.

Now that she was alone, her heart was full of love towards this man; and yet she felt that she ought not to marry him, even though he might still be willing to take her.


That he was still willing to take her, that he desired to have her for his wife in spite of all the injury she had done him, there could be no doubt.

There could be no doubt that he was still willing.


Why else had he followed her to Switzerland?


And she remembered, now at this moment, how he had told her at Cheltenham that he would never consider her to be lost to him, unless she should, in truth, become the wife of another man.


Why, then, should it not be as he wished it?


She asked herself the question, and did not answer it; but still she felt that it might not be so.

She asked herself the question, and did not answer it; but she felt


She had no right to such happiness after the evil that she had done.

she had no right to such happiness after the evil that she had done.


She had been driven by a frenzy to do that which she herself could not pardon; and having done it, she could not bring herself to accept the position which should have been the reward of good conduct.

She had been driven by a frenzy to do something which she herself could not pardon; and she could not bring herself to accept a reward.


She could not analyse the causes which made her feel that she must still refuse the love that was proffered to her; she could not clearly read her own thoughts; but the causes were as I have said, and such was the true reading of her thoughts.


Had she simply refused his hand after she had once accepted it,--had she refused it, and then again changed her mind, she could have brought herself to ask him to forgive her.

If she had simply refused his hand, she could have brought herself to ask him to forgive her.


But she had done so much more than this, and so much worse!


She had affianced herself to another man since she had belonged to him,--since she had been his, as his future wife.

She had affianced herself to another man.


What must he not think of her, and what not suspect?


Then she remembered those interviews which she had had with her cousin since she had written to him, accepting his offer.

Then she remembered those interviews with George Vavasor in Queen Anne Street.


When he had been with her in Queen Anne Street she had shrunk from all outward signs of a love which she did not feel.


She had not allowed him to touch her with his lips.


But it was impossible that the nature of that mad engagement between her and her cousin George should ever be made known to Mr. Grey.


She sat there wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked for his figure among the figures by the lake-side; but, as she sat there, she promised herself no happiness from his coming.

She sat there wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked for his figure among the figures by the lake-side; but she promised herself no happiness from his coming.


reader, can you forgive her in that she had sinned against the softness of her feminine nature?

reader, can you forgive her for sinning against the softness of her feminine nature?


I think that she may be forgiven, in that she had never brought herself to think lightly of her own fault.

I think that she may be forgiven, in that she never thought lightly of her own fault.


If he were there, by the lake-side, she did not see him.


I think we may say that John Grey was not a man to console himself in his love by looking up at his lady's candle.

John Grey was not a man to console himself by looking up at his lady's candle.


He was one who was capable of doing as much as most men in the pursuit of his love,--as he proved to be the case when he followed Alice to Cheltenham, and again to London, and now again to Lucerne; but I doubt whether a glimmer from her bedroom-window, had it been unmistakably her own glimmer, and not that of some ugly old French woman who might chance to sleep next to her, would have done him much good.


He had come to Lucerne with a purpose, which purpose, if it might be possible, he meant to carry out; but I think he was already in bed, being tired with long travel, before Lady Glencora had left Alice's room.

He had come to Lucerne with a purpose, which, if possible, he meant to carry out; but he was already in bed, tired with long travel, before Lady Glencora had left Alice's room.


At breakfast the next morning nothing was said for a while about the new arrival.


"Glencora has told you, I think, that Mr. Grey is here?


Mr. Grey is an old friend of yours, I believe?"

He is an old friend of yours, I believe?"


Alice, keeping her countenance as well as she was able, said Mr. Grey had been, and, indeed, was, a very dear friend of hers.

Alice, remaining as composed as she could, said Mr. Grey was a very dear friend of hers.


Mr. Palliser knew the whole story, and what was the use of any little attempt at dissimulation?


"I shall be glad to see him,--if you will allow me?"

"I shall be glad to see him - if you will allow me?"


"Glencora suggests that we should ask him to dinner," said Mr. Palliser; and then that matter was settled.

"Glencora suggests that we should ask him to dinner," said Mr. Palliser.


But Mr. Grey did not wait till dinner-time to see Alice.


Early in the morning his card was brought up, and Lady Glencora, as soon as she saw the name, immediately ran away.

Early in the morning his card was brought up, and Lady Glencora, as soon as she saw the name, ran away.


"I know what's proper on these occasions, if you don't."


So she went, whisking herself along the passages with a little run; and Mr. Grey, as he was shown into her ladyship's usual sitting-room, saw the skirt of her ladyship's dress as she whisked herself off towards her husband.

Mr. Grey, when he was shown into her ladyship's sitting-room, saw the skirt of her ladyship's dress as she whisked herself off to her husband.


"I told you I should come," he said, with his ordinary sweet smile.


"I told you that I should follow you, and here I am."


He took her hand, and held it, pressing it warmly.


She hardly knew with what words first to address him, or how to get her hand back from him.

She hardly knew how to address him, or how to get her hand back.


"I am very glad to see you,--as an old friend," she said; "but I hope--"

"I am very glad to see you - as an old friend," she said; "but I hope-"


"I hope you have had some better cause for travelling than a desire to see me?"


I have had no better cause, and, indeed, none other.


I have come on purpose to see you; and had Mr. Palliser taken you off to Asia or Africa, I think I should have felt myself compelled to follow him.

I have come on purpose to see you; and if Mr. Palliser had taken you off to Africa, I should have felt compelled to follow.


"Hardly," said she,--not finding at the moment any other word that she could say.

"Hardly," said she - not finding any other word to say.


You see what a plain-spoken John Bull I am, and how I come to the point at once.


I want you to be my wife; and they say that perseverance is the best way when a man has such a want as that."


"You ought not to want it," she said, whispering the words as though she were unable to speak them out loud.

"You ought not to want it," she said, whispering.


You have to make up your mind whether I am fit to be your husband."


"You would be disgraced if you were to take me, after all that has passed;--after what I have done.

"You would be disgraced if you were to take me, after what I have done.


What would other men say of you when they knew the story?"


"Other men, I hope, would be just enough to say, that when I had made up my mind, I was tolerably constant in keeping to it.

"Other men, I hope, would say that when I had made up my mind, I was tolerably constant in keeping to it.


I do not think they could say much worse of me than that."


"They would say that you had been jilted, and had forgiven the jilt."


"As far as the forgiveness goes, they would tell the truth.


But, indeed, Alice, I don't very much care what men do say of me."


"But I care, Mr. Grey;--and though you may forgive me, I cannot forgive myself.

"But I care, Mr. Grey; and though you may forgive me, I cannot forgive myself.


Indeed I know now, as I have known all along, that I am not fit to be your wife.


And I have done that which makes me feel that I have no right to marry anyone."


These words she said, jerking out the different sentences almost in convulsions; and when she had come to the end of them, the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

She said this, jerking out the sentences almost in convulsions; the tears were streaming down her cheeks.


"I have thought about it, and I will not.


After what has passed, I know that it will be better,--more seemly, that I should remain as I am."

After what has passed, I know that it will be better - that I should remain as I am."


Soon after that she left him, not, however, till she had told him that she would meet him again at dinner, and had begged him to treat her simply as a friend.

Soon after that she left him; not, however, till she had begged him to treat her simply as a friend.


"In spite of everything, I hope that we may always be friends,--dear friends," she said.

"In spite of everything, I hope that we may always be dear friends," she said.


"I hope we may," he answered;--"the very dearest."

"I hope we may," he answered; "the very dearest."


In the afternoon he again encountered Mr. Palliser, and having thought over the matter since his interview with Alice, he resolved to tell his whole story to his new acquaintance,--not in order that he might ask for counsel from him, for in this matter he wanted no man's advice,--but that he might get some assistance.

In the afternoon he again met Mr. Palliser, and resolved to tell his whole story to his new acquaintance - not in order to ask for advice, but so that he might get some assistance.


So the two men walked off together, up the banks of the clear-flowing Reuss, and Mr. Palliser felt the comfort of having a companion.

So the two men walked off together, and Mr. Palliser felt the comfort of having a companion.


"I have always liked her," said Mr. Palliser, "though, to tell the truth, I have twice been very angry with her."


"I have never been angry with her," said the lover.


"And my anger was in both instances unjust.


You may imagine how great is my confidence in her, when I have thought she was the best companion my wife could have for a long journey, taken under circumstances that were--that were--; but I need not trouble you with that."

You may imagine how great is my confidence in her, when I have thought she was the best companion my wife could have for a long journey, under circumstances that were - but I need not trouble you with that."


So great had been the desolation of Mr. Palliser's life since his banishment from London that he almost felt tempted to tell the story of his troubles to this absolute stranger.


But he bethought himself of the blood of the Pallisers, and refrained.

But he thought of the blood of the Pallisers, and refrained.


There are comforts which royalty may never enjoy, and luxuries in which such men as Plantagenet Palliser may not permit themselves to indulge.


"About her and her character I have no doubt in the world," said Grey.

"About her character I have no doubt in the world," said Grey.


"In all that she has done I think that I have seen her motives; and though I have not approved of them, I have always known them to be pure and unselfish.


