The saving, however, was postponed whenever Alice would consent to visit Cheltenham; and a bedroom was secured for her which did not look out over the stables.

The saving, however, was postponed whenever Alice visited Cheltenham; and a bedroom was secured for her which did not look out over the stables.


Accommodation was also found for her maid much better than that provided for Lady Macleod's own maid.


She was a hospitable, good old woman, painfully struggling to do the best she could in the world.


It was a pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she was so hard to cabmen and others, a pity that she suspected all tradesmen, servants, and people generally of a rank of life inferior to her own, a pity that she was disposed to condemn for ever and ever so many of her own rank because they played cards on week days, and did not go to church on Sundays,--and a pity, as I think above all, that while she was so suspicious of the poor she was so lenient to the vices of earls, earl's sons, and such like.

It was a pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she suspected all tradesmen, servants, cabmen and people of an inferior rank generally - and a pity that while she was so suspicious of the poor she was so lenient to the vices of the high-born.


Alice, having fully considered the matter, had thought it most prudent to tell Lady Macleod by letter what she had done in regard to Mr. Grey.

Alice had thought it prudent to tell Lady Macleod by letter about Mr. Grey.


There had been many objections to the writing of such a letter, but there appeared to be stronger objection to that telling it face to face which would have been forced upon her had she not written.

This had seemed preferable to telling her face to face


There would in such case have arisen on Lady Macleod's countenance a sternness of rebuke which Alice did not choose to encounter.


The same sternness of rebuke would come upon the countenance on receipt of the written information; but it would come in its most aggravated form on the immediate receipt of the letter, and some of its bitterness would have passed away before Alice's arrival.

bitterness of rebuke would have passed away before Alice's arrival.


It is better for both parties that any great offence should be confessed by letter.


But Alice trembled as the cab drew up at No. 3, Paramount Crescent.

But Alice trembled as the cab drew up at Paramount Crescent.


She met her aunt, as was usual, just inside the drawing-room door, and she saw at once that if any bitterness had passed away from that face, the original bitterness must indeed have been bitter.

She met her aunt at the drawing-room door, and saw at once that if any bitterness had passed away from that face, the original bitterness must indeed have been bitter.


She had so timed her letter that Lady Macleod should have no opportunity of answering it.


The answer was written there in the mingled anger and sorrow of those austere features.

Anger and sorrow were mingled in those austere features.


she said, as she took her niece in her arms and kissed her; "oh, Alice, what is this?"

she said, as she kissed her niece; "oh, Alice, what is this?"


"Yes, aunt; it is very bad, I know," and poor Alice tried to make a jest of it.

"Yes, aunt; it is very bad, I know." Poor Alice tried to make a jest of it.


"Young ladies are very wicked when they don't know their own minds.


But if they haven't known them and have been wicked, what can they do but repent?"

But if they haven't known them, what can they do but repent?"


Poor Mr. Grey;--what must he think of it?"


"I can only hope, aunt, that he won't think of it at all for very long."

"I hope, aunt, that he won't think of it at all for very long."


"That's nonsense, my dear, Of course he'll think of it, and of course you'll marry him."


Why, Alice, hasn't it been all settled among families?


Lady Midlothian knew all the particulars of it just as well as I did.


I really don't understand what you mean.


I don't see how it is possible you should go back.


Gentlemen when they do that kind of thing are put out of society;--but I really think it is worse in a woman."

Gentlemen when they do that kind of thing are expelled from society; but I really think it is worse in a woman."


"Then they may if they please put me out of society;--only that I don't know that I'm particularly in it."

"Then they may expel from society; only I don't think I'm particularly in it."


"And the wickedness of the thing, Alice!


"When you talk to me about society, aunt, and about Lady Midlothian, I give up to you, willingly;--the more willingly, perhaps, because I don't care much for one or the other."

"When you talk to me about society, aunt, I let you


Here Lady Macleod tried to say a word; but she failed, and Alice went on, boldly looking up into her aunt's face, which became a shade more bitter than ever.


"But when you tell me about wickedness and my conscience, then I must be my own judge.

"But when you tell me about wickedness, then I must be my own judge.


It is my conscience, and the fear of committing wickedness, that has made me do this."


"You should submit to be guided by your elders, Alice."

"You should be guided by your elders, Alice."


"No; my elders in such a matter as this cannot teach me.

"No; in such a matter my elders cannot teach me.


It cannot be right that I should go to a man's house and be his wife, if I do not think that I can make him happy."

It cannot be right that I should be a man's wife if I do not think that I can make him happy."


If you choose to scold me for that, you may do so, aunt, and I will not answer you.

If you choose to scold me for that, you may do so, aunt.


But as to marrying him or not marrying him now,--as to that, I must judge for myself."

But as to marrying him, I must judge for myself."


"It was a pity you did not know your own mind earlier."


I have done myself an injury that is quite irretrievable;--I know that, and am prepared to bear it.

I have done myself an injury that is quite irretrievable; I know that.


I have done him, too, an injustice which I regret with my whole heart.


I can only excuse myself by saying that I might have done him a worse injustice."


All this was said at the very moment of her arrival, and the greeting did not seem to promise much for the happiness of the next month; but perhaps it was better for them both that the attack and the defence should thus be made suddenly, at their first meeting.

All this was said at the very moment of her arrival, and did not seem to promise much for the happiness of the next month; but perhaps it was better for them both that the attack and the defence should be made at once.


It is better to pull the string at once when you are in the shower-bath, and not to stand shivering, thinking of the inevitable shock which you can only postpone for a few minutes.


Lady Macleod in this case had pulled the string, and thus reaped the advantage of her alacrity.


"Well, my dear," said her ladyship, "I suppose you will like to go up-stairs and take off your bonnet.

"Well, my dear," said her ladyship, "I suppose you will like to go upstairs and take off your bonnet.


Mary shall bring you some tea when you come down."


So Alice escaped, and when she returned to the comfort of her cup of tea in the drawing-room, the fury of the storm had passed away.

So Alice escaped, and when she returned to the drawing-room, the fury of the storm had passed away.


She sat talking of other things till dinner; and though Lady Macleod did during the evening make one allusion to "poor Mr. Grey," the subject was allowed to drop.

They talked of other things till dinner; and though Lady Macleod did make one allusion to "poor Mr. Grey," the subject was allowed to drop.


Alice was very tender as to her aunt's ailments, was more than ordinarily attentive to the long list of Cheltenham iniquities which was displayed to her, and refrained from combating any of her aunt's religious views.

Alice was very attentive in asking about her aunt's ailments, and listening to her long list of Cheltenham iniquities, and refrained from combating any of her aunt's religious views.


After a while they got upon the subject of Aunt Greenow, for whose name Lady Macleod had a special aversion,--as indeed she had for all the Vavasor side of Alice's family; and then Alice offered to read, and did read to her aunt many pages out of one of those terrible books of wrath, which from time to time come forth and tell us that there is no hope for us.

After a while they got onto the subject of Aunt Greenow, for whom Lady Macleod had a special aversion - as indeed she had for all the Vavasor side of Alice's family; and then Alice offered to read from one of those terrible books of wrathful sermons which


Lady Macleod liked to be so told; and as she now, poor woman, could not read at nights herself, she enjoyed her evening.


Lady Macleod no doubt did enjoy her niece's sojourn at Cheltenham, but I do not think it could have been pleasant to Alice.

Lady Macleod no doubt did enjoy her niece's stay, but Alice did not.


On the second day nothing was said about Mr. Grey, and Alice hoped that by her continual readings in the book of wrath her aunt's heart might be softened towards her.


But it seemed that Lady Macleod measured the periods of respite, for on the third day and on the fifth she returned to the attack.

But on the third day Lady Macleod returned to the attack.


"Did John Grey still wish that the match should go on?"


It was in vain that Alice tried to put aside the question, and begged that the matter might not be discussed.


Lady Macleod insisted on her right to carry on the examination, and Alice was driven to acknowledge that she believed he did wish it.

Alice had to admit that she believed he did wish it.


She could hardly say otherwise, seeing that she had at that moment a letter from him in her pocket, in which he still spoke of his engagement as being absolutely binding on him, and expressed a hope that this change from London to Cheltenham would bring her round and set everything to rights.

She could hardly say otherwise, seeing that she had a letter from him in her pocket, in which he still spoke of his engagement as binding on him, and expressed a hope that this change to Cheltenham would bring her round and set everything to rights.


He certainly did, in a fashion, wave his hand over her, as Kate had said of him.


This letter Alice had resolved that she would not answer.


He would probably write again, and she would beg him to desist.

He would probably write again, and she would beg him to stop.


Instead of Cheltenham bringing her round, Cheltenham had made her firmer than ever in her resolution.

Instead of bringing her round, Cheltenham had made her firmer than ever in her resolution.


I am inclined to think that the best mode of bringing her round at this moment would have been a course of visits from her cousin George, and a series of letters from her cousin Kate.


Lady Macleod's injunctions would certainly not bring her round.


After ten days, ten terrible days, devoted to discussions on matrimony in the morning, and to the book of wrath in the evening,--relieved by two tea-parties, in which the sins of Cheltenham were discussed at length,--Lady Macleod herself got a letter from Mr. Grey.

After ten terrible days devoted to discussions on matrimony in the morning, and to the book of wrath in the evening - relieved by two tea-parties, in which the sins of Cheltenham were discussed at length - Lady Macleod herself got a letter from Mr. Grey.


Mr. Grey's kindest compliments to Lady Macleod.

Mr. Grey sent her his kindest compliments.


He believed that Lady Macleod was aware of the circumstances of his engagement with Miss Vavasor.


Might he call on Miss Vavasor at Lady Macleod's house in Cheltenham?

Might he call on Miss Vavasor at Lady Macleod's house?


and might he also hope to have the pleasure of making Lady Macleod's acquaintance?

and also have the pleasure of making Lady Macleod's acquaintance?


