I should bring showers instead of sunshine, melancholy in lieu of mirth.

I should bring showers instead of sunshine, melancholy instead of mirth.


I will, however, be bold enough to assure you that could I bring myself to be the wife of any man I would now become your wife.

I will, however, be bold enough to assure you that could I marry any man it would be you.


Nevertheless, I am your most affectionate friend,


About six o'clock in the afternoon she sent this letter to Mr. Broune's rooms in Pall Mall East, and then sat for awhile alone,--full of regrets.

She sent this letter to Mr. Broune's rooms in Pall Mall East, and then sat for a while alone, full of regrets.


She had thrown away from her a firm footing which would certainly have served her for her whole life.


Even at this moment she was in debt,--and did not know how to pay her debts without mortgaging her life income.

Even at this moment she was in debt - and did not know how to pay her debts without mortgaging her life income.


She longed for some staff on which she could lean.


When she would sit with her paper before her, preparing her future work for the press, copying a bit here and a bit there, inventing historical details, dovetailing her chronicle, her head would sometimes seem to be going round as she remembered the unpaid baker, and her son's horses, and his unmeaning dissipation, and all her doubts about the marriage.

When she was trying to write, her head would sometimes seem to be full of the unpaid baker, and her son's horses, and his dissipation.


As regarded herself, Mr. Broune would have made her secure,--but that now was all over.

Mr. Broune would have made her secure - but that was all over.


This at any rate may be said for her,--that had she accepted the man her regrets would have been as deep.

Yet if she had accepted him she would now be feeling equal regret.


Mr. Broune's feelings were more decided in their tone than those of the lady.

Mr. Broune's feelings were more decided than Lady Carbury's.


He had not made his offer without consideration, and yet from the very moment in which it had been made he repented it.

From the moment he had made his proposal he had repented it.


That gently sarcastic appellation by which Lady Carbury had described him to herself when he had kissed her best explained that side of Mr. Broune's character which showed itself in this matter.

He was indeed what Lady Carbury had called him


Had she allowed him to kiss her without objection, the kissing might probably have gone on; and, whatever might have come of it, there would have been no offer of marriage.

Had she allowed him to kiss her without objection, there would have been no offer of marriage.


He had believed that her little manoeuvres had indicated love on her part, and he had felt himself constrained to reciprocate the passion.

He had believed that her little manuvres had indicated love on her part, and he had felt himself obliged to return it.


She wore her clothes like a lady; and,--if it was written in the Book of the Fates that some lady was to sit at the top of his table,--Lady Carbury would look as well there as any other.


She had repudiated the kiss, and therefore he had felt himself bound to obtain for himself the right to kiss her.

When she had repudiated the kiss, he had felt himself bound to obtain the right to kiss her.


The offer had no sooner been made than he met her son reeling in, drunk, at the front door.


As he made his escape the lad had insulted him.


When he woke the next morning, or rather late in the next day, after his night's work, he was no longer able to tell himself that the world was all right with him.

When he woke the next day, he no longer felt that the world was all right with him.


Who does not know that sudden thoughtfulness at waking, that first matutinal retrospection, and pro-spection, into things as they have been and are to be; and the lowness of heart, the blankness of hope which follows the first remembrance of some folly lately done, some word ill-spoken, some money misspent,--or perhaps a cigar too much, or a glass of brandy and soda-water which he should have left untasted?

Who does not know that sudden thoughtfulness at waking; the lowness of heart, the blankness of hope at the remembrance of some folly?


And when things have gone well, how the waker comforts himself among the bedclothes as he claims for himself to be whole all over, teres atque rotundus,--so to have managed his little affairs that he has to fear no harm, and to blush inwardly at no error!


Mr. Broune, the way of whose life took him among many perils, who in the course of his work had to steer his bark among many rocks, was in the habit of thus auditing his daily account as he shook off sleep about noon,--for such was his lot, that he seldom was in bed before four or five in the morning.


On this Wednesday he found that he could not balance his sheet comfortably.

On this Wednesday Mr. Broune found himself uncomfortable.


He had taken a very great step and he feared that he had not taken it with wisdom.

He had taken a very great step and he feared that he had not taken it wisely.


As he drank the cup of tea with which his servant supplied him while he was yet in bed, he could not say of himself, teres atque rotundus, as he was wont to do when things were well with him.


As he lit a cigarette he bethought himself that Lady Carbury would not like him to smoke in her bedroom.

As he lit a cigarette he thought that Lady Carbury would not like him to smoke in her bedroom.


"I'll be d---- if he shall live in my house," he said to himself.

"I'll be d____ if he shall live in my house," he said to himself.


It did not occur to the man that his offer could be refused.


During the whole of that day he went about among his friends in a melancholy fashion, saying little snappish uncivil things at the club, and at last dining by himself with about fifteen newspapers around him.

During that day he went about in a melancholy fashion, saying snappish things at the club, and dining by himself with about fifteen newspapers around him.


After dinner he did not speak a word to any man, but went early to the office of the newspaper in Trafalgar Square at which he did his nightly work.

After dinner he went early to the office of the newspaper in Trafalgar Square where he did his nightly work


Here he was lapped in comforts,--if the best of chairs, of sofas, of writing tables, and of reading lamps can make a man comfortable who has to read nightly thirty columns of a newspaper, or at any rate to make himself responsible for their contents.


He seated himself to his work like a man, but immediately saw Lady Carbury's letter on the table before him.


It was his custom when he did not dine at home to have such documents brought to him at his office as had reached his home during his absence;--and here was Lady Carbury's letter.


He knew her writing well, and was aware that here was the confirmation of his fate.


It had not been expected, as she had given herself another day for her answer,--but here it was, beneath his hand.


Surely this was almost unfeminine haste.

She had accepted him with unseemly haste.


He chucked the letter, unopened, a little from him, and endeavoured to fix his attention on some printed slip that was ready for him.


For some ten minutes his eyes went rapidly down the lines, but he found that his mind did not follow what he was reading.

read for some ten minutes, but he found that his mind did not follow what he was reading.


He struggled again, but still his thoughts were on the letter.


He did not wish to open it, having some vague idea that, till the letter should have been read, there was a chance of escape.


The letter would not become due to be read till the next day.


It should not have been there now to tempt his thoughts on this night.


But he could do nothing while it lay there.

but he could do nothing while the letter lay there.


"It shall be a part of the bargain that I shall never have to see him," he said to himself, as he opened it.

"It shall be a part of the bargain that I shall never have to see Felix," he said to himself, as he opened it.


The second line told him that the danger was over.


When he had read so far he stood up with his back to the fire-place, leaving the letter on the table.

At once he stood up, leaving the letter on the table.


Then, after all, the woman wasn't in love with him!


But that was a reading of the affair which he could hardly bring himself to look upon as correct.


The woman had shown her love by a thousand signs.

But she had shown her love by a thousand signs.


There was no doubt, however, that she now had her triumph.


A woman always has a triumph when she rejects a man,--and more especially when she does so at a certain time of life.

A woman always has a triumph when she rejects a man.


Mr. Broune would not like to have it known about among brother editors, or by the world at large, that he had offered to marry Lady Carbury and that Lady Carbury had refused him.

Mr. Broune would not like to have it known among his brother editors that he had offered to marry Lady Carbury and that she had refused him.


He had escaped; but the sweetness of his present safety was not in proportion to the bitterness of his late fears.


He could not understand why Lady Carbury should have refused him!


As he reflected upon it, all memory of her son for the moment passed away from him.


Full ten minutes had passed, during which he had still stood upon the rug, before he read the entire letter.

full ten minutes, before he read the entire letter.


I suppose she has been," he said to himself.


He had heard much of Sir Patrick, and knew well that the old general had been no lamb.


"I shouldn't have cut her, or scotched her, or lopped her."


When he had read the whole letter patiently there crept upon him gradually a feeling of admiration for her, greater than he had ever yet felt,--and, for awhile, he almost thought that he would renew his offer to her.

When he had read the whole letter there crept upon him gradually a feeling of admiration for her so great that, for a while, he almost thought that he would renew his offer.


"'Showers instead of sunshine; melancholy instead of mirth,'" he repeated to himself.


"I should have done the best for her, taking the showers and the melancholy if they were necessary."

"I should have done the best for her, taking the showers and the melancholy."


He went to his work in a mixed frame of mind, but certainly without that dragging weight which had oppressed him when he entered the room.


Gradually, through the night, he realised the conviction that he had escaped, and threw from him altogether the idea of repeating his offer.

Gradually, he realised that he had escaped, and rejected the idea of repeating his offer.


This he sent by a special messenger, who returned with a note to his lodgings long before he was up on the following morning.

This he sent by a special messenger, who returned with a note to his lodgings.


No word of this will ever pass my mouth.


Mr. Broune thought that he was very well out of the danger, and resolved that Lady Carbury should never want anything that his friendship could do for her.

Mr. Broune thought that he was very well out of the danger, and resolved that Lady Carbury should never lack anything that his friendship could do for her.


We must now go back a little in our story,--about three weeks,--in order that the reader may be told how affairs were progressing at the Beargarden.

We must now go back about three weeks in our story, so that the reader may be told how affairs were progressing at the Beargarden.


That establishment had received a terrible blow in the defection of Herr Vossner.


It was not only that he had robbed the club, and robbed every member of the club who had ventured to have personal dealings with him.

It was not only that he had robbed the club, and robbed every member of the club who had had personal dealings with him.


Although a bad feeling in regard to him was no doubt engendered in the minds of those who had suffered deeply, it was not that alone which cast an almost funereal gloom over the club.


The sorrow was in this,--that with Herr Vossner all their comforts had gone.

The sorrow was also in this - that with Herr Vossner all their comforts had gone.


Of course Herr Vossner had been a thief.


That no doubt had been known to them from the beginning.


A man does not consent to be called out of bed at all hours in the morning to arrange the gambling accounts of young gentlemen without being a thief.


No one concerned with Herr Vossner had supposed him to be an honest man.

No one had supposed him to be an honest man.


But then as a thief he had been so comfortable that his absence was regretted with a tenderness almost amounting to love even by those who had suffered most severely from his rapacity.

