Armadale.............................................................................................................................................................1

Wilkie Collins..........................................................................................................................................1

PROLOGUE............................................................................................................................................2

CHAPTER I. THE TRAVELERS...........................................................................................................2

CHAPTER II. THE SOLID SIDE OF THE SCOTCH CHARACTER..................................................6

CHAPTER III. THE WRECK OF THE TIMBER SHIP......................................................................10

BOOK THE FIRST...............................................................................................................................29

CHAPTER I. THE MYSTERY OF OZIAS MIDWINTER. .................................................................29

CHAPTER II. THE MAN REVEALED...............................................................................................51

CHAPTER III. DAY AND NIGHT. ......................................................................................................64

CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW OF THE PAST..................................................................................75

CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE. .............................................................................86

BOOK THE SECOND..........................................................................................................................96

CHAPTER I. LURKING MISCHIEF...................................................................................................96

CHAPTER II. ALLAN AS A LANDED GENTLEMAN. ..................................................................104

CHAPTER III. THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY....................................................................................113

CHAPTER IV. THE MARCH OF EVENTS......................................................................................122

CHAPTER V. MOTHER OLDERSHAW ON HER GUARD...........................................................131

CHAPTER VI. MIDWINTER IN DISGUISE....................................................................................137

CHAPTER VII. THE PLOT THICKENS...........................................................................................142

CHAPTER VIII. THE NORFOLK BROADS. ....................................................................................152

CHAPTER IX. FATE OR CHANCE?................................................................................................160

CHAPTER X. THE HOUSEMAID'S FACE....................................................................................169

CHAPTER XI. MISS GWILT AMONG THE QUICKSANDS.........................................................177

CHAPTER XII. THE CLOUDING OF THE SKY.............................................................................183

CHAPTER XIII. EXIT........................................................................................................................187

BOOK THE THIRD............................................................................................................................194

CHAPTER I. MRS. MILROY. ............................................................................................................195

CHAPTER II. THE MAN IS FOUND................................................................................................201

CHAPTER III. THE BRINK OF DISCOVERY.................................................................................208

CHAPTER IV. ALLAN AT BAY. ......................................................................................................217

CHAPTER V. PEDGIFT'S REMEDY................................................................................................227

CHAPTER VI. PEDGIFT'S POSTSCRIPT........................................................................................236

CHAPTER VII. THE MARTYRDOM OF MISS GWILT.................................................................239

CHAPTER VIII. SHE COMES BETWEEN THEM. ..........................................................................248

CHAPTER IX. SHE KNOWS THE TRUTH. .....................................................................................255

CHAPTER X. MISS GWILT'S DIARY. .............................................................................................271

CHAPTER XI. LOVE AND LAW. .....................................................................................................290

CHAPTER XII. A SCANDAL AT THE STATION. ..........................................................................296

CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD MAN'S HEART. ......................................................................................301

CHAPTER XIV. MISS GWILT'S DIARY.........................................................................................311

CHAPTER XV. THE WEDDINGDAY. ...........................................................................................330

BOOK THE FOURTH........................................................................................................................347

CHAPTER I. MISS GWILT'S DIARY...............................................................................................347

CHAPTER II. THE DIARY CONTINUED. .......................................................................................354

CHAPTER III. THE DIARY BROKEN OFF.....................................................................................368

BOOK THE LAST..............................................................................................................................392

CHAPTER I. AT THE TERMINUS...................................................................................................392

CHAPTER II. IN THE HOUSE..........................................................................................................396

CHAPTER III. THE PURPLE FLASK. ..............................................................................................404

EPILOGUE. .........................................................................................................................................429

CHAPTER I. NEWS FROM NORFOLK...........................................................................................429

CHAPTER II. MIDWINTER..............................................................................................................431

In acknowledgment of the services which he has rendered to the cause of literature by his "Life of

Goldsmith;" and in affectionate remembrance of a friendship which is associated with some of the happiest

Readers in generalon whose friendly reception experience has given me some reason to relywill, I

venture to hope, appreciate whatever merit there may be in this story without any prefatory pleading for it on

my part. They will, I think, see that it has not been hastily meditated or idly wrought out. They will judge it

Readers in particular will, I have some reason to suppose, be here and there disturbed, perhaps even offended,

by finding that "Armadale" oversteps, in more than one direction, the narrow limits within which they are

Nothing that I could say to these persons here would help me with them as Time will help me if my work

lasts. I am not afraid of my design being permanently misunderstood, provided the execution has done it any

sort of justice. Estimated by the claptrap morality of the present day, this may be a very daring book. Judged

by the Christian morality which is of all time, it is only a book that is daring enough to speak the truth.

It was the opening of the season of eighteen hundred and thirtytwo, at the Baths of Wildbad.

The evening shadows were beginning to gather over the quiet little German town, and the diligence was

expected every minute. Before the door of the principal inn, waiting the arrival of the first visitors of the year,

were assembled the three notable personages of Wildbad, accompanied by their wivesthe mayor,

representing the inhabitants; the doctor, representing the waters; the landlord, representing his own

establishment. Beyond this select circle, grouped snugly about the trim little square in front of the inn,

appeared the townspeople in general, mixed here and there with the country people, in their quaint German

costume, placidly expectant of the diligencethe men in short black jackets, tight black breeches, and

threecornered beaver hats; the women with their long light hair hanging in one thickly plaited tail behind

them, and the waists of their short woolen gowns inserted modestly in the region of their shoulderblades.

Round the outer edge of the assemblage thus formed, flying detachments of plump whiteheaded children

careered in perpetual motion; while, mysteriously apart from the rest of the inhabitants, the musicians of the

Baths stood collected in one lost corner, waiting the appearance of the first visitors to play the first tune of the

season in the form of a serenade. The light of a May evening was still bright on the tops of the great wooded

hills watching high over the town on the right hand and the left; and the cool breeze that comes before sunset

came keenly fragrant here with the balsamic odor of the first of the Black Forest.

"Mr. Landlord," said the mayor's wife (giving the landlord his title), "have you any foreign guests coming on

"Madame Mayoress," replied the landlord (returning the compliment), "I have two. They have writtenthe

one by the hand of his servant, the other by his own hand apparentlyto order their rooms; and they are

from England, both, as I think by their names. If you ask me to pronounce those names, my tongue hesitates;

if you ask me to spell them, here they are, letter by letter, first and second in their order as they come. First, a

highborn stranger (by title Mister) who introduces himself in eight letters, A, r, m, a, d, a, l, eand comes

ill in his own carriage. Second, a highborn stranger (by title Mister also), who introduces himself in four

lettersN, e, a, land comes ill in the diligence. His excellency of the eight letters writes to me (by his

servant) in French; his excellency of the four letters writes to me in German. The rooms of both are ready. I

"Perhaps," suggested the mayor's wife, "Mr. Doctor has heard from one or both of these illustrious

"From one only, Madam Mayoress; but not, strictly speaking, from the person himself. I have received a

medical report of his excellency of the eight letters, and his case seems a bad one. God help him!"

The musicians seized their instruments, and silence fell on the whole community. From far away in the

windings of the forest gorge, the ring of horses' bells came faintly clear through the evening stillness. Which

carriage was approachingthe private carriage with Mr. Armadale, or the public carriage with Mr. Neal?

"Play, my friends!" cried the mayor to the musicians. "Public or private, here are the first sick people of the

The band played a lively dance tune, and the children in the square footed it merrily to the music. At the same

moment, their elders near the inn door drew aside, and disclosed the first shadow of gloom that fell over the

gayety and beauty of the scene. Through the opening made on either hand, a little procession of stout country

girls advanced, each drawing after her an empty chair on wheels; each in waiting (and knitting while she

waited) for the paralyzed wretches who came helpless by hundreds thenwho come helpless by thousands

While the band played, while the children danced, while the buzz of many talkers deepened, while the strong

young nurses of the coming cripples knitted impenetrably, a woman's insatiable curiosity about other women

asserted itself in the mayor's wife. She drew the landlady aside, and whispered a question to her on the spot.

"A word more, ma'am," said the mayor's wife, "about the two strangers from England. Are their letters

"The one by the diligenceno," replied the landlady. "But the one by the private carriageyes. He comes

with a child; he comes with a nurse; and," concluded the landlady, skillfully keeping the main point of

The mayoress brightened; the doctoress (assisting at the conference) brightened; the landlady nodded

significantly. In the minds of all three the same thought started into life at the same moment"We shall see

In a minute more, there was a sudden movement in the crowd; and a chorus of voices proclaimed that the

By this time the coming vehicle was in sight, and all further doubt was at an end. It was the diligence that

now approached by the long street leading into the squarethe diligence (in a dazzling new coat of yellow

paint) that delivered the first visitors of the season at the inn door. Of the ten travelers released from the

middle compartment and the back compartment of the carriageall from various parts of Germanythree

were lifted out helpless, and were placed in the chairs on wheels to be drawn to their lodgings in the town.

The front compartment contained two passengers onlyMr. Neal and his traveling servant. With an arm on

either side to assist him, the stranger (whose malady appeared to be locally confined to a lameness in one of

his feet) succeeded in descending the steps of the carriage easily enough. While he steadied himself on the

pavement by the help of his sticklooking not overpatiently toward the musicians who were serenading

him with the waltz in "Der Freischutz"his personal appearance rather damped the enthusiasm of the

friendly little circle assembled to welcome him. He was a lean, tall, serious, middleaged man, with a cold

gray eye and a long upper lip, with overhanging eyebrows and high cheekbones; a man who looked what he

"Where is the proprietor of this hotel?" he asked, speaking in the German language, with a fluent readiness of

expression, and an icy coldness of manner. "Fetch the doctor," he continued, when the landlord had presented

"I am here already, sir," said the doctor, advancing from the circle of friends, "and my services are entirely at

"Thank you," said Mr. Neal, looking at the doctor, as the rest of us look at a dog when we have whistled and

the dog has come. "I shall be glad to consult you tomorrow morning, at ten o'clock, about my own case. I

only want to trouble you now with a message which I have undertaken to deliver. We overtook a traveling

carriage on the road here with a gentleman in itan Englishman, I believewho appeared to be seriously

ill. A lady who was with him begged me to see you immediately on my arrival, and to secure your

professional assistance in removing the patient from the carriage. Their courier has met with an accident, and

has been left behind on the road, and they are obliged to travel very slowly. If you are here in an hour, you

will be here in time to receive them. That is the message. Who is this gentleman who appears to be anxious to

speak to me? The mayor? If you wish to see my passport, sir, my servant will show it to you. No? You wish

to welcome me to the place, and to offer your services? I am infinitely flattered. If you have any authority to

shorten the performances of your town band, you would be doing me a kindness to exert it. My nerves are

irritable, and I dislike music. Where is the landlord? No; I want to see my rooms. I don't want your arm; I can

get upstairs with the help of my stick. Mr. Mayor and Mr. Doctor, we need not detain one another any longer.

Both mayor and doctor looked after the Scotchman as he limped upstairs, and shook their heads together in

mute disapproval of him. The ladies, as usual, went a step further, and expressed their opinions openly in the

plainest words. The case under consideration (so far as they were concerned) was the scandalous case of a

man who had passed them over entirely without notice. Mrs. Mayor could only attribute such an outrage to

the native ferocity of a savage. Mrs. Doctor took a stronger view still, and considered it as proceeding from

The hour of waiting for the travelingcarriage wore on, and the creeping night stole up the hillsides softly.

One by one the stars appeared, and the first lights twinkled in the windows of the inn. As the darkness came,

the last idlers deserted the square; as the darkness came, the mighty silence of the forest above flowed in on

The hour of waiting wore out, and the figure of the doctor, walking backward and forward anxiously, was

still the only living figure left in the square. Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes, were counted out by

the doctor's watch, before the first sound came through the night silence to warn him of the approaching

carriage. Slowly it emerged into the square, at the walking pace of the horses, and drew up, as a hearse might

"Is the doctor here?" asked a woman's voice, speaking, out of the darkness of the carriage, in the French

"I am here, madam," replied the doctor, taking a light from the landlord's hand and opening the carriage door.

The first face that the light fell on was the face of the lady who had just spokena young, darkly beautiful

woman, with the tears standing thick and bright in her eager black eyes. The second face revealed was the

face of a shriveled old negress, sitting opposite the lady on the back seat. The third was the face of a little

sleeping child in the negress's lap. With a quick gesture of impatience, the lady signed to the nurse to leave

the carriage first with the child. "Pray take them out of the way," she said to the landlady; "pray take them to

their room." She got out herself when her request had been complied with. Then the light fell clear for the

first time on the further side of the carriage, and the fourth traveler was disclosed to view.

He lay helpless on a mattress, supported by a stretcher; his hair, long and disordered, under a black skullcap;

his eyes wide open, rolling to and fro ceaselessly anxious; the rest of his face as void of all expression of the

character within him, and the thought within him, as if he had been dead. There was no looking at him now,

and guessing what he might once have been. The leaden blank of his face met every question as to his age,

his rank, his temper, and his looks which that face might once have answered, in impenetrable silence.

Nothing spoke for him now but the shock that had struck him with the deathinlife of paralysis. The

doctor's eye questioned his lower limbs, and DeathinLife answered, I am here. The doctor's eye, rising

attentively by way of his hands and arms, questioned upward and upward to the muscles round his mouth,

In the face of a calamity so unsparing and so dreadful, there was nothing to be said. The silent sympathy of

help was all that could be offered to the woman who stood weeping at the carriage door.

As they bore him on his bed across the hall of the hotel, his wandering eyes encountered the face of his wife.

"It is in my hands. Look! I won't trust it to anybody; I am taking care of it for you myself."

He closed his eyes for the first time after that answer, and said no more. Tenderly and skillfully he was

carried up the stairs, with his wife on one side of him, and the doctor (ominously silent) on the other. The

landlord and the servants following saw the door of his room open and close on him; heard the lady burst out

crying hysterically as soon as she was alone with the doctor and the sick man; saw the doctor come out, half

an hour later, with his ruddy face a shade paler than usual; pressed him eagerly for information, and received

but one answer to all their inquiries"Wait till I have seen him tomorrow. Ask me nothing tonight." They

all knew the doctor's ways, and they augured ill when he left them hurriedly with that reply.

So the two first English visitors of the year came to the Baths of Wildbad in the season of eighteen hundred

AT ten o'clock the next morning, Mr. Nealwaiting for the medical visit which he had himself appointed for

that hourlooked at his watch, and discovered, to his amazement, that he was waiting in vain. It was close

"I appointed ten o'clock for your visit," said Mr. Neal. "In my country, a medical man is a punctual man."

"In my country," returned the doctor, without the least illhumor, "a medical man is exactly like other

menhe is at the mercy of accidents. Pray grant me your pardon, sir, for being so long after my time; I have

been detained by a very distressing casethe case of Mr. Armadale, whose travelingcarriage you passed on

Mr. Neal looked at his medical attendant with a sour surprise. There was a latent anxiety in the doctor's eye, a

latent preoccupation in the doctor's manner, which he was at a loss to account for. For a moment the two

faces confronted each other silently, in marked national contrastthe Scotchman's, long and lean, hard and

regular; the German's, plump and florid, soft and shapeless. One face looked as if it had never been young;

"Might I venture to remind you," said Mr. Neal, "that the case now under consideration is MY case, and not

"Certainly," replied the doctor, still vacillating between the case he had come to see and the case he had just

Mr. Neal's malady, however serious it might be in his own estimation, was of no extraordinary importance in

a medical point of view. He was suffering from a rheumatic affection of the anklejoint. The necessary

questions were asked and answered and the necessary baths were prescribed. In ten minutes the consultation

was at an end, and the patient was waiting in significant silence for the medical adviser to take his leave.

"I cannot conceal from myself," said the doctor, rising, and hesitating a little, "that I am intruding on you. But

I am compelled to beg your indulgence if I return to the subject of Mr. Armadale."

Mr. Neal started. Those who touched his sense of religious duty touched the quickest sense in his nature.

"You have established your claim on my attention," he said, gravely. "My time is yours."

"I will not abuse your kindness," replied the doctor, resuming his chair. "I will be as short as I can. Mr.

Armadale's case is briefly this: He has passed the greater part of his life in the West Indiesa wild life, and a

vicious life, by his own confession. Shortly after his marriagenow some three years sincethe first

symptoms of an approaching paralytic affection began to show themselves, and his medical advisers ordered

him away to try the climate of Europe. Since leaving the West Indies he has lived principally in Italy, with no

benefit to his health. From Italy, before the last seizure attacked him, he removed to Switzerland, and from

Switzerland he has been sent to this place. So much I know from his doctor's report; the rest I can tell you

from my own personal experience. Mr. Armadale has been sent to Wildbad too late: he is virtually a dead

man. The paralysis is fast spreading upward, and disease of the lower part of the spine has already taken

place. He can still move his hands a little, but he can hold nothing in his fingers. He can still articulate, but he

may wake speechless tomorrow or next day. If I give him a week more to live, I give him what I honestly

believe to be the utmost length of his span. At his own request I told him, as carefully and as tenderly as I

could, what I have just told you. The result was very distressing; the violence of the patient's agitation was a

violence which I despair of describing to you. I took the liberty of asking him whether his affairs were

unsettled. Nothing of the sort. His will is in the hands of is executor in London, and he leaves his wife and

child well provided for. My next question succeeded better; it hit the mark: 'Have you something on your

mind to do before you die which is not done yet?' He gave a great gasp of relief, which said, as no words

could have said it, Yes. 'Can I help you?' 'Yes. I have something to write that I must write; can you make me

"He might as well have asked me if I could perform a miracle. I could only say No. 'If I dictate the words,' he

went on, 'can you write what I tell you to write?' Once more I could only say No I understand a little English,

but I can neither speak it nor write it. Mr. Armadale understands French when it is spoken (as I speak it to

him) slowly, but he cannot express himself in that language; and of German he is totally ignorant. In this

difficulty, I said, what any one else in my situation would have said: 'Why ask me? there is Mrs. Armadale at

your service in the next room.' Before I could get up from my chair to fetch her, he stopped menot by

words, but by a look of horror which fixed me, by main force of astonishment, in my place. 'Surely,' I said,

'your wife is the fittest person to write for you as you desire?' 'The last person under heaven!' he answered.

'What!' I said, 'you ask me, a foreigner and a stranger, to write words at your dictation which you keep a

secret from your wife!' Conceive my astonishment when he answered me, without a moment's hesitation,

'Yes!' I sat lost; I sat silent. 'If you can't write English,' he said, 'find somebody who can.' I tried to

remonstrate. He burst into a dreadful moaning crya dumb entreaty, like the entreaty of a dog. 'Hush! hush!'

I said, 'I will find somebody.' 'Today!' he broke out, 'before my speech fails me, like my hand.' 'Today, in

an hour's time.' He shut his eyes; he quieted himself instantly. 'While I am waiting for you,' he said, 'let me

see my little boy.' He had shown no tenderness when he spoke of his wife, but I saw the tears on his cheeks

when he asked for his child. My profession, sir, has not made me so hard a man as you might think; and my

doctor's heart was as heavy, when I went out to fetch the child, as if I had not been a doctor at all. I am afraid

The doctor looked appealingly at Mr. Neal. He might as well have looked at a rock in the Black Forest. Mr.

Neal entirely declined to be drawn by any doctor in Christendom out of the regions of plain fact.

"Go on," he said. "I presume you have not told me all that you have to tell me, yet?"

"Your object is plain enough, at last. You invite me to connect myself blindfold with a matter which is in the

last degree suspicious, so far. I decline giving you any answer until I know more than I know now. Did you

think it necessary to inform this man's wife of what had passed between you, and to ask her for an

"Of course I thought it necessary!" said the doctor, indignant at the reflection on his humanity which the

question seemed to imply. "If ever I saw a woman fond of her husband, and sorry for her husband, it is this

unhappy Mrs. Armadale. As soon as we were left alone together, I sat down by her side, and I took her hand

in mine. Why not? I am an ugly old man, and I may allow myself such liberties as these!"

"Excuse me," said the impenetrable Scotchman. "I beg to suggest that you are losing the thread of the

"Nothing more likely," returned the doctor, recovering his good humor. "It is in the habit of my nation to be

perpetually losing the thread; and it is evidently in the habit of yours, sir, to be perpetually finding it. What an

example here of the order of the universe, and the everlasting fitness of things!"

"Will you oblige me, once for all, by confining yourself to the facts," persisted Mr. Neal, frowning

impatiently. "May I inquire, for my own information, whether Mrs. Armadale could tell you what it is her

husband wishes me to write, and why it is that he refuses to let her write for him?"

"There is my thread foundand thank you for finding it!" said the doctor. "You shall hear what Mrs.

Armadale had to tell me, in Mrs. Armadale's own words. 'The cause that now shuts me out of his confidence,'

she said, 'is, I firmly believe, the same cause that has always shut me out of his heart. I am the wife he has

wedded, but I am not the woman he loves. I knew when he married me that another man had won from him

the woman he loved. I thought I could make him forget her. I hoped when I married him; I hoped again when

I bore him a son. Need I tell you the end of my hopesyou have seen it for yourself.' (Wait, sir, I entreat

you! I have not lost the thread again; I am following it inch by inch.) 'Is this all you know?' I asked. 'All I

knew,' she said, 'till a short time since. It was when we were in Switzerland, and when his illness was nearly

at its worst, that news came to him by accident of that other woman who has been the shadow and the poison

of my lifenews that she (like me) had borne her husband a son. On the instant of his making that

discoverya trifling discovery, if ever there was one yeta mortal fear seized on him: not for me, not for

himself; a fear for his own child. The same day (without a word to me) he sent for the doctor. I was mean,

wicked, what you pleaseI listened at the door. I heard him say: I have something to tell my son, when my

son grows old enough to understand me. Shall I live to tell it? The doctor would say nothing certain. The

same night (still without a word to me) he locked himself into his room. What would any woman, treated as I

was, have done in my place? She would have done as I didshe would have listened again. I heard him say

to himself: I shall not live to tell it: I must; write it before I die. I heard his pen scrape, scrape, scrape over the

paper; I heard him groaning and sobbing as he wrote; I implored him for God's sake to let me in. The cruel

pen went scrape, scrape, scrape; the cruel pen was all the answer he gave me. I waited at the doorhoursI

don't know how long. On a sudden, the pen stopped; and I heard no more. I whispered through the keyhole

softly; I said I was cold and weary with waiting; I said, Oh, my love, let me in! Not even the cruel pen

answered me now: silence answered me. With all the strength of my miserable hands I beat at the door. The

servants came up and broke it in. We were too late; the harm was done. Over that fatal letter, the stroke had

struck himover that fatal letter, we found him paralyzed as you see him now. Those words which he wants

you to write are the words he would have written himself if the stroke had spared him till the morning. From

that time to this there has been a blank place left in the letter; and it is that blank place which he has just

asked you to fill up.'In those words Mrs. Armadale spoke to me; in those words you have the sum and

substance of all the information I can give. Say, if you please, sir, have I kept the thread at last? Have I shown

"Thus far," said Mr. Neal, "you merely show me that you are exciting yourself. This is too serious a matter to

be treated as you are treating it now. You have involved Me in the business, and I insist on seeing my way

plainly. Don't raise your hands; your hands are not a part of the question. If I am to be concerned in the

completion of this mysterious letter, it is only an act of justifiable prudence on my part to inquire what the

letter is about. Mrs. Armadale appears to have favored you with an infinite number of domestic

particularsin return, I presume, for your polite attention in taking her by the hand. May I ask what she

could tell you about her husband's letter, so far as her husband has written it?"

"Mrs. Armadale could tell me nothing," replied the doctor, with a sudden formality in his manner, which

showed that his forbearance was at last failing him. "Before she was composed enough to think of the letter,

her husband had asked for it, and had caused it to be locked up in his desk. She knows that he has since, time

after time, tried to finish it, and that, time after time, the pen has dropped from his fingers. She knows, when

all other hope of his restoration was at an end, that his medical advisers encouraged him to hope in the

famous waters of this place. And last, she knows how that hope has ended; for she knows what I told her

The frown which had been gathering latterly on Mr. Neal's face deepened and darkened. He looked at the

"The more I think of the position you are asking me to take," he said, "the less I like it. Can you undertake to

"His wife sends me to youthe only Englishman in Wildbadto write for your dying countryman what he

cannot write for himself; and what no one else in this place but you can write for him."

That answer drove Mr. Neal back to the last inch of ground left him to stand on. Even on that inch the

"Wait a little!" he said. "You put it strongly; let us be quite sure you put it correctly as well. Let us be quite

sure there is nobody to take this responsibility but myself. There is a mayor in Wildbad, to begin witha

"A man of a thousand," said the doctor. "With one faulthe knows no language but his own."

"And there are miles on miles of the forest between this and Stuttgart," rejoined the doctor. "If we sent this

moment, we could get no help from the legation before tomorrow; and it is as likely as not, in the state of

this dying man's articulation, that tomorrow may find him speechless. I don't know whether his last wishes

are wishes harmless to his child and to others, wishes hurtful to his child and to others; but I do know that

they must be fulfilled at once or never, and that you are the only man that can help him."

That open declaration brought the discussion to a close. It fixed Mr. Neal fast between the two alternatives of

saying Yes, and committing an act of imprudence, or of saying No, and committing an act of inhumanity.

There was a silence of some minutes. The Scotchman steadily reflected; and the German steadily watched

The responsibility of saying the next words rested on Mr. Neal, and in course of time Mr. Neal took it. He

rose from his chair with a sullen sense of injury lowering on his heavy eyebrows, and working sourly in the

The doctor's impulsive nature rose in revolt against the merciless brevity and gracelessness of that reply. "I

wish to God," he broke out fervently, "I knew English enough to take your place at Mr. Armadale's bedside!"

"Bating your taking the name of the Almighty in vain," answered the Scotchman, "I entirely agree with you. I

Without another word on either side, they left the room togetherthe doctor leading the way.

NO one answered the doctor's knock when he and his companion reached the antechamber door of Mr.

Armadale's apartments. They entered unannounced; and when they looked into the sittingroom, the

"I must see Mrs. Armadale," said Mr. Neal. "I decline acting in the matter unless Mrs. Armadale authorizes

"Mrs. Armadale is probably with her husband," replied the doctor. He approached a door at the inner end of

the sittingroom while he spokehesitatedand, turning round again, looked at his sour companion

anxiously. "I am afraid I spoke a little harshly, sir, when we were leaving your room," he said. "I beg your

pardon for it, with all my heart. Before this poor afflicted lady comes in, will youwill you excuse my

"No, sir," retorted the other harshly; "I won't excuse you. What right have I given you to think me wanting in

The doctor saw it was useless. "I beg your pardon again," he said, resignedly, and left the unapproachable

Mr. Neal walked to the window, and stood there, with his eyes mechanically fixed on the prospect,

It was midday; the sun shone bright and warm; and all the little world of Wildbad was alive and merry in the

genial springtime. Now and again heavy wagons, with blackfaced carters in charge, rolled by the window,

bearing their precious lading of charcoal from the forest. Now and again, hurled over the headlong current of

the stream that runs through the town, great lengths of timber, loosely strung together in interminable

serieswith the booted raftsmen, pole in hand, poised watchful at either endshot swift and serpentlike

past the houses on their course to the distant Rhine. High and steep above the gabled wooden buildings on the

riverbank, the great hillsides, crested black with firs, shone to the shining heavens in a glory of lustrous

green. In and out, where the forest footpaths wound from the grass through the trees, from the trees over the

grass, the bright spring dresses of women and children, on the search for wild flowers, traveled to and fro in

the lofty distance like spots of moving light. Below, on the walk by the stream side, the booths of the little

bazar that had opened punctually with the opening season showed all their glittering trinkets, and fluttered in

the balmy air their splendor of manycolored flags. Longingly, here the children looked at the show;

patiently the sunburned lasses plied their knitting as they paced the walk; courteously the passing

townspeople, by fours and fives, and the passing visitors, by ones and twos, greeted each other, hat in hand;

and slowly, slowly, the cripple and the helpless in their chairs on wheels came out in the cheerful noontide

with the rest, and took their share of the blessed light that cheers, of the blessed sun that shines for all.

On this scene the Scotchman looked, with eyes that never noted its beauty, with a mind far away from every

lesson that it taught. One by one he meditated the words he should say when the wife came in. One by one he

pondered over the conditions he might impose before he took the pen in hand at the husband's bedside.

"Mrs. Armadale is here," said the doctor's voice, interposing suddenly between his reflections and himself.

He turned on the instant, and saw before him, with the pure midday light shining full on her, a woman of the

mixed blood of the European and the African race, with the Northern delicacy in the shape of her face, and

the Southern richness in its colora woman in the prime of her beauty, who moved with an inbred grace,

who looked with an inbred fascination, whose large, languid black eyes rested on him gratefully, whose little

dusky hand offered itself to him in mute expression of her thanks, with the welcome that is given to the

coming of a friend. For the first time in his life the Scotchman was taken by surprise. Every selfpreservative

word that he had been meditating but an instant since dropped out of his memory. His thrice impenetrable

armor of habitual suspicion, habitual selfdiscipline, and habitual reserve, which had never fallen from him

in a woman's presence before, fell from him in this woman's presence, and brought him to his knees, a

conquered man. He took the hand she offered him, and bowed over it his first honest homage to the sex, in

She hesitated on her side. The quick feminine perception which, in happier circumstances, would have

pounced on the secret of his embarrassment in an instant, failed her now. She attributed his strange reception

of her to pride, to reluctanceto any cause but the unexpected revelation of her own beauty. "I have no

words to thank you," she said, faintly, trying to propitiate him. "I should only distress you if I tried to speak."

Her lip began to tremble, she drew back a little, and turned away her head in silence.

The doctor, who had been standing apart, quietly observant in a corner, advanced before Mr. Neal could

interfere, and led Mrs. Armadale to a chair. "Don't be afraid of him," whispered the good man, patting her

gently on the shoulder. "He was hard as iron in my hands, but I think, by the look of him, he will be soft as

wax in yours. Say the words I told you to say, and let us take him to your husband's room, before those sharp

She roused her sinking resolution, and advanced halfway to the window to meet Mr. Neal. "My kind friend,

the doctor, has told me, sir, that your only hesitation in coming here is a hesitation on my account," she said,

her head drooping a little, and her rich color fading away while she spoke. "I am deeply grateful, but I entreat

you not to think of me. What my husband wishes" Her voice faltered; she waited resolutely, and recovered

This time Mr. Neal was composed enough to answer her. In low, earnest tones, he entreated her to say no

more. "I was only anxious to show you every consideration," he said. "I am only anxious now to spare you

every distress." As he spoke, something like a glow of color rose slowly on his sallow face. Her eyes were

looking at him, softly attentive; and he thought guiltily of his meditations at the window before she came in.

The doctor saw his opportunity. He opened the door that led into Mr. Armadale's room, and stood by it,

waiting silently. Mrs. Armadale entered first. In a minute more the door was closed again; and Mr. Neal stood

committed to the responsibility that had been forced on himcommitted beyond recall.

The room was decorated in the gaudy continental fashion, and the warm sunlight was shining in joyously.

Cupids and flowers were painted on the ceiling; bright ribbons looped up the white windowcurtains; a smart

gilt clock ticked on a velvetcovered mantelpiece; mirrors gleamed on the walls, and flowers in all the colors

of the rainbow speckled the carpet. In the midst of the finery, and the glitter, and the light, lay the paralyzed

man, with his wandering eyes, and his lifeless lower facehis head propped high with many pillows; his

helpless hands laid out over the bedclothes like the hands of a corpse. By the bed head stood, grim, and old,

and silent, the shriveled black nurse; and on the counterpane, between his father's outspread hands, lay the

child, in his little white frock, absorbed in the enjoyment of a new toy. When the door opened, and Mrs.

Armadale led the way in, the boy was tossing his playthinga soldier on horsebackbackward and forward

over the helpless hands on either side of him; and the father's wandering eyes were following the toy to and

fro, with a stealthy and ceaseless vigilancea vigilance as of a wild animal, terrible to see.

The moment Mr. Neal appeared in the doorway, those restless eyes stopped, looked up, and fastened on the

stranger with a fierce eagerness of inquiry. Slowly the motionless lips struggled into movement. With thick,

hesitating articulation, they put the question which the eyes asked mutely, into words: "Are you the man?"

Mr. Neal advanced to the bedside, Mrs. Armadale drawing back from it as he approached, and waiting with

the doctor at the further end of the room. The child looked up, toy in hand, as the stranger came near, opened

his bright brown eyes in momentary astonishment, and then went on with his game.

"I have been made acquainted with your sad situation, sir," said Mr. Neal; "and I have come here to place my

services at your disposalservices which no one but myself, as your medical attendant informs me, is in a

position to render you in this strange place. My name is Neal. I am a writer to the signet in Edinburgh; and I

may presume to say for myself that any confidence you wish to place in me will be confidence not

The eyes of the beautiful wife were not confusing him now. He spoke to the helpless husband quietly and

seriously, without his customary harshness, and with a grave compassion in his manner which presented him

"You wish me to write something for you?" he resumed, after waiting for a reply, and waiting in vain.

"Yes!" said the dying man, with the allmastering impatience which his tongue was powerless to express,

glittering angrily in his eye. "My hand is gone, and my speech is going. Write!"

Before there was time to speak again, Mr. Neal heard the rustling of a woman's dress, and the quick creaking

of casters on the carpet behind him. Mrs. Armadale was moving the writingtable across the room to the foot

of the bed. If he was to set up those safeguards of his own devising that were to bear him harmless through all

results to come, now was the time, or never. He, kept his back turned on Mrs. Armadale, and put his

"May I ask, sir, before I take the pen in hand, what it is you wish me to write?"

The angry eyes of the paralyzed man glittered brighter and brighter. His lips opened and closed again. He

"When I have written what you wish me to write," he asked, "what is to be done with it?"

His laboring articulation suddenly stopped and he looked piteously in the questioner's face for the next word.

"It is a letter, I suppose, that I am to post?" There was no answer. "May I ask if it is a letter altering your

Mr. Neal considered a little. The mystery was thickening. The one way out of it, so far, was the way traced

faintly through that strange story of the unfinished letter which the doctor had repeated to him in Mrs.

Armadale's words. The nearer he approached his unknown responsibility, the more ominous it seemed of

something serious to come. Should he risk another question before he pledged himself irrevocably? As the

doubt crossed his mind, he felt Mrs. Armadale's silk dress touch him on the side furthest from her husband.

Her delicate dark hand was laid gently on his arm; her full deep African eyes looked at him in submissive

entreaty. "My husband is very anxious," she whispered. "Will you quiet his anxiety, sir, by taking your place

It was from her lips that the request camefrom the lips of the person who had the best right to hesitate, the

wife who was excluded from the secret! Most men in Mr. Neal's position would have given up all their

"I will write what you wish me to write," he said, addressing Mr. Armadale. "I will seal it in your presence;

and I will post it to your executor myself. But, in engaging to do this, I must beg you to remember that I am

acting entirely in the dark; and I must ask you to excuse me, if I reserve my own entire freedom of action,

when your wishes in relation to the writing and the posting of the letter have been fulfilled."

"It you want my promise, sir, I will give itsubject to the condition I have just named."

"Take your condition, and keep your promise. My desk," he added, looking at his wife for the first time.

She crossed the room eagerly to fetch the desk from a chair in a corner. Returning with it, she made a passing

sign to the negress, who still stood, grim and silent, in the place that she had occupied from the first. The

woman advanced, obedient to the sign, to take the child from the bed. At the instant when she touched him,

the father's eyesfixed previously on the deskturned on her with the stealthy quickness of a cat. "No!" he

said. "No!" echoed the fresh voice of the boy, still charmed with his plaything, and still liking his place on the

bed. The negress left the room, and the child, in high triumph, trotted his toy soldier up and down on the

bedclothes that lay rumpled over his father's breast. His mother's lovely face contracted with a pang of

"Shall I open your desk?" she asked, pushing back the child's plaything sharply while she spoke. An

answering look from her husband guided her hand to the place under his pillow where the key was hidden.

She opened the desk, and disclosed inside some small sheets of manuscript pinned together. "These?" she

The Scotchman sitting at the writingtable, the doctor stirring a stimulant mixture in a corner, looked at each

other with an anxiety in both their faces which they could neither of them control. The words that banished

She looked at the child, established comfortably on the bed, and an ashy paleness spread slowly over her face.

She looked at the fatal letter which was a sealed secret to her, and a torture of jealous suspicionsuspicion

of that other woman who had been the shadow and the poison of her lifewrung her to the heart. After

moving a few steps from the bedside, she stopped, and came back again. Armed with the double courage of

her love and her despair, she pressed her lips on her dying husband's cheek, and pleaded with him for the last

time. Her burning tears dropped on his face as she whispered to him: "Oh, Allan, think how I have loved you!

think how hard I have tried to make you happy! think how soon I shall lose you! Oh, my own love! don't,

The words pleaded for her; the kiss pleaded for her; the recollection of the love that had been given to him,

and never returned, touched the heart of the fastsinking man as nothing had touched it since the day of his

The fetters that bound his tongue seemed to be loosened for a moment in the great outburst of anxiety which

forced that question to his lips. He spoke those startling words as he had spoken no words yet.

"On my oath!" she repeated, and, dropping on her knees at the bedside, passionately kissed his hand. The two

strangers in the room turned their heads away by common consent. In the silence that followed, the one sound

stirring was the small sound of the child's toy, as he moved it hither and thither on the bed.

The doctor was the first who broke the spell of stillness which had fallen on all the persons present. He

approached the patient, and examined him anxiously. Mrs. Armadale rose from her knees; and, first waiting

for her husband's permission, carried the sheets of manuscript which she had taken out of the desk to the table

at which Mr. Neal was waiting. Flushed and eager, more beautiful than ever in the vehement agitation which

still possessed her, she stooped over him as she put the letter into his hands, and, seizing on the means to her

end with a woman's headlong selfabandonment to her own impulses, whispered to him, "Read it out from

the beginning. I must and will hear it!" Her eyes flashed their burning light into his; her breath beat on his

cheek. Before he could answer, before he could think, she was back with her husband. In an instant she had

spoken, and in that instant her beauty had bent the Scotchman to her will. Frowning in reluctant

acknowledgment of his own inability to resist her, he turned over the leaves of the letter; looked at the blank

place where the pen had dropped from the writer's hand and had left a blot on the paper; turned back again to

the beginning, and said the words, in the wife's interest, which the wife herself had put into his lips.

"Perhaps, sir, you may wish to make some corrections," he began, with all his attention apparently fixed on

the letter, and with every outward appearance of letting his sour temper again get the better of him. "Shall I

Mrs. Armadale, sitting at the bed head on one side, and the doctor, with his fingers on the patient's pulse,

sitting on the other, waited with widely different anxieties for the answer to Mr. Neal's question. Mr.

"You will hear it?" he said. Her breath came and went quickly; her hand stole up and took his; she bowed her

head in silence. Her husband paused, taking secret counsel with his thoughts, and keeping his eyes fixed on

his wife. At last he decided, and gave the answer. "Read it," he said, "and stop when I tell you."

It was close on one o'clock, and the bell was ringing which summoned the visitors to their early dinner at the

inn. The quick beat of footsteps, and the gathering hum of voices outside, penetrated gayly into the room, as

Mr. Neal spread the manuscript before him on the table, and read the opening sentences in these words:

"I address this letter to my son, when my son is of an age to understand it. Having lost all hope of living to

see my boy grow up to manhood, I have no choice but to write here what I would fain have said to him at a

"I have three objects in writing. First, to reveal the circumstances which attended the marriage of an English

lady of my acquaintance, in the island of Madeira. Secondly, to throw the true light on the death of her

husband a short time afterward, on board the French timber ship La Grace de Dieu. Thirdly, to warn my son

of a danger that lies in wait for hima danger that will rise from his father's grave when the earth has closed

"The story of the English lady's marriage begins with my inheriting the great Armadale property, and my

"I am the only surviving son of the late Mathew Wrentmore, of Barbadoes. I was born on our family estate in

that island, and I lost my father when I was still a child. My mother was blindly fond of me; she denied me

nothing, she let me live as I pleased. My boyhood and youth were passed in idleness and selfindulgence,

among peopleslaves and halfcastes mostlyto whom my will was law. I doubt if there is a gentleman of

my birth and station in all England as ignorant as I am at this moment. I doubt if there was ever a young man

in this world whose passions were left so entirely without control of any kind as mine were in those early

"My mother had a woman's romantic objection to my father's homely Christian name. I was christened Allan,

after the name of a wealthy cousin of my father'sthe late Allan Armadalewho possessed estates in our

neighborhood, the largest and most productive in the island, and who consented to be my godfather by proxy.

Mr. Armadale had never seen his West Indian property. He lived in England; and, after sending me the

customary godfather's present, he held no further communication with my parents for years afterward. I was

just twentyone before we heard again from Mr. Armadale. On that occasion my mother received a letter

from him asking if I was still alive, and offering no less (if I was) than to make me the heir to his West Indian

"This piece of good fortune fell to me entirely through the misconduct of Mr. Armadale's son, an only child.

The young man had disgraced himself beyond all redemption; had left his home an outlaw; and had been

thereupon renounced by his father at once and forever. Having no other near male relative to succeed him,

Mr. Armadale thought of his cousin's son and his own godson; and he offered the West Indian estate to me,

and my heirs after me, on one conditionthat I and my heirs should take his name. The proposal was

gratefully accepted, and the proper legal measures were adopted for changing my name in the colony and in

the mother country. By the next mail information reached Mr. Armadale that his condition had been complied

with. The return mail brought news from the lawyers. The will had been altered in my favor, and in a week

afterward the death of my benefactor had made me the largest proprietor and the richest man in Barbadoes.

"This was the first event in the chain. The second event followed it six weeks afterward.

"At that time there happened to be a vacancy in the clerk's office on the estate, and there came to fill it a

young man about my own age who had recently arrived in the island. He announced himself by the name of

Fergus Ingleby. My impulses governed me in everything; I knew no law but the law of my own caprice, and I

took a fancy to the stranger the moment I set eyes on him. He had the manners of a gentleman, and he

possessed the most attractive social qualities which, in my small experience, I had ever met with. When I

heard that the written references to character which he had brought with him were pronounced to be

unsatisfactory, I interfered, and insisted that he should have the place. My will was law, and he had it.

"My mother disliked and distrusted Ingleby from the first. When she found the intimacy between us rapidly

ripening; when she found me admitting this inferior to the closest companionship and confidence (I had lived

with my inferiors all my life, and I liked it), she made effort after effort to part us, and failed in one and all.

Driven to her last resources, she resolved to try the one chance leftthe chance of persuading me to take a

"Before she spoke to me on the subject, she resolved to interest me in the idea of seeing England, as I had

never been interested yet. She wrote to an old friend and an old admirer of hers, the late Stephen Blanchard,

of Thorpe Ambrose, in Norfolka gentleman of landed estate, and a widower with a grownup family.

Afterdiscoveries informed me that she must have alluded to their former attachment (which was checked, I

believe, by the parents on either side); and that, in asking Mr. Blanchard's welcome for her son when he came

to England, she made inquiries about his daughter, which hinted at the chance of a marriage uniting the two

families, if the young lady and I met and liked one another. We were equally matched in every respect, and

my mother's recollection of her girlish attachment to Mr. Blanchard made the prospect of my marrying her

old admirer's daughter the brightest and happiest prospect that her eyes could see. Of all this I knew nothing

until Mr. Blanchard's answer arrived at Barbadoes. Then my mother showed me the letter, and put the

"Mr. Blanchard's letter was dated from the Island of Madeira. He was out of health, and he had been ordered

there by the doctors to try the climate. His daughter was with him. After heartily reciprocating all my

mother's hopes and wishes, he proposed (if I intended leaving Barbadoes shortly) that I should take Madeira

on my way to England, and pay him a visit at his temporary residence in the island. If this could not be, he

mentioned the time at which he expected to be back in England, when I might be sure of finding a welcome

at his own house of Thorpe Ambrose. In conclusion, he apologized for not writing at greater length;

explaining that his sight was affected, and that he had disobeyed the doctor's orders by yielding to the

"Kindly as it was expressed, the letter itself might have had little influence on me. But there was something

else besides the letter; there was inclosed in it a miniature portrait of Miss Blanchard. At the back of the

portrait, her father had written, halfjestingly, halftenderly, 'I can't ask my daughter to spare my eyes as

usual, without telling her of your inquiries, and putting a young lady's diffidence to the blush. So I send her in

effigy (without her knowledge) to answer for herself. It is a good likeness of a good girl. If she likes your

sonand if I like him, which I am sure I shallwe may yet live, my good friend, to see our children what

we might once have been ourselvesman and wife.' My mother gave me the miniature with the letter. The

portrait at once struck meI can't say why, I can't say howas nothing of the kind had ever struck me

"Harder intellects than mine might have attributed the extraordinary impression produced on me to the

disordered condition of my mind at that time; to the weariness of my own base pleasures which had been

gaining on me for months past, to the undefined longing which that weariness implied for newer interests and

fresher hopes than any that had possessed me yet. I attempted no such sober selfexamination as this: I

believed in destiny then, I believe in destiny now. It was enough for me to knowas I did knowthat the

first sense I had ever felt of something better in my nature than my animal self was roused by that girl's face

looking at me from her picture as no woman's face had ever looked at me yet. In those tender eyesin the

chance of making that gentle creature my wifeI saw my destiny written. The portrait which had come into

my hands so strangely and so unexpectedly was the silent messenger of happiness close at hand, sent to warn,

to encourage, to rouse me before it was too late. I put the miniature under my pillow at night; I looked at it

again the next morning. My conviction of the day before remained as strong as ever; my superstition (if you

please to call it so) pointed out to me irresistibly the way on which I should go. There was a ship in port

which was to sail for England in a fortnight, touching at Madeira. In that ship I took my passage."

Thus far the reader had advanced with no interruption to disturb him. But at the last words the tones of

Mr. Neal paused, and looked up. The doctor was still at the bed head, with his fingers mechanically on the

patient's pulse. The child, missing his midday sleep, was beginning to play languidly with his new toy. The

father's eyes were watching him with a rapt and ceaseless attention. But one great change was visible in the

listeners since the narrative had begun. Mrs. Armadale had dropped her hold of her husband's hand, and sat

with her face steadily turned away from him The hot African blood burned red in her dusky cheeks as she

Her hands, lying clasped together in her lap, wrung each other hardshe said no more. Mr. Neal's

overhanging eyebrows lowered ominously as he returned to the narrative. He had incurred his own severe

"I have said"the letter proceeded"that Ingleby was admitted to my closest confidence. I was sorry to

leave him; and I was distressed by his evident surprise and mortification when he heard that I was going

away. In my own justification, I showed him the letter and the likeness, and told him the truth. His interest in

the portrait seemed to be hardly inferior to my own. He asked me about Miss Blanchard's family and Miss

Blanchard's fortune with the sympathy of a true friend; and he strengthened my regard for him, and my belief

in him, by putting himself out of the question, and by generously encouraging me to persist in my new

purpose. When we parted, I was in high health and spirits. Before we met again the next day, I was suddenly

"I have no proof against Ingleby. There was more than one woman on the island whom I had wronged

beyond all forgiveness, and whose vengeance might well have reached me at that time. I can accuse nobody. I

can only say that my life was saved by my old black nurse; and that the woman afterward acknowledged

having used the known negro antidote to a known negro poison in those parts. When my first days of

convalescence came, the ship in which my passage had been taken had long since sailed. When I asked for

Ingleby, he was gone. Proofs of his unpardonable misconduct in his situation were placed before me, which

not even my partiality for him could resist. He had been turned out of the office in the first days of my illness,

"All through my sufferings the portrait had been under my pillow. All through my convalescence it was my

one consolation when I remembered the past, and my one encouragement when I thought of the future. No

words can describe the hold that first fancy had now taken of mewith time and solitude and suffering to

help it. My mother, with all her interest in the match, was startled by the unexpected success of her own

project. She had written to tell Mr. Blanchard of my illness, but had received no reply. She now offered to

write again, if I would promise not to leave her before my recovery was complete. My impatience

acknowledged no restraint. Another ship in port gave me another chance of leaving for Madeira. Another

examination of Mr. Blanchard's letter of invitation assured me that I should find him still in the island, if I

seized my opportunity on the spot. In defiance of my mother's entreaties, I insisted on taking my passage in

"The change did me good; the seaair made a man of me again. After an unusually rapid voyage, I found

myself at the end of my pilgrimage. On a fine, still evening which I can never forget, I stood alone on the

shore, with her likeness in my bosom, and saw the white walls of the house where I knew that she lived.