Alice had been in the room when her aunt received this letter, but her aunt had said nothing, and Alice had not known from whom the letter had come.

Alice was in the room when her aunt received this letter, but her aunt said nothing.


When her aunt crept away with it after breakfast she had suspected nothing, and had never imagined that Lady Macleod, in the privacy of her own room looking out upon the stables, had addressed a letter to Nethercoats.

After breakfast Lady Macleod privately wrote a


But such a letter had been addressed to Nethercoats, and Mr. Grey had been informed that he would be received in Paramount Crescent with great pleasure.

reply to Nethercoats, informing Mr. Grey that he would be received in Paramount Crescent with great pleasure.


Mr. Grey had even indicated the day on which he would come, and on the morning of that day Lady Macleod had presided over the two teacups in a state of nervous excitement which was quite visible to Alice.

On the morning of his visit Lady Macleod had presided over the teacups in a state of nervous excitement which was quite visible to Alice.


More than once Alice asked little questions, not supposing that she was specially concerned in the matter which had caused her aunt's fidgety restlessness, but observing it so plainly that it was almost impossible not to allude to it.

She asked about her aunt's restlessness without suspecting it had anything to do with her.


"There's nothing the matter, my dear, at all," at last Lady Macleod said; but as she said so she was making up her mind that the moment had not come in which she must apprise Alice of Mr. Grey's intended visit.

"There's nothing the matter, my dear," Lady Macleod said.


As Alice had questioned her at the breakfast table she would say nothing about it then, but waited till the teacups were withdrawn, and till the maid had given her last officious poke to the fire.


She had Mr. Grey's letter in her pocket, and as she prepared herself to speak, she pulled it out and held it on the little table before her.

pull Mr. Grey's letter out of her pocket.


"Alice," she said, "I expect a visitor here to-day."

"Alice," she said, "I expect a visitor here today."


Alice knew instantly who was the expected visitor.

Alice knew instantly who the visitor was.


Probably any girl under such circumstances would have known equally well.


"A visitor, aunt," she said, and managed to hide her knowledge admirably.


I should have told you before, only I thought,--I thought I had better not.


"Well;--he is desirous no doubt of seeing you more especially; but he has expressed a wish to make my acquaintance, which I cannot, under the circumstances, think is unnatural.

"Well, no doubt he wants to see you more; but he has expressed a wish to make my acquaintance.


Of course, Alice, he must want to talk over this affair with your friends."


"I wish I could have spared them," said Alice,--"I wish I could."


"I have brought his letter here, and you can see it if you please.

I have his letter here, and you can see it if you wish.


It is very nicely written, and as far as I am concerned I should not think of refusing to see him.


I take it for granted that he will not expect me to offer him a bed, as he knows that I live in lodgings."


"Oh no, aunt; he certainly will not expect that."


I should be most happy to entertain him, though you know how very scanty my means of doing so are;--but I really do not know how it might be,--between you and him, I mean."

I should be most happy to entertain him, though you know how very scanty my means are; but I really do not know how it might be - between you and him, I mean."


"No, I suppose not;--but if you cannot be affectionate in your manner to him--"


"I will not answer for my manners, aunt; but you may be sure of this,--that I should be affectionate in my heart.


I shall always regard him as a dearly loved friend; though for many years, no doubt, I shall be unable to express my friendship."


"That may be all very well, Alice, but it will not be what he will want.

"That is all very well, Alice, but it is not what he will want.


I think upon the whole that I had better not ask him to dinner."


"It is a period of the day in which any special constraint among people is more disagreeable than at any other time, and then at dinner the servants must see it.


I think there might be some awkwardness if he were to dine here."


"I really think there would," said Alice, anxious to have the subject dropped.


"I hope he won't think that I am inhospitable.


I should be so happy to do the best I could for him, for I regard him, Alice, quite as though he were to be your husband.


And when anybody at all connected with me has come to Cheltenham I always have asked them to dine, and then I have Gubbins's man to come and wait at table,--as you know."


"Of all men in the world Mr. Grey is the last to think about it."


"That should only make me the more careful.


But I think it would perhaps be more comfortable if he were to come in the evening."


"I suppose he will be here in the afternoon, before dinner, and we had better wait at home for him.


I dare say he'll want to see you alone, and therefore I'll retire to my own rooms,"--looking over the stables!

I dare say he'll want to see you alone, and therefore I'll retire to my own rooms.


"But if you wish it, I will receive him first--and then Martha,"--Martha was Alice's maid--"can fetch you down."

But if you wish, I will receive him first, and then the maid can fetch you down."


This discussion as to the propriety or impropriety of giving her lover a dinner had not been pleasant to Alice, but, nevertheless, when it was over she felt grateful to Lady Macleod.

Although this discussion was not pleasant to Alice, she felt grateful to Lady Macleod,


There was an attempt in the arrangement to make Mr. Grey's visit as little painful as possible; and though such a discussion at such a time might as well have been avoided, the decision to which her ladyship had at last come with reference both to the dinner and the management of the visit was, no doubt, the right one.

who was attempting to make Mr. Grey's visit as little painful as possible.


Lady Macleod had been quite correct in all her anticipations.


At three o'clock Mr. Grey was announced, and Lady Macleod, alone, received him in her drawing-room.

At three o'clock Mr. Grey was announced, and Lady Macleod received him alone in her drawing-room.


She had intended to give him a great deal of good advice, to bid him still keep up his heart and as it were hold up his head, to confess to him how very badly Alice was behaving, and to express her entire concurrence with that theory of bodily ailment as the cause and origin of her conduct.

She had intended to give him a great deal of good advice: to bid him keep up his heart and hold up his head, to confess to him how badly Alice was behaving, and to express her agreement with his theory of illness.


But she found that Mr. Grey was a man to whom she could not give much advice.


It was he who did the speaking at this conference, and not she.


She was overawed by him after the first three minutes.


Indeed her first glance at him had awed her.


He was so handsome,--and then, in his beauty, he had so quiet and almost saddened an air!

He was so handsome - and had so quiet and almost saddened an air!


Strange to say that after she had seen him, Lady Macleod entertained for him an infinitely higher admiration than before, and yet she was less surprised than she had been at Alice's refusal of him.

Strange to say, after she had seen him, Lady Macleod admired him much more than before, and yet she was less surprised than she had been at Alice's refusal of him.


The conference was very short; and Mr. Grey had not been a quarter of an hour in the house before Martha attended upon her mistress with her summons.

The conference was very short; and after fifteen minutes the maid went to Alice with her summons.


Alice was ready and came down instantly.


She found Mr. Grey standing in the middle of the room waiting to receive her, and the look of majesty which had cowed Lady Macleod had gone from his countenance.

She found Mr. Grey waiting to receive her, and the look of majesty which had cowed Lady Macleod had gone.


He could not have received her with a kinder smile, had she come to him with a promise that she would at this meeting name the day for their marriage.

He could not have received her with a kinder smile.


"At any rate it does not make him unhappy," she said to herself.


"You are not angry," he said, "that I should have followed you all the way here, to see you."

"You are not angry," he said, "that I should have followed you all the way here, to see you?"


All anger that there may be between us must be on your side.


"Then there shall be none on either side.


Whatever may be done, I will not be angry with you.

Whatever happens, I will not be angry with you.


Your father advised me to come down here to you."


"It is so terrible to think that I should have brought upon you all this trouble."


"You will bring upon me much worse trouble than that unless--.


But I have not now come down here to tell you that.


I believe that according to rule in such matters I should not have come to you at all, but I don't know that I care much about such rules."

I believe that according to the rule in such matters I should not have come to you, but I don't know that I care much about such rules."


"When a lady tells a gentleman that she does not wish to see more of him--"

"When a lady tells a gentleman that she does not wish to see more of him-"


"Oh, Mr. Grey, I have not told you that."


I am glad at any rate to hear you deny it.


When a gentleman gets his dismissal from a lady he should accept it,--that is, his dismissal under such circumstances as I have received mine.

When a gentleman gets his dismissal from a lady he should accept it.


But I cannot lay down my love in that way; nor, maintaining my love, can I give up the battle.

But I cannot lay down my love in that way; nor can I give up the battle.


It seems to me that I have a right at any rate to know something of your comings and goings as long as,--unless, Alice, you should take another name than mine."

It seems to me that I have a right at any rate to know something of your comings and goings - unless, Alice, you should take another name than mine."


This she said in the lowest possible tone,--almost in a whisper,--with her eyes fixed upon the ground.

This she said almost in a whisper, with her eyes fixed upon the ground.


Whatever you may do, I myself have sinned so against you that I can have no right to blame you."

"I have sinned so against you that I can have no right to blame you."


"There shall be no question between us of injury from one to the other.

"There shall be no question between us of injury.


In any conversation that we may have, or in any correspondence--"

In any conversation that we may have, or in any correspondence-"


Should there be any on either side, there shall be no idea of any wrong done."

Should there be any communication on either side, there shall be no idea of any wrong done."


"But I have done you wrong;--great wrong."


When I asked you to accept my hand,--begging the greatest boon which it could ever come to my lot to ask from a fellow-mortal,--I knew well how great was your goodness to me when you told me that it should be mine.

When I asked you to accept my hand - begging the greatest gift which I could ever ask for - I knew how great was your goodness to me in accepting it.


Now that you refuse it, I know also that you are good, thinking that in doing so you are acting for my welfare,--thinking more of my welfare than of your own."

Now that you refuse it, I know that in doing so you are thinking more of my welfare than of your own."


"Oh yes, yes; it is so, Mr. Grey; indeed it is so."


"Believing that, how can I talk of wrong?


That you are wrong in your thinking on this subject,--that your mind has become twisted by false impressions,--that I believe.

That you are wrong in your thinking - that your mind has become twisted by false impressions - that I believe.


