Then were perpetrated various mysterious ceremonies of feminine idolatry which were continued till there came a grandly dressed old lady, who called herself the nurse, and who took the idol away.

Then there were various ceremonies of feminine idolatry till an old nurse carried the idol away.


[Illustration: "Yes, my bonny boy,--you have made it all right for me."]

Chapter 80: The Story Is Finished Within the Halls of the Duke of Omnium


In the course of that afternoon Lady Glencora took Alice all over the house.

That afternoon Lady Glencora took Alice all over the house.


It was a castle of enormous size, quite new,--having been built by the present proprietor,--very cold, very handsome, and very dull.

It was a castle of enormous size, quite new, very cold, very handsome, and very dull.


said Alice, as she stood looking round her in the grand hall, which was never used as an entrance except on very grand occasions.

said Alice, as she stood looking round her in the grand hall.


And it cost--oh, I can't tell you how much it cost. A hundred thousand pounds or more.

And it cost a hundred thousand pounds or more.


Well;--that would be nothing, as the Duke no doubt had the money in his pocket to do what he liked with at the time.

Well, that would be nothing to the Duke.


But the joke is, nobody ever thinks of living here.


Who'd live in such a great, overgrown place such as this, if they could get a comfortable house like Matching?


Do you remember Longroyston and the hot-water pipes?


I always think of the poor Duchess when I come through here.


The Duke comes for one week in the year, and Plantagenet says he hates to do that.


As for me, nothing on earth shall ever make me live here.


I was completely in their power and couldn't help their bringing me here the other day;--because I had, as it were, disgraced myself."
"How disgraced yourself?"
"In being so long, you know, before that gentleman was born. But they shan't play me the same trick again. I shall dare to assert myself, now.

I couldn't help their bringing me here; but I shall assert myself now.


Come,--we must go away. There are some of the British public come to see one of the British sights. That's another pleasure here. One has to run about to avoid being caught by the visitors.

Come, we must go away to avoid being caught by the public tour."


The housekeeper tells me they always grumble because they are not allowed to go into my little room up-stairs."


On the evening of that day Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey returned home from Silverbridge together.

That evening Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey returned home from Silverbridge together.


The latter was then a Member of Parliament, but the former at that moment was the possessor of no such dignity. The election for the borough was now over, whereas that for the county had not yet taken place.

Mr. Grey was by then a Member of Parliament, but Mr. Palliser had to wait for the county election.


But there was no rival candidate for the position, and Mr. Palliser was thoroughly contented with his fate.

But there was no rival candidate for the position, and Mr. Palliser was thoroughly contented.


He was at this moment actually Chancellor of the Exchequer, and in about ten days' time would be on his legs in the House proposing for his country's use his scheme of finance.

He was now Chancellor of the Exchequer, and in about ten days' time would be on his feet in the House proposing his scheme of finance.


The two men were seated together in an open carriage, and were being whirled along by four horses.

The two men were seated together in an open carriage.


They were both no doubt happy in their ambition, but I think that of the two, Mr. Palliser showed his triumph the most. Not that he spoke even to his friend a word that was triumphant in its tone.

Although Mr. Palliser was rejoicing, he did not speak a word that was triumphant in its tone.


But there was a nervousness in his contentment which told the tale to any observer who might know how to read it.


"I hope you'll like it," he said to Grey.


"I shall never like it as you do," Grey answered.


"In the first place, I have not begun it so young."


"Any time before thirty-five is young enough."


"For useful work, yes,--but hardly for enjoyment in the thing.

"For useful work, yes - but hardly for enjoyment in the thing.


And then I don't believe it all as you do.


To you the British House of Commons is everything."


"Yes;--everything," said Mr. Palliser with unwonted enthusiasm;--"everything, everything.

"Yes; everything," said Mr. Palliser with unusual enthusiasm; "everything, everything.


That and the Constitution are everything."


If you really take to the work, and put yourself into harness, it will be so. You'll get to feel it as I do.

If you really take to the work, you'll get to feel it as I do.


The man who is counted by his colleagues as number one on the Treasury Bench in the English House of Commons, is the first of living men.

The man who is number one on the Treasury Bench in the English House of Commons, is the first of living men.


I don't know that I ever said it before; but that's my opinion."


"And who is the second;--the purse-bearer to this great man?"

"And who is the second; the purse-bearer to this great man?"


I wonder how we shall find Lady Glencora and the boy."


They had then arrived at the side entrance to the Castle, and Mr. Grey ran up-stairs to his wife's room to receive her congratulations.

They had arrived at the Castle, and Mr. Grey ran upstairs to his wife's room to receive her congratulations.


"They tell me so, but I don't know whether I actually am one till I've taken the oaths."


There's no position in the world so glorious!"


"It's a pity you are not Mr. Palliser's wife.


It is so much more than I have deserved.


"I hope nothing that I have ever said has driven you to it."


"I'd do more than that, dear, to make you happy," he said, as he put his arm round her and kissed her; "more than that, at least if it were in my power."

"I'd do more than that, dear, to make you happy," he said, as he put his arm round her and kissed her.


Probably my readers may agree with Alice, that in the final adjustment of her affairs she had received more than she had deserved.

Probably my readers may agree with Alice that she had received more than she deserved.


All her friends, except her husband, thought so.


But as they have all forgiven her, including even Lady Midlothian herself, I hope that they who have followed her story to its close will not be less generous.


Kate Vavasor had sent to her brother only the first half of her cousin's letter, that half in which Alice had attempted to describe what had taken place between her and Mr. Grey.

Kate Vavasor had sent to her brother only the first half of her cousin's letter, in which Alice had described her meeting with Mr. Grey.

Chapter 14: Alice Vavasor Becomes Troubled


In doing this, Kate had been a wicked traitor,--a traitor to that feminine faith against which treason on the part of one woman is always unpardonable in the eyes of other women.

In doing this, Kate had been a wicked traitor to Alice.


But her treason would have been of a deeper die had she sent the latter portion, for in that Alice had spoken of George Vavasor himself.

But her treason would have been worse if she had sent the second half, in which Alice had spoken of George Vavasor himself.


But even of this treason, Kate would, I think, have been guilty, had the words which Alice wrote been of a nature to serve her own purpose if read by her brother. But they had not been of this nature. They had spoken of George as a man with whom any closer connection than that which existed at present was impossible, and had been written with the view of begging Kate to desist from making futile attempts in that direction.

Kate might have done even this, if Alice had not spoken of George as a man with whom any closer connection was impossible. She had begged Kate to cease making futile attempts in that direction.


"I feel myself driven," Alice had said, "to write all this, as otherwise,--if I were simply to tell you that I have resolved to part from Mr. Grey,--you would think that the other thing might follow.

"I feel myself driven," Alice had said, "to write all this, as otherwise, when I tell you that I have resolved to part from Mr. Grey, you would think that the other thing might follow.


I should think myself untrue in my friendship to you if I did not tell you about Mr. Grey; and you will be untrue in your friendship to me if you take advantage of my confidence by saying more about your brother."


This part of Alice's letter Kate had not sent to George Vavasor;--"But the other thing shall follow," Kate had said, as she read the words for the second time, and then put the papers into her desk.

"But the other thing shall follow," Kate said, as she read the words.


To give Kate Vavasor her due, she was, at any rate, unselfish in her intrigues.

To give Kate Vavasor her due, she was unselfish in her intrigues.


She was obstinately persistent, and she was moreover unscrupulous, but she was not selfish.

She was obstinately persistent, and unscrupulous, but she was not selfish.


Many years ago she had made up her mind that George and Alice should be man and wife, feeling that such a marriage would be good at any rate for her brother.


It had been almost brought about, and had then been hindered altogether through a fault on her brother's part.

It had almost happened, and had then been hindered through her brother's fault.


But she had forgiven him this sin as she had forgiven many others, and she was now at work in his behalf again, determined that they two should be married, even though neither of them might be now anxious that it should be so.

But she was now at work on his behalf again, determined that the two should be married.


The intrigue itself was dear to her, and success in it was necessary to her self-respect.

The intrigue itself was dear to her, and success was necessary to her self-respect.


She answered Alice's letter with a pleasant, gossiping epistle, which shall be recorded, as it will tell us something of Mrs. Greenow's proceedings at Yarmouth.

She answered Alice's letter with a pleasant, gossiping epistle about Mrs. Greenow's proceedings at Yarmouth.


Kate had promised to stay at Yarmouth for a month, but she had already been there six weeks, and was still under her aunt's wing.

Kate had promised to stay at Yarmouth for a month, but she had already been there six weeks, under her aunt's wing. She wrote:


It is no good saying that I am not. I know how difficult it is to deal with you, and therefore I sit down to answer your letter with fear and trembling, lest I should say a word too much, and thereby drive you back, or not say quite enough and thereby fail to encourage you on.

It is no good saying that I am not; but I answer your letter with fear and trembling, lest I should say too much.


I have long thought that Mr. Grey could not make you happy, and as I have thought so, how can I not be glad?

I have long thought that Mr. Grey could not make you happy.


It is no use saying that he is good and noble, and all that sort of thing. I have never denied it. But he was not suited to you, and his life would have made you wretched.

He is good and noble, and all that sort of thing; but he was not suited to you, and his life would have made you wretched.


And as you are the dearest friend I have, of course I rejoice mightily.


I can understand accurately the sort of way in which the interview went.

I can well understand how the interview went.


I can see him so plainly as he stood up in unruffled self-possession, ignoring all that you said, suggesting that you were feverish or perhaps bilious, waving his hand over you a little, as though that might possibly do you some small good, and then taking his leave with an assurance that it would be all right as soon as the wind changed.

I can see him so plainly in his unruffled self-possession, ignoring all that you said, suggesting that you were feverish, waving his hand over you as though that might do you good, and leaving with an assurance that it would be all right as soon as the wind changed.