"I strolled round the outer limits of the grounds to compose myself before I went in. Venturing through a gate

and a shrubbery, I looked into the garden, and saw a lady there, loitering alone on the lawn. She turned her

face toward meand I beheld the original of my portrait, the fulfillment of my dream! It is useless, and

worse than useless, to write of it now. Let me only say that every promise which the likeness had made to my

fancy the living woman kept to my eyes in the moment when they first looked on her. Let me say thisand

"I was too violently agitated to trust myself in her presence. I drew back undiscovered, and, making my way

to the front door of the house, asked for her father first. Mr. Blanchard had retired to his room, and could see

nobody. Upon that I took courage, and asked for Miss Blanchard. The servant smiled. 'My young lady is not

Miss Blanchard any longer, sir,' he said. 'She is married.' Those words would have struck some men, in my

position, to the earth. They fired my hot blood, and I seized the servant by the throat, in a frenzy of rage 'It's a

lie!' I broke out, speaking to him as if he had been one of the slaves on my own estate. 'It's the truth,' said the

man, struggling with me; 'her husband is in the house at this moment.' 'Who is he, you scoundrel?'The servant

"You can now guess the truth. Fergus Ingleby was the outlawed son whose name and whose inheritance I had

"Some account of the manner in which the deception had been carried out is necessary to explainI don't

say to justifythe share I took in the events that followed my arrival at Madeira.

"By Ingleby's own confession, he had come to Barbadoesknowing of his father's death and of my

succession to the estateswith the settled purpose of plundering and injuring me. My rash confidence put

such an opportunity into his hands as he could never have hoped for. He had waited to possess himself of the

letter which my mother wrote to Mr. Blanchard at the outset of my illnesshad then caused his own

dismissal from his situationand had sailed for Madeira in the very ship that was to have sailed with me.

Arrived at the island, he had waited again till the vessel was away once more on her voyage, and had then

presented himself at Mr. Blanchard'snot in the assumed name by which I shall continue to speak of him

here, but in the name which was as certainly his as mine, 'Allan Armadale.' The fraud at the outset presented

few difficulties. He had only an ailing old man (who had not seen my mother for half a lifetime) and an

innocent, unsuspicious girl (who had never seen her at all) to deal with; and he had learned enough in my

service to answer the few questions that were put to him as readily as I might have answered them myself.

His looks and manners, his winning ways with women, his quickness and cunning, did the rest. While I was

still on my sickbed, he had won Miss Blanchard's affections. While I was dreaming over the likeness in the

first days of my convalescence, he had secured Mr. Blanchard's consent to the celebration of the marriage

"Thus far Mr. Blanchard's infirmity of sight had helped the deception. He had been content to send messages

to my mother, and to receive the messages which were duly invented in return. But when the suitor was

accepted, and the weddingday was appointed, he felt it due to his old friend to write to her, asking her

formal consent and inviting her to the marriage. He could only complete part of the letter himself; the rest

was finished, under his dictation, by Miss Blanchard. There was no chance of being beforehand with the

postoffice this time; and Ingleby, sure of his place in the heart of his victim, waylaid her as she came out of

her father's room with the letter, and privately told her the truth. She was still under age, and the position was

a serious one. If the letter was posted, no resource would be left but to wait and be parted forever, or to elope

under circumstances which made detection almost a certainty. The destination of any ship which took them

away would be known beforehand; and the fastsailing yacht in which Mr. Blanchard had come to Madeira

was waiting in the harbor to take him back to England. The only other alternative was to continue the

deception by suppressing the letter, and to confess the truth when they were securely married. What arts of

persuasion Ingleby usedwhat base advantage he might previously have taken of her love and her trust in

him to degrade Miss Blanchard to his own levelI cannot say. He did degrade her. The letter never went to

its destination; and, with the daughter's privity and consent, the father's confidence was abused to the very

"The one precaution now left to take was to fabricate the answer from my mother which Mr. Blanchard

expected, and which would arrive in due course of post before the day appointed for the marriage. Ingleby

had my mother's stolen letter with him; but he was without the imitative dexterity which would have enabled

him to make use of it for a forgery of her handwriting. Miss Blanchard, who had consented passively to the

deception, refused to take any active share in the fraud practiced on her father. In this difficulty, Ingleby

found an instrument ready to his hand in an orphan girl of barely twelve years old, a marvel of precocious

ability, whom Miss Blanchard had taken a romantic fancy to befriend and whom she had brought away with

her from England to be trained as her maid. That girl's wicked dexterity removed the one serious obstacle left

to the success of the fraud. I saw the imitation of my mother's writing which she had produced under

Ingleby's instructions and (if the shameful truth must be told) with her young mistress's knowledgeand I

believe I should have been deceived by it myself. I saw the girl afterwardand my blood curdled at the sight

of her. If she is alive now, woe to the people who trust her! No creature more innately deceitful and more

"The forged letter paved the way securely for the marriage; and when I reached the house, they were (as the

servant had truly told me) man and wife. My arrival on the scene simply precipitated the confession which

they had both agreed to make. Ingleby's own lips shamelessly acknowledged the truth. He had nothing to lose

by speaking outhe was married, and his wife's fortune was beyond her father's control. I pass over all that

followedmy interview with the daughter, and my interview with the fatherto come to results. For two

days the efforts of the wife, and the efforts of the clergyman who had celebrated the marriage, were

successful in keeping Ingleby and myself apart. On the third day I set my trap more successfully, and I and

"Remember how my confidence had been abused; remember how the one good purpose of my life had been

thwarted; remember the violent passions rooted deep in my nature, and never yet controlledand then

imagine for yourself what passed between us. All I need tell here is the end. He was a taller and a stronger

man than I, and he took his brute's advantage with a brute's ferocity. He struck me.

"Think of the injuries I had received at that man's hands, and then think of his setting his mark on my face by

"I went to an English officer who had been my fellowpassenger on the voyage from Barbadoes. I told him

the truth, and he agreed with me that a meeting was inevitable. Dueling had its received formalities and its

established laws in those days; and he began to speak of them. I stopped him. 'I will take a pistol in my right

hand,' I said, 'and he shall take a pistol in his: I will take one end of a handkerchief in my left hand, and he

shall take the other end in his; and across that handkerchief the duel shall be fought.' The officer got up, and

looked at me as if I had personally insulted him. 'You are asking me to be present at a murder and a suicide,'

he said; 'I decline to serve you.' He left the room. As soon as he was gone I wrote down the words I had said

to the officer and sent them by a messenger to Ingleby. While I was waiting for an answer, I sat down before

the glass, and looked at his mark on my face. 'Many a man has had blood on his hands and blood on his

"The messenger came back with Ingleby's answer. It appointed a meeting for three o'clock the next day, at a

lonely place in the interior of the island. I had resolved what to do if he refused; his letter released me from

the horror of my own resolution. I felt grateful to himyes, absolutely grateful to himfor writing it.

"The next day I went to the place. He was not there. I waited two hours, and he never came. At last the truth

dawned on me. 'Once a coward, always a coward,' I thought. I went back to Mr. Blanchard's house. Before I

got there, a sudden misgiving seized me, and I turned aside to the harbor. I was right; the harbor was the

place to go to. A ship sailing for Lisbon that afternoon had offered him the opportunity of taking a passage

for himself and his wife, and escaping me. His answer to my challenge had served its purpose of sending me

out of the way into the interior of the island. Once more I had trusted in Fergus Ingleby, and once more those

"I asked my informant if Mr. Blanchard was aware as yet of his daughter's departure. He had discovered it,

but not until the ship had sailed. This time I took a lesson in cunning from Ingleby. Instead of showing myself

"The vessel told me what the vessel's master might have concealedthe truth. I found her in the confusion of

a sudden preparation for sea. All the crew were on board, with the exception of some few who had been

allowed their leave on shore, and who were away in the interior of the island, nobody knew where. When I

discovered that the sailingmaster was trying in, to supply their places with the best men he could pick up at

a moment's notice, my resolution was instantly taken. I knew the duties on board a yacht well enough, having

had a vessel of my own, and having sailed her myself. Hurrying into the town, I changed my dress for a

sailor's coat and hat, and, returning to the harbor, I offered myself as one of the volunteer crew. I don't know

what the sailingmaster saw in my face. My answers to his questions satisfied him, and yet he looked at me

and hesitated. But hands were scarce, and it ended in my being taken on board. An hour later Mr. Blanchard

joined us, and was assisted into the cabin, suffering pitiably in mind and body both. An hour after that we

"As I had surmised, we were in pursuit of the vessel in which Ingleby and his wife had left the island that

afternoon. The ship was French, and was employed in the timber trade: her name was La Grace de Dieu.

Nothing more was known of her than that she was bound for Lisbon; that she had been driven out of her

course; and that she had touched at Madeira, short of men and short of provisions. The last want had been

supplied, but not the first. Sailors distrusted the seaworthiness of the ship, and disliked the look of the

vagabond crew. When those two serious facts had been communicated to Mr. Blanchard, the hard words he

had spoken to his child in the first shock of discovering that she had helped to deceive him smote him to the

heart. He instantly determined to give his daughter a refuge on board his own vessel, and to quiet her by

keeping her villain of a husband out of the way of all harm at my hands. The yacht sailed three feet and more

to the ship's one. There was no doubt of our overtaking La Grace de Dieu; the only fear was that we might

"After we had been some little time out, the wind suddenly dropped, and there fell on us an airless, sultry

calm. When the order came to get the topmasts on deck, and to shift the large sails, we all knew what to

expect. In little better than an hour more, the storm was upon us, the thunder was pealing over our heads, and

the yacht was running for it. She was a powerful schoonerrigged vessel of three hundred tons, as strong as

wood and iron could make her; she was handled by a sailingmaster who thoroughly understood his work,

and she behaved nobly. As the new morning came, the fury of the wind, blowing still from the southwest

quarter, subsided a little, and the sea was less heavy. Just before daybreak we heard faintly, through the

howling of the gale, the report of a gun. The men collected anxiously on deck, looked at each other, and said:

"With the daybreak we saw the vessel, and the timbership it was. She lay wallowing in the trough of the sea,

her foremast and her mainmast both gonea waterlogged wreck. The yacht carried three boats; one

amidships, and two slung to davits on the quarters; and the sailingmaster, seeing signs of the storm

renewing its fury before long, determined on lowering the quarterboats while the lull lasted. Few as the

people were on board the wreck, they were too many for one boat, and the risk of trying two boats at once

was thought less, in the critical state of the weather, than the risk of making two separate trips from the yacht

to the ship. There might be time to make one trip in safety, but no man could look at the heavens and say

"The boats were manned by volunteers from the crew, I being in the second of the two. When the first boat

was got alongside of the timbershipa service of difficulty and danger which no words can describeall

the men on board made a rash to leave the wreck together. If the boat had not been pulled off again before the

whole of them had crowded in, the lives of all must have been sacrificed. As our boat approached the vessel

in its turn, we arranged that four of us should get on boardtwo (I being one of them) to see to the safety of

Mr. Blanchard's daughter, and two to beat back the cowardly remnant of the crew if they tried to crowd in

first. The other threethe coxswain and two oarsmenwere left in the boat to keep her from being crushed

by the ship. What the others saw when they first boarded La Grace de Dieu I don't know; what I saw was the

woman whom I had lost, the woman vilely stolen from me, lying in a swoon on the deck. We lowered her,

insensible, into the boat. The remnant of the crewfive in numberwere compelled by main force to

follow her in an orderly manner, one by one, and minute by minute, as the chance offered for safely taking

them in. I was the last who left; and, at the next roll of the ship toward us, the empty length of the deck,

without a living creature on it from stem to stern, told the boat's crew that their work was done. With the

louder and louder howling of the fastrising tempest to warn them, they rowed for their lives back to the

"A succession of heavy squalls had brought round the course of the new storm that was coming, from the

south to the north; and the sailingmaster, watching his opportunity, had wore the yacht to be ready for it.

Before the last of our men had got on board again, it burst on us with the fury of a hurricane. Our boat was

swamped, but not a life was lost. Once more we ran before it, due south, at the mercy of the wind. I was on

deck with the rest, watching the one rag of sail we could venture to set, and waiting to supply its place with

another, if it blew out of the boltropes, when the mate came close to me, and shouted in my ear through the

thunder of the storm: 'She has come to her senses in the cabin, and has asked for her husband. Where is he?'

Not a man on board knew. The yacht was searched from one end to another without finding him. The men

were mustered in defiance of the weatherhe was not among them. The crews of the two boats were

questioned. All the first crew could say was that they had pulled away from the wreck when the rush into

their boat took place, and that they knew nothing of whom they let in or whom they kept out. All the second

crew could say was that they had brought back to the yacht every living soul left by the first boat on the deck

of the timbership. There was no blaming anybody; but, at the same time, there was no resisting the fact that

"All through that day the storm, raging unabatedly, never gave us even the shadow of a chance of returning

and searching the wreck. The one hope for the yacht was to scud. Toward evening the gale, after having

carried us to the southward of Madeira, began at last to breakthe wind shifted againand allowed us to

bear up for the island. Early the next morning we got back into port. Mr. Blanchard and his daughter were

taken ashore, the sailingmaster accompanying them, and warning us that he should have something to say

"We were mustered on deck, and addressed by the sailingmaster as soon as he came on board again. He had

Mr. Blanchard's orders to go back at once to the timbership and to search for the missing man. We were

bound to do this for his sake, and for the sake of his wife, whose reason was despaired of by the doctors if

something was not done to quiet her. We might be almost sure of finding the vessel still afloat, for her ladling

of timber would keep her above water as long as her hull held together. If the man was on boardliving or

deadhe must be found and brought back. And if the weather continued to be moderate, there was no reason

why the men, with proper assistance, should not bring the ship back, too, and (their master being quite

"Upon this the crew gave three cheers, and set to work forthwith to get the schooner to sea again. I was the

only one of them who drew back from the enterprise. I told them the storm had upset meI was ill, and

wanted rest. They all looked me in the face as I passed through them on my way out of the yacht, but not a

"I waited through that day at a tavern on the port for the first news from the wreck. It was brought toward

nightfall by one of the pilotboats which had taken part in the enterprisea successful enterprise, as the

event provedfor saving the abandoned ship. La Grace de Dieu had been discovered still floating, and the

body of Ingleby had been found on board, drowned in the cabin. At dawn the next morning the dead man was

brought back by the yacht; and on the same day the funeral took place in the Protestant cemetery."

"Stop!" said the voice from the bed, before the reader could turn to a new leaf and begin the next paragraph.

There was a change in the room, and there were changes in the audience, since Mr. Neal had last looked up

from the narrative. A ray of sunshine was crossing the deathbed; and the child, overcome by drowsiness, lay

peacefully asleep in the golden light. The father's countenance had altered visibly. Forced into action by the

tortured mind, the muscles of the lower face, which had never moved yet, were moving distortedly now.

Warned by the damps gathering heavily on his forehead, the doctor had risen to revive the sinking man. On

the other side of the bed the wife's chair stood empty. At the moment when her husband had interrupted the

reading, she had drawn back behind the bed head, out of his sight. Supporting herself against the wall, she

stood there in hiding, her eyes fastened in hungering suspense on the manuscript in Mr. Neal's hand.

"Where is she?" he asked, looking angrily at his wife's empty chair. The doctor pointed to the place. She had

Mr. Neal tried hard to control his hand as it kept his place between the leaves of the manuscripts but it

trembled in spite of him. A suspicion which had been slowly forcing itself on his mind, while he was reading,

became a certainty when he heard those words. From one revelation to another the letter had gone on, until it

had now reached the brink of a last disclosure to come. At that brink the dying man had predetermined to

silence the reader's voice, before he had permitted his wife to hear the narrative read. There was the secret

which the son was to know in after years, and which the mother was never to approach. From that resolution,

his wife's tenderest pleadings had never moved him an inchand now, from his own lips, his wife knew it.

She made him no answer. She stood there and looked at him; looked her last entreatyperhaps her last

farewell. His eyes gave her back no answering glance: they wandered from her mercilessly to the sleeping

boy. She turned speechless from the bed. Without a look at the childwithout a word to the two strangers

breathlessly watching hershe kept the promise she had given, and in dead silence left the room.

There was something in the manner of her departure which shook the selfpossession of both the men who

witnessed it. When the door closed on her, they recoiled instinctively from advancing further in the dark. The

doctor's reluctance was the first to express itself. He attempted to obtain the patient's permission to withdraw

"The doctor is accustomed in his profession," he began, "and I am accustomed in mine, to have the secrets of

others placed in our keeping. But it is my duty, before we go further, to ask if you really understand the

extraordinary position which we now occupy toward one another. You have just excluded Mrs. Armadale,

before our own eyes, from a place in your confidence. And you are now offering that same place to two men

Few as the words were, the inference to be drawn from them was not of a nature to set distrust at rest. Mr.

"You are in urgent need of my help and of the doctor's help," he said. "Am I to understand (so long as you

secure our assistance) that the impression which the closing passages of this letter may produce on us is a

"You force me to a conclusion, sir, which is a very serious one," said Mr. Neal. "If I am to finish this letter

under your dictation, I must claim permissionhaving read aloud the greater part of it alreadyto read

Gravely doubting, the doctor resumed his chair. Gravely doubting, Mr. Neal turned the leaf, and read the next

"There is more to tell before I can leave the dead man to his rest. I have described the finding of his body. But

"He was known to have been on deck when the yacht's boats were seen approaching the wreck; and he was

afterward missed in the confusion caused by the panic of the crew. At that time the water was five feet deep

in the cabin, and was rising fast. There was little doubt of his having gone down into that water of his own

accord. The discovery of his wife's jewel box, close under him, on the floor, explained his presence in the

cabin. He was known to have seen help approaching, and it was quite likely that he had thereupon gone

below to make an effort at saving the box. It was less probablethough it might still have been

inferredthat his death was the result of some accident in diving, which had for the moment deprived him of

his senses. But a discovery made by the yacht's crew pointed straight to a conclusion which struck the men,

one and all, with the same horror. When the course of their search brought them to the cabin, they found the

scuttle bolted, and the door locked on the outside. Had some one closed the cabin, not knowing he was there?

Setting the panicstricken condition of the crew out of the question, there was no motive for closing the cabin

before leaving the wreck. But one other conclusion remained. Had some murderous hand purposely locked

"Yes. A murderous hand had locked him in, and left him to drown. That hand was mine. "

The Scotchman started up from the table; the doctor shrank from the bedside. The two looked at the dying

wretch, mastered by the same loathing, chilled by the same dread. He lay there, with his child's head on his

breast; abandoned by the sympathies of man, accursed by the justice of Godhe lay there, in the isolation of

At the moment when the two men rose to their feet, the door leading into the next room was shaken heavily

on the outer side, and a sound like the sound of a fall, striking dull on their ears, silenced them both. Standing

nearest to the door, the doctor opened it, passed through, and closed it instantly. Mr. Neal turned his back on

the bed, and waited the event in silence. The sound, which had failed to awaken the child, had failed also to

attract the father's notice. His own words had taken him far from all that was passing at his deathbed. His

helpless body was back on the wreck, and the ghost of his lifeless hand was turning the lock of the cabin

A bell rang in the next roomeager voices talked; hurried footsteps moved in itan interval passed, and the

doctor returned. "Was she listening?" whispered Mr. Neal, in German. "The women are restoring her," the

doctor whispered back. "She has heard it all. In God's name, what are we to do next?" Before it was possible

to reply, Mr. Armadale spoke. The doctor's return had roused him to a sense of present things.

"I refuse to meddle further with your infamous secret," returned Mr. Neal. "You are a murderer on your own

confession. If that letter is to be finished, don't ask me to hold the pen for you."

"You gave me your promise," was the reply, spoken with the same immovable selfpossession. "You must

For the moment, Mr. Neal was silenced. There the man laysheltered from the execration of his

fellowcreatures, under the shadow of Deathbeyond the reach of all human condemnation, beyond the

dread of all mortal laws; sensitive to nothing but his one last resolution to finish the letter addressed to his

Mr. Neal drew the doctor aside. "A word with you," he said, in German. "Do you persist in asserting that he

His lips answered for him: the reading of the narrative had left its mark on them already. A distortion at the

corners of his mouth, which had been barely noticeable when Mr. Neal entered the room, was plainly visible

now. His slow articulation labored more and more painfully with every word he uttered. The position was

emphatically a terrible one. After a moment more of hesitation, Mr. Neal made a last attempt to withdraw

"Now my eyes are open," he said, sternly, "do you dare hold me to an engagement which you forced on me

The look which accompanied that reply stung the Scotchman's pride to the quick. When he spoke next, he

"No man ever yet said of me that I broke my word," he retorted, angrily; "and not even you shall say it of me

now. Mind this! If you hold me to my promise, I hold you to my condition. I have reserved my freedom of

action, and I warn you I will use it at my own sole discretion, as soon as I am released from the sight of you."

"Take your place, sir," said Mr. Neal, pointing to the empty chair. "What remains to be read, I will only read

in your hearing. What remains to be written, I will only write in your presence. You brought me here. I have a

The doctor accepted his position without remonstrance. Mr. Neal returned to the manuscript, and read what

"Without a word in my own defense, I have acknowledged my guilt. Without a word in my own defense, I

"No thought of him was in my mind, when I saw his wife insensible on the deck of the timbership. I did my

part in lowering her safely into the boat. Then, and not till then, I felt the thought of him coming back. In the

confusion that prevailed while the men of the yacht were forcing the men of the ship to wait their time, I had

an opportunity of searching for him unobserved. I stepped back from the bulwark, not knowing whether he

was away in the first boat, or whether he was still on boardI stepped back, and saw him mount the cabin

stairs emptyhanded, with the water dripping from him. After looking eagerly toward the boat (without

noticing me), he saw there was time to spare before the crew were taken. 'Once more!' he said to

himselfand disappeared again, to make a last effort at recovering the jewel box. The devil at my elbow

whispered, 'Don't shoot him like a man: drown him like a dog!' He was under water when I bolted the scuttle.

But his head rose to the surface before I could close the cabin door. I looked at him, and he looked at

meand I locked the door in his face. The next minute, I was back among the last men left on deck. The

minute after, it was too late to repent. The storm was threatening us with destruction, and the boat's crew

"My son! I have pursued you from my grave with a confession which my love might have spared you. Read

"I will say nothing of my sufferings; I will plead for no mercy to my memory. There is a strange sinking at

my heart, a strange trembling in my hand, while I write these lines, which warns me to hasten to the end. I

left the island without daring to look for the last time at the woman whom I had lost so miserably, whom I

had injured so vilely. When I left, the whole weight of the suspicion roused by the manner of Ingleby's death

rested on the crew of the French vessel. No motive for the supposed murder could be brought home to any of

them; but they were known to be, for the most part, outlawed ruffians capable of any crime, and they were

suspected and examined accordingly. It was not till afterward that I heard by accident of the suspicion

shifting round at last to me. The widow alone recognized the vague description given of the strange man who

had made one of the yacht's crew, and who had disappeared the day afterward. The widow alone knew, from

that time forth, why her husband had been murdered, and who had done the deed. When she made that

discovery, a false report of my death had been previously circulated in the island. Perhaps I was indebted to

the report for my immunity from all legal proceedings; perhaps (no eye but Ingleby's having seen me lock the

cabin door) there was not evidence enough to justify an inquiry; perhaps the widow shrank from the

disclosures which must have followed a public charge against me, based on her own bare suspicion of the

truth. However it might be, the crime which I had committed unseen has remained a crime unpunished from

"I left Madeira for the West Indies in disguise. The first news that met me when the ship touched at

Barbadoes was the news of my mother's death. I had no heart to return to the old scenes. The prospect of

living at home in solitude, with the torment of my own guilty remembrances gnawing at me day and night,

was more than I had the courage to confront. Without landing, or discovering myself to any one on shore, I

"At that place I first saw your mother. It was my duty to tell her the truthand I treacherously kept my

secret. It was my duty to spare her the hopeless sacrifice of her freedom and her happiness to such an

existence as mineand I did her the injury of marrying her. If she is alive when you read this, grant her the

mercy of still concealing the truth. The one atonement I can make to her is to keep her unsuspicious to the

last of the man she has married. Pity her, as I have pitied her. Let this letter be a sacred confidence between

"The time when you were born was the time when my health began to give way. Some months afterward, in

the first days of my recovery, you were brought to me; and I was told that you had been christened during my

illness. Your mother had done as other loving mothers doshe had christened her firstborn by his father's

name. You, too, were Allan Armadale. Even in that early timeeven while I was happily ignorant of what I

have discovered sincemy mind misgave me when I looked at you, and thought of that fatal name.

"As soon as I could be moved, my presence was required at my estates in Barbadoes. It crossed my

mindwild as the idea may appear to youto renounce the condition which compelled my son as well as

myself to take the Armadale name, or lose the succession to the Armadale property. But, even in those days,

the rumor of a contemplated emancipation of the slavesthe emancipation which is now close at handwas

spreading widely in the colony. No man could tell how the value of West Indian property might be affected if

that threatened change ever took place. No man could tellif I gave you back my own paternal name, and

left you without other provision in the future than my own paternal estatehow you might one day miss the

broad Armadale acres, or to what future penury I might be blindly condemning your mother and yourself.

Mark how the fatalities gathered one on the other! Mark how your Christian name came to you, how your

"My health had improved in my old homebut it was for a time only. I sank again, and the doctors ordered

me to Europe. Avoiding England (why, you may guess), I took my passage, with you and your mother, for

France. From France we passed into Italy. We lived here; we lived there. It was useless. Death had got met

and Death followed me, go where I might. I bore it, for I had an alleviation to turn to which I had not

deserved. You may shrink in horror from the very memory of me now. In those days, you comforted me. The

only warmth I still felt at my heart was the warmth you brought to it. My last glimpses of happiness in this

"We removed from Italy, and went next to Lausannethe place from which I am now writing to you. The

post of this morning has brought me news, later and fuller than any I had received thus far, of the widow of

the murdered man. The letter lies before me while I write. It comes from a friend of my early days, who has

seen her, and spoken to herwho has been the first to inform her that the report of my death in Madeira was

false. He writes, at a loss to account for the violent agitation which she showed on hearing that I was still

alive, that I was married, and that I had an infant son. He asks me if I can explain it. He speaks in terms of

sympathy for hera young and beautiful woman, buried in the retirement of a fishingvillage on the

Devonshire coast; her father dead; her family estranged from her, in merciless disapproval of her marriage.

He writes words which might have cut me to the heart, but for a closing passage in his letter, which seized my

whole attention the instant I came to it, and which has forced from me the narrative that these pages contain.

"I now know what never even entered my mind as a suspicion till the letter reached me. I now know that the

widow of the man whose death lies at my door has borne a posthumous child. That child is a boya year

older than my own son. Secure in her belief in my death, his mother has done what my son's mother did: she

has christened her child by his father's name. Again, in the second generation, there are two Allan Armadales

as there were in the first. After working its deadly mischief with the fathers, the fatal resemblance of names

"Guiltless minds may see nothing thus far but the result of a series of events which could lead no other way.

Iwith that man's life to answer forI, going down into my grave, with my crime unpunished and

unatoned, see what no guiltless minds can discern. I see danger in the future, begotten of the danger in the

pasttreachery that is the offspring of his treachery, and crime that is the child of my crime. Is the dread that

now shakes me to the soul a phantom raised by the superstition of a dying man? I look into the Book which

all Christendom venerates, and the Book tells me that the sin of the father shall be visited on the child. I look

out into the world, and I see the living witnesses round me to that terrible truth. I see the vices which have

contaminated the father descending, and contaminating the child; I see the shame which has disgraced the

father's name descending, and disgracing the child's. I look in on myself, and I see my crime ripening again

for the future in the selfsame circumstance which first sowed the seeds of it in the past, and descending, in

At those lines the writing ended. There the stroke had struck him, and the pen had dropped from his hand.

He knew the place; he remembered the words. At the instant when the reader's voice stopped, he looked

eagerly at the doctor. "I have got what comes next in my mind," he said, with slower and slower articulation.

The doctor administered a stimulant, and signed to Mr. Neal to give him time. After a little delay, the flame

of the sinking spirit leaped up in his eyes once more. Resolutely struggling with his failing speech, he

summoned the Scotchman to take the pen, and pronounced the closing sentences of the narrative, as his

"Despise my dying conviction if you will, but grant me, I solemnly implore you, one last request. My son! the

only hope I have left for you hangs on a great doubtthe doubt whether we are, or are not, the masters of our

own destinies. It may be that mortal freewill can conquer mortal fate; and that going, as we all do, inevitably

to death, we go inevitably to nothing that is before death. If this be so, indeed, respectthough you respect

nothing elsethe warning which I give you from my grave. Never, to your dying day, let any living soul

approach you who is associated, directly or indirectly, with the crime which your father has committed.

Avoid the widow of the man I killedif the widow still lives. Avoid the maid whose wicked hand smoothed

the way to the marriageif the maid is still in her service. And more than all, avoid the man who bears the

same name as your own. Offend your best benefactor, if that benefactor's influence has connected you one

with the other. Desert the woman who loves you, if that woman is a link between you and him. Hide yourself

from him under an assumed name. Put the mountains and the seas between you; be ungrateful, be

unforgiving; be all that is most repellent to your own gentler nature, rather than live under the same roof, and

breathe the same air, with that man. Never let the two Allan Armadales meet in this world: never, never,

"There lies the way by which you may escapeif any way there be. Take it, if you prize your own innocence

"I have done. If I could have trusted any weaker influence than the influence of this confession to incline you

to my will, I would have spared you the disclosure which these pages contain. You are lying on my breast,

sleeping the innocent sleep of a child, while a stranger's hand writes these words for you as they fall from my

lips. Think what the strength of my conviction must be, when I can find the courage, on my deathbed, to

darken all your young life at its outset with the shadow of your father's crime. Think, and be warned. Think,

Inexorably faithful to his forced duty, Mr. Neal laid aside the pen, and read over aloud the lines he had just

written. "Is there more to add?" he asked, with his pitilessly steady voice. There was no more to add.

Mr. Neal folded the manuscript, inclosed it in a sheet of paper, and sealed it with Mr. Armadale's own seal.

"The address?" he said, with his merciless business formality. "To Allan Armadale, junior," he wrote, as the

words were dictated from the bed. "Care of Godfrey Hammick, Esq., Offices of Messrs. Hammick and Ridge,

Lincoln's Inn Fields, London." Having written the address, he waited, and considered for a moment. "Is your

"In that case," pursued Mr. Neal, with all his wits in remorseless working order, "I will add a dated note to

the address, repeating your own words as you have just spoken them, and explaining the circumstances under

which my handwriting appears on the document." He wrote the note in the briefest and plainest terms, read it

over aloud as he had read over what went before, signed his name and address at the end, and made the

doctor sign next, as witness of the proceedings, and as medical evidence of the condition in which Mr.

Armadale then lay. This done, he placed the letter in a second inclosure, sealed it as before, and directed it to

Mr. Hammick, with the superscription of "private" added to the address. "Do you insist on my posting this?"

"Give him time to think," said the doctor. "For the child's sake, give him time to think! A minute may change

"I will give him five minutes," answered Mr. Neal, placing his watch on the table, implacable just to the very

They waited, both looking attentively at Mr. Armadale. The signs of change which had appeared in him

already were multiplying fast. The movement which continued mental agitation had communicated to the

muscles of his face was beginning, under the same dangerous influence, to spread downward. His once

helpless hands lay still no longer; they struggled pitiably on the bedclothes. At sight of that warning token,

the doctor turned with a gesture of alarm, and beckoned Mr. Neal to come nearer. "Put the question at once,"

Mr. Neal approached the bed. He, too, noticed the movement of the hands. "Is that a bad sign?" he asked.

The doctor bent his head gravely. "Put your question at once," he repeated, "or you may be too late."

Mr. Neal held the letter before the eyes of the dying man "Do you know what this is?"

Mr. Neal moved to the door, with the letter in his hand. The German followed him a few steps, opened his

lips to plead for a longer delay, met the Scotchman's inexorable eye, and drew back again in silence. The door

The doctor went back to the bed and whispered to the sinking man: "Let me call him back; there is time to

stop him yet!" It was useless. No answer came; nothing showed that he heeded, or even heard. His eyes

wandered from the child, rested for a moment on his own struggling hand, and looked up entreatingly in the

compassionate face that bent over him. The doctor lifted the hand, paused, followed the father's longing eyes

back to the child, and, interpreting his last wish, moved the hand gently toward the boy's head. The hand

touched it, and trembled violently. In another instant the trembling seized on the arm, and spread over the

whole upper part of the body. The face turned from pale to red, from red to purple, from purple to pale again.

The window of the next room was open, when the doctor entered it from the death chamber, with the child in

his arms. He looked out as he passed by, and saw Mr. Neal in the street below, slowly returning to the inn.

ON a warm May night, in the year eighteen hundred and fiftyone, the Reverend Decimus Brockat that

time a visitor to the Isle of Manretired to his bedroom at Castletown, with a serious personal responsibility

in close pursuit of him, and with no distinct idea of the means by which he might relieve himself from the

The clergyman had reached that mature period of human life at which a sensible man learns to decline (as

often as his temper will let him) all useless conflict with the tyranny of his own troubles. Abandoning any

further effort to reach a decision in the emergency that now beset him, Mr. Brock sat down placidly in his

shirt sleeves on the side of his bed, and applied his mind to consider next whether the emergency itself was as

serious as he had hitherto been inclined to think it. Following this new way out of his perplexities, Mr. Brock

found himself unexpectedly traveling to the end in view by the least inspiriting of all human journeysa

One by one the events of those yearsall connected with the same little group of characters, and all more or

less answerable for the anxiety which was now intruding itself between the clergyman and his night's

restrose, in progressive series, on Mr. Brock's memory. The first of the series took him back, through a

period of fourteen years, to his own rectory on the Somersetshire shores of the Bristol Channel, and closeted

him at a private interview with a lady who had paid him a visit in the character of a total stranger to the

The lady's complexion was fair, the lady's figure was well preserved; she was still a young woman, and she

looked even younger than her age. There was a shade of melancholy in her expression, and an undertone of

suffering in her voiceenough, in each case, to indicate that she had known trouble, but not enough to

obtrude that trouble on the notice of others. She brought with her a fine, fairhaired boy of eight years old,

whom she presented as her son, and who was sent out of the way, at the beginning of the interview, to amuse

himself in the rectory garden. Her card had preceded her entrance into the study, and had announced her

under the name of "Mrs. Armadale." Mr. Brock began to feel interested in her before she had opened her lips;

and when the son had been dismissed, he awaited with some anxiety to hear what the mother had to say to

Mrs. Armadale began by informing the rector that she was a widow. Her husband had perished by shipwreck

a short time after their union, on the voyage from Madeira to Lisbon. She had been brought to England, after

her affliction, under her father's protection; and her childa posthumous sonhad been born on the family

estate in Norfolk. Her father's death, shortly afterward, had deprived her of her only surviving parent, and had

exposed her to neglect and misconstruction on the part of her remaining relatives (two brothers), which had

estranged her from them, she feared, for the rest of her days. For some time past she had lived in the

neighboring county of Devonshire, devoting herself to the education of her boy, who had now reached an age

at which he required other than his mother's teaching. Leaving out of the question her own unwillingness to

part with him, in her solitary position, she was especially anxious that he should not be thrown among

strangers by being sent to school. Her darling project was to bring him up privately at home, and to keep him,

as he advanced in years, from all contact with the temptations and the dangers of the world.

With these objects in view, her longer sojourn in her own locality (where the services of the resident

clergyman, in the capacity of tutor, were not obtainable) must come to an end. She had made inquiries, had

heard of a house that would suit her in Mr. Brock's neighborhood, and had also been told that Mr. Brock

himself had formerly been in the habit of taking pupils. Possessed of this information, she had ventured to

present herself, with references that vouched for her respectability, but without a formal introduction; and she

had now to ask whether (in the event of her residing in the neighborhood) any terms that could be offered

would induce Mr. Brock to open his doors once more to a pupil, and to allow that pupil to be her son.

If Mrs. Armadale had been a woman of no personal attractions, or if Mr. Brock had been provided with an

intrenchment to fight behind in the shape of a wife, it is probable that the widow's journey might have been

taken in vain. As things really were, the rector examined the references which were offered to him, and asked

time for consideration. When the time had expired, he did what Mrs. Armadale wished him to dohe offered

his back to the burden, and let the mother load him with the responsibility of the son.

This was the first event of the series; the date of it being the year eighteen hundred and thirtyseven. Mr.

Brock's memory, traveling forward toward the present from that point, picked up the second event in its turn,

The fishingvillage on the Somersetshire coast was still the scene, and the characters were once againMrs.

Through the eight years that had passed, Mr. Brock's responsibility had rested on him lightly enough. The

boy had given his mother and his tutor but little trouble. He was certainly slow over his books, but more from

a constitutional inability to fix his attention on his tasks than from want of capacity to understand them. His

temperament, it could not be denied, was heedless to the last degree: he acted recklessly on his first impulses,

and rushed blindfold at all his conclusions. On the other hand, it was to be said in his favor that his

disposition was open as the day; a more generous, affectionate, sweettempered lad it would have been hard

to find anywhere. A certain quaint originality of character, and a natural healthiness in all his tastes, carried

him free of most of the dangers to which his mother's system of education inevitably exposed him. He had a

thoroughly English love of the sea and of all that belongs to it; and as he grew in years, there was no luring

him away from the waterside, and no keeping him out of the boatbuilder's yard. In course of time his

mother caught him actually working there, to her infinite annoyance and surprise, as a volunteer. He

acknowledged that his whole future ambition was to have a yard of his own, and that his one present object

was to learn to build a boat for himself. Wisely foreseeing that such a pursuit as this for his leisure hours was

exactly what was wanted to reconcile the lad to a position of isolation from companions of his own rank and

age, Mr. Brock prevailed on Mrs. Armadale, with no small difficulty, to let her son have his way. At the

period of that second event in the clergyman's life with his pupil which is now to be related, young Armadale

had practiced long enough in the builder's yard to have reached the summit of his wishes, by laying with his

Late on a certain summer day, not long after Allan had completed his sixteenth year, Mr. Brock left his pupil

hard at work in the yard, and went to spend the evening with Mrs. Armadale, taking the Times newspaper

The years that had passed since they had first met had long since regulated the lives of the clergyman and his

neighbor. The first advances which Mr. Brock's growing admiration for the widow had led him to make in the

early days of their intercourse had been met on her side by an appeal to his forbearance which had closed his

lips for the future. She had satisfied him, at once and forever, that the one place in her heart which he could

hope to occupy was the place of a friend. He loved her well enough to take what she would give him: friends

they became, and friends they remained from that time forth. No jealous dread of another man's succeeding

where he had failed imbittered the clergyman's placid relations with the woman whom he loved. Of the few

resident gentlemen in the neighborhood, none were ever admitted by Mrs. Armadale to more than the merest

acquaintance with her. Contentedly selfburied in her country retreat, she was proof against every social

attraction that would have tempted other women in her position and at her age. Mr. Brock and his newspaper,

appearing with monotonous regularity at her teatable three times a week, told her all she knew or cared to

know of the great outer world which circled round the narrow and changeless limits of her daily life.

On the evening in question Mr. Brock took the armchair in which he always sat, accepted the one cup of tea

which he always drank, and opened the newspaper which he always read aloud to Mrs. Armadale, who

invariably listened to him reclining on the same sofa, with the same sort of needlework everlastingly in her

"Bless my soul!" cried the rector, with his voice in a new octave, and his eyes fixed in astonishment on the

No such introduction to the evening readings as this had ever happened before in all Mrs. Armadale's

experience as a listener. She looked up from the sofa in a flutter of curiosity, and besought her reverend

"I can hardly believe my own eyes," said Mr. Brock. "Here is an advertisement, Mrs. Armadale, addressed to

IF this should meet the eye of ALLAN ARMADALE, he is desired to communicate, either personally or by

letter, with Messrs. Hammick and Ridge (Lincoln's Inn Fields, London), on business of importance which

seriously concerns him. Any one capable of informing Messrs. E. and R. where the person herein advertised

can be found would confer a favor by doing the same. To prevent mistakes, it is further notified that the

missing Allan Armadale is a youth aged fifteen years, and that this advertisement is inserted at the instance of

"Another family, and other friends," said Mrs. Armadale. "The person whose name appears in that

The tone in which she spoke surprised Mr. Brock. The change in her face, when he looked up, shocked him.

Her delicate complexion had faded away to a dull white; her eyes were averted from her visitor with a strange

mixture of confusion and alarm; she looked an older woman than she was, by ten good years at least.

"The name is so very uncommon," said Mr. Brock, imagining he had offended her, and trying to excuse

"There are two," interposed Mrs. Armadale. "Allan, as you know, is sixteen years old. If you look back at the

advertisement, you will find the missing person described as being only fifteen. Although he bears the same

surname and the same Christian name, he is, I thank God, in no way whatever related to my son. As long as I

live, it will be the object of my hopes and prayers that Allan may never see him, may never even hear of him.

My kind friend, I see I surprise you: will you bear with me if I leave these strange circumstances

unexplained? There is past misfortune and misery in my early life too painful for me to speak of, even to you.

Will you help me to bear the remembrance of it, by never referring to this again? Will you do even

morewill you promise not to speak of it to Allan, and not to let that newspaper fall in his way?"

Mr. Brock gave the pledge required of him, and considerately left her to herself.

The rector had been too long and too truly attached to Mrs. Armadale to be capable of regarding her with any

unworthy distrust. But it would be idle to deny that he felt disappointed by her want of confidence in him,

and that he looked inquisitively at the advertisement more than once on his way back to his own house.

It was clear enough, now, that Mrs. Armadale's motives for burying her son as well as herself in the seclusion

of a remote country village was not so much to keep him under her own eye as to keep him from discovery

by his namesake. Why did she dread the idea of their ever meeting? Was it a dread for herself, or a dread for

her son? Mr. Brock's loyal belief in his friend rejected any solution of the difficulty which pointed at some

past misconduct of Mrs. Armadale's. That night he destroyed the advertisement with his own hand; that night

he resolved that the subject should never be suffered to enter his mind again. There was another Allan

Armadale about the world, a stranger to his pupil's blood, and a vagabond advertised in the public

newspapers. So much accident had revealed to him. More, for Mrs. Armadale's sake, he had no wish to

This was the second in the series of events which dated from the rector's connection with Mrs. Armadale and

her son. Mr. Brock's memory, traveling on nearer and nearer to present circumstances, reached the third stage

of its journey through the bygone time, and stopped at the year eighteen hundred and fifty, next.

The five years that had passed had made little if any change in Allan's character. He had simply developed (to

use his tutor's own expression) from a boy of sixteen to a boy of twentyone. He was just as easy and open in

his disposition as ever; just as quaintly and inveterately goodhumored; just as heedless in following his own

impulses, lead him where they might. His bias toward the sea had strengthened with his advance to the years

of manhood. From building a boat, he had now got onwith two journeymen at work under himto

building a decked vessel of fiveandthirty tons. Mr. Brock had conscientiously tried to divert him to higher

aspirations; had taken him to Oxford, to see what college life was like; had taken him to London, to expand

his mind by the spectacle of the great metropolis. The change had diverted Allan, but had not altered him in

the least. He was as impenetrably superior to all worldly ambition as Diogenes himself. "Which is best,"

asked this unconscious philosopher, "to find out the way to be happy for yourself, or to let other people try if

they can find it out for you?" From that moment Mr. Brock permitted his pupil's character to grow at its own

rate of development, and Allan went on uninterruptedly with the work of his yacht.

Time, which had wrought so little change in the son, had not passed harmless over the mother.

Mrs. Armadale's health was breaking fast. As her strength failed, her temper altered for the worse: she grew

more and more fretful, more and more subject to morbid fears and fancies, more and more reluctant to leave

her own room. Since the appearance of the advertisement five years since, nothing had happened to force her

memory back to the painful associations connected with her early life. No word more on the forbidden topic

had passed between the rector and herself; no suspicion had ever been raised in Allan's mind of the existence

of his namesake; and yet, without the shadow of a reason for any special anxiety, Mrs. Armadale had

become, of late years, obstinately and fretfully uneasy on the subject of her son. More than once Mr. Brock

dreaded a serious disagreement between them; but Allan's natural sweetness of temper, fortified by his love

for his mother, carried him triumphantly through all trials. Not a hard word or a harsh look ever escaped him

in her presence; he was unchangeably loving and forbearing with her to the very last.

Such were the positions of the son, the mother, and the friend, when the next notable event happened in the

lives of the three. On a dreary afternoon, early in the month of November, Mr. Brock was disturbed over the

After making his introductory apologies, the landlord stated the urgent business on which he had come to the

A few hours since a young man had been brought to the inn by some farm laborers in the neighborhood, who

had found him wandering about one of their master's fields in a disordered state of mind, which looked to

their eyes like downright madness. The landlord had given the poor creature shelter while he sent for medical

help; and the doctor, on seeing him, had pronounced that he was suffering from fever on the brain, and that

his removal to the nearest town at which a hospital or a workhouse infirmary could be found to receive him

would in all probability be fatal to his chances of recovery. After hearing this expression of opinion, and after

observing for himself that the stranger's only luggage consisted of a small carpetbag which had been found

in the field near him, the landlord had set off on the spot to consult the rector, and to ask, in this serious

Mr. Brock was the magistrate as well as the clergyman of the district, and the course to be taken, in the first

instance, was to his mind clear enough. He put on his hat, and accompanied the landlord back to the inn.

At the inn door they were joined by Allan, who had heard the news through another channel, and who was

waiting Mr. Brock's arrival, to follow in the magistrate's train, and to see what the stranger was like. The

village surgeon joined them at the same moment, and the four went into the inn together.

They found the landlord's son on one side, and the hostler on the other, holding the man down in his chair.

Young, slim, and undersized, he was strong enough at that moment to make it a matter of difficulty for the

two to master him. His tawny complexion, his large, bright brown eyes, and his black beard gave him

something of a foreign look. His dress was a little worn, but his linen was clean. His dusky hands were wiry

and nervous, and were lividly discolored in more places than one by the scars of old wounds. The toes of one

of his feet, off which he had kicked the shoe, grasped at the chair rail through his stocking, with the sensitive

muscular action which is only seen in those who have been accustomed to go barefoot. In the frenzy that now

possessed him, it was impossible to notice, to any useful purpose, more than this. After a whispered

consultation with Mr. Brock, the surgeon personally superintended the patient's removal to a quiet bedroom

at the back of the house. Shortly afterward his clothes and his carpetbag were sent downstairs, and were

searched, on the chance of finding a clew by which to communicate with his friends, in the magistrate's

The carpet bag contained nothing but a change of clothing, and two booksthe Plays of Sophocles, in the

original Greek, and the "Faust" of Goethe, in the original German. Both volumes were much worn by

reading, and on the flyleaf of each were inscribed the initials O. M. So much the bag revealed, and no more.

The clothes which the man wore when he was discovered in the field were tried next. A purse (containing a

sovereign and a few shillings), a pipe, a tobacco pouch, a handkerchief, and a little drinkingcup of horn

were produced in succession. The next object, and the last, was found crumpled up carelessly in the

breastpocket of the coat. It was a written testimonial to character, dated and signed, but without any address.

So far as this document could tell it, the stranger's story was a sad one indeed. He had apparently been

employed for a short time as usher at a school, and had been turned adrift in the world, at the outset of his

illness, from the fear that the fever might be infectious, and that the prosperity of the establishment might

suffer accordingly. Not the slightest imputation of any misbehavior in his employment rested on him. On the

contrary, the schoolmaster had great pleasure in testifying to his capacity and his character, and in expressing

a fervent hope that he might (under Providence) succeed in recovering his health in somebody else's house.

The written testimonial which afforded this glimpse at the man's story served one purpose more: it connected

him with the initials on the books, and identified him to the magistrate and the landlord under the strangely

Mr. Brock laid aside the testimonial, suspecting that the schoolmaster had purposely abstained from writing

his address on it, with the view of escaping all responsibility in the event of his usher's death. In any case, it

was manifestly useless, under existing circumstances, to think of tracing the poor wretch's friends, if friends

he had. To the inn he had been brought, and, as a matter of common humanity, at the inn he must remain for

the present. The difficulty about expenses, if it came to the worst, might possibly be met by charitable

contributions from the neighbors, or by a collection after a sermon at church. Assuring the landlord that he

would consider this part of the question and would let him know the result, Mr. Brock quitted the inn, without

Before he had got fifty yards from the house his pupil overtook him. Allan had been most uncharacteristically

silent and serious all through the search at the inn; but he had now recovered his usual high spirits. A stranger

"This is a sad business," said the rector. "I really don't know what to do for the best about that unfortunate

"You may make your mind quite easy, sir," said young Armadale, in his offhand way. "I settled it all with

"I have merely given a few simple directions," pursued Allan. "Our friend the usher is to have everything he

requires, and is to be treated like a prince; and when the doctor and the landlord want their money they are to

"My dear Allan," Mr. Brock gently remonstrated, "when will you learn to think before you act on those

generous impulses of yours? You are spending more money already on your yachtbuilding than you can

"Only think! we laid the first planks of the deck the day before yesterday," said Allan, flying off to the new

subject in his usual birdwitted way. "There's just enough of it done to walk on, if you don't feel giddy. I'll

"Listen to me," persisted the rector. "I'm not talking about the yacht now; that is to say, I am only referring to

"And a very pretty illustration, too," remarked the incorrigible Allan. "Find me a smarter little vessel of her

size in all England, and I'll give up yachtbuilding tomorrow. Whereabouts were we in our conversation,

"I am rather afraid one of us is in the habit of losing himself every time he opens his lips," retorted Mr.