But I cannot therefore love you less,--nor, so believing, can I consider myself to be injured.

But I cannot therefore love you less, nor consider myself to be injured.


Nor am I even so little selfish as you are.


I think if you were my wife that I could make you happy; but I feel sure that my happiness depends on your being my wife."


She looked up into his face, but it was still serene in all its manly beauty.

She looked up into his face, but it was still serene in its manly beauty.


Her cousin George, if he were moved to strong feeling, showed it at once in his eyes,--in his mouth, in the whole visage of his countenance.

Her cousin George, if he were moved to strong feeling, showed it at once in his whole expression.


He glared in his anger, and was impassioned in his love.


But Mr. Grey when speaking of the happiness of his entire life, when confessing that it was now at stake with a decision against him that would be ruinous to it, spoke without a quiver in his voice, and had no more sign of passion in his face than if he were telling his gardener to move a rose tree.

But Mr. Grey, when speaking of the happiness of his entire life, spoke without a quiver in his voice, and with no more sign of passion in his face than if he were telling his gardener to move a rose tree.


"I hope--and believe that you will find your happiness elsewhere, Mr. Grey."

"I hope that you will find your happiness elsewhere, Mr. Grey."


And now I will say one word to explain why I have come here.


If I were to write to you against your will, it would seem that I were persecuting you.


I cannot bring myself to do that, even though I had the right.


But if I were to let you go from me, taking what you have said to me and doing nothing, it would seem that I had accepted your decision as final.


I come simply to tell you that I am still your suitor.


If you will let me, I will see you again early in January,--as soon as you have returned to town.

If you will let me, I will see you again early in January, when you return to town.


"No," she said; "I cannot refuse to see you."


"Then it shall be so," he said, "and I will not trouble you with letters, nor will I trouble you longer now with words.

"Meanwhile I will not trouble you with letters, nor will I trouble you any longer now with words.


Tell your aunt that I have said what I came to say, and that I give her my kindest thanks."

Tell your aunt that I give her my kindest thanks."


Then he took her hand and pressed it,--not as George Vavasor had pressed it,--and was gone.

Then he took her hand and pressed it - not as George Vavasor had pressed it - and was gone.


When Lady Macleod returned, she found that the question of the evening's tea arrangements had settled itself.


How deep and cunning are the wiles of love!

Chapter 40: Mrs. Greenow's Little Dinner in the Close


When that Saturday morning arrived not a word was said by Cheesacre to his rival as to his plans for the day.

When that Saturday morning arrived, Cheesacre said not a word to his rival about his plans for the day.


"I don't know what I shall do as yet," replied he who was master of the house, of the dog-cart, and, as he fondly thought, of the situation.


But Bellfield knew that Cheesacre must take the dog-cart, and was contented.


His friend would leave him behind, if it were possible, but Bellfield would take care that it should not be possible.

He would make sure that he was not left behind.


Before breakfast Mr. Cheesacre surreptitiously carried out into the yard a bag containing all his apparatus for dressing,--his marrow oil for his hair, his shirt with the wondrous worked front upon an under-stratum of pink to give it colour, his shiny boots, and all the rest of the paraphernalia.

Before breakfast Mr. Cheesacre surreptitiously carried out into the yard a bag containing all his apparatus for dressing - his marrow oil for his hair, his shirt with the wondrous embroidered front, his shiny boots, and all the rest.


When dining in Norwich on ordinary occasions, he simply washed his hands there, trusting to the chambermaid at the inn to find him a comb; and now he came down with his bag surreptitiously, and hid it away in the back of the dog-cart with secret, but alas, not unobserved hands, hoping that Bellfield would forget his toilet.

He hid the bag away secretly in the back of the dog-cart.


But when did such a Captain ever forget his outward man?


Cheesacre, as he returned through the kitchen from the yard into the front hall, perceived another bag lying near the door, apparently filled almost as well as his own.

But when he returned into the front hall, he perceived another bag lying near the door.


"What the deuce are you going to do with all this luggage?"

"What the deuce are you going to do with this?"


"Put it where I saw you putting yours when I opened my window just now," said Bellfield.

"Put it where I saw you putting yours just now," said Bellfield.


"D---- the window," exclaimed Cheesacre, and then they sat down to breakfast.

"D-- it," exclaimed Cheesacre; and then they sat down to breakfast.


"How you do hack that ham about," he said.


"If you ever found hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them."

"If you ever provided hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them."


Even Bellfield could not bear it with equanimity, and feeling unable to eat the ham under such circumstances, made his breakfast with a couple of fresh eggs.

Feeling unable to eat the ham under such circumstances, Bellfield made do with a couple of fresh eggs.


"If you didn't mean to eat the meat, why the mischief did you cut it?"


"Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad;--upon my word you are," said Bellfield, almost sobbing.

"Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad," said Bellfield, upset.


"You do, I suppose, or you wouldn't cut it."


"No I don't; nor anything else either that you've got.


It isn't fair to ask a fellow into your house, and then say such things to him as that.

"It isn't fair to ask a fellow into your house, and then say such things to him.


And it isn't what I've been accustomed to either; I can tell you that, Mr. Cheesacre."


"It's all very well to say bother, but I choose to be treated like a gentleman wherever I go.


You and I have known each other a long time, and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but--"

You and I have known each other a long time, and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but-"


"Can you pay me the money that you owe me, Bellfield?"


"No, I can't," said Bellfield; "not immediately."

"No," said Bellfield; "not immediately."


"Then eat your breakfast, and hold your tongue."


After that Captain Bellfield did eat his breakfast,--leaving the ham however untouched, and did hold his tongue, vowing vengeance in his heart.

Captain Bellfield did eat his breakfast - leaving the ham untouched - and did hold his tongue, vowing vengeance in his heart.


But the two men went into Norwich more amicably together than they would have done had there been no words between them.

Yet the two men went into Norwich quite amicably.


Cheesacre felt that he had trespassed a little, and therefore offered the Captain a cigar as he seated himself in the cart.

Cheesacre felt that he had trespassed a little, and offered the Captain a cigar in the cart.


Bellfield accepted the offering, and smoked the weed of peace.


"Now," said Cheesacre, as he drove into the Swan yard, "what do you mean to do with yourself all day?"


"I shall go down to the quarters, and look the fellows up."

"I shall go down to the soldiers' quarters, and look the fellows up."


But mind this, Bellfield;--it's an understood thing, that you're not to be in the Close before four?"

But mind this, Bellfield; you're not to be in the Close before four."


If you deceive me, I'll not drive you back to Oileymead to-night."

If you deceive me, I'll not drive you back to Oileymead tonight."


In this instance Captain Bellfield had no intention to deceive.


He did not think it probable that he could do himself any good by philandering about the widow early in the day.

He did not think that he could do himself any good by hanging about the widow early in the day.


She would be engaged with her dinner and with an early toilet.


Captain Bellfield, moreover, had learned from experience that the first comer has not always an advantage in ladies' society.


The mind of a woman is greedy after novelty, and it is upon the stranger, or upon the most strange of her slaves around her, that she often smiles the sweetest.


The cathedral clock, therefore, had struck four before Captain Bellfield rang Mrs. Greenow's bell, and then, when he was shown into the drawing-room, he found Cheesacre there alone, redolent with the marrow oil, and beautiful with the pink bosom.

The cathedral clock, therefore, had struck four before the Captain rang Mrs. Greenow's bell. When he was shown into the drawing-room, he found Cheesacre there alone, redolent with the marrow oil.


But at this moment he was compelled to swallow his anger, as Mrs. Greenow, accompanied by her lady guest, came into the room.

But he was compelled to swallow his anger as the ladies came into the room.


"Whoever would have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual," said she, "especially on market-day!"

"Whoever would have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual!" said Mrs. Greenow.


"Market-day makes no difference when I come to see you," said Cheesacre, putting his best foot forward, while Captain Bellfield contented himself with saying something civil to Charlie.


He would bide his time and ride a waiting race.


The widow was almost gorgeous in her weeds.

The widow was almost gorgeous in her mourning dress.


I believe that she had not sinned in her dress against any of those canons which the semi-ecclesiastical authorities on widowhood have laid down as to the outward garments fitted for gentlemen's relicts.


The materials were those which are devoted to the deepest conjugal grief.


As regarded every item of the written law her suttee worship was carried out to the letter.


There was the widow's cap, generally so hideous, so well known to the eyes of all men, so odious to womanhood.

Widows' caps are generally hideous; as are dresses of


Let us hope that such headgear may have some assuaging effect on the departed spirits of husbands.


There was the dress of deep, clinging, melancholy crape,--of crape which becomes so brown and so rusty, and which makes the six months' widow seem so much more afflicted a creature than she whose husband is just gone, and whose crape is therefore new.


There were the trailing weepers, and the widow's kerchief pinned close round her neck and somewhat tightly over her bosom.


But there was that of genius about Mrs. Greenow, that she had turned every seeming disadvantage to some special profit, and had so dressed herself that though she had obeyed the law to the letter, she had thrown the spirit of it to the winds.


Her cap sat jauntily on her head, and showed just so much of her rich brown hair as to give her the appearance of youth which she desired.

's cap sat jauntily on her head, and showed just enough of her rich brown hair to give her the appearance of youth.


Cheesacre had blamed her in his heart for her private carriage, but she spent more money, I think, on new crape than she did on her brougham.


It never became brown and rusty with her, or formed itself into old lumpy folds, or shaped itself round her like a grave cloth.

never became faded and rusty, or formed itself into old lumpy folds of cloth.


The written law had not interdicted crinoline, and she loomed as large with weeds, which with her were not sombre, as she would do with her silks when the period of her probation should be over.


Her weepers were bright with newness, and she would waft them aside from her shoulder with an air which turned even them into auxiliaries.


Her kerchief was fastened close round her neck and close over her bosom; but Jeannette well knew what she was doing as she fastened it,--and so did Jeannette's mistress.


