She might take Mr. Cheesacre, or she might take Captain Bellfield--or she might decide that she would have nothing more to say to either of them in the way of courting.

She might take Mr. Cheesacre, or she might take Captain Bellfield - or she might take neither.


They were very persistent, no doubt; but she thought that she would know how to make them understand her, if she should really make up her mind that she would have neither one nor the other.

Chapter 47: Mr. Cheesacre's Disappointment


She was going to leave Norwich after Easter, and they knew that such was her purpose.

She was going to leave Norwich after Easter, and they knew it.


Something had been said of her returning to Yarmouth in the summer.

Something had been said about her returning to Yarmouth in the summer.


She was a just woman at heart, and justice required that each of them should know what was to be his prospect if she did so return.

She was a just woman at heart, and felt that each man should know his prospect if she did return.


There was a good deal to be said on Mr. Cheesacre's behalf.


Mahogany-furnitured bedrooms assist one's comfort in this life; and heaps of manure, though they are not brilliant in romance, are very efficacious in farming.

Mahogany-furnitured bedrooms are very comfortable; and heaps of manure, though not romantic, are useful in farming.


Mrs. Greenow by no means despised these things; and as for the owner of them, though she saw that there was much amiss in his character, she thought that his little foibles were of such a nature that she, as his wife, or any other woman of spirit, might be able to repress them, if not to cure them.

Mrs. Greenow by no means despised these things; and as for their owner, though she saw much amiss in his character, she thought that his little foibles were of such a nature that a wife of spirit might be able to repress them, if not to cure them.


But she had already married for money once, as she told herself very plainly on this occasion, and she thought that she might now venture on a little love.

But she had already married for money once, as she told herself, and she thought that she might now venture on a little love.


Her marriage for money had been altogether successful.

Her marriage for money had been successful.


The nursing of old Greenow had not been very disagreeable to her, nor had it taken longer than she had anticipated.

The nursing of old Greenow had not been disagreeable, nor had it taken longer than she had anticipated.


She had now got all the reward that she had ever promised herself, and she really did feel grateful to his memory.

She had now got her due reward, and she really did feel grateful to his memory.


I almost think that among those plentiful tears some few drops belonged to sincerity.

Some of her tears were dropped with sincerity.


She was essentially a happy-tempered woman, blessed with a good digestion, who looked back upon her past life with contentment, and forward to her future life with confidence.

She was essentially a happy-natured woman, who looked back upon her past life with contentment, and forward to her future life with confidence.


She would not be greedy, she said to herself.


She did not want more money, and therefore she would have none of Mr. Cheesacre.


So far she resolved,--resolving also that, if possible, the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms should be kept in the family, and made over to her niece, Kate Vavasor.

However, she also resolved that, if possible, the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms should be kept in the family, and made over to her niece, Kate Vavasor.


But should she marry for love; and if so, should Captain Bellfield be the man?


Strange to say, his poverty and his scampishness and his lies almost recommended him to her.

Strange to say, his poverty and scampishness and lies almost recommended him to her.


At any rate, it was not of those things that she was afraid. She had a woman's true belief in her own power, and thought that she could cure them,--as far as they needed cure.

She was not afraid of them; she thought that she could cure them - if they needed curing.


As for his stories about Inkerman, and his little debts, she cared nothing about that.


She also had her Inkermans, and was quite aware that she made as good use of them as the Captain did of his. And as for the debts,--what was a man to do who hadn't got any money? She also had owed for her gloves and corsets in the ante-Greenow days of her adventures.

She also had her Inkermans, and she too had owed money for her gloves and corsets in the ante-Greenow days.


But there was this danger,--that there might be more behind of which she had never heard.

But she was aware of the danger that there might be more behind, of which she had never heard.


Another Mrs. Bellfield was not impossible; and what, if instead of being a real captain at all, he should be a returned ticket-of-leave man!

Another Mrs. Bellfield was not impossible; and what if he should not be a real captain at all!


Her chief security was in this,--that Cheesacre had known the man for many years, and would certainly have told anything against him that he did know.

Her chief security was in this: that Cheesacre had known the man for many years, and would certainly have told anything against him that he knew.


Under all these circumstances, she could not quite make up her mind either for or against Captain Bellfield.


Between nine and ten in the evening, an hour or so after Mr. Cheesacre had left her, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with a little sherry in it. She usually dined early, and it was her habit to take a light repast before she retired for the night.

Between nine and ten in the evening, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with sherry, which it was her habit to take before retiring for the night.


"Jeannette," she said, as she stirred the lumps of white sugar in the bowl, "I'm afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled."

"Jeannette," she said, as she stirred the bowl, "I'm afraid those two gentlemen have quarrelled."


Jeannette, on these occasions, was in the habit of standing beside the chair of her mistress, and chatting with her; and then, if the chatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon the corner of a chair herself,--and then the two women would be very comfortable together over the fire, Jeannette never forgetting that she was the servant, and Mrs. Greenow never forgetting that she was the mistress.

Jeannette, on these occasions, usually stood by her mistress's chair, chatting with her; and if the chatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon the corner of a chair herself - and then the two women would be very comfortable together over the fire, Jeannette never forgetting that she was the servant, and Mrs. Greenow never forgetting that she was the mistress.


"And why should they quarrel, Jeannette?


"I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's the most natural thing in life.

"I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's natural.


If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together, in course I should expect as they would punch each other's heads.

If I had two beaux as was a-courting me together, I should expect as they would punch each other's heads."


There's some girls do it a purpose, because they like to see it.


"Well, ma'am--yes; I am young, no doubt.


But I won't say but what I've had a beau, young as I look."


"But you don't suppose that I want beaux, as you call them?"


"I don't know, ma'am, as you wants 'em exactly. That's as may be.


There they are; and if they was to blow each other's brains out in the gig to-night, I shouldn't be a bit surprised for one.

But they are; and if they was to blow each other's brains out in the gig tonight, I shouldn't be a bit surprised."


There's nothing won't quiet them at Oileymead to-night, if brandy-and-water don't do it."


As she said this, Jeannette slipt into her chair, and held up her hands in token of the intensity of her fears.

As she said this, Jeannette slipped into her chair.


"Why, you silly child, they're not going home together at all.

"Why, you silly child, they're not going home together.


"The Captain did go away first, certainly; but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols and fighting things ready."

"He did, but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols ready."


That makes it much easier for ladies, no doubt.


Perhaps them peaceable ways will come down to such as us in time.


It'd be a comfort, I know, to them as are quiet given, like me.


I hate to see men knocking each other's heads about,--I do.


So Mr. Cheesacre and the Captain won't fight, ma'am?"


"Of course they won't, you little fool, you."


"Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers all full of it,--and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier!

"Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers full of it, and perhaps one of them stretched upon his bloody bier!


I always made up my mind that the Captain wouldn't be wounded in any of his wital parts--unless it was his heart, you know, ma'am."

I always made up my mind that the Captain wouldn't be wounded."


"But why should they quarrel at all, Jeannette?


There's some things as you can cry halves about, but there's no crying halves about this."


"Jeannette, I wonder how you can say such things; as if I, in my position, had ever said a word to encourage either of them.

I have never said a word to encourage either of them.


You know it's not true, Jeannette, and you shouldn't say so."


Whereupon Mrs. Greenow put her handkerchief to her eyes, and Jeannette, probably in token of contrition, put her apron to hers.

Mrs. Greenow put her handkerchief to her eyes.


"To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better through it than you have done, and goodness knows you have been tried hard."

"To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better than you have done.


"And if gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault; is it, ma'am?"

If gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault; is it, ma'am?"


"But I'm so sorry that they should have quarrelled.


They were such dear friends, you know;--quite all in all to each other."


"When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come right again,--seeing that gentlefolks like them have given up fighting, as you say."

"When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come right again."


"I suppose, ma'am, it won't be Mr. Cheesacre?"


To be sure, he's a man as is uncommonly well to do in the world."


I shall ever regard Mr. Cheesacre as a dear friend who has been very good to me at a time of trouble; but he'll never be more than that."

"I shall always regard Mr. Cheesacre as a dear friend; but he'll never be more than that."


I'm sure, for my part, I've always thought the Captain was the nicer gentleman of the two,--and have always said so."

I'm sure, for my part, I've always thought the Captain was the nicer gentleman."


"And as for money,--what's the good of having more than enough?

"And as for money - what's the good of having more than enough?


If he can bring love, you can bring money; can't you, ma'am?"


"He's nothing to me, girl," repeated Mrs. Greenow.


said Jeannette, plainly asking a question.


What's the world come to, I wonder, when you sit yourself down there, and cross-examine your mistress in that way!

What's the world come to, when you cross-examine your mistress in that way!


"I hope I haven't said anything amiss, ma'am;" and Jeannette rose from her seat.


"It's my fault for encouraging you," said Mrs. Greenow.


"Go down-stairs and finish your work, do; and then take yourself off to bed.


Next week we shall have to be packing up, and there'll be all my things to see to before that."

Next week we shall be packing up, and there'll be all my things to see to."


So Jeannette got up and departed, and after some few further thoughts about Captain Bellfield, Mrs. Greenow herself went to her bedroom.

So Jeannette departed, and after some further thought about Captain Bellfield, Mrs. Greenow went to her bed.


Mr. Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone from Norwich, after dining with Mrs. Greenow, had kept himself hot, and almost comfortable, with passion against Bellfield; and his heat, if not his comfort, had been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with his portmanteau, escaping just as he reached his own homestead.

Mr. Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone, had kept himself hot with passion against Bellfield; and his heat had been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with his portmanteau, escaping just as he reached his home.


But early on the following morning his mind reverted to Mrs. Greenow, and he remembered, with anything but satisfaction, some of the hard things which she had said to him.