But as a thief he had been so comfortable that his absence was regretted with a tenderness almost amounting to love.


Dolly Longestaffe had been robbed more outrageously than any other member of the club, and yet Dolly Longestaffe had said since the departure of the purveyor that London was not worth living in now that Herr Vossner was gone.

Dolly Longestaffe had been robbed more outrageously than any other member of the club, and yet Dolly said that London was not worth living in now that Herr Vossner was gone.


In a week the Beargarden collapsed,--as Germany would collapse for a period if Herr Vossner's great compatriot were suddenly to remove himself from the scene; but as Germany would strive to live even without Bismarck, so did the club make its new efforts.


Germany no doubt would at last succeed, but the Beargarden had received a blow from which it seemed that there was no recovery.

The Beargarden had received a blow from which it seemed that there was no recovery.


At first it was proposed that three men should be appointed as trustees,--trustees for paying Vossner's debts, trustees for borrowing more money, trustees for the satisfaction of the landlord who was beginning to be anxious as to his future rent.

At first it was proposed that trustees should be appointed to pay Vossner's debts and borrow more money.


At a certain very triumphant general meeting of the club it was determined that such a plan should be arranged, and the members assembled were unanimous.


It was at first thought that there might be a little jealousy as to the trusteeship.


The club was so popular and the authority conveyed by the position would be so great, that A, B, and C might feel aggrieved at seeing so much power conferred on D, E, and F. When at the meeting above mentioned one or two names were suggested, the final choice was postponed, as a matter of detail to be arranged privately, rather from this consideration than with any idea that there might be a difficulty in finding adequate persons.


But even the leading members of the Beargarden hesitated when the proposition was submitted to them with all its honours and all its responsibilities.

But the members of the Beargarden hesitated at these honours and responsibilities.


Lord Nidderdale declared from the beginning that he would have nothing to do with it,--pleading his poverty openly.

Lord Nidderdale declared that he would have nothing to do with it.


Beauchamp Beauclerk was of opinion that he himself did not frequent the club often enough.


Mr. Lupton professed his inability as a man of business.


The club from the first had been sure of Dolly Longestaffe's services;--for were not Dolly's pecuniary affairs now in process of satisfactory arrangement, and was it not known by all men that his courage never failed him in regard to money?


"I have spoken to Squercum," he said to the Committee, "and Squercum won't hear of it.


Squercum has made inquiries and he thinks the club very shaky."


When one of the Committee made a remark as to Mr. Squercum which was not complimentary,--insinuated indeed that Squercum without injustice might be consigned to the infernal deities,--Dolly took the matter up warmly.


"That's all very well for you, Grasslough; but if you knew the comfort of having a fellow who could keep you straight without preaching sermons at you you wouldn't despise Squercum.


I've tried to go alone and I find that does not answer.


Squercum's my coach, and I mean to stick pretty close to him."


Then it came to pass that the triumphant project as to the trustees fell to the ground, although Squercum himself advised that the difficulty might be lessened if three gentlemen could be selected who lived well before the world and yet had nothing to lose.


Whereupon Dolly suggested Miles Grendall.


But the Committee shook its heads, not thinking it possible that the club could be re-established on a basis of three Miles Grendalls.


The Beargarden must surely be abandoned.


"It is such a pity," said Nidderdale, "because there never has been anything like it."


"No horrid nonsense about closing," said Grasslough, "and no infernal old fogies wearing out the carpets and paying for nothing."


"Not a vestige of propriety, or any beastly rules to be kept!


"It's an old story," said Mr. Lupton, "that if you put a man into Paradise he'll make it too hot to hold him.


"What we ought to do," said Dolly, who was pervaded by a sense of his own good fortune in regard to Squercum, "is to get some fellow like Vossner, and make him tell us how much he wants to steal above his regular pay.

What we ought to do is to get some fellow like Vossner, and make him tell us how much he wants to steal above his regular pay.


Squercum would find a fellow, no doubt."


But Mr. Lupton was of opinion that the new Vossner might perhaps not know, when thus consulted, the extent of his own cupidity.

But Mr. Lupton was of the opinion that the new Vossner might perhaps not know, when thus consulted, the extent of his own cupidity.


One day, before the Whitstable marriage, when it was understood that the club would actually be closed on the 12th August unless some new heaven-inspired idea might be forthcoming for its salvation, Nidderdale, Grasslough, and Dolly were hanging about the hall and the steps, and drinking sherry and bitters preparatory to dinner, when Sir Felix Carbury came round the neighbouring corner and, in a creeping, hesitating fashion, entered the hall door.

The club would therefore be closed on the 12th August unless some new heaven-inspired idea might be forthcoming for its salvation. One day, Nidderdale, Grasslough, and Dolly were hanging about the steps, drinking sherry and bitters before dinner, when Sir Felix Carbury came creeping round the corner and, in a hesitating manner, entered the door.


He had nearly recovered from his wounds, though he still wore a bit of court plaster on his upper lip, and had not yet learned to look or to speak as though he had not had two of his front teeth knocked out.

He had nearly recovered from his wounds, though he had not yet learned to look or speak as though he had not had two of his front teeth knocked out.


He had heard little or nothing of what had been done at the Beargarden since Vossner's defection.


It was now a month since he had been seen at the club.

lately; it was a month since he had been seen at the club.


His thrashing had been the wonder of perhaps half nine days, but latterly his existence had been almost forgotten.

His thrashing had been the wonder of a few days, and then he had been almost forgotten.


Now, with difficulty, he had summoned courage to go down to his old haunt, so completely had he been cowed by the latter circumstances of his life; but he had determined that he would pluck up his courage, and talk to his old associates as though no evil thing had befallen him.

Now, with difficulty, he had summoned courage to go down to his old haunt and talk to his associates as though nothing had happened to him.


He had still money enough to pay for his dinner and to begin a small rubber of whist.


If fortune should go against him he might glide into I. O.


's;--as others had done before, so much to his cost.


Lord Grasslough whistled, turned his back, and walked up-stairs; but Nidderdale and Dolly consented to have their hands shaken by the stranger.

Lord Grasslough whistled, turned his back, and walked upstairs; but Nidderdale and Dolly shook hands with him.


"Thought you were out of town," said Nidderdale.


"Haven't seen you for the last ever so long."


"I have been out of town," said Felix,--lying; "down in Suffolk.

"I have been down in Suffolk," lied Felix.


"They're not going at all;--they're gone," said Dolly.

"They're not going at all; they're gone," said Dolly.


"Everything is smashed," said Nidderdale.


"We shall all have to pay, I don't know how much."


I don't know that there has ever been much idea of catching Vossner.


We close altogether next Monday, and the furniture is to be gone to law for.


Flatfleece says it belongs to him under what he calls a deed of sale.

Flatfleece says the furniture belongs to him under what he calls a deed of sale.


Indeed, everything that everybody has seems to belong to Flatfleece.

Indeed, everything seems to belong to Flatfleece.


He's always in and out of the club, and has got the key of the cellar."


"That don't matter," said Nidderdale, "as Vossner took care that there shouldn't be any wine."


"He's got most of the forks and spoons, and only lets us use what we have as a favour."


"Yes; to-day you can, and perhaps to-morrow."

"Yes; today you can, and perhaps tomorrow."


"I haven't seen a card this fortnight," said Dolly.


There has been the affair of Melmotte, you know;--though, I suppose, you do know all about that."


"Of course that had effect," said Dolly, continuing his history.


"Though why fellows shouldn't play cards because another fellow like that takes poison, I can't understand.

though why fellows shouldn't play cards because another fellow takes poison, I can't understand."


Last year the only day I managed to get down in February, the hounds didn't come because some old cove had died.


What harm could our hunting have done him?


"Melmotte's death was rather awful," said Nidderdale.


"Not half so awful as having nothing to amuse one.


And now they say the girl is going to be married to Fisker."


I don't know how you and Nidderdale like that.


"She's welcome for me, and I dare say she couldn't do better with herself.


I was very fond of her;--I'll be shot if I wasn't."


"And Carbury too, I suppose," said Dolly.


If I'd really been fond of her I suppose it would have come off.


I should have had her safe enough to America, if I'd cared about it."


This was Sir Felix's view of the matter.


"Come into the smoking-room, Dolly," said Nidderdale.


"I can stand most things, and I try to stand everything; but, by George, that fellow is such a cad that I cannot stand him.

"I can stand most things, but, by George, that fellow is such a cad that I cannot stand him.


You and I are bad enough,--but I don't think we're so heartless as Carbury."

You and I are bad enough, but I don't think we're so heartless as Carbury."


"I don't think I'm heartless at all," said Dolly.


"I'm good-natured to everybody that is good-natured to me,--and to a great many people who ain't.

"I'm good-natured to everybody that is good-natured to me.


I'm going all the way down to Caversham next week to see my sister married, though I hate the place and hate marriages, and if I was to be hung for it I couldn't say a word to the fellow who is going to be my brother-in-law.


It's very hard to be good-natured to him."


But, in the teeth of these adverse opinions Sir Felix managed to get his dinner-table close to theirs and to tell them at dinner something of his future prospects.

Even so, Sir Felix managed to get his dinner-table close to theirs and to tell them something of his future prospects.


He was going to travel and see the world.


He had, according to his own account, completely run through London life and found that it was all barren.

He had, according to his own account, completely run through London life and found it barren.


"In life I've rung all changes through, Run every pleasure down, 'Midst each excess of folly too, And lived with half the town."


Sir Felix did not exactly quote the old song, probably having never heard the words.


But that was the burden of his present story.


It was his determination to seek new scenes, and in search of them to travel over the greater part of the known world.


I've got a travelling companion;--a very pleasant fellow, who knows a lot, and will be able to coach me up in things.

I've got a travelling companion; a very pleasant fellow, who knows a lot, and will be able to coach me up in things.


There's a deal to be learned by going abroad, you know."


Well;--yes; I should say that would be nice,--travelling about Europe with a clergyman.

That should be nice - travelling about Europe with a clergyman.


I shouldn't get enough advantage out of it to make it pay, but I fancy it will just suit you."

I shouldn't care for it, but I fancy it will just suit you."


"It's an expensive sort of thing;--isn't it?"

"It's an expensive sort of thing, isn't it?"