I suppose it's very noble in him, not taking you at your word, and giving you, as it were, another chance; but there is a kind of nobility which is almost too great for this world.

I suppose it's very noble in him, giving you, as it were, another chance; but there is a kind of nobility which is almost too great for this world.


I think very well of you, my dear, as women go, but I do not think well enough of you to believe that you are fit to be Mr. John Grey's wife.


You have known my mind from the first to the last, and, therefore, what would be the good of my mincing matters?


No woman wishes her dearest friend to marry a man to whom she herself is antipathetic.

No woman wishes her dearest friend to marry a man whom she herself does not like.


You would have been as much lost to me, had you become Mrs. Grey of Nethercoats, Cambridgeshire, as though you had gone to heaven.

You would have been lost to me as Mrs. Grey of Nethercoats.


I don't say but what Nethercoats may be a kind of heaven,--but then one doesn't wish one's friend that distant sort of happiness. A flat Eden I can fancy it, hemmed in by broad dykes, in which cream and eggs are very plentiful, where an Adam and an Eve might drink the choicest tea out of the finest china, with toast buttered to perfection, from year's end to year's end; into which no money troubles would ever find their way, nor yet any naughty novels. But such an Eden is not tempting to me, nor, as I think, to you. I can fancy you stretching your poor neck over the dyke, longing to fly away that you might cease to be at rest, but knowing that the matrimonial dragon was too strong for any such flight. If ever bird banged his wings to pieces against gilded bars, you would have banged yours to pieces in that cage.

I daresay it is a lovely place, but if ever bird banged his wings to pieces against gilded bars, you would have banged yours to pieces in that cage.


You say that you have failed to make him understand that the matter is settled.


I need not say that of course it is settled, and that he must be made to understand it.

Of course it is settled, and he must be made to understand it.


You owe it to him now to put him out of all doubt.


He is, I suppose, accessible to the words of a mortal, god though he be.


But I do not fear about this, for, after all, you have as much firmness about you as most people;--perhaps as much as he has at bottom, though you may not have so many occasions to show it.


As to that other matter I can only say that you shall be obliged, as far as it is in my power to obey you.


For what may come out from me by word of mouth when we are together, I will not answer with certainty.


But my pen is under better control, and it shall not write the offending name.


And now I must tell you a little about myself;--or rather, I am inclined to spin a yarn, and tell you a great deal.

And now I must tell you a little about myself; or rather, tell you a great deal.


If I were to say he hasn't declared himself, I should hardly give you a fair idea of my success.


And yet he has not declared himself,--and, which is worse, is very anxious to marry a rival. But it's a strong point in my favour that my rival wants him to take me, and that he will assuredly be driven to make me an offer sooner or later, in obedience to her orders. My aunt is my rival, and I do not feel the least doubt as to his having offered to her half a dozen times.

As yet he has not declared himself, and, what's worse, is very anxious to marry a rival - my aunt. But she wants him to take me, so he will be driven to make me an offer sooner or later, in obedience to her orders.


But then she has another lover, Captain Bellfield, and I see that she prefers him.

My aunt has another lover, Captain Bellfield, and she prefers him.


He is a penniless scamp and looks as though he drank.


He paints his whiskers too, which I don't like; and, being forty, tries to look like twenty-five. Otherwise he is agreeable enough, and I rather approve of my aunt's taste in preferring him.

He paints his whiskers too; otherwise he is agreeable enough.


But my lover has solid attractions, and allures me on by a description of the fat cattle which he sends to market.


He is a man of substance, and should I ever become Mrs. Cheesacre, I have reason to think that I shall not be left in want.

He is a man of substance, and should I ever become Mrs. Cheesacre, I should not be left in want.


We went up to his place on a visit the other day.

We went to visit his place the other day.


Oileymead is the name of my future home;--not so pretty as Nethercoats, is it? And we had such a time there!

Oileymead is its name - and we had such a time there!


We reached the place at ten and left it at four, and he managed to give us three meals.


I'm sure we had before our eyes at different times every bit of china, delf, glass, and plate in the establishment.

I'm sure we saw every bit of china, glass, and plate in the establishment.


He made us go into the cellar, and told us how much wine he had got there, and how much beer.

He made us go into the cellar, and told us how much wine and beer he had got there.


"It's all paid for, Mrs. Greenow, every bottle of it," he said, turning round to my aunt, with a pathetic earnestness, for which I had hardly given him credit.

"It's all paid for, Mrs. Greenow, every bottle," he said with a pathetic earnestness.


"Everything in this house is my own; it's all paid for.


"I don't call anything a man's own till it's paid for.


Now that jacket that Bellfield swells about with on the sands at Yarmouth,--that's not his own,--and it's not like to be either."

Now that jacket that Bellfield swells about with - that's not his own."


And then he winked his eye as though bidding my aunt to think of that before she encouraged such a lover as Bellfield.


He took us into every bedroom, and disclosed to us all the glories of his upper chambers.

Then he took us into every bedroom, and showed us all their glories.


It would have done you good to see him lifting the counterpanes, and bidding my aunt feel the texture of the blankets!

You should have seen him bidding my aunt feel the thickness of the blankets!


And then to see her turn round to me and say:--"Kate, it's simply the best-furnished house I ever went over in my life!"

And she turned round to me and said:
"Kate, it's simply the best-furnished house I ever went over in my life!"


--"It does seem very comfortable," said I.


"Yes, I don't think there's anybody can say that Oileymead isn't comfortable."

"Yes," said he, "nobody can say that Oileymead isn't comfortable."


The attractions are the same;--only in the one place you would have a god for your keeper, and in the other a brute.

The attractions are the same; only in the one place you would have a god for your keeper, and in the other a brute.


For myself, if ever I'm to have a keeper at all, I shall prefer a man.


But when we got to the farmyard his eloquence reached the highest pitch.


"Mrs. Greenow," said he, "look at that," and he pointed to heaps of manure raised like the streets of a little city.

"Mrs. Greenow," said he, "look at that," and he pointed to heaps of manure.


"I've more muck upon this place here than any farmer in Norfolk, gentle or simple; I don't care who the other is."

"I've more muck upon this place here than any farmer in Norfolk."


Only fancy, Alice; it may all be mine; the blankets, the wine, the muck, and the rest of it.


So my aunt assured me when we got home that evening.


When I remarked that the wealth had been exhibited to her and not to me, she did not affect to deny it, but treated that as a matter of no moment. "He wants a wife, my dear," she said, "and you may pick him up to-morrow by putting out your hand."

When I remarked that the wealth had been exhibited to her and not to me, she did not deny it, but said, "He wants a wife, my dear, and you may have him tomorrow by putting out your hand."


When I remarked that his mind seemed to be intent on low things, and specially named the muck, she only laughed at me.

When I mentioned the muck, she only laughed.


"Money's never dirty," she said, "nor yet what makes money."

"Money's never dirty," she said, "nor what makes money."


She talks of taking lodgings in Norwich for the winter, saying that in her widowed state she will be as well there as anywhere else, and she wants me to stay with her up to Christmas.

She talks of taking lodgings in Norwich for the winter, and she wants me to stay with her up to Christmas.


Indeed she first proposed the Norwich plan on the ground that it might be useful to me,--with a view to Mr. Cheesacre, of course; but I fancy that she is unwilling to tear herself away from Captain Bellfield.


At any rate to Norwich she will go, and I have promised not to leave her before the second week in November.

At any rate, I have promised not to leave her before the second week in November.


With all her absurdities I like her. Her faults are terrible faults, but she has not the fault of hiding them by falsehood.

With all her absurdities and faults, I like her.


She is never stupid, and she is very good-natured.


She would have allowed me to equip myself from head to foot at her expense, if I would have accepted her liberality, and absolutely offered to give me my trousseau if I would marry Mr. Cheesacre.

She absolutely offered to give me my trousseau if I would marry Mr. Cheesacre.


I live in the hope that you will come down to the old place at Christmas.

I hope that you will come up to the old place at Christmas.


I won't offend you more than I can help.


And if I don't see you there, where am I to see you?


If I were you I would certainly not go to Cheltenham.


Do you ever dream of the river at Basle?


[Illustration: "Mrs. Greenow, look at that."]


Alice had almost lost the sensation created by the former portion of Kate's letter by the fun of the latter, before she had quite made that sensation her own.


The picture of the Cambridgeshire Eden would have displeased her had she dwelt upon it, and the allusion to the cream and toast would have had the very opposite effect to that which Kate had intended.


Perhaps Kate had felt this, and had therefore merged it all in her stories about Mr. Cheesacre.


"I will go to Cheltenham," she said to herself.

"I will go to Cheltenham," said Alice to herself after reading this.


I shall never be his wife;--but, till we have parted altogether, I will show him that I think well of his advice."

I shall never be his wife; but I will show him that I think well of his advice."


That same afternoon she told her father that she would go to Lady Macleod's at Cheltenham before the end of the month.

That afternoon she told her father that she would go to Lady Macleod's at Cheltenham.


She was, in truth, prompted to this by a resolution, of which she was herself hardly conscious, that she would not at this period of her life be in any way guided by her cousin.

She was, in truth, prompted by a resolution, of which she was herself hardly conscious, that she would not be guided by her cousin just now.


Having made up her mind about Mr. Grey, it was right that she should let her cousin know her purpose; but she would never be driven to confess to herself that Kate had influenced her in the matter.


Lady Macleod would no doubt vex her by hourly solicitations that the match might be renewed; but, if she knew herself, she had strength to withstand Lady Macleod.

Lady Macleod would no doubt vex her by begging that the match might be renewed; but she had strength to withstand Lady Macleod.


She received one letter from Mr. Grey before the time came for her departure, and she answered it, telling him of her intention;--telling him also that she now felt herself bound to explain to her father her present position.