Brock. "Come, come, Allan, this is serious. You have been rendering yourself liable for expenses which you

may not be able to pay. Mind, I am far from blaming you for your kind feeling toward this poor friendless

"Don't be lowspirited about him, sir. He'll get over ithe'll be all right again in a week or so. A capital

fellow, I have not the least doubt!" continued Allan, whose habit it was to believe in everybody and to despair

of nothing. "Suppose you ask him to dinner when he gets well, Mr. Brock? I should like to find out (when we

are all three snug and friendly together over our wine, you know) how he came by that extraordinary name of

"Will you answer me one question before I go in?" said the rector, stopping in despair at his own gate. "This

man's bill for lodging and medical attendance may mount to twenty or thirty pounds before he gets well

"What's that the Chancellor of the Exchequer says when he finds himself in a mess with his accounts, and

doesn't see his way out again?" asked Allan. "He always tells his honorable friend he is quite willing to leave

"That's it," said Allan. "I'm like the Chancellor of the Exchequer. I'm quite willing to leave a margin. The

yacht (bless her heart!) doesn't eat up everything. If I'm short by a pound or two, don't be afraid, sir. There's

no pride about me; I'll go round with the hat, and get the balance in the neighborhood. Deuce take the pounds,

shillings, and pence! I wish they could all three get rid of themselves, like the Bedouin brothers at the show.

Don't you remember the Bedouin brothers, Mr. Brock? 'Ali will take a lighted torch, and jump down the

throat of his brother Muli; Muli will take a lighted torch, and jump down the throat of his brother Hassan; and

Hassan, taking a third lighted torch, will conclude the performances by jumping down his own throat, and

leaving the spectators in total darkness.' Wonderfully good, thatwhat I call real wit, with a fine strong

flavor about it. Wait a minute! Where are we? We have lost ourselves again. Oh, I remembermoney. What

I can't beat into my thick head," concluded Allan, quite unconscious that he was preaching socialist doctrines

to a clergyman; "is the meaning of the fuss that's made about giving money away. Why can't the people who

have got money to spare give it to the people who haven't got money to spare, and make things pleasant and

comfortable all the world over in that way? You're always telling me to cultivate ideas, Mr. Brock There's an

Mr. Brock gave his pupil a goodhumored poke with the end of his stick. "Go back to your yacht," he said.

"All the little discretion you have got in that flighty head of yours is left on board in your toolchest. How

that lad will end," pursued the rector, when he was left by himself, "is more than any human being can say. I

Three weeks passed before the stranger with the uncouth name was pronounced to be at last on the way to

During this period Allan had made regular inquiries at the inn, and, as soon as the sick man was allowed to

see visitors, Allan was the first who appeared at his bedside. So far Mr. Brock's pupil had shown no more

than a natural interest in one of the few romantic circumstances which had varied the monotony of the village

life: he had committed no imprudence, and he had exposed himself to no blame. But as the days passed,

young Armadale's visits to the inn began to lengthen considerably, and the surgeon (a cautious elderly man)

gave the rector a private hint to bestir himself. Mr. Brock acted on the hint immediately, and discovered that

Allan had followed his usual impulses in his usual headlong way. He had taken a violent fancy to the

castaway usher and had invited Ozias Midwinter to reside permanently in the neighborhood in the new and

Before Mr. Brock could make up his mind how to act in this emergency, he received a note from Allan's

mother, begging him to use his privilege as an old friend, and to pay her a visit in her room.

He found Mrs. Armadale suffering under violent nervous agitation, caused entirely by a recent interview with

her son. Allan had been sitting with her all the morning, and had talked of nothing but his new friend. The

man with the horrible name (as poor Mrs. Armadale described him) had questioned Allan, in a singularly

inquisitive manner, on the subject of himself and his family, but had kept his own personal history entirely in

the dark. At some former period of his life he had been accustomed to the sea and to sailing. Allan had,

unfortunately, found this out, and a bond of union between them was formed on the spot. With a merciless

distrust of the strangersimply because he was a strangerwhich appeared rather unreasonable to Mr.

Brock, Mrs. Armadale besought the rector to go to the inn without a moment's loss of time, and never to rest

until he had made the man give a proper account of himself. "Find out everything about his father and

mother!" she said, in her vehement female way. "Make sure before you leave him that he is not a vagabond

"My dear lady," remonstrated the rector, obediently taking his hat, "whatever else we may doubt, I really

think we may feel sure about the man's name! It is so remarkably ugly that it must be genuine. No sane

"You may be quite right, and I may be quite wrong; but pray go and see him," persisted Mrs. Armadale. "Go,

and don't spare him, Mr. Brock. How do we know that this illness of his may not have been put on for a

It was useless to reason with her. The whole College of Physicians might have certified to the man's illness,

and, in her present frame of mind, Mrs. Armadale would have disbelieved the College, one and all, from the

president downward. Mr. Brock took the wise way out of the difficultyhe said no more, and he set off for

Ozias Midwinter, recovering from brainfever, was a startling object to contemplate on a first view of him.

His shaven head, tied up in an old yellow silk handkerchief; his tawny, haggard cheeks; his bright brown

eyes, preternaturally large and wild; his rough black beard; his long, supple, sinewy fingers, wasted by

suffering till they looked like clawsall tended to discompose the rector at the outset of the interview. When

the first feeling of surprise had worn off, the impression that followed it was not an agreeable one. Mr. Brock

could not conceal from himself that the stranger's manner was against him. The general opinion has settled

that, if a man is honest, he is bound to assert it by looking straight at his fellowcreatures when he speaks to

them. If this man was honest, his eyes showed a singular perversity in looking away and denying it. Possibly

they were affected in some degree by a nervous restlessness in his organization, which appeared to pervade

every fiber in his lean, lithe body. The rector's healthy AngloSaxon flesh crept responsively at every casual

movement of the usher's supple brown fingers, and every passing distortion of the usher's haggard yellow

face. "God forgive me!" thought Mr. Brock, with his mind running on Allan and Allan's mother, "I wish I

The conversation which ensued between the two was a very guarded one. Mr. Brock felt his way gently, and

found himself, try where he might, always kept politely, more or less, in the dark.

From first to last, the man's real character shrank back with a savage shyness from the rector's touch. He

started by an assertion which it was impossible to look at him and believehe declared that he was only

twenty years of age. All he could be persuaded to say on the subject of the school was that the bare

recollection of it was horrible to him. He had only filled the usher's situation for ten days when the first

appearance of his illness caused his dismissal. How he had reached the field in which he had been found was

more than he could say. He remembered traveling a long distance by railway, with a purpose (if he had a

purpose) which it was now impossible to recall, and then wandering coastward, on foot, all through the day,

or all through the nighthe was not sure which. The sea kept running in his mind when his mind began to

give way. He had been employed on the sea as a lad. He had left it, and had filled a situation at a bookseller's

in a country town. He had left the bookseller's, and had tried the school. Now the school had turned him out,

he must try something else. It mattered little what he triedfailure (for which nobody was ever to blame

but himself) was sure to be the end of it, sooner or later. Friends to assist him, he had none to apply to; and as

for relations, he wished to be excused from speaking of them. For all he knew they might be dead, and for all

they knew he might be dead. That was a melancholy acknowledgment to make at his time of life, there was

no denying it. It might tell against him in the opinions of others; and it did tell against him, no doubt, in the

These strange answers were given in a tone and manner far removed from bitterness on the one side, or from

indifference on the other. Ozias Midwinter at twenty spoke of his life as Ozias Midwinter at seventy might

have spoken with a long weariness of years on him which he had learned to bear patiently.

Two circumstances pleaded strongly against the distrust with which, in sheer perplexity of mind, Mr. Brock

blindly regarded him. He had written to a savingsbank in a distant part of England, had drawn his money,

and had paid the doctor and the landlord. A man of vulgar mind, after acting in this manner, would have

treated his obligations lightly when he had settled his bills. Ozias Midwinter spoke of his obligationsand

especially of his obligation to Allanwith a fervor of thankfulness which it was not surprising only, but

absolutely painful to witness. He showed a horrible sincerity of astonishment at having been treated with

common Christian kindness in a Christian land. He spoke of Allan's having become answerable for all the

expenses of sheltering, nursing, and curing him, with a savage rapture of gratitude and surprise which burst

out of him like a flash of lightning. "So help me God!" cried the castaway usher, "I never met with the like of

him: I never heard of the like of him before!" In the next instant, the one glimpse of light which the man had

let in on his own passionate nature was quenched again in darkness. His wandering eyes, returning to their

old trick, looked uneasily away from Mr. Brock, and his voice dropped back once more into its unnatural

steadiness and quietness of tone. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I have been used to be hunted, and

cheated, and starved. Everything else comes strange to me. " Half attracted by the man, half repelled by him,

Mr. Brock, on rising to take leave, impulsively offered his hand, and then, with a sudden misgiving,

confusedly drew it back again. "You meant that kindly, sir," said Ozias Midwinter, with his own hands

crossed resolutely behind him. "I don't complain of your thinking better of it. A man who can't give a proper

account of himself is not a man for a gentleman in your position to take by the hand."

Mr. Brock left the inn thoroughly puzzled. Before returning to Mrs. Armadale he sent for her son. The

chances were that the guard had been off the stranger's tongue when he spoke to Allan, and with Allan's

frankness there was no fear of his concealing anything that had passed between them from the rector's

Once started on the subject of Ozias Midwinter, Allan rattled on about his new friend in his usual easy,

lighthearted way. But he had really nothing of importance to tell, for nothing of importance had been

revealed to him. They had talked about boatbuilding and sailing by the hour together, and Allan had got

some valuable hints. They had discussed (with diagrams to assist them, and with more valuable hints for

Allan) the serious impending question of the launch of the yacht. On other occasions they had diverged to

other subjectsto more of them than Allan could remember, on the spur of the moment. Had Midwinter said

nothing about his relations in the flow of all this friendly talk? Nothing, except that they had not behaved well

to himhang his relations! Was he at all sensitive on the subject of his own odd name? Not the least in the

world; he had set the example, like a sensible fellow, of laughing at it himself.

Mr. Brock still persisted. He inquired next what Allan had seen in the stranger to take such a fancy to? Allan

had seen in himwhat he didn't see in people in general. He wasn't like all the other fellows in the

neighborhood. All the other fellows were cut out on the same pattern. Every man of them was equally

healthy, muscular, loud, hardhearted, cleanskinned, and rough; every man of them drank the same

draughts of beer, smoked the same short pipes all day long, rode the best horse, shot over the best dog, and

put the best bottle of wine in England on his table at night; every man of them sponged himself every

morning in the same sort of tub of cold water and bragged about it in frosty weather in the same sort of way;

every man of them thought getting into debt a capital joke and betting on horseraces one of the most

meritorious actions that a human being can perform. They were, no doubt, excellent fellows in their way; but

the worst of them was, they were all exactly alike. It was a perfect godsend to meet with a man like

Midwintera man who was not cut out on the regular local pattern, and whose way in the world had the one

Leaving all remonstrances for a fitter opportunity, the rector went back to Mrs. Armadale. He could not

disguise from himself that Allan's mother was the person really answerable for Allan's present indiscretion. If

the lad had seen a little less of the small gentry in the neighborhood, and a little more of the great outside

world at home and abroad, the pleasure of cultivating Ozias Midwinter's society might have had fewer

Conscious of the unsatisfactory result of his visit to the inn, Mr. Brock felt some anxiety about the reception

of his report when he found himself once more in Mrs. Armadale's presence. His forebodings were soon

realized. Try as he might to make the best of it, Mrs. Armadale seized on the one suspicious fact of the

usher's silence about himself as justifying the strongest measures that could be taken to separate him from her

son. If the rector refused to interfere, she declared her intention of writing to Ozias Midwinter with her own

hand. Remonstrance irritated her to such a pitch that she astounded Mr. Brock by reverting to the forbidden

subject of five years since, and referring him to the conversation which had passed between them when the

advertisement had been discovered in the newspaper. She passionately declared that the vagabond Armadale

of that advertisement, and the vagabond Midwinter at the village inn, might, for all she know to the contrary,

be one and the same. Foreboding a serious disagreement between the mother and son if the mother interfered,

Mr. Brock undertook to see Midwinter again, and to tell him plainly that he must give a proper account of

himself, or that his intimacy with Allan must cease. The two concessions which he exacted from Mrs.

Armadale in return were that she should wait patiently until the doctor reported the man fit to travel, and that

she should be careful in the interval not to mention the matter in any way to her son.

In a week's time Midwinter was able to drive out (with Allan for his coachman) in the pony chaise belonging

to the inn, and in ten days the doctor privately reported him as fit to travel. Toward the close of that tenth day,

Mr. Brock met Allan and his new friend enjoying the last gleams of wintry sunshine in one of the inland

lanes. He waited until the two had separated, and then followed the usher on his way back to the inn.

The rector's resolution to speak pitilessly to the purpose was in some danger of failing him as he drew nearer

and nearer to the friendless man, and saw how feebly he still walked, how loosely his worn coat hung about

him, and how heavily he leaned on his cheap, clumsy stick. Humanely reluctant to say the decisive words too

precipitately, Mr. Brock tried him first with a little compliment on the range of his reading, as shown by the

volume of Sophocles and the volume of Goethe which had been found in his bag, and asked how long he had

been acquainted with German and Greek. The quick ear of Midwinter detected something wrong in the tone

of Mr. Brock's voice. He turned in the darkening twilight, and looked suddenly and suspiciously in the

"You have something to say to me," he answered; "and it is not what you are saying now."

There was no help for it but to accept the challenge. Very delicately, with many preparatory words, to which

the other listened in unbroken silence, Mr. Brock came little by little nearer and nearer to the point. Long

before he had really reached itlong before a man of no more than ordinary sensibility would have felt what

was comingOzias Midwinter stood still in the lane, and told the rector that he need say no more.

"I understand you, sir," said the usher. "Mr. Armadale has an ascertained position in the world; Mr. Armadale

has nothing to conceal, and nothing to be ashamed of. I agree with you that I am not a fit companion for him.

The best return I can make for his kindness is to presume on it no longer. You may depend on my leaving this

He spoke no word more; he would hear no word more. With a selfcontrol which, at his years and with his

temperament, was nothing less than marvelous, he civilly took off his hat, bowed, and returned to the inn by

Mr. Brock slept badly that night. The issue of the interview in the lane had made the problem of Ozias

Early the next morning a letter was brought to the rector from the inn, and the messenger announced that the

strange gentleman had taken his departure. The letter inclosed an open note addressed to Allan, and requested

Allan's tutor (after first reading it himself) to forward it or not at his own sole discretion. The note was a

startlingly short one; it began and ended in a dozen words: "Don't blame Mr. Brock; Mr. Brock is right.

The rector forwarded the note to its proper destination, as a matter of course, and sent a few lines to Mrs.

Armadale at the same time to quiet her anxiety by the news of the usher's departure. This done, he waited the

visit from his pupil, which would probably follow the delivery of the note, in no very tranquil frame of mind.

There might or might not be some deep motive at the bottom of Midwinter's conduct; but thus far it was

impossible to deny that he had behaved in such a manner as to rebuke the rector's distrust, and to justify

The morning wore on, and young Armadale never appeared. After looking for him vainly in the yard where

the yacht was building, Mr. Brock went to Mrs. Armadale's house, and there heard news from the servant

which turned his steps in the direction of the inn. The landlord at once acknowledged the truth: young Mr.

Armadale had come there with an open letter in his hand, and had insisted on being informed of the road

which his friend had taken. For the first time in the landlord's experience of him, the young gentleman was

out of temper; and the girl who waited on the customers had stupidly mentioned a circumstance which had

added fuel to the fire. She had acknowledged having heard Mr. Midwinter lock himself into his room

overnight, and burst into a violent fit of crying. That trifling particular had set Mr. Armadale's face all of a

flame; he had shouted and sworn; he had rushed into the stables; and forced the hostler to saddle him a horse,

and had set off full gallop on the road that Ozias Midwinter had taken before him.

After cautioning the landlord to keep Allan's conduct a secret if any of Mrs. Armadale's servants came that

morning to the inn, Mr. Brock went home again, and waited anxiously to see what the day would bring forth.

Allan looked and spoke with a dogged determination which was quite new in his old friend's experience of

him. Without waiting to be questioned, he told his story in his usual straightforward way. He had overtaken

Midwinter on the road; andafter trying vainly first to induce him to return, then to find out where he was

going tohad threatened to keep company with him for the rest of the day, and had so extorted the

confession that he was going to try his luck in London. Having gained this point, Allan had asked next for his

friend's address in London, had been entreated by the other not to press his request, had pressed it,

nevertheless, with all his might, and had got the address at last by making an appeal to Midwinter's gratitude,

for which (feeling heartily ashamed of himself) he had afterward asked Midwinter's pardon. "I like the poor

fellow, and I won't give him up," concluded Allan, bringing his clinched fist down with a thump on the

rectory table. "Don't be afraid of my vexing my mother; I'll leave you to speak to her, Mr. Brock, at your own

time and in your own way; and I'll just say this much more by way of bringing the thing to an end. Here is the

address safe in my pocketbook, and here am I, standing firm for once on a resolution of my own. I'll give

you and my mother time to reconsider this; and, when the time is up, if my friend Midwinter doesn't come to

So the matter rested for the present; and such was the result of turning the castaway usher adrift in the world

A month passed, and brought in the new year'51. Overleaping that short lapse of time, Mr. Brock paused,

with a heavy heart, at the next event; to his mind the one mournful, the one memorable event of the

The first warning of the affliction that was near at hand had followed close on the usher's departure in

December, and had arisen out of a circumstance which dwelt painfully on the rector's memory from that time

But three days after Midwinter had left for London, Mr. Brock was accosted in the village by a neatly dressed

woman, wearing a gown and bonnet of black silk and a red Paisley shawl, who was a total stranger to him,

and who inquired the way to Mrs. Armadale's house. She put the question without raising the thick black veil

that hung over her face. Mr. Brock, in giving her the necessary directions, observed that she was a

remarkably elegant and graceful woman, and looked after her as she bowed and left him, wondering who

A quarter of an hour later the lady, still veiled as before, passed Mr. Brock again close to the inn. She entered

the house, and spoke to the landlady. Seeing the landlord shortly afterward hurrying round to the stables, Mr.

Brock asked him if the lady was going away. Yes; she had come from the railway in the omnibus, but she

was going back again more creditably in a carriage of her own hiring, supplied by the inn.

The rector proceeded on his walk, rather surprised to find his thoughts running inquisitively on a woman who

was a stranger to him. When he got home again, he found the village surgeon waiting his return with an

urgent message from Allan's mother. About an hour since, the surgeon had been sent for in great haste to see

Mrs. Armadale. He had found her suffering from an alarming nervous attack, brought on (as the servants

suspected) by an unexpected, and, possibly, an unwelcome visitor, who had called that morning. The surgeon

had done all that was needful, and had no apprehension of any dangerous results. Finding his patient eagerly

desirous, on recovering herself, to see Mr. Brock immediately, he had thought it important to humor her, and

Looking at Mrs. Armadale with a far deeper interest in her than the surgeon's interest, Mr. Brock saw enough

in her face, when it turned toward him on his entering the room, to justify instant and serious alarm. She

allowed him no opportunity of soothing her; she heeded none of his inquiries. Answers to certain questions of

her own were what she wanted, and what she was determined to have: Had Mr. Brock seen the woman who

had presumed to visit her that morning? Yes. Had Allan seen her? No; Allan had been at work since

This latter reply appeared to quiet Mrs. Armadale for the moment; she put her next questionthe most

extraordinary question of the threemore composedly: Did the rector think Allan would object to leaving

his vessel for the present, and to accompanying his mother on a journey to look out for a new house in some

other part of England? In the greatest amazement Mr. Brock asked what reason there could possibly be for

leaving her present residence? Mrs. Armadale's reason, when she gave it, only added to his surprise. The

woman's first visit might be followed by a second; and rather than see her again, rather than run the risk of

Allan's seeing her and speaking to her, Mrs. Armadale would leave England if necessary, and end her days in

a foreign land. Taking counsel of his experience as a magistrate, Mr. Brock inquired if the woman had come

to ask for money. Yes; respectably as she was dressed, she had described herself as being "in distress"; had

asked for money, and had got it. But the money was of no importance; the one thing needful was to get away

before the woman came again. More and more surprised, Mr. Brock ventured on another question: Was it

long since Mrs. Armadale and her visitor had last met? Yes; longer than all Allan's lifetimeas long ago as

At that reply, the rector shifted his ground, and took counsel next of his experience as a friend.

"Is this person," he asked, "connected in any way with the painful remembrances of your early life?"

"Yes; with the painful remembrance of the time when I was married," said Mrs. Armadale. "She was

associated, as a mere child, with a circumstance which I must think of with shame and sorrow to my dying

Mr. Brock noticed the altered tone in which his old friend spoke, and the unwillingness with which she gave

"Can you tell me more about her without referring to yourself?" he went on. "I am sure I can protect you, if

you will only help me a little. Her name, for instanceyou can tell me her name?"

Mrs. Armadale shook her head, "The name I knew her by," she said, "would be of no use to you. She has

"Only of her friends when she was a child. They called themselves her uncle and aunt. They were low people,

and they deserted her at the school on my father's estate. We never heard any more of them."

"She remained under my care; that is to say, she traveled with us. We were leaving England, just as that time,

for Madeira. I had my father's leave to take her with me, and to train the wretch to be my maid"

At those words Mrs. Armadale stopped confusedly. Mr. Brock tried gently to lead her on. It was useless; she

started up in violent agitation, and walked excitedly backward and forward in the room.

"Don't ask me any more!" she cried out, in loud, angry tones. "I parted with her when she was a girl of twelve

years old. I never saw her again, I never heard of her again, from that time to this. I don't know how she has

discovered me, after all the years that have passed; I only know that she has discovered me. She will find her

way to Allan next; she will poison my son's mind against me. Help me to get away from her! help me to take

The rector asked no more questions; it would have been cruel to press her further. The first necessity was to

compose her by promising compliance with all that she desired. The second was to induce her to see another

medical man. Mr. Brock contrived to reach his end harmlessly in this latter case by reminding her that she

wanted strength to travel, and that her own medical attendant might restore her all the more speedily to

herself if he were assisted by the best professional advice. Having overcome her habitual reluctance to seeing

strangers by this means, the rector at once went to Allan; and, delicately concealing what Mrs. Armadale had

said at the interview, broke the news to him that his mother was seriously ill. Allan would hear of no

messengers being sent for assistance: he drove off on the spot to the railway, and telegraphed himself to

On the next morning the help came, and Mr. Brock's worst fears were confirmed. The village surgeon had

fatally misunderstood the case from the first, and the time was past now at which his errors of treatment

might have been set right. The shock of the previous morning had completed the mischief. Mrs. Armadale's

The son who dearly loved her, the old friend to whom her life was precious, hoped vainly to the last. In a

month from the physician's visit all hope was over; and Allan shed the first bitter tears of his life at his

She had died more peacefully than Mr. Brock had dared to hope, leaving all her little fortune to her son, and

committing him solemnly to the care of her one friend on earth. The rector had entreated her to let him write

and try to reconcile her brothers with her before it was too late. She had only answered sadly that it was too

late already. But one reference escaped her in her last illness to those early sorrows which had weighed

heavily on all her afterlife, and which had passed thrice already, like shadows of evil, between the rector

and herself. Even on her deathbed she had shrunk from letting the light fall clearly on the story of the past.

She had looked at Allan kneeling by the bedside, and had whispered to Mr. Brock: "Never let his Namesake

come near him! Never let that Woman find him out!" No word more fell from her that touched on the

misfortunes which had tried her in the past, or on the dangers which she dreaded in the future. The secret

which she had kept from her son and from her friend was a secret which she carried with her to the grave.

When the last offices of affection and respect had been performed, Mr. Brock felt it his duty, as executor to

the deceased lady, to write to her brothers, and to give them information of her death. Believing that he had to

deal with two men who would probably misinterpret his motives if he left Allan's position unexplained, he

was careful to remind them that Mrs. Armadale's son was well provided for, and that the object of his letter

was simply to communicate the news of their sister's decease. The two letters were dispatched toward the

middle of January, and by return of post the answers were received. The first which the rector opened was

written not by the elder brother, but by the elder brother's only son. The young man had succeeded to the

estates in Norfolk on his father's death, some little time since. He wrote in a frank and friendly spirit, assuring

Mr. Brock that, however strongly his father might have been prejudiced against Mrs. Armadale, the hostile

feeling had never extended to her son. For himself, he had only to add that he would be sincerely happy to

The second letter was a far less agreeable reply to receive than the first. The younger brother was still alive,

and still resolute neither to forget nor forgive. He informed Mr. Brock that his deceased sister's choice of a

husband, and her conduct to her father at the time of her marriage, had made any relations of affection or

esteem impossible, on his side, from that time forth. Holding the opinions he did, it would be equally painful

to his nephew and himself if any personal intercourse took place between them. He had adverted, as generally

as possible, to the nature of the differences which had kept him apart from his late sister, in order to satisfy

Mr. Brock's mind that a personal acquaintance with young Mr. Armadale was, as a matter of delicacy, quite

out of the question and, having done this, he would beg leave to close the correspondence.

Mr. Brock wisely destroyed the second letter on the spot, and, after showing Allan his cousin's invitation,

suggested that he should go to Thorpe Ambrose as soon as he felt fit to present himself to strangers.

Allan listened to the advice patiently enough; but he declined to profit by it. "I will shake hands with my

cousin willingly if I ever meet him," he said; "but I will visit no family, and be a guest in no house, in which

my mother has been badly treated." Mr. Brock remonstrated gently, and tried to put matters in their proper

light. Even at that timeeven while he was still ignorant of events which were then impendingAllan's

strangely isolated position in the world was a subject of serious anxiety to his old friend and tutor. The

proposed visit to Thorpe Ambrose opened the very prospect of his making friends and connections suited to

him in rank and age which Mr. Brock most desired to see; but Allan was not to be persuaded; he was

obstinate and unreasonable; and the rector had no alternative but to drop the subject.

One on another the weeks passed monotonously, and Allan showed but little of the elasticity of his age and

character in bearing the affliction that had made him motherless. He finished and launched his yacht; but his

own journeymen remarked that the work seemed to have lost its interest for him. It was not natural to the

young man to brood over his solitude and his grief as he was brooding now. As the spring advanced, Mr.

Brock began to feel uneasy about the future, if Allan was not roused at once by change of scene. After much

pondering, the rector decided on trying a trip to Paris, and on extending the journey southward if his

companion showed an interest in Continental traveling. Allan's reception of the proposal made atonement for

his obstinacy in refusing to cultivate his cousin's acquaintance; he was willing to go with Mr. Brock wherever

Mr. Brock pleased. The rector took him at his word, and in the middle of March the two strangely assorted

Arrived in London, Mr. Brock found himself unexpectedly face to face with a new anxiety. The unwelcome

subject of Ozias Midwinter, which had been buried in peace since the beginning of December, rose to the

surface again, and confronted the rector at the very outset of his travels, more unmanageably than ever.

Mr. Brock's position in dealing with this difficult matter had been hard enough to maintain when he had first

meddled with it. He now found himself with no vantageground left to stand on. Events had so ordered it that

the difference of opinion between Allan and his mother on the subject of the usher was entirely disassociated

with the agitation which had hastened Mrs. Armadale's death. Allan's resolution to say no irritating words,

and Mr. Brock's reluctance to touch on a disagreeable topic, had kept them both silent about Midwinter in

Mrs. Armadale's presence during the three days which had intervened between that person's departure and the

appearance of the strange woman in the village. In the period of suspense and suffering that had followed no

recurrence to the subject of the usher had been possible, and none had taken place. Free from all mental

disquietude on this score, Allan had stoutly preserved his perverse interest in his new friend. He had written

to tell Midwinter of his affliction, and he now proposed (unless the rector formally objected to it) paying a

What was Mr. Brock to do? There was no denying that Midwinter's conduct had pleaded unanswerably

against poor Mrs. Armadale's unfounded distrust of him. If the rector, with no convincing reason to allege

against it, and with no right to interfere but the right which Allan's courtesy gave him, declined to sanction

the proposed visit, then farewell to all the old sociability and confidence between tutor and pupil on the

contemplated tour. Environed by difficulties, which might have been possibly worsted by a less just and a

less kindhearted man, Mr. Brock said a cautious word or two at parting, and (with more confidence in

Midwinter's discretion and selfdenial than he quite liked to acknowledge, even to himself) left Allan free to

After whiling away an hour, during the interval of his pupil's absence, by a walk in the streets, the rector

returned to his hotel, and, finding the newspaper disengaged in the coffeeroom, sat down absently to look

over it. His eye, resting idly on the titlepage, was startled into instant attention by the very first

advertisement that it chanced to light on at the head of the column. There was Allan's mysterious namesake

again, figuring in capital letters, and associated this time (in the character of a dead man) with the offer of a

SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.To parish clerks, sextons, and others. Twenty Pounds reward will be paid to

any person who can produce evidence of the death of ALLAN ARMADALE, only son of the late Allan

Armadale, of Barbadoes, and born in Trinidad in the year 1830. Further particulars on application to Messrs.

Even Mr. Brock's essentially unimaginative mind began to stagger superstitiously in the dark as he laid the

newspaper down again. Little by little a vague suspicion took possession of him that the whole series of

events which had followed the first appearance of Allan's namesake in the newspaper six years since was

held together by some mysterious connection, and was tending steadily to some unimaginable end. Without

knowing why, he began to feel uneasy at Allan's absence. Without knowing why, he became impatient to get

his pupil away from England before anything else happened between night and morning.

In an hour more the rector was relieved of all immediate anxiety by Allan's return to the hotel. The young

man was vexed and out of spirits. He had discovered Midwinter's lodgings, but he had failed to find

Midwinter himself. The only account his landlady could give of him was that he had gone out at his

customary time to get his dinner at the nearest eatinghouse, and that he had not returned, in accordance with

his usual regular habits, at his usual regular hour. Allan had therefore gone to inquire at the eatinghouse, and

had found, on describing him, that Midwinter was well known there. It was his custom, on other days, to take

a frugal dinner, and to sit half an hour afterward reading the newspaper. On this occasion, after dining, he had

taken up the paper as usual, had suddenly thrown it aside again, and had gone, nobody knew where, in a

violent hurry. No further information being attainable, Allan had left a note at the lodgings, giving his address

at the hotel, and begging Midwinter to come and say goodby before his departure for Paris.

The evening passed, and Allan's invisible friend never appeared. The morning came, bringing no obstacles

with it, and Mr. Brock and his pupil left London. So far Fortune had declared herself at last on the rector's

side. Ozias Midwinter, after intrusively rising to the surface, had conveniently dropped out of sight again.

Advancing once more, by three weeks only, from past to present, Mr. Brock's memory took up the next event

on the seventh of April. To all appearance, the chain was now broken at last. The new event had no

recognizable connection (either to his mind or to Allan's) with any of the persons who had appeared, or any

The travelers had as yet got no further than Paris. Allan's spirits had risen with the change; and he had been

made all the readier to enjoy the novelty of the scene around him by receiving a letter from Midwinter,

containing news which Mr. Brock himself acknowledged promised fairly for the future. The exusher had

been away on business when Allan had called at his lodgings, having been led by an accidental circumstance

to open communications with his relatives on that day. The result had taken him entirely by surprise: it had

unexpectedly secured to him a little income of his own for the rest of his life. His future plans, now that this

piece of good fortune had fallen to his share, were still unsettled. But if Allan wished to hear what he

ultimately decided on, his agent in London (whose direction he inclosed) would receive communications for

On receipt of this letter, Allan had seized the pen in his usual headlong way, and had insisted on Midwinter's

immediately joining Mr. Brock and himself on their travels. The last days of March passed, and no answer to

the proposal was received. The first days of April came, and on the seventh of the month there was a letter for

Allan at last on the breakfasttable. He snatched it up, looked at the address, and threw the letter down again

impatiently. The handwriting was not Midwinter's. Allan finished his breakfast before he cared to read what

The meal over, young Armadale lazily opened the letter. He began it with an expression of supreme

indifference. He finished it with a sudden leap out of his chair, and a loud shout of astonishment. Wondering,

as he well might, at this extraordinary outbreak, Mr. Brock took up the letter which Allan had tossed across

the table to him. Before he had come to the end of it, his hands dropped helplessly on his knees, and the blank

bewilderment of his pupil's expression was accurately reflected on his own face.

If ever two men had good cause for being thrown completely off their balance, Allan and the rector were

those two. The letter which had struck them both with the same shock of astonishment did, beyond all

question, contain an announcement which, on a first discovery of it, was simply incredible. The news was

from Norfolk, and was to this effect. In little more than one week's time death had mown down no less than

three lives in the family at Thorpe Ambrose, and Allan Armadale was at that moment heir to an estate of

A second perusal of the letter enabled the rector and his companion to master the details which had escaped

The writer was the family lawyer at Thorpe Ambrose. After announcing to Allan the deaths of his cousin

Arthur at the age of twentyfive, of his uncle Henry at the age of fortyeight, and of his cousin John at the

age of twentyone, the lawyer proceeded to give a brief abstract of the terms of the elder Mr. Blanchard's

will. The claims of male issue were, as is not unusual in such cases, preferred to the claims of female issue.

Failing Arthur and his issue male, the estate was left to Henry and his issue male. Failing them, it went to the

issue male of Henry's sister; and, in default of such issue, to the next heir male. As events had happened, the

two young men, Arthur and John, had died unmarried, and Henry Blanchard had died, leaving no surviving

child but a daughter. Under these circumstances, Allan was the next heir male pointed at by the will, and was

now legally successor to the Thorpe Ambrose estate. Having made this extraordinary announcement, the

lawyer requested to be favored with Mr. Armadale's instructions, and added, in conclusion, that he would be

It was useless to waste time in wondering at an event which neither Allan nor his mother had ever thought of

as even remotely possible. The only thing to be done was to go back to England at once. The next day found

the travelers installed once more in their London hotel, and the day after the affair was placed in the proper

professional hands. The inevitable corresponding and consulting ensued, and one by one the allimportant

particulars flowed in, until the measure of information was pronounced to be full.

At the time when Mr. Brock had written to Mrs. Armadale's relatives to announce the news of her decease

(that is to say, in the middle of the month of January), the family at Thorpe Ambrose numbered five

personsArthur Blanchard (in possession of the estate), living in the great house with his mother; and Henry

Blanchard, the uncle, living in the neighborhood, a widower with two children, a son and a daughter. To

cement the family connection still more closely, Arthur Blanchard was engaged to be married to his cousin.

The wedding was to be celebrated with great local rejoicings in the coming summer, when the young lady

The month of February had brought changes with it in the family position. Observing signs of delicacy in the

health of his son, Mr. Henry Blanchard left Norfolk, taking the young man with him, under medical advice, to

try the climate of Italy. Early in the ensuing month of March, Arthur Blanchard also left Thorpe Ambrose, for

a few days only, on business which required his presence in London. The business took him into the City.

Annoyed by the endless impediments in the streets, he returned westward by one of the river steamers, and,

As the steamer left the wharf, he noticed a woman near him who had shown a singular hesitation in

embarking, and who had been the last of the passengers to take her place in the vessel. She was neatly

dressed in black silk, with a red Paisley shawl over her shoulders, and she kept her face hidden behind a thick

veil. Arthur Blanchard was struck by the rare grace and elegance of her figure, and he felt a young man's

passing curiosity to see her face. She neither lifted her veil nor turned her head his way. After taking a few

steps hesitatingly backward and forward on the deck, she walked away on a sudden to the stern of the vessel.

In a minute more there was a cry of alarm from the man at the helm, and the engines were stopped

The passengers all rushed to the side of the vessel to look. Arthur Blanchard alone, without an instant's

hesitation, jumped into the river. He was an excellent swimmer, and he reached the woman as she rose again

to the surface, after sinking for the first time. Help was at hand, and they were both brought safely ashore.

The woman was taken to the nearest police station, and was soon restored to her senses, her preserver giving

his name and address, as usual in such cases, to the inspector on duty, who wisely recommended him to get

into a warm bath, and to send to his lodgings for dry clothes. Arthur Blanchard, who had never known an

hour's illness since he was a child, laughed at the caution, and went back in a cab. The next day he was too ill

to attend the examination before the magistrate. A fortnight afterward he was a dead man.

The news of the calamity reached Henry Blanchard and his son at Milan, and within an hour of the time when

they received it they were on their way back to England. The snow on the Alps had loosened earlier than

usual that year, and the passes were notoriously dangerous. The father and son, traveling in their own

carriage, were met on the mountain by the mail returning, after sending the letters on by hand. Warnings

which would have produced their effect under any ordinary circumstances were now vainly addressed to the

two Englishmen. Their impatience to be at home again, after the catastrophe which had befallen their family,

brooked no delay. Bribes lavishly offered to the postilions, tempted them to go on. The carriage pursued its

way, and was lost to view in the mist. When it was seen again, it was disinterred from the bottom of a

precipicethe men, the horses, and the vehicle all crushed together under the wreck and ruin of an

So the three lives were mown down by death. So, in a clear sequence of events, a woman's suicideleap into

a river had opened to Allan Armadale the succession to the Thorpe Ambrose estates.

Who was the woman? The man who saved her life never knew. The magistrate who remanded her, the

chaplain who exhorted her, the reporter who exhibited her in print, never knew. It was recorded of her with

surprise that, though most respectably dressed, she had nevertheless described herself as being "in distress."

She had expressed the deepest contrition, but had persisted in giving a name which was on the face of it a

false one; in telling a commonplace story, which was manifestly an invention; and in refusing to the last to

furnish any clew to her friends. A lady connected with a charitable institution ("interested by her extreme

elegance and beauty") had volunteered to take charge of her, and to bring her into a better frame of mind .

The first day's experience of the penitent had been far from cheering, and the second day's experience had

been conclusive. She had left the institution by stealth; andthough the visiting clergyman, taking a special

interest in the case, had caused special efforts to be madeall search after her, from that time forth, had

While this useless investigation (undertaken at Allan's express desire) was in progress, the lawyers had settled

the preliminary formalities connected with the succession to the property. All that remained was for the new

master of Thorpe Ambrose to decide when he would personally establish himself on the estate of which he

Left necessarily to his own guidance in this matter, Allan settled it for himself in his usual hotheaded,

generous way. He positively declined to take possession until Mrs. Blanchard and her niece (who had been

permitted thus far, as a matter of courtesy, to remain in their old home) had recovered from the calamity that

had befallen them, and were fit to decide for themselves what their future proceedings should be. A private

correspondence followed this resolution, comprehending, on Allan's side, unlimited offers of everything he

had to give (in a house which he had not yet seen), and, on the ladies' side, a discreetly reluctant readiness to

profit by the young gentleman's generosity in the matter of time. To the astonishment of his legal advisers,

Allan entered their office one morning, accompanied by Mr. Brock, and announced, with perfect composure,

that the ladies had been good enough to take his own arrangements off his hands, and that, in deference to

their convenience, he meant to defer establishing himself at Thorpe Ambrose till that day two months. The

lawyers stared at Allan, and Allan, returning the compliment, stared at the lawyers.

"What on earth are you wondering at, gentlemen?" he inquired, with a boyish bewilderment in his

goodhumored blue eyes. "Why shouldn't I give the ladies their two months, if the ladies want them? Let the

poor things take their own time, and welcome. My rights? and my position? Oh, pooh! pooh! I'm in no hurry

to be squire of the parish; it's not in my way. What do I mean to do for the two months? What I should have

done anyhow, whether the ladies had stayed or not; I mean to go cruising at sea. That's what I like! I've got a

new yacht at home in Somersetshirea yacht of my own building. And I'll tell you what, sir," continued

Allan, seizing the head partner by the arm in the fervor of his friendly intentions, "you look sadly in want of a

holiday in the fresh air, and you shall come along with me on the trial trip of my new vessel. And your

partners, too, if they like. And the head clerk, who is the best fellow I ever met with in my life. Plenty of

roomwe'll all shake down together on the floor, and we'll give Mr. Brock a rug on the cabin table. Thorpe

Ambrose be hanged! Do you mean to say, if you had built a vessel yourself (as I have), you would go to any

estate in the three kingdoms, while your own little beauty was sitting like a duck on the water at home, and

waiting for you to try her? You legal gentlemen are great hands at argument. What do you think of that

With those words, the new possessor of eight thousand a year dashed into the head clerk's office, and invited

that functionary to a cruise on the high seas, with a smack on the shoulder which was heard distinctly by his

masters in the next room. The firm looked in interrogative wonder at Mr. Brock. A client who could see a

position among the landed gentry of England waiting for him, without being in a hurry to occupy it at the

earliest possible opportunity, was a client of whom they possessed no previous experience.

A last leap over one month more brought Mr. Brock to the present timeto the bedroom at Castletown, in

which he was sitting thinking, and to the anxiety which was obstinately intruding itself between him and his

night's rest. That anxiety was no unfamiliar enemy to the rector's peace of mind. It had first found him out in

Somersetshire six months since, and it had now followed him to the Isle of Man under the inveterately

The change in Allan's future prospects had worked no corresponding alteration in his perverse fancy for the

castaway at the village inn. In the midst of the consultations with the lawyers he had found time to visit

Midwinter, and on the journey back with the rector there was Allan's friend in the carriage, returning with

The exusher's hair had grown again on his shaven skull, and his dress showed the renovating influence of an

accession of pecuniary means, but in all other respects the man was unchanged. He met Mr. Brock's distrust

with the old uncomplaining resignation to it; he maintained the same suspicious silence on the subject of his

relatives and his early life; he spoke of Allan's kindness to him with the same undisciplined fervor of

gratitude and surprise. "I have done what I could, sir," he said to Mr. Brock, while Allan was asleep in the

railway carriage. "I have kept out of Mr. Armadale's way, and I have not even answered his last letter to me.

More than that is more than I can do. I don't ask you to consider my own feeling toward the only human

creature who has never suspected and never illtreated me. I can resist my own feeling, but I can't resist the

young gentleman himself. There's not another like him in the world. If we are to be parted again, it must be

his doing or yoursnot mine. The dog's master has whistled," said this strange man, with a momentary

outburst of the hidden passion in him, and a sudden springing of angry tears in his wild brown eyes, "and it is

Once more Mr. Brock's humanity got the better of Mr. Brock's caution. He determined to wait, and see what

The days passed; the yacht was rigged and fitted for sea; a cruise was arranged to the Welsh coastand

Midwinter the Secret was the same Midwinter still. Confinement on board a little vessel of fiveandthirty

tons offered no great attraction to a man of Mr. Brock's time of life. But he sailed on the trial trip of the yacht

Would the close companionship of the three on their cruise tempt the man into talking of his own affairs? No;

he was ready enough on other subjects, especially if Allan led the way to them. But not a word escaped him

about himself. Mr. Brock tried him with questions about his recent inheritance, and was answered as he had

been answered once already at the Somersetshire inn. It was a curious coincidence, Midwinter admitted, that

Mr. Armadale's prospects and his own prospects should both have unexpectedly changed for the better about

the same time. But there the resemblance ended. It was no large fortune that had fallen into his lap, though it

was enough for his wants. It had not reconciled him with his relations, for the money had not come to him as

a matter of kindness, but as a matter of right. As for the circumstance which had led to his communicating

with his family, it was not worth mentioning, seeing that the temporary renewal of intercourse which had

followed had produced no friendly results. Nothing had come of it but the moneyand, with the money, an

anxiety which troubled him sometimes, when he woke in the small hours of the morning.

At those last words he became suddenly silent, as if for once his wellguarded tongue had betrayed him.

Mr. Brock seized the opportunity, and bluntly asked him what the nature of the anxiety might be. Did it relate

to money? No; it related to a Letter which had been waiting for him for many years. Had he received the

letter? Not yet; it had been left under charge of one of the partners in the firm which had managed the

business of his inheritance for him; the partner had been absent from England; and the letter, locked up

among his own private papers, could not be got at till he returned. He was expected back toward the latter

part of that present May, and, if Midwinter could be sure where the cruise would take them to at the close of

the month, he thought he would write and have the letter forwarded. Had he any family reasons to be anxious

about it? None that he knew of; he was curious to see what had been waiting for him for many years, and that

was all. So he answered the rector's questions, with his tawny face turned away over the low bulwark of the

Favored by wind and weather, the little vessel had done wonders on her trial trip. Before the period fixed for

the duration of the cruise had half expired, the yacht was as high up on the Welsh coast as Holyhead; and

Allan, eager for adventure in unknown regions, had declared boldly for an extension of the voyage northward

to the Isle of Man. Having ascertained from reliable authority that the weather really promised well for a

cruise in that quarter, and that, in the event of any unforeseen necessity for return, the railway was accessible

by the steamer from Douglas to Liverpool, Mr. Brock agreed to his pupil's proposal. By that night's post he

wrote to Allan's lawyers and to his own rectory, indicating Douglas in the Isle of Man as the next address to

which letters might be forwarded. At the postoffice he met Midwinter, who had just dropped a letter into the

box. Remembering what he had said on board the yacht, Mr. Brock concluded that they had both taken the

same precaution, and had ordered their correspondence to be forwarded to the same place.

For a few hours all went well; but sunset brought with it the signs of a coming change. With the darkness the

wind rose to a gale, and the question whether Allan and his journeymen had or had not built a stout seaboat

was seriously tested for the first time. All that night, after trying vainly to bear up for Holyhead, the little

vessel kept the sea, and stood her trial bravely. The next morning the Isle of Man was in view, and the yacht

was safe at Castletown. A survey by daylight of hull and rigging showed that all the damage done might be

set right again in a week's time. The cruising party had accordingly remained at Castletown, Allan being

occupied in superintending the repairs, Mr. Brock in exploring the neighborhood, and Midwinter in making

The first of the cruising party who received a letter was Allan. "More worries from those everlasting

lawyers," was all he said, when he had read the letter, and had crumpled it up in his pocket. The rector's turn

came next, before the week's sojourn at Castletown had expired. On the fifth day he found a letter from

Somersetshire waiting for him at the hotel. It had been brought there by Midwinter, and it contained news

which entirely overthrew all Mr. Brock's holiday plans. The clergyman who had undertaken to do duty for

him in his absence had been unexpectedly summoned home again; and Mr. Brock had no choice (the day of

the week being Friday) but to cross the next morning from Douglass to Liverpool, and get back by railway on

Having read his letter, and resigned himself to his altered circumstances as patiently as he might, the rector

passed next to a question that pressed for serious consideration in its turn. Burdened with his heavy

responsibility toward Allan, and conscious of his own undiminished distrust of Allan's new friend, how was

he to act, in the emergency that now beset him, toward the two young men who had been his companions on

Mr. Brock had first asked himself that awkward question on the Friday afternoon, and he was still trying

vainly to answer it, alone in his own room, at one o'clock on the Saturday morning. It was then only the end

of May, and the residence of the ladies at Thorpe Ambrose (unless they chose to shorten it of their own

accord) would not expire till the middle of June. Even if the repairs of the yacht had been completed (which

was not the case), there was no possible pretense for hurrying Allan back to Somersetshire. But one other

alternative remainedto leave him where he was. In other words, to leave him, at the turningpoint of his

life, under the sole influence of a man whom he had first met with as a castaway at a village inn, and who was

In despair of obtaining any better means of enlightenment to guide his decision, Mr. Brock reverted to the

impression which Midwinter had produced on his own mind in the familiarity of the cruise.

Young as he was, the exusher had evidently lived a varied life. He could speak of books like a man who had

really enjoyed them; he could take his turn at the helm like a sailor who knew his duty; he could cook, and

climb the rigging, and lay the cloth for dinner, with an odd delight in the exhibition of his own dexterity. The

display of these, and other qualities like them, as his spirits rose with the cruise, had revealed the secret of his

attraction for Allan plainly enough. But had all disclosures rested there? Had the man let no chance light in

on his character in the rector's presence? Very little; and that little did not set him forth in a morally alluring

aspect. His way in the world had lain evidently in doubtful places; familiarity with the small villainies of

vagabonds peeped out of him now and then; and, more significant still, he habitually slept the light,

suspicious sleep of a man who has been accustomed to close his eyes in doubt of the company under the same

roof with him. Down to the very latest moment of the rector's experience of himdown to that present

Friday nighthis conduct had been persistently secret and unaccountable to the very last. After bringing Mr.