But I've got so sick of this kind of life;--and then that railway Board coming to an end, and the club smashing up, and--"


"Marie Melmotte marrying Fisker," suggested Dolly.


But I want a change, and a change I mean to have.


I've seen this side of things, and now I'll have a look at the other."


"Didn't you have a row in the street with some one the other day?"

"Didn't you have a row in the street with someone the other day?"


This question was asked very abruptly by Lord Grasslough, who, though he was sitting near them, had not yet joined in the conversation, and who had not before addressed a word to Sir Felix.

This question was asked very abruptly by Lord Grasslough, who was sitting near them.


"We heard something about it, but we never got the right story."


Nidderdale glanced across the table at Dolly, and Dolly whistled.

Nidderdale glanced across the table at Dolly, who whistled, and then was silent.


Grasslough looked at the man he addressed as one does look when one expects an answer.

Grasslough looked as if he expected an answer.


Mr. Lupton, with whom Grasslough was dining, also sat expectant.


It was the fear of this that had kept Sir Felix away from the club.


Grasslough, as he had told himself, was just the fellow to ask such a question,--ill-natured, insolent, and obtrusive.


But the question demanded an answer of some kind.


"Yes," said he; "a fellow attacked me in the street, coming behind me when I had a girl with me.

"Yes," said he; "a fellow attacked me in the street, coming up behind me when I had a girl with me.


He didn't get much the best of it though."


"I think, upon the whole, you know, you're right about going abroad."

"I think, upon the whole, you're right to go abroad."


"Well;--as the club is being broken up, I don't know that it is very much the business of any of us."


"I was speaking to my friends, Lord Nidderdale and Mr. Longestaffe, and not to you."

"I was speaking to my friends, and not to you."


"I quite appreciate the advantage of the distinction," said Lord Grasslough, "and am sorry for Lord Nidderdale and Mr. Longestaffe."

"I quite appreciate the distinction," said Lord Grasslough, "and am sorry for Lord Nidderdale and Mr. Longestaffe."


His present opponent was not horrible to him as had been John Crumb, as men in clubs do not now often knock each others' heads or draw swords one upon another.

His present opponent was not as horrible to him as John Crumb had been, as men in clubs do not often knock each others' heads.


"Don't let's have a quarrel here," said Mr. Lupton.


"If we must break up, let us break up in peace and quietness," said Nidderdale.


"Of course, if there is to be a fight, I'm good to go out with anybody," said Dolly.


"When there's any beastly thing to be done, I've always got to do it.


But don't you think that kind of thing is a little slow?"


Whereupon Lord Grasslough, who had finished his dinner, walked out of the room.

Whereupon Lord Grasslough walked out of the room.


"That fellow is always wanting to quarrel."


"There's one comfort, you know," said Dolly.


"It takes two men to make a quarrel," said Dolly.


"Yes; it does," said Sir Felix, taking this as a friendly observation; "and I'm not going to be fool enough to be one of them."

"Yes; it does," said Sir Felix, taking this as a friendly observation; "and I'm not fool enough to be one of them."


"Oh, yes, I meant it fast enough," said Grasslough afterwards up in the card-room.

"Oh, yes, I meant it," said Grasslough afterwards up in the card-room.


The other men who had been together had quickly followed him, leaving Sir Felix alone, and they had collected themselves there not with the hope of play, but thinking that they would be less interrupted than in the smoking-room.

The other men had quickly followed him, leaving Sir Felix alone.


"I don't suppose we shall ever any of us be here again, and as he did come in I thought I would tell him my mind."

"I don't suppose any of us shall ever be here again, so I thought I would tell him my mind."


"What's the use of taking such a lot of trouble?"


Most fellows are bad fellows in one way or another."

Most fellows are bad in one way or another."


"But he's bad all round," said the bitter enemy.


"And so this is to be the end of the Beargarden," said Lord Nidderdale with a peculiar melancholy.


I fancy it doesn't do to make things too easy;--one has to pay so uncommon dear for them!


And then, you know, when you've got things easy, then they get rowdy;--and, by George, before you know where you are, you find yourself among a lot of blackguards.


If one wants to keep one's self straight, one has to work hard at it, one way or the other.


I suppose it all comes from the fall of Adam."


"If Solomon, Solon, and the Archbishop of Canterbury were rolled into one, they couldn't have spoken with more wisdom," said Mr. Lupton.


"Live and learn," continued the young lord.


"I don't think anybody has liked the Beargarden so much as I have, but I shall never try this kind of thing again.


I shall begin reading blue books to-morrow, and shall dine at the Carlton.


Next session I shan't miss a day in the House, and I'll bet anybody a fiver that I make a speech before Easter.


I shall take to claret at 20_s._ a dozen, and shall go about London on the top of an omnibus."

I shall take to claret at 20 shillings a dozen, and go about London on the top of an omnibus."


None of you fellows will believe me, but, upon my word, I liked that girl; and I'd 've stuck to her at last,--only that there are some things a fellow can't do.

None of you fellows will believe me, but, upon my word, I liked that girl; and I'd have stuck to her - only there are some things a fellow can't do."


After a while Sir Felix followed them up-stairs, and entered the room as though nothing unpleasant had happened below.

After a while Sir Felix followed them upstairs, as though nothing unpleasant had happened below.


"There isn't a pack of cards in the house," said Dolly.


Lord Grasslough didn't condescend to say a word.


Sir Felix sat down with his cigar in his mouth, and the others continued to smoke in silence.


"I wonder what has become of Miles Grendall," asked Sir Felix.

"I wonder what has become of Miles Grendall?" asked Sir Felix.


But no one made any answer, and they smoked on in silence.


"He hasn't paid me a shilling yet of the money he owes me."

"He hasn't paid me a shilling of the money he owes me."


"He is the biggest scoundrel I ever met," said Sir Felix.


"I know one as big," said Lord Grasslough,--"or, at any rate, as little."

"I know one as big," said Lord Grasslough, "or, at any rate, as little."


There was another pause of a minute, and then Sir Felix left the room muttering something as to the stupidity of having no cards;--and so brought to an end his connection with his associates of the Beargarden.

There was another pause, and then Sir Felix left the room muttering something as to the stupidity of having no cards.


From that time forth he was never more seen by them,--or, if seen, was never known.

From that time forth he was never more seen by his associates at the Beargarden.


The other men remained there till well on into the night, although there was not the excitement of any special amusement to attract them.

The other men remained there till well into the night.


It was felt by them all that this was the end of the Beargarden, and, with a melancholy seriousness befitting the occasion, they whispered sad things in low voices, consoling themselves simply with tobacco.

It was felt by them all that this was the end of the Beargarden, and they whispered sad things in low voices.


"I never felt so much like crying in my life," said Dolly, as he asked for a glass of brandy-and-water at about midnight.

"I never felt so much like crying in my life," said Dolly.


I'm going down to Caversham, and I shouldn't wonder if I didn't drown myself."


How Mr. Flatfleece went to law, and tried to sell the furniture, and threatened everybody, and at last singled out poor Dolly Longestaffe as his special victim; and how Dolly Longestaffe, by the aid of Mr. Squercum, utterly confounded Mr. Flatfleece, and brought that ingenious but unfortunate man, with his wife and small family, to absolute ruin, the reader will hardly expect to have told to him in detail in this chronicle.

How Mr. Flatfleece went to law, and threatened everybody, and singled out poor Dolly Longestaffe as his special victim; and how Dolly Longestaffe, by the aid of Mr. Squercum, utterly confounded Mr. Flatfleece, and brought that ingenious but unfortunate man to ruin, the reader will hardly expect to have told to him in detail.


When Mr. Melmotte made his promise to Mr. Longestaffe and to Dolly, in the presence of Mr. Bideawhile, that he would, on the next day but one, pay to them a sum of fifty thousand pounds, thereby completing, satisfactorily as far as they were concerned, the purchase of the Pickering property, he intended to be as good as his word.

When Mr. Melmotte made his promise to Mr. Longestaffe and Dolly to pay them fifty thousand pounds for the purchase of Pickering, he intended to be as good as his word.


The reader knows that he had resolved to face the Longestaffe difficulty,--that he had resolved that at any rate he would not get out of it by sacrificing the property to which he had looked forward as a safe haven when storms should come.

The reader knows that he had resolved not to sacrifice the property to which he had looked forward as a safe haven when storms should come.


But, day by day, every resolution that he made was forced to undergo some change.


Latterly he had been intent on purchasing a noble son-in-law with this money,--still trusting to the chapter of chances for his future escape from the Longestaffe and other difficulties.


But Squercum had been very hard upon him; and in connexion with this accusation as to the Pickering property, there was another, which he would be forced to face also, respecting certain property in the East of London, with which the reader need not much trouble himself specially, but in reference to which it was stated that he had induced a foolish old gentleman to consent to accept railway shares in lieu of money.

In addition to this accusation about the Pickering property, there was another, about certain property in the East of London. It was said that he had induced a foolish old gentleman to accept railway shares in lieu of money.


The old gentleman had died during the transaction, and it was asserted that the old gentleman's letter was hardly genuine.

The old gentleman had died, and it was asserted that his letter was not genuine.


Melmotte had certainly raised between twenty and thirty thousand pounds on the property, and had made payments for it in stock which was now worth--almost nothing at all.

Melmotte had certainly raised between twenty and thirty thousand pounds on the property, and had paid for it in stock which was now worth almost nothing at all.


Melmotte thought that he might face this matter successfully if the matter came upon him single-handed;--but in regard to the Longestaffes he considered that now, at this last moment, he had better pay for Pickering.

Melmotte thought that he might face this matter successfully if it came upon him single-handed; but now, at this last moment, he had better pay for Pickering.


The property from which he intended to raise the necessary funds was really his own.


It had never been his intention to make it over to his daughter.


When he had placed it in her name, he had done so simply for security,--feeling that his control over his only daughter would be perfect and free from danger.

When he had placed property in his daughter's name, he had done so simply for security. His control over his only daughter was, he thought, free from danger.


No girl apparently less likely to take it into her head to defraud her father could have crept quietly about a father's house.

No girl less likely to defraud her father could have crept quietly about the house.