She received one letter from Mr. Grey before she departed, and she answered it, telling him that she now felt bound to explain the position to her father.


"I tell you this," she said, "in consequence of what you said to me on the matter.


My father will know it to-morrow, and on the following morning I shall start for Cheltenham.


I have heard from Lady Macleod and she expects me."


On the following morning she did tell her father, standing by him as he sat at his breakfast.

On the following morning she told her father at breakfast.


said he, putting down his tea-cup and looking up into her face; "What!

said he, putting down his tea-cup. "What!


"No, papa; I know how strange you must think it."


"And you say that there has been no quarrel."


By degrees I have learned to feel that I should not make him happy as his wife."

But I have learned to feel that I should not make him happy as his wife."


"It's d----d nonsense," said Mr. Vavasor. Now such an expression as this from him, addressed to his daughter, showed that he was very deeply moved.

"It's d---d nonsense," said Mr. Vavasor, very deeply moved.


"And a man of honour, and with good means, and with all that knowledge and reading which you profess to like.


Look here, Alice; I am not going to interfere, nor shall I attempt to make you marry anyone.

Look here, Alice; I am not going to interfere.


You are your own mistress as far as that is concerned.


But I do hope, for your sake and for mine,--I do hope that there is nothing again between you and your cousin."

But I do hope that there is nothing again between you and your cousin."


"I did not like your going abroad with him, though I didn't choose to interrupt your plan by saying so.

"I did not like your going abroad with him, though I didn't want to say so.


But if there were anything of that kind going on, I should be bound to tell you that your cousin's position at present is not a good one. Men do not speak well of him."

But I must tell you that men do not speak well of your cousin."


"There is nothing between us, papa; but if there were, men speaking ill of him would not deter me."


"And men speaking well of Mr. Grey will not do the other thing."
"No.


I know very well that women can be obstinate."


"I haven't come to this resolution without thinking much about it, papa."

I have thought a great deal about it, papa."


You are your own mistress, and your fortune is in your own keeping.


"Well; I can't make you marry John Grey.


I think you very foolish, and if he comes to me I shall tell him so."


You are going down to Cheltenham, are you?"


"Yes, papa; I have promised Lady Macleod."


I'd sooner it should be you than me; that's all I can say."


Then he took up his newspaper, thereby showing that he had nothing further to say on the matter, and Alice left him alone.


The whole thing was so vexatious that even Mr. Vavasor was disturbed by it. As it was not term time he had no signing to do in Chancery Lane, and could not, therefore, bury his unhappiness in his daily labour,--or rather in his labour that was by no means daily. So he sat at home till four o'clock, expressing to himself in various phrases his wonder that "any man alive should ever rear a daughter." And when he got to his club the waiters found him quite unmanageable about his dinner, which he ate alone, rejecting all proposition of companionship.

The whole thing was so vexatious that when Mr. Vavasor went to his club the waiters found him quite unmanageable about his dinner.


But later in the evening he regained his composure over a glass of whiskey-toddy and a cigar.

But later in the evening he regained his composure over a whiskey-toddy and a cigar.


"She's got her own money," he said to himself, "and what does it matter?


I don't suppose she'll marry her cousin. I don't think she's fool enough for that.

I don't think she's fool enough to marry her cousin.


And after all she'll probably make it up again with John Grey."

And she'll probably make it up again with John Grey."


And in this way he determined that he might let this annoyance run off him, and that he need not as a father take the trouble of any interference.

So he decided that he need not take any fatherly trouble about it.


But while he was at his club there came a visitor to Queen Anne Street, and that visitor was the dangerous cousin of whom, according to his uncle's testimony, men at present did not speak well.

But while he was at his club a visitor came to Queen Anne Street: the dangerous cousin.


Alice had not seen him since they had parted on the day of their arrival in London,--nor, indeed, had heard of his whereabouts.

Alice had not seen him since they had parted on their arrival in London.


In the consternation of her mind at this step which she was taking,--a step which she had taught herself to regard as essentially her duty before it was taken, but which seemed to herself to be false and treacherous the moment she had taken it,--she had become aware that she had been wrong to travel with her cousin.

In her trouble at this step which she was taking - a step which she had taught herself to regard as her duty, but which seemed to herself to be false and treacherous the moment she had taken it - she had become aware that she had been wrong to travel with her cousin.


She felt sure,--she thought that she was sure,--that her doing so had in nowise affected her dealings with Mr. Grey.

She felt sure it had not affected her dealings with Mr. Grey.


She was very certain,--she thought that she was certain,--that she would have rejected him just the same had she never gone to Switzerland.

She was very certain - she thought she was certain - that she would have rejected him just the same.


But every one would say of her that her journey to Switzerland with such companions had produced that result. It had been unlucky and she was sorry for it, and she now wished to avoid all communication with her cousin till this affair should be altogether over.

But everyone would say that her journey had caused it, and she wished to avoid all communication with her cousin for now.


She was especially unwilling to see him; but she had not felt it necessary to give any special injunctions as to his admittance; and now, before she had time to think of it,--on the eve of her departure for Cheltenham,--he was in the room with her, just as the dusk of the October evening was coming on.

However, she had not given any orders about his admittance; and now, before she had time to think, he was in the room with her, just as the October dusk was coming on.


She was sitting away from the fire, almost behind the window-curtains, thinking of John Grey and very unhappy in her thoughts, when George Vavasor was announced.

She was sitting away from the fire, very unhappy in her thoughts, when George Vavasor was announced.


It will of course be understood that Vavasor had at this time received his sister's letter. He had received it, and had had time to consider the matter since the Sunday morning on which we saw him in his own rooms in Cecil Street.

He had received his sister's letter, and had had time to consider the matter.


"She can turn it all into capital to-morrow, if she pleases," he had said to himself when thinking of her income.

"She can turn all her income into capital tomorrow, if she pleases," he had said to himself.


But he had also reminded himself that her grandfather would probably enable him to settle an income out of the property upon Alice, in the event of their being married.

But he had also reminded himself that her grandfather would probably allow him to settle an income upon Alice out of his property if they married.


And then he had also felt that he could have no greater triumph than "walking atop of John Grey," as he called it.

And he had also felt that he could have no greater triumph than "walking atop of John Grey."


His return for the Chelsea Districts would hardly be sweeter to him than that.


"You must have thought I had vanished out of the world," said George, coming up to her with his extended hand.

"You must have thought I had vanished out of the world," said George.


Alice was confused, and hardly knew how to address him.

Alice, confused, hardly knew how to address him.


"Somebody told me that you were shooting," she said after a pause.


"So I was, but my shooting is not like the shooting of your great Nimrods,--men who are hunters upon the earth. Two days among the grouse and two more among the partridges are about the extent of it.

"So I was, but two days among the grouse and two more among the partridges was about the extent of it.


Capel Court is the preserve in which I am usually to be found."


Alice knew nothing of Capel Court, and said, "Oh, indeed."


"Yes, once or twice; she is still at Yarmouth with Aunt Greenow."


Kate seems to have made a league with Aunt Greenow. I, who don't pretend to be very disinterested in money matters, think that she is quite right.

Kate seems to have made friends with Aunt Greenow, and I think that she is quite right.


No doubt Aunt Greenow may marry again, but friends with forty thousand pounds are always agreeable."

Friends with forty thousand pounds are always agreeable."


"I don't believe that Kate thinks much of that," said Alice.

"I don't believe that Kate thinks much about that," said Alice.


Poor Kate is not a rich woman, or, I fear, likely to become one.


She doesn't seem to dream of getting married, and her own fortune is less than a hundred a year."


"Girls who never dream of getting married are just those who make the best marriages at last," said Alice.


"Perhaps so, but I wish I was easier about Kate.


"And I have done nothing for her as yet.


I did think, while I was in that wine business, that I could have done anything I pleased for her.

"I did think, while I was in that wine business, that I could have done something for her.


But my grandfather's obstinacy put me out of that; and now I'm beginning the world again,--that is, comparatively.

But my grandfather's obstinacy prevented that; and now I'm beginning the world again - that is, comparatively.


I wonder whether you think I'm wrong in trying to get into Parliament?"


It is just what I would do in your place.


You are unmarried, and have a right to run the risk."


"I am so glad to hear you speak like that," said he.


He had now managed to take up that friendly, confidential, almost affectionate tone of talking which he had so often used when abroad with her, and which he had failed to assume when first entering the room.

He had now managed to take up that friendly, confidential tone of talking which he had often used when abroad with her.


I know that people abuse me;--my own people, my grandfather, and probably your father,--saying that I am reckless and the rest of it.

I know that people abuse me, saying that I am reckless and the rest of it.


I do risk everything for my object; but I do not know that any one can blame me,--unless it be Kate.

I do risk everything for my object; but I do not know that anyone can blame me, unless it be Kate.


"No; she sympathizes with me; she, and she only, unless it be you."

"No; she sympathizes with me; no-one else does, unless it be you."


Then he paused for an answer, but she made him none.


"She is brave enough to give me her hearty sympathy.


But perhaps for that very reason I ought to be the more chary in endangering the only support that she is like to have.

But perhaps for that very reason I ought to be more careful in endangering the only support that she is likely to have."


What is ninety pounds a year for the maintenance of a single lady?"


"I hope that Kate will always live with me," said Alice; "that is, as soon as she has lost her home at Vavasor Hall."

"I hope that Kate will live with me," said Alice; "that is, once she has lost her home at Vavasor Hall."


He had been very crafty and had laid a trap for her. He had laid a trap for her, and she had fallen into it.

He had been very crafty and had laid a trap for her, and she had fallen into it.


She had determined not to be induced to talk of herself; but he had brought the thing round so cunningly that the words were out of her mouth before she remembered whither they would lead her.