Brock's letter to the hotel, he had mysterious disappeared from the house without leaving any message for his

companions, and without letting anybody see whether he had or had not received a letter himself. At nightfall

he had come back stealthily in the darkness, had been caught on the stairs by Allan, eager to tell him of the

change in the rector's plans, had listened to the news without a word of remark! and had ended by sulkily

locking himself into his own room. What was there in his favor to set against such revelations of his character

as theseagainst his wandering eyes, his obstinate reserve with the rector, his ominous silence on the subject

of family and friends? Little or nothing: the sum of all his merits began and ended with his gratitude to Allan.

Mr. Brock left his seat on the side of the bed, trimmed his candle, and, still lost in his own thoughts, looked

out absently at the night. The change of place brought no new ideas with it. His retrospect over his own past

life had amply satisfied him that his present sense of responsibility rested on no merely fanciful grounds, and,

having brought him to that point, had left him there, standing at the window, and seeing nothing but the total

darkness in his own mind faithfully reflected by the total darkness of the night.

"If I only had a friend to apply to!" thought the rector. "If I could only find some one to help me in this

At the moment when the aspiration crossed his mind, it was suddenly answered by a low knock at the door,

After an instant's pause to steady his nerves, Mr. Brock opened the door, and found himself, at one o'clock in

the morning, standing face to face on the threshold of his own bedroom with Ozias Midwinter.

"Are you ill?" asked the rector, as soon as his astonishment would allow him to speak.

"I have come here to make a clean breast of it!" was the strange answer. "Will you let me in?"

With those words he walked into the room, his eyes on the ground, his lips ashy pale, and his hand holding

"I saw the light under your door," he went on, without looking up, and without moving his hand, "and I know

the trouble on your mind which is keeping you from your rest. You are going away tomorrow morning, and

Startled as he was, Mr. Brock saw the serious necessity of being plain with a man who had come at that time,

"You have guessed right," he answered. "I stand in the place of a father to Allan Armadale, and I am naturally

Ozias Midwinter took a step forward to the table. His wandering eyes rested on the rector's New Testament,

"You have read that Book, in the years of a long life, to many congregations," he said. "Has it taught you

Without waiting to be answered, he looked Mr. Brock in the face for the first time, and brought his hidden

He laid a letter of many pages on the table. It was the letter that Mr. Neal had posted at Wildbad nineteen

THE first cool breathings of the coming dawn fluttered through the open window as Mr. Brock read the

closing lines of the Confession. He put it from him in silence, without looking up. The first shock of

discovery had struck his mind, and had passed away again. At his age, and with his habits of thought, his

grasp was not strong enough to hold the whole revelation that had fallen on him. All his heart, when he

closed the manuscript, was with the memory of the woman who had been the beloved friend of his later and

happier life; all his thoughts were busy with the miserable secret of her treason to her own father which the

He was startled out of the narrow limits of his own little grief by the vibration of the table at which he sat,

under a hand that was laid on it heavily. The instinct of reluctance was strong in him; but he conquered it, and

looked up. There, silently confronting him in the mixed light of the yellow candle flame and the faint gray

dawn, stood the castaway of the village innthe inheritor of the fatal Armadale name.

Mr. Brock shuddered as the terror of the present time and the darker terror yet of the future that might be

coming rushed back on him at the sight of the man's face. The man saw it, and spoke first.

"Is my father's crime looking at you out of my eyes?" he asked. "Has the ghost of the drowned man followed

The suffering and the passion that he was forcing back shook the hand that he still kept on the table, and

"I have no wish to treat you otherwise than justly and kindly," answered Mr. Brock. "Do me justice on my

side, and believe that I am incapable of cruelly holding you responsible for your father's crime."

The reply seemed to compose him. He bowed his head in silence, and took up the confession from the table.

"Do you still call yourself by that name," interrupted Mr. Brock, "now your true name is known to me?"

"Since I have read my father's confession," was the answer, "I like my ugly alias better than ever. Allow me

to repeat the question which I was about to put to you a minute since: Has Ozias Midwinter done his best thus

The rector evaded a direct reply. "Few men in your position," he said, "would have had the courage to show

"Don't be too sure, sir, of the vagabond you picked up at the inn till you know a little more of him than you

know now. You have got the secret of my birth, but you are not in possession yet of the story of my life. You

ought to know it, and you shall know it, before you leave me alone with Mr. Armadale. Will you wait, and

"Now," said Mr. Brock, still as far away as ever from knowing the real character of the man before him.

Everything Ozias Midwinter said, everything Ozias Midwinter did, was against him. He had spoken with a

sardonic indifference, almost with an insolence of tone, which would have repelled the sympathies of any

man who heard him. And now, instead of placing himself at the table, and addressing his story directly to the

rector, he withdrew silently and ungraciously to the windowseat. There he sat, his face averted, his hands

mechanically turning the leaves of his father's letter till he came to the last. With his eyes fixed on the closing

lines of the manuscript, and with a strange mixture of recklessness and sadness in his voice, he began his

"The first thing you know of me," he said, "is what my father's confession has told you already. He mentions

here that I was a child, asleep on his breast, when he spoke his last words in this world, and when a stranger's

hand wrote them down for him at his deathbed. That stranger's name, as you may have noticed, is signed on

the cover'Alexander Neal, Writer to the Signet, Edinburgh.' The first recollection I have is of Alexander

Neal beating me with a horsewhip (I dare say I deserved it), in the character of my stepfather."

"Yes; I remember her having shabby old clothes made up to fit me, and having fine new frocks bought for her

two children by her second husband. I remember the servants laughing at me in my old things, and the

horsewhip finding its way to my shoulders again for losing my temper and tearing my shabby clothes. My

next recollection gets on to a year or two later. I remember myself locked up in a lumberroom, with a bit of

bread and a mug of water, wondering what it was that made my mother and my stepfather seem to hate the

very sight of me. I never settled that question till yesterday, and then I solved the mystery, when my father's

letter was put into my hands. My mother knew what had really happened on board the French timbership,

and my stepfather knew what had really happened, and they were both well aware that the shameful secret

which they would fain have kept from every living creature was a secret which would be one day revealed to

me. There was no help for itthe confession was in the executor's hands, and there was I, an illconditioned

brat, with my mother's negro blood in my face, and my murdering father's passions in my heart, inheritor of

their secret in spite of them! I don't wonder at the horsewhip now, or the shabby old clothes, or the bread and

water in the lumberroom. Natural penalties all of them, sir, which the child was beginning to pay already for

Mr. Brock looked at the swarthy, secret face, still obstinately turned away from him. "Is this the stark

insensibility of a vagabond," he asked himself, "or the despair, in disguise, of a miserable man?"

"School is my next recollection," the other went on"a cheap place in a lost corner of Scotland. I was left

there, with a bad character to help me at starting. I spare you the story of the master's cane in the schoolroom,

and the boys' kicks in the playground. I dare say there was ingrained ingratitude in my nature; at any rate, I

ran away. The first person who met me asked my name. I was too young and too foolish to know the

importance of concealing it, and, as a matter of course, I was taken back to school the same evening. The

result taught me a lesson which I have not forgotten since. In a day or two more, like the vagabond I was, I

ran away for the second time. The school watchdog had had his instructions, I suppose: he stopped me

before I got outside the gate. Here is his mark, among the rest, on the back of my hand. His master's marks I

can't show you; they are all on my back. Can you believe in my perversity? There was a devil in me that no

dog could worry out. I ran away again as soon as I left my bed, and this time I got off. At nightfall I found

myself (with a pocketful of the school oatmeal) lost on a moor. I lay down on the fine soft heather, under the

lee of a great gray rock. Do you think I felt lonely? Not I! I was away from the master's cane, away from my

schoolfellows' kicks, away from my mother, away from my stepfather; and I lay down that night under my

Through the wretched childhood which that one significant circumstance disclosed, Mr. Brock began to see

dimly how little was really strange, how little really unaccountable, in the character of the man who was now

"I slept soundly," Midwinter continued, "under my friend the rock. When I woke in the morning, I found a

sturdy old man with a fiddle sitting on one side of me, and two performing dogs on the other. Experience had

made me too sharp to tell the truth when the man put his first questions. He didn't press them; he gave me a

good breakfast out of his knapsack, and he let me romp with the dogs. 'I'll tell you what,' he said, when he

had got my confidence in this manner, 'you want three things, my man: you want a new father, a new family,

and a new name. I'll be your father. I'll let you have the dogs for your brothers; and, if you'll promise to be

very careful of it, I'll give you my own name into the bargain. Ozias Midwinter, Junior, you have had a good

breakfast; if you want a good dinner, come along with me!' He got up, the dogs trotted after him, and I trotted

after the dogs. Who was my new father? you will ask. A halfbreed gypsy, sir; a drunkard, a ruffian, and a

thiefand the best friend I ever had! Isn't a man your friend who gives you your food, your shelter, and your

education? Ozias Midwinter taught me to dance the Highland fling, to throw somersaults, to walk on stilts,

and to sing songs to his fiddle. Sometimes we roamed the country, and performed at fairs. Sometimes we

tried the large towns, and enlivened bad company over its cups. I was a nice, lively little boy of eleven years

old, and bad company, the women especially, took a fancy to me and my nimble feet. I was vagabond enough

to like the life. The dogs and I lived together, ate, and drank, and slept together. I can't think of those poor

little fourfooted brothers of mine, even now, without a choking in the throat. Many is the beating we three

took together; many is the hard day's dancing we did together; many is the night we have slept together, and

whimpered together, on the cold hillside. I'm not trying to distress you, sir; I'm only telling you the truth.

The life with all its hardships was a life that fitted me, and the halfbreed gypsy who gave me his name,

"Didn't I tell you just now, sir, that I lived with the dogs? and did you ever hear of a dog who liked his master

the worse for beating him? Hundreds of thousands of miserable men, women, and children would have liked

that man (as I liked him) if he had always given them what he always gave meplenty to eat. It was stolen

food mostly, and my new gypsy father was generous with it. He seldom laid the stick on us when he was

sober; but it diverted him to hear us yelp when he was drunk. He died drunk, and enjoyed his favorite

amusement with his last breath. One day (when I had been two years in his service), after giving us a good

dinner out on the moor, he sat down with his back against a stone, and called us up to divert himself with his

stick. He made the dogs yelp first, and then he called to me. I didn't go very willingly; he had been drinking

harder than usual, and the more he drank the better he liked his afterdinner amusement. He was in high

goodhumor that day, and he hit me so hard that he toppled over, in his drunken state, with the force of his

own blow. He fell with his face in a puddle, and lay there without moving. I and the dogs stood at a distance,

and looked at him: we thought he was feigning, to get us near and have another stroke at us. He feigned so

long that we ventured up to him at last. It took me some time to pull him over; he was a heavy man. When I

did get him on his back, he was dead. We made all the outcry we could; but the dogs were little, and I was

little, and the place was lonely; and no help came to us. I took his fiddle and his stick; I said to my two

brothers, 'Come along, we must get our own living now;' and we went away heavyhearted, and left him on

the moor. Unnatural as it may seem to you, I was sorry for him. I kept his ugly name through all my

afterwanderings, and I have enough of the old leaven left in me to like the sound of it still. Midwinter or

Armadale, never mind my name now, we will talk of that afterward; you must know the worst of me first."

"Thank you, sir; but I am here to tell the truth. We will get on, if you please, to the next chapter in my story.

The dogs and I did badly, after our master's death; our luck was against us. I lost one of my little

brothersthe best performer of the two; he was stolen, and I never recovered him. My fiddle and my stilts

were taken from me next, by main force, by a tramp who was stronger than I. These misfortunes drew

I think we had some kind of dim foreboding on both sides that we had not done with our misfortunes yet;

anyhow, it was not very long before we were parted forever. We were neither of us thieves (our master had

been satisfied with teaching us to dance); but we both committed an invasion of the rights of property, for all

that. Young creatures, even when they are half starved, cannot resist taking a run sometimes on a fine

morning. Tommy and I could not resist taking a run into a gentleman's plantation; the gentleman preserved

his game; and the gentleman's keeper knew his business. I heard a gun go off; you can guess the rest. God

preserve me from ever feeling such misery again as I felt when I lay down by Tommy, and took him, dead

and bloody, in my arms! The keeper attempted to part us; I bit him, like the wild animal I was. He tried the

stick on me next; he might as well have tried it on one of the trees. The noise reached the ears of two young

ladies riding near the placedaughters of the gentleman on whose property I was a trespasser. They were too

well brought up to lift their voices against the sacred right of preserving game, but they were kindhearted

girls, and they pitied me, and took me home with them. I remember the gentlemen of the house (keen

sportsmen all of them) roaring with laughter as I went by the windows, crying, with my little dead dog in my

arms. Don't suppose I complain of their laughter; it did me good service; it roused the indignation of the two

ladies. One of them took me into her own garden, and showed me a place where I might bury my dog under

the flowers, and be sure that no other hands should ever disturb him again. The other went to her father, and

persuaded him to give the forlorn little vagabond a chance in the house, under one of the upper servants. Yes!

you have been cruising in company with a man who was once a footboy. I saw you look at me, when I

amused Mr. Armadale by laying the cloth on board the yacht. Now you know why I laid it so neatly, and

forgot nothing. It has been my good fortune to see something of society; I have helped to fill its stomach and

black its boots. My experience of the servants' hall was not a long one. Before I had worn out my first suit of

livery, there was a scandal in the house. It was the old story; there is no need to tell it over again for the

thousandth time. Loose money left on a table, and not found there again; all the servants with characters to

appeal to except the footboy, who had been rashly taken on trial. Well! well! I was lucky in that house to the

last; I was not prosecuted for taking what I had not only never touched, but never even seen: I was only

turned out. One morning I went in my old clothes to the grave where I had buried Tommy. I gave the place a

kiss; I said goodby to my little dead dog; and there I was, out in the world again, at the ripe age of thirteen

"In that friendless state, and at that tender age," said Mr. Brock, "did no thought cross your mind of going

"I went home again, sir, that very nightI slept on the hillside. What other home had I? In a day or two's

time I drifted back to the large towns and the bad company, the great open country was so lonely to me, now

I had lost the dogs! Two sailors picked me up next. I was a handy lad, and I got a cabinboy's berth on board

a coastingvessel. A cabinboy's berth means dirt to live in, offal to eat, a man's work on a boy's shoulders,

and the rope'send at regular intervals. The vessel touched at a port in the Hebrides. I was as ungrateful as

usual to my best benefactors; I ran away again. Some women found me, half dead of starvation, in the

northern wilds of the Isle of Skye. It was near the coast and I took a turn with the fishermen next. There was

less of the rope'send among my new masters; but plenty of exposure to wind and weather, and hard work

enough to have killed a boy who was not a seasoned tramp like me. I fought through it till the winter came,

and then the fishermen turned me adrift again. I don't blame them; food was scarce, and mouths were many.

With famine staring the whole community in the face, why should they keep a boy who didn't belong to

them? A great city was my only chance in the wintertime; so I went to Glasgow, and all but stepped into the

lion's mouth as soon as I got there. I was minding an empty cart on the Broomielaw, when I heard my

stepfather's voice on the pavement side of the horse by which I was standing. He had met some person whom

he knew, and, to my terror and surprise, they were talking about me. Hidden behind the horse, I heard enough

of their conversation to know that I had narrowly escaped discovery before I went on board the

coastingvessel. I had met at that time with another vagabond boy of my own age; we had quarreled and

parted. The day after, my stepfather's inquiries were made in that very district, and it became a question with

him (a good personal description being unattainable in either case) which of the two boys he should follow.

One of them, he was informed, was known as "Brown," and the other as "Midwinter." Brown was just the

common name which a cunning runaway boy would be most likely to assume; Midwinter, just the

remarkable name which he would be most likely to avoid. The pursuit had accordingly followed Brown, and

had allowed me to escape. I leave you to imagine whether I was not doubly and trebly determined to keep my

gypsy master's name after that. But my resolution did not stop here. I made up my mind to leave the country

altogether. After a day or two's lurking about the outwardbound vessels in port, I found out which sailed

first, and hid myself on board. Hunger tried hard to force me out before the pilot had left; but hunger was not

new to me, and I kept my place. The pilot was out of the vessel when I made my appearance on deck, and

there was nothing for it but to keep me or throw me overboard. The captain said (I have no doubt quite truly)

that he would have preferred throwing me overboard; but the majesty of the law does sometimes stand the

friend even of a vagabond like me. In that way I came back to a sealife. In that way I learned enough to

make me handy and useful (as I saw you noticed) on board Mr. Armadale's yacht. I sailed more than one

voyage, in more than one vessel, to more than one part of the world, and I might have followed the sea for

life, if I could only have kept my temper under every provocation that could be laid on it. I had learned a

great deal; but, not having learned that, I made the last part of my last voyage home to the port of Bristol in

irons; and I saw the inside of a prison for the first time in my life, on a charge of mutinous conduct to one of

my officers. You have heard me with extraordinary patience, sir, and I am glad to tell you, in return, that we

are not far now from the end of my story. You found some books, if I remember right, when you searched my

"Those books mark the next change in my lifeand the last, before I took the usher's place at the school. My

term of imprisonment was not a long one. Perhaps my youth pleaded for me; perhaps the Bristol magistrates

took into consideration the time I had passed in irons on board ship. Anyhow, I was just turned seventeen

when I found myself out on the world again. I had no friends to receive me; I had no place to go to. A sailor's

life, after what had happened, was a life I recoiled from in disgust. I stood in the crowd on the bridge at

Bristol, wondering what I should do with my freedom now I had got it back. Whether I had altered in the

prison, or whether I was feeling the change in character that comes with coming manhood, I don't know; but

the old reckless enjoyment of the old vagabond life seemed quite worn out of my nature. An awful sense of

loneliness kept me wandering about Bristol, in horror of the quiet country, till after nightfall. I looked at the

lights kindling in the parlor windows, with a miserable envy of the happy people inside. A word of advice

would have been worth something to me at that time. Well! I got it: a policeman advised me to move on. He

was quite right; what else could I do? I looked up at the sky, and there was my old friend of many a night's

watch at sea, the north star. 'All points of the compass are alike to me,' I thought to myself; 'I'll go your way.'

Not even the star would keep me company that night. It got behind a cloud, and left me alone in the rain and

darkness. I groped my way to a cartshed, fell asleep, and dreamed of old times, when I served my gypsy

master and lived with the dogs. God! what I would have given when I woke to have felt Tommy's little cold

muzzle in my hand! Why am I dwelling on these things? Why don't I get on to the end? You shouldn't

encourage me, sir, by listening, so patiently. After a week more of wandering, without hope to help me, or

prospects to look to, I found myself in the streets of Shrewsbury, staring in at the windows of a bookseller's

shop. An old man came to the shop door, looked about him, and saw me. 'Do you want a job?' he asked. 'And

are you not above doing it cheap?' The prospect of having something to do, and some human creature to

speak a word to, tempted me, and I did a day's dirty work in the bookseller's warehouse for a shilling. More

work followed at the same rate. In a week I was promoted to sweep out the shop and put up the shutters. In no

very long time after, I was trusted to carry the books out; and when quarterday came, and the shopman left,

I took his place. Wonderful luck! you will say; here I had found my way to a friend at last. I had found my

way to one of the most merciless misers in England; and I had risen in the little world of Shrewsbury by the

purely commercial process of underselling all my competitors. The job in the warehouse had been declined at

the price by every idle man in the town, and I did it. The regular porter received his weekly pittance under

weekly protest. I took two shillings less, and made no complaint. The shopman gave warning on the ground

that he was underfed as well as underpaid. I received half his salary, and lived contentedly on his

reversionary scraps. Never were two men so well suited to each other as that bookseller and I. His one

object in life was to find somebody who would work for him at starvation wages. My one object in life was to

find somebody who would give me an asylum over my head. Without a single sympathy in

commonwithout a vestige of feeling of any sort, hostile or friendly, growing up between us on either

sidewithout wishing each other goodnight when we parted on the house stairs, or goodmorning when

we met at the shop counter, we lived alone in that house, strangers from first to last, for two whole years. A

dismal existence for a lad of my age, was it not? You are a clergyman and a scholarsurely you can guess

Mr. Brock remembered the wellworn volumes which had been found in the usher's bag. "The books made it

"Yes!" he said, "the booksthe generous friends who met me without suspicionthe merciful masters who

never used me ill! The only years of my life that I can look back on with something like pride are the years I

passed in the miser's house. The only unalloyed pleasure I have ever tasted is the pleasure that I found for

myself on the miser's shelves. Early and late, through the long winter nights and the quiet summer days, I

drank at the fountain of knowledge, and never wearied of the draught. There were few customers to serve, for

the books were mostly of the solid and scholarly kind. No responsibilities rested on me, for the accounts were

kept by my master, and only the small sums of money were suffered to pass through my hands. He soon

found out enough of me to know that my honesty was to be trusted, and that my patience might be counted

on, treat me as he might. The one insight into his character which I obtained, on my side, widened the

distance between us to its last limits. He was a confirmed opiumeater in secreta prodigal in laudanum,

though a miser in all besides. He never confessed his frailty, and I never told him I had found it out. He had

his pleasure apart from me, and I had my pleasure apart from him. Week after week, month after month, there

we sat, without a friendly word ever passing between usI, alone with my book at the counter; he, alone

with his ledger in the parlor, dimly visible to me through the dirty windowpane of the glass door, sometimes

poring over his figures, sometimes lost and motionless for hours in the ecstasy of his opium trance. Time

passed, and made no impression on us; the seasons of two years came and went, and found us still

unchanged. One morning, at the opening of the third year, my master did not appear, as usual, to give me my

allowance for breakfast. I went upstairs, and found him helpless in his bed. He refused to trust me with the

keys of the cupboard, or to let me send for a doctor. I bought a morsel of bread, and went back to my books,

with no more feeling for him (I honestly confess it) than he would have had for me under the same

circumstances. An hour or two later I was roused from my reading by an occasional customer of ours, a

retired medical man. He went upstairs. I was glad to get rid of him and return to my books. He came down

again, and disturbed me once more. 'I don't much like you, my lad,' he said; 'but I think it my duty to say that

you will soon have to shift for yourself. You are no great favorite in the town, and you may have some

difficulty in finding a new place. Provide yourself with a written character from your master before it is too

late.' He spoke to me coldly. I thanked him coldly on my side, and got my character the same day. Do you

think my master let me have it for nothing? Not he! He bargained with me on his deathbed. I was his creditor

for a month's salary, and he wouldn't write a line of my testimonial until I had first promised to forgive him

the debt. Three days afterward he died, enjoying to the last the happiness of having overreached his

shopman. 'Aha!' he whispered, when the doctor formally summoned me to take leave of him, 'I got you

cheap!' Was Ozias Midwinter's stick as cruel as that? I think not. Well! there I was, out on the world again,

but surely with better prospects this time. I had taught myself to read Latin, Greek, and German; and I had got

my written character to speak for me. All useless! The doctor was quite right; I was not liked in the town. The

lower order of the people despised me for selling my services to the miser at the miser's price. As for the

better classes, I did with them (God knows how!) what I have always done with everybody except Mr.

ArmadaleI produced a disagreeable impression at first sight; I couldn't mend it afterward; and there was an

end of me in respectable quarters. It is quite likely I might have spent all my savings, my puny little golden

offspring of two years' miserable growth, but for a school advertisement which I saw in a local paper. The

heartlessly mean terms that were offered encouraged me to apply; and I got the place. How I prospered in it,

and what became of me next, there is no need to tell you. The thread of my story is all wound off; my

vagabond life stands stripped of its mystery; and you know the worst of me at last."

A moment of silence followed those closing words. Midwinter rose from the windowseat, and came back to

"My father's confession has told you who I am; and my own confession has told you what my life has been,"

he said, addressing Mr. Brock, without taking the chair to which the rector pointed. "I promised to make a

clean breast of it when I first asked leave to enter this room. Have I kept my word?"

"It is impossible to doubt it," replied Mr. Brock. "You have established your claim on my confidence and my

sympathy. I should be insensible, indeed, if I could know what I now know of your childhood and your

"In a few hours you will have left this place," he proceeded. "If I can help you to leave it with your mind at

ease, I will. There is more to be said between us than we have said up to this time. My future relations with

Mr. Armadale are still left undecided; and the serious question raised by my father's letter is a question which

He paused, and looked with a momentary impatience at the candle still burning on the table, in the morning

light. The struggle to speak with composure, and to keep his own feelings stoically out of view, was evidently

"It may possibly help your decision," he went on, "if I tell you how I determined to act toward Mr.

Armadalein the matter of the similarity of our nameswhen I first read this letter, and when I had

composed myself sufficiently to be able to think at all." He stopped, and cast a second impatient look at the

lighted candle. "Will you excuse the odd fancy of an odd man?" he asked, with a faint smile. "I want to put

He extinguished the candle as he spoke, and let the first tenderness of the daylight flow uninterruptedly into

"I must once more ask your patience," he resumed, "if I return for a moment to myself and my circumstances.

I have already told you that my stepfather made an attempt to discover me some years after I had turned my

back on the Scotch school. He took that step out of no anxiety of his own, but simply as the agent of my

father's trustees. In the exercise of their discretion, they had sold the estates in Barbadoes (at the time of the

emancipation of the slaves, and the ruin of West Indian property) for what the estates would fetch. Having

invested the proceeds, they were bound to set aside a sum for my yearly education. This responsibility

obliged them to make the attempt to trace mea fruitless attempt, as you already know. A little later (as I

have been since informed) I was publicly addressed by an advertisement in the newspapers, which I never

saw. Later still, when I was twentyone, a second advertisement appeared (which I did see) offering a reward

for evidence of my death. If I was alive, I had a right to my half share of the proceeds of the estates on

coming of age; if dead, the money reverted to my mother. I went to the lawyers, and heard from them what I

have just told you. After some difficulty in proving my identityand after an interview with my stepfather,

and a message from my mother, which has hopelessly widened the old breach between usmy claim was

allowed; and my money is now invested for me in the funds, under the name that is really my own."

Mr. Brock drew eagerly nearer to the table. He saw the end now to which the speaker was tending

"Twice a year," Midwinter pursued, "I must sign my own name to get my own income. At all other times, and

under all other circumstances, I may hide my identity under any name I please. As Ozias Midwinter, Mr.

Armadale first knew me; as Ozias Midwinter he shall know me to the end of my days. Whatever may be the

result of this interviewwhether I win your confidence or whether I lose itof one thing you may feel sure:

your pupil shall never know the horrible secret which I have trusted to your keeping. This is no extraordinary

resolution; for, as you know already, it costs me no sacrifice of feeling to keep my assumed name. There is

nothing in my conduct to praise; it comes naturally out of the gratitude of a thankful man. Review the

circumstances for yourself, sir, and set my own horror of revealing them to Mr. Armadale out of the question.

If the story of the names is ever told, there can be no limiting it to the disclosure of my father's crime; it must

go back to the story of Mrs. Armadale's marriage. I have heard her son talk of her; I know how he loves her

Simply as the words were spoken, they touched the deepest sympathies in the rector's nature: they took his

thoughts back to Mrs. Armadale's deathbed. There sat the man against whom she had ignorantly warned him

in her son's interests; and that man, of his own freewill, had laid on himself the obligation of respecting her

secret for her son's sake! The memory of his own past efforts to destroy the very friendship out of which this

resolution had sprung rose and reproached Mr. Brock. He held out his hand to Midwinter for the first time.

"I think I have said all that it was my duty to say," he began, "before we could approach the consideration of

this letter. Whatever may have appeared strange in my conduct toward you and toward Mr. Armadale may be

now trusted to explain itself. You can easily imagine the natural curiosity and surprise that I must have felt

(ignorant as I then was of the truth) when the sound of Mr. Armadale's name first startled me as the echo of

my own. You will readily understand that I only hesitated to tell him I was his namesake, because I hesitated

to damage my positionin your estimation, if not in hisby confessing that I had come among you under

an assumed name. And, after all that you have just heard of my vagabond life and my low associates, you will

hardly wonder at the obstinate silence I maintained about myself, at a time when I did not feel the sense of

responsibility which my father's confession has laid on me. We can return to these small personal

explanations, if you wish it, at another time; they cannot be suffered to keep us from the greater interests

which we must settle before you leave this place. We may come now" His voice faltered, and he suddenly

turned his face toward the window, so as to hide it from the rector's view. "We may come now," he repeated,

his hand trembling visibly as it held the page, "to the murder on board the timbership, and to the warning

Softlyas if he feared they might reach Allan, sleeping in the neighboring roomhe read the last terrible

words which the Scotchman's pen had written at Wildbad, as they fell from his father's lips:

"Avoid the widow of the man I killedif the widow still lives. Avoid the maid whose wicked hand

smoothed the way to the marriageif the maid is still in her service. And, more than all, avoid the man who

bears the same name as your own. Offend your best benefactor, if that benefactor's influence has connected

you one with the other. Desert the woman who loves you, if that woman is a link between you and him. Hide

yourself from him under an assumed name. Put the mountains and the seas between you; be ungrateful; be

unforgiving; be all that is most repellent to your own gentler nature, rather than live under the same roof and

breathe the same air with that man. Never let the two Allan Armadales meet in this world; never, never,

After reading those sentences, he pushed the manuscript from him, without looking up. The fatal reserve

which he had been in a fair way of conquering but a few minutes since, possessed itself of him once more.

Again his eyes wandered; again his voice sank in tone. A stranger who had heard his story, and who saw him

now, would have said, "His look is lurking, his manner is bad; he is, every inch of him, his father's son."

"I have a question to ask you," said Mr. Brock, breaking the silence between them, on his side. "Why have

"To force me into telling you the truth," was the answer. "You must know how much there is of my father in

me before you trust me to be Mr. Armadale's friend. I got my letter yesterday, in the morning. Some inner

warning troubled me, and I went down on the seashore by myself before I broke the seal. Do you believe the

dead can come back to the world they once lived in? I believe my father came back in that bright morning

light, through the glare of that broad sunshine and the roar of that joyful sea, and watched me while I read.

When I got to the words that you have just heard, and when I knew that the very end which he had died

dreading was the end that had really come, I felt the horror that had crept over him in his last moments

creeping over me. I struggled against myself, as he would have had me struggle. I tried to be all that was most

repellent to my own gentler nature; I tried to think pitilessly of putting the mountains and the seas between

me and the man who bore my name. Hours passed before I could prevail on myself to go back and run the

risk of meeting Allan Armadale in this house. When I did get back, and when he met me at night on the stairs,

I thought I was looking him in the face as my father looked his father in the face when the cabin door closed

between them. Draw your own conclusions, sir. Say, if you like, that the inheritance of my father's heathen

belief in fate is one of the inheritances he has left to me. I won't dispute it; I won't deny that all through

yesterday his superstition was my superstition. The night came before I could find my way to calmer and

brighter thoughts. But I did find my way. You may set it down in my favor that I lifted myself at last above

He cast a doubting, almost a timid look at Mr. Brock as he gave that answer, and, suddenly leaving the table,

"Have I no right to speak of him in that way?" he asked, keeping his face hidden from the rector. "Have I not

known him long enough; have I not done enough for him yet? Remember what my experience of other men

had been when I first saw his hand held out to mewhen I first heard his voice speaking to me in my

sickroom. What had I known of strangers' hands all through my childhood? I had only known them as hands

raised to threaten and to strike me. His hand put my pillow straight, and patted me on the shoulder, and gave

me my food and drink. What had I known of other men's voices, when I was growing up to be a man myself?

I had only known them as voices that jeered, voices that cursed, voices that whispered in corners with a vile

distrust. His voice said to me, 'Cheer up, Midwinter! we'll soon bring you round again. You'll be strong

enough in a week to go out for a drive with me in our Somersetshire lanes.' Think of the gypsy's stick; think

of the devils laughing at me when I went by their windows with my little dead dog in my arms; think of the

master who cheated me of my month's salary on his deathbedand ask your own heart if the miserable

wretch whom Allan Armadale has treated as his equal and his friend has said too much in saying that he loves

him? I do love him! It will come out of me; I can't keep it back. I love the very ground he treads on! I would

give my lifeyes, the life that is precious to me now, because his kindness has made it a happy oneI tell

The next words died away on his lips; the hysterical passion rose, and conquered him. He stretched out one of

his hands with a wild gesture of entreaty to Mr. Brock; his head sank on the windowsill and he burst into

Even then the hard discipline of the man's life asserted itself. He expected no sympathy, he counted on no

merciful human respect for human weakness. The cruel necessity of selfsuppression was present to his

mind, while the tears were pouring over his cheeks. "Give me a minute," he said, faintly. "I'll fight it down in

True to his resolution, in a minute he had fought it down. In a minute more he was able to speak calmly.

"We will get back, sir, to those better thoughts which have brought me from my room to yours," he resumed.

"I can only repeat that I should never have torn myself from the hold which this letter fastened on me, if I had

not loved Allan Armadale with all that I have in me of a brother's love. I said to myself, 'If the thought of

leaving him breaks my heart, the thought of leaving him is wrong!' That was some hours since, and I am in

the same mind still. I can't believeI won't believethat a friendship which has grown out of nothing but

kindness on one side, and nothing but gratitude on the other, is destined to lead to an evil end. Judge, you

who are a clergyman, between the dead father, whose word is in these pages, and the living son, whose word

is now on his lips! What is it appointed me to do, now that I am breathing the same air, and living under the

same roof with the son of the man whom my father killedto perpetuate my father's crime by mortally

injuring him, or to atone for my father's crime by giving him the devotion of my whole life? The last of those

two faiths is my faith, and shall be my faith, happen what may. In the strength of that better conviction, I have

come here to trust you with my father's secret, and to confess the wretched story of my own life. In the

strength of that better conviction, I can face you resolutely with the one plain question, which marks the one

plain end of all that I have come here to say. Your pupil stands at the startingpoint of his new career, in a

position singularly friendless; his one great need is a companion of his own age on whom he can rely. The

time has come, sir, to decide whether I am to be that companion or not. After all you have heard of Ozias

Mr. Brock met that fearlessly frank question by a fearless frankness on his side.

"I believe you love Allan," he said, "and I believe you have spoken the truth. A man who has produced that

Midwinter started to his feet, his dark face flushing deep; his eyes fixed brightly and steadily, at last, on the

rector's face. "A light!" he exclaimed, tearing the pages of his father's letter, one by one, from the fastening

that held them. "Let us destroy the last link that holds us to the horrible past! Let us see this confession a heap

"Wait!" said Mr. Brock. "Before you burn it, there is a reason for looking at it once more."

The parted leaves of the manuscript dropped from Midwinter's hands. Mr. Brock took them up, and sorted

"I view your father's superstition as you view it," said the rector. "But there is a warning given you here,

which you will do well (for Allan's sake and for your own sake) not to neglect. The last link with the past will

not be destroyed when you have burned these pages. One of the actors in this story of treachery and murder is

He pushed the page across the table, with his finger on one sentence. Midwinter's agitation misled him. He

mistook the indication, and read, "Avoid the widow of the man I killed, if the widow still lives."

Midwinter read it: "Avoid the maid whose wicked hand smoothed the way to the marriage, if the maid is still

"The maid and the mistress parted," said Mr. Brock, "at the time of the mistress's marriage. The maid and the

mistress met again at Mrs. Armadale's residence in Somersetshire last year. I myself met the woman in the

village, and I myself know that her visit hastened Mrs. Armadale's death. Wait a little, and compose yourself;

He waited as he was bid, his color fading away to a gray paleness and the light in his clear brown eyes dying

out slowly. What the rector had said had produced no transient impression on him; there was more than

doubt, there was alarm in his face, as he sat lost in his own thought. Was the struggle of the past night

renewing itself already? Did he feel the horror of his hereditary superstition creeping over him again?

"Can you put me on my guard against her?" he asked, after a long interval of silence. "Can you tell me her

"I can only tell you what Mrs. Armadale told me," answered Mr. Brock. "The woman acknowledged having

been married in the long interval since she and her mistress had last met. But not a word more escaped her

about her past life. She came to Mrs. Armadale to ask for money, under a plea of distress. She got the money,

and she left the house, positively refusing, when the question was put to her, to mention her married name."

"Certainly. I saw, as she approached me, that she moved very gracefully, that she had a beautiful figure, and

that she was a little over the middle height. I noticed, when she asked me the way to Mrs. Armadale's house,

that her manner was the manner of a lady, and that the tone of her voice was remarkably soft and winning.

Lastly, I remembered afterward that she wore a thick black veil, a black bonnet, a black silk dress, and a red

Paisley shawl. I feel all the importance of your possessing some better means of identifying her than I can

He stopped. Midwinter was leaning eagerly across the table, and Midwinter's hand was laid suddenly on his

"Is it possible that you know the woman?" asked Mr. Brock, surprised at the sudden change in his manner.

"Do you remember the woman who threw herself from the river steamer?" asked the other"the woman

who caused that succession of deaths which opened Allan Armadale's way to the Thorpe Ambrose estate?"

"That woman," pursued Midwinter, "moved gracefully, and had a beautiful figure. That woman wore a black

veil, a black bonnet, a black silk gown, and a red Paisley shawl" He stopped, released his hold of Mr.

Brock's arm, and abruptly resumed his chair. "Can it be the same?" he said to himself in a whisper. "Is there a

fatality that follows men in the dark? And is it following us in that woman's footsteps?"

If the conjecture was right, the one event in the past which had appeared to be entirely disconnected with the

events that had preceded it was, on the contrary, the one missing link which made the chain complete. Mr.

Brock's comfortable common sense instinctively denied that startling conclusion. He looked at Midwinter

"My young friend," he said, kindly, "have you cleared your mind of all superstition as completely as you

think? Is what you have just said worthy of the better resolution at which you arrived last night?"

Midwinter's head drooped on his breast; the color rushed back over his face; he sighed bitterly.

"I believe in your sincerity as firmly as ever," answered Mr. Brock. "I only doubt whether you have fortified

the weak places in your nature as strongly as you yourself suppose. Many a man has lost the battle against

himself far oftener than you have lost it yet, and has nevertheless won his victory in the end. I don't blame

you, I don't distrust you. I only notice what has happened, to put you on your guard against yourself. Come!

come! Let your own better sense help you; and you will agree with me that there is really no evidence to

justify the suspicion that the woman whom I met in Somersetshire, and the woman who attempted suicide in

London, are one and the same. Need an old man like me remind a young man like you that there are

thousands of women in England with beautiful figuresthousands of women who are quietly dressed in

Midwinter caught eagerly at the suggestion; too eagerly, as it might have occurred to a harder critic on

"You are quite right, sir," he said, "and I am quite wrong. Tens of thousands of women answer the

description, as you say. I have been wasting time on my own idle fancies, when I ought to have been

carefully gathering up facts. If this woman ever attempts to find her way to Allan, I must be prepared to stop

her." He began searching restlessly among the manuscript leaves scattered about the table, paused over one of

the pages, and examined it attentively. 'This helps me to something positive," he went on; "this helps me to a

knowledge of her age. She was twelve at the time of Mrs. Armadale's marriage; add a year, and bring her to

thirteen; add Allan's age (twentytwo), and we make her a woman of fiveandthirty at the present time. I

know her age; and I know that she has her own reasons for being silent about her married life. This is

something gained at the outset, and it may lead, in time, to something more." He looked up brightly again at

Mr. Brock. "Am I in the right way now, sir? Am I doing my best to profit by the caution which you have

"You are vindicating your own better sense," answered the rector, encouraging him to trample down his own

imagination, with an Englishman's ready distrust of the noblest of the human faculties. "You are paving the

He searched among the papers once more, and stopped at another of the scattered pages.

"The ship!" he exclaimed, suddenly, his color changing again, and his manner altering on the instant.

"The ship in which the deed was done," Midwinter answered, with the first signs of impatience that he had

shown yet. "The ship in which my father's murderous hand turned the lock of the cabin door."

He appeared not to hear the question; his eyes remained fixed intently on the page that he was reading.

"A French vessel, employed in the timber trade," he said, still speaking to himself"a French vessel, named

La Grace de Dieu. If my father's belief had been the right beliefif the fatality had been following me, step

by step, from my father's grave, in one or other of my voyages, I should have fallen in with that ship." He

looked up again at Mr. Brock. "I am quite sure about it now," he said. "Those women are two, and not one."

"I am glad you have come to that conclusion," he said. "But I wish you had reached it in some other way."

Midwinter started passionately to his feet, and, seizing on the pages of the manuscript with both hands, flung

"For God's sake let me burn it!" he exclaimed. "As long as there is a page left, I shall read it. And, as long as I

Mr. Brock pointed to the matchbox. In another moment the confession was in flames. When the fire had

"I may say, like Macbeth: 'Why, so, being gone, I am a man again!'" he broke out with a feverish gayety.

"You look fatigued, sir; and no wonder," he added, in a lower tone. "I have kept you too long from your

restI will keep you no longer. Depend on my remembering what you have told me; depend on my standing

between Allan and any enemy, man or woman, who comes near him. Thank you, Mr. Brock; a thousand

thousand times, thank you! I came into this room the most wretched of living men; I can leave it now as

As he turned to the door, the rays of the rising sun streamed through the window, and touched the heap of

ashes lying black in the black fireplace. The sensitive imagination of Midwinter kindled instantly at the sight.

"Look!" he said, joyously. "The promise of the Future shining over the ashes of the Past!"

An inexplicable pity for the man, at the moment of his life when he needed pity least, stole over the rector's

"Poor fellow! " he said, with an uneasy surprise at his own compassionate impulse. "Poor fellow!"

The morning hours had passed; the noon had come and gone; and Mr. Brock had started on the first stage of

After parting from the rector in Douglas Harbor, the two young men had returned to Castletown, and had

there separated at the hotel door, Allan walking down to the waterside to look after his yacht, and Midwinter

He darkened his room; he closed his eyes, but no sleep came to him. On this first day of the rector's absence,

his sensitive nature extravagantly exaggerated the responsibility which he now held in trust for Mr. Brock. A

nervous dread of leaving Allan by himself, even for a few hours only, kept him waking and doubting, until it

became a relief rather than a hardship to rise from the bed again, and, following in Allan's footsteps, to take

The repairs of the little vessel were nearly completed. It was a breezy, cheerful day; the land was bright, the

water was blue, the quick waves leaped crisply in the sunshine, the men were singing at their work.

Descending to the cabin, Midwinter discovered his friend busily occupied in attempting to set the place to

rights. Habitually the least systematic of mortals, Allan now and then awoke to an overwhelming sense of the

advantages of order, and on such occasions a perfect frenzy of tidiness possessed him. He was down on his

knees, hotly and wildly at work, when Midwinter looked in on him; and was fast reducing the neat little

world of the cabin to its original elements of chaos, with a misdirected energy wonderful to see.

"Here's a mess!" said Allan, rising composedly on the horizon of his own accumulated litter. "Do you know,

Midwinter smiled, and came to his friend's assistance with the natural neathandedness of a sailor.

The first object that he encountered was Allan's dressingcase, turned upside down, with half the contents

scattered on the floor, and with a duster and a hearthbroom lying among them. Replacing the various objects

which formed the furniture of the dressingcase one by one, Midwinter lighted unexpectedly on a miniature

portrait, of the oldfashioned oval form, primly framed in a setting of small diamonds.

Allan bent over him, and looked at the miniature. "It belonged to my mother," he answered; "and I set the

Midwinter put the miniature abruptly, into Allan's hands, and withdrew to the opposite side of the cabin.

"You know best where the things ought to be put in your own dressingcase," he said, keeping his back

turned on Allan. "I'll make the place tidy on this side of the cabin, and you shall make the place tidy on the

He began setting in order the litter scattered about him on the cabin table and on the floor. But it seemed as if

fate had decided that his friend's personal possessions should fall into his hands that morning, employ them

where he might. One among the first objects which he took up was Allan's tobacco jar, with the stopper

missing, and with a letter (which appeared by the bulk of it to contain inclosures) crumpled into the mouth of

"Did you know that you had put this here?" he asked. "Is the letter of any importance?"

Allan recognized it instantly. It was the first of the little series of letters which had followed the cruising party

to the Isle of Manthe letter which young Armadale had briefly referred to as bringing him "more worries

from those everlasting lawyers," and had then dismissed from further notice as recklessly as usual.

"This is what comes of being particularly careful," said Allan; "here is an instance of my extreme

thoughtfulness. You may not think it but I put the letter there on purpose. Every time I went to the jar, you

know, I was sure to see the letter; and every time I saw the letter, I was sure to say to myself, 'This must be

answered.' There's nothing to laugh at; it was a perfectly sensible arrangement, if I could only have

remembered where I put the jar. Suppose I tie a knot in my pockethandkerchief this time? You have a

wonderful memory, my dear fellow. Perhaps you'll remind me in the course of the day, in case I forget the

Midwinter saw his first chance, since Mr. Brock's departure, of usefully filling Mr. Brock's place.

"Here is your writingcase," he said; "why not answer the letter at once? If you put it away again, you may

"Very true," returned Allan. "But the worst of it is, I can't quite make up my mind what answer to write. I

With his loud boyish laughechoed by Midwinter, who caught the infection of his gayetyhe swept a heap

of miscellaneous incumbrances off the cabin sofa, and made room for his friend and himself to take their

places. In the high flow of youthful spirits, the two sat down to their trifling consultation over a letter lost in a

tobacco jar. It was a memorable moment to both of them, lightly as they thought of it at the time. Before they

had risen again from their places, they had taken the first irrevocable step together on the dark and tortuous

Reduced to plain facts, the question on which Allan now required his friend's advice may be stated as

While the various arrangements connected with the succession to Thorpe Ambrose were in progress of

settlement, and while the new possessor of the estate was still in London, a question had necessarily arisen

relating to the person who should be appointed to manage the property. The steward employed by the

Blanchard family had written, without loss of time, to offer his services. Although a perfectly competent and

trustworthy man, he failed to find favor in the eyes of the new proprietor. Acting, as usual, on his first

impulses, and resolved, at all hazards, to install Midwinter as a permanent inmate at Thorpe Ambrose, Allan

had determined that the steward's place was the place exactly fitted for his friend, for the simple reason that it

would necessarily oblige his friend to live with him on the estate. He had accordingly written to decline the

proposal made to him without consulting Mr. Brock, whose disapproval he had good reason to fear; and

without telling Midwinter, who would probably (if a chance were allowed him of choosing) have declined

taking a situation which his previous training had by no means fitted him to fill.

Further correspondence had followed this decision, and had raised two new difficulties which looked a little

embarrassing on the face of them, but which Allan, with the assistance of his lawyer, easily contrived to

solve. The first difficulty, of examining the outgoing steward's books, was settled by sending a professional

accountant to Thorpe Ambrose; and the second difficulty, of putting the steward's empty cottage to some

profitable use (Allan's plans for his friend comprehending Midwinter's residence under his own roof), was

met by placing the cottage on the list of an active house agent in the neighboring county town. In this state

the arrangements had been left when Allan quitted London. He had heard and thought nothing more of the

matter, until a letter from his lawyers had followed him to the Isle of Man, inclosing two proposals to occupy

the cottage, both received on the same day, and requesting to hear, at his earliest convenience, which of the

Finding himself, after having conveniently forgotten the subject for some days past, placed face to face once

more with the necessity for decision, Allan now put the two proposals into his friend's hands, and, after a

rambling explanation of the circumstances of the case, requested to be favored with a word of advice. Instead

of examining the proposals, Midwinter unceremoniously put them aside, and asked the two very natural and

very awkward questions of who the new steward was to be, and why he was to live in Allan's house?

"I'll tell you who, and I'll tell you why, when we get to Thorpe Ambrose," said Allan. "In the meantime we'll

call the steward X. Y. Z., and we'll say he lives with me, because I'm devilish sharp, and I mean to keep him

under my own eye. You needn't look surprised. I know the man thoroughly well; he requires a good deal of

management. If I offered him the steward's place beforehand, his modesty would get in his way, and he

would say 'No.' If I pitch him into it neck and crop, without a word of warning and with nobody at hand to

relieve him of the situation, he'll have nothing for it but to consult my interests, and say 'Yes.' X. Y. Z. is not

at all a bad fellow, I can tell you. You'll see him when we go to Thorpe Ambrose; and I rather think you and

The humorous twinkle in Allan's eye, the sly significance in Allan's voice, would have betrayed his secret to a

prosperous man. Midwinter was as far from suspecting it as the carpenters who were at work above them on

"Is there no steward now on the estate?" he asked, his face showing plainly that he was far from feeling

"Nothing of the sort!" returned Allan. "The business is going with 'a wet sheet and a flowing sea, and a wind

that follows free.' I'm not joking; I'm only metaphorical. A regular accountant has poked his nose into the

books, and a steadygoing lawyer's clerk attends at the office once a week. That doesn't look like neglect,

does it? Leave the new steward alone for the present, and just tell me which of those two tenants you would

The first proposal was from no less a person than the solicitor at Thorpe Ambrose, who had first informed

Allan at Paris of the large fortune that had fallen into his hands. This gentleman wrote personally to say that

he had long admired the cottage, which was charmingly situated within the limits of the Thorpe Ambrose

grounds. He was a bachelor, of studious habits, desirous of retiring to a country seclusion after the wear and

tear of his business hours; and he ventured to say that Mr. Armadale, in accepting him as a tenant, might

count on securing an unobtrusive neighbor, and on putting the cottage into responsible and careful hands.