She has done nothing that I did not forgive as soon as it was done.


Had she married that man, I should have forgiven her even that,--though I should have known that all her future life was destroyed, and much of mine also.

If she had married that man, I should have forgiven her even that - though I should have known that all her future life was destroyed, and much of mine also.


I think I can make her happy if she will marry me, but she must first be taught to forgive herself.


Living as she is with you, and with your wife, she may, perhaps, just now be more under your influence and your wife's than she can possibly be under mine."

Just now, she may, perhaps, be more under your influence and your wife's than she can be under mine."


Whereupon, Mr. Palliser promised that he would do what he could.


Mr. Palliser said that he was sure she did, though what ground he had for such assurance I am quite unable to surmise.

Mr. Palliser said that he was sure she did, though he had


He was probably desirous of saying the most civil thing which occurred to him.

no way of knowing, and said it merely to be civil.


The little dinner-party that evening was pleasant enough, and nothing more was said about love.

The little dinner-party that evening was pleasant enough, and nothing was said about love.


Lady Glencora talked nonsense to Mr. Grey, and Mr. Palliser contradicted all the nonsense which his wife talked.


But this was all done in such a way that the evening passed away pleasantly.

But this was done in such a way that the evening passed away pleasantly.


It was tacitly admitted among them that Mr. Grey was to be allowed to come among them as a friend, and Lady Glencora managed to say one word to him aside, in which she promised to give him her most cordial cooperation.


said the widow, "there's a carriage coming on the road--close to us."


Mrs. Greenow, as she spoke these words, drew back from the Captain's arms before the first kiss of permitted ante-nuptial love had been exchanged.

Mrs. Greenow, as she spoke, drew back from the Captain's arms.


The scene was on the high road from Shap to Vavasor, and as she was still dressed in all the sombre habiliments of early widowhood, and as neither he nor his sweetheart were under forty, perhaps it was as well that they were not caught toying together in so very public a place.

They were on the high road to Shap, and as she was still dressed in mourning, and as neither of them were under forty, perhaps it was as well


But they were only just in time to escape the vigilant eyes of a new visitor.


Round the corner of the road, at a sharp trot, came the Shap post-horse, with the Shap gig behind him,--the same gig which had brought Bellfield to Vavasor on the previous day,--and seated in the gig, looming large, with his eyes wide awake to everything round him, was--Mr. Cheesacre.

Round the corner of the road, at a sharp trot, came the Shap post-horse, with the Shap gig behind him - and seated in the gig, looming large, and staring around, was - Mr. Cheesacre.


It was a sight terrible to the eyes of Captain Bellfield, and by no means welcome to those of Mrs. Greenow.

It was a sight terrible to Captain Bellfield, and by no means welcome to Mrs. Greenow.


As regarded her, her annoyance had chiefly reference to her two nieces, and especially to Alice.

Her annoyance was chiefly because of Alice.


How was she to account for this second lover?


Kate, of course, knew all about it; but how could Alice be made to understand that she, Mrs. Greenow, was not to blame,--that she had, in sober truth, told this ardent gentleman that there was no hope for him?

Kate, of course, knew all about it; but how could Alice be made aware that Mrs. Greenow was not to blame? She had told this ardent gentleman that there was no hope for him.


And even as to Kate,--Kate, whom her aunt had absurdly chosen to regard as the object of Mr. Cheesacre's pursuit,--what sort of a welcome would she extend to the owner of Oileymead?


Before the wheels had stopped, Mrs. Greenow had begun to reflect whether it might be possible that she should send Mr. Cheesacre back without letting him go on to the Hall; but if Mrs. Greenow was dismayed, what were the feelings of the Captain?

And if Mrs. Greenow was dismayed, what were the Captain's feelings?


For he was aware that Cheesacre knew that of him which he had not told.

For he was aware that Cheesacre knew things about him which he had not told.


How ardently did he now wish that he had sailed nearer to the truth in giving in the schedule of his debts to Mrs. Greenow.

Now he wished ardently that he had sailed nearer to the truth in listing his debts to Mrs. Greenow.


"That man's wanted by the police," said Cheesacre, speaking while the gig was still in motion.


"He's wanted by the police, Mrs. Greenow," and in his ardour he stood up in the gig and pointed at Bellfield.

; and he stood up in the gig and pointed at Bellfield.


Then the gig stopped suddenly, and he fell back into his seat in his effort to prevent his falling forward.

The gig stopped suddenly, and he fell back into his seat.


"He's wanted by the police," he shouted out again, as soon as he was able to recover his voice.

"He's wanted by the police," he shouted out again.


Mrs. Greenow turned pale beneath the widow's veil which she had dropped.


He might have procured things, to be sent to him, out of shops on false pretences; or, urged on by want and famine, he might have committed--forgery.

He might have ordered things from shops on false pretences; he might have committed forgery.


she said, and dropped her hand from his arm, which she had taken.


"I'll indict you for slander, my friend," said Bellfield.

"I'll sue you for slander, my friend," said Bellfield.


"Pay me the money you owe me," said Cheesacre.


Mrs. Greenow cared little as to her lover being a swindler in Mr. Cheesacre's estimation.

Mrs. Greenow cared little about her lover being a swindler in Mr. Cheesacre's eyes.


Such accusations from him she had heard before.

She had heard such accusations from him before.


But she did care very much as to this mission of the police against her Captain.

But she did care very much about the police.


If that were true, the Captain could be her Captain no longer.


"What is this I hear, Captain Bellfield?"


He merely wants to make a quarrel between us.


What police are after me, Mr. Cheesacre?"


"It's the police, or the sheriff's officer, or something of the kind," said Cheesacre.

"It's the sheriff's officer, or something of the kind," said Cheesacre.


exclaimed Mrs. Greenow, in a tone of voice which showed how great had been her relief.

exclaimed Mrs. Greenow, in a tone of relief.


"Mr. Cheesacre, you shouldn't come and say such things;--you shouldn't, indeed.

"Mr. Cheesacre, you shouldn't come and say such things.


Sheriff's officers can be paid, and there's an end of them."


"I'll indict him for the libel--I will, as sure as I'm alive," said Bellfield.

"I'll sue him for libel - I will," said Bellfield.


When men can't pay their way they must put up with having things like that said of them.

When men can't pay their way they must put up with having things like that said about them.


"I was going to Vavasor Hall, on purpose to caution you."

"I was going to Vavasor Hall, to warn you."


"It's too late," said Mrs. Greenow, sinking behind her veil.


"Why, you haven't been and married him since yesterday?


He only had twenty-four hours' start of me, I know.

He only had twenty-four hours' start of me!


Or, perhaps, you had it done clandestine in Norwich?


He got out of the gig, and the three walked back towards the Hall together, while the boy drove on with Mr. Cheesacre's carpetbag.


"I hardly know," said Mrs. Greenow, "whether we can welcome you.


There are other visitors, and the house is full."


"I'm not one to intrude where I'm not wanted.


If I can't get my supper for love, I can get at for money.


I wonder when you're going to pay me what you owe me, Lieutenant Bellfield?"


[Illustration: "I wonder when you're going to pay me what you owe me, Lieutenant Bellfield?"]


Nevertheless, the widow had contrived to reconcile the two men before she reached the Hall.

Nevertheless, the widow had managed to reconcile the two men before she reached the Hall.


They had actually shaken hands, and the lamb Cheesacre had agreed to lie down with the wolf Bellfield.


Cheesacre, moreover, had contrived to whisper into the widow's ears the true extent of his errand into Westmoreland.

Cheesacre, moreover, had whispered into the widow's ears the true extent of his errand into Westmorland


This, however, he did not do altogether in Bellfield's hearing.


When Mrs. Greenow ascertained that there was something to be said, she made no scruple in sending her betrothed away from her "You won't throw a fellow over, will you, now?"

When Mrs. Greenow ascertained that there was something to be said, she sent her betrothed away


whispered Bellfield into her ear as he went.


She merely frowned at him, and bade him begone, so that the walk which Mrs. Greenow began with one lover she ended in company with the other.


Bellfield, who was sent on to the house, found Alice and Kate surveying the newly arrived carpet bag.

 the house.
There, Bellfield found Alice and Kate surveying the newly arrived carpet bag.


"He knows 'un," said the boy who had driven the gig, pointing to the Captain.


"It belongs to your old friend, Mr. Cheesacre," said Bellfield to Kate.


The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that it was hard.


"And it's not the slightest use," said he, "not the least in the world.

"And it's not the slightest use," said he.


"Not enough of the rocks and valleys about him, was there, Captain Bellfield?"


But Captain Bellfield understood nothing about the rocks and valleys, though he was regarded by certain eyes as being both a rock and a valley himself.


In the meantime Cheesacre was telling his story.


He first asked, in a melancholy tone, whether it was really necessary that he must abandon all his hopes.


"He wasn't going to say anything against the Captain," he said, "if things were really fixed.

He wasn't going to say anything against the Captain, he told Mrs, Greenow, if things were really fixed.


"Things are really fixed," said Mrs. Greenow.