Mrs. Greenow would still talk much about her husband, declaring that her loss was as fresh to her wounded heart, as though he, on whom all her happiness had rested, had left her only yesterday; but yet she mistook her dates, frequently referring to the melancholy circumstance, as having taken place fifteen months ago.

Mrs. Greenow would still talk much about her husband, as though he had left her only yesterday; but she mistook her dates, referring to the melancholy circumstance as having taken place fifteen months ago.


In truth, however, Mr. Greenow had been alive within the last nine months,--as everybody around her knew.

In truth, it was nine months, as everyone knew.


But if she chose to forget the exact day, why should her friends or dependents remind her of it?


No friend or dependent did remind her of it, and Charlie Fairstairs spoke of the fifteen months with bold confidence,--false-tongued little parasite that she was.

Charlie Fairstairs spoke of the fifteen months with bold confidence, false-tongued little parasite that she was.


"Looking well," said the widow, in answer to some outspoken compliment from Mr. Cheesacre.


"Yes, I'm well enough in health, and I suppose I ought to be thankful that it is so.

"Yes, I'm well enough in health," said the widow, "and I suppose I ought to be thankful for it.


But if you had buried a wife whom you had loved within the last eighteen months, you would have become as indifferent as I am to all that kind of thing."

But if you had buried a wife whom you had loved within the last eighteen months, you too would be indifferent to all that kind of thing.


"I never was married yet," said Mr. Cheesacre.


"And therefore you know nothing about it.


Everything in the world is gay and fresh to you.


If I were you, Mr. Cheesacre, I would not run the risk.

If I were you, Mr. Cheesacre, I would not run the risk of marrying.


It is hardly worth a woman's while, and I suppose not a man's.


Whereupon she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.


"But I mean to try all the same," said Cheesacre, looking the lover all over as he gazed into the fair one's face.

"But I mean to try all the same," said Cheesacre, gazing lover-like into the fair one's face.


"I hope that you may be successful, Mr. Cheesacre, and that she may not be torn away from you early in life.

"Then I hope that she may not be torn away from you early in life.


Mr. Cheesacre, will you give your arm to Miss Fairstairs?"


There was no doubt as to Mrs. Greenow's correctness.


As Captain Bellfield held, or had held, her Majesty's commission, he was clearly entitled to take the mistress of the festival down to dinner.

As a former soldier, Captain Bellfield was entitled to take the mistress down to dinner.


But Cheesacre would not look at it in this light.

But Cheesacre did not look at it in this light.


He would only remember that he had paid for the Captain's food for some time past, that the Captain had been brought into Norwich in his gig, that the Captain owed him money, and ought, so to say, to be regarded as his property on the occasion.

He only remembered that he had paid for the Captain's food, that the Captain had been brought into Norwich in his gig, that the Captain owed him money, and ought to be regarded as his property.


"I pay my way, and that ought to give a man higher station than being a beggarly captain,--which I don't believe he is, if all the truth was known."

"I pay my way, and that ought to give a man a higher station than being a beggarly captain, which I don't believe he is, if the truth was known


It was thus that he took an occasion to express himself to Miss Fairstairs on that very evening.


"Military rank is always recognised," Miss Fairstairs had replied, taking Mr. Cheesacre's remarks as a direct slight upon herself.


He had taken her down to dinner, and had then come to her complaining that he had been injured in being called upon to do so!

he complained to Miss Fairstairs over dinner.


"If you were a magistrate, Mr. Cheesacre, you would have rank; but I believe you are not."


Charlie Fairstairs knew well what she was about.

Charlie Fairstairs knew what she was doing.


Mr. Cheesacre had striven much to get his name put upon the commission of the peace, but had failed.

Mr. Cheesacre had tried hard to get his name put up as a magistrate, but had failed.


"Nasty, scraggy old cat," Cheesacre said to himself, as he turned away from her.

"Nasty, scraggy old cat," he said to himself, as he turned away from her.


But Bellfield gained little by taking the widow down.

But Bellfield gained little by taking the widow down to dinner.


He and Cheesacre were placed at the top and bottom of the table, so that they might do the work of carving; and the ladies sat at the sides.

He and Cheesacre were at either end of the table, and the ladies sat at the sides.


Mrs. Greenow's hospitality was very good.


The dinner was exactly what a dinner ought to be for four persons.


There was soup, fish, a cutlet, a roast fowl, and some game.


Jeannette waited at table nimbly, and the thing could not have been done better.


Mrs. Greenow's appetite was not injured by her grief, and she so far repressed for the time all remembrance of her sorrow as to enable her to play the kind hostess to perfection.

Mrs. Greenow played the kind hostess to perfection.


Under her immediate eye Cheesacre was forced into apparent cordiality with his friend Bellfield, and the Captain himself took the good things which the gods provided with thankful good-humour.

Under her eye Cheesacre was forced into apparent cordiality with Bellfield, and the Captain took the good things provided with thankful good-humour.


Nothing, however, was done at the dinner-table.


The widow was so accurately fair in the adjustment of her favours, that even Jeannette could not perceive to which of the two she turned with the amplest smile.

The widow was so accurately fair in her favours that even Jeannette could not tell to which of the two men she gave the warmest smile.


She talked herself and made others talk, till Cheesacre became almost comfortable, in spite of his jealousy.

She talked and made others talk, till Cheesacre became almost comfortable, in spite of his jealousy.


"And now," she said, as she got up to leave the room, when she had taken her own glass of wine, "We will allow these two gentlemen just half an hour, eh Charlie?

"And now," she said, as she got up to leave the room, "We will allow these two gentlemen just half an hour, eh Charlie?


and then we shall expect them up-stairs."

and then we shall expect them upstairs."


"Ten minutes will be enough for us here," said Cheesacre, who was in a hurry to utilize his time.

"Ten minutes will be enough for us here," said Cheesacre.


"Half an hour," said Mrs. Greenow, not without some little tone of command in her voice.

"Half an hour," said Mrs. Greenow, with a little tone of command.


Ten minutes might be enough for Mr. Cheesacre, but ten minutes was not enough for her.

Ten minutes might be enough for Mr. Cheesacre, but it was not enough for her.


Bellfield had opened the door, and it was upon him that the widow's eye glanced as she left the room.

Bellfield had opened the door, and the widow glanced at him as she left the room.


Cheesacre saw it, and resolved to resent the injury.

Cheesacre saw it, and resolved to resent it.


"I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield," he said, as he sat down moodily over the fire, "I won't have you coming here at all, till this matter is settled."

"I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield," he said moodily, "I won't have you coming here at all, till this matter is settled."


"You take such a deuce of a time about it."


That other fellow has only been dead about nine months, and I've got the thing in excellent training already."

That other fellow has only been dead about nine months, and I've got the thing in excellent train already."


I'll tell you what, now; if you'll go clean out of Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the day she becomes Mrs. Cheesacre."

I'll tell you what; if you'll go clean out of Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the day she becomes Mrs. Cheesacre."


"You may stay at Oileymead, if you like;--that is, on condition that you do stay there."

"You may stay at Oileymead, if you like."


"And be told that I hack the ham because it's not my own.


Shall I tell you a piece of my mind, Cheesacre?"

Shall I tell you what I think, Cheesacre?


"That woman has no more idea of marrying you than she has of marrying the Bishop.


I know where the tap is if you want another bottle.


You may as well give it up, and spend no more money in pink fronts and polished boots on her account.


You're a podgy man, you see, and Mrs. Greenow doesn't like podgy men."


Cheesacre sat looking at him with his mouth open, dumb with surprise, and almost paralysed with impotent anger.


What had happened during the last few hours to change so entirely the tone of his dependent captain?


Could it be that Bellfield had been there during the morning, and that she had accepted him?


"You are very podgy, Cheesacre," Bellfield continued, "and then you so often smell of the farm-yard; and you talk too much of your money and your property.


You'd have had a better chance if you had openly talked to her of hers,--as I have done.

You'd have had a better chance if you had talked of hers - as I have done.


As it is, you haven't any chance at all."


Bellfield, as he thus spoke to the man opposite to him, went on drinking his wine comfortably, and seemed to be chuckling with glee.

Bellfield went on drinking his wine comfortably.


Cheesacre was so astounded, so lost in amazement that the creature whom he had fed,--whom he had bribed with money out of his own pocket, should thus turn against him, that for a while he could not collect his thoughts or find voice wherewith to make any answer.

Cheesacre was so astounded that the creature whom he had fed - whom he had bribed - should thus turn against him, that for a while he could not speak.


It occurred to him immediately that Bellfield was even now, at this very time, staying at his house,--that he, Cheesacre, was expected to drive him, Bellfield, back to Oileymead, to his own Oileymead, on this very evening; and as he thought of this he almost fancied that he must be in a dream.

It occurred to him that he, Cheesacre, was expected to drive Bellfield home this very evening.


He shook himself, and looked again, and there sat Bellfield, eyeing him through the bright colour of a glass of port.


"Now I've told you a bit of my mind, Cheesy, my boy," continued Bellfield, "and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble and annoyance if you'll believe what I say.

"Now I've told you my mind, Cheesy, my boy," continued Bellfield, "and you'll save yourself a deal of trouble if you'll believe what I say.


It's most probable that she'll marry me; but, at any rate, she won't marry you."


said Cheesacre, at last, finding his readiest means of attack in that quarter.


"When I've married Mrs. Greenow,--and, therefore, I expect your assistance in that little scheme.

"When I've married Mrs. Greenow - and therefore, I expect your assistance in that little scheme.


We shall always be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and you shall be allowed to hack the hams just as much as you please."

We shall always be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and you shall be allowed to hack the hams as much as you please."


"You shall be made to pay for this," said Cheesacre, gasping with anger;--gasping almost more with dismay than he did with anger.