Nor did he now think that she would disobey him when the matter was explained to her.


That he should be robbed by his own child,--robbed openly, shamefully, with brazen audacity!

That he should be robbed by his own child!


But still he had felt the necessity of going about this business with some little care.

But still he felt he needed to go about this business carefully.


It might be that she would disobey him if he simply sent for her and bade her to affix her signature here and there.


He thought much about it and considered that it would be wise that his wife should be present on the occasion, and that a full explanation should be given to Marie, by which she might be made to understand that the money had in no sense become her own.

He decided that his wife should be present, and that a full explanation should be given to Marie, so that she might understand that the money had in no sense become her own.


So he gave instructions to his wife when he started into the city that morning; and when he returned, for the sake of making his offer to the Longestaffes, he brought with him the deeds which it would be necessary that Marie should sign, and he brought also Mr. Croll, his clerk, that Mr. Croll might witness the signature.

When he returned to Bruton Street, he brought with him the deeds which Marie would need to sign, and he brought also Mr. Croll, his clerk, to witness the signature.


When he left the Longestaffes and Mr. Bideawhile he went at once to his wife's room.


"It is not very easy to frighten her, Melmotte.


She is changed since these young men have been so much about her."


"I shall frighten her if she does not do as I bid her.

"I shall frighten her if she does not do as I say.


Then Madame Melmotte left the room, and Melmotte arranged a lot of papers in order upon a table.

Madame Melmotte left the room, and Melmotte arranged papers upon a table.


Having done so, he called to Croll, who was standing on the landing-place, and told him to seat himself in the back drawing-room till he should be called.

Having done so, he told Croll to wait in the back drawing-room till he should be called.


Melmotte then stood with his back to the fire-place in his wife's sitting-room, with his hands in his pockets, contemplating what might be the incidents of the coming interview.

Melmotte then stood with his back to the fire-place in his wife's sitting-room, contemplating the coming interview.


He would be very gracious,--affectionate if it were possible,--and, above all things, explanatory.

He would be very gracious - affectionate, if possible - and above all, explanatory.


But, by heavens, if there were continued opposition to his demand,--to his just demand,--if this girl should dare to insist upon exercising her power to rob him, he would not then be affectionate,--nor gracious!

But, by heavens, if this girl should dare to oppose him, he would not be affectionate, nor gracious!


There was some little delay in the coming of the two women, and he was already beginning to lose his temper when Marie followed Madame Melmotte into the room.

He was already beginning to lose his temper when Marie followed Madame Melmotte into the room.


He at once swallowed his rising anger--with an effort.

He swallowed his rising anger with an effort.


The affection and the graciousness should be all there,--as long as they might secure the purpose in hand.


"Marie," he began, "I spoke to you the other day about some property which for certain purposes was placed in your name just as we were leaving Paris."

"Marie," he began, "I spoke to you the other day about some property which was placed in your name when we were leaving Paris."


"You were such a child then,--I mean when we left Paris,--that I could hardly explain to you the purpose of what I did."

"You were such a child then that I could hardly explain to you the purpose of what I did."


I don't think you did quite understand it."


It would have been very odd if you had, as I never explained it to you."


"You wanted to keep it from going away if you got into trouble."


This was so true that Melmotte did not know how at the moment to contradict the assertion.

This was so true that Melmotte did not know how to contradict it.


And yet he had not intended to talk of the possibility of trouble.

And he had not intended to talk of the possibility of trouble.


"I wanted to lay aside a large sum of money which should not be liable to the ordinary fluctuations of commercial enterprise."


"Marie, why can't you let your papa speak?"


"But of course, my dear," continued Melmotte, "I had no idea of putting the money beyond my own reach.

Of course, I had no idea of putting the money beyond my own reach.


Such a transaction is very common; and in such cases a man naturally uses the name of some one who is very near and dear to him, and in whom he is sure that he can put full confidence.

Such a transaction is very common; and in such cases a man naturally uses the name of someone who is very near and dear to him, and in whom he can put full confidence.


And it is customary to choose a young person, as there will then be less danger of the accident of death.


It was for these reasons, which I am sure that you will understand, that I chose you.


Of course the property remained exclusively my own."


"No, miss; it was never yours," said Melmotte, almost bursting out into anger, but restraining himself.


"But I know that it did become mine,--legally."


"By a quibble of law,--yes; but not so as to give you any right to it.

"By a quibble of law, yes; but not so as to give you any right to it.


"But I could stop that, papa,--and if I were married, of course it would be stopped."

"But I could stop that, papa; and if I were married, of course it would be stopped."


Then, quick as a flash of lightning, another idea occurred to Melmotte, who feared that he already began to see that this child of his might be stiff-necked.

Then, quick as a flash of lightning, another idea occurred to Melmotte.


"As we are thinking of your marriage," he said, "it is necessary that a change should be made.


Settlements must be drawn for the satisfaction of Lord Nidderdale and his father.

Settlements must be drawn up for the satisfaction of Lord Nidderdale and his father.


The old Marquis is rather hard upon me, but the marriage is so splendid that I have consented.


You must now sign these papers in four or five places.


Mr. Croll is here, in the next room, to witness your signature, and I will call him."

Mr. Croll is in the next room, ready to witness your signature."


You can't really suppose that the property is your own.


You could not even get it if you did think so."


"I don't know how that may be; but I had rather not sign them.


If I am to be married, I ought not to sign anything except what he tells me."


Then came across his brow that look which had probably first induced Marie to declare that she would endure to be "cut to pieces," rather than to yield in this or that direction.


The lower jaw squared itself, and the teeth became set, and the nostrils of his nose became extended,--and Marie began to prepare herself to be "cut to pieces."

The lower jaw squared itself, and the teeth became set, and the nostrils extended - and Marie began to prepare herself to be "cut to pieces."


But he reminded himself that there was another game which he had proposed to play before he resorted to anger and violence.


He would tell her how much depended on her compliance.


Therefore he relaxed the frown,--as well as he knew how, and softened his face towards her, and turned again to his work.

But Melmotte relaxed the frown as well as he knew how, and tried again.


"I am sure, Marie, that you will not refuse to do this when I explain to you its importance to me.

"I am sure, Marie, that you will not refuse to do this when I explain its importance.


I must have that property for use in the city to-morrow, or--I shall be ruined."

I must have that property for use in the city tomorrow, or I shall be ruined."


The statement was very short, but the manner in which he made it was not without effect.


These harpies have so beset me about the election that they have lowered the price of every stock in which I am concerned, and have brought the Mexican Railway so low that they cannot be sold at all.

These harpies have so beset me about the election that they have lowered the price of every stock in which I am concerned.


I don't like bringing my troubles home from the city; but on this occasion I cannot help it.


The sum locked up here is very large, and I am compelled to use it.


In point of fact it is necessary to save us from destruction."


This he said, very slowly, and with the utmost solemnity.


"But you told me just now you wanted it because I was going to be married," rejoined Marie.


A liar has many points in his favour,--but he has this against him, that unless he devote more time to the management of his lies than life will generally allow, he cannot make them tally.


Melmotte was thrown back for a moment, and almost felt that the time for violence had come.


He longed to be at her that he might shake the wickedness and the folly, and the ingratitude out of her.

He longed to shake the wickedness and ingratitude out of her.


But he once more condescended to argue and to explain.

But he once more condescended to argue and explain.


I meant you to understand that settlements must be made, and that of course I must get my own property back into my own hands before anything of that kind can be done.

Settlements must be made, and of course I must get my own property back into my own hands before that can be done.


I tell you once more, my dear, that if you do not do as I bid you, so that I may use that property the first thing to-morrow, we are all ruined.

I tell you once more, my dear, that if you do not do as I bid you, so that I may use that property the first thing tomorrow, we are all ruined.


"This can't be gone," said Marie, nodding her head at the papers.


"Marie,--do you wish to see me disgraced and ruined?

"Marie - do you wish to see me disgraced and ruined?


"You turned away the only person I ever cared for," said Marie.


Do as your papa bids you," said Madame Melmotte.


"She does not care who is ruined, because we saved her from that reprobate."


"She will sign them now," said Madame Melmotte.


"No;--I will not sign them," said Marie.


"If I am to be married to Lord Nidderdale as you all say, I am sure I ought to sign nothing without telling him.

"If I am to be married to Lord Nidderdale, I ought to sign nothing without telling him.


And if the property was once made to be mine, I don't think I ought to give it up again because papa says that he is going to be ruined.


I think that's a reason for not giving it up again."


It's mine," said Melmotte gnashing his teeth.

It's mine," said Melmotte, grinding his teeth.


"Then you can do what you like with it without my signing," said Marie.


He paused a moment, and then laying his hand gently upon her shoulder, he asked her yet once again.

He paused a moment, and then laying his hand gently upon her shoulder, he asked her once again.


His voice was changed, and was very hoarse.


But he still tried to be gentle with her.


"Marie," he said, "will you do this to save your father from destruction?"


But she did not believe a word that he said to her.


He had taught her to regard him as her natural enemy, making her aware that it was his purpose to use her as a chattel for his own advantage, and never allowing her for a moment to suppose that aught that he did was to be done for her happiness.

He had taught her to regard him as her natural enemy, making her aware that he used her as a chattel for his own advantage, and never allowing her to suppose that he had her happiness in mind.


And now, almost in a breath, he had told her that this money was wanted that it might be settled on her and the man to whom she was to be married, and then that it might be used to save him from instant ruin.

And now he had told her that this money was wanted so that it might be settled on her and her future husband, and at the same time that it might be used to save him from instant ruin.


She believed neither one story nor the other.


That she should have done as she was desired in this matter can hardly be disputed.


The father had used her name because he thought that he could trust her.


She was his daughter and should not have betrayed his trust.


But she had steeled herself to obstinacy against him in all things.

she had steeled herself against him in all things.


Even yet, after all that had passed, although she had consented to marry Lord Nidderdale, though she had been forced by what she had learned to despise Sir Felix Carbury, there was present to her an idea that she might escape with the man she really loved.


But any such hope could depend only on the possession of the money which she now claimed as her own.


Melmotte had endeavoured to throw a certain supplicatory pathos into the question he had asked her; but, though he was in some degree successful with his voice, his eyes and his mouth and his forehead still threatened her.