He could, however, not keep himself from hinting that Oileymead was a substantial home, and that Bellfield had not as much as a straw mattress to lie upon.

He could, however, not keep himself from hinting that Bellfield had not as much as a straw mattress to lie upon.


In answer to this Mrs. Greenow told him that there was so much more reason why some one should provide the poor man with a mattress.

Mrs. Greenow answered, so much more reason why someone should provide the poor man with a mattress.


"If you look at it in that light, of course it's true," said Cheesacre.


Mrs. Greenow told him that she did look at it in that light.


"Then I've done about that," said Cheesacre; "and as to the little bit of money he owes me, I must give him his time about it, I suppose."

; "and as to the bit of money he owes me, I must give him his time about it, I suppose."


Mrs. Greenow assured him that it should be paid as soon as possible after the nuptial benediction had been said over them.


She offered, indeed, to pay it at once if he was in distress for it, but he answered contemptuously that he never was in distress for money.

offered to pay it at once if he needed it, but he answered contemptuously that he was never in distress for money.


He liked to have his own,--that was all.


After this he did not get away to his next subject quite so easily as he wished; and it must be admitted that there was a difficulty.

After this he did not get on to his next subject quite so easily as he wished; and it must be admitted that there was a difficulty.


As he could not have Mrs. Greenow he would be content to put up with Kate for his wife.


Rumours as to the old Squire's will had no doubt reached him, and he was now willing to take advantage of that assistance which Mrs. Greenow had before offered him in this matter.

Rumours about the old Squire's will had reached him, and he had decided that


The time had come in which he ought to marry; of that he was aware.

the time had come when he ought to marry.


He had told many of his friends in Norfolk that Kate Vavasor had thrown herself at his head, and very probably he had thought it true.

He had told his friends in Norfolk that Kate Vavasor had thrown herself at his head, and very probably he had thought it true.


In answer to all his love speeches to herself, the aunt had always told him what an excellent wife her niece would make him.

And the aunt had always told him what an excellent wife her niece would make.


So now he had come to Westmoreland with this second string to his bow.


"You know you put it into my head your own self," pleaded Mr. Cheesacre.


"But things are so different since that," said the widow.

"But things are different now," said the widow.


There's Oileymead just where it always was, and the owner of it don't owe a shilling to any man.


Mrs. Greenow, who would have thought to find you mercenary like that?


Is she going to fling a man over because of that?"


Mrs. Greenow endeavoured to explain to him that her niece could hardly be said to have flung him over, and at last pretended to become angry when he attempted to assert his position.

Mrs. Greenow tried to explain to him that her niece could hardly be said to have flung him over, and at last pretended to become angry.


"Why, Mr. Cheesacre, I am quite sure she never gave you a word of encouragement in her life."

"Why, Mr. Cheesacre, I am quite sure she never gave you a word of encouragement."


"But you always told me I might have her for the asking."


It's of no use your going on there to ask her, for she will only send you away with an answer you won't like.

It's of no use your asking her, for she will only send you away with an answer you won't like.


Look here, Mr. Cheesacre; you want to get married, and it's quite time you should.


There's my dear friend Charlie Fairstairs.

there's my dear friend Charlie Fairstairs.


How could you get a better wife than Charlie?"


said Cheesacre, turning up his nose in disgust.


"She hasn't got a penny, nor any one belonging to her.


The man who marries her will have to find the money for the smock she stands up in."


Do you go home and think of it; and if you'll marry Charlie, I'll go to your wedding.

Go home and think about it; and if you'll marry Charlie, I'll go to your wedding."


They were now close to the gate, and Cheesacre paused before he entered.

They were now at the gate, and Cheesacre paused.


"Do you think there's no chance at all for me, then?"


"Somebody else, perhaps, is the happy man?"


"I can't say anything about that, but I know that she wouldn't take you.

"I can't say anything about that, but I know she wouldn't take you."


I like farming, you know, but she doesn't."


"I might give that up," said Cheesacre readily,--"at any rate, for a time."


Believe me, my friend, that it is of no use."


"I don't see what's the use of my going in," said he.


"There's a pride about me," he continued, "that I don't choose to go where I'm not wanted."


"I can't tell you, Mr. Cheesacre, that you are wanted in that light, certainly."


Perhaps you'll be so good as to tell the boy with the gig to come after me?

Perhaps you'll tell the boy with the gig to come after me?


That's six pound ten it will have cost me to come here and go back.


Bellfield did it cheaper, of course; he travelled second class."


"The expense does not matter to you, Mr. Cheesacre."


To this he assented, and then took his leave, at first offering his hand to Mrs. Greenow with an air of offended dignity, but falling back almost into humility during the performance of his adieu.

He agreed, and then took his leave, offering his hand to Mrs. Greenow almost with humility.


Before he was gone he had invited her to bring the Captain to Oileymead when she was married, and had begged her to tell Miss Vavasor how happy he should be to receive her.

Before he left he invited her to bring the Captain to Oileymead when she was married, and begged her to tell Miss Vavasor how happy he should be to receive her.


"And Mr. Cheesacre," said the widow, as he walked back along the road, "don't forget dear Charlie Fairstairs."

"And Mr. Cheesacre," said the widow, as he walked away, "don't forget dear Charlie Fairstairs."


They were all standing at the front door of the house when Mrs. Greenow re-appeared,--Alice, Kate, Captain Bellfield, the Shap boy, and the Shap horse and gig.

She entered the house, and told her nieces and the Captain,


Kate asked in a low voice, and everyone there felt how important was the question.


Bellfield was so relieved that he could not restrain his joy, but took off his little straw hat and threw it up into the air.

Bellfield was so relieved that he took off his little straw hat and threw it in the air.


Kate's satisfaction was almost as intense.


"What on earth should we have done with him?"


"I never was so disappointed in my life," said Alice.


"I have heard so much of Mr. Cheesacre, but have never seen him."


Kate suggested that she should get into the gig and drive after him.


suggested the boy, whose face became very dismal as the terrible idea struck him.


But, with juvenile craft, he put his hand on the carpet-bag, and finding that it did not contain stones, was comforted.


"You drive after him, young gentleman, and you'll find him on the road to Shap," said Mrs. Greenow.


"Mind you give him my love," said the Captain in his glee, "and say I hope he'll get his turnips in well."


This little episode went far to break the day, and did more than anything else could have done to put Captain Bellfield at his ease.

This little episode did more than anything else to put Captain Bellfield at his ease.


It created a little joint-stock fund of merriment between the whole party, which was very much needed.

It created a little fund of merriment between the whole party, which was very much needed.


The absence of such joint-stock fund is always felt when a small party is thrown together without such assistance.


Some bond is necessary on these occasions, and no other bond is so easy or so pleasant.


Now, when the Captain found himself alone for a quarter of an hour with Alice, he had plenty of subjects for small-talk.

Now, when the Captain found himself alone for a quarter of an hour with Alice, he had plenty of small-talk.


Old Cheesacre, in spite of his absurdities, is not a bad sort of fellow at bottom;--awfully fond of his money, you know, Miss Vavasor, and always boasting about it."

Old Cheesacre is not a bad fellow at bottom; awfully fond of his money, you know, Miss Vavasor, and always boasting about it."


"No, the most unpleasant thing in the world.


There's nothing I hate so much, Miss Vavasor, as that kind of talking.


My idea is this,--when a man has lots of money, let him make the best use he can of it, and say nothing about it.

I think that when a man has lots of money, let him make the best use he can of it, and say nothing about it.


Nobody ever heard me talking about my money."


He knew that Alice knew that he was a pauper; but, nevertheless, he had the satisfaction of speaking of himself as though he were not a pauper.


In this way the afternoon went very pleasantly.


For an hour before dinner Captain Bellfield was had into the drawing-room and was talked to by his widow on matters of business; but he had of course known that this was necessary.

For an hour before dinner Captain Bellfield was talked to by his widow; but he had known that this was necessary.


She scolded him soundly about those sheriff's officers.


"As long as there's anything kept back, I won't have you," said she.


"I won't become your wife till I'm quite sure there's not a penny owing that is not shown in the list."

"I won't become your wife till I'm quite sure there's not a penny owing that is not in the list."


Then I think he did tell her all,--or nearly all.

Then I think he did tell her all - or nearly all.


When all was counted it was not so very much.


Three or four hundred pounds would make him a new man, and what was such a sum as that to his wealthy widow!


Indeed, for a woman wanting a husband of that sort, Captain Bellfield was a safer venture than would be a man of a higher standing among his creditors.

Indeed, for a woman wanting a husband of that sort, Captain Bellfield was a safer bet than someone of the standing of Burgo Fitzgerald.


It is true Bellfield might have been a forger, or a thief, or a returned convict,--but then his debts could not be large.


Let him have done his best, he could not have obtained credit for a thousand pounds; whereas, no one could tell the liabilities of a gentleman of high standing.


Burgo Fitzgerald was a gentleman of high standing, and his creditors would have swallowed up every shilling that Mrs. Greenow possessed; but with Captain Bellfield she was comparatively safe.

Fitzgerald's creditors would have swallowed up every shilling that Mrs. Greenow possessed; but with Captain Bellfield she was comparatively safe.