"You shall pay for this," said Cheesacre, gasping with anger and dismay.


"All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it,--with the widow's money.

"All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it - with the widow's money.


Come; our half-hour is nearly over; shall we go up-stairs?"

Come; our half-hour is nearly over; shall we go upstairs?"


"Will you tell me where you mean to sleep to-night, Captain Bellfield?"

"Where do you mean to sleep tonight, Captain Bellfield?"


"If I sleep at Oileymead it will only be on condition that I have one of the mahogany-furnitured bedrooms."


"You'll never put your foot in that house again.


"Come, come, Cheesy, it won't do for us to quarrel in a lady's house.


You might as well take another glass, and then we'll go up-stairs."

Take another glass, and then we'll go upstairs.


"You've left your traps at Oileymead, and not one of them you shall have till you've paid me every shilling you owe me.


I don't believe you've a shirt in the world beyond what you've got there."


"It's lucky I brought one in to change; wasn't it, Cheesy?


I shouldn't have thought of it only for the hint you gave me.


I might as well ring the bell for Jeannette to put away the wine, if you won't take any more."

No? I might as well ring the bell for Jeannette to take away the wine."


Then he rang the bell, and when Jeannette came he skipped lightly up-stairs into the drawing-room.

Then he rang the bell, and when Jeannette came he skipped lightly upstairs into the drawing-room.


said Cheesacre, nodding his head at the doorway through which Bellfield had passed.


The Captain don't come here much now;--not to say often, by no means."


"He is;--and I ain't sure that there ain't others nearly as bad as he is."


"If you mean me, Mr. Cheesacre, I do declare you're a wronging me; I do indeed."

"If you mean me, Mr. Cheesacre, I do declare you're wronging me.


"What's the meaning of his going on in this way?"


"I don't know nothing of his ways, Mr. Cheesacre; but I've been as true to you, sir;--so I have;--as true as true."

I've been as true as true to you, sir; so I have."


And Jeannette put her handkerchief up to her eyes.


He moved to the door, and then a thought occurred to him.


He put his hand to his trousers pocket, and turning back towards the girl, gave her half-a-crown.

He put his hand to his trousers pocket, and gave her half-a-crown.


She curtsied as she took it, and then repeated her last words.


Mr. Cheesacre said nothing further, but followed his enemy up to the drawing-room.

He said nothing further, but followed his enemy up to the drawing-room.


"What game is up now, I wonder," said Jeannette to herself, when she was left alone.

"What game is up now, I wonder," said Jeannette to herself.


"They two'll be cutting each other's throatses before they've done, and then my missus will take the surwiver."

"They'll cut each other's throats before they've done."


But she made up her mind that Cheesacre should be the one to have his throat cut fatally, and that Bellfield should be the survivor.

But she decided that in that case Bellfield should be the survivor.


Cheesacre, when he reached the drawing-room, found Bellfield sitting on the same sofa with Mrs. Greenow looking at a book of photographs which they both of them were handling together.

In the drawing-room Cheesacre found Bellfield sitting on the sofa with Mrs. Greenow looking at a book of photographs together.


The outside rim of her widow's frill on one occasion touched the Captain's whisker, and as it did so the Captain looked up with a gratified expression of triumph.

The outside rim of her widow's frill on one occasion touched the Captain's whisker, and the Captain looked up with an expression of triumph.


If any gentleman has ever seen the same thing under similar circumstances, he will understand that Cheesacre must have been annoyed.


"Yes," said Mrs. Greenow, waving her handkerchief, of which little but a two-inch-deep border seemed to be visible.

"Yes," said Mrs. Greenow, waving her handkerchief.


Bellfield knew at once that it was not the same handkerchief which she had waved before they went down to dinner.


And then she apostrophized the _carte de visite_ of the departed one.


When my spirit is false to thee, let thine forget to visit me softly in my dreams.


Whose tender kindness was ever equal to thine?


whose sweet temper was ever so constant?


While the words fell from her lips her little finger was touching Bellfield's little finger, as they held the book between them.

While she spoke her little finger was touching Bellfield's little finger, as they held the book between them.


Charlie Fairstairs and Mr. Cheesacre were watching her narrowly, and she knew that they were watching her.


She was certainly a woman of great genius and of great courage.

She was certainly a woman of great courage.


[Illustration: "Dear Greenow; dear husband!"]


Bellfield, moved by the eloquence of her words, looked with some interest at the photograph.

Bellfield looked with some interest at the photograph.


There was represented there before him, a small, grey-looking, insignificant old man, with pig's eyes and a toothless mouth,--one who should never have been compelled to submit himself to the cruelty of the sun's portraiture!

It showed a small, grey-looking, insignificant old man, with pig's eyes and a toothless mouth.


Another widow, even if she had kept in her book the photograph of such a husband, would have scrambled it over silently,--would have been ashamed to show it.

Any other widow, even if she had kept the photograph of such a husband, would have been ashamed to show it.


"I saw it at Yarmouth," said Cheesacre, very sulkily.


"That you did not," said the lady with some dignity, and not a little of rebuke in her tone; "simply because it never was at Yarmouth.

"That you did not," said the lady with some dignity, and rebuke in her tone; "because it never was at Yarmouth."


A larger one you may have seen, which I always keep, and always shall keep, close by my bedside."


"Not if I know it," said Captain Bellfield to himself.


Then the widow punished Mr. Cheesacre for his sullenness by whispering a few words to the Captain; and Cheesacre in his wrath turned to Charlie Fairstairs.

Then she punished Mr. Cheesacre for his sullenness by whispering a few words to the Captain; and Cheesacre in his wrath turned to Charlie Fairstairs.


Then it was that he spake out his mind about the Captain's rank, and was snubbed by Charlie,--as was told a page or two back.


After that, coffee was brought to them, and here again Cheesacre in his ill-humour allowed the Captain to out-manoeuvre him.

After that, coffee was brought to them, and here again Cheesacre in his ill-humour allowed the Captain to out-manuvre him.


It was the Captain who put the sugar into the cups and handed them round.


"None for me, Captain Bellfield; many thanks for your politeness all the same," said Mr. Cheesacre; and Mrs. Greenow knew from the tone of his voice that there had been a quarrel.


Cheesacre sitting then in his gloom, had resolved upon one thing,--or, I may perhaps say, upon two things.

Cheesacre in his gloom resolved upon two things.


He had resolved that he would not leave the room that evening till Bellfield had left it; and that he would get a final answer from the widow, if not that night,--for he thought it very possible that they might both be sent away together,--then early after breakfast on the following morning.

He resolved that he would not leave the room that evening till Bellfield had left it; and that he would get a final answer from the widow, if not that night, then early after breakfast on the following morning.


For the present, he had given up any idea of turning his time to good account.


He was not perhaps a coward, but he had not that special courage which enables a man to fight well under adverse circumstances.


He had been cowed by the unexpected impertinence of his rival,--by the insolence of a man to whom he thought that he had obtained the power of being always himself as insolent as he pleased.


He could not recover his ground quickly, or carry himself before his lady's eye as though he was unconscious of the wound he had received.


So he sat silent, while Bellfield was discoursing fluently.

He sat silent, while Bellfield was talking fluently


He sat in silence, comforting himself with reflections on his own wealth, and on the poverty of the other, and promising himself a rich harvest of revenge when the moment should come in which he might tell Mrs. Greenow how absolutely that man was a beggar, a swindler, and a rascal.

, and comforted himself with reflections on his own wealth, and promised himself a rich harvest of revenge when he should tell Mrs. Greenow how that man was a beggar, a swindler, and a rascal.


And he was astonished when an opportunity for doing so came very quickly.


Before the neighbouring clock had done striking seven, Bellfield rose from his chair to go.

Before the neighbouring clock had finished striking seven, Bellfield rose from his chair to go.


He first of all spoke a word of farewell to Miss Fairstairs; then he turned to his late host; "Good night, Cheesacre," he said, in the easiest tone in the world; after that he pressed the widow's hand and whispered his adieu.

He spoke a word of farewell to Miss Fairstairs; then he said "Good night, Cheesacre," in the easiest tone in the world. After that he pressed the widow's hand and whispered his adieu.


"I thought you were staying at Oileymead?"


"I came from there this morning," said the Captain.


"But he isn't going back there, I can tell you," said Mr. Cheesacre.


"Oh, indeed," said Mrs. Greenow; "I hope there is nothing wrong."


"All as right as a trivet," said the Captain; and then he was off.

"All as right as a trivet," said the Captain; and then he left.


"I promised mamma that I would be home by seven," said Charlie Fairstairs, rising from her chair.


It cannot be supposed that she had any wish to oblige Mr. Cheesacre, and therefore this movement on her part must be regarded simply as done in kindness to Mrs. Greenow.


She might be mistaken in supposing that Mrs. Greenow would desire to be left alone with Mr. Cheesacre; but it was clear to her that in this way she could give no offence, whereas it was quite possible that she might offend by remaining.


A little after seven Mr. Cheesacre found himself alone with the lady.

So Mr. Cheesacre found himself alone with the lady.


"I'm sorry to find," said she, gravely, "that you two have quarrelled."

"I'm sorry," said she, gravely, "that you two have quarrelled."


"Mrs. Greenow," said he, jumping up, and becoming on a sudden full of life, "that man is a downright swindler."


He'll tell you that he was at Inkerman, but I believe he was in prison all the time."


The Captain had been arrested, I think twice, and thus Mr. Cheesacre justified to himself this assertion.


"I doubt whether he ever saw a shot fired," he continued.

I doubt whether he ever saw a shot fired."


"But he tells such lies; and then he has not a penny in the world.

"But he tells such lies; and he has not a penny in the world.


How much do you suppose he owes me, now?"


"However much it is, I'm sure you are too much of a gentleman to say."


"Well;--yes, I am," said he, trying to recover himself.

"Well - yes, I am," said he, trying to recover himself.