Melmotte had tried to throw pathos into his voice, but his eyes and his face still threatened her.


All her thoughts respecting him reverted to that inward assertion that he might "cut her to pieces" if he liked.


He repeated his question in the pathetic strain.

He now repeated his question in the pathetic strain.


"Will you do this now,--to save us all from ruin?"

"Will you do this now, to save us all from ruin?"


"No;" she said, looking up into his face as though watching for the personal attack which would be made upon her; "no, I won't."


She glanced round for a moment at her pseudo-mother with contempt.


"Do you mean that you, my own child, will attempt to rob your father just at the moment you can destroy him by your wickedness?"

"Do you mean that you will attempt to rob your father and destroy him by your wickedness?"


She shook her head but said no other word.


"Nec pueros coram populo Medea trucidet."


"Let not Medea with unnatural rage Slaughter her mangled infants on the stage."


Nor will I attempt to harrow my readers by a close description of the scene which followed.

I will not harrow my readers by a description of the scene which followed.


That cutting her up into pieces was commenced after a most savage fashion.


Marie crouching down hardly uttered a sound.

Marie, crouching down, hardly uttered a sound.


But Madame Melmotte frightened beyond endurance screamed at the top of her voice,--"Ah, Melmotte, tu la tueras!"

But Madame Melmotte screamed, "Ah, Melmotte, you will kill her!"


And then she tried to drag him from his prey.

And she tried to drag him from his prey.


At that moment Croll, frightened by the screams, burst into the room.


It was perhaps not the first time that he had interfered to save Melmotte from the effects of his own wrath.


Melmotte was out of breath and could hardly tell his story.

Melmotte was out of breath and could hardly speak.


Marie gradually recovered herself, and crouched, cowering, in a corner of a sofa, by no means vanquished in spirit, but with a feeling that the very life had been crushed out of her body.

Marie crouched, cowering, in a corner of a sofa, by no means vanquished in spirit, but feeling that the very life had been crushed out of her body.


Madame Melmotte was standing weeping copiously, with her handkerchief up to her eyes.


Marie, lying as she was, all in a heap, merely shook her head.

Marie, lying all in a heap, merely shook her head.


said Melmotte,--"wicked, ungrateful pig."

said Melmotte, "wicked, ungrateful pig."


"Ah, Ma'am-moiselle," said Croll, "you should oblige your fader."


[Illustration: "Ah, Ma'am-moiselle," said Croll, "you should oblige your fader."]


said Melmotte, collecting the papers together.


Then he left the room, and followed by Croll descended to the study, whence the Longestaffes and Mr. Bideawhile had long since taken their departure.

Then he left the room, and with Croll descended to the study.


Madame Melmotte came and stood over the girl, but for some minutes spoke never a word.

Madame Melmotte came and stood over the girl.


Marie lay on the sofa, all in a heap, with her hair dishevelled and her dress disordered, breathing hard, but uttering no sobs and shedding no tears.

Marie lay with her hair dishevelled and her dress disordered, breathing hard, but uttering no sobs and shedding no tears.


The stepmother,--if she might so be called,--did not think of attempting to persuade where her husband had failed.


She feared Melmotte so thoroughly, and was so timid in regard to her own person, that she could not understand the girl's courage.

was so timid that she could not understand the girl's courage.


Melmotte was to her an awful being, powerful as Satan,--whom she never openly disobeyed, though she daily deceived him, and was constantly detected in her deceptions.

Melmotte was to her an awful being, powerful as Satan; she never openly disobeyed him, though she daily deceived him, and was constantly detected in her deceptions.


Marie seemed to her to have all her father's stubborn, wicked courage, and very much of his power.

Marie seemed to her to have all her father's stubborn, wicked courage, and much of his power.


At the present moment she did not dare to tell the girl that she had been wrong.


But she had believed her husband when he had said that destruction was coming, and had partly believed him when he declared that the destruction might be averted by Marie's obedience.

Madame Melmotte had believed her husband when he had said that destruction was coming.


Her life had been passed in almost daily fear of destruction.


To Marie the last two years of splendour had been so long that they had produced a feeling of security.


But to the elder woman the two years had not sufficed to eradicate the remembrance of former reverses, and never for a moment had she felt herself to be secure.

She remembered former reverses, and never for a moment in the last two years of splendour had she felt herself to be secure.


At last she asked the girl what she would like to have done for her.


"I wish he had killed me," Marie said, slowly dragging herself up from the sofa, and retreating without another word to her own room.

"I wish he had killed me," Marie said, slowly dragging herself up from the sofa, and retreating to her own room.


In the meantime another scene was being acted in the room below.


Melmotte after he reached the room hardly made a reference to his daughter,--merely saying that nothing would overcome her wicked obstinacy.

, Melmotte hardly made a reference to his daughter, merely saying that nothing would overcome her wicked obstinacy.


He made no allusion to his own violence, nor had Croll the courage to expostulate with him now that the immediate danger was over.

Croll did not have the courage to expostulate with him.


The Great Financier again arranged the papers, just as they had been laid out before,--as though he thought that the girl might be brought down to sign them there.

Melmotte again laid out the papers, as though he thought that the girl might be brought down to sign them.


And then he went on to explain to Croll what he had wanted to have done,--how necessary it was that the thing should be done, and how terribly cruel it was to him that in such a crisis of his life he should be hampered, impeded,--he did not venture to his clerk to say ruined,--by the ill-conditioned obstinacy of a girl!

He explained to Croll how necessary it was that the thing should be done, and how terribly cruel it was that he should be hampered - he did not say ruined to his clerk - by the obstinacy of a girl!


He explained very fully how absolutely the property was his own, how totally the girl was without any right to withhold it from him!

He explained how totally the girl was without any right to withhold his own property from him.


How monstrous in its injustice was the present position of things!


Then Melmotte went on to declare that he would not feel the slightest scruple in writing Marie's signature to the papers himself.

Then Melmotte declared that he would not feel the slightest scruple in writing Marie's signature himself.


He was the girl's father and was justified in acting for her.


The property was his own property, and he was justified in doing with it as he pleased.


Of course he would have no scruple in writing his daughter's name.


The clerk again assented,--after a fashion, not by any means with the comfortable certainty with which he had signified his accordance with his employer's first propositions.

Croll assented - after a fashion, by no means with comfortable certainty.


But he did not, at any rate, hint any disapprobation of the step which Melmotte proposed to take.

But he did not hint any disapproval of the step which Melmotte proposed to take.


Then Melmotte went a step farther, and explained that the only difficulty in reference to such a transaction would be that the signature of his daughter would be required to be corroborated by that of a witness before he could use it.

Then Melmotte went a step farther, and explained that the only difficulty would be that his daughter's signature would need to be corroborated by a witness.


Then he again looked up at Croll;--but on this occasion Croll did not move a muscle of his face.


Melmotte continued to look at him; but then came upon the old clerk's countenance a stern look which amounted to very strong dissent.

The old clerk's face took on a stern look which amounted to very strong dissent.


And yet Croll had been conversant with some irregular doings in his time, and Melmotte knew well the extent of Croll's experience.

And yet Croll had been conversant with some irregular doings in his time.


Then Melmotte made a little remark to himself.


thought, "He knows that the game is pretty well over."


"You had better return to the city now," he said aloud.


It is quite possible that I may bring my daughter with me.


If I can make her understand this thing I shall do so.


In that case I shall want you to be ready."


Croll again smiled, and again assented, and went his way.


But Melmotte made no further attempt upon his daughter.


As soon as Croll was gone he searched among various papers in his desk and drawers, and having found two signatures, those of his daughter and of this German clerk, set to work tracing them with some thin tissue paper.

As soon as Croll was gone he searched among various papers in his desk. Having found two signatures, those of his daughter and of his German clerk, he bolted the door and then set to work tracing them with tissue paper.


He commenced his present operation by bolting his door and pulling down the blinds.


He practised the two signatures for the best part of an hour.


Then he forged them on the various documents;--and, having completed the operation, refolded them, placed them in a little locked bag of which he had always kept the key in his purse, and then, with the bag in his hand, was taken in his brougham into the city.

Then he forged them on the various documents; and, having done so, refolded them, placed them in a little locked bag, and then, with the bag in his hand, was taken in his carriage into the city.


It was on a Friday evening, an inauspicious Friday, that poor Ruby Ruggles had insisted on leaving the security of her Aunt Pipkin's house with her aristocratic and vicious lover, in spite of the positive assurance made to her by Mrs. Pipkin that if she went forth in such company she should not be allowed to return.

It was on a Friday evening that this happened.


"Of course you must let her in," Mrs. Hurtle had said soon after the girl's departure.

"Of course you must let her in," Mrs. Hurtle had said to Mrs. Pipkin, after the girl's departure.


She knew her own softness too well to suppose it to be possible that she could keep the girl out in the streets all night; but yet it was hard upon her, very hard, that she should be so troubled.

She knew she could not keep the girl out in the streets all night; yet it was hard upon her to be so troubled.


"We usen't to have our ways like that when I was young," she said, sobbing.

"We usen't to have ways like that when I was young," she said, sobbing.


Was she to be forced by circumstances to keep the girl always there, let the girl's conduct be what it might?


Nevertheless she acknowledged that Ruby must be let in when she came back.


Then, about nine o'clock, John Crumb came; and the latter part of the evening was more melancholy even than the first.

Then, about nine o'clock, John Crumb came, and


It was impossible to conceal the truth from John Crumb.

it was impossible to conceal the truth from him.


Mrs. Hurtle saw the poor man and told the story in Mrs. Pipkin's presence.

Mrs. Hurtle told the poor man the story.


"She's headstrong, Mr. Crumb," said Mrs. Hurtle.


And it was along wi' the baro-nite she went?"

And she went to dinner wi' the Baro-nite


Well;--perhaps I shall catch him some of these days;--went to dinner wi' him, did she?


Then Mrs. Pipkin spoke up with a keen sense of offence.


Ruby Ruggles had had as wholesome a dinner as any young woman in London,--a bullock's heart and potatoes,--just as much as ever she had pleased to eat of it.