Upon the whole I think that she was lucky in her choice; or, perhaps, I might more truly say, that she had chosen with prudence.


He was no forger, or thief--in the ordinary sense of the word; nor was he a returned convict.


He was simply an idle scamp, who had hung about the world for forty years, doing nothing, without principle, shameless, accustomed to eat dirty puddings, and to be kicked--morally kicked--by such men as Cheesacre.

He was simply an idle scamp, who had hung about the world for forty years, doing nothing.


But he was moderate in his greediness, and possessed of a certain appreciation of the comfort of a daily dinner, which might possibly suffice to keep him from straying very wide as long as his intended wife should be able to keep the purse-strings altogether in her own hands.

But he was moderate in his greediness, with an appreciation of a daily dinner, which might keep him from straying very far as long as his intended wife could keep the purse-strings in her hands.


Therefore, I say that Mrs. Greenow had been lucky in her choice, and not altogether without prudence.


"I think of taking this house," said she, "and of living here."

"I am thinking of taking this house," said she, "and of living here."


said the Captain, with something of dismay in his tone.


What on earth would he do with himself all his life in that gloomy place!

What on earth would he do with himself in that gloomy place!


Why not in Westmoreland as well as anywhere else?

Why not in Westmorland as well as anywhere else?


If you don't like Westmoreland, it's not too late yet, you know."

If you don't like it, it's not too late, you know."


In answer to this the poor Captain was obliged to declare that he had no objection whatever to Westmoreland.

To which the poor Captain was obliged to declare that he had no objection whatever to Westmorland.


"I've been talking to my niece about it," continued Mrs. Greenow, "and I find that such an arrangement can be made very conveniently.


The property is left between her and her uncle,--the father of my other niece, and neither of them want to live here."

The property is left between her and her uncle, and neither of them want to live here."


"But won't you be rather dull, my dear?"


"We could go to Yarmouth, you know, in the autumn."

"We could go to Yarmouth in the autumn."


Then the Captain's visage became somewhat bright again.

Then the Captain's face brightened somewhat.


"And perhaps, if you are not extravagant, we could manage a month or so in London during the winter, just to see the plays and do a little shopping."


Then the Captain's face became very bright.


"And as for being dull," said the widow, "when people grow old they must be dull.


In answer to this the widow's Captain assured the widow that she was not at all old; and now, on this occasion, that ceremony came off successfully which had been interrupted on the Shap road by the noise of Mr. Cheesacre's wheels.

In answer to this he assured this widow that she was not at all old; and now, on this occasion, his attempt to kiss her was successful.


"Bother Jeannette," said the Captain in his bliss.


"She can do another cap, and many more won't be wanted."


Upon the whole the Captain's visit was satisfactory--at any rate to the Captain.

Upon the whole the Captain's visit was satisfactory - at any rate to the Captain.


He was to go away on Saturday morning, and remain in lodgings at Penrith till the wedding, which they agreed to have celebrated at Vavasor Church.


Kate promised to be the solitary bridesmaid.


There was some talk of sending for Charlie Fairstairs, but the idea was abandoned.


"We'll have her afterwards," said the widow to Kate, "when you are gone, and we shall want her more.


And I'll get Cheesacre here, and make him marry her.


There's no good in paying for two journeys."


The Captain was to be allowed to come over from Penrith twice a week previous to his marriage; or perhaps, I might more fairly say, that he was commanded to do so.

The Captain was to be allowed to come over from Penrith twice a week before his marriage.


I wonder how he felt when Mrs. Greenow gave him his first five-pound note, and told him that he must make it do for a fortnight?--whether it was all joy, or whether there was about his heart any touch of manly regret?

I wonder how he felt when Mrs. Greenow gave him his first five-pound note, and told him that he must make it do for a fortnight? whether it was all joy, or whether there was any touch of manly regret?


"Captain Bellfield, of Vavasor Hall, Westmoreland.


It don't sound badly," he said to himself, as he travelled away on his first journey to Penrith.


Vavasor, as he sat alone in his room, after Fitzgerald had left him, began to think of the days in which he had before wished to assist his friend in his views with reference to Lady Glencora;--or rather he began to think of Alice's behaviour then, and of Alice's words.

Vavasor, after Fitzgerald had left him, began to think of the days past when he had helped his friend; and he thought of Alice's behaviour then.


Alice had steadfastly refused to give any aid.


No less likely assistant for such a purpose could have been selected.


But she had been very earnest in declaring that it was Glencora's duty to stand by her promise to Burgo.


"He is a desperate spendthrift," Kate Vavasor had said to her.


"Then let her teach him to be otherwise," Alice had answered.


"That might have been a good reason for refusing his offer when he first made it; but it can be no excuse for untruth, now that she has told him that she loves him!"


"If a woman," she had said again, "won't venture her fortune for the man she loves, her love is not worth having."

"If a woman won't venture her fortune for the man she loves, her love is not worth having."


All this George Vavasor remembered now; and as he remembered it he asked himself whether the woman that had once loved him would venture her fortune for him still.

All this George Vavasor remembered now; and he asked himself whether the woman that had once loved him would venture her fortune for him still.


Though his sister had pressed him on the subject with all the vehemence that she could use, he had hardly hitherto made up his mind that he really desired to marry Alice.

He had until now hardly made up his mind that he really wanted to marry Alice.


There had grown upon him lately certain Bohemian propensities,--a love of absolute independence in his thoughts as well as actions,--which were antagonistic to marriage.


He was almost inclined to think that marriage was an old-fashioned custom, fitted indeed well enough for the usual dull life of the world at large,--as many men both in heathen and in Christian ages have taught themselves to think of religion,--but which was not adapted to his advanced intelligence.

; and he was inclined to think that marriage was an old-fashioned custom, not adapted to his advanced intelligence.


If he loved any woman he loved his cousin Alice.

If he loved and respected any woman, it was his cousin Alice.


If he thoroughly respected any woman he respected her.


But that idea of tying himself down to a household was in itself distasteful to him.

But that idea of tying himself down was distasteful.


"It is a thing terrible to think of," he once said to a congenial friend in these days of his life, "that a man should give permission to a priest to tie him to another human being like a Siamese twin, so that all power of separate and solitary action should be taken from him for ever!


The beasts of the field do not treat each other so badly.


They neither drink themselves drunk, nor eat themselves stupid;--nor do they bind themselves together in a union which both would have to hate."


In this way George Vavasor, trying to imitate the wisdom of the brutes, had taught himself some theories of a peculiar nature.


But, nevertheless, as he thought of Alice Vavasor on this occasion, he began to feel that if a Siamese twin were necessary for him, she of all others was the woman to whom he would wish to be so bound.

Nevertheless, as he thought now of Alice Vavasor, he began to feel that if a Siamese twin were necessary for him, she of all others was the woman to whom he would wish to be bound.


And if he did it at all, he must do it now.


Under the joint instigation of himself and his sister,--as he thought, and perhaps not altogether without reason,--she had broken her engagement with Mr. Grey.

He and his sister, as Kate thought, had induced Alice to break her engagement with Mr. Grey.


That she would renew it again if left to herself, he believed probable.

But he believed that if left to herself, Alice would probably renew it again.


And then, despite that advanced intelligence which had taught him to regard all forms and ceremonies with the eye of a philosopher, he had still enough of human frailty about him to feel keenly alive to the pleasure of taking from John Grey the prize which John Grey had so nearly taken from him.

And then, despite that advanced intelligence of his, he still had enough human frailty to feel pleasure at the idea of taking John Grey's prize from him.


If Alice could have been taught to think as he did as to the absurdity of those indissoluble ties, that would have been better.


But nothing would have been more impossible than the teaching of such a lesson to his cousin Alice.


George Vavasor was a man of courage, and dared do most things;--but he would not have dared to commence the teaching of such a lesson to her.


And now, at this moment, what was his outlook into life generally?


He had very high ambition, and a fair hope of gratifying it if he could only provide that things should go well with him for a year or so.

George Vavasor had very high ambition, and a fair hope of gratifying it if only things would go well with him for a year or so.


He was still a poor man, having been once nearly a rich man; but still so much of the result of his nearly acquired riches remained to him, that on the strength of them he might probably find his way into Parliament.

He was still a poor man, but if he succeeded in getting into Parliament he


He had paid the cost of the last attempt, and might, in a great degree, carry on this present attempt on credit.


If he succeeded there would be open to him a mode of life, agreeable in itself, and honourable among men.

would be able to live an agreeable and honourable mode of life.


But how was he to bear the cost of this for the next year, or the next two years?

But how was he to bear the cost of this for the next year or two?


His grandfather was still alive, and would probably live over that period.

His grandfather would probably not die soon.


If he married Alice he would do so with no idea of cheating her out of her money.


She should learn,--nay, she had already learned from his own lips,--how perilous was his enterprise.

She already knew how perilous was his enterprise.


But he knew her to be a woman who would boldly risk all in money, though no consideration would induce her to stir a hair's breadth towards danger in reputation.