"But when I asked him how he intended to pay me, what do you think he said?


He said he'd pay me when he got your money."


"But he did, Mrs. Greenow; I give you my word and honour.

"But he did, Mrs. Greenow; I give you my word.


'I'll pay you when I get the widow's money,' he said."


"You gentlemen must have a nice way of talking about me when I am absent."


"I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs. Greenow,--or thought one.

"I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs. Greenow.


What can you expect from such a man as that, who, to my knowledge, won't have a change of clothes to-morrow, except what he brought in on his back this morning.

What can you expect from such a man as that, who doesn't have a spare set of clothes for his back?


Where he's to get a bed to-night, I don't know, for I doubt whether he's got half-a-crown in the world."

Where he's to get a bed tonight, I don't know, for I doubt whether he's got half-a-crown in the world."


"But how gracefully he carries his poverty."


"I should call it very disgraceful, Mrs. Greenow."


To this she made no reply, and then he thought that he might begin his work.


You know well enough by this time what it is I mean.


If I bid you good night, now, and tell you that it is time for you to go home, shall you call that shilly-shallying?"


He had made a mistake in his word and repented it.


"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow; I do indeed.


There's very little shall in it, I can assure you."


The poor man was dreadfully crestfallen, so much so that the widow's heart relented, and she pardoned him.

The poor man was so dreadfully crestfallen that the widow relented.


It was not in her nature to quarrel with people;--at any rate, not with her lovers.

It was not in her nature to quarrel with her lovers.


"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Greenow," said the culprit, humbly.


"It is granted," said the widow; "but never tell a lady again that she is shilly-shallying.


And look here, Mr. Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a lady in earnest--"

And look here, Mr. Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a lady in earnest-"


"I couldn't be more in earnest," said he.


"That you are making love to a lady in earnest, talk to her a little more about your passion and a little less about your purse.

"-talk to her a little more about your passion and a little less about your purse.


Cheesacre, as he drove himself home in the dark, tried to console himself by thinking of the miserable plight in which Bellfield would find himself at Norwich, with no possessions but what he had brought into the town that day in a small bag.

Cheesacre, as he drove himself home in the dark, tried to console himself by thinking of the miserable plight in which Bellfield would find himself at Norwich.


But as he turned in at his own gate he met two figures emerging; one of them was laden with a portmanteau, and the other with a hat case.


"It's only me, Cheesy, my boy," said Bellfield.


"I've just come down by the rail to fetch my things, and I'm going back to Norwich by the 9.20.

"I've just come down by rail to fetch my things, and I'm going back to Norwich by the 9.20."


"If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted," roared Cheesacre, as he drove his gig up to his own door.

"If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted," roared Cheesacre, as he drove his gig up to his door.


It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening,--a hot, July evening,--when the woman went from Vavasor's room, and left him there alone.

It was nearly seven in the evening when the woman left Vavasor's room.

Chapter 72: Showing How George Vavasor Paid a Visit


It was necessary that he should immediately do something.


In the first place he must dine, unless he meant to carry out his threat, and shoot himself at once.

He must dine, unless he meant to shoot himself at once.


But he had no such intention as that, although he stood for some minutes with the pistol in his hand.


He was thinking then of shooting some one else.


But he resolved that, if he did so at all, he would not do it on that evening, and he locked up the pistol again in the standing desk.

- not for that evening at least, and he locked the pistol away again.


After that, he took up some papers, referring to steam packets, which were lying on his table.

Then he took up some leaflets about steam packets which were lying on his table.


They contained the programmes of different companies, and showed how one vessel went on one day to New York, and another on another day would take out a load of emigrants for New Zealand and Australia.

They listed ships of various lines that went to New York, or carried emigrants to New Zealand and Australia.


"That's a good line," said he, as he read a certain prospectus.

"That's a good line," said he, as he read one.


"They generally go to the bottom, and save a man from any further trouble on his own account."

"They generally go to the bottom, and save a man from any further trouble."


Then he dressed himself, putting on his boots and coat, and went out to his club for his dinner.

Then he dressed, and went out to his club for dinner.


London was still fairly full,--that is to say, the West End was not deserted, although Parliament had been broken up two months earlier than usual, in preparation for the new elections.


Many men who had gone down into the country were now back again in town, and the dining-room at the club was crowded.


Men came up to him condoling with him, telling him that he was well rid of a great nuisance, that the present Members for the Chelsea Districts would not sit long, or that there would be another general election in a year or two.

Men came up to him condoling with him, telling him that he was well rid of a nuisance, or that there would be another election in a year or two.


To all these little speeches he made cheerful replies, and was declared by his acquaintance to bear his disappointment well.

To all these little speeches he made cheerful replies.


Calder Jones came to him and talked hunting talk, and Vavasor expressed his intention of being at Roebury in November.

Calder Jones came over and talked about hunting, and Vavasor said he intended being at Roebury in November.


"You had better join our club," said Calder Jones.


In answer to which Vavasor said that he thought he would join the club.


He remained in the smoking-room till nearly eleven; then he took himself home, and remained up half the night destroying papers.

He remained in the smoking-room till nearly eleven; then he went home, and stayed up half the night destroying papers.


Every written document on which he could lay his hands he destroyed.


All the pigeon-holes of his desk were emptied out, and their contents thrown into the flames.

Every compartment of his desk was emptied out, and the contents thrown into the flames


At first he looked at the papers before he burned them; but the trouble of doing so soon tired him, and he condemned them all, as he came to them, without examination.

; he did not even bother to look at many of them.


Then he selected a considerable amount of his clothes, and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care, and inspecting his boots narrowly, so that he might see which, out of the large number before him, it might be best worth his while to take with him.

Then he selected some clothes, and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care.


When that was done, he took from his desk a bag of sovereigns, and, pouring them out upon the table, he counted them out into parcels of twenty-five each, and made them up carefully into rouleaus with paper.

Next he took out a bag of sovereigns, and, pouring them out upon the table, he counted them into parcels of twenty-five each.


These, when complete, he divided among the two portmanteaus and a dressing-bag which he also packed and a travelling desk, which he filled with papers, pens, and the like.

Rolling them up in paper, he divided them among the two portmanteaus, a dressing-bag and a travelling desk, which he filled with paper and pens,


He carefully looked through his linen, and anything that had been marked with more than his initials he rejected.


Then he took out a bundle of printed cards, and furnished a card-case with them.


On these cards was inscribed the name of Gregory Vance.

on which was inscribed the name of Gregory Vance.


When all was finished, he stood for awhile with his back to the fireplace contemplating his work.

When all was finished, he stood contemplating his work with satisfaction.


"After all," he said to himself, "I know that I shall never start; and, if I do, nobody can hinder me, and my own name would be as good as any other.


As for a man with such a face as mine not being known, that is out of the question."


But still he liked the arrangements which he had made, and when he had looked at them for awhile he went to bed.


He was up early the next morning, and had some coffee brought to him by the servant of the house, and as he drank it he had an interview with his landlady.

He was up early the next morning, and spoke to his landlady.


"He was going," he said;--"going that very day."


It might be possible that he would change his mind; but as he would desire to start without delay, if he did go, he would pay her then what he owed her, and what would be due for her lodgings under a week's notice.


The woman stared, and curtseyed, and took her money.


Vavasor, though he had lately been much pressed for money, had never been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived.


"There will be some things left about, Mrs. Bunsby," he said, "and I will get you to keep them till I call or send."

"There will be some things left here, Mrs. Bunsby," he said, "and I will get you to keep them till I send for them."


Mrs. Bunsby said that she would, and then looked her last at him.


After that interview she never saw him again.


When he was left alone he put on a rough morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it carefully in his pocket, and sallied forth.

When he was alone he put on a morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it in his pocket, and sallied forth.


It was manifest enough that he had some decided scheme in his head, for he turned quickly towards the West when he reached the Strand, went across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk Street.

He went West, across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and then turned up Suffolk Street.


Just as he reached the club-house at the corner he paused and looked back, facing first one way and then the other.


"The chances are that I shall never see anything of it again," he said to himself.


Then he laughed in his own silent way, shook his head slightly, and turning again quickly on his heel, walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor.

He walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr. Jones, the tailor,


The reader, no doubt, has forgotten all he ever knew of Mr. Jones, the pugilistic tailor.


At Mr. Jones's house John Grey lodged when he was in London, and he was in London at this moment.


Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he went quickly into the house, and passed her in the passage.

Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he pushed past her into the house.


The girl said that Mr. Grey was at home, but suggested that she had better announce the gentleman.


But Vavasor was already halfway up the stairs, and before the girl had reached the first landing place, he had entered Mr. Grey's room and closed the door behind him.

He went ahead of her up the stairs, entered Mr. Grey's room and closed the door behind him.


Grey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, and was reading.

Grey was sitting near the open window, in a dressing-gown, reading


The breakfast things were on the table, but he had not as yet breakfasted.

, with the breakfast things on the table.


As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair quickly, and put down his book.

As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair quickly.


"Mr. Vavasor," he said, "I hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!"


"I dare say not," said Vavasor; "but, nevertheless, here I am."


He kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol, and held his left hand under his waistcoat.

He kept his right hand in the pocket which held the pistol.


"I intend to tell you, at any rate, whether you ask me or not.


I have come to declare in your own hearing,--as I am in the habit of doing occasionally behind your back,--that you are a blackguard,--to spit in your face, and defy you."

"I have come to declare that you are a blackguard - to spit in your face, and defy you."


As he said this he suited his action to his words, but without any serious result.

And he did what he said, though without any serious result.


"I have come here to see if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but I doubt whether you are."


"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr. Vavasor, will have any effect upon me;--except that you can, of course, annoy me."

"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr. Vavasor, will have any effect - except, of course, to annoy me."


"And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done with you.

"And I mean to annoy you, too, before I have done.