The second proposal came through the house agent, and proceeded from a total stranger. The tenant who

offered for the cottage, in this case, was a retired officer in the armyone Major Milroy. His family merely

consisted of an invalid wife and an only childa young lady. His references were unexceptionable; and he,

too, was especially anxious to secure the cottage, as the perfect quiet of the situation was exactly what was

"There seems to me to be no doubt about it," said Midwinter. "The lawyer has been already in

correspondence with you; and the lawyer's claim is, therefore, the claim to be preferred."

"I knew you would say that. In all the thousands of times I have asked other people for advice, I never yet got

the advice I wanted. Here's this business of letting the cottage as an instance. I'm all on the other side myself.

Young Armadale laid his forefinger on that part of the agent's letter which enumerated Major Milroy's family,

"A bachelor of studious habits walking about my grounds," said Allan, "is not an interesting object; a young

lady is. I have not the least doubt Miss Milroy is a charming girl. Ozias Midwinter of the serious

countenance! think of her pretty muslin dress flitting about among your trees and committing trespasses on

your property; think of her adorable feet trotting into your fruitgarden, and her delicious fresh lips kissing

your ripe peaches; think of her dimpled hands among your early violets, and her little creamcolored nose

buried in your blushroses. What does the studious bachelor offer me in exchange for the loss of all this? He

offers me a rheumatic brown object in gaiters and a wig. No! no! Justice is good, my dear friend; but, believe

"I'll try to be, if you like. I know I ought to take the lawyer; but what can I do if the major's daughter keeps

Midwinter returned resolutely to the just and sensible view of the matter, and pressed it on his friend's

attention with all the persuasion of which he was master. After listening with exemplary patience until he had

done, Allan swept a supplementary accumulation of litter off the cabin table, and produced from his waistcoat

The absurdity of the proposalas coming from a landlordwas irresistible. Midwinter's gravity deserted

"I'll spin," continued Allan, "and you shall call. We must give precedence to the army, of course; so we'll say

"Tails!" cried Midwinter, humoring what he believed to be one of Allan's boyish jokes.

"You don't mean to say you are really in earnest!" said Midwinter, as the other opened his writingcase and

"Oh, but I am, though!" replied Allan. "Chance is on my side, and Miss Milroy's; and you're outvoted, two to

one. It's no use arguing. The major has fallen uppermost, and the major shall have the cottage. I won't leave it

to the lawyers; they'll only be worrying me with more letters. I'll write myself."

He wrote his answers to the two proposals, literally in two minutes. One to the house agent: "Dear sir, I

accept Major Milroy's offer; let him come in when he pleases. Yours truly, Allan Armadale." And one to the

lawyer: "Dear sir, I regret that circumstances prevent me from accepting your proposal. Yours truly," etc.

"People make a fuss about letterwriting," Allan remarked, when he had done. "I find it easy enough."

He wrote the addresses on his two notes, and stamped them for the post, whistling gayly. While he had been

writing, he had not noticed how his friend was occupied. When he had done, it struck him that a sudden

silence had fallen on the cabin; and, looking up, he observed that Midwinter's whole attention was strangely

concentrated on the half crown as it lay head uppermost on the table. Allan suspended his whistling in

"I was wondering," said the other, handing him back the halfcrown, "whether there is such a thing as

Half an hour later the two notes were posted; and Allan, whose close superintendence of the repairs of the

yacht had hitherto allowed him but little leisure time on shore, had proposed to while away the idle hours by

taking a walk in Castletown. Even Midwinter's nervous anxiety to deserve Mr. Brock's confidence in him

could detect nothing objectionable in this harmless proposal, and the young men set forth together to see what

It is doubtful if there is a place on the habitable globe which, regarded as a sightseeing investment offering

itself to the spare attention of strangers, yields so small a percentage of interest in return as Castletown.

Beginning with the waterside, there was an inner harbor to see, with a drawbridge to let vessels through; an

outer harbor, ending in a dwarf lighthouse; a view of a flat coast to the right, and a view of a flat coast to the

left. In the central solitudes of the city, there was a squat gray building called "the castle"; also a memorial

pillar dedicated to one Governor Smelt, with a flat top for a statue, and no statue standing on it; also a

barrack, holding the halfcompany of soldiers allotted to the island, and exhibiting one spiritbroken sentry

at its lonely door. The prevalent color of the town was faint gray. The few shops open were parted at frequent

intervals by other shops closed and deserted in despair. The weary lounging of boatmen on shore was trebly

weary here; the youth of the district smoked together in speechless depression under the lee of a dead wall;

the ragged children said mechanically: "Give us a penny," and before the charitable hand could search the

merciful pocket, lapsed away again in misanthropic doubt of the human nature they addressed. The silence of

the grave overflowed the churchyard, and filled this miserable town. But one edifice, prosperous to look at,

rose consolatory in the desolation of these dreadful streets. Frequented by the students of the neighboring

"College of King William," this building was naturally dedicated to the uses of a pastrycook's shop. Here, at

least (viewed through the friendly medium of the window), there was something going on for a stranger to

see; for here, on high stools, the pupils of the college sat, with swinging legs and slowly moving jaws, and,

hushed in the horrid stillness of Castletown, gorged their pastry gravely, in an atmosphere of awful silence.

"Hang me if I can look any longer at the boys and the tarts!" said Allan, dragging his friend away from the

pastrycook's shop. "Let's try if we can't find something else to amuse us in the next street."

The first amusing object which the next street presented was a carverandgilder's shop, expiring feebly in

the last stage of commercial decay. The counter inside displayed nothing to view but the recumbent head of a

boy, peacefully asleep in the unbroken solitude of the place. In the window were exhibited to the passing

stranger three forlorn little flyspotted frames; a small postingbill, dusty with longcontinued neglect,

announcing that the premises were to let; and one colored print, the last of a series illustrating the horrors of

drunkenness, on the fiercest temperance principles. The compositionrepresenting an empty bottle of gin,

an immensely spacious garret, a perpendicular Scripture reader, and a horizontal expiring familyappealed

to public favor, under the entirely unobjectionable title of "The Hand of Death." Allan's resolution to extract

amusement from Castletown by main force had resisted a great deal, but it failed him at this stage of the

investigations. He suggested trying an excursion to some other place. Midwinter readily agreeing, they went

Thanks to the mixed influence of Allan's ready gift of familiarity, and total want of method in putting his

questions, a perfect deluge of information flowed in on the two strangers, relating to every subject but the

subject which had actually brought them to the hotel. They made various interesting discoveries in

connection with the laws and constitution of the Isle of Man, and the manners and customs of the natives. To

Allan's delight, the Manxmen spoke of England as of a wellknown adjacent island, situated at a certain

distance from the central empire of the Isle of Man. It was further revealed to the two Englishmen that this

happy little nation rejoiced in laws of its own, publicly proclaimed once a year by the governor and the two

head judges, grouped together on the top of an ancient mound, in fancy costumes appropriate to the occasion.

Possessing this enviable institution, the island added to it the inestimable blessing of a local parliament,

called the House of Keys, an assembly far in advance of the other parliament belonging to the neighboring

island, in this respectthat the members dispensed with the people, and solemnly elected each other. With

these and many more local particulars, extracted from all sorts and conditions of men in and about the hotel,

Allan whiled away the weary time in his own essentially desultory manner, until the gossip died out of itself,

and Midwinter (who had been speaking apart with the landlord) quietly recalled him to the matter in hand.

The finest coast scenery in the island was said to be to the westward and the southward, and there was a

fishing town in those regions called Port St. Mary, with a hotel at which travelers could sleep. If Allan's

impressions of Castletown still inclined him to try an excursion to some other place, he had only to say so,

and a carriage would be produced immediately. Allan jumped at the proposal, and in ten minutes more he and

With trifling incidents, the day of Mr. Brock's departure had worn on thus far. With trifling incidents, in

which not even Midwinter's nervous watchfulness could see anything to distrust, it was still to proceed, until

the night camea night which one at least of the two companions was destined to remember to the end of his

Before the travelers had advanced two miles on their road, an accident happened. The horse fell, and the

driver reported that the animal had seriously injured himself. There was no alternative but to send for another

Deciding to walk, Midwinter and Allan had not gone far before they were overtaken by a gentleman driving

alone in an open chaise. He civilly introduced himself as a medical man, living close to Port St. Mary, and

offered seats in his carriage. Always ready to make new acquaintances, Allan at once accepted the proposal.

He and the doctor (whose name was ascertained to be Hawbury) became friendly and familiar before they

had been five minutes in the chaise together; Midwinter, sitting behind them, reserved and silent, on the back

seat. They separated just outside Port St. Mary, before Mr. Hawbury's house, Allan boisterously admiring the

doctor's neat French windows and pretty flowergarden and lawn, and wringing his hand at parting as if they

had known each other from boyhood upward. Arrived in Port St. Mary, the two friends found themselves in a

second Castletown on a smaller scale. But the country round, wild, open, and hilly, deserved its reputation. A

walk brought them well enough on with the daystill the harmless, idle day that it had been from the

firstto see the evening near at hand. After waiting a little to admire the sun, setting grandly over hill, and

heath, and crag, and talking, while they waited, of Mr. Brock and his long journey home, they returned to the

hotel to order their early supper. Nearer and nearer the night, and the adventure which the night was to bring

with it, came to the two friends; and still the only incidents that happened were incidents to be laughed at, if

they were noticed at all. The supper was badly cooked; the waitingmaid was impenetrably stupid; the

oldfashioned bellrope in the coffeeroom had come down in Allan's hands, and, striking in its descent a

painted china shepherdess on the chimneypiece, had laid the figure in fragments on the floor. Events as

trifling as these were still the only events that had happened, when the twilight faded, and the lighted candles

Finding Midwinter, after the double fatigue of a sleepless night and a restless day, but little inclined for

conversation, Allan left him resting on the sofa, and lounged into the passage of the hotel, on the chance of

discovering somebody to talk to. Here another of the trivial incidents of the day brought Allan and Mr.

Hawbury together again, and helpedwhether happily or not, yet remained to be seento strengthen the

The "bar" of the hotel was situated at one end of the passage, and the landlady was in attendance there,

mixing a glass of liquor for the doctor, who had just looked in for a little gossip. On Allan's asking

permission to make a third in the drinking and the gossiping, Mr. Hawbury civilly handed him the glass

which the landlady had just filled. It contained cold brandyandwater. A marked change in Allan's face, as

he suddenly drew back and asked for whisky instead, caught the doctor's medical eye. "A case of nervous

antipathy," said Mr. Hawbury, quietly taking the glass away again. The remark obliged Allan to acknowledge

that he had an insurmountable loathing (which he was foolish enough to be a little ashamed of mentioning) to

the smell and taste of brandy. No matter with what diluting liquid the spirit was mixed, the presence of it,

instantly detected by his organs of taste and smell, turned him sick and faint if the drink touched his lips.

Starting from this personal confession, the talk turned on antipathies in general; and the doctor

acknowledged, on his side, that he took a professional interest in the subject, and that he possessed a

collection of curious cases at home, which his new acquaintance was welcome to look at, if Allan had

nothing else to do that evening, and if he would call, when the medical work of the day was over, in an hour's

Cordially accepting the invitation (which was extended to Midwinter also, if he cared to profit by it), Allan

returned to the coffeeroom to look after his friend. Half asleep and half awake, Midwinter was still stretched

"I heard your voice in the passage," he said, drowsily. "Whom were you talking to?"

"The doctor," replied Allan. "I am going to smoke a cigar with him, in an hour's time. Will you come too?"

Midwinter assented with a weary sigh. Always shyly unwilling to make new acquaintances, fatigue increased

the reluctance he now felt to become Mr. Hawbury's guest. As matters stood, however, there was no

alternative but to go; for, with Allan's constitutional imprudence, there was no safely trusting him alone

anywhere, and more especially in a stranger's house. Mr. Brock would certainly not have left his pupil to visit

the doctor alone; and Midwinter was still nervously conscious that he occupied Mr. Brock's place.

"What shall we do till it's time to go?" asked Allan, looking about him. "Anything in this?" he added,

"I'm too tired to look. If you find anything interesting, read it out," said Midwinter, thinking that the reading

Part of the newspaper, and no small part of it, was devoted to extracts from books recently published in

London. One of the works most largely laid under contribution in this manner was of the sort to interest

Allan: it was a highly spiced narrative of Traveling Adventures in the wilds of Australia. Pouncing on an

extract which described the sufferings of the travelingparty, lost in a trackless wilderness, and in danger of

dying by thirst, Allan announced that he had found something to make his friend's flesh creep, and began

Resolute not to sleep, Midwinter followed the progress of the adventure, sentence by sentence, without

missing a word. The consultation of the lost travelers, with death by thirst staring them in the face; the

resolution to press on while their strength lasted; the fall of a heavy shower, the vain efforts made to catch the

rainwater, the transient relief experienced by sucking their wet clothes; the sufferings renewed a few hours

after; the night advance of the strongest of the party, leaving the weakest behind; the following a flight of

birds when morning dawned; the discovery by the lost men of the broad pool of water that saved their

livesall this Midwinter's fastfailing attention mastered painfully, Allan's voice growing fainter and fainter

on his ear with every sentence that was read. Soon the next words seemed to drop away gently, and nothing

but the slowly sinking sound of the voice was left. Then the light in the room darkened gradually, the sound

dwindled into delicious silence, and the last waking impressions of the weary Midwinter came peacefully to

The next event of which he was conscious was a sharp ringing at the closed door of the hotel. He started to

his feet, with the ready alacrity of a man whose life has accustomed him to wake at the shortest notice. An

instant's look round showed him that the room was empty, and a glance at his watch told him that it was close

on midnight. The noise made by the sleepy servant in opening the door, and the tread the next moment of

quick footsteps in the passage, filled him with a sudden foreboding of something wrong. As he hurriedly

stepped forward to go out and make inquiry, the door of the coffeeroom opened, and the doctor stood before

"I am sorry to disturb you," said Mr. Hawbury. "Don't be alarmed; there's nothing wrong."

"At the pier head," answered the doctor. "I am, to a certain extent, responsible for what he is doing now; and I

The hint was enough for Midwinter. He and the doctor set out for the pier immediately, Mr. Hawbury

Punctual to the appointed hour Allan had made his appearance at the doctor's house, explaining that he had

left his weary friend so fast asleep on the sofa that he had not had the heart to wake him. The evening had

passed pleasantly, and the conversation had turned on many subjects, until, in an evil hour, Mr. Hawbury had

dropped a hint which showed that he was fond of sailing, and that he possessed a pleasureboat of his own in

the harbor. Excited on the instant by his favorite topic, Allan had left his host no hospitable alternative but to

take him to the pier head and show him the boat. The beauty of the night and the softness of the breeze had

done the rest of the mischief; they had filled Allan with irresistible longings for a sail by moonlight.

Prevented from accompanying his guest by professional hindrances which obliged him to remain on shore,

the doctor, not knowing what else to do, had ventured on disturbing Midwinter, rather than take the

responsibility of allowing Mr. Armadale (no matter how well he might be accustomed to the sea) to set off on

The time taken to make this explanation brought Midwinter and the doctor to the pier head. There, sure

enough, was young Armadale in the boat, hoisting the sail, and singing the sailor's "Yoheaveho!" at the top

"Come along, old boy!" cried Allan. "You're just in time for a frolic by moonlight!"

Midwinter suggested a frolic by daylight, and an adjournment to bed in the meantime.

"Bed!" cried Allan, on whose harumscarum high spirits Mr. Hawbury's hospitality had certainly not

produced a sedative effect. "Hear him, doctor! one would think he was ninety! Bed, you drowsy old

He pointed to the sea. The moon was shining in the cloudless heaven; the nightbreeze blew soft and steady

from the land; the peaceful waters rippled joyfully in the silence and the glory of the night. Midwinter turned

to the doctor with a wise resignation to circumstances: he had seen enough to satisfy him that all words of

"I am well used to the sea," said Midwinter, descending the pier steps. "You may trust me to take care of my

"Goodnight, doctor!" shouted Allan. "Your whiskyandwater is deliciousyour boat's a little

The doctor laughed and waved his hand, and the boat glided out from the harbor, with Midwinter at the helm.

As the breeze then blew, they were soon abreast of the westward headland, bounding the Bay of Poolvash,

and the question was started whether they should run out to sea or keep along the shore. The wisest

proceeding, in the event of the wind failing them, was to keep by the land. Midwinter altered the course of the

boat, and they sailed on smoothly in a southwesterly direction, abreast of the coast.

Little by little the cliffs rose in height, and the rocks, massed wild and jagged, showed rifted black chasms

yawning deep in their seaward sides. Off the bold promontory called Spanish Head, Midwinter looked

ominously at his watch. But Allan pleaded hard for half an hour more, and for a glance at the famous channel

of the Sound, which they were now fast nearing, and of which he had heard some startling stories from the

workmen employed on his yacht. The new change which Midwinter's compliance with this request rendered

it necessary to make in the course of the boat brought her close to the wind; and revealed, on one side, the

grand view of the southernmost shores of the Isle of Man, and, on the other, the black precipices of the islet

called the Calf, separated from the mainland by the dark and dangerous channel of the Sound.

Once more Midwinter looked at his watch. "We have gone far enough," he said. "Stand by the sheet!"

"Stop!" cried Allan, from the bows of the boat. "Good God! here's a wrecked ship right ahead of us!"

There, stranded midway between the rocky boundaries on either side of the Soundthere, never again to rise

on the living waters from her grave on the sunken rock; lost and lonely in the quiet night; high, and dark, and

"I know the vessel," said Allan, in great excitement. "I heard my workmen talking of her yesterday. She

drifted in here, on a pitchdark night, when they couldn't see the lights; a poor old wornout merchantman,

Midwinter, that the shipbrokers have bought to break up. Let's run in and have a look at her."

Midwinter hesitated. All the old sympathies of his sealife strongly inclined him to follow Allan's suggestion;

but the wind was falling light, and he distrusted the broken water and the swirling currents of the channel

ahead. "This is an ugly place to take a boat into when you know nothing about it," he said.

"Nonsense!" returned Allan. "It's as light as day, and we float in two feet of water."

Before Midwinter could answer, the current caught the boat, and swept them onward through the channel

"Lower the sail," said Midwinter, quietly, "and ship the oars. We are running down on her fast enough now,

Both well accustomed to the use of the oar, they brought the course of the boat under sufficient control to

keep her on the smoothest side of the channelthe side which was nearest to the Islet of the Calf. As they

came swiftly up with the wreck, Midwinter resigned his oar to Allan; and, watching his opportunity, caught a

hold with the boathook on the forechains of the vessel. The next moment they had the boat safely in hand,

The ship's ladder used by the workmen hung over the forechains. Mounting it, with the boat's rope in his

teeth, Midwinter secured one end, and lowered the other to Allan in the boat. "Make that fast," he said, "and

wait till I see if it's all safe on board." With those words, he disappeared behind the bulwark.

"Wait?" repeated Allan, in the blankest astonishment at his friend's excessive caution. "What on earth does he

He hitched the loose end of the rope round the forward thwart of the boat, and, swinging himself up the

ladder, stood the next moment on the deck. "Anything very dreadful on board?" he inquired sarcastically, as

Midwinter smiled. "Nothing whatever," he replied. "But I couldn't be sure that we were to have the whole

Allan took a turn on the deck, and surveyed the wreck critically from stem to stern.

"Not much of a vessel," he said; "the Frenchmen generally build better ships than this."

Midwinter came a little nearer. His swarthy face began to look, to Allan's eyes, unaccountably pale in the

As Allan gave that answer, Midwinter's lean brown hand clutched him fast by the shoulder, and Midwinter's

"Did they tell you her name?" he asked, in a voice that dropped suddenly to a whisper.

"They did, I think. But it has slipped my memory.Gently, old fellow; these long claws of yours are rather

"Was the name?" He stopped, removed his hand, and dashed away the great drops that were gathering on

"How the deuce did you come to know it? That's the name, sure enough. La Grace de Dieu."

"The boat!" he cried, with a scream of horror that rang far and wide through the stillness of the night, and

The lower end of the carelessly hitched rope was loose on the water, and ahead, in the track of the moonlight,

One stepping back under the dark shelter of the bulwark, and one standing out boldly in the yellow light of

the moon, the two friends turned face to face on the deck of the timbership, and looked at each other in

silence. The next moment Allan's inveterate recklessness seized on the grotesque side of the situation by main

force. He seated himself astride on the bulwark, and burst out boisterously into his loudest and heartiest

"All my fault," he said; "but there's no help for it now. Here we are, hard and fast in a trap of our own setting;

and there goes the last of the doctor's boat! Come out of the dark, Midwinter; I can't half see you there, and I

Midwinter neither answered nor moved. Allan left the bulwark, and, mounting the forecastle, looked down

"One thing is pretty certain," he said. "With the current on that side, and the sunken rocks on this, we can't

find our way out of the scrape by swimming, at any rate. So much for the prospect at this end of the wreck.

Let's try how things look at the other. Rouse up, messmate!" he called out, cheerfully, as he passed

Midwinter. "Come and see what the old tub of a timbership has got to show us astern." He sauntered on,

His voice had produced no apparent effect on his friend; but, at the light touch of his hand in passing,

Midwinter started, and moved out slowly from the shadow of the bulwark. "Come along!" cried Allan,

suspending his singing for a moment, and glancing back. Still, without a word of answer, the other followed.

Thrice he stopped before he reached the stern end of the wreck: the first time, to throw aside his hat, and push

back his hair from his forehead and temples; the second time, reeling, giddy, to hold for a moment by a

ringbolt close at hand; the last time (though Allan was plainly visible a few yards ahead), to look stealthily

behind him, with the furtive scrutiny of a man who believes that other footsteps are following him in the

dark. "Not yet!" he whispered to himself, with eyes that searched the empty air. "I shall see him astern, with

The stern end of the wreck was clear of the shipbreakers' lumber, accumulated in the other parts of the

vessel. Here, the one object that rose visible on the smooth surface of the deck was the low wooden structure

which held the cabin door and roofed in the cabin stairs. The wheelhouse had been removed, the binnacle

had been removed, but the cabin entrance, and all that had belonged to it, had been left untouched. The scuttle

On gaining the afterpart of the vessel, Allan walked straight to the stern, and looked out to sea over the

taffrail. No such thing as a boat was in view anywhere on the quiet, moonbrightened waters. Knowing

Midwinter's sight to be better than his own, he called out, "Come up here, and see if there's a fisherman

within hail of us." Hearing no reply, he looked back. Midwinter had followed him as far as the cabin, and had

stopped there. He called again in a louder voice, and beckoned impatiently. Midwinter had heard the call, for

he looked up, but still he never stirred from his place. There he stood, as if he had reached the utmost limits

Allan went back and joined him. It was not easy to discover what he was looking at, for he kept his face

turned away from the moonlight; but it seemed as if his eyes were fixed, with a strange expression of inquiry,

on the cabin door. "What is there to look at there?" Allan asked. "Let's see if it's locked." As he took a step

forward to open the door, Midwinter's hand seized him suddenly by the coat collar and forced him back. The

moment after, the hand relaxed without losing its grasp, and trembled violently, like the hand of a man

"Am I to consider myself in custody?" asked Allan, half astonished and half amused. "Why in the name of

wonder do you keep staring at the cabin door? Any suspicious noises below? It's no use disturbing the

ratsif that's what you meanwe haven't got a dog with us. Men? Living men they can't be; for they would

have heard us and come on deck. Dead men? Quite impossible! No ship's crew could be drowned in a

landlocked place like this, unless the vessel broke up under themand here's the vessel as steady as a

church to speak for herself. Man alive, how your hand trembles! What is there to scare you in that rotten old

cabin? What are you shaking and shivering about? Any company of the supernatural sort on board? Mercy

"I see two!" answered the other, driven headlong into speech and action by a maddening temptation to reveal

the truth. "Two!" he repeated, his breath bursting from him in deep, heavy gasps, as he tried vainly to force

back the horrible words. "The ghost of a man like you, drowning in the cabin! And the ghost of a man like

Once more young Armadale's hearty laughter rang out loud and long through the stillness of the night.

"Turning the lock of the door, is he?" said Allan, as soon as his merriment left him breath enough to speak.

"That's a devilish unhandsome action, Master Midwinter, on the part of your ghost. The least I can do, after

With no more than a momentary exertion of his superior strength, he freed himself easily from Midwinter's

hold. "Below there!" he called out, gayly, as he laid his strong hand on the crazy lock, and tore open the cabin

door. "Ghost of Allan Armadale, come on deck!" In his terrible ignorance of the truth, he put his head into the

doorway and looked down, laughing, at the place where his murdered father had died. "Pah!" he exclaimed,

stepping back suddenly, with a shudder of disgust. "The air is foul already; and the cabin is full of water."

It was true. The sunken rocks on which the vessel lay wrecked had burst their way through her lower timbers

astern, and the water had welled up through the rifted wood. Here, where the deed had been done, the fatal

parallel between past and present was complete. What the cabin had been in the time of the fathers, that the

Allan pushed the door to again with his foot, a little surprised at the sudden silence which appeared to have

fallen on his friend from the moment when he had laid his hand on the cabin lock. When he turned to look,

the reason of the silence was instantly revealed. Midwinter had dropped on the deck. He lay senseless before

the cabin door; his face turned up, white and still, to the moonlight, like the face of a dead man.

In a moment Allan was at his side. He looked uselessly round the lonely limits of the wreck, as he lifted

Midwinter's head on his knee, for a chance of help, where all chance was ruthlessly cut off. "What am I to

do?" he said to himself, in the first impulse of alarm. "Not a drop of water near, but the foul water in the

cabin." A sudden recollection crossed his memory, the florid color rushed back over his face, and he drew

from his pocket a wickercovered flask. "God bless the doctor for giving me this before we sailed!" he broke

out, fervently, as he poured down Midwinter's throat some drops of the raw whisky which the flask

contained. The stimulant acted instantly on the sensitive system of the swooning man. He sighed faintly, and

slowly opened his eyes. "Have I been dreaming?" he asked, looking up vacantly in Allan's face. His eyes

wandered higher, and encountered the dismantled masts of the wreck rising weird and black against the night

sky. He shuddered at the sight of them, and hid his face on Allan's knee. "No dream!" he murmured to

"You have been overtired all day," said Allan, "and this infernal adventure of ours has upset you. Take some

more whisky, it's sure to do you good. Can you sit by yourself, if I put you against the bulwark, so?"

Allan pointed to the mizzen shrouds of the wreck, which were still left standing. "You are not well enough to

rough it here till the workmen come off in the morning," he said. "We must find our way on shore at once, if

we can. I am going up to get a good view all round, and see if there's a house within hail of us."

Even in the moment that passed while those few words were spoken, Midwinter's eyes wandered back

distrustfully to the fatal cabin door. "Don't go near it!" he whispered. "Don't try to open it, for God's sake!"

"No, no," returned Allan, humoring him. "When I come down from the rigging, I'll come back here." He said

the words a little constrainedly, noticing, for the first time while he now spoke, an underlying distress in

Midwinter's face, which grieved and perplexed him. "You're not angry with me?" he said, in his simple,

sweettempered way. "All this is my fault, I know; and I was a brute and a fool to laugh at you, when I ought

Midwinter slowly raised his head. His eyes rested with a mournful interest, long and tender, on Allan's

"Angry?" he repeated, in his lowest, gentlest tones. "Angry with you?Oh, my poor boy, were you to blame

for being kind to me when I was ill in the old westcountry inn? And was I to blame for feeling your

kindness thankfully? Was it our fault that we never doubted each other, and never knew that we were

traveling together blindfold on the way that was to lead us here? The cruel time is coming, Allan, when we

shall rue the day we ever met. Shake hands, brother, on the edge of the precipiceshake hands while we are

Allan turned away quickly, convinced that his mind had not yet recovered the shock of the fainting fit. "Don't

forget the whisky!" he said, cheerfully, as he sprang into the rigging, and mounted to the mizzentop.

It was past two, the moon was waning, and the darkness that comes before dawn was beginning to gather

round the wreck. Behind Allan, as he now stood looking out from the elevation of the mizzentop, spread the

broad and lonely sea. Before him were the low, black, lurking rocks, and the broken waters of the channel,

pouring white and angry into the vast calm of the westward ocean beyond. On the right hand, heaved back

grandly from the waterside, were the rocks and precipices, with their little tablelands of grass between; the

sloping downs, and upwardrolling heath solitudes of the Isle of Man. On the left hand rose the craggy sides

of the Islet of the Calf, here rent wildly into deep black chasms, there lying low under long sweeping

acclivities of grass and heath. No sound rose, no light was visible, on either shore. The black lines of the

topmost masts of the wreck looked shadowy and faint in the darkening mystery of the sky; the land breeze

had dropped; the small shoreward waves fell noiseless: far or near, no sound was audible but the cheerless

bubbling of the broken water ahead, pouring through the awful hush of silence in which earth and ocean

Even Allan's careless nature felt the solemn influence of the time. The sound of his own voice startled him

"I think I see one house," he said. "Hereaway, on the mainland to the right." He looked again, to make sure,

at a dim little patch of white, with faint white lines behind it, nestling low in a grassy hollow, on the main

island. "It looks like a stone house and inclosure," he resumed. "I'll hail it, on the chance." He passed his arm

round a rope to steady himself, made a speakingtrumpet of his hands, and suddenly dropped them again

without uttering a sound. "It's so awfully quiet," he whispered to himself. "I'm half afraid to call out." He

looked down again on deck. "I shan't startle you, Midwinter, shall I?" he said, with an uneasy laugh. He

looked once more at the faint white object, in the grassy hollow. "It won't do to have come up here for

nothing," he thought, and made a speakingtrumpet of his hands again. This time he gave the hail with the

whole power of his lungs. "On shore there!" he shouted, turning his face to the main island.

The last echoes of his voice died away and were lost. No sound answered him but the cheerless bubbling of

He looked down again at his friend, and saw the dark figure of Midwinter rise erect, and pace the deck

backward and forward, never disappearing out of sight of the cabin when it retired toward the bows of the

wreck, and never passing beyond the cabin when it returned toward the stern. "He is impatient to get away,"

thought Allan; "I'll try again." He hailed the land once more, and, taught by previous experience, pitched his

This time another sound than the sound of the bubbling water answered him. The lowing of frightened cattle

rose from the building in the grassy hollow, and traveled far and drearily through the stillness of the morning

air. Allan waited and listened. If the building was a farmhouse the disturbance among the beasts would rouse

the men. If it was only a cattlestable, nothing more would happen. The lowing of the frightened brutes rose

"Once more!" said Allan, looking down at the restless figure pacing beneath him. For the third time he hailed

In a pause of silence among the cattle, he heard behind him, on the opposite shore of the channel, faint and

far among the solitudes of the Islet of the Calf, a sharp, sudden sound, like the distant clash of a heavy

doorbolt drawn back. Turning at once in the new direction, he strained his eyes to look for a house. The last

faint rays of the waning moonlight trembled here and there on the higher rocks, and on the steeper pinnacles

of ground, but great strips of darkness lay dense and black over all the land between; and in that darkness the

"I have roused somebody at last," Allan called out, encouragingly, to Midwinter, still walking to and fro on

the deck, strangely indifferent to all that was passing above and beyond him. "Look out for the answering,

The shout was not answered, but mimicked with a shrill, shrieking derision, with wilder and wilder cries,

rising out of the deep distant darkness, and mingling horribly the expression of a human voice with the sound

of a brute's. A sudden suspicion crossed Allan's mind, which made his head swim and turned his hand cold as

it held the rigging. In breathless silence he looked toward the quarter from which the first mimicry of his cry

for help had come. After a moment's pause the shrieks were renewed, and the sound of them came nearer.

Suddenly a figure, which seemed the figure of a man, leaped up black on a pinnacle of rock, and capered and

shrieked in the waning gleam of the moonlight. The screams of a terrified woman mingled with the cries of

the capering creature on the rock. A red spark flashed out in the darkness from a light kindled in an invisible

window. The hoarse shouting of a man's voice in anger was heard through the noise. A second black figure

leaped up on the rock, struggled with the first figure, and disappeared with it in the darkness. The cries grew

fainter and fainter, the screams of the woman were stilled, the hoarse voice of the man was heard again for a

moment, hailing the wreck in words made unintelligible by the distance, but in tones plainly expressive of

rage and fear combined. Another moment, and the clang of the doorbolt was heard again, the red spark of

light was quenched in darkness, and all the islet lay quiet in the shadows once more. The lowing of the cattle

on the mainland ceased, rose again, stopped. Then, cold and cheerless as ever, the eternal bubbling of the

broken water welled up through the great gap of silencethe one sound left, as the mysterious stillness of

Allan descended from his place in the mizzentop, and joined his friend again on deck.

"We must wait till the shipbreakers come off to their work," he said, meeting Midwinter halfway in the

course of his restless walk. "After what has happened, I don't mind confessing that I've had enough of hailing

the land. Only think of there being a madman in that house ashore, and of my waking him! Horrible, wasn't

Midwinter stood still for a moment, and looked at Allan, with the perplexed air of a man who hears

circumstances familiarly mentioned to which he is himself a total stranger. He appeared, if such a thing had

been possible, to have passed over entirely without notice all that had just happened on the Islet of the Calf.

"Nothing is horrible out of this ship," he said. "Everything is horrible in it."

Answering in those strange words, he turned away again, and went on with his walk.

Allan picked up the flask of whisky lying on the deck near him, and revived his spirits with a dram. "Here's

one thing on board that isn't horrible," he retorted briskly, as he screwed on the stopper of the flask; "and

here's another," he added, as he took a cigar from his case and lit it. "Three o'clock!" he went on, looking at

his watch, and settling himself comfortably on deck with his back against the bulwark. "Daybreak isn't far

off; we shall have the piping of the birds to cheer us up before long. I say, Midwinter, you seem to have quite

got over that unlucky fainting fit. How you do keep walking! Come here and have a cigar, and make yourself

comfortable. What's the good of tramping backward and forward in that restless way?"

"For what is to happen to you or to meor to both of usbefore we are out of this ship."

"With submission to your superior judgment, my dear fellow, I think quite enough has happened already. The

adventure will do very well as it stands now; more of it is more than I want." He took another dram of

whisky, and rambled on, between the puffs of his cigar, in his usual easy way. "I've not got your fine

imagination, old boy; and I hope the next thing that happens will be the appearance of the workmen's boat. I

suspect that queer fancy of yours has been running away with you while you were down here all by yourself.

Come, now, what were you thinking of while I was up in the mizzentop frightening the cows?"

The torturing temptation to reveal the truth, roused once already by his companion's merciless gayety of

spirit, possessed itself of Midwinter for the second time. He leaned back in the dark against the high side of

the ship, and looked down in silence at Allan's figure, stretched comfortably on the deck. "Rouse him," the

fiend whispered, subtly, "from that ignorant selfpossession and that pitiless repose. Show him the place

where the deed was done; let him know it with your knowledge, and fear it with your dread. Tell him of the

letter you burned, and of the words no fire can destroy which are living in your memory now. Let him see

your mind as it was yesterday, when it roused your sinking faith in your own convictions, to look back on

your life at sea, and to cherish the comforting remembrance that, in all your voyages, you had never fallen in

with this ship. Let him see your mind as it is now, when the ship has got you at the turningpoint of your new

life, at the outset of your friendship with the one man of all men whom your father warned you to avoid.

Think of those deathbed words, and whisper them in his ear, that he may think of them, too: 'Hide yourself

from him under an assumed name. Put the mountains and the seas between you; be ungrateful, be

unforgiving; be all that is most repellent to your own gentler nature, rather than live under the same roof and

breathe the same air with that man.'" So the tempter counseled. So, like a noisome exhalation from the

The sudden silence surprised Allan; he looked back drowsily over his shoulder. "Thinking again!" he

Midwinter stepped out from the shadow, and came nearer to Allan than he had come yet. "Yes," he said,

"The past and the future?" repeated Allan, shifting himself comfortably into a new position. "For my part, I'm

dumb about the past. It's a sore subject with me: the past means the loss of the doctor's boat. Let's talk about

the future. Have you been taking a practical view? as dear old Brock calls it. Have you been considering the

next serious question that concerns us both when we get back to the hotelthe question of breakfast?"

After an instant's hesitation, Midwinter took a step nearer. "I have been thinking of your future and mine," he

said; "I have been thinking of the time when your way in life and my way in life will be two ways instead of

"Here's the daybreak!" cried Allan. "Look up at the masts; they're beginning to get clear again already. I beg

Midwinter made no reply. The struggle between the hereditary superstition that was driving him on, and the

unconquerable affection for Allan that was holding him back, suspended the next words on his lips. He turned

aside his face in speechless suffering. "Oh, my father!" he thought, "better have killed me on that day when I

"What's that about the future?" persisted Allan. "I was looking for the daylight; I didn't hear."

Midwinter controlled himself, and answered: "You have treated me with your usual kindness," he said, "in

planning to take me with you to Thorpe Ambrose. I think, on reflection, I had better not intrude myself where

I am not known and not expected." His voice faltered, and he stopped again. The more he shrank from it, the

Allan's thoughts instantly reverted to the mystification about the new steward which he had practiced on his

friend when they were consulting together in the cabin of the yacht. "Has he been turning it over in his

mind?" wondered Allan; "and is he beginning at last to suspect the truth? I'll try him.Talk as much

nonsense, my dear fellow, as you like," he rejoined, "but don't forget that you are engaged to see me

"I am not talking about your steward or your estate," he burst out passionately; "I am talking about myself.

Do you hear? Myself! I am not a fit companion for you. You don't know who I am." He drew back into the

shadowy shelter of the bulwark as suddenly as he had come out from it. "O God! I can't tell him," he said to

For a moment, and for a moment only, Allan was surprised. "Not know who you are?" Even as he repeated

the words, his easy goodhumor got the upperhand again. He took up the whisky flask, and shook it

significantly. "I say," he resumed, "how much of the doctor's medicine did you take while I was up in the

The light tone which he persisted in adopting stung Midwinter to the last pitch of exasperation. He came out

again into the light, and stamped his foot angrily on the deck. "Listen to me!" he said. "You don't know half

the low things I have done in my lifetime. I have been a tradesman's drudge; I have swept out the shop and

put up the shutters; I have carried parcels through the street, and waited for my master's money at his

"I have never done anything half as useful," returned Allan, composedly. "Dear old boy, what an industrious

"I've been a vagabond and a blackguard in my time," returned the other, fiercely; "I've been a street tumbler, a

tramp, a gypsy's boy! I've sung for halfpence with dancing dogs on the highroad! I've worn a footboy's

livery, and waited at table! I've been a common sailors' cook, and a starving fisherman's Jackofalltrades!

What has a gentleman in your position in common with a man in mine? Can you take me into the society at

Thorpe Ambrose? Why, my very name would be a reproach to you. Fancy the faces of your new neighbors

when their footmen announce Ozias Midwinter and Allan Armadale in the same breath!" He burst into a

harsh laugh, and repeated the two names again, with a scornful bitterness of emphasis which insisted

Something in the sound of his laughter jarred painfully even on Allan's easy nature. He raised himself on the

deck and spoke seriously for the first time. "A joke's a joke, Midwinter," he said, "as long as you don't carry it

too far. I remember your saying something of the same sort to me once before when I was nursing you in

Somersetshire. You forced me to ask you if I deserved to be kept at armslength by you of all the people in

the world. Don't force me to say so again. Make as much fun of me as you please, old fellow, in any other

Simple as the words were, and simply as they had been spoken, they appeared to work an instant revolution

in Midwinter's mind. His impressible nature recoiled as from some sudden shock. Without a word of reply, he

walked away by himself to the forward part of the ship. He sat down on some piled planks between the masts,

and passed his hand over his head in a vacant, bewildered way. Though his father's belief in fatality was his

own belief once morethough there was no longer the shadow of a doubt in his mind that the woman whom

Mr. Brock had met in Somersetshire, and the woman who had tried to destroy herself in London, were one

and the samethough all the horror that mastered him when he first read the letter from Wildbad had now

mastered him again, Allan's appeal to their past experience of each other had come home to his heart, with a

force more irresistible than the force of his superstition itself. In the strength of that very superstition, he now

sought the pretext which might encourage him to sacrifice every less generous feeling to the one predominant

dread of wounding the sympathies of his friend. "Why distress him?" he whispered to himself. "We are not

the end here: there is the Woman behind us in the dark. Why resist him when the mischief's done, and the

caution comes too late? What is to be will be. What have I to do with the future? and what has he?"

He went back to Allan, sat down by his side, and took his hand. "Forgive me," he said, gently; "I have hurt

you for the last time." Before it was possible to reply, he snatched up the whisky flask from the deck.

"Come!" he exclaimed, with a sudden effort to match his friend's cheerfulness, "you have been trying the

Allan was delighted. "This is something like a change for the better," he said; "Midwinter is himself again.

Hark! there are the birds. Hail, smiling morn! smiling morn!" He sang the words of the glee in his old,

cheerful voice, and clapped Midwinter on the shoulder in his old, hearty way. "How did you manage to clear

your head of those confounded megrims? Do you know you were quite alarming about something happening

"Sheer nonsense!" returned Midwinter, contemptuously. "I don't think my head has ever been quite right

since that fever; I've got a bee in my bonnet, as they say in the North. Let's talk of something else. About

those people you have let the cottage to? I wonder whether the agent's account of Major Milroy's family is to

be depended on? There might be another lady in the household besides his wife and his daughter."

"Oho!" cried Allan, "you're beginning to think of nymphs among the trees, and flirtations in the fruitgarden,

are you? Another lady, eh? Suppose the major's family circle won't supply another? We shall have to spin

that halfcrown again, and toss up for which is to have the first chance with Miss Milroy."

For once Midwinter spoke as lightly and carelessly as Allan himself. "No, no," he said, "the major's landlord

has the first claim to the notice of the major's daughter. I'll retire into the background, and wait for the next

"Very good. I'll have an address to the women of Norfolk posted in the park to that effect," said Allan. "Are

Midwinter trifled with his own superstition, as a man trifles with the loaded gun that may kill him, or with the

savage animal that may maim him for life. He mentioned the age (as he had reckoned it himself) of the

As the words passed his lips, his factitious spirits deserted him. He left his seat, impenetrably deaf to all

Allan's efforts at rallying him on his extraordinary answer, and resumed his restless pacing of the deck in

dead silence. Once more the haunting thought which had gone to and fro with him in the hour of darkness

Once more the conviction possessed itself of his mind that something was to happen to Allan or to himself

Minute by minute the light strengthened in the eastern sky; and the shadowy places on the deck of the

timbership revealed their barren emptiness under the eye of day. As the breeze rose again, the sea began to

murmur wakefully in the morning light. Even the cold bubbling of the broken water changed its cheerless

note, and softened on the ear as the mellowing flood of daylight poured warm over it from the rising sun.

Midwinter paused near the forward part of the ship, and recalled his wandering attention to the passing time.

The cheering influences of the hour were round him, look where he might. The happy morning smile of the

summer sky, so brightly merciful to the old and weary earth, lavished its allembracing beauty even on the

wreck. The dew that lay glittering on the inland fields lay glittering on the deck, and the worn and rusted

rigging was gemmed as brightly as the fresh green leaves on shore. Insensibly, as he looked round,

Midwinter's thoughts reverted to the comrade who had shared with him the adventure of the night. He

returned to the afterpart of the ship, spoke to Allan as he advanced. Receiving no answer, he approached the

recumbent figure and looked closer at it. Left to his own resources, Allan had let the fatigues of the night take

their own way with him. His head had sunk back; his hat had fallen off; he lay stretched at full length on the

Midwinter resumed his walk; his mind lost in doubt; his own past thoughts seeming suddenly to have grown

strange to him. How darkly his forebodings had distrusted the coming time, and how harmlessly that time had

come! The sun was mounting in the heavens, the hour of release was drawing nearer and nearer, and of the

two Armadales imprisoned in the fatal ship, one was sleeping away the weary time, and the other was quietly

The sun climbed higher; the hour wore on. With the latent distrust of the wreck which still clung to him,

Midwinter looked inquiringly on either shore for signs of awakening human life. The land was still lonely.

The smoke wreaths that were soon to rise from cottage chimneys had not risen yet.

After a moment's thought he went back again to the afterpart of the vessel, to see if there might be a

fisherman's boat within hail astern of them. Absorbed for the moment by the new idea, he passed Allan

hastily, after barely noticing that he still lay asleep. One step more would have brought him to the taffrail,

when that step was suspended by a sound behind him, a sound like a faint groan. He turned, and looked at the

It had come, in the bright freshness of the morning; it had come, in the mystery and terror of a Dream. The

face which Midwinter had last seen in perfect repose was now the distorted face of a suffering man. The

perspiration stood thick on Allan's forehead, and matted his curling hair. His partially opened eyes showed

nothing but the white of the eyeball gleaming blindly. His outstretched hands scratched and struggled on the

deck. From moment to moment he moaned and muttered helplessly; but the words that escaped him were lost

in the grinding and gnashing of his teeth. There he layso near in the body to the friend who bent over him;

so far away in the spirit, that the two might have been in different worldsthere he lay, with the morning

One question, and one only, rose in the mind of the man who was looking at him. What had the fatality which

Had the treachery of Sleep opened the gates of the grave to that one of the two Armadales whom the other

had kept in ignorance of the truth? Was the murder of the father revealing itself to the sonthere, on the

With that question overshadowing all else in his mind, the son of the homicide knelt on the deck, and looked

The conflict between the sleeping body and the waking mind was strengthening every moment. The

dreamer's helpless groaning for deliverance grew louder; his hands raised themselves, and clutched at the

empty air. Struggling with the allmastering dread that still held him, Midwinter laid his hand gently on

Allan's forehead. Light as the touch was, there were mysterious sympathies in the dreaming man that

answered it. His groaning ceased, and his hands dropped slowly. There was an instant of suspense and

Midwinter looked closer. His breath just fluttered over the sleeper's face. Before the next breath had risen to

his lips, Allan suddenly sprang up on his kneessprang up, as if the call of a trumpet had rung on his ear,

"You have been dreaming," said Midwinter, as the other looked at him wildly, in the first bewilderment of

Allan's eyes began to wander about the wreck, at first vacantly, then with a look of angry surprise. "Are we

here still?" he said, as Midwinter helped him to his feet. "Whatever else I do on board this infernal ship," he

As he said those words, his friend's eyes searched his face in silent inquiry. They took a turn together on the

"Tell me your dream," said Midwinter, with a strange tone of suspicion in his voice, and a strange appearance

"I can't tell it yet," returned Allan. "Wait a little till I'm my own man again."

There was something of the trouble left by the dream, and something of natural surprise at the strange request

just addressed to him, in Allan's face, as he turned it full on the speaker; but no shadow of illwill, no lurking

lines of distrust anywhere. Midwinter turned aside quickly, and hid, as he best might, an irrepressible outburst

"Do I look a little upset?" asked Allan, taking his arm, and leading him on again. "Don't make yourself

nervous about me if I do. My head feels wild and giddy, but I shall soon get over it."

For the next few minutes they walked backward and forward in silence, the one bent on dismissing the terror

of the dream from his thoughts, the other bent on discovering what the terror of the dream might be. Relieved

of the dread that had oppressed it, the superstitious nature of Midwinter had leaped to its next conclusion at a

bound. What if the sleeper had been visited by another revelation than the revelation of the Past? What if the

dream had opened those unturned pages in the book of the Future which told the story of his life to come?

The bare doubt that it might be so strengthened tenfold Midwinter's longing to penetrate the mystery which

While he put the question, a last memorable moment in the Adventure of the Wreck was at hand.

They had reached the stern, and were just turning again when Midwinter spoke. As Allan opened his lips to

answer, he looked out mechanically to sea. Instead of replying, he suddenly ran to the taffrail, and waved his

Midwinter joined him, and saw a large sixoared boat pulling straight for the channel of the Sound. A figure,

which they both thought they recognized, rose eagerly in the sternsheets and returned the waving of Allan's

hat. The boat came nearer, the steersman called to them cheerfully, and they recognized the doctor's voice.

"Thank God you're both above water!" said Mr. Hawbury, as they met him on the deck of the timbership.