But early on the following morning he thought of Mrs. Greenow, and he remembered some of the hard things which she had said to him.


He had made mistakes in his manner of wooing.


He was quite aware of that now, and was determined that they should be rectified for the future.

He was quite aware of that now, and was determined to put them right.


She had rebuked him for having said nothing about his love.

She had rebuked him for saying nothing about his love.


And she had bidden him not to be so communicative about his wealth.

And she had bidden him not to talk so much about his wealth.


Henceforth he would be dumb on that subject.


Nevertheless, he could not but think that the knowledge of his circumstances which the lady already possessed, must be of service to him. "She can't really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling," he said to himself.

Nevertheless, he said to himself, "She can't really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling."


He was very far from feeling that the battle was already lost.

He was very far from feeling that the battle was lost.


Her last word to him had been an assurance of her friendship; and then why should she have been at so much trouble to tell him the way in which he ought to address her if she were herself indifferent as to his addresses?

Her last word to him had been an assurance of her friendship.


He was, no doubt, becoming tired of his courtship, and heartily wished that the work were over; but he was not minded to give it up.

He was, no doubt, becoming tired of courtship, and heartily wished that the work were over; but he was not minded to give it up.


He therefore prepared himself for another attack, and took himself into Norwich without seeking counsel from any one.

So he prepared himself for another attack, and took himself back to Norwich.


He could not trust himself to think that she could really wish to refuse him after all the encouragement she had given him.


On this occasion he put on no pink shirt or shiny boots, being deterred from doing so by a remembrance of Captain Bellfield's ridicule; but, nevertheless, he dressed himself with considerable care. He clothed his nether person in knickerbockers, with tight, leathern, bright-coloured gaiters round his legs, being conscious of certain manly graces and symmetrical proportions which might, as he thought, stand him in good stead.

On this occasion he dressed himself with considerable care, in knickerbockers, with tight, bright, leather gaiters round his legs, thinking his manly proportions might stand him in good stead.


And he put on a new shooting-coat, the buttons on which were elaborate, and a wonderful waistcoat worked over with foxes' heads.

And he put on a new shooting-coat, and a wonderful waistcoat embroidered with foxes' heads.


He completed his toilet with a round, low-crowned hat, with dog's-skin gloves, and a cutting whip.

He completed his outfit with a round hat, dog-skin gloves, and a whip.


Thus armed he went forth resolved to conquer or to die,--as far as death might result from any wound which Mrs. Greenow might be able to give him.

Thus armed he went forth resolved to conquer or to die.


He waited, on this occasion, for the coming of no market-day; indeed, the journey into the city was altogether special, and he was desirous that she should know that such was the case.


He drove at a great pace into the inn-yard, threw his reins to the ostler, took just one glass of cherry-brandy at the bar, and then marched off across the market-place to the Close, with quiet and decisive steps.
"Is that you, Cheesacre?" said a friendly voice, in one of the narrow streets. "Who expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday!" It was Grimsby, the son of old Grimsby of Hatherwich, a country gentleman, and one, therefore, to whom Cheesacre would generally pay much respect; but on this occasion he did not even pull up for an instant, or moderate his pace. "A little bit of private business," he said, and marched onwards with his head towards the Close. "I'm not going to be afraid of a woman--not if I know it," he said to himself; but, nevertheless, at a certain pastrycook's, of whose shop he had knowledge, he pulled up and had another glass of cherry-brandy.

He drove at a great pace into the inn-yard, threw his reins to the ostler, took one glass of cherry-brandy at the bar, and then marched off across the market-place to the Close with decisive steps, pausing only at a pastrycook's where he had another glass of cherry-brandy.


"Mrs. Greenow is at home," he said to Jeannette, not deigning to ask any question.
"Oh, yes, sir; she is at home," said Jeannette, conscious that some occasion had arrived; and in another second he was in the presence of his angel.

He knocked at the door, and in another second was in the presence of his angel.


"Mr. Cheesacre, whoever expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday?"


said the lady, as she welcomed him, using almost the same words as his friend had done in the street.


Why should not he come into Norwich on a Thursday, as well as any one else?


Did they suppose that he was tied for ever to his ploughs and carts?


He was minded to conduct himself with a little spirit on this occasion, and to improve the opinion which Mrs. Greenow had formed about him.


On this account he answered her somewhat boldly.


"There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs. Greenow, or when I mayn't.

"There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs. Greenow.


I'm one of those men of whom nobody knows anything certain, except that I pay as I go."


Then he remembered that he was not to make any more boasts about his money, and he endeavoured to cover the error.

Then he remembered that he was not to make any more boasts about his money.


"There's one other thing they may all know if they please, but we won't say what that is just at present."


"Well,--thank you,--I will sit down for a few minutes if you'll let me, Mrs. Greenow.

"Well, thank you, I will sit down for a few minutes.


Mrs. Greenow, I'm in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody a damage."

Mrs. Greenow, I'm in such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall go mad, and do somebody a damage."


You're going out shooting, presently; are you not?"

You're going out shooting soon, are you not?"


and Mrs. Greenow looked down at his garments.


"No, Mrs. Greenow, I'm not going out shooting.

"No, Mrs. Greenow, I'm not going shooting.


I put on these things because I thought I might take a shot as I came along.


But I couldn't bring myself to do it, and then I wouldn't take them off again.


"Not in the least, so long as he is decent."


"I'm sure I'm always that, Mrs. Greenow."


I consider you to be rather gay in your attire."


"I don't pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs. Greenow.


I like to be nice, and all that kind of thing.


There are people who think that because a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck.


It is the case, of course, with those who have to make their rent and living out of it."


Then he remembered that he was again treading on forbidden ground, and stopped himself.


"But it don't matter what a man wears if his heart isn't easy within him."

But it don't matter what a man wears if his heart isn't easy."


"I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr. Cheesacre; but it's what I have felt every hour since--since Greenow left me."

"I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr. Cheesacre; but it's what I have felt every hour since - since Greenow left me."


Mr. Cheesacre was rather at a loss to know how he should begin.


This allusion to the departed one did not at all assist him.

This allusion to the departed one did not help Mr. Cheesacre.


He had so often told the widow that care killed a cat, and that a live dog was better than a dead lion; and had found so little efficacy in the proverbs, that he did not care to revert to them.


He was aware that some more decided method of proceeding was now required.

He felt that some decided method of proceeding was required.


Little hints at love-making had been all very well in the earlier days of their acquaintance; but there must be something more than little hints before he could hope to bring the matter to a favourable conclusion.

Little hints at love-making had been all very well earlier on; but now there must be more than little hints.


The widow herself had told him that he ought to talk about love; and he had taken two glasses of cherry-brandy, hoping that they might enable him to do so.


He had put on a coat with brilliant buttons, and new knickerbockers, in order that he might be master of the occasion.


He was resolved to call a spade a spade, and to speak boldly of his passion; but how was he to begin?

He was resolved to speak boldly; but how was he to begin?


He was now seated in a chair, and there he remained silent for a minute or two, while she smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief after her last slight ebullition of grief.


"Mrs. Greenow," he exclaimed at last, jumping up before her; "dearest Mrs. Greenow; darling Mrs. Greenow, will you be my wife?

Then he jumped up before her.
"Mrs. Greenow," he exclaimed, "dearest Mrs. Greenow; will you be my wife?


Everything that I've got shall be yours.


Of course I speak specially of my hand and heart.


As for love;--oh, Arabella, if you only knew me!

As for love; oh, Arabella, if you only knew me!


I don't think there's a man in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am.


Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I've been in love to that extent that I've not known what I've been about.

Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth, I've been in love to that extent that I've not known what I'm about.


If you'll ask them at home, they'll tell you that I've not been able to look after anything about the place,--not as it should be done.


I don't suppose I've opened the wages book half a dozen times since last July."


"And has that been my fault, Mr. Cheesacre?"

"Has that been my fault, Mr. Cheesacre?"


I can't move about anywhere without thinking about you.

I can't move anywhere without thinking about you.


My mind's made up; I won't stay at Oileymead unless you will come and be its mistress."


I'll let the place, and go and travel somewheres.


What's the use of my hanging on there without the woman of my heart?


I couldn't do it, Mrs. Greenow; I couldn't, indeed.


Of course I've got everything there that money can buy,--but it's all of no use to a man that's in love.

Of course I've got everything there that money can buy - but it's all of no use to a man that's in love.


Do you know, I've come quite to despise money and stock, and all that sort of thing.

Do you know, I've come quite to despise money and all that sort of thing.


I haven't had my banker's book home these last three months.


"But how can I help you, Mr. Cheesacre?"


"Just say one word, and the thing'll be done.


As for your fortune, I don't care that for it!


I'm not like somebody else; it's yourself I want.


You shall be my pet, and my poppet, and my dearest little duck all the days of your life."


At these words he rose from his chair, and coming immediately before her, went down on both knees so close to her as to prevent the possibility of her escaping from him.

He rose from his chair, and went down on both knees so close to her that she could not escape.


There could be no doubt as to the efficacy of the cherry-brandy.

There could be no doubt about the efficacy of the cherry-brandy.


There he was, well down on his knees; but he had not got down so low without some little cracking and straining on the part of the gaiters with which his legs were encompassed.

There was some little cracking and straining of his gaiters as he knelt.


He, in his passion, had probably omitted to notice this; but Mrs. Greenow, who was more cool in her present temperament, was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.

He did not notice this; but Mrs. Greenow was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.


"Mr. Cheesacre, don't make a fool of yourself.


"Never, till you have told me that you will be mine!"


"Then you'll remain there for ever, which will be inconvenient.


I won't have you take hold of my hand, Mr. Cheesacre.