She had been determined not to talk of herself; but the words were out of her mouth before she remembered where they would lead her.


She did remember this as she was speaking them, but then it was too late.


"Neither she nor I doubt your love, but few men would like such an intruder as that into their household, and of all men Mr. Grey, whose nature is retiring, would like it the least."

"Few men would like such an intruder into their household, and of all men Mr. Grey, whose nature is retiring, would like it the least."


"I was not thinking of Nethercoats," said Alice.


Kate says so often to me that when you are married she will be alone in the world."

Kate says often to me that when you are married she will be alone in the world.


"I don't think she will ever find that I shall separate myself from her."


You cannot be surprised that she should think of your marriage with dread.

You cannot be surprised that she should dread your marriage.


How much of her life has been made up of her companionship with you;--and all the best of it too!

How much of her life has been made up of her companionship with you!


You ought not to be angry with her for regarding your withdrawal into Cambridgeshire with dismay."

You ought not to be angry with her for regarding your marriage with dismay."


Alice could not act the lie which now seemed to be incumbent on her.


She could not let him talk of Nethercoats as though it were to be her future home.

Alice could not let him talk of Nethercoats as though it were to be her future home.


She made the struggle, and she found that she could not do it.


She was unable to find the words which should tell no lie to the ear, and which should yet deceive him.


"Kate may still live with me," she said slowly.


"Everything is over between me and Mr. Grey."


If you will allow me to say so, I would rather not talk about it;--not just at present."

I would rather not talk about it at present."


How can I not tell you that I am rejoiced that you are saved from a thraldom which I have long felt sure would break your heart?"

I am rejoiced that you are saved from a thraldom which I was sure would break your heart!"


"Well; if I am forbidden I shall of course obey.


But I own it is hard to me. How can I not congratulate you?"


To this she answered nothing, but beat with her foot upon the floor as though she were impatient of his words.

To this she answered nothing, but beat with her foot upon the floor as though impatient of his words.


"And yet you have no right to be surprised that when you tell me this I should think of all that passed between us in Switzerland.


Surely the cousin who was with you then has a right to say what he thinks of this change in your life; at any rate he may do so, if as in this case he approves altogether of what you are doing."

"Yet surely your cousin has a right to say what he thinks of this change in your life; especially if he approves of it."


"I am glad of your approval, George; but pray let that be an end to it."


After that the two sat silent for a minute or two.


She was waiting for him to go, but she could not bid him leave the house.

She was waiting for him to go, but she could not bid him leave.


She was angry with herself, in that she had allowed herself to tell him of her altered plans, and she was angry with him because he would not understand that she ought to be spared all conversation on the subject.

She was angry with herself, for allowing herself to tell him of her altered plans, and she was angry with him because he would not understand that she ought to be spared all conversation on the subject.


So she sat looking through the window at the row of gaslights as they were being lit, and he remained in his chair with his elbow on the table and his head resting on his hand.

So she sat looking through the window at the gas-lamps as they were being lit, and he remained in his chair.


"Do you remember asking me whether I ever shivered," he said at last; "--whether I ever thought of things that made me shiver? Don't you remember; on the bridge at Basle?"

"Do you remember asking me whether I ever shivered," he said at last, "on the bridge at Basle?"


"Well, Alice;--one cause for my shivering is over.

"Well, Alice, one cause for my shivering is over.


Papa and I will probably go down to Vavasor Hall before Christmas.

Papa and I will probably go to Vavasor Hall before Christmas."


"I shall see you at any rate after your return from Cheltenham?


Of course Kate will know, and she will tell me."


I suppose she will stay here when she comes up from Norfolk.

"Yes; I suppose Kate will stay here when she comes back from Norfolk.


I shall have fewer fits of that inward shivering that you spoke of,--many less, on account of what I have now heard.

I shall have fewer fits now of that inward shivering that you spoke of.


As he went he took her hand and pressed it closely between his own.

He took her hand and pressed it closely between his own.


In those days when they were lovers,--engaged lovers, a close, long-continued pressure of her hand had been his most eloquent speech of love.

In the days when they were engaged, a close pressure of her hand had been his most eloquent speech of love.


He had not been given to many kisses,--not even to many words of love.

He had not been given to many kisses - not even to many words of love.


But he would take her hand and hold it, even as he looked away from her, and she remembered well the touch of his palm.

But he would take her hand and hold it, and she remembered well the touch of his palm.


It was ever cool,--cool, and with a surface smooth as a woman's,--a small hand that had a firm grip.

It was a cool, smooth, small hand that had a firm grip.


There had been days when she had loved to feel that her own was within it, when she trusted in it, and intended that it should be her staff through life.

There had been days when she had loved to feel that her own was within it, when she trusted in it, as her staff through life.


Now she distrusted it; and as the thoughts of the old days came upon her, and the remembrance of that touch was recalled, she drew her hand away rapidly.

Now she distrusted it; and she drew her hand away rapidly.


Not for that had she driven from her as honest a man as had ever wished to mate with a woman.


He, George Vavasor, had never so held her hand since the day when they had parted, and now on this first occasion of her freedom she felt it again.


Did he suppose that she could transfer her love in that way, as a flower may be taken from one buttonhole and placed in another?


He read it all, and knew that he was hurrying on too quickly.


"I can understand well," he said in a whisper, "what your present feelings are; but I do not think you will be really angry with me because I have been unable to repress my joy at what I cannot but regard as your release from a great misfortune."

"I can understand well," he whispered, "what your present feelings are; but I do not think you will be really angry with me because I have been unable to repress my joy at your release from a great misfortune."


she said, seating herself on the chair from which he had risen.


That he should have loved me, and that I should have driven him away from me!"

That he should have loved me, and that I should have driven him away!"


Her thoughts travelled off to the sweetness of that home at Nethercoats, to the excellence of that master who might have been hers; and then in an agony of despair she told herself that she had been an idiot and a fool, as well as a traitor.

Her thoughts travelled off to the sweetness of that home at Nethercoats, to the excellence of its master; and in an agony of despair she told herself that she had been an idiot and a fool, as well as a traitor.


What had she wanted in life that she should have thus quarrelled with as happy a lot as ever had been offered to a woman?


Had she not been mad, when she sent from her side the only man that she loved,--the only man that she had ever truly respected?

Had she not been mad, when she sent away the only man that she loved - the only man that she had ever truly respected?


For hours she sat there, all alone, putting out the candles which the servant had lighted for her, and leaving untasted the tea that was brought to her.

For hours she sat there, all alone, leaving untasted the tea that was brought to her.


It was her special fault, that when at Rome she longed for Tibur, and when at Tibur she regretted Rome.


Not that her cousin George is to be taken as representing the joys of the great capital, though Mr. Grey may be presumed to form no inconsiderable part of the promised delights of the country.


Now that she had sacrificed her Tibur, because it had seemed to her that the sunny quiet of its pastures lacked the excitement necessary for the happiness of life, she was again prepared to quarrel with the heartlessness of Rome, and already was again sighing for the tranquillity of the country.


Sitting there, full of these regrets, she declared to herself that she would wait for her father's return, and then, throwing herself upon his love and upon his mercy, would beg him to go to Mr. Grey and ask for pardon for her.

Sitting there, full of these regrets, she declared to herself that she would wait for her father's return, and then, throwing herself upon his love and mercy, would beg him to go to Mr. Grey and ask for pardon for her.


"I should be very humble to him," she said; "but he is so good, that I may dare to be humble before him."


She waited till twelve, till one, till two;--but still he did not come.

She waited till twelve, till one, till two;-but still he did not come.


Later than that she did not dare to wait for him.


She feared to trust him on such business returning so late as that,--after so many cigars; after, perhaps, some superfluous beakers of club nectar.


His temper at such a moment would not be fit for such work as hers.

His temper at such a time would not be fit for the task.


But if he was late in coming home, who had sent him away from his home in unhappiness?


Between two and three she went to bed, and on the following morning she left Queen Anne Street for the Great Western Station before her father was up.

Between two and three she went to bed, and on the following morning she left Queen Anne Street for the station before her father was up.


Poor Kate's condition at the old Hall on that night was very sad.

Poor Kate's condition that night was very sad.

Chapter 54: Showing How Alice Was Punished


The presence of death is always a source of sorrow, even though the circumstances of the case are of a kind to create no agony of grief.

Death is always a sorrow, even though it may cause no agony of grief.


The old man who had just passed away up-stairs was fully due to go. He had lived his span all out, and had himself known that to die was the one thing left for him to do. Kate also had expected his death, and had felt that the time had come in which it would be foolish even to wish that it should be arrested.

The old man had lived his span; both he and Kate had expected his death.


But death close to one is always sad as it is solemn.

But death close to one is always sad and solemn.


And she was quite alone at Vavasor Hall.


She had no acquaintance within some miles of her.


From the young vicar, though she herself had not quarrelled with him, she could receive no comfort, as she hardly knew him; nor was she of a temperament which would dispose her to turn to a clergyman at such a time for comfort, unless to one who might have been an old friend.


Her aunt and brother would probably both come to her, but they could hardly be with her for a day or two, and during that day or two it would be needful that orders should be given which it is disagreeable for a woman to have to give.

Her aunt and brother would probably both come, but they could take a day or two, and during that time she needed to give orders which were disagreeable for a woman.


The servants, moreover, in the house were hardly fit to assist her much.

The servants were hardly fit to assist her much.


There was an old butler, or footman, who had lived at the Hall for more than fifty years, but he was crippled with rheumatism, and so laden with maladies, that he rarely crept out of his own room. He was simply an additional burden on the others.

There was an old butler who had lived at the Hall for more than fifty years, but he was crippled with rheumatism, and was simply an additional burden on the others.