He knew her to be a woman who would boldly risk all in money


Towards teaching her that doctrine at which I have hinted, he would not have dared to make an attempt; but he felt that he should have no repugnance to telling her that he wanted to spend all her money in the first year or two of their married life!

; but could he tell her that he wanted to spend all her fortune in the first year or two of their married life!


He was still in his arm-chair, thinking of all this, with that small untasted modicum of brandy and water beside him, when he heard some distant Lambeth clock strike three from over the river.

He was still in his arm-chair, thinking of all this, when he heard a distant clock strike three.


Then he rose from his seat, and taking the candles in his hand, sat himself down at a writing-desk on the other side of the room.

Then he rose from his seat, and sat down at a writing-desk.


"I needn't send it when it's written," he said to himself, "and the chances are that I won't."


Then he took his paper, and wrote as follows:--


The time was when the privilege was mine of beginning my letters to you with a warmer show of love than the above word contains,--when I might and did call you dearest; but I lost that privilege through my own folly, and since that it has been accorded to another.

Once I had the privilege of beginning my letters to you with a warmer show of love than 'dear' - when I could call you dearest; but I lost that privilege through my own folly, and since then it has been granted to another.


But you have found,--with a thorough honesty of purpose than which I know nothing greater,--that it has behoved you to withdraw that privilege also.

But you have found, with a thorough honesty, that it has been best for you to withdraw that privilege also.


I need hardly say that I should not have written as I now write, had you not found it expedient to do as you have done.


In spite of all that passed in those old days,--of all the selfish folly of which I was then guilty, I think you know, and at the time knew, that I ever loved you.

In spite of all that passed in those old days - all my selfish folly - I think you know that I always loved you.


I claim to say for myself that my love to you was true from first to last, and I claim from you belief for that statement.

Indeed my love to you was true from first to last, and I


Indeed I do not think that you ever doubted my love.


Nevertheless, when you told me that I might no longer hope to make you my wife, I had no word of remonstrance that I could utter.

Nevertheless, when you told me that I might no longer hope to make you my wife, I had no answer.


You acted as any woman would act whom love had not made a fool.


Then came the episode of Mr. Grey; and bitter as have been my feelings whilst that engagement lasted, I never made any attempt to come between you and the life you had chosen.

Then came the episode of Mr. Grey; and bitter as have been my feelings during that engagement, I never tried to come between you and the life you had chosen.


In saying this I do not forget the words which I spoke last summer at Basle, when, as far as I knew, you still intended that he should be your husband.

I do not forget the words which I spoke last summer at Basle, when you still intended to marry him.


But what I said then was nothing to that which, with much violence, I refrained from saying.

But what I said then was nothing to what I refrained from saying.


Whether you remember those few words I cannot tell; but certainly you would not have remembered them,--would not even have noticed them,--had your heart been at Nethercoats.

Whether you remember those few words I cannot tell.


You are now again a free woman; and once again I ask you to be my wife.

But you are now again a free woman; and once again I ask you to be my wife.


We are both older than we were when we loved before, and will both be prone to think of marriage in a somewhat different light.

We are both older than we were when we loved before, and will both think of marriage in a somewhat different light.


Then personal love for each other was most in our thoughts.


God forbid that it should not be much in our thoughts now!

God forbid that love should not be in our thoughts now


Perhaps I am deceiving myself in saying that it is not even now stronger in mine than any other consideration.

- and my love for you is stronger than any other consideration.


But we have both reached that time of life, when it is probable that in any proposition of marriage we should think more of our adaptability to each other than we did before.

But we have both reached that time of life when we should think more of our adaptability to each other than we did before.


For myself I know that there is much in my character and disposition to make me unfit to marry a woman of the common stamp.

I know that there is much in my character to make me unfit to marry an ordinary woman.


You know my mode of life, and what are my hopes and my chances of success.

You know my mode of life, and my hopes and my chances of success.


It may be that I shall encounter ruin where I look for reputation and a career of honour.

It may be that I shall encounter ruin where I look for a career of honour.


The chances are perhaps more in favour of ruin than of success.


But, whatever may be the chances, I shall go on as long as any means of carrying on the fight are at my disposal.

But, whatever my chances, I shall go on as long as I can.


If you were my wife to-morrow I should expect to use your money, if it were needed, in struggling to obtain a seat in Parliament and a hearing there.

If you were my wife tomorrow I should expect to use your money, if it were needed, in struggling to obtain a seat in Parliament.


I will hardly stoop to tell you that I do not ask you to be my wife for the sake of this aid;--but if you were to become my wife I should expect all your cooperation;--with your money, possibly, but certainly with your warmest spirit.

I do not ask you to be my wife for the sake of this aid; but if you were to become my wife I should expect all your cooperation - with your money, possibly, but certainly with your warmest spirit.


And now, once again, Alice,--dearest Alice, will you be my wife?

And now, once again, dearest Alice, will you be my wife?


I have been punished, and I have kissed the rod,--as I never kissed any other rod.


Since the time in which I might sit with my arm round your waist, I have sat with it round no other waist.


Since your lips were mine, no other lips have been dear to me.


Since you were my counsellor, I have had no other counsellor,--unless it be poor Kate, whose wish that we may at length be married is second in earnestness only to my own.


Nor do I think you will doubt my repentance.


Such repentance indeed claims no merit, as it has been the natural result of the loss which I have suffered.


Providence has hitherto been very good to me in not having made that loss irremediable by your marriage with Mr. Grey.

Providence has been very good to me in giving me another chance.


I wish you now to consider the matter well, and to tell me whether you can pardon me and still love me.

Tell me whether you can pardon me and still love me.


Do I flatter myself when I feel that I doubt your pardon almost more than I doubt your love?


Think of this thing in all its bearings before you answer me.


I am so anxious that you should think of it that I will not expect your reply till this day week.

I will not expect your reply for a week.


It can hardly be your desire to go through life unmarried.


I should say that it must be essential to your ambition that you should join your lot to that of some man the nature of whose aspirations would be like to your own.

I should say that it must be essential to your ambition that you should join your lot to that of some man with aspirations like your own.


It is because this was not so as regarded him whose suit you had accepted, that you found yourself at last obliged to part from him.

It is because of this that you found yourself obliged to part from Mr. Grey.


May I not say that with us there would be no such difference?


It is because I believe that in this respect we are fitted for each other, as man and woman seldom are fitted, that I once again ask you to be my wife.

I believe that in this respect we are fitted for each other.


This will reach you at Vavasor, where you will now be with the old squire and Kate.

This will reach you at Vavasor Hall, where you will now be with the old squire and Kate.


I have told her nothing of my purpose in writing this letter.


If it should be that your answer is such as I desire, I should use the opportunity of our re-engagement to endeavour to be reconciled to my grandfather.

If you should accept me, I would try to be reconciled to my grandfather.


He has misunderstood me and has ill-used me.


But I am ready to forgive that, if he will allow me to do so.

But I am ready to forgive that, if he will allow me to.


In such case you and Kate would arrange that, and I would, if possible, go down to Vavasor while you are there.

In that case I would, if possible, go down to Vavasor while you are there.


But I am galloping on a-head foolishly in thinking of this, and am counting up my wealth while the crockery in my basket is so very fragile.


One word from you will decide whether or no I shall ever bring it into market.


If that word is to be adverse do not say anything of a meeting between me and the Squire.

If your answer is to be adverse, a meeting between me and the Squire


Under such circumstances it would be impossible.


Your woman's pride towards me has been great and good and womanly; but it has had its way; and, if you love me, might now be taught to succumb.

Your woman's pride towards me has been great and good and womanly; but it has had its way; and, if you love me, might now succumb.


Yours, in any event, most affectionately,


Vavasor, when he had finished his letter, went back to his seat over the fire, and there he sat with it close at his hand for nearly an hour.

Vavasor, when he had finished his letter, went back to his seat over the fire, and there he sat with it by his hand for nearly an hour.


Once or twice he took it up with fingers almost itching to throw it into the fire.

Once or twice he took it up and almost threw it in the fire.


He took it up and held the corners between his forefinger and thumb, throwing forward his hand towards the flame, as though willing that the letter should escape from him and perish if chance should so decide.


But chance did not so decide, and the letter was put back upon the table at his elbow.

But the letter was put back upon the table.


Then when the hour was nearly over he read it again.


"I'll bet two to one that she gives way," he said to himself, as he put the sheet of paper back into the envelope.

"I'll bet two to one that she gives way," he said to himself, as he put the sheet of paper into the envelope.


Then he took his candle, and carrying his letter with him, went into his bedroom.

Then he took his candle, and went to bed.


The next morning was the morning of Christmas Eve.


At about nine o'clock a boy came into his room who was accustomed to call for orders for the day.

At about nine o'clock in the morning a boy came into his room to ask for orders for the day.


"Jem," he said to the boy, "there's half a crown lying there on the looking-glass."


Jem looked and acknowledged the presence of the half-crown.


Jem scrutinized the coin, and declared that the uppermost surface showed a tail.


"Then take that letter and post it," said George Vavasor.


Whereupon Jem, asking no question and thinking but little of the circumstances under which the command was given, did take the letter and did post it.