Whereupon his grasp upon her hand was released; but he made no attempt to rise.

He released her hand, but made no attempt to rise.


"I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life," said she.


"If you don't get up, I'll push you over.


But Cheesacre, whose senses were less acute than the lady's, did not hear.


"I'll never get up," said he, "till you have bid me hope."


There;--he'll be in the room now before--"

There; he'll be in the room now before-"


[Illustration: Mr. Cheesacre disturbed.]


Cheesacre now did hear a sound of steps, and the door was opened while he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standing position.

Cheesacre now did hear footsteps, and the door opened while he made his first futile attempt to get back to a standing position.


The door was opened, and Captain Bellfield entered.


"I beg ten thousand pardons," said he, "but as I did not see Jeannette, I ventured to come in.


May I venture to congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?"

May I congratulate my friend Cheesacre on his success?"


In the meantime Cheesacre had risen; but he had done so slowly, and with evident difficulty.

In the meantime Cheesacre had risen, with difficulty.


"I'll trouble you to leave the room, Captain Bellfield," said he.


"I'm particularly engaged with Mrs. Greenow, as any gentleman might have seen."


"There wasn't the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow," said the Captain.


"I'll trouble you to leave the room, sir," said Cheesacre, walking up to him.


"Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow will desire me to do so," said the Captain.

"Certainly, if Mrs. Greenow wishes me to do so," said the Captain.


Then Mrs. Greenow felt herself called upon to speak.


"Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my drawing-room a place for quarrelling.


Captain Bellfield, lest there should be any misconception, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking.

"Captain Bellfield, I must beg you to understand that the position in which you found Mr. Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking.


It was not with my consent that he was there."


"I can easily believe that, Mrs. Greenow," said the Captain.


Captain Bellfield, I think I had better ask you to withdraw."


"As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre a definite answer after what has occurred--"

"As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr. Cheesacre a definite answer-"


"Of course," said Captain Bellfield, preparing to go.


"I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to you.


"Perhaps I might be allowed to come this evening?"


To this Mrs. Greenow half assented with an uncertain nod, and then the Captain went.

To this Mrs. Greenow half assented with a nod, and the Captain went.


As soon as the door was closed behind his back, Mr. Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position, but to this Mrs. Greenow decidedly objected. If he were allowed to go down again, there was no knowing what force might be necessary to raise him. "Mr. Cheesacre," she said, "let there be an end to this little farce between us."

As soon as the door was closed, Mr. Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position, but Mrs. Greenow promptly said, "Mr. Cheesacre, let there be an end to this little farce."


said he, standing with his hand on his heart, and his legs and knickerbockers well displayed.

said he, standing with his hand on his heart.


"It is certainly either a farce or a mistake.


If the latter,--and I have been at all to blame,--I ask your pardon most sincerely."

If I have been at all to blame, I ask your pardon most sincerely."


"But you'll be Mrs. Cheesacre; won't you?"


One husband is enough for any woman, and mine lies buried at Birmingham."


said he, in utter disgust at this further reference to Mr. Greenow.


The expression, at such a moment, militated against courtesy; but even Mrs. Greenow herself felt that the poor man had been subjected to provocation.

It was not courteous; but even Mrs. Greenow herself felt that the poor man had been provoked.


"Let us part friends," said she, offering him her hand.


But he turned his back upon her, for there was something in his eye that he wanted to hide.


I believe that he really did love her, and that at this moment he would have taken her, even though he had learned that her fortune was gone.


"Will you not give me your hand," said she, "in token that there is no anger between us?"

"Will you not give me your hand," said she, "to show that there is no anger between us?"


"If there's anything you like to have changed, I'll change it at once.


I'll give up Oileymead altogether, if you don't like being so near the farm-yard.


Mrs. Greenow, if you only knew how I've set my heart upon it!"


And now, though his back was turned, the whimpering of his voice told plainly that tears were in his eyes.


No woman would feel disposed to marry a man simply because he cried, and perhaps few women would be less likely to give way to such tenderness than Mrs. Greenow. She understood men and women too well, and had seen too much both of the world's rough side and of its smooth side to fall into such a blunder as that; but she was touched.

No woman would feel disposed to marry a man simply because he cried, and Mrs. Greenow had seen too much of the world to fall into such a blunder as that; but she was touched.


"My friend," she said, putting her hand upon his arm, "think no more of it."


"But I can't help thinking of it," said he, almost blubbering in his earnestness.

"But I can't help thinking of it," said he, almost blubbering.


"No, no, no," said she, still touching him with her hand.


"Why, Mr. Cheesacre, how can you bring yourself to care for an old woman like me, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get a kind word from you?"

"Why, Mr. Cheesacre, how can you care for an old woman like me, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get a kind word from you?"


"There's Charlie Fairstairs, who would make as good a wife as any girl I know."


The very idea of having such a bride palmed off upon him did something to restore him to his manly courage.


"Or my niece, Kate Vavasor, who has a nice little fortune of her own, and who is as accomplished as she is good-looking."


"That's because you never asked her to be anything.


If I get her to come back to Yarmouth next summer, will you think about it?


You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England over.

You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England.


It would be so pleasant for us to be such near friends; wouldn't it?"

It would be so pleasant for us to be near friends; wouldn't it?"


And again she put her hand upon his arm.


"Mrs. Greenow, just at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of."

"Mrs. Greenow, at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of."


I'm a broken-hearted man,--I am, indeed.

I'm a broken-hearted man - I am, indeed.


I didn't ever think I should feel so much about a thing of the kind--I didn't, really.


I hardly know what to do with myself; but I suppose I'd better go back to Oileymead."


He had become so painfully unconscious of his new coat and his knickerbockers that it was impossible not to pity him.


"I shall always hate the place now," he said,--"always."

I shall always hate the place now," he said.


You'd be as happy as a king there, if you'd take Kate for your queen."


"That is, if you marry Kate? Why, I'll come and stay with you half my time, and nurse the children, as an old grand-aunt should."

If you marry Kate, I'll come and stay with you half my time, and nurse the children, as an old grand-aunt should."


"But about--." Then he hesitated, and she asked him of what he was thinking.


"You don't mean to take that man Bellfield, do you?"


"Come, Mr. Cheesacre, that's rank jealousy.


What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man or no man?

What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man?


The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give any pledge about it to you or to any one."

The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give any promise about it to you or to anyone."


"You don't know that man, Mrs. Greenow; you don't, indeed.


Does not it stand to reason, when he has got nothing in the world, that he must be a beggar?


It's all very well saying that when a man is courting a lady, he shouldn't say much about his money; but you won't make me believe that any man will make a good husband who hasn't got a shilling.


"Why, then, has he been such a friend of yours?"


I took up with him just because he looked pleasant, I suppose."


"And you want to prevent me from doing the same thing."

"And you want to prevent me from doing the same."


"If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; it is, really.

"If you were to marry him, Mrs. Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; I don't think I could stand it.


I don't think I could stand it;--a mean, skulking beggar!


"Certainly, if that's the way you choose to talk about my friends."


I suppose if I was to talk for ever it wouldn't be any good?"


"Come and talk to Kate Vavasor for ever, Mr. Cheesacre."


To this he made no reply, but went forth from the house, and got his gig, and drove himself home to Oileymead, thinking of his disappointment with all the bitterness of a young lover.

To this he made no reply, but left, and drove home to Oileymead, thinking of his disappointment with all the bitterness of a young lover.


"I didn't ever think I should ever care so much about anything," he said, as he took himself up to bed that night.

"I didn't think I should ever care so much about anything," he said, as he took himself to bed that night.


That evening Captain Bellfield did call in the Close, as he had said he would do, but he was not admitted.

That evening Captain Bellfield did call in the Close, as he had said he would, but he was not admitted.


"Her mistress was very bad with a headache," Jeannette said.

"Her mistress had a headache," said Jeannette.


Alice came down to breakfast on that Christmas morning at Vavasor Hall without making any sign as to the letter she had received. The party there consisted of her grandfather, her father, her cousin Kate, and herself.

Alice came down to breakfast on Christmas morning at Vavasor Hall to greet her grandfather, her father, and her cousin Kate.


They all made their Christmas salutations as is usual, and Alice received and made hers as did the others, without showing that anything had occurred to disturb her tranquillity.


Kate remarked that she had heard that morning from Aunt Greenow, and promised to show Alice the letter after breakfast.

Kate remarked that she had received a letter from Aunt Greenow, and promised to show it to Alice after breakfast.


But Alice said no word of her own letter.


"Why didn't your aunt come here to eat her Christmas dinner?"

"Why didn't your aunt come here for Christmas dinner?"


"Perhaps, sir, because you didn't ask her," said Kate, standing close to her grandfather,--for the old man was somewhat deaf.

"Perhaps, sir, because you didn't ask her," said Kate, standing close to the old man, who was somewhat deaf.


"And why didn't you ask her;--that is, if she stands upon asking to come to her old home?"


"Nay, sir, but I couldn't do that without your bidding.

"I couldn't do that without your bidding, sir.


We Vavasors are not always fond of meeting each other."


I know what you mean, and you should be the last to speak of it.


Alice, my dear, come and sit next to me.


I am much obliged to you for coming down all this way to see your old grandfather at Christmas.

I am much obliged to you for coming all this way to see your old grandfather at Christmas.


I only wish you had brought better news about your sweetheart."


"She'll think better of it before long, sir," said her father.


You would not wish me to marry against my own judgement."


"I don't know much about ladies' judgements," said the old man.


"It does seem to me that when a lady makes a promise she ought to keep it."


"According to that," said Kate, "if I were engaged to a man, and found that he was a murderer, I still ought to marry him."


"But Mr. Grey is not a murderer," said the Squire.