There was a boy who had lately done all the work which the other should have done, and ever so much more beside. There is no knowing how much work such a boy will do when properly drilled, and he was now Kate's best minister in her distress.

There was a boy who had lately done all the work, and he was now Kate's best minister in her distress.


There was the old nurse,--but she had been simply good for nursing, and there were two rough Westmoreland girls who called themselves cook and housemaid.

There was the old nurse - but she had been good only for nursing; and there were two rough Westmorland girls who called themselves cook and housemaid.


On that first evening,--the very day on which her grandfather had died,--Kate would have been more comfortable had she really found something that she could do.

On that evening of the day on which her grandfather had died, Kate would have been more comfortable if she had found something that she could do.


She hovered for an hour or two in and out of the room, conscious of the letter which she had in her pocket, and very desirous in heart of reading it, but restrained by a feeling that at such a moment she ought to think only of the dead.

She hovered for an hour or two around the room, conscious of the letter from Alice in her pocket, wishing to read it, but restrained by a feeling that at the moment she ought to think only of the dead.


Let the living think of the dead, when their thoughts will travel that way whether the thinker wish it or no.


Grief taken up because grief is supposed to be proper, is only one degree better than pretended grief.


When one sees it, one cannot but think of the lady who asked her friend, in confidence, whether hot roast fowl and bread-sauce were compatible with the earliest state of weeds; or of that other lady,--a royal lady she,--who was much comforted in the tedium of her trouble when assured by one of the lords about the Court that piquet was mourning.


It was late at night, near eleven, before Kate took out her letter and read it.

It was late at night before Kate took out her letter and read it.


As something of my story hangs upon it, I will give it at length, though it was a long letter.


It had been written with great struggles, and with many tears, and Kate, as she read it to the end, almost forgot that her grandfather was lying dead in the room above her.

It had been written with great struggles, and with many tears, and Kate, as she read it, almost forgot that her grandfather was lying dead in the room above her.


I hardly know how to write to you--what I have to tell, and yet I must tell it. I must tell it to you, but I shall never repeat the story to any one else.

I hardly know how to write what I have to tell, and yet I must tell it; but I shall never repeat the story to anyone else.


I should have written yesterday, when it occurred, but I was so ill that I felt myself unable to make the exertion.

I would have written yesterday, when it occurred, but I was so ill that I felt unable to.


Indeed, at one time, after your brother had left me, I almost doubted whether I should ever be able to collect my thoughts again.


My dismay was at first so great that my reason for a time deserted me, and I could only sit and cry like an idiot.

My dismay was so great that my reason for a time deserted me, and I could only sit and cry like an idiot.


Dear Kate, I hope you will not be angry with me for telling you.


I have endeavoured to think about it as calmly as I can, and I believe that I have no alternative.

I have tried to think about it as calmly as I can, and I believe that I have no alternative.


The fact that your brother has quarrelled with me cannot be concealed from you, and I must not leave him to tell you of the manner of it.

The fact that your brother has quarrelled with me cannot be concealed from you, and I must not leave him to tell you about it.


He came to me yesterday in great anger. His anger then was nothing to what it became afterwards; but even when he first came in he was full of wrath.

He came to me yesterday in great anger; although his anger then was nothing to what it became afterwards.


He stood up before me, and asked me how it had come to pass that I had sent him the money which he had asked of me through the hands of Mr. Grey.

He stood before me, and asked me how it had come to pass that I had sent him my money through the hands of Mr. Grey.


Of course I had not done this, and so I told him at once.

Of course I had not done this, and so I told him.


I had spoken of the matter to no one but papa, and he had managed it for me.


Even now I know nothing of it, and as I have not yet spoken to papa I cannot understand it.


George at once told me that he disbelieved me, and when I sat quiet under this insult, he used harsher words, and said that I had conspired to lower him before the world.

George at once told me that he disbelieved me, and when I sat quiet, he used harsher words, and said that I had conspired to lower him before the world.


Oh, Kate, I must tell it you all, though it is dreadful to me that I should have to write it.

Oh, Kate, I must tell it you all, though it is dreadful to write it.


You remember how it came to pass when we were in Westmoreland together at Christmas?

You remember what happened when we were in Westmorland together at Christmas?


Do not think that I am blaming you, but I was very rash then in the answers which I made to him.

Do not think that I am blaming you, but I was very rash then in the answer I made to him.


I thought that I could be useful to him as his wife, and I had told myself that it would be good that I should be of use in some way.

I thought that I could be useful to him as his wife, and I thought it would be good that I should be of use in some way.


When he asked me that question yesterday, I sat silent.


Indeed, how could I have answered it in the affirmative, when he had just used such language to me,--while he was standing opposite to me, looking at me in that way which he has when he is enraged?

Indeed, how could I have answered "yes", when he had just used such language to me - while he was standing there looking so enraged?


Then he spoke again and demanded of me that I should at once send back to Mr. Grey all presents of his which I had kept, and at the same time took up and threw across the table on to the sofa near me, a little paper knife which Mr. Grey once gave me.

Then he demanded that I should at once send back to Mr. Grey all presents of his which I had kept, and he threw across the table a little paper knife which Mr. Grey once gave me.


I could not allow myself to be so ordered by him; so I said nothing, but put the knife back upon the table.


He then took it again and threw it beneath the grate.


"I have a right to look upon you as my wife," he said, "and, as such, I will not allow you to keep that man's things about you."

"I have a right to regard you as my wife," he said, "and I will not allow you to keep that man's things."


I think I told him then that I should never become his wife, but though I remember many of his words, I remember none of my own.


He swore, I know, with a great oath, that if I went back a second time from my word to him he would leave me no peace,--that he would punish me for my perfidy with some fearful punishment.

He swore, I know, with a great oath, that if I went back a second time from my word he would leave me no peace - he would punish me fearfully.


Oh, Kate, I cannot tell you what he looked like.


He had then come quite close to me, and I know that I trembled before him as though he were going to strike me.

He had come quite close to me, and I trembled as though he were going to strike me.


What could I say to a man who behaved to me in such a manner?


Then, as far as I can remember it, he sat down and began to talk about money.


I forget what he said at first, but I know that I assured him that he might take what he wanted so long as enough was left to prevent my being absolutely a burden on papa.


"That, madam, is a matter of course," he said.


Then he explained that after what had passed between us, I had no right to ruin him by keeping back from him money which had been promised to him, and which was essential to his success.

Then he explained that after what had passed between us, I had no right to ruin him by keeping back money which had been promised to him, and which was essential to his success.


In this, dear Kate, I think he was mainly right.


But he could not have been right in putting it to me in that hard, cruel manner, especially as I had never refused anything that he had asked of me in respect of money.

But he could not have been right in saying it in that hard, cruel manner, especially as I had never refused any money that he had asked of me.


The money he may have while it lasts; but then there must be an end of it all between us, even though he should have the power of punishing me, as he says he will do.


What punishment can be so hard as that which he has already inflicted?


He then desired me to write a letter to him which he might show to the lawyer,--to our own lawyer, I think he meant,--in order that money might be raised to pay back what Mr. Grey had advanced, and give him what he now required.

He then desired me to write a letter which he might show to the lawyer in order that money might be raised to pay back what Mr. Grey had advanced, and give him what he now required.


I think he said it was to be five thousand pounds.


When he asked this I did not move. Indeed, I was unable to move.

When he asked this I was unable to move.


Then he spoke very loud, and swore at me again, and brought me pen and ink, demanding that I should write the letter.


I was so frightened that I thought of running to the door to escape, and I would have done so had I not distrusted my own power.

I was so frightened that I thought of running to the door to escape, and I would have done so if I had felt able.


Had it been to save my life I could not have written the letter.


I believe I was now crying,--at any rate I threw myself back and covered my face with my hands.

I believe I was now crying - at any rate I covered my face with my hands.


Then he came and sat by me, and took hold of my arms.


He put his mouth close to my ear, and said words which were terrible, though I did not understand them.

He put his mouth close to my ear, and said words which were terrible.


I do not know what it was he said, but he was threatening me with his anger if I did not obey him.

He was threatening me with his anger if I did not obey him.


Before he left me, I believe I found my voice to tell him that he should certainly have the money which he required.

Before he left me, I believe I found my voice to tell him that he should certainly have the money.


I will go to Mr. Round myself, and insist on its being done.


My money is my own, and I may do with it as I please.


But I hope,--I am obliged to hope, that I may never be made to see my cousin again.

But I hope that I may never be made to see my cousin again.


I will not pretend to express any opinion as to the cause of all this.


It is very possible that you will not believe all I say,--that you will think that I am mad and have deluded myself.

It is very possible that you will not believe all I say - that you will think that I am mad and deluded.


Of course your heart will prompt you to accuse me rather than him.


If it is so, and if there must therefore be a division between us, my grief will be greatly increased; but I do not know that I can help it.

If it is so, my grief will be greatly increased; but I cannot help it.


He has cruelly ill-used me and insulted me.


He has treated me as I should have thought no man could have treated a woman.


As regards money, I did all that I could do to show that I trusted him thoroughly, and my confidence has only led to suspicion.


I do not know whether he understands that everything must be over between us; but, if not, I must ask you to tell him so.


And I must ask you to explain to him that he must not come again to Queen Anne Street.


If he does, nothing shall induce me to see him.


Tell him also that the money that he wants shall assuredly be sent to him as soon as I can make Mr. Round get it.

Tell him that the money that he wants shall be sent to him as soon as I can manage it.


If you do not answer me I shall presume that you think yourself bound to support his side, and to believe me to have been wrong.


It will make me very unhappy; but I shall remember that you are his sister, and I shall not be angry with you.


Kate, as she read her letter through, at first quickly, and then very slowly, came by degrees almost to forget that death was in the house.

Kate, as she read her letter through, at first quickly, and then very slowly, almost forgot that death was in the house.