In due accordance with postal regulations it reached Vavasor Hall and was delivered to Alice on the Christmas morning.

It reached Vavasor Hall and was delivered to Alice on Christmas morning.


A merry Christmas did not fall to the lot of George Vavasor on the present occasion.

George Vavasor did not have a merry Christmas.


An early Christmas-box he did receive in the shape of a very hurried note from his friend Burgo.

He received an early gift in the shape of a very hurried note from his friend Burgo.


"This will be brought to you by Stickling," the note said; but who Stickling was Vavasor did not know.


Couldn't you get the money and send it me, as I don't want to go up to town again before the thing comes off?

Could you get the money and send it me, as I don't want to go up to town again?


You're a trump; and will do the best you can.


Don't let that rogue off for less than a hundred and twenty.--Yours, B. F." Vavasor, therefore, having nothing better to do, spent his Christmas morning in calling on Mr. Magruin.

Don't let that rogue off for less than a hundred and twenty. Yours, B. F."
Vavasor, therefore, spent his Christmas morning in calling on Mr. Magruin.


"Oh, Mr. Vavasor," said Magruin; "really this is no morning for business!"

"Oh, Mr. Vavasor," said Magruin, "this is no morning for business!"


"Time and tide wait for no man, Mr. Magruin, and my friend wants his money to-morrow."


If time and tide won't wait, neither will love.


Come, Mr. Magruin, out with your cheque-book, and don't let's have any nonsense."


"Ladies never are sure," said Vavasor; "hardly more sure than bills made over to money-lenders.


There's no getting money in the city to-day."


But Vavasor before he left did get the money from Mr. Magruin,--122 10s.--for which an acceptance at two months for 500 was given in exchange,--and carried it off in triumph.

He did get the money from Mr. Magruin - 122 10s. - in exchange for a promise of 500 in two months.


"Do tell him to be punctual," said Mr. Magruin, when Vavasor took his leave.

"Do tell him to be punctual," said Mr. Magruin.


But I really think Mr. Fitzgerald is the most unpunctual young man I ever did know yet."

"I really think Mr. Fitzgerald is the most unpunctual young man I ever knew."


"I think he is," said George Vavasor, as he went away.


He ate his Christmas dinner in absolute solitude at an eating-house near his lodgings.

He ate his Christmas dinner in solitude at an eating-house near his lodgings.


It may be supposed that no man dares to dine at his club on a Christmas Day.


He at any rate did not so dare;--and after dinner he wandered about through the streets, wondering within his mind how he would endure the restraints of married life.

After dinner he wandered through the streets, wondering how he would endure the restraints of married life.


And the same dull monotony of his days was continued for a week, during which he waited, not impatiently, for an answer to his letter.

The same dull monotony of his days was continued for a week, while he waited for an answer to his letter.


And before the end of the week the answer came.


When the first of the new year came round Lady Glencora was not keeping her appointment at Lady Monk's house.

In the new year Lady Glencora did not go to Lady Monk's house.


She went to Gatherum Castle, and let us hope that she enjoyed the magnificent Christmas hospitality of the Duke; but when the time came for moving on to Monkshade, she was indisposed, and Mr. Palliser went thither alone.

When the time came for moving on to Monkshade, she was unwell, and Mr. Palliser went there alone.


Lady Glencora returned to Matching and remained at home, while her husband was away, in company with the two Miss Pallisers.

Lady Glencora remained at Matching with the two Miss Pallisers.


When the tidings reached Monkshade that Lady Glencora was not to be expected, Burgo Fitzgerald was already there, armed with such pecuniary assistance as George Vavasor had been able to wrench out of the hands of Mr. Magruin.

When the tidings reached Monkshade that Lady Glencora was not to be expected, Burgo Fitzgerald was already there, armed with the money George Vavasor had been able to wrench out of the hands of Mr. Magruin.


"Burgo," said his aunt, catching him one morning near his bedroom door as he was about to go down-stairs in hunting trim, "Burgo, your old flame, Lady Glencora, is not coming here."

"Burgo," said his aunt, Lady Monk, catching him one morning as he was about to go downstairs in his hunting-clothes, "Burgo, your old flame, Lady Glencora, is not coming."


said Burgo, betraying by his look and the tone of his voice too clearly that this change in the purpose of a married lady was to him of more importance than it should have been.

said Burgo, betraying too clearly by his look and voice that this was more important to him than it should have been.


Such betrayal, however, to Lady Monk was not perhaps matter of much moment.


It can't be matter of any moment to you now."


"But, by heavens, it is," said he, putting his hand up to his forehead, and leaning back against the wall of the passage as though in despair.

"But it does," said he, putting his hand up to his forehead, and leaning back against the wall as though in despair.


I am the most unfortunate devil that ever lived."


You must not speak in that way of a married woman.


I begin to think it is better that she should not come."


At this moment another man booted and spurred came down the passage, upon whom Lady Monk smiled sweetly, speaking some pretty little word as he passed.


Burgo spoke never a word, but still stood leaning against the wall, with his hand to his forehead, showing that he had heard something which had moved him greatly.


"Come back into your room, Burgo," said his aunt; and they both went in at the door that was nearest to them, for Lady Monk had been on the look-out for him, and had caught him as soon as he appeared in the passage.

 she said, "Come back into your room, Burgo."
There Lady Monk continued.


"If this does annoy you, you should keep it to yourself!

"If this annoys you, keep it to yourself!


"But you would not wish to injure her, I suppose?


I thought it best to tell you, for fear you should show any special sign of surprise if you heard of it first in public.

"I thought it best to tell you, for fear you should show surprise if you heard it in public.


It is very weak in you to allow yourself to feel that sort of regard for a married woman.


If you cannot constrain yourself I shall be afraid to let you meet her in Brook Street."

If you cannot control yourself I shall be afraid to let you meet her in Brook Street."


Burgo looked for a moment into his aunt's face without answering her, and then turned away towards the door.

Burgo looked for a moment at his aunt, and then turned towards the door.


"You can do as you please about that," said he; "but you know as well as I do what I have made up my mind to do."

"You can do as you please about that," said he; "but you know what I have made up my mind to do."


"Nonsense, Burgo; I know nothing of the kind.


But do you go down-stairs to breakfast, and don't look like that when you go among the people there."

Go downstairs to breakfast, and don't look like that when you get there."


Lady Monk was a woman now about fifty years of age, who had been a great beauty, and who was still handsome in her advanced age.

Lady Monk was about fifty years of age, had been a great beauty, and was still


She was tall and of fine proportion, though by no means verging to that state of body which our excellent American friend and critic Mr. Hawthorne has described as beefy and has declared to be the general condition of English ladies of Lady Monk's age.


She was a comely, handsome, upright, dame,--one of whom, as regards her outward appearance, England might be proud,--and of whom Sir Cosmo Monk was very proud.

She was outwardly a handsome, upright, dame, of whom England might be proud - and of whom Sir Cosmo Monk was very proud.


She had come of the family of the Worcestershire Fitzgeralds, of whom it used to be said that there never was one who was not beautiful and worthless.

She had come of the family of the Worcestershire Fitzgeralds, of whom it was said that there never was one who was not beautiful and worthless.


Looking at Lady Monk you would hardly think that she could be a worthless woman; but there were one or two who professed to know her, and who declared that she was a true scion of the family to which she belonged;--that even her husband's ample fortune had suffered from her extravagance, that she had quarrelled with her only son, and had succeeded in marrying her daughter to the greatest fool in the peerage.

Looking at Lady Monk you would hardly think that she could be a worthless woman; but her husband's fortune had suffered from her extravagance, she had quarrelled with her only son, and had married her daughter to the greatest fool in the peerage.


She had striven very hard to bring about a marriage between her nephew and the great heiress, and was a woman not likely to pardon those who had foiled her.

She had striven very hard to bring about a marriage between her nephew Burgo and the great heiress Lady Glencora, and she was not a woman to pardon those who had foiled her.


At this moment Burgo felt very certain that his aunt was aware of his purpose, and could not forgive her for pretending to be innocent of it.

Burgo felt certain that his aunt was aware of his purpose, and could not forgive her for pretending not to know it.


In this he was most ungrateful, as well as unreasonable,--and very indiscreet also.


Had he been a man who ever reflected he must have known that such a woman as his aunt could only assist him as long as she might be presumed to be ignorant of his intention.

Had he been a man who ever reflected, he must have known that his aunt could only assist him if she was presumed to be ignorant of his intention.


The Fitzgeralds never reflected till they were nearer forty than thirty, and then people began to think worse of them than they had thought before.


When Burgo reached the dining-room there were many men there, but no ladies.


Sir Cosmo Monk, a fine bald-headed hale man of about sixty, was standing up at the sideboard, cutting a huge game pie.

Sir Cosmo Monk, a fine bald-headed man of about sixty, was standing at the sideboard, cutting a huge game pie.


He was a man also who did not reflect much, but who contrived to keep straight in his course through the world without much reflection.

He also was a man who did not reflect much, but who managed to keep straight in his course through the world without much reflection.


"Palliser is coming without her," he said in his loud clear voice, thinking nothing of his wife's nephew.