"Pray,--pray, don't talk about it," said Alice.

"Please don't talk about it," said Alice.


"If you do I really cannot sit and hear it."


"I have given over saying anything on the subject," said John Vavasor, speaking as though he had already expended upon it a vast amount of paternal eloquence.

"I will say nothing more on the subject," said John Vavasor.


He had, however, never said more than has been recorded in these pages.


Alice during this conversation, sat with her cousin's letter in her pocket, and as yet had not even begun to think what should be the nature of her reply.

Alice meanwhile sat with her cousin's letter in her pocket, and had not even begun to think how she should reply.


The Squire of Vavasor Hall was a stout old man, with a red face and grey eyes, which looked fiercely at you, and with long grey hair, and a rough grey beard, which gave him something of the appearance of an old lion.

The Squire of Vavasor Hall was a stout old man, with a red face and fierce grey eyes; his long grey hair and beard gave him the appearance of an old lion.


He was passionate, unreasoning, and specially impatient of all opposition; but he was affectionate, prone to forgive when asked to do so, unselfish, and hospitable.

He was excitable, unreasoning, and impatient of all opposition; but he was also affectionate, ready to forgive, unselfish, and hospitable.


He was, moreover, guided strictly by rules, which he believed to be rules of right.

He was guided strictly by what he believed to be rules of right.


His grandson George had offended him very deeply,--had offended him and never asked his pardon.

His grandson George had offended him very deeply, and had never asked his pardon.


He was determined that such pardon should never be given, unless it were asked for with almost bended knees; but, nevertheless, this grandson should be his heir.

He was determined that such pardon should never be given, unless it were asked for with bended knees; but, nevertheless, this grandson should be his heir.


The right of primogeniture could not, in accordance with his theory, be abrogated by the fact that it was, in George Vavasor's case, protected by no law.


The Squire could leave Vavasor Hall to whom he pleased, but he could not have hoped to rest quietly in his grave should it be found that he had left it to any one but the eldest son of his own eldest son.

The Squire could not have rested quietly in his grave if he had left his estate to anyone but the eldest son of his eldest son.


Though violent, and even stern, he was more prone to love than to anger; and though none of those around him dared to speak to him of his grandson, yet he longed in his heart for some opportunity of being reconciled to him.

Though violent, he was more prone to love than anger; and he longed in his heart for some opportunity of being reconciled to George.


The whole party went to church on this Christmas morning.

The whole party went to church on Christmas morning.


The small parish church of Vavasor, an unpretending wooden structure, with a single bell which might be heard tinkling for a mile or two over the fells, stood all alone about half a mile from the Squire's gate.

The small parish church of Vavasor, an unpretending wooden building, stood all alone half a mile from the Squire's gate.


Vavasor was a parish situated on the intermediate ground between the mountains of the lake country and the plains.

Vavasor was a parish between the mountains of the lake district and the plains.


Its land was unproductive, ill-drained, and poor, and yet it possessed little or none of the beauty which tourists go to see.

Its land was unproductive, ill-drained, and poor, with little of the beauty which tourists go to see.


It was all amidst the fells, and very dreary.


There were long skirtings of dark pines around a portion of the Squire's property, and at the back of the house there was a thick wood of firs running up to the top of what was there called the Beacon Hill.

There were dark pines around part of it, and at the back of the house there was a thick wood of firs running up to the top of a hill.


Through this there was a wild steep walk which came out upon the moorland, and from thence there was a track across the mountain to Hawes Water and Naddale, and on over many miles to the further beauties of Bowness and Windermere.

Through this there was a wild steep walk which came out upon the moorland, and from there a track led across the mountain to Hawes Water, and on over many miles to the beauties of Windermere.


They who knew the country, and whose legs were of use to them, could find some of the grandest scenery in England within reach of a walk from Vavasor Hall; but to others the place was very desolate.


For myself, I can find I know not what of charm in wandering over open, unadorned moorland.


It must be more in the softness of the grass to the feet, and the freshness of the air to the lungs, than in anything that meets the eye.


You might walk for miles and miles to the north-east, or east, or south-east of Vavasor without meeting any object to arrest the view. The great road from Lancaster to Carlisle crossed the outskirts of the small parish about a mile from the church, and beyond that the fell seemed to be interminable. Towards the north it rose, and towards the south it fell, and it rose and fell very gradually. Here and there some slight appearance of a valley might be traced which had been formed by the action of the waters; but such breakings of ground were inconsiderable, and did not suffice to interrupt the stern sameness of the everlasting moorland.

But it was a long walk; and you might walk for miles and miles in other directions without seeing anything but the stern, everlasting moorland.


The daily life at Vavasor was melancholy enough for such a one as the Squire's son, who regarded London as the only place on the earth's surface in which a man could live with comfort.

The daily life at Vavasor was melancholy for John Vavasor, who regarded London as the only place where a man could live with comfort.


The moors offered no charms to him. Nor did he much appreciate the homely comforts of the Hall; for the house, though warm, was old-fashioned and small, and the Squire's cook was nearly as old as the Squire himself.

The moors offered no charms to him; nor did the homely comforts of the old-fashioned Hall.


John Vavasor's visits to Vavasor were always visits of duty rather than of pleasure.


But it was not so with Alice. She could be very happy there with Kate; for, like herself, Kate was a good walker and loved the mountains.

But Alice could be very happy there with Kate; for both were good walkers and loved the mountains.


Their regard for each other had grown and become strong because they had gone together o'er river and moor, and because they had together disregarded those impediments of mud and wet which frighten so many girls away from the beauties of nature.

Their regard for each other had grown as they had walked together over river and moor, disregarding the mud and wet which frighten so many girls away from the beauties of nature.


On this Christmas Day they all went to church, the Squire being accompanied by Alice in a vehicle which in Ireland is called an inside jaunting-car, and which is perhaps the most uncomfortable kind of vehicle yet invented; while John Vavasor walked with his niece.

On this Christmas Day Alice accompanied the Squire to church in a vehicle which in Ireland is called a jaunting-car, and which is perhaps the most uncomfortable vehicle yet invented. John Vavasor walked with Kate.


But the girls had arranged that immediately after church they would start for a walk up the Beacon Hill, across the fells, towards Hawes Water.

But the girls had arranged that immediately after church they would start for a walk across the fells towards Hawes Water.


They always dined at the Hall at the vexatious hour of five; but as their church service, with the sacrament included, would be completed soon after twelve, and as lunch was a meal which the Squire did not himself attend, they could have full four hours for their excursion.

They would have four hours for their excursion before dinner at five.


This had all been planned before Alice received her letter; but there was nothing in that to make her change her mind about the walk.

This had all been planned before Alice received her letter.


"Alice, my dear," said the old man to her when they were together in the jaunting-car, "you ought to get married."

"Alice, my dear," said the old man to her in the jaunting-car after church, "you ought to get married."


The Squire was hard of hearing, and under any circumstances an inside jaunting-car is a bad place for conversation, as your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head by every movement which the horse makes.

The Squire was hard of hearing, and a jaunting-car is a bad place for conversation, as your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head by every movement of the horse.


Alice therefore said nothing, but smiled faintly, in reply to her grandfather.


On returning from church he insisted that Alice should again accompany him, telling her specially that he desired to speak to her.


"My dear child," he said, "I have been thinking a great deal about you, and you ought to get married."


"Not if you quarrel with all your suitors," said the old man.


"You quarrelled with your cousin George, and now you have quarrelled with Mr. Grey.


"You'll never get married, my dear, if you go on in that way."


"Why should I be married more than Kate?"


"I don't know that anybody wants to marry Kate.


If you don't get married before long, perhaps you'll never get married at all.

If you don't get married before long, perhaps you never will at all."


Gentlemen won't stand that kind of thing for ever."


The two girls took a slice of cake each in her hand, and started on their walk.

On returning home the two girls each took a slice of cake, and started on their walk.


"We shan't be able to get to the lake," said Kate.


"No," said Alice; "but we can go as far as the big stone on Swindale Fell, where we can sit down and see it."


"Do you remember the last time we sat there?"


"It is nearly three years ago, and it was then that you told me that all was to be over between you and George.

"It was nearly three years ago, and it was then that you told me that all was over between you and George.


Do you remember what a fool I was, and how I screamed in my sorrow?


I sometimes wonder at myself and my own folly.


How is it that I can never get up any interest about my own belongings?


And then we got soaking wet through coming home."

And then we got soaking wet coming home."


That was in September, but we had dined early.


If we go as far as Swindale we shall have it very dark coming home to-day;--but I don't mind that through the Beacon Wood, because I know my way so well.

If we go as far as Swindale we shall have it very dark coming home today; but I don't mind, because I know my way so well.


You won't be afraid of half an hour's dark?"


"Well; it's all for the best, I suppose.


And now I must read you my aunt's letter."


Then, while they were still in the wood, Kate took out the letter from her aunt and read it, while they still walked slowly up the hill.

Kate took out the letter and read it while they walked slowly up the hill.


It seemed that hitherto neither of her two suitors had brought the widow to terms.

It seemed that neither of her two suitors had succeeded with the widow.


Indeed, she continued to write of Mr. Cheesacre as though that gentleman were inconsolable for the loss of Kate, and gave her niece much serious advice as to the expedience of returning to Norfolk, in order that she might secure so eligible a husband.

Indeed, she wrote of Mr. Cheesacre as though he were inconsolable for the loss of Kate, and advised her to return to Norfolk so that she might secure him.


"You must understand all the time, Alice," said Kate, pausing as she read the letter, "that the dear man has never given me the slightest ground for the faintest hope, and that I know to a certainty that he makes an offer to her twice a week,--that is, on every market day.