"I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing as that."

"I should be a fool if I were to do such a thing."


You managed to worm yourself into an intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her.

You managed to worm yourself into intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to become engaged to her.


When she found out what you were, how paltry, and mean, and vile, she changed her mind, and bade you leave her."

When she found out what you were, how paltry, mean, and vile, she changed her mind, and bade you leave her."


I am at this moment her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to you,--which was enough, I should have thought, to keep any man of spirit out of her presence,--you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence.

"I am her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she has said to you, you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence.


You shall either give me your written promise never to go near her again, or you shall fight me."


"I shall do neither one nor the other,--as you know very well yourself."

"I shall do neither, as you know very well."


"If you have courage enough to fight me, I will meet you in any country.


I will fight you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France, or to America, if that will suit you better."

I will fight you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France."


"Nothing of the kind will suit me at all.


"I don't want to have anything to do with you."


"Perhaps I am;--but your saying so will not make me one."

"Perhaps I am; but your saying so will not make me one."


"You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard.


I have given you the option of behaving like a gentleman, and you have refused it.


I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room without using them, unless you will promise to give me the meeting that I have proposed."

I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room without using them, unless you will promise to fight me."


And he took the pistol out of his pocket.


"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?"


There were two windows in the room, and he had been sitting near to that which was furthest removed from the fireplace, and consequently furthest removed from the bell, and his visitor was now standing immediately between him and the door.

He was at a distance from the bell, and his visitor was standing between him and the door.


He had to think what steps he might best take, and to act upon his decision instantly.

He had to think what he might best do, and act upon his decision instantly.


He was by no means a timid man, and was one, moreover, very little prone to believe in extravagant action.


He did not think, even now, that this disappointed, ruined man had come there with any intention of killing him.

he did not think, even now, that this disappointed, ruined man had come with any intention of killing him.


But he knew that a pistol in the hands of an angry man is dangerous, and that it behoved him to do his best to rid himself of the nuisance which now encumbered him.

But he knew that a pistol in the hands of an angry man is dangerous.


"I mean that you shall not leave this room alive unless you promise to meet me, and fight it out."

"You shall not leave this room alive unless you promise to meet me, and fight it out."


Upon hearing this, Grey turned himself towards the bell.

Upon hearing this, Grey turned towards the bell.


"If you move a step, I will fire at you," said Vavasor.


Grey paused a moment, and looked him full in the face.


"Don't think that you will frighten me by ugly words," said Vavasor.


Grey had stopped for a moment to fix his eyes on the other man's face; but it was only for a moment, and then he went on to the bell.

Grey had stopped for a moment; and then he went on to the bell.


He had seen that the pistol was pointed at himself, and had once thought of rushing across the room at his adversary, calculating that a shot fired at him as he did so might miss him, and that he would then have a fair chance of disarming the madman.

He had thought of rushing across the room at his adversary, calculating that a shot might miss him.


But his chief object was to avoid any personal conflict, to escape the indignity of a scramble for the pistol,--and especially to escape the necessity of a consequent appearance at some police-office, where he would have to justify himself, and answer the questions of a lawyer hired to cross-question him.

But his chief object was to avoid any conflict.


He made, therefore, towards the bell, trusting that Vavasor would not fire at him, but having some little thought also as to the danger of the moment.

So he moved towards the bell.
Although he trusted that Vavasor would not fire at him,


It might be that everything was over for him now,--that the fatal hour had come, and that eternity was close upon him.

he was aware that his fatal hour might have come, and that eternity could be close upon him.


Something of the spirit of a prayer flashed across his mind as he moved.


Then he heard the click of the pistol's hammer as it fell, and was aware that his eyes were dazzled, though he was unconscious of seeing any flame.


He felt something in the air, and knew that the pistol had been fired;--but he did not know whether the shot had struck him or had missed him.

felt something in the air, and knew that the pistol had been fired - but he did not know whether the shot had struck him.


His hand was out for the bell-handle, and he had pulled it, before he was sure that he was unhurt.

His hand was on the bell-handle, and he had pulled it, before he was sure that he was unhurt.


Though the weapon had of late been so often in his hands, he forgot, in the agitation of the moment, that his missing once was but of small matter if he chose to go on with his purpose.


Were there not five other barrels for him, each making itself ready by the discharge of the other?


But he had paused, forgetting, in his excitement, the use of his weapon, and before he had bethought himself that the man was still in his power, he heard the sound of the bell.


Then he turned round, left the room, hurried down the stairs, and made his way out into the street, having again passed the girl on his way.

He turned, hurried down the stairs, and made his way out into the street, passing the girl on his way.


Grey, when he perceived that his enemy was gone, turned round to look for the bullet or its mark.

Grey turned to look for the bullet or its mark.


He soon found the little hole in the window-shutter, and probing it with the point of his pencil, came upon the morsel of lead which might now just as readily have been within his own brain.

He soon found the little hole in the window-shutter.


There he left it for the time, and then made some not inaccurate calculation as to the narrowness of his own escape.


He had been standing directly between Vavasor and the shutter, and he found, from the height of the hole, that the shot must have passed close beneath his ear.

The shot must have passed close beneath his ear.


He remembered to have heard the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the sound of the report, and when the girl entered the room, he perceived at once from her manner that she was unaware that firearms had been used.

He remembered to have heard the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the sound of the shot, and when the girl entered the room, he saw from her manner that she was unaware that firearms had been used.


The girl said that he had left the house.


"Don't admit him again," said he;--"that is, if you can avoid it.

"Don't admit him again," said he; "if you can avoid it,


for I believe he is not in his right senses."


Then he asked for Mr. Jones, his landlord, and in a few minutes the pugilistic tailor was with him.

Then he asked for Mr. Jones, his landlord, and in a few minutes the tailor was with him.


During those few minutes he had been called upon to resolve what he would do now.

During those few minutes he had to resolve what he would do now.


Would he put the police at once upon the track of the murderer, who was, as he remembered too well, the first cousin of the woman whom he still desired to make his wife?

Would he put the police at once upon the track of the murderer - the cousin of the woman whom he wished to make his wife?


That cross-examination which he would have to undergo at the police-office, and again probably in an assize court, in which all his relations with the Vavasor family would be made public, was very vivid to his imagination.

That cross-examination which he would have to undergo at the police-office, and again probably in court, was very vivid to his imagination.


That he was called upon by duty to do something he felt almost assured.


The man who had been allowed to make such an attempt once with impunity, might probably make it again.

in case Vavasor made some attempt again.


But he resolved that he need not now say anything about the pistol to the pugilistic tailor, unless the tailor said something to him.

But he need not now say anything about the pistol to the tailor.


"Mr. Jones," he said, "that man whom I had to put out of the room once before, has been here again."

"Mr. Jones," he said, "that man whom I had to put out of the room once before, has been here.


But we must take some steps to prevent his getting in again, if we can help it."

We must take some steps to prevent his getting in again, if we can."


Jones promised his aid, and offered to go at once to the police.

Jones offered to go at once to the police.


To this, however, Mr. Grey demurred, saying that he should himself seek assistance from some magistrate.

However, Mr. Grey said that he himself would seek assistance from some magistrate.


Jones promised to be very vigilant as to watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to his breakfast.

Jones promised to be very vigilant about watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to his breakfast.


Of course he thought much of what had occurred.


It was impossible that he should not think much of so narrow an escape.


He had probably been as near death as a man may well be without receiving any injury; and the more he thought of it, the more strongly he was convinced that he could not allow the thing to pass by without some notice, or some precaution as to the future.

The more he thought about what had happened, the more strongly he was convinced that he could not allow it to pass without some precaution.


At eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw some officer great in power over policemen, and told him all the circumstances,--confidentially.

At eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw a senior officer, and told him all the circumstances, confidentially.


The powerful officer recommended an equally confidential reference to a magistrate; and towards evening a very confidential policeman in plain clothes paid a visit to Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street.

The officer recommended an equally confidential magistrate; and towards evening a very confidential policeman in plain clothes paid a visit to Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street.


Mrs. Bunsby, who was also very confidential,--and at her wits' end because she could not learn the special business of the stranger who called,--stated that Mr. George Vavasor left her house in a cab at ten o'clock that morning, having taken with him such luggage as he had packed, and having gone, "she was afraid, for good," as Mrs. Bunsby expressed it.

Mrs. Bunsby stated that he had left her house in a cab at ten o'clock that morning, with his luggage, and that she thought he was gone for good.


He had gone for good, and at the moment in which the policeman was making the inquiry in Cecil Street, was leaning over the side of an American steamer which had just got up her steam and weighed her anchor in the Mersey.

He had gone for good, and at that moment he was leaning over the side of an American steamer which weighed her anchor in the Mersey, at Liverpool.


He was on board at six o'clock, and it was not till the next day that the cabman was traced who had carried him to Euston Square Station.

He had boarded at six o'clock, and it was not till the next day that the cabman was traced who had carried him to Euston Square Station.


Of course, it was soon known that he had gone to America, but it was not thought worth while to take any further steps towards arresting him.

Once it was known that he had set sail for America, it was not thought worthwhile to take any further steps towards arresting him.


Mr. Grey himself was decidedly opposed to any such attempt, declaring his opinion that his own evidence would be insufficient to obtain a conviction.


The big men in Scotland Yard were loth to let the matter drop.


Their mouths watered after the job, and they had very numerous and very confidential interviews with John Grey.


But it was decided that nothing should be done.


said one enterprising superintendent, in answer to the condolings of a brother superintendent.


It's the greatest shame as ever I knew since I joined the force.


A man as was a Member of Parliament only last Session,--as belongs to no end of swell clubs, a gent as well known in London as any gent about the town!


And I'd have had him back in three months, as sure as my name's Walker."


And that superintendent felt that his profession and his country were alike disgraced.


And now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of no more.

So now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of no more.