Her mind, and heart, and brain, were filled with thoughts and feelings that had exclusive reference to Alice and her brother, and at last she found herself walking the room with quick, impetuous steps, while her blood was hot with indignation.

Her mind and heart were filled with thoughts of Alice and her brother, and at last she found herself walking the room with quick, impetuous steps, while her blood was hot with indignation.


All her sympathies in the matter were with Alice.


It never occurred to her to disbelieve a word of the statement made to her, or to suggest to herself that it had been coloured by any fears or exaggerations on the part of her correspondent.

It never occurred to her to disbelieve a word, or to suggest that it had been exaggerated.


And, moreover, much as she loved her brother,--willing as she had been and would still be to risk all that she possessed, and herself also, on his behalf,--she knew that it would be risking and not trusting.

And, moreover, much as she loved her brother, she did not trust him.


She loved her brother, such love having come to her by nature, and having remained with her from of old; and in his intellect she still believed. But she had ceased to have belief in his conduct.

She believed in his intellect; but she had ceased to have belief in his conduct.


She feared everything that he might do, and lived with a consciousness that though she was willing to connect all her own fortunes with his, she had much reason to expect that she might encounter ruin in doing so.

She feared everything that he might do, and was conscious that though she was willing to connect all her own fortunes with his, it might ruin her.


Her sin had been in this,--that she had been anxious to subject Alice to the same danger,--that she had intrigued, sometimes very meanly, to bring about the object which she had at heart,--that she had used all her craft to separate Alice from Mr. Grey.

Her sin had been in seeking to subject Alice to the same danger; she had plotted to bring about the thing she wished for, and to separate Alice from Mr. Grey.


Perhaps it may be alleged in her excuse that she had thought,--had hoped rather than thought,--that the marriage which she contemplated would change much in her brother that was wrong, and bring him into a mode of life that would not be dangerous.

In her excuse, she had hoped a marriage between Alice and her brother would change much in George that was wrong.


Might not she and Alice together so work upon him, that he should cease to stand ever on the brink of some half-seen precipice?

Might not she and Alice together so work upon him, that he should cease to stand always on the brink of some half-seen precipice?


To risk herself for her brother was noble.


But when she used her cunning in inducing her cousin to share that risk she was ignoble.

But inducing her cousin to share that risk was ignoble.


Of this she had herself some consciousness, as she walked up and down the old dining-room at midnight, holding her cousin's letter in her hand.

She knew this as she walked up and down the old dining-room at midnight, holding her cousin's letter in her hand.


Her cheeks became tinged with shame as she thought of the scene which Alice had described,--the toy thrown beneath the grate, the loud curses, the whispered threats, which had been more terrible than curses, the demand for money, made with something worse than a cut-throat's violence, the strong man's hand placed upon the woman's arm in anger and in rage, those eyes glaring, and the gaping horror of that still raw cicatrice, as he pressed his face close to that of his victim!

Her cheeks became tinged with shame as she thought of the scene which Alice had described - the knife thrown beneath the grate, the loud curses, the whispered threats, more terrible than curses, the demand for money, made with a cut-throat's violence, the strong man's hand placed upon the woman's arm in rage, those eyes glaring, and the gaping horror of that scar as he pressed his face close to his victim's!


Not for a moment did she think of defending him.


She accused him to herself vehemently of a sin over and above those sins which had filled Alice with dismay.


He had demanded money from the girl whom he intended to marry!


According to Kate's idea, nothing could excuse or palliate this sin.


Alice had accounted it as nothing,--had expressed her opinion that the demand was reasonable;--even now, after the ill-usage to which she had been subjected, she had declared that the money should be forthcoming, and given to the man who had treated her so shamefully.

Alice had written that the demand was reasonable; even now, after his ill-usage, she had declared that the money should be given to the man who had treated her so shamefully.


It might be well that Alice should so feel and so act, but it behoved Kate to feel and act very differently.


She would tell her brother, even in the house of death, should he come there, that his conduct was mean and unmanly.

She would tell her brother that his conduct was mean and unmanly.


She declared to herself that she would do this even though he should threaten her with all his fury,--though he should glare upon her with all the horrors of his countenance.

She declared to herself that she would do this even though he should threaten her with all his fury.


One o'clock, and two o'clock, still found her in the dark sombre parlour, every now and then pacing the floor of the room.

One o'clock, and two o'clock, still found her in the sombre parlour.


The fire had gone out, and, though it was now the middle of April, she began to feel the cold.

The fire had gone out, and she began to feel the cold.


But she would not go to bed before she had written a line to Alice.


To her brother a message by telegraph would of course be sent the next morning; as also would she send a message to her aunt.

To her brother, and her aunt, a message by telegraph would be sent the next morning.


But to Alice she would write, though it might be but a line.


Cold as she was, she found her pens and paper, and wrote her letter that night.

Cold as she was, she found her pens and paper, and wrote:


"Dear Alice, to-day I received your letter, and to-day our poor old grandfather died.

"Dear Alice, today I received your letter, and today our poor old grandfather died.


Tell my uncle John, with my love, of his father's death.


You will understand that I cannot write much now about that other matter; but I must tell you, even at such a moment as this, that there shall be no quarrel between you and me.


There shall be none at least on my side.


I cannot say more till a few days shall have passed by.


I have telegraphed to George, and I suppose he will come down.

I have telegraphed to George, and I suppose he will come here.


I think my aunt Greenow will come also, as I had written to her before, seeing that I wanted the comfort of having her here.

I think my aunt Greenow will come also, as I asked her earlier.


Uncle John will of course come or not as he thinks fitting.


I don't know whether I am in a position to say that I shall be glad to see him; but I should be very glad.


He and you will know that I can, as yet, tell you nothing further.


The lawyer is to see the men about the funeral.


Nothing, I suppose, will be done till George comes.


Your own cousin and friend, KATE VAVASOR."

"Your own cousin and friend, Kate Vavasor."


And then she added a line below, "My own Alice,--If you will let me, you shall be my sister, and be the nearest to me and the dearest."

And then she added a line below, "My own Alice, if you will let me, you shall be my sister, and be the nearest to me and the dearest."


Alice, when she received this, was at the first moment so much struck, and indeed surprised, by the tidings of her grandfather's death, that she was forced, in spite of the still existing violence of her own feelings, to think and act chiefly with reference to that event.

Alice, when she received this, was at first so surprised by the news of her grandfather's death, that she was forced to think chiefly about that event.


Her father had not then left his room. She therefore went to him, and handed him Kate's letter.

She went to her father and handed him Kate's letter.


"Papa," she said, "there is news from Westmoreland; bad news, which you hardly expected yet."

"Papa," she said, "there is bad news from Westmorland."


"My father is dead," said John Vavasor. Whereupon Alice gave him Kate's letter, that he might read it.

"My father is dead," said John Vavasor; and he read the letter.


"Of course I shall go down," he said, as he came to that part in which Kate had spoken of him.

"Of course I shall go," he said, as he came to that part in which Kate had spoken of him.


"Does she think I shall not follow my father to the grave, because I dislike her brother?

"Does she think I shall not go to my father's funeral?


What does she mean by saying that there shall be no quarrel between you and her?"


"I will explain that at another time," said Alice.

"I will explain another time," said Alice.


John Vavasor asked no further questions then, but declared at first that he should go to Westmoreland on the following day.

John Vavasor asked no further questions, but declared that he would go to Westmorland by the mail train that evening.


"I'll go by the mail train to-night," he said.


"It will be very disagreeable, but I ought to be there when the will is opened."

"It will be very disagreeable," he said, "but I ought to be there when the will is opened."


There was very little more said in Queen Anne Street on the subject till the evening,--till a few moments before Mr. Vavasor left his house.

Little more was said on the subject till the evening.


He indeed had thought nothing more about that quarrelling, or rather that promise that there should be no quarrelling, between the girls.


He still regarded his nephew George as the man who, unfortunately, was to be his son-in-law, and now, during this tedious sad day, in which he felt himself compelled to remain at home, he busied his mind in thinking of George and Alice, as living together at the old Hall.


At six, the father and daughter dined, and soon after dinner Mr. Vavasor went up to his own room to prepare himself for his journey. After a while Alice followed him,--but she did not do so till she knew that if anything was to be told before the journey no further time could be lost.

But after dinner, as he went up to pack, Alice followed him.


"Papa," she said, as soon as she had shut the door behind her, "I think I ought to tell you before you go that everything is over between me and George."

"Papa," she said, "I think I ought to tell you before you go that everything is over between me and George."


said her father, with uncontrolled surprise.


"I should perhaps say that he has quarrelled with me.


But, dear papa, pray do not question me at present.


I will tell you all when you come back, but I thought it right that you should know this before you went."


"I cannot explain it to you in a hurry like this.


Papa, you may understand something of the shame which I feel, and you should not question me now."


"There is nothing different in regard to him."


George, you know, has had two thousand pounds of your money,--of yours or somebody else's.

George, you know, has had two thousand pounds of your money - of yours or somebody else's.


Well, we can't talk about it now, as I must be off.


Thinking as I do of George, I'm glad of it,--that's all."


Then he went, and Alice was left alone, to comfort herself as best she might by her own reflections.


George Vavasor had received the message on the day previous to that on which Alice's letter had reached her, but it had not come to him till late in the day. He might have gone down by the mail train of that night, but there were one or two persons, his own attorney especially, whom he wished to see before the reading of his grandfather's will. He remained in town, therefore, on the following day, and went down by the same train as that which took his uncle.

George Vavasor had also received the message, and he took the same train as his uncle.


Walking along the platform, looking for a seat, he peered into a carriage and met his uncle's eye.


The two saw each other, but did not speak, and George passed on to another carriage.