"You must understand, Alice," said Kate, pausing, "that the dear man has never given me the slightest ground for hope, and that I know that he makes an offer to her twice a week - on every market day."


You can't enjoy half the joke if you won't bear that in mind."


Alice promised that she would bear it all in mind, and then Kate went on with her reading.


Poor Bellfield was working very hard at his drill, Mrs. Greenow went on to say; so hard that sometimes she really thought the fatigue would be too much for his strength.

Poor Bellfield was working very hard at his drill, Mrs. Greenow wrote; sometimes she really thought the fatigue would be too much for his strength.


He would come in sometimes of an evening and just take a cup of tea;--generally on Mondays and Thursdays.

He would sometimes come and just take a cup of tea - generally on Mondays and Thursdays.


"These are not market days at Norwich," said Kate; "and thus unpleasant meetings are avoided."

"These are not market days," said Kate; "and thus unpleasant meetings are avoided.


"He comes in," said Mrs. Greenow, "and takes a little tea; and sometimes I think that he will faint at my feet."


"That he kneels there on every occasion," said Kate, "and repeats his offer also twice a week, I have not the least doubt in the world."

I have not the slightest doubt that he also offers for her twice a week."


"Really I don't know what to think of it.


Sometimes I fancy that she likes the fun of the thing, but that she is too wide-awake to put herself in any man's power.


I have no doubt she lends him money, because he wants it sadly and she is very generous.

I have no doubt she lends him money, because she is very generous."


She gives him money, I feel sure, but takes his receipt on stamped paper for every shilling.


The letter then went on to say that the writer had made up her mind to remain at Norwich certainly through the winter and spring, and that she was anxiously desirous that her dear Kate should go back to her.

The letter went on to say that her aunt had decided to remain at Norwich through the winter and spring, and that she hoped dear Kate would go back to her.


"Come and have one other look at Oileymead," said the letter, "and then, if you make up your mind that you don't like it or him, I won't ask you to think of them ever again.

"Come and have another look at Oileymead," said the letter, "and then, if you don't like it or him, I won't ask you to think of them ever again.


I believe him to be a very honest fellow."


said Kate; "with all her faults I believe she would go through fire and water to serve me.


I think she'd lend me money without any stamped paper."


Then Aunt Greenow's letter was put up, and the two girls had come out upon the open fell.

Then Aunt Greenow's letter was put away, and the two girls had come to the open fell.


It was a delicious afternoon for a winter's walk.


The air was clear and cold, but not actually frosty.

The air was clear and cold, but not frosty.


The ground beneath their feet was dry, and the sky, though not bright, had that appearance of enduring weather which gives no foreboding of rain.

The ground was dry, and the sky gave no sign of rain.


There is a special winter's light, which is very clear though devoid of all brilliancy,--through which every object strikes upon the eye with well-marked lines, and under which almost all forms of nature seem graceful to the sight if not actually beautiful. But there is a certain melancholy which ever accompanies it. It is the light of the afternoon, and gives token of the speedy coming of the early twilight. It tells of the shortness of the day, and contains even in its clearness a promise of the gloom of night.

There is a special winter's light which is very clear, but melancholy; it tells of the shortness of the day and the coming of the early twilight.


It is absolute light, but it seems to contain the darkness which is to follow it.


I do not know that it is ever to be seen and felt so plainly as on the wide moorland, where the eye stretches away over miles, and sees at the world's end the faint low lines of distant clouds settling themselves upon the horizon.

It is never seen so plainly as on the wide moorland, where the eye stretches away over miles to the faint low lines of distant clouds settling themselves upon the horizon.


Such was the light of this Christmas afternoon, and both the girls had felt the effects of it before they reached the big stone on Swindale Fell, from which they intended to look down upon the loveliness of Hawes Water.

Such was the light of this Christmas afternoon, and both the girls had felt the effects of it before they reached the big stone on Swindale Fell.


As they went up through the wood there had been some laughter between them over Aunt Greenow's letter; and they had discussed almost with mirth the merits of Oileymead and Mr. Cheesacre; but as they got further on to the fell, and as the half-melancholy wildness of the place struck them, their words became less light, and after a while they almost ceased to speak.

At first they had discussed almost with mirth the merits of Oileymead and Mr. Cheesacre; but as they got further on to the fell, the half-melancholy wildness of the place struck them, and they ceased to speak.


Alice had still her letter in her pocket.


She had placed it there when she came down to breakfast, and had carried it with her since.


She had come to no resolution as yet as to her answer to it, nor had she resolved whether or no she would show it to Kate.

She had come to no decision yet as to her answer; nor had she decided whether to show it to Kate.


Kate had ever been regarded by her as her steadfast friend. In all these affairs she had spoken openly to Kate. We know that Kate had in part betrayed her, but Alice suspected no such treason.

She regarded Kate as her steadfast friend, and suspected no treason by her.


She had often quarrelled with Kate; but she had quarrelled with her not on account of any sin against the faith of their friendship.

She had often quarrelled with Kate; but not because she did not trust her.


She believed in her cousin perfectly, though she found herself often called upon to disagree with her almost violently.


Why should she not show this letter to Kate, and discuss it in all its bearings before she replied to it?

Why should she not show this letter to Kate, and discuss it before she replied to it?


This was in her mind as she walked silently along over the fell.


The reader will surmise from this that she was already half inclined to give way, and to join her lot to that of her cousin George.

The reader will surmise from this that she was already half inclined to give way, and to accept her cousin George.


The reader will be right in his surmise.


And yet it was not her love for the man that prompted her to run so terrible a risk.

And yet it was not her love for him that prompted her to run so terrible a risk.


Had it been so, I think that it would be easier to forgive her.


She was beginning to think that love,--the love of which she had once thought so much,--did not matter.

She was beginning to think that the love of which she had once thought so much did not matter.


Of what use was it, and to what had it led?


What had love done for her friend Glencora?


Had she not loved John Grey, and had she not felt that with all her love life with him would have been distasteful to her?

Had she not loved John Grey, and had she not felt that life with him would have been distasteful to her?


It would have been impossible for her to marry a man whom personally she disliked; but she liked her cousin George,--well enough, as she said to herself almost indifferently.

She could not marry a man whom she disliked, but she liked her cousin George well enough, as she said to herself almost indifferently.


Upon the whole it was a grievous task to her in these days,--this having to do something with her life.

It was a grievous task to her these days - this having to do something with her life.


As for that girl's dream of the joys of love which she had once dreamed,--that had gone from her slumbers, never to return.

As for her earlier dream of the joys of love - that had gone, never to return.


How might she best make herself useful,--useful in some sort that might gratify her ambition;--that was now the question which seemed to her to be of most importance.

How she could make herself useful in some way that might gratify her ambition; that was now the question which seemed most important.


Her cousin's letter to her had been very crafty.


He had studied the whole of her character accurately as he wrote it. When he had sat down to write it he had been indifferent to the result; but he had written it with that care to attain success which a man uses when he is anxious not to fail in an attempt.

He had considered her character, and had written it with care.


Whether or no he cared to marry his cousin was a point so little interesting to him that chance might decide it for him; but when chance had decided that he did wish it, it was necessary for his honour that he should have that for which he condescended to ask.

Whether he cared to marry his cousin was a point of so little interest to him that he left it to chance; but once chance had decided that he did wish it, it was necessary for his honour that he should get what he wanted.


His letter to her had been clever and very crafty.


"At any rate he does me justice," she said to herself, when she read those words about her money, and the use which he proposed to make of it.

"At any rate he does me justice," Alice said to herself, when she read his words about her money.


"He is welcome to it all if it will help him in his career, whether he has it as my friend or as my husband."

"He is welcome to it all if it will help him in his career, whether as my friend or as my husband."


Then she thought of Kate's promise of her little mite, and declared to herself that she would not be less noble than her cousin Kate.


And would it not be well that she should be the means of reconciling George to his grandfather?


George was the representative of the family,--of a family so old that no one now knew which had first taken the ancient titular name of some old Saxon landowner,--the parish, or the man.

George was the heir of a family so old that it went back to the Saxons.


There had been in old days some worthy Vavaseurs, as Chaucer calls them, whose rank and bearing had been adopted on the moorland side.


Of these things Alice thought much, and felt that it should be her duty so to act, that future Vavasors might at any rate not be less in the world than they who had passed away. In a few years at furthest, George Vavasor must be Vavasor of Vavasor. Would it not be right that she should help him to make that position honourable?

Alice thought much about this, and felt that it should be her duty to help George attain honour in his position.


They walked on, exchanging now and again a word or two, till the distant Cumberland mountains began to form themselves in groups of beauty before their eyes.

They walked on, exchanging a word or two, till the distant Cumberland mountains began to appear.


But you will when you get up to the bank there.


That's Scaw Fell on the left;--the round distant top.

That's Scaw Fell on the left; the round distant top."


I can distinguish it, though I doubt whether you can."


Then they went on again, and were soon at the bank from whence the sharp top of the mountain which Alice had named was visible. "And now we are on Swindale, and in five minutes we shall get to the stone."
In less than five minutes they were there; and then, but not till then, the beauty of the little lake, lying down below them in the quiet bosom of the hills, disclosed itself.

Soon they were at the top of the bank; and then the beauty of the little lake of Haweswater lying down below them disclosed itself.


A lake should, I think, be small, and should be seen from above, to be seen in all its glory.

A lake should, I think, be seen from above, to be seen in all its glory.


The distance should be such that the shadows of the mountains on its surface may just be traced, and that some faint idea of the ripple on the waters may be present to the eye.


And the form of the lakes should be irregular, curving round from its base among the lower hills, deeper and still deeper into some close nook up among the mountains from which its head waters spring.


It is thus that a lake should be seen, and it was thus that Hawes Water was seen by them from the flat stone on the side of Swindale Fell.