Mrs. Pipkin could tell Mr. Crumb that there was "no starvation nor yet no stint in her house."

for there was "no starvation nor stint in her house."


John Crumb immediately produced a very thick and admirably useful blue cloth cloak, which he had brought up with him to London from Bungay, as a present to the woman who had been good to his Ruby.

John Crumb immediately produced a very thick and useful blue cloak, which he had brought with him from Bungay, as a present to the woman who had been good to his Ruby.


He assured her that he did not doubt that her victuals were good and plentiful, and went on to say that he had made bold to bring her a trifle out of respect.

He assured her that he did not doubt that her food was plentiful.


It was some little time before Mrs. Pipkin would allow herself to be appeased;--but at last she permitted the garment to be placed on her shoulders.

It was some little time before Mrs. Pipkin would allow herself to be appeased; but at last she permitted the garment to be placed on her shoulders.


But it was done after a melancholy fashion.


There was no smiling consciousness of the bestowal of joy on the countenance of the donor as he gave it, no exuberance of thanks from the recipient as she received it.


Mrs. Hurtle, standing by, declared it to be perfect;--but the occasion was one which admitted of no delight.


"It's very good of you, Mr. Crumb, to think of an old woman like me,--particularly when you've such a deal of trouble with a young 'un."

"It's very good of you, Mr. Crumb, to think of an old woman like me, particularly when you've such a deal of trouble with a young 'un."


"It's like the smut in the wheat, Mrs. Pipkin, or the d'sease in the 'tatoes;--it has to be put up with, I suppose.

"It's like the smut in the wheat, Mrs. Pipkin - it has to be put up with.


Is she very partial, ma'am, to that young baro-nite?"


"Just a fancy for the time, Mr. Crumb," said the lady.

"Just a passing fancy, Mr. Crumb," said the lady.


"They never thinks as how their fancies may well-nigh half kill a man!"


Then he was silent for awhile, sitting back in his chair, not moving a limb, with his eyes fastened on Mrs. Pipkin's ceiling.

Then he sat silent for a while, his eyes fastened on Mrs. Pipkin's ceiling.


Mrs. Hurtle had some work in her hand, and sat watching him.


The man was to her an extraordinary being,--so constant, so slow, so unexpressive, so unlike her own countrymen,--willing to endure so much, and at the same time so warm in his affections!

The man was to her an extraordinary being - so constant, so slow, so unexpressive, so unlike her own countrymen - yet so warm and enduring in his affections!


If it was only dinner, wouldn't she be back afore this, ma'am?"


"I suppose they've gone to some place of amusement," said Mrs. Hurtle.


"Like enough," said John Crumb in a low voice.


"She's that mad after dancing as never was," said Mrs. Pipkin.

"She's that mad after dancing," said Mrs. Pipkin.


asked Crumb, getting up from his chair, and stretching himself.


It was evident to both the ladies that he was beginning to think that he would follow Ruby to the music hall.


Neither of them answered him, however, and then he sat down again.

Neither of them answered, however, and he sat down again.


"Does 'em dance all night at them places, Mrs. Pipkin?"


"They do pretty nearly all that they oughtn't to do," said Mrs. Pipkin.


John Crumb raised one of his fists, brought it down heavily on the palm of his other hand, and then again sat silent for awhile.

John Crumb raised one of his fists, brought it down heavily on the palm of his other hand, and then again sat silent.


"I never knowed as she was fond o' dancing," he said.


"I'd a had dancing for her down at Bungay,--just as ready as anything.

, "or I'd a had dancing for her down at Bungay.


D'ye think, ma'am, it's the dancing she's after, or the baro-nite?"


"I suppose they go together," said the lady.


Then there was another long pause, at the end of which poor John Crumb burst out with some violence.


I wouldn't wonder but I'll swing for this at Bury!"


"Oh, Mr. Crumb, don't talk like that," said Mrs. Pipkin.


"Mr. Crumb is a little disturbed, but he'll get over it presently," said Mrs. Hurtle.


"She's a nasty slut to go and treat a young man as she's treating you," said Mrs. Pipkin.

"She's a nasty slut to treat a young man as she's treating you," said Mrs. Pipkin.


"No, ma'am;--she ain't nasty," said the lover.

"No, ma'am; she ain't nasty," said the lover.


It's no more use my going down about meal and pollard, nor business, and she up here with that baro-nite,--no, no more nor nothin'!


When I handles it I don't know whether its middlings nor nothin' else.


If I was to twist his neck, ma'am, would you take it on yourself to say as I was wrong?"

If I was to twist his neck, ma'am, would you say as I was wrong?"


"I'd sooner hear that you had taken the girl away from him," said Mrs. Hurtle.


"I could pretty well eat him,--that's what I could.


Mrs. Pipkin, who did not want to burn candles all night long, declared that she could give no assurance on that head.

Mrs. Pipkin, who did not want to burn candles all night long, declared that she did not know.


If Ruby did come, she should, on that night, be admitted.


But Mrs. Pipkin thought that it would be better to get up and let her in than to sit up for her.


Poor Mr. Crumb did not at once take the hint, and remained there for another half-hour, saying little, but waiting with the hope that Ruby might come.

Poor Mr. Crumb remained there for another half-hour, in the hope that Ruby might come.


But when the clock struck twelve he was told that he must go.


Then he slowly collected his limbs and dragged them out of the house.


"That young man is a good fellow," said Mrs. Hurtle as soon as the door was closed.

"He is a good fellow," said Mrs. Hurtle as soon as the door was closed.


"A deal too good for Ruby Ruggles," said Mrs. Pipkin.


"Mr. Carbury says as he's as well to do as any tradesman down in them parts."


Mrs. Hurtle disliked the name of Mr. Carbury, and took this last statement as no evidence in John Crumb's favour.


"I don't know that I think better of the man for having Mr. Carbury's friendship," she said.


"Mr. Carbury ain't any way like his cousin, Mrs. Hurtle."


"I don't think much of any of the Carburys, Mrs. Pipkin.


It seems to me that everybody here is either too humble or too overbearing.


Nobody seems content to stand firm on his own footing and interfere with nobody else."


"I suppose we may as well go to bed now.


When that girl comes and knocks, of course we must let her in.

When that girl knocks, of course we must let her in.


If I hear her, I'll go down and open the door for her."


Mrs. Pipkin made very many apologies to her lodger for the condition of her household.

Mrs. Pipkin made many apologies to her lodger for the condition of her household.


She would remain up herself to answer the door at the first sound, so that Mrs. Hurtle should not be disturbed.

She would stay up herself to answer the door, so that Mrs. Hurtle should not be disturbed.


She would do her best to prevent any further annoyance.


She trusted Mrs. Hurtle would see that she was endeavouring to do her duty by the naughty wicked girl.


And then she came round to the point of her discourse.


She hoped that Mrs. Hurtle would not be induced to quit the rooms by these disagreeable occurrences.


"I don't mind saying it now, Mrs. Hurtle, but your being here is ever so much to me.


I ain't nothing to depend on,--only lodgers, and them as is any good is so hard to get!"


The poor woman hardly understood Mrs. Hurtle, who, as a lodger, was certainly peculiar.


She cared nothing for disturbances, and rather liked than otherwise the task of endeavouring to assist in the salvation of Ruby.

cared nothing for disturbances, and rather liked the task of trying to save Ruby.


Mrs. Hurtle begged that Mrs. Pipkin would go to bed.

She begged that Mrs. Pipkin would go to bed.


She would not be in the least annoyed by the knocking.


Another half-hour had thus been passed by the two ladies in the parlour after Crumb's departure.


Then Mrs. Hurtle took her candle and had ascended the stairs half way to her own sitting-room, when a loud double knock was heard.

Then Mrs. Hurtle took her candle and was on her way to her own sitting-room, when a loud double knock was heard.


She immediately joined Mrs. Pipkin in the passage.


The door was opened, and there stood Ruby Ruggles, John Crumb, and two policemen!


Ruby rushed in, and casting herself on to one of the stairs began to throw her hands about, and to howl piteously.

Ruby rushed in, and casting herself on to the stairs began to howl piteously.


"This young woman is living here;--is she?"

"This young woman is living here, is she?"


But now we must go back to the adventures of John Crumb after he had left the house.

But now we must go back to the adventures of John Crumb after he left the house.


He had taken a bedroom at a small inn close to the Eastern Counties Railway Station which he was accustomed to frequent when business brought him up to London, and thither he proposed to himself to return.

He had taken a bedroom at a small inn, which he frequented when business brought him up to London, and he set out to return there.


At one time there had come upon him an idea that he would endeavour to seek Ruby and his enemy among the dancing saloons of the metropolis; and he had asked a question with that view.


But no answer had been given which seemed to aid him in his project, and his purpose had been abandoned as being too complex and requiring more intelligence than he gave himself credit for possessing.


So he had turned down a street with which he was so far acquainted as to know that it would take him to the Islington Angel,--where various roads meet, and whence he would know his way eastwards.

He had turned down a street which he knew would take him to the Islington Angel


He had just passed the Angel, and the end of Goswell Road, and was standing with his mouth open, looking about, trying to make certain of himself that he would not go wrong, thinking that he would ask a policeman whom he saw, and hesitating because he feared that the man would want to know his business.

and was standing with his mouth open, looking about, trying to make certain of his direction, and wondering whether to ask a policeman whom he saw.


Then, of a sudden, he heard a woman scream, and knew that it was Ruby's voice.

Suddenly he heard a woman scream, and knew that it was Ruby's voice.


The sound was very near him, but in the glimmer of the gaslight he could not quite see whence it came.


He stood still, putting his hand up to scratch his head under his hat,--trying to think what, in such an emergency, it would be well that he should do.


Then he heard the voice distinctly, "I won't;--I won't," and after that a scream.

Then he heard the voice distinctly: "I won't; I won't," and after that a scream.


At last he was able to make up his mind.


He rushed after the sound, and turning down a passage to the right which led back into Goswell Road, saw Ruby struggling in a man's arms.

He rushed after the sound, and turning down a passage, saw Ruby struggling in a man's arms.


She had left the dancing establishment with her lover; and when they had come to the turn of the passage, there had arisen a question as to her further destiny for the night.