On the following morning, before the break of day, they met again in the refreshment room, at the station at Lancaster.

On the following morning, before daybreak, they met again in the refreshment room at Lancaster Station.


"So my father has gone, George," said the uncle, speaking to the nephew. They must go to the same house, and Mr. Vavasor felt that it would be better that they should be on speaking terms when they reached it.

"So my father has gone, George," said the uncle, feeling that it would be better that they should be on speaking terms.


"Yes," said George; "he has gone at last.


I wonder what we shall find to have been his latest act of injustice."


The reader will remember that he had received Kate's first letter, in which she had told him of the Squire's altered will.

The reader will remember that Kate had written to him about the Squire's altered will.


His finer feelings were perhaps not very strong, but he had no thoughts or hopes in reference to the matter which were mean.


He expected nothing himself, and did not begrudge his nephew the inheritance.

He expected nothing from the will himself, and did not begrudge his nephew the inheritance.


At this moment he was thinking of the old Squire as a father who had ever been kind to him.

At this moment he was thinking of the old Squire as a father who had always been kind to him.


It might be natural that George should have no such old affection at his heart, but it was unnatural that he should express himself as he had done at such a moment.


The uncle turned away, but said nothing.


George followed him with a little proposition of his own. "We shan't get any conveyance at Shap," he said.

George followed him saying, "We shan't get any transport at Shap.


"Hadn't we better go over in a chaise from Kendal?"


To this the uncle assented, and so they finished their journey together.


George smoked all the time that they were in the carriage, and very few words were spoken.

George smoked all the time in the carriage, and very few words were spoken.


As they drove up to the old house, they found that another arrival had taken place before them,--Mrs. Greenow having reached the house in some vehicle from the Shap station. She had come across from Norwich to Manchester, where she had joined the train which had brought the uncle and nephew from London.

As they drove up to the old house, they found that Mrs. Greenow had arrived in some vehicle from the Shap station, having travelled from Norwich to Manchester, where she had joined the same train.


Mr. Vavasor was at his wits' end about his daughter.

Chapter 61: The Bills Are Made All Right


She had put her name to four bills for five hundred pounds each, and had demanded from him, almost without an apology, his aid in obtaining money to meet them.

She had put her name to four bills for five hundred pounds each, and had demanded his aid in obtaining money to meet them.


And she might put her name to any other number of bills, and for any amount!

And she might put her name to any other number of bills!


There was no knowing how a man ought to behave to such a daughter.


"I don't want her money," the father said to himself; "and if she had got none of her own, I would make her as comfortable as I could with my own income.

"I don't want her money," the father said to himself; "and if she had none, I would make her as comfortable as I could with my own income.


But to see her throw her money away in such a fashion as this is enough to break a man's heart."

But to see her throw her money away like this is enough to break a man's heart."


Mr. Vavasor went to his office in Chancery Lane, but he did not go to the chambers of Mr. Round, the lawyer.


Instead of calling on Mr. Round he sent a note by a messenger to Suffolk Street, and the answer to the note came in the person of Mr. Grey.

He sent a note to Mr. Round, the lawyer, and the answer to the note came in the person of Mr. Grey.


John Grey was living in town in these days, and was in the habit of seeing Mr. Vavasor frequently.


Indeed, he had not left London since the memorable occasion on which he had pitched his rival down the tailor's stairs at his lodgings.


He had made himself pretty well conversant with George Vavasor's career, and had often shuddered as he thought what might be the fate of any girl who might trust herself to marry such a man as that.


He had been at home when Mr. Vavasor's note had reached his lodgings, and had instantly walked off towards Chancery Lane.


He knew his way to Mr. Vavasor's signing-office very accurately, for he had acquired a habit of calling there, and of talking to the father about his daughter.

John Grey had acquired a habit of calling at Mr. Vavasor's office to talk to the father about his daughter.


He was a patient, persevering man, confident in himself, and apt to trust that he would accomplish those things which he attempted, though he was hardly himself aware of any such aptitude.


And though he had openly acknowledged to himself that she had been very foolish,--or rather, that her judgement had failed her,--he had never in truth been angry with her.

And though he acknowledged that she had been very foolish - or rather, that her judgement had failed her - he had never been angry with her.


He had looked upon her rejection of himself, and her subsequent promise to her cousin, as the effects of a mental hallucination, very much to be lamented,--to be wept for, perhaps, through a whole life, as a source of terrible sorrow to himself and to her. But he regarded it all as a disease, of which the cure was yet possible,--as a disease which, though it might never leave the patient as strong as she was before, might still leave her altogether.

He had looked upon her rejection of himself, and her promise to her cousin, as the effects of a mental hallucination, very much to be lamented, but curable - a disease which might leave her altogether.


And as he would still have clung to his love had she been attacked by any of those illnesses for which doctors have well-known names, so would he cling to her now that she was attacked by a malady for which no name was known.

And just as he would still have clung to his love if she had been attacked by any ordinary illness, so would he cling to her now that she was attacked by a malady which had no name.


He had already heard from Mr. Vavasor that Alice had discovered how impossible it was that she should marry her cousin, and, in his quiet, patient, enduring way, was beginning to feel confident that he would, at last, carry his mistress off with him to Nethercoats.

He had heard from Mr. Vavasor that Alice had discovered it was impossible that she should marry her cousin, and, in his quiet, patient way was beginning to feel confident that he would, at last, carry her off with him to Nethercoats.


It was certainly a melancholy place, that signing-office, in which Mr. John Vavasor was doomed to spend twelve hours a week, during every term time, of his existence.


Whether any man could really pass an existence of work in such a workshop, and not have gone mad,--could have endured to work there for seven hours a day, every week-day of his life, I am not prepared to say.


I doubt much whether any victims are so doomed.


I have so often wandered through those gloomy passages without finding a sign of humanity there,--without hearing any slightest tick of the hammer of labour, that I am disposed to think that Lord Chancellors have been anxious to save their subordinates from suicide, and have mercifully decreed that the whole staff of labourers, down to the very message boys of the office, should be sent away to green fields or palatial clubs during, at any rate, a moiety of their existence.


The dismal set of chambers, in which the most dismal room had been assigned to Mr. Vavasor, was not actually in Chancery Lane. Opening off from Chancery Lane are various other small lanes, quiet, dingy nooks, some of them in the guise of streets going no whither, some being thoroughfares to other dingy streets beyond, in which sponging-houses abound, and others existing as the entrances to so-called Inns of Court,--inns of which all knowledge has for years been lost to the outer world of the laity, and, as I believe, lost almost equally to the inner world of the legal profession.

Mr. Vavasor's office was in a dismal set of chambers, on one of the quiet, dingy side-streets off Chancery Lane.


But an ancestral Symonds, celebrated, no doubt, in his time, did found an inn, and there it is to this day.


Of Staples' Inn, who knows the purposes or use?


Who are its members, and what do they do as such?


And Staples' Inn is an inn with pretensions, having a chapel of its own, or, at any rate, a building which, in its external dimensions, is ecclesiastical, having a garden and architectural proportions; and a faade towards Holborn, somewhat dingy, but respectable, with an old gateway, and with a decided character of its own.


The building in which Mr. John Vavasor had a room and a desk was located in one of these side streets, and had, in its infantine days, been regarded with complacency by its founder.


It was stone-faced, and strong, and though very ugly, had about it that air of importance which justifies a building in assuming a special name of itself.


This building was called the Accountant-General's Record Office, and very probably, in the gloom of its dark cellars, may lie to this day the records of the expenditure of many a fair property which has gotten itself into Chancery, and has never gotten itself out again. It was entered by a dark hall, the door of which was never closed; and which, having another door at its further end leading into another lane, had become itself a thoroughfare.

The ugly stone building, which was called the Accountant-General's Record Office, was entered by a dark hall; and, having an open door at either end, this had become a thoroughfare.


But the passers through it were few in number. Now and then a boy might be seen there carrying on his head or shoulders a huge mass of papers which you would presume to be accounts, or some clerk employed in the purlieus of Chancery Lane who would know the shortest possible way from the chambers of some one attorney to those of some other. But this hall, though open at both ends, was as dark as Erebus; and any who lingered in it would soon find themselves to be growing damp, and would smell mildew, and would become naturally affected by the exhalations arising from those Chancery records beneath their feet.

But the passers through it were few, and the hall was dark, damp, and smelt of mildew.


Up the stone stairs, from this hall, John Grey passed to Mr. Vavasor's signing-room.

From this hall, up the gloomy stone stairs, John Grey passed to Mr. Vavasor's room.


The stairs were broad, and almost of noble proportions, but the darkness and gloom which hung about the hall, hung also about them,--a melancholy set of stairs, up and down which no man can walk with cheerful feet.


Here he came upon a long, broad passage, in which no sound was, at first, to be heard.


There was no busy noise of doors slamming, no rapid sound of shoes, no passing to and fro of men intent on their daily bread.


Pausing for a moment, that he might look round about him and realize the deathlike stillness of the whole, John Grey could just distinguish the heavy breathing of a man, thereby learning that there was a captive in, at any rate, one of those prisons on each side of him.

Pausing in the silent passage outside the door, he could just hear the heavy breathing of a man within.


As he drew near to the door of Mr. Vavasor's chamber he knew that the breathing came from thence.


On the door there were words inscribed, which were just legible in the gloom--"Signing Room.


It seemed to him that they had been placed there with the express object of declaring his degradation aloud to the world.


Since his grandfather's will had been read to him he had almost made up his mind to go down those melancholy stairs for the last time, to shake the dust off his feet as he left the Accountant-General's Record Office for ever, and content himself with half his official income.


But how could he give up so many hundreds a year while his daughter was persisting in throwing away thousands as fast as, or faster than, she could lay her hands on them?