The basin of the lake has formed itself into the shape of the figure of 3, and the top section of the figure lies embosomed among the very wildest of the Westmoreland mountains.


Altogether it is not above three miles long, and every point of it was to be seen from the spot on which the girls sat themselves down.


The water beneath was still as death, and as dark,--and looked almost as cold.

The water beneath them was still as death, and as dark.


But the slow clouds were passing over it, and the shades of darkness on its surface changed themselves with gradual changes. And though no movement was visible, there was ever and again in places a slight sheen upon the lake, which indicated the ripple made by the breeze.

But the slow clouds were passing over it, and the shades of darkness on its surface changed, as now a then a slight sheen was laid upon it by the breeze.


"I'm so glad I've come here," said Alice, seating herself.


"I cannot bear the idea of coming to Vavasor without seeing one of the lakes at least."


"We'll get over to Windermere one day," said Kate.


I don't think it possible that I should stay long.


And there was that in the tone of her voice which instantly put Kate upon her mettle.

And the tone of her voice instantly put Kate upon her mettle.


Kate seated herself also, and put up her hand for the letter.


"No," said Alice; "it is not from Mr. Grey."


And she gave her companion the paper. Kate before she had touched it had seen that it was from her brother George; and as she opened it looked anxiously into Alice's face.

She gave her companion the paper, and Kate saw it was from her brother. As she opened it looked anxiously at Alice.


"Read it," said Alice, "and then we'll talk of it afterwards,--as we go home."

"Read it," said Alice, "and then we'll talk of it as we go home."


Then she got up from the stone and walked a step or two towards the brow of the fell, and stood there looking down upon the lake, while Kate read the letter.

Then she got up and stood looking down upon the lake while Kate read.


she said, when she returned to her place.


"Alice, Alice, it will, indeed, be well if you listen to him.


Alice, my own Alice, my darling, my friend!


And Kate knelt at her friend's feet upon the heather, and looked up into her face with eyes full of tears.

And Kate knelt at her friend's feet upon the heather, and looked up at her with eyes full of tears.


What shall we say of a woman who could be as false as she had been, and yet could be so true?


Alice made no immediate answer, but still continued to gaze down over her friend upon the lake.

Alice made no answer, but continued to gaze down upon the lake.


"Alice," continued Kate, "I did not think I should be made so happy this Christmas Day.


You could not have the heart to bring me here and show me this letter in this way, and bid me read it so calmly, and then tell me that it is all for nothing.

You could not have the heart to bring me here and show me this letter, and then tell me that it is all for nothing.


And then she put her face down upon the boulder-stone and kissed it.


Still Alice said nothing, but she began to feel that she had gone further than she had intended.


It was almost impossible for her now to say that her answer to George must be a refusal.

It was almost impossible for her now to say that she must refuse George.


Say, Alice,--is it not a letter of which if you were his brother you would feel proud if another girl had shown it to you?


I know that he is a man with a manly heart and manly courage, who will yet do manly things.

I know that he is a man with a manly heart, who will do manly things.


Here out on the mountain, with nobody near us, with Nature all round us, I ask you on your solemn word as a woman, do you love him?"


"Yes;--love him: as a woman should love her husband.


If it be so, it should be your glory to say so, here, to me, as you hold that letter in your hand."


I have ever loved my cousin; but not so passionately as you seem to think."

"I have always loved my cousin. Kate; but not so passionately as you seem to think."


But come; we shall be late; and you will be cold sitting there."

But come; we shall be late; and you will get cold sitting there."


"I would sit here all night to be sure that your answer would be as I would have it.

"I would sit here all night to be sure that your answer would a yes.


But, Alice, at any rate you shall tell me before I move what your answer is to be.

But, Alice, tell me what your answer is to be.


I know you will not refuse him; but make me happy by saying so with your own lips."

I know you will not refuse him; but make me happy by saying so."


"I cannot tell you before you move, Kate."


On such a subject and under such circumstances a woman must resolve at the first moment.

On such a subject a woman must decide at the first moment.


You had resolved, I know, before you had half read the letter;--though, perhaps, it may not suit you to say so."

You had resolved, I know, before you had half read the letter."


Come along and let us walk, and I will tell you all."


Then Kate arose, and they turned their back to the lake, and began to make their way homewards.

They turned their backs to the lake, and began to make their way homewards.


"I have not made up my mind as to what answer I will give him; but I have shown you his letter in order that I might have some one with whom I might speak openly.

"I have shown you his letter so that I might have someone with whom I could speak openly.


I knew well how it would be, and that you would strive to hurry me into an immediate promise."

I knew how it would be, and that you would try to hurry me into an immediate promise."


"But yet I could not deny myself the comfort of your friendship."


But you cannot be surprised that I should be very eager.


Has it not been the longing of all my life?


Have I not passed my time plotting and planning and thinking of it till I have had time to think of nothing else?

Have I not passed my time planning and thinking of it?


Do you know what I suffered when, through George's fault, the engagement was broken off?

Do you know what I suffered when the engagement was broken off?


Was it not martyrdom to me,--that horrid time in which your Crichton from Cambridgeshire was in the ascendant?


Did I not suffer the tortures of purgatory while that went on;--and yet, on the whole, did I not bear them with patience?


And, now, can you be surprised that I am wild with joy when I begin to see that everything will be as I wish;--for it will be as I wish, Alice.

And, now, can you be surprised that I am wild with joy? - for it will be as I wish, Alice.


It may be that you have not resolved to accept him.


But you would have resolved to refuse him instantly had that been your destined answer to his letter."

You would have decided to refuse him instantly had that been your destiny."


There was but little more said between them on the subject as they were passing over the fell, but when they were going down the path through the Beacon Wood, Kate again spoke: "You will not answer him without speaking to me first?"

There was little more said until they were going down the path through the Beacon Wood. Then Kate again spoke:
"You will not answer him without speaking to me first?"


"I will, at any rate, not send my answer without telling you," said Alice.


"Nay," said Alice; "I will not promise that.


"But if it is unfavourable I will show it you."


"Then I shall never see it," said Kate, laughing.


I by no means wish to criticise the love-sweet words in which you tell him that his offences are all forgiven. I know how sweet they will be.

I know how sweet your words of forgiveness will be.


Then they were at home; and the old man met them at the front door, glowering at them angrily from out his old leonine eyes, because the roast beef was already roasted.

Then they were at home; and the old man met them at the front door, glowering angrily, because the roast beef was ready.


He had his great uncouth silver watch in his hand, which was always a quarter of an hour too fast, and he pointed at it fiercely, showing them the minute hand at ten minutes past the hour.

He had his great uncouth silver watch in his hand, which was always a quarter of an hour too fast, and he pointed at it fiercely.


"But, grandpapa, you are always too fast," said Kate.


"And you are always too slow, miss," said the hungry old squire.


"And how long are you going to be dressing?"


That's what they always say," he muttered, peevishly.


"As if one would be any better waiting for them after the meat is on the table."


But neither Kate nor Alice heard this, as they were already in their rooms.

And the two girls hurried to their rooms to change.


Nothing more was said that evening between Alice and Kate about the letter; but Kate, as she wished her cousin good night inside her bedroom door, spoke to her just one word--"Pray for him to-night," she said, "as you pray for those you love best."

Nothing more was said that evening about the letter; but Kate, as she wished her cousin good night, said, "Pray for him tonight, as you pray for those you love best."


Alice made no answer, but we may believe that she did as she was desired to do.

Alice made no answer, but we may believe she did as Kate desired.


Some ten or twelve days after George Vavasor's return to London from Westmoreland he appeared at Mr. Scruby's offices with four small slips of paper in his hand.

Some ten or twelve days after George Vavasor's return to London he appeared at Mr. Scruby's offices with four small slips of paper in his hand.

Chapter 60: Alice Vavasor's Name Gets into the Money Market


Mr. Scruby, as usual, was pressing for money.


The third election was coming on, and money was already being spent very freely among the men of the River Bank.


Mr. Grimes, of the "Handsome Man," had shown signs of returning allegiance.


But Mr. Grimes could not afford to be loyal without money.


Mr. Scruby, too, had his little family, and was not ashamed to use it on this occasion.


"I'm a family man, Mr. Vavasor, and therefore I never run any risks.


I never go a yard further than I can see my way back."


This he had said in answer to a proposition that he should take George's note of hand for the expenses of the next election, payable in three months' time.


"It is so very hard to realize," said George, "immediately upon a death, when all the property left is real property."

"It is very hard to realize money," said George, "immediately after a death, when all the property left is real property."


"Very hard indeed," said Mr. Scruby, who had heard with accuracy all the particulars of the old Squire's will.

"Very hard indeed," said Mr. Scruby, who had heard all about the old Squire's will.


Vavasor understood the lawyer, cursed him inwardly, and suggested to himself that some day he might murder Mr. Scruby as well as John Grey,--and perhaps also a few more of his enemies.

Vavasor cursed him inwardly, and suggested to himself that some day he might murder Mr. Scruby as well as John Grey - and perhaps also a few more of his enemies.


Two days after the interview in which his own note of hand had been refused, he again called in Great Marlborough Street. Upon this occasion he tendered to Mr. Scruby for his approval the four slips of paper which have been mentioned.

Two days later, he again called, and gave Mr. Scruby the four slips of paper which have been mentioned.


Mr. Scruby regarded them with attention, looking first at one side horizontally, and then at the other side perpendicularly.


But before we learn the judgement pronounced by Mr. Scruby as to these four slips of paper, we must go back to their earlier history.

Before we learn Mr Scruby's judgment of those scraps of paper, we must go back to their earlier history.


As they were still in their infancy, we shall not have to go back far.