Roebury knew him no longer, nor Pall Mall, nor the Chelsea Districts.


His disappearance was a nine days' wonder, but the world at large knew nothing of the circumstances of that attempt in Suffolk Street.


Mr. Grey himself told the story to no one, till he told it to Mr. Palliser at Lucerne.

Mr. Grey told the story to no one, till he told it to Mr. Palliser at Lucerne.


Mr. Scruby complained bitterly of the way in which Vavasor had robbed him; but I doubt whether Scruby, in truth, lost much by the transaction.


To Kate, down in Westmoreland, no tidings came of her brother, and her sojourn in London with her aunt had nearly come to an end before she knew that he was gone.

Kate received no news of her brother, and her stay in London with her aunt had nearly ended before she knew that he was gone.


Even then the rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and she learned what few facts she knew from Mrs. Bunsby in Cecil Street.

The rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and she learned what few facts she knew from Mrs. Bunsby.


"He was always mysterious," said Mrs. Greenow, "and now he has vanished.


I hate mysteries, and, as for myself, I think it will be much better that he should not come back again."


Perhaps Kate was of the same opinion, but, if so, she kept it to herself.


Men, like planets, have both a visible and an invisible history.


The astronomer threads the darkness with strict deduction, accounting so for every visible arc in the wanderer's orbit; and the narrator of human actions, if he did his work with the same completeness, would have to thread the hidden pathways of feeling and thought which lead up to every moment of action, and to those moments of intense suffering which take the quality of action--like the cry of Prometheus, whose chained anguish seems a greater energy than the sea and sky he invokes and the deity he defies.


Deronda's circumstances, indeed, had been exceptional.


One moment had been burned into his life as its chief epoch--a moment full of July sunshine and large pink roses shedding their last petals on a grassy court enclosed on three sides by a gothic cloister.

One early moment had been burned into his life - a moment full of July sunshine and large pink roses shedding petals on a grassy court enclosed on three sides by a Gothic cloister.


Imagine him in such a scene: a boy of thirteen, stretched prone on the grass where it was in shadow, his curly head propped on his arms over a book, while his tutor, also reading, sat on a camp-stool under shelter.

Imagine him: a boy of thirteen, stretched on the grass, his curly head propped on his arms over a book, while his tutor, also reading, sat on a camp-stool.


Deronda's book was Sismondi's _History of the Italian Republics_; the lad had a passion for history, eager to know how time had been filled up since the flood, and how things were carried on in the dull periods.

Deronda's book was Sismondi's "History of the Italian Republics"; the lad had a passion for history.


Suddenly he let down his left arm and looked at his tutor, saying in purest boyish tones,

Suddenly he looked at his tutor, saying-


"Mr. Fraser, how was it that the popes and cardinals always had so many nephews?"


The tutor, an able young Scotchman, who acted as Sir Hugo Mallinger's secretary, roused rather unwillingly from his political economy, answered with the clear-cut emphatic chant which makes a truth doubly telling in Scotch utterance,

The tutor, an able young Scotsman who acted as Sir Hugo Mallinger's secretary, answered with his clear-cut emphatic chant-


"Their own children were called nephews."


"It was just for the propriety of the thing; because, as you know very well, priests don't marry, and the children were illegitimate."

"For propriety; because, as you know, priests don't marry, and the children were illegitimate."


Mr. Fraser, thrusting out his lower lip and making his chant of the last word the more emphatic for a little impatience at being interrupted, had already turned his eyes on his book again, while Deronda, as if something had stung him, started up in a sitting attitude with his back to the tutor.

Mr. Fraser had already turned his eyes on his book again, while Deronda, as if something had stung him, sat up abruptly.


He had always called Sir Hugo Mallinger his uncle, and when it once occurred to him to ask about his father and mother, the baronet had answered, "You lost your father and mother when you were quite a little one; that is why I take care of you."

He had always called Sir Hugo Mallinger his uncle, and when he once asked about his parents, the baronet had answered, "You lost your father and mother when you were quite little; that is why I take care of you."


Daniel then straining to discern something in that early twilight, had a dim sense of having been kissed very much, and surrounded by thin, cloudy, scented drapery, till his fingers caught in something hard, which hurt him, and he began to cry.

Daniel, trying to remember, had a dim sense of having been kissed very much, and surrounded by thin, scented drapery.


Every other memory he had was of the little world in which he still lived.

Every other memory was of the world in which he lived now.


And at that time he did not mind about learning more, for he was too fond of Sir Hugo to be sorry for the loss of unknown parents.

At that time he did not mind, for he was too fond of Sir Hugo to be sorry for the loss of unknown parents.


Life was very delightful to the lad, with an uncle who was always indulgent and cheerful--a fine man in the bright noon of life, whom Daniel thought absolutely perfect, and whose place was one of the finest in England, at once historical, romantic, and home-like: a picturesque architectural outgrowth from an abbey, which had still remnants of the old monastic trunk.

His uncle was always indulgent and cheerful; Daniel thought him absolutely perfect, and his place was one of the finest in England, a picturesque outgrowth from an abbey.


Diplow lay in another county, and was a comparatively landless place which had come into the family from a rich lawyer on the female side who wore the perruque of the restoration; whereas the Mallingers had the grant of Monk's Topping under Henry the Eighth, and ages before had held the neighboring lands of King's Topping, tracing indeed their origin to a certain Hugues le Malingre, who came in with the Conqueror--and also apparently with a sickly complexion which had been happily corrected in his descendants.

Diplow lay in another county, and was a comparatively landless place; whereas the Mallingers had the grant of Monk's Topping and its land under Henry the Eighth.


Two rows of these descendants, direct and collateral, females of the male line, and males of the female, looked down in the gallery over the cloisters on the nephew Daniel as he walked there: men in armor with pointed beards and arched eyebrows, pinched ladies in hoops and ruffs with no face to speak of; grave-looking men in black velvet and stuffed hips, and fair, frightened women holding little boys by the hand; smiling politicians in magnificent perruques, and ladies of the prize-animal kind, with rosebud mouths and full eyelids, according to Lely; then a generation whose faces were revised and embellished in the taste of Kneller; and so on through refined editions of the family types in the time of Reynolds and Romney, till the line ended with Sir Hugo and his younger brother Henleigh.

Two rows of Mallinger ancestors looked down on Daniel as he walked in the gallery: men in armour with pointed beards and arched eyebrows, pinched ladies in hoops and ruffs with no face to speak of; smiling politicians in magnificent wigs, and ladies of the prize-animal kind, till the line ended with Sir Hugo and his younger brother Henleigh.


This last had married Miss Grandcourt, and taken her name along with her estates, thus making a junction between two equally old families, impaling the three Saracens' heads proper and three bezants of the one with the tower and falcons _argent_ of the other, and, as it happened, uniting their highest advantages in the prospects of that Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt who is at present more of an acquaintance to us than either Sir Hugo or his nephew Daniel Deronda.

This last had married Miss Grandcourt, taking her name along with her estates: thus joining two old families, and uniting their advantages in the prospects of that Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt whom we have already met.


In Sir Hugo's youthful portrait with rolled collar and high cravat, Sir Thomas Lawrence had done justice to the agreeable alacrity of expression and sanguine temperament still to be seen in the original, but had done something more than justice in slightly lengthening the nose, which was in reality shorter than might have been expected in a Mallinger.

Grandcourt's portrait was one of these; but the


Happily the appropriate nose of the family reappeared in his younger brother, and was to be seen in all its refined regularity in his nephew Mallinger Grandcourt.


But in the nephew Daniel Deronda the family faces of various types, seen on the walls of the gallery, found no reflex.

, Daniel Deronda, found in the family faces on the walls no reflection of his own.


Still he was handsomer than any of them, and when he was thirteen might have served as model for any painter who wanted to image the most memorable of boys: you could hardly have seen his face thoroughly meeting yours without believing that human creatures had done nobly in times past, and might do more nobly in time to come.

Still he was handsomer than any of them, and at thirteen appeared the most memorable of boys, whose face would make you believe in the innate nobility of humankind.


The finest childlike faces have this consecrating power, and make us shudder anew at all the grossness and basely-wrought griefs of the world, lest they should enter here and defile.


But at this moment on the grass among the rose-petals, Daniel Deronda was making a first acquaintance with those griefs.

But at this moment on the grass among the rose-petals, Daniel Deronda was making a first acquaintance with grief.


A new idea had entered his mind, and was beginning to change the aspect of his habitual feelings as happy careless voyagers are changed with the sky suddenly threatened and the thought of danger arises.

A new idea was changing his habitual feelings as happy careless voyagers are changed with the sky suddenly threatening danger.


He sat perfectly still with his back to the tutor, while his face expressed rapid inward transition.


The deep blush, which had come when he first started up, gradually subsided; but his features kept that indescribable look of subdued activity which often accompanies a new mental survey of familiar facts.


He had not lived with other boys, and his mind showed the same blending of child's ignorance with surprising knowledge which is oftener seen in bright girls.

He had not lived with other boys, and his mind showed the same blending of ignorance with surprising knowledge which is oftener seen in bright girls.


Having read Shakespeare as well as a great deal of history, he could have talked with the wisdom of a bookish child about men who were born out of wedlock and were held unfortunate in consequence, being under disadvantages which required them to be a sort of heroes if they were to work themselves up to an equal standing with their legally born brothers.

Having read Shakespeare as well as a great deal of history, he could have talked with the wisdom of a bookish child about men who were born out of wedlock and were held unfortunate in consequence.


But he had never brought such knowledge into any association with his own lot, which had been too easy for him ever to think about it--until this moment when there had darted into his mind with the magic of quick comparison, the possibility that here was the secret of his own birth, and that the man whom he called uncle was really his father.

But he had never associated these ideas with his own lot - until this moment, when there darted into his mind the possibility that here was the secret of his own birth, and that the man whom he called uncle was really his father.