She had left the dancing hall with her lover; and there had arisen a question as to her further destiny for the night.


Ruby, though she well remembered Mrs. Pipkin's threats, was minded to try her chance at her aunt's door.

Ruby wanted to try her chance at her aunt's door.


Sir Felix was of opinion that he could make a preferable arrangement for her; and as Ruby was not at once amenable to his arguments he had thought that a little gentle force might avail him.

Sir Felix said that he could make a preferable arrangement for her; and as Ruby was not at once amenable to his arguments he had thought that a little gentle force might help him.


He had therefore dragged Ruby into the passage.


That so ill a chance should have come upon him in the midst of his diversion!


He had swallowed several tumblers of brandy and water, and was therefore brave with reference to that interference of the police, the fear of which might otherwise have induced him to relinquish his hold of Ruby's arm when she first raised her voice.

He had swallowed several tumblers of brandy and water, so he was brave enough to hold on to Ruby's arm even when she raised her voice.


But what amount of brandy and water would have enabled him to persevere, could he have dreamed that John Crumb was near him?

But could he have dreamed that John Crumb was near him?


On a sudden he found a hand on his coat, and he was swung violently away, and brought with his back against the railings so forcibly as to have the breath almost knocked out of his body.

Suddenly he found a hand on his coat, and he was swung violently away against the railings so forcibly as to have the breath almost knocked out of his body.


But he could hear Ruby's exclamation, "If it isn't John Crumb!"

He could hear Ruby's exclamation, "If it isn't John Crumb!"


Then there came upon him a sense of coming destruction, as though the world for him were all over; and, collapsing throughout his limbs, he slunk down upon the ground.

Then there came upon him a sense of coming destruction, as though the world for him were all over; and, collapsing, he slunk down upon the ground.


But the baronet thought it better to cling to the ground.


"You sholl get up," said John, taking him by the collar of his coat and lifting him.

"You sholl get up," said John, lifting him by his collar.


"Now, Ruby, he's a-going to have it," said John.


Whereupon Ruby screamed at the top of her voice, with a shriek very much louder than that which had at first attracted John Crumb's notice.

Whereupon Ruby screamed at the top of her voice, much more loudly than before.


"Don't hit a man when he's down," said the baronet, pleading as though for his life.

"Don't hit a man when he's down," pleaded the baronet.


"I wunt," said John;--"but I'll hit a fellow when 'un's up."

"I wunt," said John; "but I'll hit a fellow when he's up."


Sir Felix was little more than a child in the man's arms.


John Crumb raised him, and catching him round the neck with his left arm,--getting his head into chancery as we used to say when we fought at school,--struck the poor wretch some half-dozen times violently in the face, not knowing or caring exactly where he hit him, but at every blow obliterating a feature.

He raised Sir Felix as if he were a child, and catching him round the neck with his left arm, struck the poor wretch some half-dozen times violently in the face.


And he would have continued had not Ruby flown at him and rescued Sir Felix from his arms.


"He's about got enough of it," said John Crumb as he gave over his work.


Then Sir Felix fell again to the ground, moaning fearfully.

Sir Felix fell to the ground, moaning fearfully.


"I know'd he'd have to have it," said John Crumb.


Ruby's screams of course brought the police, one arriving from each end of the passage on the scene of action at the same time.

Ruby's screams of course brought the police.


And now the cruellest thing of all was that Ruby in the complaints which she made to the policemen said not a word against Sir Felix, but was as bitter as she knew how to be in her denunciations of John Crumb.

And now the cruellest thing of all was that Ruby in her complaints to the policemen said not a word against Sir Felix, but was bitter in her denunciations of John Crumb.


It was in vain that John endeavoured to make the man understand that the young woman had been crying out for protection when he had interfered.

It was in vain that John endeavoured to make them understand that the young woman had been crying out for protection when he had interfered.


Ruby was very quick of speech and John Crumb was very slow.


Ruby swore that nothing so horrible, so cruel, so bloodthirsty had ever been done before.


Sir Felix himself when appealed to could say nothing.


He could only moan and make futile efforts to wipe away the stream of blood from his face when the men stood him up leaning against the railings.


And John, though he endeavoured to make the policemen comprehend the extent of the wickedness of the young baronet, would not say a word against Ruby.

And John would not say a word against Ruby.


He was not even in the least angered by her denunciations of himself.

Having successfully "dropped into the baro-nite", he was not even angered by her denunciations of himself.


As he himself said sometimes afterwards, he had "dropped into the baro-nite" just in time, and, having been successful in this, felt no wrath against Ruby for having made such an operation necessary.


There was soon a third policeman on the spot, and a dozen other persons,--cab-drivers, haunters of the street by night, and houseless wanderers, casuals who at this season of the year preferred the pavements to the poor-house wards.

There was soon a third policeman on the spot, and a dozen other persons, who


Why had the big man interfered between the young woman and her young man?


Two or three of them wiped Sir Felix's face, and dabbed his eyes, and proposed this and the other remedy.


Some thought that he had better be taken straight to an hospital.

thought that he had better be taken straight to hospital.


One lady remarked that he was "so mashed and mauled" that she was sure he would never "come to" again.


A precocious youth remarked that he was "all one as a dead 'un."


A cabman observed that he had "'ad it awful 'eavy."


To all these criticisms on his condition Sir Felix himself made no direct reply, but he intimated his desire to be carried away somewhere, though he did not much care whither.

Sir Felix himself asked to be carried away somewhere, though he did not care whither.


At last the policemen among them decided upon a course of action.

At last the policemen decided upon a course of action.


They had learned by the united testimony of Ruby and Crumb that Sir Felix was Sir Felix.

They had learned Sir Felix's identity from Ruby and Crumb.


He was to be carried in a cab by one constable to Bartholomew Hospital, who would then take his address so that he might be produced and bound over to prosecute.

He was to be carried in a cab to Bartholomew Hospital by one constable, who would then take his address.


Ruby should be even conducted to the address she gave,--not half a mile from the spot on which they now stood,--and be left there or not according to the account which might be given of her.

Ruby should be conducted to the address she gave.


John Crumb must be undoubtedly locked up in the station-house.


He was the offender;--for aught that any of them yet knew, the murderer.


He hardly said a good word for himself, and certainly made no objection to the treatment that had been proposed for him.


But, no doubt, he was buoyed up inwardly by the conviction that he had thoroughly thrashed his enemy.


Thus it came to pass that the two policemen with John Crumb and Ruby came together to Mrs. Pipkin's door.

Thus the two policemen with John Crumb and Ruby came together to Mrs. Pipkin's door.


Ruby was still loud with complaints against the ruffian who had beaten her lover,--who, perhaps, had killed her loved one.

Ruby was still loud with complaints against John Crumb.


She threatened the gallows, and handcuffs, and perpetual imprisonment, and an action for damages amidst her lamentations.

She threatened the gallows, and handcuffs, and perpetual imprisonment.


But from Mrs. Hurtle the policemen did manage to learn something of the truth.


Oh yes;--the girl lived there and was--respectable.

Oh yes; the girl lived there and was respectable.


This man whom they had arrested was respectable also, and was the girl's proper lover.


The other man who had been beaten was undoubtedly the owner of a title; but he was not respectable, and was only the girl's improper lover.


"I'm John Crumb of Bungay," said he, "and I ain't afeared of nothin' nor nobody.


And I ain't a been a drinking; no, I ain't.


That ere young woman is engaged to be my wife."


"Well then, I never will," rejoined Ruby.


John Crumb turned upon her a look of love, and put his hand on his heart.


Whereupon the senior policeman said that he saw at a glance how it all was, but that Mr. Crumb had better come along with him,--just for the present.

Whereupon the senior policeman said that he saw how it all was, but that Mr. Crumb had better come along with him, just for the present.


To this arrangement the unfortunate hero from Bungay made not the slightest objection.

To this arrangement he made no objection.


"Miss Ruggles," said Mrs. Hurtle, "if that young man doesn't conquer you at last you can't have a heart in your bosom."

"Miss Ruggles," said Mrs. Hurtle, "if that young man doesn't conquer you at last you have no heart."


"Indeed and I have then, and I don't mean to give it him if it's ever so.

"Indeed and I have, and I don't mean to give it him if it's ever so.


Mrs. Hurtle in a whisper to Mrs. Pipkin expressed a wicked wish that it might be so.

Mrs. Hurtle in a whisper to Mrs. Pipkin expressed a wicked wish that he had.


After that the three women all went to bed.


The next day there was great surprise at Sheep's Acre farm, which communicated itself to the towns of Bungay and Beccles, and even affected the ordinary quiet life of Carbury Manor.

The next day there was great surprise at Sheep's Acre farm.


Ruby Ruggles had gone away, and at about twelve o'clock in the day the old farmer became aware of the fact.

Ruby Ruggles had gone away. The old farmer learnt of this from the servant girl at about noon.


She had started early, at about seven in the morning; but Ruggles himself had been out long before that, and had not condescended to ask for her when he returned to the house for his breakfast.

Ruby had left at seven in the morning; but Ruggles had not asked for her when he had his breakfast.


There had been a bad scene up in the bedroom overnight, after John Crumb had left the farm.


The old man in his anger had tried to expel the girl; but she had hung on to the bed-post and would not go; and he had been frightened, when the maid came up crying and screaming murder.

The old man in his anger had tried to expel the girl; but she had hung on to the bed-post and would not go; and the maid came up crying and screaming murder.


"You'll be out o' this to-morrow as sure as my name's Dannel Ruggles," said the farmer panting for breath.

"You'll be out tomorrow as sure as my name's Dannel Ruggles," said the farmer, panting for breath.


But for the gin which he had taken he would hardly have struck her;--but he had struck her, and pulled her by the hair, and knocked her about;--and in the morning she took him at his word and was away.

He had been drinking gin, and he struck her, and pulled her by the hair, and knocked her about: and in the morning she took him at his word


About twelve he heard from the servant girl that she had gone.


She had packed a box and had started up the road carrying the box herself.


"Grandfather says I'm to go, and I'm gone," she had said to the girl.


At the first cottage she had got a boy to carry her box into Beccles, and to Beccles she had walked.

At the first cottage, she had got a boy to carry her box into Beccles, and she had walked.