One morning, at about eleven o'clock the parlour-maid came up to Alice, as she sat alone in the drawing-room in Queen Anne Street, and told her there was a "gentleman" in the hall waiting to be seen by her.

One morning the parlour-maid came up to Alice, as she sat alone in the drawing-room in Queen Anne Street, and told her there was a "gentleman" waiting in the hall.


We all know the tone in which servants announce a gentleman when they know that the gentleman is not a gentleman.

We all know the tone in which servants announce a gentleman when they know that he is not a gentleman.


"Well, miss, I don't think he's just of our sort; but he's decent to look at."

"Well, miss, I don't think he's just of our sort."


Alice Vavasor had no desire to deny herself to any person but one. She was well aware that the gentleman in the hall could not be her cousin George, and therefore she did not refuse to see him.

Alice Vavasor was aware that the gentleman could not be her cousin George, and therefore she said, "Let him come up."


"But I think, Jane, you ought to ask him his name."


Jane did ask him his name, and came back immediately, announcing Mr. Levy.


This occurred immediately after the return of Mr. John Vavasor from Westmoreland. He had reached home late on the preceding evening, and at the moment of Mr. Levy's call was in his dressing-room.

At this time John Vavasor was in his dressing-room.


Alice got up to receive her visitor, and at once understood the tone of her maid's voice.


Mr. Levy was certainly not a gentleman of the sort to which she had been most accustomed. He was a little dark man, with sharp eyes, set very near to each other in his head, with a beaked nose, thick at the bridge, and a black moustache, but no other beard.

Mr. Levy was a little dark man, with sharp close-set eyes, a beaked nose, and a black moustache.


Alice did not at all like the look of Mr. Levy, but she stood up to receive him, made him a little bow, and asked him to sit down.

Alice did not like the look of him, but she asked him to sit down.


Alice asked the servant, purely to let Mr. Levy know that there was a gentleman in the house with her.


"Well, miss, I don't think he is,--not to say dressed."


Alice had thought it might be as well that Mr. Levy should know that there was a gentleman in the house with her.


"I've called about a little bit of business, miss," said Mr. Levy, when they were alone.

"I've called about a little bit of business," said Mr. Levy, when they were alone.


"Nothing as you need disturb yourself about.


Then he took a case out of his breast-pocket, and produced a note, which he handed to her.

Then he produced a note, which he handed to her.


Alice took the note, and saw immediately that it was addressed to her by her cousin George.


"Yes, Mr. George Vavasor," said Mr. Levy.


"I dare say you never saw me before, miss?"


"I am your cousin's clerk."
"Oh, you're Mr. Vavasor's clerk.


I'll read his letter, if you please, sir."


George Vavasor's letter to his cousin was as follows:--


After what passed between us when I last saw you I thought that on my return from Westmoreland I should learn that you had paid in at my bankers' the money that I require.

After what passed between us when I last saw you, I thought that on my return from Westmorland I should learn that you had paid in at my bankers' the money that I require.


But I find that this is not so; and of course I excuse you, because women so seldom know when or how to do that which business demands of them.

But I find that this is not so; and of course I excuse you, because women so seldom know how to do what business demands of them.


You have, no doubt, heard the injustice which my grandfather has done me, and will probably feel as indignant as I do.

You have, no doubt, heard of the injustice which my grandfather has done me, and will probably feel as indignant as I do.


I only mention this now, because the nature of his will makes it more than ever incumbent on you that you should be true to your pledge to me.

I only mention this, because the nature of his will makes it more than ever necessary that you should be true to your pledge to me.


Till there shall be some ground for a better understanding between us,--and this I do not doubt will come,--I think it wiser not to call, myself, at Queen Anne Street.

Till there shall be some ground for a better understanding between us, I think it wiser not to call on you myself.


I therefore send my confidential clerk with four bills, each of five hundred pounds, drawn at fourteen days' date, across which I will get you to write your name.

I therefore send my clerk with four bills, each of five hundred pounds, drawn at fourteen days' date, across which I will get you to write your name.


Mr. Levy will show you the way in which this should be done.

Mr. Levy will show you how this should be done.


Your name must come under the word "accepted," and just above the name of Messrs. Drummonds, where the money must be lying ready, at any rate, not later than Monday fortnight.

Your name must come under the word "accepted," and just above the name of Messrs. Drummonds, where the money must be lying not later than Monday fortnight.


Indeed, the money must be there some time on the Saturday.


They know you so well at Drummonds' that you will not object to call on the Saturday afternoon, and ask if it is all right.

Drummonds bank will not object if you call on the Saturday afternoon, and ask if it is all right.


I have certainly been inconvenienced by not finding the money as I expected on my return to town.


If these bills are not properly provided for, the result will be very disastrous to me.

If these bills are not properly provided for, the result will be disastrous to me.


I feel, however, sure that this will be done, both for your own sake and for mine.


The unparalleled impudence of this letter had the effect which the writer had intended.


It made Alice think immediately of her own remissness,--if she had been remiss,--rather than of the enormity of his claim upon her.

It made Alice think immediately of her own remissness, rather than of the enormity of his claim upon her.


The decision with which he asked for her money, without any pretence at an excuse on his part, did for the time induce her to believe that she had no alternative but to give it to him, and that she had been wrong in delaying it.

She believed that she had no alternative but to give him the money.


She had told him that he should have it, and she ought to have been as good as her word.

She had told him that he should have it.


She should not have forced upon him the necessity of demanding it.

She should not have forced him into the necessity of demanding it.


But the idea of signing four bills was terrible to her, and she felt sure that she ought not to put her name to orders for so large an amount and then intrust them to such a man as Mr. Levy.

But the idea of signing four bills was terrible to her, and she felt sure that she ought not to put her name to orders for so large an amount and then entrust them to such a man as Mr. Levy.


Her father was in the house, and she might have asked him.

Her father was in the house, and she thought of asking him.


The thought that she would do so of course occurred to her.


But then it occurred to her also that were she to speak to her father as to this advancing of money to her cousin,--to this giving of money, for she now well understood that it would be a gift;--were she to consult her father in any way about it, he would hinder her, not only from signing the bills for Mr. Levy, but, as far as he could do so, from keeping the promise made to her cousin.

But it occurred to her that if she were to speak to her father about this advancing of money, he would prevent her, if he could, from keeping the promise made to her cousin.


She was resolved that George should have the money, and she knew that she could give it to him in spite of her father. But her father might probably be able to delay the gift, and thus rob it of its chief value.

She was resolved that George should have the money; but her father might be able to delay the gift.


If she were to sign the bills, the money must be made to be forthcoming.

If she signed the bills, the money must be forthcoming.


Mr. Levy had taken out the four bills from the same case, and had placed them on the table before him.

Mr. Levy had taken out the four bills and had placed them on the table.


"Mr. Vavasor has explained, I believe, miss, what it is you have to do?"


"And there is nothing else to trouble you with, I believe.


If you will just write your name across them, here, I need not detain you by staying any longer."

"If you will just write your name across them, here, I need not detain you by staying any longer," he said.


Mr. Levy was very anxious to make his visit as short as possible, since he had heard that Mr. John Vavasor was in the house.

Mr. Levy was anxious to make his visit as short as possible, since he had heard that Mr. John Vavasor was in the house.


Two thousand pounds is a very serious sum of money.


She had heard much of sharpers, and thought that she ought to be cautious.


What if this man, of whom she had never before heard, should steal the bills after she had signed them?


She looked again at her cousin's letter, chiefly with the object of gaining time.


"Could you not leave them with me, sir?"


No doubt Mr. Vavasor has explained it all; but the fact is, he must have them this afternoon.

The fact is, Mr. Vavasor must have them this afternoon.


He has got a heavy sum to put down on the nail about this here election, and if it ain't down to-day, them on whom he has to depend will be all abroad."

He has got a heavy sum to put down about this here election."


"But, sir, the money will not be payable to-day.

"But, sir, the money will not be payable today.


If I understand it, they are not cheques."


But your name, miss, at fourteen days, is the same as ready money;--just the same."

But your name, miss, at fourteen days, is the same as ready money."


She paused, and while she paused, he reached a pen for her from the writing-table, and then she signed the four bills as he held them before her.

While she paused, he handed her a pen, and then she signed the four bills quickly.


She was quick enough at doing this when she had once commenced the work.


Her object, then, was that the man should be gone from the house before her father could meet him.


These were the four bits of paper which George Vavasor tendered to Mr. Scruby's notice on the occasion which we have now in hand. In doing so, he made use of them after the manner of a grand capitalist, who knows that he may assume certain airs as he allows the odours of the sweetness of his wealth to drop from him.

These were the four bits of paper which George Vavasor offered to Mr. Scruby, in the manner of a grand capitalist.


"You insisted on ready money, with your d---- suspicions," said he; "and there it is.

"You insisted on ready money, with your d-- suspicions," said he; "and there it is.


You're not afraid of fourteen days, I dare say."


"Fourteen days is neither here nor there," said Mr. Scruby.


"We can let our payments stand over as long as that, without doing any harm.


I'll send one of my men down to Grimes, and tell him I can't see him, till,--let me see," and he looked at one of the bills, "till the 15th."

"I'll send one of my men down to Grimes, and tell him I can't see him, till" and he looked at one of the bills, "till the 15th."


But this was not exactly what George Vavasor wanted.

But this was not what George Vavasor wanted.


He was desirous that the bills should be immediately turned into money, so that the necessity of forcing payments from Alice, should due provision for the bills not be made, might fall into other hands than his.

He wished that the bills should be immediately turned into money, but not by him.


"We can wait till the 15th," said Scruby, as he handed the bits of paper back to his customer.


You had better collect them through your own banker, and let me have a cheque on the 15th or 16th."