John Grey entered the room and found Mr. Vavasor sitting all alone in an arm-chair over the fire. I rather think that that breathing had been the breathing of a man asleep. He was resting himself amidst the labours of his signing.

He entered and found Mr. Vavasor sitting in an arm-chair by the fire, resting amidst his labours.


It was a large, dull room, which could not have been painted, I should think, within the memory of man, looking out backwards into some court. The black wall of another building seemed to stand up close to the window,--so close that no direct ray of the sun ever interrupted the signing-clerk at his work.

It was a large, dull room, with the view through the window of the black wall of another building.


In the middle of the room there was a large mahogany-table, on which lay a pile of huge papers.

A pile of papers lay on a large mahogany table.


Across the top of them there was placed a bit of blotting-paper, with a quill pen, the two only tools which were necessary to the performance of the signing-clerk's work.


On the table there stood a row of official books, placed lengthways on their edges: the "Post-Office Directory," the "Court Circular," a "Directory to the Inns of Court," a dusty volume of Acts of Parliament, which had reference to Chancery accounts,--a volume which Mr. Vavasor never opened; and there were some others; but there was no book there in which any Christian man or woman could take delight, either for amusement or for recreation.


There were three or four chairs round the wall, and there was the one arm-chair which the occupant of the chamber had dragged away from its sacred place to the hearth-rug. There was also an old Turkey carpet on the floor.

There were three or four chairs round the wall, the arm-chair on the hearth-rug, and an old Turkey carpet on the floor.


Can it be a matter of surprise to any one that Mr. Vavasor preferred his club to his place of business?

Can it be any surprise that Mr. Vavasor preferred his club?


He was not left quite alone in this deathlike dungeon.

He was not quite alone in this deathlike dungeon.


Attached to his own large room there was a small closet, in which sat the signing-clerk's clerk,--a lad of perhaps seventeen years of age, who spent the greatest part of his time playing tit-tat-to by himself upon official blotting-paper.

Attached to his own large room there was a small closet in which sat his clerk, a youth who spent most of his time doodling on the blotting-paper.


Had I been Mr. Vavasor I should have sworn a bosom friendship with that lad, have told him all my secrets, and joined his youthful games.


Mr. Vavasor had cried when John Grey disturbed his slumber by knocking at the door.


The coals they give you in this place are the worst in all London.


It was now the 1st of May, and Grey, who had walked from Suffolk Street, was quite warm.


"One hardly wants a fire at all, such weather as this," he said.


"If you had to sit here all day, you'd see if you didn't want a fire.


It's the coldest building I ever put my foot in.


Sometimes in winter I have to sit here the whole day in a great-coat.

Sometimes in winter I have to sit here in a great-coat."


I only wish I could shut old Sugden up here for a week or two, after Christmas."


The great lawyer whom he had named was the man whom he supposed to have inflicted on him the terrible injury of his life, and he was continually invoking small misfortunes on the head of that tyrant.


said Grey, desiring to turn the subject from the ten-times-told tale of his friend's wrongs.


"She is well enough, I believe," he said.


"Is anything the matter in Queen Anne Street?"


"You'll hardly believe it when I tell you; and, indeed, I hardly know whether I ought to tell you or not."

"You'll hardly believe it when I tell you; and, indeed, I hardly know whether I ought to tell you."


"As you and I have gone so far together, I think that you ought to tell me anything that concerns her nearly."

"I think that you ought to tell me anything that concerns her."


Do you know, Grey, I'm beginning to think that I've been wrong in allowing you to advance what you have done on her account?"

Do you know, Grey, I'm beginning to think that I've been wrong in allowing you to advance money on her account?"


"Because I foresee there'll be a difficulty about it. How are we to manage about the repayment?"

"Because I foresee difficulty about the repayment."


"If she becomes my wife there will be no management wanted."


"But how if she never becomes your wife?

"But what if she never becomes your wife?


I'm beginning to think she'll never do anything like any other woman."


"I'm not quite sure that you understand her," said Grey; "though of course you ought to do so better than any one else."


"Nobody can understand her," said the angry father.


"She told me the other day, as you know, that she was going to have nothing more to do with her cousin--"

She told me the other day, as you know, that she was going to have nothing more to do with her cousin-"


"Has she--has she become friends with him again?"

"Has she become friends with him again?"


said Grey. As he asked the question there came a red spot on each cheek, showing the strong mental anxiety which had prompted it.


"No; I believe not;--that is, certainly not in the way you mean.

"No - certainly not in the way you mean.


I think that she is beginning to know that he is a rascal."

I think that she is learning that he is a rascal.


"It is a great blessing that she has learned the truth before it was too late."


"But would you believe it;--she has given him her name to bills for two thousand pounds, payable at two weeks' sight?

But would you believe it - she has given him her name to bills for two thousand pounds, payable at two weeks?


He sent to her only this morning a fellow that he called his clerk, and she has been fool enough to accept them.


That comes of leaving money at a young woman's own disposal."


"But we expected that, you know," said Grey, who seemed to take the news with much composure.

"But we expected that, you know," said Grey, with composure.


You yourself did not suppose that what he had before would have been the last."


"But after she had quarrelled with him!"


"That would make no difference with her.


"She had promised him her money, and as it seems that he will be content with that, let her keep her promise."


"You will do nothing, Mr. Vavasor, that will injure your daughter.


"But, by heavens--. Such sheer robbery as that!


Two thousand pounds more in fourteen days!"


The shortness of the date at which the bills were drawn seemed to afflict Mr. Vavasor almost as keenly as the amount.


Then he described the whole transaction as accurately as he could do so, and also told how Alice had declared her purpose of going to Mr. Round the lawyer, if her father would not undertake to procure the money for her by the time the bills should become due.

Then Mr. Vavasor described the whole transaction, and told how Alice had declared she would go to Mr. Round the lawyer, if her father would not procure the money for her.


Round, you know, has heard nothing about it," he continued.


"If she would take my advice, she would leave the bills, and let them be dishonoured.


As it is, I think I shall call at Drummonds', and explain the whole transaction."

I think I shall call at Drummonds bank, and explain it."


"I will call at Drummonds', instead, and see that the money is all right for the bills.

"I will call at Drummonds, instead, and see that the money is all right for the bills.


As far as they go, let him have his plunder."


"And if she won't take you, at last, Grey?


Upon my word, I don't think she ever will.


She'll never do anything like any other woman."


"The money won't be missed by me if I never get married," said Grey, with a smile.


"If she does marry me, of course I shall make her pay me."


"If she were your daughter you'd know that she could not take a man's money in that way."


"And I know it now, though she is not my daughter.


As soon as I am certain,--finally certain,--that she can never become my wife, I will take back my money.

"Then as soon as I am certain that she can never become my wife, I will take back my money."


The nature of the arrangement we have made shall then be explained to her."


In this way it was settled; and on the following morning the father informed the daughter that he had done her bidding, and that the money would be placed to her credit at the bankers' before the bills came due.

So it was settled; and next morning the father informed the daughter that he had done her bidding, and that the money would be in the bank before the bills came due.


On that Saturday, the day which her cousin had named in his letter, she trudged down to Drummonds', and was informed by a very courteous senior clerk in that establishment, that due preparation for the bills had been made.

On that Saturday which her cousin had named in his letter, she trudged down to Drummonds, and was informed by a very courteous senior clerk that due preparation for the bills had been made.


So far, I think we may say that Mr. George Vavasor was not unfortunate.

So far, I think we may say that Mr. George Vavasor was fortunate.


It will no doubt be understood that George Vavasor did not roam about in the woods unshorn, or wear leathern trappings and sandals, like Robinson Crusoe, instead of coats and trousers.

It will be understood that George Vavasor did not roam about in the woods in leather clothes and sandals, like Robinson Crusoe.


Indeed, I don't know that he was in truth at all wild, though Lady Macleod had called him so, and Alice had assented to her use of the word.

Indeed, I don't know that he was truly wild at all.


George Vavasor had lived in London since he was twenty, and now, at the time of the beginning of my story, he was a year or two over thirty.

George Vavasor had lived in London since he was twenty, and was now just over thirty.


He was and ever had been the heir to his grandfather's estate; but that estate was small, and when George first came to London his father was a strong man of forty, with as much promise of life in him as his son had.

He was the heir to his grandfather's estate; but that estate was small.


A profession had therefore been absolutely necessary to him; and he had, at his uncle John's instance, been placed in the office of a parliamentary land agent.

He had therefore needed a profession; and with his uncle John's help, he had been placed in the office of a parliamentary land agent.


With this parliamentary land agent he had quarrelled to the knife, but not before he had by his talents made himself so useful that he had before him the prospects of a lucrative partnership in the business.

He had quarrelled with this land agent, but not before his talents had made him useful.


George Vavasor had many faults, but idleness--absolute idleness--was not one of them.

George Vavasor had many faults, but idleness was not one of them.


He would occasionally postpone his work to pleasure.

He would occasionally postpone his work for pleasure.


He would be at Newmarket when he should have been at Whitehall.

He would be at Newmarket races when he should have been at Whitehall.


But it was not usual with him to be in bed when he should be at his desk, and when he was at his desk he did not whittle his ruler, or pick his teeth, or clip his nails.

But when he was at his desk he did not waste time.


Upon the whole his friends were pleased with the first five years of his life in London--in spite of his having been found to be in debt on more than one occasion.

Upon the whole his friends were pleased with the first five years of his life in London - in spite of the debts he ran up.


But his debts had been paid; and all was going on swimmingly, when one day he knocked down the parliamentary agent with a blow between the eyes, and then there was an end of that.

But his debts were paid; and all was going on swimmingly, when one day he knocked down the parliamentary agent, and that was the end of that.


He himself was wont to say that he had known very well what he was about, that it had behoved him to knock down the man who was to have been his partner, and that he regretted nothing in the matter.