"Palliser is coming without her," he was saying in his loud clear voice.


"She's a deal the better fellow of the two."


"She has twice more go in her than Planty Pall," said another.

"She has more go in her than Planty Pall," said another.


"Planty is no fool, I can tell you," said Sir Cosmo, coming to the table with his plate full of pie.


"We think he's about the most rising man we have."

"He's about the most rising man we have."


Sir Cosmo was the member for his county, and was a Liberal.

Sir Cosmo was the member of parliament for his county, and was a Liberal.


He had once, when a much younger man, been at the Treasury, and had since always spoken of the Whig Government as though he himself were in some sort a part of it.


"Burgo, do you hear that Palliser is coming without his wife?"


said one man,--a very young man, who hardly knew what had been the circumstances of the case.

said one man, who did not know Burgo's history.


The others, when they saw Burgo enter, had been silent on the subject of Lady Glencora.


"I have heard,--and be d----d to him," said Burgo.

"I have heard, and be d--d to him," said Burgo.


Then there was suddenly a silence in the room, and everyone seemed to attend assiduously to his breakfast.

There was suddenly silence in the room, and everyone attended assiduously to breakfast.


It was very terrible, this clear expression of a guilty meaning with reference to the wife of another man!


Burgo regarded neither his plate nor his cup, but thrusting his hands into his breeches pockets, sat back in his chair with the blackness as of a thunder cloud upon his brow.

Burgo sat back with his hands thrust into his breeches pockets, and the blackness of a thunder cloud upon his brow.


[Illustration: "I have heard," said Burgo.]


"Burgo, you had better eat your breakfast," said Sir Cosmo.


He took, however, a bit of toast, and crumbling it up in his hand as he put a morsel into his mouth, went away to the sideboard and filled for himself a glass of cherry brandy.

He took, however, a morsel of toast, and went to the sideboard and filled himself a glass of cherry brandy.


"If you don't eat any breakfast the less of that you take the better," said Sir Cosmo.


"I'm all right now," said he, and coming back to the table, went through some form of making a meal with a roll and a cup of tea.


They who were then present used afterwards to say that they should never forget that breakfast.

Those who were present used afterwards to say that they would never forget that breakfast.


There had been something, they declared, in the tone of Burgo's voice when he uttered his curse against Mr. Palliser, which had struck them all with dread.

There had been something, they declared, in the tone of Burgo's voice when he uttered his curse against Mr. Palliser, which struck them all with dread.


There had, too, they said, been a blackness in his face, so terrible to be seen, that it had taken from them all the power of conversation.

And the expression on his face had been terrible.


Sir Cosmo, when he had broken the ominous silence, had done so with a manifest struggle.


The loud clatter of glasses with which Burgo had swallowed his dram, as though resolved to show that he was regardless who might know that he was drinking, added to the feeling.


It may easily be understood that there was no further word spoken at that breakfast-table about Planty Pall or his wife.


On that day Burgo Fitzgerald startled all those who saw him by the mad way in which he rode.

On that day Burgo Fitzgerald startled everyone by the mad way in which he rode.


Early in the day there was no excuse for any such rashness.


The hounds went from wood to wood, and men went in troops along the forest sides as they do on such occasions.


But Burgo was seen to cram his horse at impracticable places, and to ride at gates and rails as though resolved to do himself and his uncle's steed a mischief.

He steered at gates and rails as though resolved to do himself and his uncle's horse a mischief.


This was so apparent that some friend spoke to Sir Cosmo Monk about it.


"He is a man whom no one's words will control.


Something has ruffled him this morning, and he must run his chance till he becomes quiet."

He must run his chance till he becomes quiet."


In the afternoon there was a good run, and Burgo again rode as hard as he could make his horse carry him;--but then there was the usual excuse for hard riding; and such riding in a straight run is not dangerous, as it is when the circumstances of the occasion do not warrant it, But, be that as it may, Burgo went on to the end of the day without accident, and as he went home, assured Sir Cosmo, in a voice which was almost cheery, that his mare Spinster was by far the best thing in the Monkshade stables.

In the afternoon Burgo again rode as hard as he could; but he finished the day without accident, and as he went home, assured Sir Cosmo, in a voice which was almost cheery, that his mare Spinster was the best horse in the Monkshade stables.


Indeed Spinster made quite a character that day, and was sold at the end of the season for three hundred guineas on the strength of it.


I am, however, inclined to believe that there was nothing particular about the mare.


Horses always catch the temperament of their riders, and when a man wishes to break his neck, he will generally find a horse willing to assist him in appearance, but able to save him in the performance.


Burgo, at any rate, did not break his neck, and appeared at the dinner-table in a better humour than that which he had displayed in the morning.

Burgo appeared at the dinner-table in a better humour than in the morning.


On the day appointed Mr. Palliser reached Monkshade.


He was, in a manner, canvassing for the support of the Liberal party, and it would not have suited him to show any indifference to the invitation of so influential a man as Sir Cosmo.

He could not have declined the invitation of so influential a man as Sir Cosmo


Sir Cosmo had a little party of his own in the House, consisting of four or five other respectable country gentlemen, who troubled themselves little with thinking, and who mostly had bald heads.

, who had a little party of his own in the House, consisting of four or five other respectable and bald-headed country gentlemen.


Sir Cosmo was a man with whom it was quite necessary that such an aspirant as Mr. Palliser should stand well, and therefore Mr. Palliser came to Monkshade, although Lady Glencora was unable to accompany him.

Therefore Mr. Palliser came to Monkshade, although Lady Glencora was unable to accompany him.


"We have been looking forward to having Lady Glencora with us beyond everything."

"We have been looking forward to having Lady Glencora with us.


Mr. Palliser declared that Lady Glencora herself was overwhelmed with grief in that she should have been debarred from making this special visit.


She had, however, been so unwell at Gatherum, the anxious husband declared, as to make it unsafe for her to go again away from home.


"I hope it is nothing serious," said Lady Monk, with a look of grief so well arranged that any stranger would have thought that all the Pallisers must have been very dear to her heart.


Then Mr. Palliser went on to explain that Lady Glencora had unfortunately been foolish.

Then Mr. Palliser explained that Lady Glencora had unfortunately been foolish


During one of those nights of hard frost she had gone out among the ruins at Matching, to show them by moonlight to a friend.

, and had gone out on a frosty night among the ruins at Matching, to show them to a friend.


The friend had thoughtlessly, foolishly, and in a manner which Mr. Palliser declared to be very reprehensible, allowed Lady Glencora to remain among the ruins till she had caught cold.

The friend had thoughtlessly allowed Lady Glencora to remain among the ruins till she had caught cold.


said Lady Monk with considerable emphasis.


"It was very wrong," said Mr. Palliser, speaking of poor Alice almost maliciously.


"However, she caught a cold which, unfortunately, has become worse at my uncle's, and so I was obliged to take her home."

"Glencora caught a cold which, unfortunately, became worse at my uncle's, and so I was obliged to take her home."


Lady Monk perceived that Mr. Palliser had in truth left his wife behind because he believed her to be ill, and not because he was afraid of Burgo Fitzgerald.


So accomplished a woman as Lady Monk felt no doubt that the wife's absence was caused by fear of the lover, and not by any cold caught in viewing ruins by moonlight.

But she was sure that the wife's absence was caused by fear of Burgo.


She was not to be deceived in such a matter.


But she became aware that Mr. Palliser had been deceived.

She felt that Mr. Palliser had been deceived.


As she was right in this we must go back for a moment, and say a word of things as they went on at Matching after Alice Vavasor had left that place.

As she was right in this, we must go back for a moment, to the events after Alice had left Matching.


Alice had told Miss Palliser that steps ought to be taken, whatever might be their cost, to save Lady Glencora from the peril of a visit to Monkshade.

Alice had told Miss Palliser that steps ought to be taken to save Lady Glencora from the peril of a visit to Monkshade.


To this Miss Palliser had assented, and, when she left Alice, was determined to tell Mr. Palliser the whole story.

Miss Palliser had agreed, and, when she left Alice, was determined to tell Mr. Palliser.


But when the time for doing so had come, her courage failed her.


She could not find words in which to warn the husband that his wife would not be safe in the company of her old lover.


The task with Lady Glencora herself, bad as that would be, might be easier, and this task she at last undertook,--not without success.

However, she managed to speak to Lady Glencora herself.


"Glencora," she said, when she found a fitting opportunity, "you won't be angry, I hope, if I say a word to you?"

"Glencora," she said, "you won't be angry, I hope, if I say a word to you?"


"That depends very much upon what the word is," said Lady Glencora.

"That depends on what the word is," said Lady Glencora.


And here it must be acknowledged that Mr. Palliser's wife had not done much to ingratiate herself with Mr. Palliser's cousins;--not perhaps so much as she should have done, seeing that she found them in her husband's house.

She had not done much to ingratiate herself with Mr. Palliser's cousins; not perhaps so much as she should have done.


She had taught herself to think that they were hard, stiff, and too proud of bearing the name of Palliser.


Perhaps some little attempt may have been made by one or both of them to teach her something, and it need hardly be said that such an attempt on the part of a husband's unmarried female relations would not be forgiven by a young bride.