For an hour or two Ruggles sat, quiet, within the house, telling himself that she might do as she pleased with herself,--that he was well rid of her, and that from henceforth he would trouble himself no more about her.

For an hour or two Ruggles sat quietly, telling himself that he was well rid of her, and that he would trouble himself no more about her.


But by degrees there came upon him a feeling half of compassion and half of fear, with perhaps some mixture of love, instigating him to make search for her.

But by degrees there came upon him a feeling half of compassion and half of fear.


She had been the same to him as a child, and what would people say of him if he allowed her to depart from him after this fashion?

She had been like a child to him, and what would people say if he allowed her to depart like this?


Then he remembered his violence the night before, and the fact that the servant girl had heard if she had not seen it.

Then he remembered his violence the night before, which the servant girl had heard.


He could not drop his responsibility in regard to Ruby, even if he would.

He could not drop his responsibility for Ruby.


So, as a first step, he sent in a message to John Crumb, at Bungay, to tell him that Ruby Ruggles had gone off with a box to Beccles.

So he sent a message to John Crumb, to tell him that Ruby Ruggles had gone off with a box to Beccles.


John Crumb went open-mouthed with the news to Joe Mixet, and all Bungay soon knew that Ruby Ruggles had run away.


After sending his message to Crumb the old man still sat thinking, and at last made up his mind that he would go to his landlord.

After sending his message the old man sat thinking, and at last made up his mind to go to his landlord.


He held a part of his farm under Roger Carbury, and Roger Carbury would tell him what he ought to do.


He would fain have been quiet, but his conscience and his heart and his terrors all were at work together,--and he found that he could not eat his dinner.

His conscience and his heart and his terrors were all at work together, and he could not eat his dinner.


So he had out his cart and horse and drove himself off to Carbury Hall.

So he drove himself off to Carbury Hall.


It was past four when he started, and he found the squire seated on the terrace after an early dinner, and with him was Father Barham, the priest.

He found the squire seated on the terrace with Father Barham, the priest.


The old man was shown at once round into the garden, and was not long in telling his story.

The old man was not long in telling his story.


There had been words between him and his granddaughter about her lover.


Her lover had been accepted and had come to the farm to claim his bride.


The old man made the most of Ruby's bad behaviour, and of course as little as possible of his own violence.

He made the most of Ruby's bad behaviour, and of course as little as possible of his own violence.


But he did explain that there had been threats used when Ruby refused to take the man, and that Ruby had, this day, taken herself off.

But he did explain that there had been threats used, and that Ruby had taken herself off.


"I always thought it was settled they were to be man and wife," said Roger.

"I thought it was settled they were to marry," said Roger.


"It was settled, squoire;--and he war to have five hun'erd pound down;--money as I'd saved myself.


"She liked him well enough till she'd seed somebody else."


Then old Daniel paused, and shook his head, and was evidently the owner of a secret.


The squire got up and walked round the garden with him,--and then the secret was told.

Roger took him aside; and at last the secret was told.


The farmer was of opinion that there was something between the girl and Sir Felix.

The farmer thought there was something between the girl and Sir Felix


Sir Felix some weeks since had been seen near the farm and on the same occasion Ruby had been observed at some little distance from the house with her best clothes on.

, who had been seen near the farm; and on the same occasion Ruby had been observed away from the house with her best clothes on.


"He's been so little here, Daniel," said the squire.


"It goes as tinder and a spark o' fire, that does," said the farmer.


"Girls like Ruby don't want no time to be wooed by one such as that, though they'll fall-lall with a man like John Crumb for years."

"Girls like Ruby don't want no time to be wooed by one such as that," said the farmer.


"Don't know nothing of where she's gone, squoire;--only she have gone some'eres.


There's lots of quality at Lowestoffe a' washing theyselves in the sea."


Then they returned to the priest, who might be supposed to be cognisant of the guiles of the world and competent to give advice on such an occasion as this.


"If she was one of our people," said Father Barham, "we should have her back quick enough."


said Ruggles, wishing at the moment that he and all his family had been brought up as Roman Catholics.


"I don't see how you would have more chance of catching her than we have," said Carbury.


Wherever she might be she'd go to the priest, and he wouldn't leave her till he'd seen her put on the way back to her friends."

Wherever she might be she'd go to the priest, and he wouldn't leave her till he'd seen her back with her friends."


"With a flea in her lug," suggested the farmer.

"With a flea in her ear," suggested the farmer.


"Your people never go to a clergyman in their distress.


Any one might more probably be regarded as a friend than the parson.


But with us the poor know where to look for sympathy."


"She ain't that poor, neither," said the grandfather.


"I don't know just what she had; but she ain't been brought up poor.


And I don't think as our Ruby'd go of herself to any clergyman.

"And I don't think as our Ruby'd go to any clergyman.


"It never is the way with a Protestant," said the priest.


"We'll say no more about that for the present," said Roger, who was waxing wroth with the priest.

"We'll say no more about that now," said Roger, who was growing annoyed.


That a man should be fond of his own religion is right; but Roger Carbury was beginning to think that Father Barham was too fond of his religion.


I suppose we shall hear something of her at the railway.

"I suppose we shall hear something of her at the railway station.


There are not so many people leaving Beccles but that she may be remembered."

Not many people leave Beccles, so she may be remembered."


So the waggonette was ordered, and they all prepared to go off to the station together.

He ordered the carriage so that they could go to the station together.


But before they started John Crumb rode up to the door.

But before they started John Crumb rode up.


He had gone at once to the farm on hearing of Ruby's departure, and had followed the farmer from thence to Carbury.


Now he found the squire and the priest and the old man standing around as the horses were being put to the carriage.


"Ye ain't a' found her, Mr. Ruggles, ha' ye?"


he asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.


"If it was as she was to come to harm, Mr. Carbury, I'd never forgive myself,--never," said Crumb.

"If she was to come to harm, Mr. Carbury, I'd never forgive myself," said Crumb.


"As far as I can understand it is no doing of yours, my friend," said the squire.


"In one way, it ain't; and in one way it is.


I was over there last night a bothering of her.


She'd a' come round may be, if she'd a' been left alone.

She'd a' come round maybe, if she'd a' been left alone.


She wouldn't a' been off now, only for our going over to Sheep's Acre.


"He's a coosin o' yours, squoire; and long as I've known Suffolk, I've never known nothing but good o' you and yourn.

"He's a cousin o' yours, squoire; and I've never known nothing but good o' you and yourn.


But if your baronite has been and done this!


If I was to wring his neck round, you wouldn't say as how I was wrong; would ye, now?"

If I was to wring his neck, you wouldn't say as I was wrong; would ye?"


On general grounds the wringing of Sir Felix's neck, let the immediate cause for such a performance have been what it might, would have seemed to him to be a good deed.

On general grounds the wringing of Sir Felix's neck seemed a good idea.


The world would be better, according to his thinking, with Sir Felix out of it than in it.

The world would be better with Sir Felix out of it.


But still the young man was his cousin and a Carbury, and to such a one as John Crumb he was bound to defend any member of his family as far as he might be defensible.

But still the young man was his cousin and a Carbury, and he was bound to defend him.


"They says as how he was groping about Sheep's Acre when he was last here, a hiding himself and skulking behind hedges.

"They says as how he was groping about Sheep's Acre when he was last here, a skulking behind hedges.


They've gals enough of their own,--them fellows.

They've gals enough of their own, them fellows.


I'll do him a mischief, Master Roger; I wull;--if he's had a hand in this."

If I learn as he did it, I'll do him a mischief, Master Roger; I wull."


When he had his mistress to win he could find no words for himself; but was obliged to take an eloquent baker with him to talk for him.


Now in his anger he could talk freely enough.

In his anger he could talk freely enough.


"But you must first learn that Sir Felix has had anything to do with this, Mr. Crumb."


Must l'arn as he did it, afore I does it.


-- And John Crumb clenched his fist as though a very short lesson would suffice for him upon this occasion.


They all went to the Beccles Station, and from thence to the Beccles post office,--so that Beccles soon knew as much about it as Bungay.


At the railway station Ruby was distinctly remembered.


She had taken a second-class ticket by the morning train for London, and had gone off without any appearance of secrecy.

She had taken a second-class ticket on the train for London, and had gone off without any appearance of secrecy.


She had been decently dressed, with a hat and cloak, and her luggage had been such as she might have been expected to carry, had all her friends known that she was going.

She had been wearing a hat and cloak, and had some luggage


So much was made clear at the railway station, but nothing more could be learned there.


Then a message was sent by telegraph to the station in London, and they all waited, loitering about the post office, for a reply.

Then they went to the post office to send a message by telegraph to the station in London, and waited for a reply.


One of the porters in London remembered seeing such a girl as was described, but the man who was supposed to have carried her box for her to a cab had gone away for the day.

One of the porters in London remembered seeing such a girl, but the man who had carried her box to a cab had gone away for the day.


It was believed that she had left the station in a four-wheel cab.


"I'll be arter her at once," said John Crumb.


But there was no train till night, and Roger Carbury was doubtful whether his going would do any good.

But there was no train till night, and Roger Carbury doubted whether his going would do any good.


It was evidently fixed on Crumb's mind that the first step towards finding Ruby would be the breaking of every bone in the body of Sir Felix Carbury.

Crumb evidently felt that the first step towards finding Ruby would be the breaking of every bone in Sir Felix Carbury's body.


Now it was not at all apparent to the squire that his cousin had had anything to do with this affair.

Now it was not clear to the squire that his cousin had anything to do with this affair.


It had been made quite clear to him that the old man had quarrelled with his granddaughter and had threatened to turn her out of his house, not because she had misbehaved with Sir Felix, but on account of her refusing to marry John Crumb.

The old man had quarrelled with his granddaughter not because she had misbehaved with Sir Felix, but because she had refused to marry John Crumb.


John Crumb had gone over to the farm expecting to arrange it all, and up to that time there had been no fear about Felix Carbury.

When John Crumb had gone over to the farm to arrange it all, there had been no fear about Felix Carbury.


Nor was it possible that there should have been communication between Ruby and Felix since the quarrel at the farm.

Nor could Ruby have communicated with Felix since the quarrel at the farm.