He looked at Midwinter as he made the inquiry, but it was Allan who told him the story of the night, and

Allan who asked the doctor for information in return. The one absorbing interest in Midwinter's mindthe

interest of penetrating the mystery of the dreamkept him silent throughout. Heedless of all that was said or

done about him, he watched Allan, and followed Allan, like a dog, until the time came for getting down into

the boat. Mr. Hawbury's professional eye rested on him curiously, noting his varying color, and the incessant

restlessness of his hands. "I wouldn't change nervous systems with that man for the largest fortune that could

be offered me," thought the doctor as he took the boat's tiller, and gave the oarsmen their order to push off

Having reserved all explanations on his side until they were on their way back to Port St. Mary, Mr. Hawbury

next addressed himself to the gratification of Allan's curiosity. The circumstances which had brought him to

the rescue of his two guests of the previous evening were simple enough. The lost boat had been met with at

sea by some fishermen of Port Erin, on the western side of the island, who at once recognized it as the

doctor's property, and at once sent a messenger to make inquiry, at the doctor's house. The man's statement of

what had happened had naturally alarmed Mr. Hawbury for the safety of Allan and his friend. He had

immediately secured assistance, and, guided by the boatman's advice, had made first for the most dangerous

place on the coastthe only place, in that calm weather, in which an accident could have happened to a boat

sailed by experienced menthe channel of the Sound. After thus accounting for his welcome appearance on

the scene, the doctor hospitably insisted that his guests of the evening should be his guests of the morning as

well. It would still be too early when they got back for the people at the hotel to receive them, and they would

At the first pause in the conversation between Allan and the doctor, Midwinter, who had neither joined in the

talk nor listened to the talk, touched his friend on the arm. "Are you better?" he asked, in a whisper. "Shall

Allan's eyebrows contracted impatiently; the subject of the dream, and Midwinter's obstinacy in returning to

it, seemed to be alike distasteful to him. He hardly answered with his usual good humor. "I suppose I shall

have no peace till I tell you," he said, "so I may as well get it over at once."

"No!" returned Midwinter, with a look at the doctor and his oarsmen. "Not where other people can hear

"If you wish to see the last, gentlemen, of your quarters for the night," interposed the doctor, "now is your

In silence on the one side and on the other, the two Armadales looked their last at the fatal ship. Lonely and

lost they had found the wreck in the mystery of the summer night; lonely and lost they left the wreck in the

An hour later the doctor had seen his guests established in their bedrooms, and had left them to take their rest

Almost as soon as his back was turned, the doors of both rooms opened softly, and Allan and Midwinter met

Midwinter shook his head. "You were coming to my room, were you not?" he said. "What for?"

Both paused; both refrained instinctively from saying more. For the first time since the beginning of their

friendship they were on the verge of a disagreement, and that on the subject of the dream. Allan's good

"You are the most obstinate fellow alive," he said; "but if you will know all about it, you must know all about

He led the way, and Midwinter followed. The door closed and shut them in together.

When Mr. Hawbury joined his guests in the breakfastroom, the strange contrast of character between them

which he had noticed already was impressed on his mind more strongly than ever. One of them sat at the

wellspread table, hungry and happy, ranging from dish to dish, and declaring that he had never made such a

breakfast in his life. The other sat apart at the window; his cup thanklessly deserted before it was empty, his

meat left ungraciously halfeaten on his plate. The doctor's morning greeting to the two accurately expressed

He clapped Allan on the shoulder, and saluted him with a joke. He bowed constrainedly to Midwinter, and

"It's not the night, doctor, that has damped his spirits," said Allan. "It's something I have been telling him. It

is not my fault, mind. If I had only known beforehand that he believed in dreams, I wouldn't have opened my

"Dreams?" repeated the doctor, looking at Midwinter directly, and addressing him under a mistaken

impression of the meaning of Allan's words. "With your constitution, you ought to be well used to dreaming

"This way, doctor; you have taken the wrong turning!" cried Allan. "I'm the dreamer, not he. Don't look

astonished; it wasn't in this comfortable house; it was on board that confounded timbership. The fact is, I

fell asleep just before you took us off the wreck; and it's not to be denied that I had a very ugly dream. Well,

"Why do you trouble Mr. Hawbury about a matter that cannot possibly interest him?" asked Midwinter,

"I beg your pardon," returned the doctor, rather sharply; "so far as I have heard, the matter does interest me."

"That's right, doctor!" said Allan. "Be interested, I beg and pray; I want you to clear his head of the nonsense

he has got in it now. What do you think? He will have it that my dream is a warning to me to avoid certain

people; and he actually persists in saying that one of those people ishimself! Did you ever hear the like of

it? I took great pains; I explained the whole thing to him. I said, warning be hanged; it's all indigestion! You

don't know what I ate and drank at the doctor's suppertable; I do. Do you think he would listen to me? Not

he. You try him next; you're a professional man, and he must listen to you. Be a good fellow, doctor, and give

"The sight of your face is quite enough," said Mr. Hawbury. "I certify, on the spot, that you never had such a

thing as an indigestion in your life. Let's hear about the dream, and see what we can make of it, if you have

"Apply to my friend, there," he said; "he has got a much better account of it than I can give you. If you'll

believe me, he took it all down in writing from my own lips; and he made me sign it at the end, as if it was

my 'last dying speech and confession' before I went to the gallows. Out with it, old boyI saw you put it in

"Are you really in earnest?" asked Midwinter, producing his pocketbook with a reluctance which was almost

offensive under the circumstances, for it implied distrust of the doctor in the doctor's own house.

Mr. Hawbury's color rose. "Pray don't show it to me, if you feel the least unwillingness," he said, with the

Instead of complying with that characteristic request, Midwinter took the paper from the pocketbook, and,

leaving his place, approached Mr. Hawbury. "I beg your pardon," he said, as he offered the doctor the

manuscript with his own hand. His eyes dropped to the ground, and his face darkened, while he made the

apology. "A secret, sullen fellow," thought the doctor, thanking him with formal civility; "his friend is worth

ten thousand of him." Midwinter went back to the window, and sat down again in silence, with the old

"Read that, doctor," said Allan, as Mr. Hawbury opened the written paper. "It's not told in my roundabout

way; but there's nothing added to it, and nothing taken away. It's exactly what I dreamed, and exactly what I

should have written myself, if I had thought the thing worth putting down on paper, and if I had had the

knack of writingwhich," concluded Allan, composedly stirring his coffee, "I haven't, except it's letters; and

Mr. Hawbury spread the manuscript before him on the breakfasttable, and read these lines:

After reading the narrative attentively to the last line (under which appeared Allan's signature), the doctor

looked across the breakfasttable at Midwinter, and tapped his fingers on the manuscript with a satirical

"Many men, many opinions," he said. "I don't agree with either of you about this dream. Your theory," he

added, looking at Allan, with a smile, "we have disposed of already: the supper that you can't digest is a

supper which has yet to be discovered. My theory we will come to presently; your friend's theory claims

attention first." He turned again to Midwinter, with his anticipated triumph over a man whom he disliked a

little too plainly visible in his face and manner. "If I understand rightly," he went on, "you believe that this

dream is a warning! supernaturally addressed to Mr. Armadale, of dangerous events that are threatening him,

and of dangerous people connected with those events whom he would do wisely to avoid. May I inquire

whether you have arrived at this conclusion as an habitual believer in dreams, or as having reasons of your

"You have stated what my conviction is quite accurately," returned Midwinter, chafing under the doctor's

looks and tones. "Excuse me if I ask you to be satisfied with that admission, and to let me keep my reasons to

"That's exactly what he said to me," interposed Allan. "I don't believe he has got any reasons at all."

"Gently! gently!" said Mr. Hawbury. "We can discuss the subject without intruding ourselves into anybody's

secrets. Let us come to my own method of dealing with the dream next. Mr. Midwinter will probably not be

surprised to hear that I look at this matter from an essentially practical point of view."

"I shall not be at all surprised," retorted Midwinter. "The view of a medical man, when he has a problem in

The doctor was a little nettled on his side. "Our limits are not quite so narrow as that," he said; "but I

willingly grant you that there are some articles of your faith in which we doctors don't believe. For example,

we don't believe that a reasonable man is justified in attaching a supernatural interpretation to any

phenomenon which comes within the range of his senses, until he has certainly ascertained that there is no

"Come; that's fair enough, I'm sure," exclaimed Allan. "He hit you hard with the 'dissectingknife,' doctor;

and now you have hit him back again with your 'natural explanation.' Let's have it."

"By all means," said Mr. Hawbury. "Here it is. There is nothing at all extraordinary in my theory of dreams: it

is the theory accepted by the great mass of my profession. A dream is the reproduction, in the sleeping state

of the brain, of images and impressions produced on it in the waking state; and this reproduction is more or

less involved, imperfect, or contradictory, as the action of certain faculties in the dreamer is controlled more

or less completely by the influence of sleep. Without inquiring further into this latter part of the subjecta

very curious and interesting part of itlet us take the theory, roughly and generally, as I have just stated it,

and apply it at once to the dream now under consideration." He took up the written paper from the table, and

dropped the formal tone (as of a lecturer addressing an audience) into which he had insensibly fallen. "I see

one event already in this dream," he resumed, "which I know to be the reproduction of a waking impression

produced on Mr. Armadale in my own presence. If he will only help me by exerting his memory, I don't

despair of tracing back the whole succession of events set down here to something that he has said or thought,

or seen or done, in the fourandtwenty hours, or less, which preceded his falling asleep on the deck of the

"I'll exert my memory with the greatest pleasure," said Allan. "Where shall we start from?"

"Start by telling me what you did yesterday, before I met you and your friend on the road to this place,"

replied Mr. Hawbury. "We will say, you got up and had your breakfast. What next?"

"We took a carriage next," said Allan, "and drove from Castletown to Douglas to see my old friend, Mr.

Brock, off by the steamer to Liverpool. We came back to Castletown and separated at the hotel door.

Midwinter went into the house, and I went on to my yacht in the harbor. Bythebye, doctor, remember you

"Oh, I know! I put the cabin to rightsthoroughly to rights. I give you my word of honor, I turned every

blessed thing topsyturvy. And my friend there came off in a shoreboat and helped me. Talking of boats, I

have never asked you yet whether your boat came to any harm last night. If there's any damage done, I insist

The doctor abandoned all further attempts at the cultivation of Allan's memory in despair.

"I doubt if we shall be able to reach our object conveniently in this way," he said. "It will be better to take the

events of the dream in their regular order, and to ask the questions that naturally suggest themselves as we go

on. Here are the first two events to begin with. You dream that your father appears to youthat you and he

find yourselves in the cabin of a shipthat the water rises over you, and that you sink in it together. Were

"I couldn't be down there," replied Allan, "as the cabin was full of water. I looked in and saw it, and shut the

"Very good," said Mr. Hawbury. "Here are the waking impressions clear enough, so far. You have had the

cabin in your mind; and you have had the water in your mind; and the sound of the channel current (as I well

know without asking) was the last sound in your ears when you went to sleep. The idea of drowning comes

too naturally out of such impressions as these to need dwelling on. Is there anything else before we go on?

"The most important circumstance of all," remarked Midwinter, joining in the conversation, without stirring

"You mean the appearance of Mr. Armadale's father? I was just coming to that," answered Mr. Hawbury. "Is

The doctor started. "This complicates it a little," he said. "How did you know that the figure appearing to you

Allan hesitated again. Midwinter drew his chair a little away from the window, and looked at the doctor

"Was your father in your thoughts before you went to sleep?" pursued Mr. Hawbury. "Was there any

"Of course there was!" cried Allan, suddenly seizing the lost recollection. "Midwinter! you remember the

miniature you found on the floor of the cabin when we were putting the yacht to rights? You said I didn't

"And was the face in the dream like the face in the miniature?" asked Mr. Hawbury.

Midwinter hurriedly left his chair, and placed himself at the table with Allan. Just as he had once already

taken refuge from the tyranny of his own superstition in the comfortable common sense of Mr. Brock, so,

with the same headlong eagerness, with the same straightforward sincerity of purpose, he now took refuge in

the doctor's theory of dreams. "I say what my friend says," he answered, flushing with a sudden enthusiasm;

The doctor looked at his strange guest more indulgently than he had looked yet. "You are the only mystic I

have met with," he said, "who is willing to give fair evidence fair play. I don't despair of converting you

before our inquiry comes to an end. Let us get on to the next set of events," he resumed, after referring for a

moment to the manuscript. "The interval of oblivion which is described as succeeding the first of the

appearances in the dream may be easily disposed of. It means, in plain English, the momentary cessation of

the brain's intellectual action, while a deeper wave of sleep flows over it, just as the sense of being alone in

the darkness, which follows, indicates the renewal of that action, previous to the reproduction of another set

of impressions. Let us see what they are. A lonely pool, surrounded by an open country; a sunset sky on the

further side of the pool; and the shadow of a woman on the near side. Very good; now for it, Mr. Armadale!

How did that pool get into your head? The open country you saw on your way from Castletown to this place

But we have no pools or lakes hereabouts; and you can have seen none recently elsewhere, for you came here

after a cruise at sea. Must we fall back on a picture, or a book, or a conversation with your friend?"

Allan looked at Midwinter. "I don't remember talking about pools or lakes," he said. "Do you?"

The doctor produced it from the sideboard. Midwinter turned to the page containing those extracts from the

recently published "Travels in Australia," which had roused Allan's, interest on the previous evening, and the

reading of which had ended by sending his friend to sleep. Therein the passage describing the sufferings of

the travelers from thirst, and the subsequent discovery which saved their livesthere, appearing at the

climax of the narrative, was the broad pool of water which had figured in Allan's dream!

"Don't put away the paper," said the doctor, when Midwinter had shown it to him, with the necessary

explanation. "Before we are at the end of the inquiry, it is quite possible we may want that extract again. We

have got at the pool. How about the sunset? Nothing of that sort is referred to in the newspaper extract.

Search your memory again, Mr. Armadale; we want your waking impression of a sunset, if you please."

Once more, Allan was at a loss for an answer; and, once more, Midwinter's ready memory helped him

"I think I can trace our way back to this impression, as I traced our way back to the other," he said, addressing

the doctor. "After we got here yesterday afternoon, my friend and I took a long walk over the hills"

"That's it!" interposed Allan. "I remember. The sun was setting as we came back to the hotel for supper, and

it was such a splendid red sky, we both stopped to look at it. And then we talked about Mr. Brock, and

wondered how far he had got on his journey home. My memory may be a slow one at starting, doctor; but

"Wait one minute, in mercy to Mr. Midwinter's memory and mine," said the doctor. "We have traced back to

your waking impressions the vision of the open country, the pool, and the sunset. But the Shadow of the

Woman has not been accounted for yet. Can you find us the original of this mysterious figure in the dream

Allan relapsed into his former perplexity, and Midwinter waited for what was to come, with his eyes fixed in

breathless interest on the doctor's face. For the first time there was unbroken silence in the room. Mr.

Hawbury looked interrogatively from Allan to Allan's friend. Neither of them answered him. Between the

shadow and the shadow's substance there was a great gulf of mystery, impenetrable alike to all three of them.

"Patience," said the doctor, composedly. "Let us leave the figure by the pool for the present and try if we can't

pick her up again as we go on. Allow me to observe, Mr. Midwinter, that it is not very easy to identify a

shadow; but we won't despair. This impalpable lady of the lake may take some consistency when we next

Midwinter made no reply. From that moment his interest in the inquiry began to flag.

"What is the next scene in the dream?" pursued Mr. Hawbury, referring to the manuscript. "Mr. Armadale

finds himself in a room. He is standing before a long window opening on a lawn and flowergarden, and the

rain is pattering against the glass. The only thing he sees in the room is a little statue; and the only company

he has is the Shadow of a Man standing opposite to him. The Shadow stretches out its arm, and the statue

falls in fragments on the floor; and the dreamer, in anger and distress at the catastrophe (observe, gentlemen,

that here the sleeper's reasoning faculty wakes up a little, and the dream passes rationally, for a moment, from

cause to effect), stoops to look at the broken pieces. When he looks up again, the scene has vanished. That is

to say, in the ebb and flow of sleep, it is the turn of the flow now, and the brain rests a little. What's the

matter, Mr. Armadale? Has that restive memory of yours run away with you again?"

"Yes," said Allan. "I'm off at full gallop. I've run the broken statue to earth; it's nothing more nor less than a

china shepherdess I knocked off the mantelpiece in the hotel coffeeroom, when I rang the bell for supper

last night. I say, how well we get on; don't we? It's like guessing a riddle. Now, then, Midwinter! your turn

"No!" said the doctor. "My turn, if you please. I claim the long window, the garden, and the lawn, as my

property. You will find the long window, Mr. Armadale, in the next room. If you look out, you'll see the

garden and lawn in front of it; and, if you'll exert that wonderful memory of yours, you will recollect that you

were good enough to take special and complimentary notice of my smart French window and my neat garden,

"Quite right," rejoined Allan; "so I did. But what about the rain that fell in the dream? I haven't seen a drop of

Mr. Hawbury hesitated. The Manx newspaper which had been left on the table caught his eye. "If we can

think of nothing else," he said, "let us try if we can't find the idea of the rain where we found the idea of the

pool." He looked through the extract carefully. "I have got it!" he exclaimed. "Here is rain described as

having fallen on these thirsty Australian travelers, before they discovered the pool. Behold the shower, Mr.

Armadale, which got into your mind when you read the extract to your friend last night! And behold the

"Can you find the waking impression which accounts for the human figure at the window?" asked Midwinter;

"or are we to pass over the Shadow of the Man as we have passed over the Shadow of the Woman already?"

He put the question with scrupulous courtesy of manner, but with a tone of sarcasm in his voice which caught

the doctor's ear, and set up the doctor's controversial bristles on the instant.

"When you are picking up shells on the beach, Mr. Midwinter, you usually begin with the shells that lie

nearest at hand," he rejoined. "We are picking up facts now; and those that are easiest to get at are the facts

we will take first. Let the Shadow of the Man and the Shadow of the Woman pair off together for the present;

we won't lose sight of them, I promise you. All in good time, my dear sir; all in good time!"

He, too, was polite, and he, too, was sarcastic. The short truce between the opponents was at an end already.

Midwinter returned significantly to his former place by the window. The doctor instantly turned his back on

the window more significantly still. Allan, who never quarreled with anybody's opinion, and never looked

below the surface of anybody's conduct, drummed cheerfully on the table with the handle of his knife. "Go

"Is it?" said Mr. Hawbury, referring again to the narrative of the dream. "Do you remember what happened

when you and I were gossiping with the landlady at the bar of the hotel last night?"

"Of course I do! You were kind enough to hand me a glass of brandyandwater, which the landlady had just

mixed for your own drinking. And I was obliged to refuse it because, as I told you, the taste of brandy always

"Exactly so," returned the doctor. "And here is the incident reproduced in the dream. You see the man's

shadow and the woman's shadow together this time. You hear the pouring out of liquid (brandy from the

hotel bottle, and water from the hotel jug); the glass is handed by the womanshadow (the landlady) to the

manshadow (myself); the manshadow hands it to you (exactly what I did); and the faintness (which you

had previously described to me) follows in due course. I am shocked to identify these mysterious

appearances, Mr. Midwinter, with such miserably unromantic originals as a woman who keeps a hotel, and a

man who physics a country district. But your friend himself will tell you that the glass of brandyandwater

was prepared by the landlady, and that it reached him by passing from her hand to mine. We have picked up

the shadows, exactly as I anticipated; and we have only to account nowwhich may be done in two

wordsfor the manner of their appearance in the dream. After having tried to introduce the waking

impression of the doctor and the landlady separately, in connection with the wrong set of circumstances, the

dreaming mind comes right at the third trial, and introduces the doctor and the landlady together, in

connection with the right set of circumstances. There it is in a nutshell!Permit me to hand you back the

manuscript, with my best thanks for your very complete and striking confirmation of the rational theory of

dreams." Saying those words, Mr. Hawbury returned the written paper to Midwinter, with the pitiless

"Wonderful! not a point missed anywhere from beginning to end! By Jupiter!" cried Allan, with the ready

"Not a point missed, as you say," remarked the doctor, complacently. "And yet I doubt if we have succeeded

"You have not convinced me," said Midwinter. "But I don't presume on that account to say that you are

He spoke quietly, almost sadly. The terrible conviction of the supernatural origin of the dream, from which he

had tried to escape, had possessed itself of him again. All his interest in the argument was at an end; all his

sensitiveness to its irritating influences was gone. In the case of any other man, Mr. Hawbury would have

been mollified by such a concession as his adversary had now made to him; but he disliked Midwinter too

"Do you admit," asked the doctor, more pugnaciously than ever, "that I have traced back every event of the

"You have identified them to your own satisfaction, and to my friend's satisfaction. Not to mine."

"Spoken like an oracle, Mr. Midwinter! Have you any idea at present of who those living originals may be?"

"I have. I believe that coming events will identify the Shadow of the Woman with a person whom my friend

Allan attempted to speak. The doctor stopped him. "Let us clearly understand this," he said to Midwinter.

"Leaving your own case out of the question for the moment, may I ask how a shadow, which has no

distinguishing mark about it, is to be identified with a living woman whom your friend doesn't know?"

Midwinter's color rose a little. He began to feel the lash of the doctor's logic.

"The landscape picture of the dream has its distinguishing marks," he replied; "and in that landscape the

"The same thing will happen, I suppose," pursued the doctor, "with the manshadow which you persist in

identifying with yourself. You will be associated in the future with a statue broken in your friend's presence,

with a long window looking out on a garden, and with a shower of rain pattering against the glass? Do you

"And so again, I presume, with the next vision? You and the mysterious woman will be brought together in

some place now unknown, and will present to Mr. Armadale some liquid yet unnamed, which will turn him

"And, according to your view, these fulfillments of the dream will mark the progress of certain coming

events, in which Mr. Armadale's happiness, or Mr. Armadale's safety, will be dangerously involved?"

The doctor rose, laid aside his moral dissectingknife, considered for a moment, and took it up again.

"One last question," he said. "Have you any reason to give for going out of your way to adopt such a mystical

view as this, when an unanswerably rational explanation of the dream lies straight before you?"

"No reason," replied Midwinter, "that I can give, either to you or to my friend."

The doctor looked at his watch with the air of a man who is suddenly reminded that he has been wasting his

"We have no common ground to start from," he said; "and if we talk till doomsday, we should not agree.

Excuse my leaving you rather abruptly. It is later than I thought; and my morning's batch of sick people are

waiting for me in the surgery. I have convinced your mind, Mr. Armadale, at any rate; so the time we have

given to this discussion has not been altogether lost. Pray stop here, and smoke your cigar. I shall be at your

service again in less than an hour." He nodded cordially to Allan, bowed formally to Midwinter, and quitted

As soon as the doctor's back was turned, Allan left his place at the table, and appealed to his friend, with that

irresistible heartiness of manner which had always found its way to Midwinter's sympathies, from the first

"Now the sparringmatch between you and the doctor is over," said Allan, "I have got two words to say on

Midwinter's face brightened instantly. "I will do anything you ask me," he said.

"Very well. Will you let the subject of the dream drop out of our talk altogether from this time forth?"

"That's a good fellow! Now give me that trumpery bit of paper, and let's tear it up, and have done with it."

He tried to snatch the manuscript out of his friend's hand; but Midwinter was too quick for him, and kept it

Midwinter hesitated painfully. It was hard to resist Allan; but he did resist him. "I'll wait a little," he said,

"DEAR MR. BROCKOnly an hour since we reached this house, just as the servants were locking up for

the night. Allan has gone to bed, worn out by our long day's journey, and has left me in the room they call the

library, to tell you the story of our journey to Norfolk. Being better seasoned than he is to fatigues of all

kinds, my eyes are quite wakeful enough for writing a letter, though the clock on the chimneypiece points to

"The last news you had of us was news sent by Allan from the Isle of Man. If I am not mistaken, he wrote to

tell you of the night we passed on board the wrecked ship. Forgive me, dear Mr. Brock, if I say nothing on

that subject until time has helped me to think of it with a quieter mind. The hard fight against myself must all

"There is no need to trouble you with any account of our journeyings about the northern and western districts

of the island, or of the short cruises we took when the repairs of the yacht were at last complete. It will be

better if I get on at once to the morning of yesterday, the fourteenth. We had come in with the nighttide to

Douglas Harbor, and, as soon as the postoffice was open; Allan, by my advice, sent on shore for letters. The

messenger returned with one letter only, and the writer of it proved to be the former mistress of Thorpe

"You ought to be informed, I think, of the contents of this letter, for it has seriously influenced Allan's plans.

He loses everything, sooner or later, as you know, and he has lost the letter already. So I must give you the

"The first page announced the departure of the ladies from Thorpe Ambrose. They left on the day before

yesterday, the thirteenth, having, after much hesitation, finally decided on going abroad, to visit some old

friends settled in Italy, in the neighborhood of Florence. It appears to be quite possible that Mrs. Blanchard

and her niece may settle there, too, if they can find a suitable house and grounds to let. They both like the

Italian country and the Italian people, and they are well enough off to please themselves. The elder lady has

"The next page of the letter was, in Allan's opinion, far from a pleasant page to read.

"After referring, in the most grateful terms, to the kindness which had left her niece and herself free to leave

their old home at their own time, Mrs. Blanchard added that Allan's considerate conduct had produced such a

strongly favorable impression among the friends and dependents of the family that they were desirous of

giving him a public reception on his arrival among them. A preliminary meeting of the tenants on the estate

and the principal persons in the neighboring town had already been held to discuss the arrangements, and a

letter might be expected shortly from the clergyman inquiring when it would suit Mr. Armadale's

convenience to take possession personally and publicly of his estates in Norfolk.

"You will now be able to guess the cause of our sudden departure from the Isle of Man. The first and

foremost idea in your old pupil's mind, as soon as he had read Mrs. Blanchard's account of the proceedings at

the meeting, was the idea of escaping the public reception, and the one certain way he could see of avoiding it

"I tried hard to make him think a little before he acted an his first impulse in this matter; but he only went on

packing his portmanteau in his own impenetrably goodhumored way. In ten minutes his luggage was ready,

and in five minutes more he had given the crew their directions for taking the yacht back to Somersetshire.

The steamer to Liverpool was alongside of us in the harbor, and I had really no choice but to go on board

with him or to let him go by himself. I spare you the account of our stormy voyage, of our detention at

Liverpool, and of the trains we missed on our journey across the country. You know that we have got here

safely, and that is enough. What the servants think of the new squire's sudden appearance among them,

without a word of warning, is of no great consequence. What the committee for arranging the public

reception may think of it when the news flies abroad tomorrow is, I am afraid, a more serious matter.

"Having already mentioned the servants, I may proceed to tell you that the latter part of Mrs. Blanchard's

letter was entirely devoted to instructing Allan on the subject of the domestic establishment which she has

left behind her. It seems that all the servants, indoors and out (with three exceptions), are waiting here, on the

chance that Allan will continue them in their places. Two of these exceptions are readily accounted for: Mrs.

Blanchard's maid and Miss Blanchard's maid go abroad with their mistresses. The third exceptional case is

the case of the upper housemaid; and here there is a little hitch. In plain words, the housemaid has been sent

away at a moment's notice, for what Mrs. Blanchard rather mysteriously describes as 'levity of conduct with a

"I am afraid you will laugh at me, but I must confess the truth. I have been made so distrustful (after what

happened to us in the Isle of Man) of even the most trifling misadventures which connect themselves in any

way with Allan's introduction to his new life and prospects, that I have already questioned one of the

menservants here about this apparently unimportant matter of the housemaid's going away in disgrace.

"All I can learn is that a strange man had been noticed hanging suspiciously about the grounds; that the

housemaid was so ugly a woman as to render it next to a certainty that he had some underhand purpose to

serve in making himself agreeable to her; and that he has not as yet been seen again in the neighborhood

since the day of her dismissal. So much for the one servant who has been turned out at Thorpe Ambrose. I

can only hope there is no trouble for Allan brewing in that quarter. As for the other servants who remain,

Mrs. Blanchard describes them, both men and women, as perfectly trustworthy, and they will all, no doubt,

"Having now done with Mrs. Blanchard's letter, my next duty is to beg you, in Allan's name and with Allan's

love, to come here and stay with him at the earliest moment when you can leave Somersetshire. Although I

cannot presume to think that my own wishes will have any special influence in determining you to accept this

invitation, I must nevertheless acknowledge that I have a reason of my own for earnestly desiring to see you

here. Allan has innocently caused me a new anxiety about my future relations with him, and I sorely need

"The difficulty which now perplexes me relates to the steward's place at Thorpe Ambrose. Before today I

only knew that Allan had hit on some plan of his own for dealing with this matter, rather strangely involving,

among other results, the letting of the cottage which was the old steward's place of abode, in consequence of

the new steward's contemplated residence in the great house. A chance word in our conversation on the

journey here led Allan into speaking out more plainly than he had spoken yet, and I heard to my unutterable

astonishment that the person who was at the bottom of the whole arrangement about the steward was no other

"It is needless to tell you how I felt this new instance of Allan's kindness. The first pleasure of hearing from

his own lips that I had deserved the strongest proof he could give of his confidence in me was soon dashed by

the pain which mixes itself with all pleasureat least, with all that I have ever known. Never has my past life

seemed so dreary to look back on as it seems now, when I feel how entirely it has unfitted me to take the

place of all others that I should have liked to occupy in my friend's service. I mustered courage to tell him

that I had none of the business knowledge and business experience which his steward ought to possess. He

generously met the objection by telling me that I could learn; and he has promised to send to London for the

person who has already been employed for the time being in the steward's office, and who will, therefore, be

"Do you, too, think I can learn? If you do, I will work day and night to instruct myself. But if (as I am afraid)

the steward's duties are of far too serious a kind to be learned offhand by a man so young and so

inexperienced as I am, then pray hasten your journey to Thorpe Ambrose, and exert your influence over Allan

personally. Nothing less will induce him to pass me over, and to employ a steward who is really fit to take the

place. Pray, pray act in this matter as you think best for Allan's interests. Whatever disappointment I may

"P.S.I open the envelope again to add one word more. If you have heard or seen anything since your return

to Somersetshire of the woman in the black dress and the red shawl, I hope you will not forget, when you

"MY DEAR LYDIATo save the post, I write to you, after a long day's worry at my place of business, on

the business letterpaper, having news since we last met which it seems advisable to send you at the earliest

"To begin at the beginning. After carefully considering the thing, I am quite sure you will do wisely with

young Armadale if you hold your tongue about Madeira and all that happened there. Your position was, no

doubt, a very strong one with his mother. You had privately helped her in playing a trick on her own father;

you had been ungratefully dismissed, at a pitiably tender age, as soon as you had served her purpose; and,

when you came upon her suddenly, after a separation of more than twenty years, you found her in failing

health, with a grownup son, whom she had kept in total ignorance of the true story of her marriage.

"Have you any such advantages as these with the young gentleman who has survived her? If he is not a born

idiot he will decline to believe your shocking aspersions on the memory of his mother; andseeing that you

have no proofs at this distance of time to meet him withthere is an end of your moneygrubbing in the

golden Armadale diggings. Mind, I don't dispute that the old lady's heavy debt of obligation, after what you

did for her in Madeira, is not paid yet; and that the son is the next person to settle with you, now the mother

has slipped through your fingers. Only squeeze him the right way, my dear, that's what I venture to

"Have you thought again of that other notion of yours of trying your hand on this lucky young gentleman,

with nothing but your own good looks and your own quick wits to help you? The idea hung on my mind so

strangely after you were gone that it ended in my sending a little note to my lawyer, to have the will under

which young Armadale has got his fortune examined at Doctor's Commons. The result turns out to be

something infinitely more encouraging than either you or I could possibly have hoped for. After the lawyer's

report to me, there cannot be a moment's doubt of what you ought to do. In two words, Lydia, take the bull by

"I am quite serious. He is much better worth the venture than you suppose. Only persuade him to make you

Mrs. Armadale, and you may set all afterdiscoveries at flat defiance. As long as he lives, you can make your

own terms with him; and, if he dies, the will entitles you, in spite of anything he can say or dowith children

or without themto an income chargeable on his estate of twelve hundred a year for life. There is no doubt

about this; the lawyer himself has looked at the will. Of course, Mr. Blanchard had his son and his son's

widow in his eye when he made the provision. But, as it is not limited to any one heir by name, and not

revoked anywhere, it now holds as good with young Armadale as it would have held under other

circumstances with Mr. Blanchard's son. What a chance for you, after all the miseries and the dangers you

have gone through, to be mistress of Thorpe Ambrose, if he lives; to have an income for life, if he dies! Hook

"I dare say you will make the same objection when you read this which you made when we were talking

"Now, my good creature, just listen to me. The question isnot whether you were fiveandthirty last

birthday; we will own the dreadful truth, and say you werebut whether you do look, or don't look, your

real age. My opinion on this matter ought to be, and is, one of the best opinions in London. I have had twenty

years experience among our charming sex in making up battered old faces and wornout old figures to look

like new, and I say positively you don't look a day over thirty, if as much. If you will follow my advice about

dressing, and use one or two of my applications privately, I guarantee to put you back three years more. I will

forfeit all the money I shall have to advance for you in this matter, if, when I have ground you young again in

my wonderful mill, you look more than sevenandtwenty in any man's eyes livingexcept, of course,

when you wake anxious in the small hours of the morning; and then, my dear, you will be old and ugly in the

"'But,' you may say, 'supposing all this, here I am, even with your art to help me, looking a good six years

older than he is; and that is against me at starting.' Is it? Just think again. Surely, your own experience must

have shown you that the commonest of all common weaknesses, in young fellows of this Armadale's age, is

to fall in love with women older than themselves. Who are the men who really appreciate us in the bloom of

our youth (I'm sure I have cause to speak well of the bloom of youth; I made fifty guineas today by putting

it on the spotted shoulders of a woman old enough to be your mother)who are the men, I say, who are

ready to worship us when we are mere babies of seventeen? The gay young gentlemen in the bloom of their

"The moral is that the chances, with such a head as you have got on your shoulders, are all in your favor. If

you feel your present forlorn position, as I believe you do; if you know what a charming woman (in the men's

eyes) you can still be when you please; and if all your resolution has really come back, after that shocking

outbreak of desperation on board the steamer (natural enough, I own, under the dreadful provocation laid on

you), you will want no further persuasion from me to try this experiment. Only to think of how things turn

out! If the other young booby had not jumped into the river after you, this young booby would never have had

the estate. It really looks as if fate had determined that you were to be Mrs. Armadale, of Thorpe Ambrose;

'YOU OLD WRETCHI won't say Yes or No till I have had a long, long look at my glass first. If you had

any real regard for anybody but your wicked old self, you would know that the bare idea of marrying again

"But there can be no harm in your sending me a little more information while I am making up my mind. You

have got twenty pounds of mine still left out of those things you sold for me; send ten pounds here for my

expenses, in a postoffice order, and use the other ten for making private inquiries at Thorpe Ambrose. I

want to know when the two Blanchard women go away, and when young Armadale stirs up the dead ashes in

the family fireplace. Are you quite sure he will turn out as easy to manage as you think? If he takes after his

hypocrite of a mother, I can tell you this: Judas Iscariot has come to life again.

"I am very comfortable in this lodging. There are lovely flowers in the garden, and the birds wake me in the

morning delightfully. I have hired a reasonably good piano. The only man I care two straws aboutdon't be

alarmed; he was laid in his grave many a long year ago, under the name of BEETHOVENkeeps me

company, in my lonely hours. The landlady would keep me company, too, if I would only let her. I hate

women. The new curate paid a visit to the other lodger yesterday, and passed me on the lawn as he came out.

My eyes have lost nothing yet, at any rate, though I am fiveandthirty; the poor man actually blushed when

I looked at him! What sort of color do you think he would have turned, if one of the little birds in the garden

had whispered in his ear, and told him the true story of the charming Miss Gwilt?

"Goodby, Mother Oldershaw. I rather doubt whether I am yours, or anybody's, affectionately; but we all tell

lies at the bottoms of our letters, don't we? If you are my attached old friend, I must, of course, be yours

"P.S.Keep your odious powders and paints and washes for the spotted shoulders of your customers; not

one of them shall touch my skin, I promise you. If you really want to be useful, try and find out some

quieting draught to keep me from grinding my teeth in my sleep. I shall break them one of these nights; and

"MY DEAR LYDIAIt is a thousand pities your letter was not addressed to Mr. Armadale; your graceful

audacity would have charmed him. It doesn't affect me; I am so well used to audacity in my way of life, you

know. Why waste your sparkling wit, my love, on your own impenetrable Oldershaw? It only splutters and

goes out. Will you try and be serious this next time? I have news for you from Thorpe Ambrose, which is

"An hour after I got your letter I set the inquiries on foot. Not knowing what consequences they might lead to,

I thought it safest to begin in the dark. Instead of employing any of the people whom I have at my own

disposal (who know you and know me), I went to the Private Inquiry Office in Shadyside Place, and put the

matter in the inspector's hands, in the character of a perfect stranger, and without mentioning you at all. This

was not the cheapest way of going to work, I own; but it was the safest way, which is of much greater

"The inspector and I understood each other in ten minutes; and the right person for the purposethe most

harmless looking young man you ever saw in your lifewas produced immediately. He left for Thorpe

Ambrose an hour after I saw him. I arranged to call at the office on the afternoons of Saturday, Monday, and

today for news. There was no news till today; and there I found our confidential agent just returned to

"First of all, let me quiet your mind about those two questions of yours; I have got answers to both the one

and the other. The Blanchard women go away to foreign parts on the thirteenth, and young Armadale is at

this moment cruising somewhere at sea in his yacht. There is talk at Thorpe Ambrose of giving him a public

reception, and of calling a meeting of the local grandees to settle it all. The speechifying and fuss on these

occasions generally wastes plenty of time, and the public reception is not thought likely to meet the new

"If our messenger had done no more for us than this, I think he would have earned his money. But the

harmless young man is a regular Jesuit at a private inquiry, with this great advantage over all the Popish

"Having to get his information through the female servants in the usual way, he addressed himself, with

admirable discretion, to the ugliest woman in the house. 'When they are nicelooking, and can pick and

choose,' as he neatly expressed it to me, 'they waste a great deal of valuable time in deciding on a sweetheart.

When they are ugly, and haven't got the ghost of a chance of choosing, they snap at a sweetheart, if he comes

their way, like a starved dog at a bone.' Acting on these excellent principles, our confidential agent

succeeded, after certain unavoidable delays, in addressing himself to the upper housemaid at Thorpe

Ambrose, and took full possession of her confidence at the first interview. Bearing his instructions carefully

in mind, he encouraged the woman to chatter, and was favored, of course, with all the gossip of the servants'

hall. The greater part of it (as repeated to me) was of no earthly importance. But I listened patiently, and was

"It seems there is an ornamental cottage in the grounds at Thorpe Ambrose. For some reason unknown,

young Armadale has chosen to let it, and a tenant has come in already. He is a poor halfpay major in the

army, named Milroy, a meek sort of man, by all accounts, with a turn for occupying himself in mechanical

pursuits, and with a domestic incumbrance in the shape of a bedridden wife, who has not been seen by

anybody. Well, and what of all this? you will ask, with that sparkling impatience which becomes you so well.

My dear Lydia, don't sparkle! The man's family affairs seriously concern us both, for, as ill luck will have it,

"You may imagine how I questioned our agent, and how our agent ransacked his memory, when I stumbled,

in due course, on such a discovery as this. If Heaven is responsible for women's chattering tongues, Heaven

be praised! From Miss Blanchard to Miss Blanchard's maid; from Miss Blanchard's maid to Miss Blanchard's

aunt's maid; from Miss Blanchard's aunt's maid, to the ugly housemaid; from the ugly housemaid to the

harmlesslooking young manso the stream of gossip trickled into the right reservoir at last, and thirsty

"In plain English, my dear, this is how it stands. The major's daughter is a minx just turned sixteen; lively and

nicelooking (hateful little wretch!), dowdy in her dress (thank Heaven!) and deficient in her manners (thank

Heaven again!). She has been brought up at home. The governess who last had charge of her left before her

father moved to Thorpe Ambrose. Her education stands woefully in want of a finishing touch, and the major

doesn't quite know what to do next. None of his friends can recommend him a new governess and he doesn't

like the notion of sending the girl to school. So matters rest at present, on the major's own showing; for so the

major expressed himself at a morning call which the father and daughter paid to the ladies at the great house.

"You have now got my promised news, and you will have little difficulty, I think, in agreeing with me that

the Armadale business must be settled at once, one way or the other. If, with your hopeless prospects, and

with what I may call your family claim on this young fellow, you decide on giving him up, I shall have the

pleasure of sending you the balance of your account with me (sevenandtwenty shillings), and shall then be

free to devote myself entirely to my own proper business. If, on the contrary, you decide to try your luck at

Thorpe Ambrose, then (there being no kind of doubt that the major's minx will set her cap at the young

squire) I should be glad to hear how you mean to meet the double difficulty of inflaming Mr. Armadale and

"MRS. OLDERSHAWSend me my sevenandtwenty shillings, and devote yourself to your own proper

"DEAR OLD LOVEKeep the sevenandtwenty shillings, and burn my other letter. I have changed my

"I wrote the first time after a horrible night. I write this time after a ride on horseback, a tumbler of claret, and

the breast of a chicken. Is that explanation enough? Please say Yes, for I want to go back to my piano.

"No; I can't go back yet; I must answer your question first. But are you really so very simple as to suppose

that I don't see straight through you and your letter? You know that the major's difficulty is our opportunity as

well as I do; but you want me to take the responsibility of making the first proposal, don't you? Suppose I

take it in your own roundabout way? Suppose I say, 'Pray don't ask me how I propose inflaming Mr.

Armadale and extinguishing Miss Milroy; the question is so shockingly abrupt I really can't answer it. Ask

me, instead, if it is the modest ambition of my life to become Miss Milroy's governess?' Yes, if you please,

"There it is for you! If some serious disaster happens (which is quite possible), what a comfort it will be to

"Now I have done this for you, will you do something for me. I want to dream away the little time I am likely

to have left here in my own way. Be a merciful Mother Oldershaw, and spare me the worry of looking at the

Ins and Outs, and adding up the chances For and Against, in this new venture of mine. Think for me, in short,

"I had better not write any more, or I shall say something savage that you won't like. I am in one of my

tempers tonight. I want a husband to vex, or a child to beat, or something of that sort. Do you ever like to

see the summer insects kill themselves in the candle? I do, sometimes. Goodnight, Mrs. Jezebel The longer

you can leave me here the better. The air agrees with me, and I am looking charmingly.

"MY DEAR LYDIASome persons in my situation might be a little offended at the tone of your last letter.

But I am so fondly attached to you! And when I love a person, it is so very hard, my dear, for that person to

offend me! Don't ride quite so far, and only drink half a tumblerful of claret next time. I say no more.

"Shall we leave off our fencingmatch and come to serious matters now? How curiously hard it always

seems to be for women to understand each other, especially when they have got their pens in their hands! But

"Well, then, to begin with: I gather from your letter that you have wisely decided to try the Thorpe Ambrose

experiment, and to secure, if you can, an excellent position at starting by becoming a member of Major

Milroy's household. If the circumstances turn against you, and some other woman gets the governess's place

(about which I shall have something more to say presently), you will then have no choice but to make Mr.

Armadale's acquaintance in some other character. In any case, you will want my assistance; and the first

question, therefore, to set at rest between us is the question of what I am willing to do, and what I can do, to

"A woman, my dear Lydia, with your appearance, your manners, your abilities, and your education, can make

almost any excursions into society that she pleases if she only has money in her pocket and a respectable

reference to appeal to in cases of emergency. As to the money, in the first place. I will engage to find it, on

condition of your remembering my assistance with adequate pecuniary gratitude if you win the Armadale

prize. Your promise so to remember me, embodying the terms in plain figures, shall be drawn out on paper

by my own lawyer, so that we can sign and settle at once when I see you in London.

"Here, again, my services are at your disposal, on another condition. It is this: that you present yourself at

Thorpe Ambrose, under the name to which you have returned ever since that dreadful business of your

marriage; I mean your own maiden name of Gwilt. I have only one motive in insisting on this; I wish to run

no needless risks. My experience, as confidential adviser of my customers, in various romantic cases of

private embarrassment, has shown me that an assumed name is, nine times out of ten, a very unnecessary and

a very dangerous form of deception. Nothing could justify your assuming a name but the fear of young

Armadale's detecting youa fear from which we are fortunately relieved by his mother's own conduct in

keeping your early connection with her a profound secret from her son and from everybody.

"The next, and last, perplexity to settle relates, my dear, to the chances for and against your finding your way,

in the capacity of governess, into Major Milroy's house. Once inside the door, with your knowledge of music

and languages, if you can keep your temper, you may be sure of keeping the place. The only doubt, as things

"In the major's present difficulty about his daughter's education, the chances are, I think, in favor of his

advertising for a governess. Say he does advertise, what address will he give for applicants to write to?

"If he gives an address in London, goodby to all chances in your favor at once; for this plain reason, that we

shall not be able to pick out his advertisement from the advertisements of other people who want

governesses, and who will give them addresses in London as well. If, on the other hand, our luck helps us,

and he refers his correspondents to a shop, postoffice, or what not at Thorpe Ambrose, there we have our

advertiser as plainly picked out for us as we can wish. In this last case, I have little or no doubtwith me for

your referenceof your finding your way into the major's family circle. We have one great advantage over

the other women who will answer the advertisement. Thanks to my inquiries on the spot, I know Major

Milroy to be a poor man; and we will fix the salary you ask at a figure that is sure to tempt him. As for the

style of the letter, if you and I together can't write a modest and interesting application for the vacant place, I

"All this, however, is still in the future. For the present my advice is, stay where you are, and dream to your

heart's content, till you hear from me again. I take in The Times regularly, and you may trust my wary eye not

to miss the right advertisement. We can luckily give the major time, without doing any injury to our own

interests; for there is no fear just yet of the girl's getting the start of you. The public reception, as we know,

won't be ready till near the end of the month; and we may safely trust young Armadale's vanity to keep him

"It's odd, isn't it, to think how much depends on this halfpay officer's decision? For my part, I shall wake

every morning now with the same question in my mind: If the major's advertisment appears, which will the

Early on the morning after his first night's rest at Thorpe Ambrose, Allan rose and surveyed the prospect from

his bedroom window, lost in the dense mental bewilderment of feeling himself to be a stranger in his own

The bedroom looked out over the great front door, with its portico, its terrace and flight of steps beyond, and,

further still, the broad sweep of the welltimbered park to close the view. The morning mist nestled lightly

about the distant trees; and the cows were feeding sociably, close to the iron fence which railed off the park

from the drive in front of the house. "All mine!" thought Allan, staring in blank amazement at the prospect of

He dressed, left his room, and walked along the corridor which led to the staircase and hall, opening the doors

The rooms in this part of the house were bedrooms and dressingrooms, light, spacious, perfectly furnished;

and all empty, except the one bedchamber next to Allan's, which had been appropriated to Midwinter. He

was still sleeping when his friend looked in on him, having sat late into the night writing his letter to Mr.

Brock. Allan went on to the end of the first corridor, turned at right angles into a second, and, that passed,

gained the head of the great staircase. "No romance here," he said to himself, looking down the handsomely

carpeted stone stairs into the bright modern hall. "Nothing to startle Midwinter's fidgety nerves in this house."

There was nothing, indeed; Allan's essentially superficial observation had not misled him for once. The

mansion of Thorpe Ambrose (built after the pulling down of the dilapidated old manorhouse) was barely

fifty years old. Nothing picturesque, nothing in the slightest degree suggestive of mystery and romance,

appeared in any part of it. It was a purely conventional country housethe product of the classical idea

filtered judiciously through the commercial English mind. Viewed on the outer side, it presented the spectacle

of a modern manufactory trying to look like an ancient temple. Viewed on the inner side, it was a marvel of

luxurious comfort in every part of it, from basement to roof. "And quite right, too," thought Allan, sauntering

contentedly down the broad, gently graduated stairs. "Deuce take all mystery and romance! Let's be clean and

Arrived in the hall, the new master of Thorpe Ambrose hesitated, and looked about him, uncertain which way

The four receptionrooms on the groundfloor opened into the hall, two on either side. Allan tried the nearest

door on his right hand at a venture, and found himself in the drawingroom. Here the first sign of life

appeared, under life's most attractive form. A young girl was in solitary possession of the drawingroom. The

duster in her hand appeared to associate her with the domestic duties of the house; but at that particular

moment she was occupied in asserting the rights of nature over the obligations of service. In other words, she

"There! there! don't let me frighten you," said Allan, as the girl started away from the glass, and stared at him

in unutterable confusion. "I quite agree with you, my dear; your face is well worth looking at. Who are you?