If they tried to teach her on any point, she did not easily forgive them.


She had undoubtedly been ungracious, and of this Miss Palliser was well aware.


"Well,--the word shall be as little unpleasant as I can make it," said Miss Palliser, already appreciating fully the difficulty of her task.

"Well, the word shall be as little unpleasant as I can make it," said Miss Palliser.


"But why say anything that is unpleasant?


However, if it is to be said, let us have it over at once."


"You are going to Monkshade, I believe, with Plantagenet."


"Dear Glencora, I think you had better not go.


said Lady Glencora, turning upon her very sharply.


"Nobody has been talking to me;--not in the sense you mean."


"You may be sure that he would not utter a word on such a subject to anyone unless it were to yourself.


But, dear Glencora, you should not go there;--I mean it in all kindness and love,--I do indeed."

"But, dear Glencora, you should not go there; I mean it in all kindness and love - I do indeed."


Saying this she offered her hand to Glencora, and Glencora took it.


"Perhaps you do," said she in a low voice.


The world is so hard and cruel in what it says."


"I do not care two straws for what the world says."


Lady Monk was my friend once, but I do not care if I never see her again.


"But he will not take you there if you say you do not wish it."


"I have said so, and he told me that I must go.


You will hardly believe me,--but I condescended even to tell him why I thought it better to remain away.

I even told him why I thought it better to stay away.


He told me, in answer, that it was a silly folly which I must live down, and that it did not become me to be afraid of any man."

He told me that it was a silly folly which I must overcome, and that I should not be afraid of any man."


I am afraid;--but what can I do more than I have done?"


This was very terrible to Miss Palliser.


She had not thought that Lady Glencora would say so much, and she felt a true regret in having been made to hear words which so nearly amounted to a confession.


There were not many more words between them, and we already know the result of the conversation.


Lady Glencora became so ill from the effects of her imprudent lingering among the ruins that she was unable to go to Monkshade.


Mr. Palliser remained three days at Monkshade, and cemented his political alliance with Sir Cosmo much in the same way as he had before done with the Duke of St. Bungay.

Mr. Palliser remained three days at Monkshade, and cemented his political alliance with Sir Cosmo in the same way as he had done with the Duke of St. Bungay.


There was little or nothing said about politics, and certainly not a word that could be taken as any definite party understanding between the men; but they sat at dinner together at the same table, drank a glass of wine or two out of the same decanters, and dropped a chance word now and again about the next session of Parliament.

There was little said about politics; but they sat at dinner together, drank a glass of wine or two out of the same decanters, and dropped a chance word now and again about the next session of Parliament.


I do not know that anything more had been expected either by Mr. Palliser or by Sir Cosmo; but it seemed to be understood when Mr. Palliser went away that Sir Cosmo was of opinion that that young scion of a ducal house ought to become the future Chancellor of the Exchequer in the Whig Government.


"I can't see that there's so much in him," said one young member of Parliament to Sir Cosmo.

"I can't see that there's so much in him," said one young member of Parliament to Sir Cosmo, once Mr. Palliser had left.


"I rather think that there is, all the same," said the baronet.

"I rather think that there is," said the baronet.


I dare say he's not very bright, but I don't know that we want brightness.


A bright financier is the most dangerous man in the world.

a bright financier is the most dangerous man in the world.


Give me sound common sense, with just enough of the gab in a man to enable him to say what he's got to say!


From which it became evident that Sir Cosmo was satisfied with the new political candidate for high place.

From which it became evident that Sir Cosmo was satisfied with Mr. Palliser.


Lady Monk took an occasion to introduce Mr. Palliser to Burgo Fitzgerald; with what object it is difficult to say, unless she was anxious to make mischief between the men.

Lady Monk took an opportunity of introducing Mr. Palliser to Burgo Fitzgerald; why, it is difficult to say, unless it was to make mischief between the men.


Burgo scowled at him; but Mr. Palliser did not notice the scowl, and put out his hand to his late rival most affably.

Burgo scowled at him; but Mr. Palliser did not notice, and put out his hand so affably


Burgo was forced to take it, and as he did so made a little speech.


"I'm sorry that we have not the pleasure of seeing Lady Glencora with you," said he.

"I'm sorry that we have not the pleasure of seeing Lady Glencora," said he.


"She is unfortunately indisposed," said Mr. Palliser.


"I am sorry for it," said Burgo--"very sorry indeed."


Then he turned his back and walked away.


The few words he had spoken, and the manner in which he had carried himself, had been such as to make all those around them notice it.


Each of them knew that Lady Glencora's name should not have been in Burgo's mouth, and all felt a fear not easily to be defined that something terrible would come of it.

His speech and manner were such that everyone around noticed, and felt an indefinable fear.


But Mr. Palliser himself did not seem to notice anything, or to fear anything; and nothing terrible did come of it during that visit of his to Monkshade.

But Mr. Palliser himself did not seem to notice anything; and nothing terrible came of it during his visit to Monkshade.


Mr. Palliser was one of those politicians in possessing whom England has perhaps more reason to be proud than of any other of her resources, and who, as a body, give to her that exquisite combination of conservatism and progress which is her present strength and best security for the future.

Mr. Palliser was one of those politicians of whom England can be prouder than of any other of her resources, giving her that combination of conservatism and progress which is her present strength and best security for the future.


He could afford to learn to be a statesman, and had the industry wanted for such training.

He had both the money and the industry needed by a statesman.


He was born in the purple, noble himself, and heir to the highest rank as well as one of the greatest fortunes of the country, already very rich, surrounded by all the temptations of luxury and pleasure; and yet he devoted himself to work with the grinding energy of a young penniless barrister labouring for a penniless wife, and did so without any motive more selfish than that of being counted in the roll of the public servants of England.

He was born into the nobility, and heir to the highest rank, already very rich; and yet he devoted himself to work with the grinding energy of a young penniless barrister, and did so unselfishly, wishing only to serve his country.


He was not a brilliant man, and understood well that such was the case.

He was not a brilliant man, and he knew it.


He was now listened to in the House, as the phrase goes; but he was listened to as a laborious man, who was in earnest in what he did, who got up his facts with accuracy, and who, dull though he be, was worthy of confidence.

He was listened to in the House as a laborious, earnest man, who was accurate in his facts, and who, though dull, was worthy of confidence.


He rather prided himself on being dull, and on conquering in spite of his dullness.

He rather prided himself on being dull, and on succeeding in spite of his dullness.


He never allowed himself a joke in his speeches, nor attempted even the smallest flourish of rhetoric.

He never allowed himself a joke in his speeches, nor attempted the smallest flourish of rhetoric.


He was very careful in his language, labouring night and day to learn to express himself with accuracy, with no needless repetition of words, perspicuously with regard to the special object he might have in view.

He was very careful in his language, labouring to learn to express himself accurately, with no needless repetition.


He had taught himself to believe that oratory, as oratory, was a sin against that honesty in politics by which he strove to guide himself.

He had taught himself to believe that oratory was a sin against honesty in politics.


He desired to use words for the purpose of teaching things which he knew and which others did not know; and he desired also to be honoured for his knowledge.

He desired to use words for the purpose of teaching things which he knew and which others did not know.


But he had no desire to be honoured for the language in which his knowledge was conveyed.


He was an upright, thin, laborious man; who by his parts alone could have served no political party materially, but whose parts were sufficient to make his education, integrity, and industry useful in the highest degree.

He was an upright, thin, laborious man; but his parts were sufficient to make his education, integrity, and industry useful in the highest degree.


It is the trust which such men inspire which makes them so serviceable;--trust not only in their labour,--for any man rising from the mass of the people may be equally laborious; nor yet simply in their honesty and patriotism.

It is the trust which such men inspire which makes them so useful.


The confidence is given to their labour, honesty, and patriotism joined to such a personal stake in the country as gives them a weight and ballast which no politician in England can possess without it.

Their labour, honesty, and patriotism gives them weight in politics.


If he was dull as a statesman he was more dull in private life, and it may be imagined that such a woman as his wife would find some difficulty in making his society the source of her happiness.

If he was dull as a statesman he was more dull in private life, and it may be imagined that Lady Glencora would find some difficulty in making his society the source of her happiness., As a


Their marriage, in a point of view regarding business, had been a complete success,--and a success, too, when on the one side, that of Lady Glencora, there had been terrible dangers of shipwreck, and when on his side also there had been some little fears of a mishap.

business arrangement, their marriage had been a complete success - and a success, too, when on Lady Glencora's side there had been terrible dangers of shipwreck, and on his side also there had been some little fears of a mishap.


As regards her it has been told how near she went to throwing herself, with all her vast wealth, into the arms of a young man, whom no father, no guardian could have regarded as a well-chosen husband for any girl;--one who as yet had shown no good qualities, who had been a spendthrift, unprincipled, and debauched.

It has been told how close Lady Glencora went to throwing herself and her vast wealth into the arms of an unsuitable young man.


It is possible that her love and her wealth might have turned him from evil to good.


But who would have ventured to risk her,--I will not say her and her vast inheritances,--on such a chance?