"How cursed suspicious you are, Scruby."


I don't deal in such articles; that's all!"

I don't deal in such articles; that's all.


"What doubt can there be about such bills as those?


Everybody knows that my cousin has a considerable fortune, altogether at her own disposal."


"The truth is, Mr. Vavasor, that bills with ladies' names on them,--ladies who are no way connected with business,--ain't just the paper that people like."

The truth is, Mr. Vavasor, that bills with ladies' names on them ain't just what people like.


"You take them into the City for discount, and see if the bankers don't tell you the same.

You take them into the City, and see if the bankers don't tell you the same.


They may be done, of course, upon your name."


"I can explain to you the nature of the family arrangement, but I can't do that to a stranger.


The time is so short that it does not signify.


Have them collected through your own bankers, and then, if it don't suit you to call, send me a cheque for a thousand pounds when the time is up."

Have them collected through your own bankers, and then send me a cheque for a thousand pounds when the time is up."


Then Mr. Scruby turned to some papers on his right hand, as though the interview had been long enough.

Then Mr. Scruby turned to some papers as though the interview had been long enough.


Vavasor looked at him angrily, opening his wound at him and cursing him inwardly.

Vavasor looked at him angrily, cursing him inwardly, but Mr. Scruby ignored him.


Mr. Scruby went on with his paper, by no means regarding either the wound or the unspoken curses.


Thereupon Vavasor got up and went away without any word of farewell.


As he walked along Great Marlborough Street, and through those unalluring streets which surround the Soho district, and so on to the Strand and his own lodgings, he still continued to think of some wide scheme of revenge,--of some scheme in which Mr. Scruby might be included.

As he walked along the unalluring streets which surround Soho, to the Strand and his own lodgings, he continued to think of some wide scheme of revenge - in which Mr. Scruby might be included.


There had appeared something latterly in Mr. Scruby's manner to him, something of mingled impatience and familiarity, which made him feel that he had fallen in the attorney's estimation.

Some impatience and familiarity in Mr. Scruby's manner made him feel that he had fallen in the attorney's esteem.


It was not that the lawyer thought him to be less honourable, or less clever, than he had before thought him; but that the man was like a rat, and knew a falling house by the instinct that was in him.

The man was like a rat, and knew a falling house by instinct.


So George Vavasor cursed Mr. Scruby, and calculated some method of murdering him without detection.


The reader is not to suppose that the Member for the Chelsea Districts had, in truth, resolved to gratify his revenge by murder,--by murdering any of those persons whom he hated so vigorously. He did not, himself, think it probable that he would become a murderer.

The reader is not to suppose that the Member for the Chelsea Districts had, in truth, any intention to become a murderer.


But he received some secret satisfaction in allowing his mind to dwell upon the subject, and in making those calculations.

But he received a secret satisfaction in allowing his mind to dwell upon the subject.


He reflected that it would not do to take off Scruby and John Grey at the same time, as it would be known that he was connected with both of them; unless, indeed, he was to take off a third person at the same time,--a third person, as to the expediency of ending whose career he made his calculations quite as often as he did in regard to any of those persons whom he cursed so often. It need hardly be explained to the reader that this third person was the sitting Member for the Chelsea Districts.

He reflected that it would not do to knock off Scruby and John Grey at the same time, as it would be known that he was connected with both of them; unless, indeed, he was to kill himself too.


As he was himself in want of instant ready money Mr. Scruby's proposition that he should leave the four bills at his own bankers', to be collected when they came to maturity, did not suit him.

As he needed instant money, Mr. Scruby's proposition that he should leave the four bills at his own bankers', to be collected when they came to maturity, did not suit him.


He doubted much, also, whether at the end of the fourteen days the money would be forthcoming.

He doubted much whether at the end of the fourteen days the money would be forthcoming.


Alice would be driven to tell her father, in order that the money might be procured, and John Vavasor would probably succeed in putting impediments in the way of the payment.

Alice would have to tell her father, and John Vavasor would probably prevent the payment.


He must take the bills into the City, and do the best there that he could with them.


He was too late for this to-day, and therefore he went to his lodgings, and then down to the House.

He was too late for this today, so he went down to the House.


In the House he sat all the night with his hat over his eyes, making those little calculations of which I have spoken.

There he sat all night with his hat over his eyes, plotting his murders.


said Mr. Bott to him, whispering in his ear.


"Finespun has resigned, and Palliser is at this moment with the Duke of St. Bungay in the Lords' library."


"They may both be at the bottom of the Lords' fishpond, for what I care," said Vavasor.

"They may both be at the bottom of the Lords' fishpond, for all I care," said Vavasor.


"Still, you know Palliser is Chancellor of the Exchequer at this moment.


"What a lucky fellow you are to have such a chance come to you directly you get in.


As soon as he takes his seat down there, of course we shall go up behind him."


"We shall have another election in a month's time," said George.


"It never hurts a man at elections to be closely connected with the Government."


George Vavasor was in the City by times the next morning, but he found that the City did not look with favourable eyes on his four bills.

George Vavasor was in the City early the next morning, but he found that the City did not look with favourable eyes on his four bills.


The City took them up, first horizontally, and then, with a twist of its hand, perpendicularly, and looked at them with distrustful eyes. The City repeated the name, Alice Vavasor, as though it were not esteemed a good name on Change. The City suggested that as the time was so short, the holder of the bills would be wise to hold them till he could collect the amount.

The City took them up distrustfully, and repeated the name Alice Vavasor, and suggested that as the time was so short, the holder of the bills would be wise to hold them till he could collect the amount.


It was very clear that the City suspected something wrong in the transaction.


The City, by one of its mouths, asserted plainly that ladies' bills never meant business.


George Vavasor cursed the City, and made his calculation about murdering it.


Might not a river of strychnine be turned on round the Exchange about luncheon time?

Might not a river of strychnine be turned on the Exchange at luncheon time?


Three of the bills he left at last with his own bankers for collection, and retained the fourth in his breast-pocket, intending on the morrow to descend with it into those lower depths of the money market which he had not as yet visited.

At last he left three of the bills with his own bankers for collection, and kept the fourth in his pocket.


Again, on the next day, he went to work and succeeded to some extent. Among those lower depths he found a capitalist who was willing to advance him two hundred pounds, keeping that fourth bill in his possession as security.

The next day he descended with it into the lower depths of the money market, and found a capitalist who was willing to advance him two hundred pounds, keeping that fourth bill as security.


The capitalist was to have forty pounds for the transaction, and George cursed him as he took his cheque.


George Vavasor knew quite enough of the commercial world to enable him to understand that a man must be in a very bad condition when he consents to pay forty pounds for the use of two hundred for fourteen days.

He knew that a man must be in a very bad condition when he consents to pay forty pounds for the use of two hundred for fourteen days.


He cursed his cousin Alice and his sister Kate.


He cursed the memory of his grandfather.


Mr. Levy had hardly left the house in Queen Anne Street, before Alice had told her father what she had done.


"The money must be forthcoming," said Alice.


To this her father made no immediate reply, but turning himself in his chair away from her with a sudden start, sat looking at the fire and shaking his head.


"The money must be made to be forthcoming," said Alice.


This was very hard upon poor John Vavasor, and so he felt it to be.

To this her father made no reply, but sat looking at the fire and shaking his head, feeling it to be very hard upon him.


"Papa, if you will not promise, I must go to Mr. Round about it myself, and must find out a broker to sell out for me.

"Papa, if you will not promise, I must go to Mr. Round myself, and find a broker to sell out for me."


You would not wish that my name should be dishonoured."


"You will be ruined," said he, "and for such a rascal as that!"


"Never mind whether he is a rascal or not, papa.


You must acknowledge that he has been treated harshly by his grandfather."

You must admit that he has been treated harshly by his grandfather."


"I think that will was the wisest thing my father ever did.


Had he left the estate to George, there wouldn't have been an acre of it left in the family in six months' time."

If he had left the estate to George, there wouldn't have been an acre of it left in the family in six months' time."


"He would have raised all he could upon that, and it would have done him no good."


"At any rate, papa, he must have this two thousand pounds."


"No; I do not think he will ask for more.


At any rate, I do not think that I am bound to give him all that I have."


I should like to know how you can be bound to give him anything?"

Why are you bound to give him anything?"


I have signed the bills now, and it must be done."


"Papa, if you will not say that you will do it, I must go down to Mr. Round at once."


Then there was a pause for a moment in the conversation.


"Upon my word, I never heard of such a thing in my life," said Mr. Vavasor; "I never did.


Four thousand pounds given away to such a man as that, in three months!


And you say you do not intend to marry him."


Things of that sort are so often over with you!"


Perhaps she had deserved the reproach, but still it was very cruel.


The blow struck her with such force that she staggered under it.


Tears came into her eyes, and she could hardly speak lest she should betray herself by sobbing.


"I know that I have behaved badly," she said at last; "but I am punished, and you might spare me now!"


"I didn't want to punish you," he said, getting up from his chair and walking about the room.

"I didn't want to punish you," he said, getting up and walking about the room.


Mr. Vavasor went on walking about the room, jingling the money in his trousers-pockets, and pushing the chairs about as he chanced to meet them.


He would take a day to think whether he would assist her in getting the money, and communicate his decision to her on the following morning.

He would take a day to think whether he would help her get the money, and would tell her his decision on the following morning.


Alice sat alone for an hour without moving when John Grey had left her, and the last words which he had uttered were sounding in her ears all the time, "My heart is still yours, as it has been since I knew you."

Alice sat alone for an hour without moving when John Grey had left her, with his last words sounding in her ears. "My heart is yours now as it has been since I knew you."


There had been something in his words which had soothed her spirits, and had, for the moment, almost comforted her.