Oh, the housemaid. And what's your name? Susan, eh? Come! I like your name, to begin with. Do you know

who I am, Susan? I'm your master, though you may not think it. Your character? Oh, yes! Mrs. Blanchard

gave you a capital character. You shall stop here; don't be afraid. And you'll be a good girl, Susan, and wear

smart little caps and aprons and bright ribbons, and you'll look nice and pretty, and dust the furniture, won't

you?" With this summary of a housemaid's duties, Allan sauntered back into the hall, and found more signs

of life in that quarter. A manservant appeared on this occasion, and bowed, as became a vassal in a linen

"And who may you be?" asked Allan. "Not the man who let us in last night? Ah, I thought not. The second

footman, eh? Character? Oh, yes; capital character. Stop here, of course. You can valet me, can you? Bother

valeting me! I like to put on my own clothes, and brush them, too, when they are on; and, if I only knew how

to black my own boots, by George, I should like to do it! What room's this? Morningroom, eh? And here's

the diningroom, of course. Good heavens, what a table! it's as long as my yacht, and longer. I say,

bytheby, what's your name? Richard, is it? Well, Richard, the vessel I sail in is a vessel of my own

building! What do you think of that? You look to me just the right sort of man to be my steward on board. If

you're not sick at seaoh, you are sick at sea? Well, then, we'll say nothing more about it. And what room is

this? Ah, yes; the library, of coursemore in Mr. Midwinter's way than mine. Mr. Midwinter is the

gentleman who came here with me last night; and mind this, Richard, you're all to show him as much

attention as you show me. Where are we now? What's this door at the back? Billiardroom and

smokingroom, eh? Jolly. Another door! and more stairs! Where do they go to? and who's this coming up?

Take your time, ma'am; you're not quite so young as you were oncetake your time."

The object of Allan's humane caution was a corpulent elderly woman of the type called "motherly." Fourteen

stairs were all that separated her from the master of the house; she ascended them with fourteen stoppages

and fourteen sighs. Nature, various in all things, is infinitely various in the female sex. There are some

women whose personal qualities reveal the Loves and the Graces; and there are other women whose personal

qualities suggest the Perquisites and the Grease Pot. This was one of the other women.

"Glad to see you looking so well, ma'am," said Allan, when the cook, in the majesty of her office, stood

proclaimed before him. "Your name is Gripper, is it? I consider you, Mrs. Gripper, the most valuable person

in the house. For this reason, that nobody in the house eats a heartier dinner every day than I do. Directions?

Oh, no; I've no directions to give. I leave all that to you. Lots of strong soup, and joints done with the gravy

in themthere's my notion of good feeding, in two words. Steady! Here's somebody else. Oh, to be

surethe butler! Another valuable person. We'll go right through all the wine in the cellar, Mr. Butler; and if

I can't give you a sound opinion after that, we'll persevere boldly, and go right through it again. Talking of

winehalloo! here are more of them coming up stairs. There! there! don't trouble yourselves. You've all got

capital characters, and you shall all stop here along with me. What was I saying just now? Something about

wine; so it was. I'll tell you what, Mr. Butler, it isn't every day that a new master comes to Thorpe Ambrose;

and it's my wish that we should all start together on the best possible terms. Let the servants have a grand

jollification downstairs to celebrate my arrival, and give them what they like to drink my health in. It's a poor

heart, Mrs. Gripper, that never rejoices, isn't it? No; I won't look at the cellar now: I want to go out, and get a

breath of fresh air before breakfast. Where's Richard? I say, have I got a garden here? Which side of the

house is it! That side, eh? You needn't show me round. I'll go alone, Richard, and lose myself, if I can, in my

With those words Allan descended the terrace steps in front of the house, whistling cheerfully. He had met

the serious responsibility of settling his domestic establishment to his own entire satisfaction. "People talk of

the difficulty of managing their servants," thought Allan. "What on earth do they mean? I don't see any

difficulty at all." He opened an ornamental gate leading out of the drive at the side of the house, and,

following the footman's directions, entered the shrubbery that sheltered the Thorpe Ambrose gardens. "Nice

shady sort of place for a cigar," said Allan, as he sauntered along with his hands in his pockets "I wish I could

The shrubbery opened on the broad expanse of a flower garden, flooded bright in its summer glory by the

On one side, an archway, broken through, a wall, led into the fruit garden. On the other, a terrace of turf led

to ground on a lower level, laid out as an Italian garden. Wandering past the fountains and statues, Allan

reached another shrubbery, winding its way apparently to some remote part of the grounds. Thus far, not a

human creature had been visible or audible anywhere; but, as he approached the end of the second shrubbery,

it struck him that he heard something on the other side of the foliage. He stopped and listened. There were

two voices speaking distinctlyan old voice that sounded very obstinate, and a young voice that sounded

"It's no use, miss," said the old voice. "I mustn't allow it, and I won't allow it. What would Mr. Armadale

"If Mr. Armadale is the gentleman I take him for, you old brute!" replied the young voice, "he would say,

'Come into my garden, Miss Milroy, as often as you like, and take as many nosegays as you please.'" Allan's

bright blue eyes twinkled mischievously. Inspired by a sudden idea, he stole softly to the end of the

shrubbery, darted round the corner of it, and, vaulting over a low ring fence, found himself in a trim little

paddock, crossed by a gravel walk. At a short distance down the wall stood a young lady, with her back

toward him, trying to force her way past an impenetrable old man, with a rake in his hand, who stood

"Come into my garden, Miss Milroy, as often as you like, and take as many nosegays as you please," cried

The young lady turned round, with a scream; her muslin dress, which she was holding up in front, dropped

from her hand, and a prodigious lapful of flowers rolled out on the gravel walk.

Before another word could be said, the impenetrable old man stepped forward, with the utmost composure,

and entered on the question of his own personal interests, as if nothing whatever had happened, and nobody

"I bid you humbly welcome to Thorpe Ambrose, sir," said this ancient of the gardens. "My name is Abraham

Sage. I've been employed in the grounds for more than forty years; and I hope you'll be pleased to continue

So, with vision inexorably limited to the horizon of his own prospects, spoke the gardener, and spoke in vain.

Allan was down on his knees on the gravel walk, collecting the fallen flowers, and forming his first

She was pretty; she was not pretty; she charmed, she disappointed, she charmed again. Tried by recognized

line and rule, she was too short and too well developed for her age. And yet few men's eyes would have

wished her figure other than it was. Her hands were so prettily plump and dimpled that it was hard to see how

red they were with the blessed exuberance of youth and health. Her feet apologized gracefully for her old and

ill fitting shoes; and her shoulders made ample amends for the misdemeanor in muslin which covered them in

the shape of a dress. Her darkgray eyes were lovely in their clear softness of color, in their spirit, tenderness,

and sweet good humor of expression; and her hair (where a shabby old garden hat allowed it to be seen) was

of just that lighter shade of brown which gave value by contrast to the darker beauty of her eyes. But these

attractions passed, the little attendant blemishes and imperfections of this selfcontradictory girl began again.

Her nose was too short, her mouth was too large, her face was too round and too rosy. The dreadful justice of

photography would have had no mercy on her; and the sculptors of classical Greece would have bowed her

regretfully out of their studios. Admitting all this, and more, the girdle round Miss Milroy's waist was the

girdle of Venus nevertheless; and the passkey that opens the general heart was the key she carried, if ever a

girl possessed it yet. Before Allan had picked up his second handful of flowers, Allan was in love with her.

"Don't! pray don't, Mr. Armadale!" she said, receiving the flowers under protest, as Allan vigorously

showered them back into the lap of her dress. "I am so ashamed! I didn't mean to invite myself in that bold

way into your garden; my tongue ran away with meit did, indeed! What can I say to excuse myself? Oh,

Allan suddenly saw his way to a compliment, and tossed it up to her forthwith, with the third handful of

"I'll tell you what I think, Miss Milroy," he said, in his blunt, boyish way. "I think the luckiest walk I ever

He looked eager and handsome. He was not addressing a woman worn out with admiration, but a girl just

beginning a woman's life; and it did him no harm, at any rate, to speak in the character of master of Thorpe

Ambrose. The penitential expression on Miss Milroy's face gently melted away; she looked down, demure

"I deserve a good scolding," she said. "I don't deserve compliments, Mr. Armadaleleast of all from you."

"Oh, yes, you do!" cried the headlong Allan, getting briskly on his legs. "Besides, it isn't a compliment; it's

true. You are the prettiestI beg your pardon, Miss Milroy! my tongue ran away with me that time."

Among the heavy burdens that are laid on female human nature, perhaps the heaviest, at the age of sixteen, is

the burden of gravity. Miss Milroy struggled, tittered, struggled again, and composed herself for the time

The gardener, who still stood where he had stood from the first, immovably waiting for his next opportunity,

saw it now, and gently pushed his personal interests into the first gap of silence that had opened within his

"I humbly bid you welcome to Thorpe Ambrose, sir," said Abraham Sage, beginning obstinately with his

Before he could deliver himself of his name, Miss Milroy looked accidentally in the horticulturist's

pertinacious face, and instantly lost her hold on her gravity beyond recall. Allan, never backward in following

a boisterous example of any sort, joined in her laughter with right goodwill. The wise man of the gardens

showed no surprise, and took no offense. He waited for another gap of silence, and walked in again gently

with his personal interests the moment the two young people stopped to take breath.

"I have been employed in the grounds," proceeded Abraham Sage, irrepressibly, "for more than forty

"You shall be employed in the grounds for forty more, if you'll only hold your tongue and take yourself off!"

"Thank you kindly, sir," said the gardener, with the utmost politeness, but with no present signs either of

Abraham Sage carefully cleared his throat, and shifted his rake from one hand to the other. He looked down

the length of his own invaluable implement, with a grave interest and attention, seeing, apparently, not the

long handle of a rake, but the long perspective of a vista, with a supplementary personal interest established

at the end of it. "When more convenient, sir," resumed this immovable man, "I should wish respectfully to

speak to you about my son. Perhaps it may be more convenient in the course of the day? My humble duty, sir,

and my best thanks. My son is strictly sober. He is accustomed to the stables, and he belongs to the Church of

Englandwithout incumbrances." Having thus planted his offspring provisionally in his master's estimation,

"If that's a specimen of a trustworthy old servant," said Allan, "I think I'd rather take my chance of being

cheated by a new one. You shall not be troubled with him again, Miss Milroy, at any rate. All the

flowerbeds in the garden are at your disposal, and all the fruit in the fruit season, if you'll only come here

Allan saw his way to another complimentan elaborate compliment, in the shape of a trap, this time.

"You can do me the greatest possible favor," he said. "You can assist me in forming an agreeable impression

Allan judiciously closed the trap on the spot in these words: "By taking me with you, Miss Milroy, on your

She saw the way, on her side, to a little flirtation. She rested her hand on his arm, blushed, hesitated, and

"I don't think it's quite right, Mr. Armadale," she said, devoting herself with the deepest attention to her

collection of flowers. "Oughtn't we to have some old lady here? Isn't it improper to take your arm until I

know you a little better than I do now? I am obliged to ask; I have had so little instruction; I have seen so

little of society, and one of papa's friends once said my manners were too bold for my age. What do you

"I think it's a very good thing your papa's friend is not here now," answered the outspoken Allan; "I should

quarrel with him to a dead certainty. As for society, Miss Milroy, nobody knows less about it than I do; but if

we had an old lady here, I must say myself I think she would be uncommonly in the way. Won't you?"

Miss Milroy looked up at him sidelong from her flowers "You are as bad as the gardener, Mr. Armadale!"

She looked down again in a flutter of indecision. "I'm sure it's wrong," she said, and took his arm the instant

They moved away together over the daisied turf of the paddock, young and bright and happy, with the

She laughed gayly. "How very odd of you, Mr. Armadale, not to know, when it all belongs to you! Are you

really seeing Thorpe Ambrose this morning for the first time? How indescribably strange it must feel! No, no;

don't say any more complimentary things to me just yet. You may turn my head if you do. We haven't got the

old lady with us; and I really must take care of myself. Let me be useful; let me tell you all about your own

grounds. We are going out at that little gate, across one of the drives in the park, and then over the rustic

bridge, and then round the corner of the plantationwhere do you think? To where I live, Mr. Armadale; to

the lovely little cottage that you have let to papa. Oh, if you only knew how lucky we thought ourselves to get

She paused, looked up at her companion, and stopped another compliment on the incorrigible Allan's lips.

"I'll drop your arm," she said coquettishly, "if you do! We were lucky to get the cottage, Mr. Armadale. Papa

said he felt under an obligation to you for letting it, the day we got in. And I said I felt under an obligation, no

"Yes. It may surprise you to hear it; but if you hadn't let the cottage to papa, I believe I should have suffered

Allan's memory reverted to the halfcrown that he had spun on the cabintable of the yacht, at Castletown.

"I dare say you don't understand why I should feel such a horror of going to school," pursued Miss Milroy,

misinterpreting the momentary silence on her companion's side. "If I had gone to school in early lifeI mean

at the age when other girls goI shouldn't have minded it now. But I had no such chance at the time. It was

the time of mamma's illness and of papa's unfortunate speculation; and as papa had nobody to comfort him

but me, of course I stayed at home. You needn't laugh; I was of some use, I can tell you. I helped papa over

his trouble, by sitting on his knee after dinner, and asking him to tell me stories of all the remarkable people

he had known when he was about in the great world, at home and abroad. Without me to amuse him in the

"Oh, yes! I ought to have told you. Papa is an extraordinary mechanical genius. You will say so, too, when

you see his clock. It's nothing like so large, of course, but it's on the model of the famous clock at Strasbourg.

Only think, he began it when I was eight years old; and (though I was sixteen last birthday) it isn't finished

yet! Some of our friends were quite surprised he should take to such a thing when his troubles began. But

papa himself set that right in no time; he reminded them that Louis the Sixteenth took to lockmaking when

his troubles began, and then everybody was perfectly satisfied." She stopped, and changed color confusedly.

"Oh, Mr. Armadale," she said, in genuine embarrassment this time, "here is my unlucky tongue running away

with me again! I am talking to you already as if I had known you for years! This is what papa's friend meant

when he said my manners were too bold. It's quite true; I have a dreadful way of getting familiar with people,

if" She checked herself suddenly, on the brink of ending the sentence by saying, "if I like them."

"No, no; do go on!" pleaded Allan. "It's a fault of mine to be familiar, too. Besides, we must be familiar; we

are such near neighbors. I'm rather an uncultivated sort of fellow, and I don't know quite how to say it; but I

want your cottage to be jolly and friendly with my house, and my house to be jolly and friendly with your

cottage. There's my meaning, all in the wrong words. Do go on, Miss Milroy; pray go on!"

She smiled and hesitated. "I don't exactly remember where I was," she replied, "I only remember I had

something I wanted to tell you. This comes, Mr. Armadale, of my taking your arm. I should get on so much

better, if you would only consent to walk separately. You won't? Well, then, will you tell me what it was I

wanted to say? Where was I before I went wandering off to papa's troubles and papa's clock?"

"Not at school, you mean," said Miss Milroy; "and all through you. Now I can go on again, which is a great

comfort. I am quite serious, Mr. Armadale, in saying that I should have been sent to school, if you had said

No when papa proposed for the cottage. This is how it happened. When we began moving in, Mrs. Blanchard

sent us a most kind message from the great house to say that her servants were at our disposal, if we wanted

any assistance. The least papa and I could do, after that, was to call and thank her. We saw Mrs. Blanchard

and Miss Blanchard. Mistress was charming, and miss looked perfectly lovely in her mourning. I'm sure you

admire her? She's tall and pale and gracefulquite your idea of beauty, I should think?"

"I mean I have never seen either Mrs. Blanchard or her niece," added Allan, precipitately correcting himself.

"How extraordinary that you should never have seen them!" she went on. "Why, you are a perfect stranger to

everything and everybody at Thorpe Ambrose! Well, after Miss Blanchard and I had sat and talked a little

while, I heard my name on Mrs. Blanchard's lips and instantly held my breath. She was asking papa if I had

finished my education. Out came papa's great grievance directly. My old governess, you must know, left us to

be married just before we came here, and none of our friends could produce a new one whose terms were

reasonable. 'I'm told, Mrs. Blanchard, by people who understand it better than I do,' says papa, 'that

advertising is a risk. It all falls on me, in Mrs. Milroy's state of health, and I suppose I must end in sending

my little girl to school. Do you happen to know of a school within the means of a poor man?' Mrs. Blanchard

shook her head; I could have kissed her on the spot for doing it. 'All my experience, Major Milroy,' says this

perfect angel of a woman, 'is in favor of advertising. My niece's governess was originally obtained by an

advertisement, and you may imagine her value to us when I tell you she lived in our family for more than ten

years.' I could have gone down on both my knees and worshipped Mrs. Blanchard then and there; and I only

wonder I didn't! Papa was struck at the timeI could see thatand he referred to it again on the way home.

'Though I have been long out of the world, my dear,' says papa, 'I know a highlybred woman and a sensible

woman when I see her. Mrs. Blanchard's experience puts advertising in a new light; I must think about it.' He

has thought about it, and (though he hasn't openly confessed it to me) I know that he decided to advertise, no

later than last night. So, if papa thanks you for letting the cottage, Mr. Armadale, I thank you, too. But for

you, we should never have known darling Mrs. Blanchard; and but for darling Mrs. Blanchard, I should have

Before Allan could reply, they turned the corner of the plantation, and came in sight of the cottage.

Description of it is needless; the civilized universe knows it already. It was the typical cottage of the

drawingmaster's early lessons in neat shading and the broad pencil touchwith the trim thatch, the

luxuriant creepers, the modest latticewindows, the rustic porch, and the wicker birdcage, all complete.

She led the way briskly up the garden path, and opened the parlor door. As Allan followed her into the little

room, he saw, at the further end of it, a gentleman sitting alone at an oldfashioned writingtable, with his

"Papa! a surprise for you!" said Miss Milroy, rousing him from his occupation. "Mr. Armadale has come to

The major started; rose, bewildered for the moment; recovered himself immediately, and advanced to

A man with a larger experience of the world and a finer observation of humanity than Allan possessed would

have seen the story of Major Milroy's life written in Major Milroy's face. The home troubles that had struck

him were plainly betrayed in his stooping figure and his wan, deeply wrinkled cheeks, when he first showed

himself on rising from his chair. The changeless influence of one monotonous pursuit and one monotonous

habit of thought was next expressed in the dull, dreamy selfabsorption of his manner and his look while his

daughter was speaking to him. The moment after, when he had roused himself to welcome his guest, was the

moment which made the selfrevelation complete. Then there flickered in the major's weary eyes a faint

reflection of the spirit of his happier youth. Then there passed over the major's dull and dreamy manner a

change which told unmistakably of social graces and accomplishments, learned at some past time in no

ignoble social school; a man who had long since taken his patient refuge from trouble in his own mechanical

pursuit; a man only roused at intervals to know himself again for what he once had been. So revealed to all

eyes that could read him aright, Major Milroy now stood before Allan, on the first morning of an

"I am heartily glad to see you, Mr. Armadale," he said, speaking in the changeless quiet, subdued tone

peculiar to most men whose occupations are of the solitary and monotonous kind. "You have done me one

favor already by taking me as your tenant, and you now do me another by paying this friendly visit. If you

have not breakfasted already, let me waive all ceremony on my side, and ask you to take your place at our

"With the greatest pleasure, Major Milroy, if I am not in the way," replied Allan, delighted at his reception. "I

was sorry to hear from Miss Milroy that Mrs. Milroy is an invalid. Perhaps my being here unexpectedly;

"I understand your hesitation, Mr. Armadale," said the major; "but it is quite unnecessary. Mrs. Milroy's

illness keeps her entirely confined to her own room. Have we got everything we want on the table, my love?"

he went on, changing the subject so abruptly that a closer observer than Allan might have suspected it was

Miss Milroy's attention appeared to be already preengaged; she made no reply. While her father and Allan

had been exchanging civilities, she had been putting the writingtable in order, and examining the various

objects scattered on it with the unrestrained curiosity of a spoiled child. The moment after the major had

spoken to her, she discovered a morsel of paper hidden between the leaves of the blottingbook, snatched it

"Do my eyes deceive me, papa?" she asked. "Or were you really and truly writing the advertisement when I

"I had just finished it," replied her father. "But, my dear, Mr. Armadale is herewe are waiting for

"Mr. Armadale knows all about it," rejoined Miss Milroy. "I told him in the garden."

"Oh, yes!" said Allan. "Pray, don't make a stranger of me, major! If it's about the governess, I've got

Major Milroy smiled. Before he could answer, his daughter, who had been reading the advertisement,

"Oh, papa," she said, "there's one thing here I don't like at all! Why do you put grandmamma's initials at the

"My dear! your mother can do nothing in this matter, as you know. And as for me (even if I went to London),

questioning strange ladies about their characters and accomplishments is the last thing in the world that I am

fit to do. Your grandmamma is on the spot; and your grandmamma is the proper person to receive the letters,

"But I want to see the letters myself," persisted the spoiled child. "Some of them are sure to be amusing"

"I don't apologize for this very unceremonious reception of you, Mr. Armadale," said the major, turning to

Allan, with a quaint and quiet humor. "It may be useful as a warning, if you ever chance to marry and have a

"Besides," she went on, "I should like to help in choosing which letters we answer, and which we don't. I

think I ought to have some voice in the selection of my own governess. Why not tell them, papa, to send their

letters down hereto the postoffice or the stationer's, or anywhere you like? When you and I have read

them, we can send up the letters we prefer to grandmamma; and she can ask all the questions, and pick out

the best governess, just as you have arranged already, without leaving ME entirely in the dark, which I

consider (don't you, Mr. Armadale?) to be quite inhuman. Let me alter the address, papa; do, there's a

"We shall get no breakfast, Mr. Armadale, if I don't say Yes," said the major goodhumoredly. "Do as you

like, my dear," he added, turning to his daughter. "As long as it ends in your grandmamma's managing the

Miss Milroy took up her father's pen, drew it through the last line of the advertisement, and wrote the altered

"There!" she said, bustling to her place at the breakfasttable. "The advertisement may go to London now;

and, if a governess does come of it, oh, papa, who in the name of wonder will she be? Tea or coffee, Mr.

Armadale? I'm really ashamed of having kept you waiting. But it is such a comfort," she added, saucily, "to

Father, daughter, and guest sat down together sociably at the little round table, the best of good neighbors and

Three days later, one of the London newsboys got his business off his mind before breakfast. His district was

Diana Street, Pimlico; and the last of the morning's newspapers which he disposed of was the newspaper he

More than an hour after Allan had set forth on his exploring expedition through his own grounds, Midwinter

rose, and enjoyed, in his turn, a full view by daylight of the magnificence of the new house.

Refreshed by his long night's rest, he descended the great staircase as cheerfully as Allan himself. One after

another, he, too, looked into the spacious rooms on the ground floor in breathless astonishment at the beauty

and the luxury which surrounded him. "The house where I lived in service when I was a boy, was a fine one,"

he thought, gayly; "but it was nothing to this! I wonder if Allan is as surprised and delighted as I am?" The

beauty of the summer morning drew him out through the open hall door, as it had drawn his friend out before

him. He ran briskly down the steps, humming the burden of one of the old vagabond tunes which he had

danced to long since in the old vagabond time. Even the memories of his wretched childhood took their color,

on that happy morning. from the bright medium through which he looked back at them. "If I was not out of

practice," he thought to himself, as he leaned on the fence and looked over at the park, "I could try some of

my old tumbling tricks on that delicious grass." He turned, noticed two of the servants talking together near

The men pointed with a smile in the direction of the gardens; Mr. Armadale had gone that way more than an

hour since, and had met (as had been reported) with Miss Milroy in the grounds. Midwinter followed the path

through the shrubbery, but, on reaching the flower garden, stopped, considered a little, and retraced his steps.

"If Allan has met with the young lady," he said to himself, "Allan doesn't want me." He laughed as he drew

that inevitable inference, and turned considerately to explore the beauties of Thorpe Ambrose on the other

Passing the angle of the front wall of the building, he descended some steps, advanced along a paved walk,

turned another angle, and found himself in a strip of garden ground at the back of the house.

Behind him was a row of small rooms situated on the level of the servants' offices. In front of him, on the

further side of the little garden, rose a wall, screened by a laurel hedge, and having a door at one end of it,

leading past the stables to a gate that opened on the highroad. Perceiving that he had only discovered thus

far the shorter way to the house, used by the servants and tradespeople, Midwinter turned back again, and

looked in at the window of one of the rooms on the basement story as he passed it. Were these the servants'

offices? No; the offices were apparently in some other part of the groundfloor; the window he had looked in

at was the window of a lumberroom. The next two rooms in the row were both empty. The fourth window,

when he approached it, presented a little variety. It served also as a door; and it stood open to the garden at

Attracted by the bookshelves which he noticed on one of the walls, Midwinter stepped into the room.

The books, few in number, did not detain him long; a glance at their backs was enough without taking them

down. The Waverley Novels, Tales by Miss Edgeworth, and by Miss Edgeworth's many followers, the Poems

of Mrs. Hemans, with a few odd volumes of the illustrated giftbooks of the period, composed the bulk of the

little library. Midwinter turned to leave the room, when an object on one side of the window, which he had

not previously noticed, caught his attention and stopped him. It was a statuette standing on a bracketa

reduced copy of the famous Niobe of the Florence Museum. He glanced from the statuette to the window,

with a sudden doubt which set his heart throbbing fast. It was a French window. He looked out with a

suspicion which he had not felt yet. The view before him was the view of a lawn and garden. For a moment

his mind struggled blindly to escape the conclusion which had seized it, and struggled in vain. Here, close

round him and close before himhere, forcing him mercilessly back from the happy present to the horrible

He waited, thinking and looking round him while he thought. There was wonderfully little disturbance in his

face and manner; he looked steadily from one to the other of the few objects in the room, as if the discovery

of it had saddened rather than surprised him. Matting of some foreign sort covered the floor. Two cane chairs

and a plain table comprised the whole of the furniture. The walls were plainly papered, and barebroken to

the eye in one place by a door leading into the interior of the house; in another, by a small stove; in a third, by

the bookshelves which Midwinter had already noticed. He returned to the books, and this time he took some

The first that he opened contained lines in a woman's handwriting, traced in ink that had faded with time. He

read the inscription"Jane Armadale, from her beloved father. Thorpe Ambrose, October, 1828." In the

second, third, and fourth volumes that he opened, the same inscription reappeared. His previous knowledge

of dates and persons helped him to draw the true inference from what he saw. The books must have belonged

to Allan's mother; and she must have inscribed them with her name, in the interval of time between her return

to Thorpe Ambrose from Madeira and the birth of her son. Midwinter passed on to a volume on another

shelfone of a series containing the writings of Mrs. Hemans. In this case, the blank leaf at the beginning of

the book was filled on both sides with a copy of verses, the writing being still in Mrs. Armadale's hand. The

verses were headed "Farewell to Thorpe Ambrose," and were dated "March, 1829"two months only after

Entirely without merit in itself, the only interest of the little poem was in the domestic story that it told.

The very room in which Midwinter then stood was describedwith the view on the garden, the window

made to open on it, the bookshelves, the Niobe, and other more perishable ornaments which Time had

destroyed. Here, at variance with her brothers, shrinking from her friends, the widow of the murdered man

had, on her own acknowledgment, secluded herself, without other comfort than the love and forgiveness of

her father, until her child was born. The father's mercy and the father's recent death filled many verses,

happily too vague in their commonplace expression of penitence and despair to give any hint of the marriage

story in Madeira to any reader who looked at them ignorant of the truth. A passing reference to the writer's

estrangement from her surviving relatives, and to her approaching departure from Thorpe Ambrose, followed.

Last came the assertion of the mother's resolution to separate herself from all her old associations; to leave

behind her every possession, even to the most trifling thing she had, that could remind her of the miserable

past; and to date her new life in the future from the birthday of the child who had been spared to console

herwho was now the one earthly object that could still speak to her of love and hope. So the old story of

passionate feeling that finds comfort in phrases rather than not find comfort at all was told once again. So the

Midwinter put the book back with a heavy sigh, and opened no other volume on the shelves. "Here in the

country house, or there on board the wreck," he said, bitterly, "the traces of my father's crime follow me, go

where I may." He advanced toward the window, stopped, and looked back into the lonely, neglected little

room. "Is this chance?" he asked himself. "The place where his mother suffered is the place he sees in the

Dream; and the first morning in the new house is the morning that reveals it, not to him, but to me. Oh, Allan!

The thought had barely passed through his mind before he heard Allan's voice, from the paved walk at the

side of the house, calling to him by his name. He hastily stepped out into the garden. At the same moment

Allan came running round the corner, full of voluble apologies for having forgotten, in the society of his new

neighbors, what was due to the laws of hospitality and the claims of his friend.

"I really haven't missed you," said Midwinter; "and I am very, very glad to hear that the new neighbors have

He tried, as he spoke, to lead the way back by the outside of the house; but Allan's flighty attention had been

caught by the open window and the lonely little room. He stepped in immediately. Midwinter followed, and

watched him in breathless anxiety as he looked round. Not the slightest recollection of the Dream troubled

Allan's easy mind. Not the slightest reference to it fell from the silent lips of his friend.

"Exactly the sort of place I should have expected you to hit on!" exclaimed Allan, gayly. "Small and snug and

unpretending. I know you, Master Midwinter! You'll be slipping off here when the county families come

visiting, and I rather think on those dreadful occasions you won't find me far behind you. What's the matter?

You look ill and out of spirits. Hungry? Of course you are! unpardonable of me to have kept you waiting.

This door leads somewhere, I suppose; let's try a short cut into the house. Don't be afraid of my not keeping

you company at breakfast. I didn't eat much at the cottage; I feasted my eyes on Miss Milroy, as the poets

say. Oh, the darling! the darling! she turns you topsyturvy the moment you look at her. As for her father,

wait till you see his wonderful clock! It's twice the size of the famous clock at Strasbourg, and the most

Singing the praises of his new friends in this strain at the top of his voice, Allan hurried Midwinter along the

stone passages on the basement floor, which led, as he had rightly guessed, to a staircase communicating with

the hall. They passed the servants' offices on the way. At the sight of the cook and the roaring fire, disclosed

through the open kitchen door, Allan's mind went off at a tangent, and Allan's dignity scattered itself to the

"Aha, Mrs. Gripper, there you are with your pots and pans, and your burning fiery furnace! One had need be

Shadrach, Meshach, and the other fellow to stand over that. Breakfast as soon as ever you like. Eggs,

sausages, bacon, kidneys, marmalade, watercresses, coffee, and so forth. My friend and I belong to the

select few whom it's a perfect privilege to cook for. Voluptuaries, Mrs. Gripper, voluptuaries, both of us.

You'll see," continued Allan, as they went on toward the stairs, "I shall make that worthy creature young

again; I'm better than a doctor for Mrs. Gripper. When she laughs, she shakes her fat sides, and when she

shakes her fat sides, she exerts her muscular system; and when she exerts her muscular system Ha! here's

Susan again. Don't squeeze yourself flat against the banisters, my dear; if you don't mind hustling me on the

stairs, I rather like hustling you. She looks like a fullblown rose when she blushes, doesn't she? Stop, Susan!

I've orders to give. Be very particular with Mr. Midwinter's room: shake up his bed like mad, and dust his

furniture till those nice round arms of yours ache again. Nonsense, my dear fellow! I'm not too familiar with

them; I'm only keeping them up to their work. Now, then, Richard! where do we breakfast? Oh, here.

Between ourselves, Midwinter, these splendid rooms of mine are a size too large for me; I don't feel as if I

should ever be on intimate terms with my own furniture. My views in life are of the snug and slovenly

sorta kitchen chair, you know, and a low ceiling. Man wants but little here below, and wants that little

long. That's not exactly the right quotation; but it expresses my meaning, and we'll let alone correcting it till

"I beg your pardon," interposed Midwinter, "here is something waiting for you which you have not noticed

As he spoke, he pointed a little impatiently to a letter lying on the breakfasttable. He could conceal the

ominous discovery which he had made that morning, from Allan's knowledge; but he could not conquer the

latent distrust of circumstances which was now raised again in his superstitious naturethe instinctive

suspicion of everything that happened, no matter how common or how trifling the event, on the first

Allan ran his eye over the letter, and tossed it across the table to his friend. "I can't make head or tail of it," he

Midwinter read the letter, slowly, aloud. "SirI trust you will pardon the liberty I take in sending these few

lines to wait your arrival at Thorpe Ambrose. In the event of circumstances not disposing you to place your

law business in the hands of Mr. Darch" He suddenly stopped at that point, and considered a little.

"Darch is our friend the lawyer," said Allan, supposing Midwinter had forgotten the name. "Don't you

remember our spinning the halfcrown on the cabin table, when I got the two offers for the cottage? Heads,

Without making any reply, Midwinter resumed reading the letter. "In the event of circumstances not

disposing you to place your law business in the hands of Mr. Darch, I beg to say that I shall be happy to take

charge of your interests, if you feel willing to honor me with your confidence. Inclosing a reference (should

you desire it) to my agents in London, and again apologizing for this intrusion, I beg to remain, sir,

"Circumstances?" repeated Midwinter, as he laid the letter down. "What circumstances can possibly indispose

"Nothing can indispose me," said Allan. "Besides being the family lawyer here, Darch was the first to write

me word at Paris of my coming in for my fortune; and, if I have got any business to give, of course he ought

Midwinter still looked distrustfully at the open letter on the table. "I am sadly afraid, Allan, there is

something wrong already," he said. "This man would never have ventured on the application he has made to

you, unless he had some good reason for believing he would succeed. If you wish to put yourself right at

starting, you will send to Mr. Darch this morning to tell him you are here, and you will take no notice for the

Before more could be said on either side, the footman made his appearance with the breakfast tray. He was

followed, after an interval, by the butler, a man of the essentially confidential kind, with a modulated voice, a

courtly manner, and a bulbous nose. Anybody but Allan would have seen in his face that he had come into

the room having a special communication to make to his master. Allan, who saw nothing under the surface,

and whose head was running on the lawyer's letter, stopped him bluntly with the pointblank question:

The butler's sources of local knowledge opened confidentially on the instant. Mr. Pedgift was the second of

the two lawyers in the town. Not so long established, not so wealthy, not so universally looked up to as old

Mr. Darch. Not doing the business of the highest people in the county, and not mixing freely with the best

society, like old Mr. Darch. A very sufficient man, in his way, nevertheless. Known as a perfectly competent

and respectable practitioner all round the neighborhood. In short, professionally next best to Mr. Darch; and

personally superior to him (if the expression might be permitted) in this respectthat Darch was a Crusty

Having imparted this information, the butler, taking a wise advantage of his position, glided, without a

moment's stoppage, from Mr. Pedgift's character to the business that had brought him into the

breakfastroom. The Midsummer Audit was near at hand; and the tenants were accustomed to have a week's

notice of the rentday dinner. With this necessity pressing, and with no orders given as yet, and no steward in

office at Thorpe Ambrose, it appeared desirable that some confidential person should bring the matter

forward. The butler was that confidential person; and he now ventured accordingly to trouble his master on

At this point Allan opened his lips to interrupt, and was himself interrupted before he could utter a word.

"Wait!" interposed Midwinter, seeing in Allan's face that he was in danger of being publicly announced in the

capacity of steward. "Wait!" he repeated, eagerly, "till I can speak to you first."

The butler's courtly manner remained alike unruffled by Midwinter's sudden interference and by his own

dismissal from the scene. Nothing but the mounting color in his bulbous nose betrayed the sense of injury

that animated him as he withdrew. Mr. Armadale's chance of regaling his friend and himself that day with the

best wine in the cellar trembled in the balance, as the butler took his way back to the basement story.

"This is beyond a joke, Allan," said Midwinter, when they were alone. "Somebody must meet your tenants on

the rentday who is really fit to take the steward's place. With the best will in the world to learn, it is

impossible for me to master the business at a week's notice. Don't, pray don't let your anxiety for my welfare

put you in a false position with other people! I should never forgive myself if I was the unlucky cause"

"Gently gently!' cried Allan, amazed at his friend's extraordinary earnestness. "If I write to London by

Midwinter shook his head. "Our time is short," he said; "and the man may not be at liberty. Why not try in the

neighborhood first? You were going to write to Mr. Darch. Send at once, and see if he can't help us between

Allan withdrew to a sidetable on which writing materials were placed. "You shall breakfast in peace, you

old fidget," he replied, and addressed himself forthwith to Mr. Darch, with his usual Spartan brevity of

epistolary expression. "Dear SirHere I am, bag and baggage. Will you kindly oblige me by being my

lawyer? I ask this, because I want to consult you at once. Please look in in the course of the day, and stop to

dinner if you possibly can. Yours truly. ALLAN ARMADALE." Having read this composition aloud with

unconcealed admiration of his own rapidity of literary execution, Allan addressed the letter to Mr. Darch, and

rang the bell. "Here, Richard, take this at once, and wait for an answer. And, I say, if there's any news stirring

in the town, pick it up and bring it back with you. See how I manage my servants!" continued Allan, joining

his friend at the breakfasttable. "See how I adapt myself to my new duties! I haven't been down here one

Breakfast over, the two friends went out to idle away the morning under the shade of a tree in the park. Noon

came, and Richard never appeared. One o'clock struck, and still there were no signs of an answer from Mr.

Darch. Midwinter's patience was not proof against the delay. He left Allan dozing on the grass, and went to

the house to make inquiries. The town was described as little more than two miles distant; but the day of the

week happened to be market day, and Richard was being detained no doubt by some of the many

Half an hour later the truant messenger returned, and was sent out to report himself to his master under the

"Any answer from Mr. Darch?" asked Midwinter, seeing that Allan was too lazy to put the question for

"Mr. Darch was engaged, sir. I was desired to say that he would send an answer."

"Any news in the town?" inquired Allan, drowsily, without troubling himself to open his eyes.

Observing the man suspiciously as he made that reply, Midwinter detected in his face that he was not

speaking the truth. He was plainly embarrassed, and plainly relieved when his master's silence allowed him to

withdraw. After a little consideration, Midwinter followed, and overtook the retreating servant on the drive

"Richard," he said, quietly, "if I was to guess that there is some news in the town, and that you don't like

The man started and changed color. "I don't know how you have found it out," he said; "but I can't deny you

"If you let me hear what the news is, I will take the responsibility on myself of telling Mr. Armadale."

After some little hesitation, and some distrustful consideration, on his side, of Midwinter's face, Richard at

The news of Allan's sudden appearance at Thorpe Ambrose had preceded the servant's arrival at his

destination by some hours. Wherever he went, he found his master the subject of public discussion. The

opinion of Allan's conduct among the leading townspeople, the resident gentry of the neighborhood, and the

principal tenants on the estate was unanimously unfavorable. Only the day before, the committee for

managing the pubic reception of the new squire had sketched the progress of the procession; had settled the

serious question of the triumphal arches; and had appointed a competent person to solicit subscriptions for the

flags, the flowers, the feasting, the fireworks, and the band. In less than a week more the money could have

been collected, and the rector would have written to Mr. Armadale to fix the day. And now, by Allan's own

act, the public welcome waiting to honor him had been cast back contemptuously in the public teeth!

Everybody took for granted (what was unfortunately true) that he had received private information of the

contemplated proceedings. Everybody declared that he had purposely stolen into his own house like a thief in

the night (so the phrase ran) to escape accepting the offered civilities of his neighbors. In brief, the sensitive

selfimportance of the little town was wounded to the quick, and of Allan's once enviable position in the

For a moment, Midwinter faced the messenger of evil tidings in silent distress. That moment past, the sense

of Allan's critical position roused him, now the evil was known, to seek the remedy.

"Has the little you have seen of your master, Richard, inclined you to like him?" he asked.

This time the man answered without hesitation, "A pleasanter and kinder gentleman than Mr. Armadale no

"If you think that," pursued Midwinter, "you won't object to give me some information which will help your

He led the way into the library, and, after asking the necessary questions, took down in writing a list of the

names and addresses of the most influential persons living in the town and its neighborhood. This done, he

rang the bell for the head footman, having previously sent Richard with a message to the stables directing an

"When the late Mr. Blanchard went out to make calls in the neighborhood, it was your place to go with him,

was it not?" he asked, when the upper servant appeared. "Very well. Be ready in an hour's time, if you please,

to go out with Mr. Armadale." Having given that order, he left the house again on his way back to Allan, with

the visiting list in his hand. He smiled a little sadly as he descended the steps. "Who would have imagined,"

he thought, "that my footboy's experience of the ways of gentlefolks would be worth looking back at one

The object of the popular odium lay innocently slumbering on the grass, with his garden hat over his nose, his

waistcoat unbuttoned, and his trousers wrinkled half way up his outstretched legs. Midwinter roused him

Allan accepted the disclosure thus forced on him without the slightest disturbance of temper. "Oh, hang 'em!"

was all he said. "Let's have another cigar." Midwinter took the cigar out of his hand, and, insisting on his

treating the matter seriously, told him in plain words that he must set himself right with his offended

neighbors by calling on them personally to make his apologies. Allan sat up on the grass in astonishment; his

eyes opened wide in incredulous dismay. Did Midwinter positively meditate forcing him into a "chimneypot

hat," a nicely brushed frockcoat, and a clean pair of gloves? Was it actually in contemplation to shut him up

in a carriage, with his footman on the box and his cardcase in his hand, and send him round from house to

house, to tell a pack of fools that he begged their pardon for not letting them make a public show of him? If

anything so outrageously absurd as this was really to be done, it could not be done that day, at any rate. He

had promised to go back to the charming Milroy at the cottage and to take Midwinter with him. What earthly

need had he of the good opinion of the resident gentry? The only friends he wanted were the friends he had

got already. Let the whole neighborhood turn its back on him if it liked; back or face, the Squire of Thorpe

After allowing him to run on in this way until his whole stock of objections was exhausted, Midwinter wisely

tried his personal influence next. He took Allan affectionately by the hand. "I am going to ask a great favor,"

he said. "If you won't call on these people for your own sake, will you call on them to please me?"

Allan delivered himself of a groan of despair, stared in mute surprise at the anxious face of his friend, and

goodhumoredly gave way. As Midwinter took his arm, and led him back to the house, he looked round with

rueful eyes at the cattle hard by, placidly whisking their tails in the pleasant shade. "Don't mention it in the

neighborhood," he said; "I should like to change places with one of my own cows."

Midwinter left him to dress, engaging to return when the carriage was at the door. Allan's toilet did not

promise to be a speedy one. He began it by reading his own visiting cards; and he advanced it a second stage

by looking into his wardrobe, and devoting the resident gentry to the infernal regions. Before he could

discover any third means of delaying his own proceedings, the necessary pretext was unexpectedly supplied

by Richard's appearance with a note in his hand. The messenger had just called with Mr. Darch's answer.

Allan briskly shut up the wardrobe, and gave his whole attention to the lawyer's letter. The lawyer's letter

"SIRI beg to acknowledge the receipt of your favor of today's date, honoring me with two proposals;

namely, ONE inviting me to act as your legal adviser, and ONE inviting me to pay you a visit at your house.

In reference to the first proposal, I beg permission to decline it with thanks. With regard to the second

proposal, I have to inform you that circumstances have come to my knowledge relating to the letting of the

cottage at Thorpe Ambrose which render it impossible for me (in justice to myself) to accept your invitation.

I have ascertained, sir, that my offer reached you at the same time as Major Milroy's; and that, with both

proposals thus before you, you gave the preference to a total stranger, who addressed you through a house

agent, over a man who had faithfully served your relatives for two generations, and who had been the first

person to inform you of the most important event in your life. After this specimen of your estimate of what is

due to the claims of common courtesy and common justice, I cannot flatter myself that I possess any of the

"Stop the messenger!" cried Allan, leaping to his feet, his ruddy face aflame with indignation. "Give me pen,

ink, and paper! By the Lord Harry, they're a nice set of people in these parts; the whole neighborhood is in a

conspiracy to bully me!" He snatched up the pen in a fine frenzy of epistolary inspiration. "SirI despise

you and your letter." At that point the pen made a blot, and the writer was seized with a momentary

hesitation. "Too strong," he thought; "I'll give it to the lawyer in his own cool and cutting style." He began

again on a clean sheet of paper. "SirYou remind me of an Irish bull. I mean that story in 'Joe Miller' where

Pat remarked, in the hearing of a wag hard by, that 'the reciprocity was all on one side.' Your reciprocity is all

on one side. You take the privilege of refusing to be my lawyer, and then you complain of my taking the

privilege of refusing to be your landlord." He paused fondly over those last words. "Neat!" he thought.

"Argument and hard hitting both in one. I wonder where my knack of writing comes from?" He went on, and

finished the letter in two more sentences. "As for your casting my invitation back in my teeth, I beg to inform

you my teeth are none the worse for it. I am equally glad to have nothing to say to you, either in the capacity

of a friend or a tenant.ALLAN ARMADALE." He nodded exultantly at his own composition, as he

addressed it and sent it down to the messenger. "Darch's hide must be a thick one," he said, "if he doesn't feel

The sound of the wheels outside suddenly recalled him to the business of the day. There was the carriage

waiting to take him on his round of visits; and there was Midwinter at his post, pacing to and fro on the drive.

"Read that," cried Allan, throwing out the lawyer's letter; "I've written him back a smasher."

He bustled away to the wardrobe to get his coat. There was a wonderful change in him; he felt little or no

reluctance to pay the visits now. The pleasurable excitement of answering Mr. Darth had put him in a fine

aggressive frame of mind for asserting himself in the neighborhood. "Whatever else they may say of me, they

shan't say I was afraid to face them." Heated redhot with that idea, he seized his hat and gloves, and

hurrying out of the room, met Midwinter in the corridor with the lawyer's letter in his hand.

"Keep up your spirits!" cried Allan, seeing the anxiety in his friend's face, and misinterpreting the motive of it

immediately. "If Darch can't be counted on to send us a helping hand into the steward's office, Pedgift can."

"My dear Allan, I was not thinking of that; I was thinking of Mr. Darch's letter. I don't defend this

sourtempered man; but I am afraid we must admit he has some cause for complaint. Pray don't give him

another chance of putting you in the wrong. Where is your answer to his letter?"

"Gone!" replied Allan. "I always strike while the iron's hota word and a blow, and the blow first, that's my

way. Don't, there's a good fellow, don't fidget about the steward's books and the rentday. Here! here's a

bunch of keys they gave me last night: one of them opens the room where the steward's books are; go in and

read them till I come back. I give you my sacred word of honor I'll settle it all with Pedgift before you see me

"One moment," interposed Midwinter, stopping him resolutely on his way out to the carriage. "I say nothing

against Mr. Pedgift's fitness to possess your confidence, for I know nothing to justify me in distrusting him.

But he has not introduced himself to your notice in a very delicate way; and he has not acknowledged (what

is quite clear to my mind) that he knew of Mr. Darch's unfriendly feeling toward you when he wrote. Wait a

little before you go to this stranger; wait till we can talk it over together tonight."

"Wait!" replied Allan. "Haven't I told you that I always strike while the iron's hot? Trust my eye for character,

old boy, I'll look Pedgift through and through, and act accordingly. Don't keep me any longer, for Heaven's

sake. I'm in a fine humor for tackling the resident gentry; and if I don't go at once, I'm afraid it may wear off."

With that excellent reason for being in a hurry, Allan boisterously broke away. Before it was possible to stop

Midwinter's face darkened when the last trace of the carriage had disappeared from view. "I have done my

best," he said, as he turned back gloomily into the house "If Mr. Brock himself were here, Mr. Brock could

He looked at the bunch of keys which Allan had thrust into his hand, and a sudden longing to put himself to

the test over the steward's books took possession of his sensitive selftormenting nature. Inquiring his way to

the room in which the various movables of the steward's office had been provisionally placed after the letting

of the cottage, he sat down at the desk, and tried how his own unaided capacity would guide him through the

business records of the Thorpe Ambrose estate. The result exposed his own ignorance unanswerably before

his own eyes. The ledgers bewildered him; the leases, the plans, and even the correspondence itself, might

have been written, for all he could understand of them, in an unknown tongue. His memory reverted bitterly

as he left the room again to his two years' solitary selfinstruction in the Shrewsbury bookseller's shop. "If I

could only have worked at a business!" he thought. "If I could only have known that the company of poets

He sat down alone in the great hall; the silence of it fell heavier and heavier on his sinking spirits; the beauty

of it exasperated him, like an insult from a purseproud man. "Curse the place!" he said, snatching up his hat

and stick. "I like the bleakest hillside I ever slept on better than I like this house!"

He impatiently descended the doorsteps, and stopped on the drive, considering, by which direction he

should leave the park for the country beyond. If he followed the road taken by the carriage, he might risk

unsettling Allan by accidentally meeting him in the town. If he went out by the back gate, he knew his own

nature well enough to doubt his ability to pass the room of the dream without entering it again. But one other

way remained: the way which he had taken, and then abandoned again, in the morning. There was no fear of

disturbing Allan and the major's daughter now. Without further hesitation, Midwinter set forth through the

Thrown off its balance by the events of the day, his mind was full of that sourly savage resistance to the

inevitable selfassertion of wealth, so amiably deplored by the prosperous and the rich; so bitterly familiar to

the unfortunate and the poor. "The heatherbell costs nothing!" he thought, looking contemptuously at the

masses of rare and beautiful flowers that surrounded him; "and the buttercups and daisies are as bright as the

best of you!" He followed the artfully contrived ovals and squares of the Italian garden with a vagabond

indifference to the symmetry of their construction and the ingenuity of their design. "How many pounds a

foot did you cost?" he said, looking back with scornful eyes at the last path as he left it. "Wind away over

He entered the shrubbery which Allan had entered before him; crossed the paddock and the rustic bridge

beyond; and reached the major's cottage. His ready mind seized the right conclusion at the first sight of it; and

he stopped before the garden gate, to look at the trim little residence which would never have been empty,

and would never have been let, but for Allan's illadvised resolution to force the steward's situation on his

The summer afternoon was warm; the summer air was faint and still. On the upper and the lower floor of the

cottage the windows were all open. From one of them, on the upper story, the sound of voices was startlingly

audible in the quiet of the park as Midwinter paused on the outer side of the garden inclosure. The voice of a

woman, harsh, high, and angrily complaininga voice with all the freshness and the melody gone, and with

nothing but the hard power of it leftwas the discordantly predominant sound. With it, from moment to

moment, there mingled the deeper and quieter tones, soothing and compassionate, of the voice of a man.

Although the distance was too great to allow Midwinter to distinguish the words that were spoken, he felt the

impropriety of remaining within hearing of the voices, and at once stepped forward to continue his walk.

At the same moment, the face of a young girl (easily recognizable as the face of Miss Milroy, from Allan's

description of her) appeared at the open window of the room. In spite of himself, Midwinter paused to look at

her. The expression of the bright young face, which had smiled so prettily on Allan, was weary and

disheartened. After looking out absently over the park, she suddenly turned her head back into the room, her

attention having been apparently struck by something that had just been said in it. "Oh, mamma, mamma,"

she exclaimed, indignantly, "how can you say such things!" The words were spoken close to the window;

they reached Midwinter's ears, and hurried him away before he heard more. But the selfdisclosure of Major

Milroy's domestic position had not reached its end yet. As Midwinter turned the corner of the garden fence, a

tradesman's boy was handing a parcel in at the wicket gate to the woman servant. "Well," said the boy, with

the irrepressible impudence of his class, "how is the missus?" The woman lifted her hand to box his ears.

"How is the missus?" she repeated, with an angry toss of her head, as the boy ran off. "If it would only please

No such illomened shadow as this had passed over the bright domestic picture of the inhabitants of the

cottage, which Allan's enthusiasm had painted for the contemplation of his friend. It was plain that the secret

of the tenants had been kept from the landlord so far. Five minutes more of walking brought Midwinter to the

park gates. "Am I fated to see nothing and hear nothing today, which can give me heart and hope for the

future?" he thought, as he angrily swung back the lodge gate. "Even the people Allan has let the cottage to are

people whose lives are imbittered by a household misery which it is my misfortune to have found out!"

He took the first road that lay before him, and walked on, noticing little, immersed in his own thoughts.

More than an hour passed before the necessity of turning back entered his mind. As soon as the idea occurred

to him, he consulted his watch, and determined to retrace his steps, so as to be at the house in good time to

meet Allan on his return. Ten minutes of walking brought him back to a point at which three roads met, and

one moment's observation of the place satisfied him that he had entirely failed to notice at the time by which

of the three roads he had advanced. No signpost was to be seen; the country on either side was lonely and

flat, intersected by broad drains and ditches. Cattle were grazing here and there, and a windmill rose in the

distance above the pollard willows that fringed the low horizon. But not a house was to be seen, and not a

human creature appeared on the visible perspective of any one of the three roads. Midwinter glanced back in

the only direction left to look atthe direction of the road along which he had just been walking. There, to

his relief, was the figure of a man, rapidly advancing toward him, of whom he could ask his way.

The figure came on, clad from head to foot in dreary blacka moving blot on the brilliant white surface of

the sunbrightened road. He was a lean, elderly, miserably respectable man. He wore a poor old black

dresscoat, and a cheap brown wig, which made no pretense of being his own natural hair. Short black

trousers clung like attached old servants round his wizen legs; and rusty black gaiters hid all they could of his

knobbed, ungainly feet. Black crape added its mite to the decayed and dingy wretchedness of his old beaver

hat; black mohair in the obsolete form of a stock drearily encircled his neck and rose as high as his haggard

jaws. The one morsel of color he carried about him was a lawyer's bag of blue serge, as lean and limp as

himself. The one attractive feature in his cleanshaven, weary old face was a neat set of teethteeth (as

honest as his wig) which said plainly to all inquiring eyes, "We pass our nights on his lookingglass, and our

All the little blood in the man's body faintly reddened his fleshless cheeks as Midwinter advanced to meet

him, and asked the way to Thorpe Ambrose. His weak, watery eyes looked hither and thither in a

bewilderment painful to see. If he had met with a lion instead of a man, and if the few words addressed to

him had been words expressing a threat instead of a question, he could hardly have looked more confused and

alarmed than he looked now. For the first time in his life, Midwinter saw his own shy uneasiness in the

presence of strangers reflected, with tenfold intensity of nervous suffering, in the face of another manand

"Which do you please to mean, sirthe town or the house? I beg your pardon for asking, but they both go by

He spoke with a timid gentleness of tone, an ingratiatory smile, and an anxious courtesy of manner, all

distressingly suggestive of his being accustomed to receive rough answers in exchange for his own politeness

"I was not aware that both the house and the town went by the same name," said Midwinter; "I meant the

house." He instinctively conquered his own shyness as he answered in those words, speaking with a cordiality

The man of miserable respectability seemed to feel the warm return of his own politeness gratefully; he

brightened and took a little courage. His lean forefinger pointed eagerly to the right road. "That way, sir," he

said, "and when you come to two roads next, please take the left one of the two. I am sorry I have business

the other way, I mean in the town. I should have been happy to go with you and show you. Fine summer

weather, sir, for walking? You can't miss your way if you keep to the left. Oh, don't mention it! I'm afraid I

By the time he had made an end of speaking (under an impression apparently that the more he talked the

more polite he would be) he had lost his courage again. He darted away down his own road, as if Midwinter's

attempt to thank him involved a series of trials too terrible to confront. In two minutes more, his black

retreating figure had lessened in the distance till it looked again, what it had once looked already, a moving

The man ran strangely in Midwinter's thoughts while he took his way back to the house. He was at a loss to

account for it. It never occurred to him that he might have been insensibly reminded of himself, when he saw

the plain traces of past misfortune and present nervous suffering in the poor wretch's face. He blindly

resented his own perverse interest in this chance foot passenger on the highroad, as he had resented all else

that had happened to him since the beginning of the day. "Have I made another unlucky discovery?" he asked

Time was to answer both those questions before many days more had passed over the inquirer's head.

Allan had not returned when Midwinter reached the house. Nothing had happened but the arrival of a

message of apology from the cottage. "Major Milroy's compliments, and he was sorry that Mrs. Milroy's

illness would prevent his receiving Mr. Armadale that day." It was plain that Mrs. Milroy's occasional fits of

suffering (or of ill temper) created no mere transitory disturbance of the tranquillity of the household.

Drawing this natural inference, after what he had himself heard at the cottage nearly three hours since,

Midwinter withdrew into the library to wait patiently among the books until his friend came back.

It was past six o'clock when the wellknown hearty voice was heard again in the hall. Allan burst into the

library, in a state of irrepressible excitement, and pushed Midwinter back unceremoniously into the chair

"Here's a riddle for you, old boy!" cried Allan. "Why am I like the resident manager of the Augean stable,

before Hercules was called in to sweep the litter out? Because I have had my place to keep up, and I've gone

and made an infernal mess of it! Why don't you laugh? By George, he doesn't see the point! Let's try again.

"For God's sake, Allan, be serious for a moment!" interposed Midwinter. "You don't know how anxious I am

"That's just what the riddle was intended to tell you!" rejoined Allan. "But if you will have it in so many

words, my own impression is that you would have done better not to disturb me under that tree in the park.

I've been calculating it to a nicety, and I beg to inform you that I have sunk exactly three degrees lower in the

"You will have your joke out," said Midwinter, bitterly. "Well, if I can't laugh, I can wait."

"My dear fellow, I'm not joking; I really mean what I say. You shall hear what happened; you shall have a

report in full of my first visit. It will do, I can promise you, as a sample for all the rest. Mind this, in the first

place, I've gone wrong with the best possible intentions. When I started for these visits, I own I was angry

with that old brute of a lawyer, and I certainly had a notion of carrying things with a high hand. But it wore

off somehow on the road; and the first family I called on, I went in, as I tell you, with the best possible

intentions. Oh, dear, dear! there was the same spickandspan receptionroom for me to wait in, with the

neat conservatory beyond, which I saw again and again and again at every other house I went to afterward.

There was the same choice selection of books for me to look ata religious book, a book about the Duke of

Wellington, a book about sporting, and a book about nothing in particular, beautifully illustrated with

pictures. Down came papa with his nice white hair, and mamma with her nice lace cap; down came young

mister with the pink face and strawcolored whiskers, and young miss with the plump cheeks and the large

petticoats. Don't suppose there was the least unfriendliness on my side; I always began with them in the same

wayI insisted on shaking hands all round. That staggered them to begin with. When I came to the sore

subject nextthe subject of the public receptionI give you my word of honor I took the greatest possible

pains with my apologies. It hadn't the slightest effect; they let my apologies in at one ear and out at the other,

and then waited to hear more. Some men would have been disheartened: I tried another way with them; I

addressed myself to the master of the house, and put it pleasantly next. 'The fact is,' I said, 'I wanted to escape

the speechifyingmy getting up, you know, and telling you to your face you're the best of men, and I beg to

propose your health; and your getting up and telling me to my face I'm the best of men, and you beg to thank

me; and so on, man after man, praising each other and pestering each other all round the table.' That's how I

put it, in an easy, lighthanded, convincing sort of way. Do you think any of them took it in the same friendly

spirit? Not one! It's my belief they had got their speeches ready for the reception, with the flags and the

flowers, and that they're secretly angry with me for stopping their open mouths just as they were ready to

begin. Anyway, whenever we came to the matter of the speechifying (whether they touched it first or I),

down I fell in their estimation the first of those three steps I told you of just now. Don't suppose I made no

efforts to get up again! I made desperate efforts. I found they were all anxious to know what sort of life I had

led before I came in for the Thorpe Ambrose property, and I did my best to satisfy them. And what came of

that, do you think? Hang me, if I didn't disappoint them for the second time! When they found out that I had

actually never been to Eton or Harrow, or Oxford or Cambridge, they were quite dumb with astonishment. I

fancy they thought me a sort of outlaw. At any rate, they all froze up again; and down I fell the second step in

their estimation. Never mind! I wasn't to be beaten; I had promised you to do my best, and I did it. I tried

cheerful smalltalk about the neighborhood next. The women said nothing in particular; the men, to my

unutterable astonishment, all began to condole with me. I shouldn't be able to find a pack of hounds, they

said, within twenty miles of my house; and they thought it only right to prepare me for the disgracefully

careless manner in which the Thorpe Ambrose covers had been preserved. I let them go on condoling with

me, and then what do you think I did? I put my foot in it again. 'Oh, don't take that to heart!' I said; 'I don't

care two straws about hunting or shooting, either. When I meet with a bird in my walk, I can't for the life of

me feel eager to kill it; I rather like to see the bird flying about and enjoying itself.' You should have seen

their faces! They had thought me a sort of outlaw before; now they evidently thought me mad. Dead silence

fell upon them all; and down I tumbled the third step in the general estimation. It was just the same at the

next house, and the next and the next. The devil possessed us all, I think. It would come out, now in one way,

and now in another, that I couldn't make speechesthat I had been brought up without a university

educationand that I could enjoy a ride on horseback without galloping after a wretched stinking fox or a

poor distracted little hare. These three unlucky defects of mine are not excused, it seems, in a country

gentleman (especially when he has dodged a public reception to begin with). I think I got on best, upon the

whole, with the wives and daughters. The women and I always fell, sooner or later, on the subject of Mrs.

Blanchard and her niece. We invariably agreed that they had done wisely in going to Florence; and the only

reason we had to give for our opinion was that we thought their minds would be benefited after their sad

bereavement, by the contemplation of the masterpieces of Italian art. Every one of the ladiesI solemnly

declare itat every house I went to, came sooner or later to Mrs. and Miss Blanchard's bereavement and the

masterpieces of Italian art. What we should have done without that bright idea to help us, I really don't know.

The one pleasant thing at any of the visits was when we all shook our heads together, and declared that the

masterpieces would console them. As for the rest of it, there's only one thing more to be said. What I might

be in other places I don't know: I'm the wrong man in the wrong place here. Let me muddle on for the future

in my own way, with my own few friends; and ask me anything else in the world, as long as you don't ask me

With that characteristic request, Allan's report of his exploring expedition among the resident gentry came to

a close. For a moment Midwinter remained silent. He had allowed Allan to run on from first to last without

uttering a word on his side. The disastrous result of the visitscoming after what had happened earlier in the

day; and threatening Allan, as it did, with exclusion from all local sympathies at the very outset of his local

careerhad broken down Midwinter's power of resisting the stealthily depressing influence of his own

superstition. It was with an effort that he now looked up at Allan; it was with an effort that he roused himself

"It shall be as you wish," he said, quietly. "I am sorry for what has happened; but I am not the less obliged to

His head sank on his breast, and the fatalist resignation which had once already quieted him on board the

wreck now quieted him again. "What must be, will be," he thought once more. "What have I to do with the

"Cheer up!" said Allan. "Your affairs are in a thriving condition, at any rate. I paid one pleasant visit in the

town, which I haven't told you of yet. I've seen Pedgift, and Pedgift's son, who helps him in the office.

They're the two jolliest lawyers I ever met with in my life; and, what's more, they can produce the very man

Midwinter looked up quickly. Distrust of Allan's discovery was plainly written in his face already; but he said

"I thought of you," Allan proceeded, "as soon as the two Pedgifts and I had had a glass of wine all round to

drink to our friendly connection. The finest sherry I ever tasted in my life; I've ordered some of the

samebut that's not the question just now. In two words I told these worthy fellows your difficulty, and in

two seconds old Pedgift understood all about it. 'I have got the man in my office,' he said, 'and before the

auditday comes, I'll place him with the greatest pleasure at your friend's disposal.'"

At this last announcement, Midwinter's distrust found its expression in words. He questioned Allan

The man's name, it appeared was Bashwood. He had been some time (how long, Allan could not remember)

in Mr. Pedgift's service. He had been previously steward to a Norfolk gentleman (name forgotten) in the

westward district of the county. He had lost the steward's place, through some domestic trouble, in

connection with his son, the precise nature of which Allan was not able to specify. Pedgift vouched for him,

and Pedgift would send him to Thorpe Ambrose two or three days before the rentday dinner. He could not

be spared, for office reasons, before that time. There was no need to fidget about it; Pedgift laughed at the

idea of there being any difficulty with the tenants. Two or three day's work over the steward's books with a

man to help Midwinter who practically understood that sort of thing would put him all right for the audit; and

"Have you seen this Mr. Bashwood yourself, Allan?" asked Midwinter, still obstinately on his guard.

"No," replied Allan "he was outout with the bag, as young Pedgift called it. They tell me he's a decent

elderly man. A little broken by his troubles, and a little apt to be nervous and confused in his manner with

strangers; but thoroughly competent and thoroughly to be depended onthose are Pedgift's own words."

Midwinter paused and considered a little, with a new interest in the subject. The strange man whom he had

just heard described, and the strange man of whom he had asked his way where the three roads met, were

remarkably like each other. Was this another link in the fastlengthening chain of events? Midwinter grew

doubly determined to be careful, as the bare doubt that it might be so passed through his mind.

"When Mr. Bashwood comes," he said, "will you let me see him, and speak to him, before anything definite

"Of course I will!" rejoined Allan. He stopped and looked at his watch. "And I'll tell you what I'll do for you,

old boy, in the meantime," he added; "I'll introduce you to the prettiest girl in Norfolk! There's just time to

run over to the cottage before dinner. Come along, and be introduced to Miss Milroy."

"You can't introduce me to Miss Milroy today," replied Midwinter; and he repeated the message of apology

which had been brought from the major that afternoon. Allan was surprised and disappointed; but he was not

to be foiled in his resolution to advance himself in the good graces of the inhabitants of the cottage. After a

little consideration he hit on a means of turning the present adverse circumstances to good account. "I'll show

a proper anxiety for Mrs. Milroy's recovery," he said, gravely. "I'll send her a basket of strawberries, with my

The one noticeable event of the next day was another disclosure of Mrs. Milroy's infirmity of temper. Half an

hour after Allan's basket of strawberries had been delivered at the cottage, it was returned to him intact (by

the hands of the invalid lady's nurse), with a short and sharp message, shortly and sharply delivered. "Mrs.

Milroy's compliments and thanks. Strawberries invariably disagreed with her." If this curiously petulant

acknowledgment of an act of politeness was intended to irritate Allan, it failed entirely in accomplishing its

object. Instead of being offended with the mother, he sympathized with the daughter. "Poor little thing," was

He called at the cottage himself later in the day, but Miss Milroy was not to be seen; she was engaged

upstairs. The major received his visitor in his working apronfar more deeply immersed in his wonderful

clock, and far less readily accessible to outer influences, than Allan had seen him at their first interview. His

manner was as kind as before; but not a word more could be extracted from him on the subject of his wife

The two next days passed quietly and uneventfully. Allan persisted in making his inquiries at the cottage; but

all he saw of the major's daughter was a glimpse of her on one occasion at a window on the bedroom floor.

Nothing more was heard from Mr. Pedgift; and Mr. Bashwood's appearance was still delayed. Midwinter

declined to move in the matter until time enough had passed to allow of his first hearing from Mr. Brock, in

answer to the letter which he had addressed to the rector on the night of his arrival at Thorpe Ambrose. He

was unusually silent and quiet, and passed most of his hours in the library among the books. The time wore

on wearily. The resident gentry acknowledged Allan's visit by formally leaving their cards. Nobody came

near the house afterward; the weather was monotonously fine. Allan grew a little restless and dissatisfied. He

began to resent Mrs. Milroy's illness; he began to think regretfully of his deserted yacht.

The next daythe twentiethbrought some news with it from the outer world. A message was delivered

from Mr. Pedgift, announcing that his clerk, Mr. Bashwood, would personally present himself at Thorpe

Ambrose on the following day; and a letter in answer to Midwinter was received from Mr. Brock.

The letter was dated the 18th, and the news which it contained raised not Allan's spirits only, but Midwinter's

On the day on which he wrote, Mr. Brock announced that he was about to journey to London; having been

summoned thither on business connected with the interests of a sick relative, to whom he stood in the

position of trustee. The business completed, he had good hope of finding one or other of his clerical friends in

the metropolis who would be able and willing to do duty for him at the rectory; and, in that case, he trusted to

travel on from London to Thorpe Ambrose in a week's' time or less. Under these circumstances, he would

leave the majority of the subjects on which Midwinter had written to him to be discussed when they met. But

as time might be of importance, in relation to the stewardship of the Thorpe Ambrose estate, he would say at

once that he saw no reason why Midwinter should not apply his mind to learning the steward's duties, and

should not succeed in rendering himself invaluably serviceable in that way to the interests of his friend.

Leaving Midwinter reading and rereading the rector's cheering letter, as if he was bent on getting every

sentence in it by heart, Allan went out rather earlier than usual, to make his daily inquiry at the cottageor,

in plainer words, to make a fourth attempt at improving his acquaintance with Miss Milroy. The day had

begun encouragingly, and encouragingly it seemed destined to go on. When Allan turned the corner of the

second shrubbery, and entered the little paddock where he and the major's daughter had first met, there was

Miss Milroy herself loitering to and fro on the grass, to all appearance on the watch for somebody.

She gave a little start when Allan appeared, and came forward without hesitation to meet him. She was not in

her best looks. Her rosy complexion had suffered under confinement to the house, and a marked expression

"I hardly know how to confess it, Mr. Armadale," she said, speaking eagerly, before Allan could utter a word,

"but I certainly ventured here this morning in the hope of meeting with you. I have been very much

distressed; I have only just heard, by accident, of the manner in which mamma received the present of fruit

you so kindly sent to her. Will you try to excuse her? She has been miserably ill for years, and she is not

always quite herself. After your being so very, very kind to me (and to papa), I really could not help stealing

out here in the hope of seeing you, and telling you how sorry I was. Pray forgive and forget, Mr.

Armadalepray do!" her voice faltered over the last words, and, in her eagerness to make her mother's peace

Allan was himself a little confused. Her earnestness took him by surprise, and her evident conviction that he

had been offended honestly distressed him. Not knowing what else to do, he followed his instincts, and

"My dear Miss Milroy, if you say a word more you will distress me next," he rejoined, unconsciously

pressing her hand closer and closer, in the embarrassment of the moment. "I never was in the least offended; I

made allowancesupon my honor I didfor poor Mrs. Milroy's illness. Offended!" cried Allan, reverting

energetically to the old complimentary strain. "I should like to have my basket of fruit sent back every

dayif I could only be sure of its bringing you out into the paddock the first thing in the morning."

Some of Miss Milroy's missing color began to appear again in her cheeks. "Oh, Mr. Armadale, there is really

no end to your kindness," she said; "you don't know how you relieve me! She paused; her spirits rallied with

as happy a readiness of recovery as if they had been the spirits of a child; and her native brightness of temper

sparkled again in her eyes, as she looked up, shyly smiling in Allan's face. "Don't you think," she asked,

Their eyes met. Allan followed his instincts for the second time. Instead of releasing her hand, he lifted it to

his lips and kissed it. All the missing tints of the rosier sort returned to Miss Milroy's complexion on the

"I'm sure that's wrong, Mr. Armadale," she said, and turned her head aside quickly, for she was smiling in

"I meant it as an apology forfor holding your hand too long," stammered Allan. "An apology can't be

There are occasions, though not many, when the female mind accurately appreciates an appeal to the force of

pure reason. This was one of the occasions. An abstract proposition had been presented to Miss Milroy, and

Miss Milroy was convinced. If it was meant as an apology, that, she admitted, made all the difference. "I only

hope," said the little coquet, looking at him slyly, "you're not misleading me. Not that it matters much now,"

she added, with a serious shake of her head. "If we have committed any improprieties, Mr. Armadale, we are

"As good as coming, I ought to have saidonly I didn't know you wished me to be so very particular. We

got the answers to the advertisements this morning. Papa and I opened them and read them together half an

hour ago; and we both picked out the same letter from all the rest. I picked it out, because it was so prettily

expressed; and papa picked it out because the terms were so reasonable. He is going to send the letter up to

grandmamma in London by today's post, and, if she finds everything satisfactory on inquiry, the governess is

to be engaged You don't know how dreadfully nervous I am getting about it already; a strange governess is

such an awful prospect. But it is not quite so bad as going to school; and I have great hopes of this new lady,

because she writes such a nice letter! As I said to papa, it almost reconciles me to her horrid, unromantic

"What is her name?" asked Allan. "Brown? Grubb? Scraggs? Anything of that sort?"

"Hush! hush! Nothing quite so horrible as that. Her name is Gwilt. Dreadfully unpoetical, isn't it? Her

reference must be a respectable person, though; for she lives in the same part of London as grandmamma.

Stop, Mr. Armadale! we are going the wrong way. No; I can't wait to look at those lovely flowers of yours

this morning, and, many thanks, I can't accept your arm. I have stayed here too long already. Papa is waiting

for his breakfast; and I must run back every step of the way. Thank you for making those kind allowances for

She gave him her hand. "No more apologies, if you please, Mr. Armadale," she said, saucily. Once more their

eyes met, and once more the plump, dimpled little hand found its way to Allan's lips. "It isn't an apology this

time!" cried Allan, precipitately defending himself. "It'sit's a mark of respect."

She started back a few steps, and burst out laughing. "You won't find me in our grounds again, Mr.

Armadale," she said, merrily, "till I have got Miss Gwilt to take care of me!" With that farewell, she gathered

Allan stood watching her in speechless admiration till she was out of sight. His second interview with Miss

Milroy had produced an extraordinary effect on him. For the first time since he had become the master of

Thorpe Ambrose, he was absorbed in serious consideration of what he owed to his new position in life. "The

question is," pondered Allan, "whether I hadn't better set myself right with my neighbors by becoming a

married man? I'll take the day to consider; and if I keep in the same mind about it, I'll consult Midwinter

When the morning came, and when Allan descended to the breakfastroom, resolute to consult his friend on

the obligations that he owed to his neighbors in general, and to Miss Milroy in particular, no Midwinter was

to he seen. On making inquiry, it appeared that he had been observed in the hall; that he had taken from the

table a letter which the morning's post had brought to him; and that he had gone back immediately to his own

room. Allan at once ascended the stairs again, and knocked at his friend's door.

"You have got a letter, haven't you?" persisted Allan. "Any bad news? Anything wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm not very well this morning. Don't wait breakfast for me; I'll come down as soon as I can."

No more was said on either side. Allan returned to the breakfastroom a little disappointed. He had set his

heart on rushing headlong into his consultation with Midwinter, and here was the consultation indefinitely

delayed. "What an odd fellow he is!" thought Allan. "What on earth can he be doing, locked in there by

He was doing nothing. He was sitting by the window, with the letter which had reached him that morning

open in his hand. The handwriting was Mr. Brock's, and the words written were these:

"MY DEAR MIDWINTERI have literally only two minutes before post time to tell you that I have just

met (in Kensington Gardens) with the woman whom we both only know, thus far, as the woman with the red

Paisley shawl. I have traced her and her companion (a respectablelooking elderly lady) to their

residenceafter having distinctly heard Allan's name mentioned between them. Depend on my not losing

sight of the woman until I am satisfied that she means no mischief at Thorpe Ambrose; and expect to hear

After reading the letter for the second time, Midwinter folded it up thoughtfully, and placed it in his

"Your discovery will not end with you, Mr. Brock," he said. "Do what you will with the woman, when the

1. From Mrs. Oldershaw (Diana Street, Pimlico) to Miss Gwilt (West Place, Old Brompton).

"MY DEAR LYDIAAbout three hours have passed, as well as I can remember, since I pushed you

unceremoniously inside my house in West Place, and, merely telling you to wait till you saw me again,

banged the door to between us, and left you alone in the hall. I know your sensitive nature, my dear, and I am

afraid you have made up your mind by this time that never yet was a guest treated so abominably by her

"The delay that has prevented me from explaining my strange conduct is, believe me, a delay for which I am

not to blame. One of the many delicate little difficulties which beset so essentially confidential a business as

mine occurred here (as I have since discovered) while we were taking the air this afternoon in Kensington

Gardens. I see no chance of being able to get back to you for some hours to come, and I have a word of very

urgent caution for your private ear, which has been too long delayed already. So I must use the spare minutes

"Here is caution the first. On no account venture outside the door again this evening, and be very careful,

while the daylight lasts, not to show yourself at any of the front windows. I have reason to fear that a certain

charming person now staying with me may possibly be watched. Don't be alarmed, and don't be impatient;

"I can only explain myself by going back to our unlucky meeting in the Gardens with that reverend

"It crossed my mind, just as we were close to the door, that there might be a motive for the parson's anxiety to

trace us home, far less creditable to his taste, and far more dangerous to both of us, than the motive you

supposed him to have. In plainer words, Lydia, I rather doubted whether you had met with another admirer;

and I strongly suspected that you had encountered another enemy instead . There was no time to tell you this.

There was only time to see you safe into the house, and to make sure of the parson (in case my suspicions

were right) by treating him as he had treated us; I mean, by following him in his turn.

"I kept some little distance behind him at first, to turn the thing over in my mind, and to be satisfied that my

doubts were not misleading me. We have no concealments from each other; and you shall know what my

"I was not surprised at your recognizing him; he is not at all a commonlooking old man; and you had seen

him twice in Somersetshireonce when you asked your way of him to Mrs. Armadale's house, and once

when you saw him again on your way back to the railroad. But I was a little puzzled (considering that you

had your veil down on both those occasions, and your veil down also when we were in the Gardens) at his

recognizing you. I doubted his remembering your figure in a summer dress after he had only seen it in a

winter dress; and though we were talking when he met us, and your voice is one among your many charms, I

doubted his remembering your voice, either. And yet I felt persuaded that he knew you. 'How?' you will ask.

My dear, as illluck would have it, we were speaking at the time of young Armadale. I firmly believe that the

name was the first thing that struck him; and when he heard that, your voice certainly and your figure

perhaps, came back to his memory. 'And what if it did?' you may say. Think again, Lydia, and tell me

whether the parson of the place where Mrs. Armadale lived was not likely to be Mrs. Armadale's friend? If he

was her friend, the very first person to whom she would apply for advice after the manner in which you

frightened her, and after what you most injudiciously said on the subject of appealing to her son, would be the

clergyman of the parishand the magistrate, too, as the landlord at the inn himself told you.

"You will now understand why I left you in that extremely uncivil manner, and I may go on to what

"I followed the old gentleman till he turned into a quiet street, and then accosted him, with respect for the

"'Will you excuse me,' I said, 'if I venture to inquire, sir, whether you recognized the lady who was walking

"'Will you excuse my asking, ma'am, why you put that question?' was all the answer I got.

"'I will endeavor to tell you, sir,' I said. 'If my friend is not an absolute stranger to you, I should wish to

request your attention to a very delicate subject, connected with a lady deceased, and with her son who

"He was staggered; I could see that. But he was sly enough at the same time to hold his tongue and wait till I

"'If I am wrong, sir, in thinking that you recognized my friend,' I went on, 'I beg to apologize. But I could

hardly suppose it possible that a gentleman in your profession would follow a lady home who was a total

"There I had him. He colored up (fancy that, at his age!), and owned the truth, in defense of his own precious

"'I have met with the lady once before, and I acknowledge that I recognized her in the Gardens,' he said. 'You

will excuse me if I decline entering into the question of whether I did or did not purposely follow her home.

If you wish to be assured that your friend is not an absolute stranger to me, you now have that assurance; and

if you have anything particular to say to me, I leave you to decide whether the time has come to say it.'

"He waited, and looked about. I waited, and looked about. He said the street was hardly a fit place to speak of

a delicate subject in. I said the street was hardly a fit place to speak of a delicate subject in. He didn't offer to

take me to where he lived. I didn't offer to take him to where I lived. Have you ever seen two strange cats, my

dear, nose to nose on the tiles? If you have, you have seen the parson and me done to the life.

"'Well, ma'am,' he said, at last, 'shall we go on with our conversation in spite of circumstances?'

"'Yes, sir,' I said; 'we are both of us, fortunately, of an age to set circumstances at defiance' (I had seen the old

wretch looking at my gray hair, and satisfying himself that his character was safe if he was seen with me).

"After all this snapping and snarling, we came to the point at last. I began by telling him that I feared his

interest in you was not of the friendly sort. He admitted that muchof course, in defense of his own

character once more. I next repeated to him everything you had told me about your proceedings in

Somersetshire, when we first found that he was following us home. Don't be alarmed my dearI was acting

on principle. If you want to make a dish of lies digestible, always give it a garnish of truth. Well, having

appealed to the reverend gentleman's confidence in this matter, I next declared that you had become an

altered woman since he had seen you last. I revived that dead wretch, your husband (without mentioning

names, of course), established him (the first place I thought of) in business at the Brazils, and described a

letter which he had written, offering to forgive his erring wife, if she would repent and go back to him. I

assured the parson that your husband's noble conduct had softened your obdurate nature; and then, thinking I

had produced the right impression, I came boldly to close quarters with him. I said, 'At the very time when

you met us, sir, my unhappy friend was speaking in terms of touching, selfreproach of her conduct to the

late Mrs. Armadale. She confided to me her anxiety to make some atonement, if possible, to Mrs. Armadale's

son; and it is at her entreaty (for she cannot prevail on herself to face you) that I now beg to inquire whether

Mr. Armadale is still in Somersetshire, and whether he would consent to take back in small installments the

sum of money which my friend acknowledges that she received by practicing on Mrs. Armadale's fears.'

Those were my very words. A neater story (accounting so nicely for everything) was never told; it was a

story to melt a stone. But this Somersetshire parson is harder than stone itself. I blush for him, my dear, when

I assure you that he was evidently insensible enough to disbelieve every word I said about your reformed

character, your husband in the Brazils, and your penitent anxiety to pay the money back. It is really a disgrace

that such a man should be in the Church; such cunning as his is in the last degree unbecoming in a member of

"'Does your friend propose to join her husband by the next steamer?' was all he condescended to say, when I

"There, I had him once more. 'You have found my address out for yourself, sir,' I said. 'The directory will tell

you my name, if you wish to find that out for yourself also; otherwise, you are welcome to my card.'

"'Many thanks, ma'am. If your friend wishes to communicate with Mr. Armadale, I will give you my card in

"So we parted. I went my way to an appointment at my place of business, and he went his in a hurry; which is

of itself suspicious. What I can't get over is his heartlessness. Heaven help the people who send for him to

"The next consideration is, What are we to do? If we don't find out the right way to keep this old wretch in

the dark, he may be the ruin of us at Thorpe Ambrose just as we are within easy reach of our end in view.

Wait up till I come to you, with my mind free, I hope, from the other difficulty which is worrying me here.

Was there ever such ill luck as ours? Only think of that man deserting his congregation, and coming to

London just at the very time when we have answered Major Milroy's advertisement, and may expect the

inquiries to be made next week! I have no patience with him; his bishop ought to interfere.

"MY POOR OLD DEARHow very little you know of my sensitive nature, as you call it! Instead of feeling

offended when you left me, I went to your piano, and forgot all about you till your messenger came. Your

letter is irresistible; I have been laughing over it till I am quite out of breath. Of all the absurd stories I ever

read, the story you addressed to the Somersetshire clergyman is the most ridiculous. And as for your

interview with him in the street, it is a perfect sin to keep it to ourselves. The public ought really to enjoy it in

"Luckily for both of us (to come to serious matters), your messenger is a prudent person. He sent upstairs to

know if there was an answer. In the midst of my merriment I had presence of mind enough to send downstairs

"Some brute of a man says, in some book which I once read, that no woman can keep two separate trains of

ideas in her mind at the same time. I declare you have almost satisfied me that the man is right. What! when

you have escaped unnoticed to your place of business, and when you suspect this house to be watched, you

propose to come back here, and to put it in the parson's power to recover the lost trace of you! What madness!

Stop where you are; and when you have got over your difficulty at Pimlico (it is some woman's business, of

course; what worries women are!), be so good as to read what I have got to say about our difficulty at

"Half an hour after you left me, loud voices in the street interrupted me at the piano, and I went to the

window. There was a cab at the house opposite, where they let lodgings; and an old man, who looked like a

respectable servant, was wrangling with the driver about his fare. An elderly gentleman came out of the

house, and stopped them. An elderly gentleman returned into the house, and appeared cautiously at the front

drawingroom window. You know him, you worthy creature; he had the bad taste, some few hours since, to

doubt whether you were telling him the truth. Don't be afraid, he didn't see me. When he looked up, after

settling with the cab driver, I was behind the curtain. I have been behind the curtain once or twice since; and I

have seen enough to satisfy me that he and his servant will relieve each other at the window, so as never to

lose sight of your house here, night or day. That the parson suspects the real truth is of course impossible. But

that he firmly believes I mean some mischief to young Armadale, and that you have entirely confirmed him

in that conviction, is as plain as that two and two make four. And this has happened (as you helplessly remind

me) just when we have answered the advertisement, and when we may expect the major's inquiries to be

"Surely, here is a terrible situation for two women to find themselves in? A fiddlestick's end for the situation!

We have got an easy way out of itthanks, Mother Oldershaw, to what I myself forced you to do, not three

"Has that venomous little quarrel of ours this morningafter we had pounced on the major's advertisement

in the newspaperquite slipped out of your memory? Have you forgotten how I persisted in my opinion that

you were a great deal too well known in London to appear safely as my reference in your own name, or to

receive an inquiring lady or gentleman (as you were rash enough to propose) in your own house? Don't you

remember what a passion you were in when I brought our dispute to an end by declining to stir a step in the

matter, unless I could conclude my application to Major Milroy by referring him to an address at which you

were totally unknown, and to a name which might be anything you pleased, as long as it was not yours? What

a look you gave me when you found there was nothing for it but to drop the whole speculation or to let me

have my own way! How you fumed over the lodging hunting on the other side of the Park! and how you

groaned when you came back, possessed of furnished apartments in respectable Bayswater, over the useless

"What do you think of those furnished apartments now, you obstinate old woman? Here we are, with

discovery threatening us at our very door, and with no hope of escape unless we can contrive to disappear

from the parson in the dark. And there are the lodgings in Bayswater, to which no inquisitive strangers have

traced either you or me, ready and waiting to swallow us upthe lodgings in which we can escape all further

molestation, and answer the major's inquiries at our ease. Can you see, at last, a little further than your poor

old nose? Is there anything in the world to prevent your safe disappearance from Pimlico tonight, and your

safe establishment at the new lodgings, in the character of my respectable reference, half an hour afterward?

Oh, fie, fie, Mother Oldershaw! Go down on your wicked old knees, and thank your stars that you had a

"Suppose we come now to the only difficulty worth mentioning my difficulty. Watched as I am in this

house, how am I to join you without bringing the parson or the parson's servant with me at my heels?

"Being to all intents and purposes a prisoner here, it seems to me that I have no choice but to try the old

prison plan of escape: a change of clothes. I have been looking at your housemaid. Except that we are both

light, her face and hair and my face and hair are as unlike each other as possible. But she is as nearly as can

be my height and size; and (if she only knew how to dress herself, and had smaller feet) her figure is a very

"My idea is to dress her in the clothes I wore in the Gardens today; to send her out, with our reverend enemy

in full pursuit of her; and, as soon as the coast is clear, to slip away myself and join you. The thing would be

quite impossible, of course, if I had been seen with my veil up; but, as events have turned out, it is one

advantage of the horrible exposure which followed my marriage that I seldom show myself in public, and

never, of course, in such a populous place as London, without wearing a thick veil and keeping that veil

down. If the housemaid wears my dress, I don't really see why the housemaid may not be counted on to

"The one question is, Can the woman be trusted? If she can, send me a line, telling her, on your authority, that

she is to place herself at my disposal. I won't say a word till I have heard from you first.

"Let me have my answer tonight. As long as we were only talking about my getting the governess's place, I

was careless enough how it ended. But now that we have actually answered Major Milroy's advertisement, I

am in earnest at last. I mean to be Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose; and woe to the man or woman who

"P.S.I open my letter again to say that you need have no fear of your messenger being followed on his

return to Pimlico. He will drive to a publichouse where he is known, will dismiss the cab at the door, and

will go out again by a back way which is only used by the landlord and his friends.L. G."

"MY DEAR LYDIAYou have written me a heartless letter. If you had been in my trying position, harassed

as I was when I wrote to you, I should have made allowances for my friend when I found my friend not so

sharp as usual. But the vice of the present age is a want of consideration for persons in the decline of life.

Morally speaking, you are in a sad state, my dear; and you stand much in need of a good example. You shall

"Having now relieved my mind by the performance of a good action, suppose I show you next (though I

protest against the vulgarity of the expression) that I can see a little further than my poor old nose?

"I will answer your question about the housemaid first. You may trust her implicitly. She has had her

troubles, and has learned discretion. She also looks your age; though it is only her due to say that, in this

particular, she has some years the advantage of you. I inclose the necessary directions which will place her

"Your plan for joining me at Bayswater comes next. It is very well as far as it goes; but it stands sadly in need

of a little judicious improvement. There is a serious necessity (you shall know why presently) for deceiving

the parson far more completely than you propose to deceive him. I want him to see the housemaid's face

under circumstances which will persuade him that it is your face. And then, going a step further, I want him

to see the housemaid leave London, under the impression that he has seen you start on the first stage of your

journey to the Brazils. He didn't believe in that journey when I announced it to him this afternoon in the

street. He may believe in it yet, if you follow the directions I am now going to give you.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. Send the housemaid out in your walking dress of today, just as you propose; but

don't stir out yourself, and don't go near the window. Desire the woman to keep her veil down, to take half an

hour's walk (quite unconscious, of course, of the parson or his servant at her heels), and then to come back to

you. As soon as she appears, send her instantly to the open window, instructing her to lift her veil carelessly

and look out. Let her go away again after a minute or two, take off her bonnet and shawl, and then appear

once more at the window, or, better still, in the balcony outside. She may show herself again occasionally

(not too often) later in the day. And tomorrowas we have a professional gentleman to deal withby all

means send her to church. If these proceedings don't persuade the parson that the housemaid's face is your

face, and if they don't make him readier to believe in your reformed character than he was when I spoke to

him, I have lived sixty years, my love, in this vale of tears to mighty little purpose.

"The next day is Monday. I have looked at the shipping advertisements, and I find that a steamer leaves

Liverpool for the Brazils on Tuesday. Nothing could be more convenient; we will start you on your voyage

"At one o'clock send out the man who cleans the knives and forks to get a cab; and when he has brought it up

to the door, let him go back and get a second cab, which he is to wait in himself, round the corner, in the

square. Let the housemaid (still in your dress) drive off, with the necessary boxes, in the first cab to the

Northwestern Railway. When she is gone, slip out yourself to the cab waiting round the corner, and come to

me at Bayswater. They may be prepared to follow the housemaid's cab, because they have seen it at the

door; but they won't be prepared to follow your cab, because it has been hidden round the corner. When the

housemaid has got to the station, and has done her best to disappear in the crowd (I have chosen the mixed

train at 2:10, so as to give her every chance), you will be safe with me; and whether they do or do not find out

that she does not really start for Liverpool won't matter by that time. They will have lost all trace of you; and

they may follow the housemaid half over London, if they like. She has my instructions (inclosed) to leave

the empty boxes to find their way to the lost luggage office and to go to her friends in the City, and stay there

"My dear Lydia, the object is your future security (and mine). We may succeed or we may fail, in persuading

the parson that you have actually gone to the Brazils. If we succeed, we are relieved of all fear of him. If we

fail, he will warn young Armadale to be careful of a woman like my housemaid, and not of a woman like

you. This last gain is a very important one; for we don't know that Mrs. Armadale may not have told him

your maiden name. In that event, the 'Miss Gwilt' whom he will describe as having slipped through his

fingers here will be so entirely unlike the 'Miss Gwilt' established at Thorpe Ambrose, as to satisfy everybody

that it is not a case of similarity of persons, but only a case of similarity of names.

"What do you say now to my improvement on your idea? Are my brains not quite so addled as you thought

them when you wrote? Don't suppose I'm at all overboastful about my own ingenuity. Cleverer tricks than

this trick of mine are played off on the public by swindlers, and are recorded in the newspapers every week. I

only want to show you that my assistance is not less necessary to the success of the Armadale speculation

now than it was when I made our first important discoveries, by means of the harmlesslooking young man

"There is nothing more to say that I know of, except that I am just going to start for the new lodging, with a

box directed in my new name. The last expiring moments of Mother Oldershaw, of the Toilet Repository, are

close at hand, and the birth of Miss Gwilt's respectable reference, Mrs. Mandeville, will take place in a cab in

five minutes' time. I fancy I must be still young at heart, for I am quite in love already with my romantic

name; it sounds almost as pretty as Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose, doesn't it?

"Goodnight, my dear, and pleasant dreams. If any accident happens between this and Monday, write to me

instantly by post. If no accident happens you will be with me in excellent time for the earliest inquiries that

the major can possibly make. My last words are, don't go out, and don't venture near the front windows till

Toward noon on the day of the twentyfirst, Miss Milroy was loitering in the cottage gardenreleased from

duty in the sickroom by an improvement in her mother's healthwhen her attention was attracted by the

sound of voices in the park. One of the voices she instantly recognized as Allan's; the other was strange to

her. She put aside the branches of a shrub near the garden palings, and, peeping through, saw Allan

approaching the cottage gate, in company with a slim, dark, undersized man, who was talking and laughing

excitably at the top of his voice. Miss Milroy ran indoors to warn her father of Mr. Armadale's arrival, and to

add that he was bringing with him a noisy stranger, who was, in all probability, the friend generally reported

Had the major's daughter guessed right? Was the squire's loudtalking, loudlaughing companion the shy,

sensitive Midwinter of other times? It was even so. In Allan's presence, that morning, an extraordinary

When Midwinter had first appeared in the breakfastroom, after putting aside Mr. Brock's startling letter,

Allan had been too much occupied to pay any special attention to him. The undecided difficulty of choosing

the day for the audit dinner had pressed for a settlement once more, and had been fixed at last (under the

butler's advice) for Saturday, the twentyeighth of the month. It was only on turning round to remind

Midwinter of the ample space of time which the new arrangement allowed for mastering the steward's books,

that even Allan's flighty attention had been arrested by a marked change in the face that confronted him. He

had openly noticed the change in his usual blunt manner, and had been instantly silenced by a fretful, almost

an angry, reply. The two had sat down together to breakfast without the usual cordiality, and the meal had

proceeded gloomily, till Midwinter himself broke the silence by bursting into the strange outbreak of gayety

As usual with most of Allan's judgments, here again the conclusion was wrong. It was no new side to

Midwinter's character that now presented itselfit was only a new aspect of the one everrecurring struggle

Irritated by Allan's discovery of the change in him, and dreading the next questions that Allan's curiosity

might put, Midwinter had roused himself to efface, by main force, the impression which his own altered

appearance had produced. It was one of those efforts which no men compass so resolutely as the men of his

quick temper and his sensitive feminine organization. With his whole mind still possessed by the firm belief

that the Fatality had taken one great step nearer to Allan and himself since the rector's adventure in

Kensington Gardenswith his face still betraying what he had suffered, under the renewed conviction that

his father's deathbed warning was now, in event after event, asserting its terrible claim to part him, at any

sacrifice, from the one human creature whom he lovedwith the fear still busy at his heart that the first

mysterious vision of Allan's Dream might be a vision realized, before the new day that now saw the two

Armadales together was a day that had passed over their headswith these triple bonds, wrought by his own

superstition, fettering him at that moment as they had never fettered him yet, he mercilessly spurred his

resolution to the desperate effort of rivaling, in Allan's presence, the gayety and good spirits of Allan himself.

He talked and laughed, and heaped his plate indiscriminately from every dish on the breakfasttable. He

made noisily merry with jests that had no humor, and stories that had no point. He first astonished Allan, then

amused him, then won his easily encouraged confidence on the subject of Miss Milroy. He shouted with

laughter over the sudden development of Allan's views on marriage, until the servants downstairs began to

think that their master's strange friend had gone mad. Lastly, he had accepted Allan's proposal that he should

be presented to the major's daughter, and judge of her for himself, as readily, nay, more readily than it would

have been accepted by the least diffident man living. There the two now stood at the cottage gate

Midwinter's voice rising louder and louder over Allan's Midwinter's natural manner disguised (how

madly and miserably none but he knew!) in a coarse masquerade of boldnessthe outrageous, the

They were received in the parlor by the major's daughter, pending the arrival of the major himself.

Allan attempted to present his friend in the usual form. To his astonishment, Midwinter took the words

flippantly out of his lips, and introduced himself to Miss Milroy with a confident look, a hard laugh, and a

clumsy assumption of ease which presented him at his worst. His artificial spirits, lashed continuously into

higher and higher effervescence since the morning, were now mounting hysterically beyond his own control.

He looked and spoke with that terrible freedom of license which is the necessary consequence, when a

diffident man has thrown off his reserve, of the very effort by which he has broken loose from his own

restraints. He involved himself in a confused medley of apologies that were not wanted, and of compliments

that might have overflattered the vanity of a savage. He looked backward and forward from Miss Milroy to

Allan, and declared jocosely that he understood now why his friend's morning walks were always taken in the

same direction. He asked her questions about her mother, and cut short the answers she gave him by remarks

on the weather. In one breath, he said she must feel the day insufferably hot, and in another he protested that

Before he could say two words, Midwinter overwhelmed him with the same frenzy of familiarity, and the

same feverish fluency of speech. He expressed his interest in Mrs. Milroy's health in terms which would have

been exaggerated on the lips of a friend of the family. He overflowed into a perfect flood of apologies for

disturbing the major at his mechanical pursuits. He quoted Allan's extravagant account of the clock, and

expressed his own anxiety to see it in terms more extravagant still. He paraded his superficial book

knowledge of the great clock at Strasbourg, with farfetched jests on the extraordinary automaton figures

which that clock puts in motionon the procession of the Twelve Apostles, which walks out under the dial

at noon, and on the toy cock, which crows at St. Peter's appearanceand this before a man who had studied

every wheel in that complex machinery, and who had passed whole years of his life in trying to imitate it. "I

hear you have outnumbered the Strasbourg apostles, and outcrowed the Strasbourg cock," he exclaimed, with

the tone and manner of a friend habitually privileged to waive all ceremony; "and I am dying, absolutely

Major Milroy had entered the room with his mind absorbed in his own mechanical contrivances as usual. But

the sudden shock of Midwinter's familiarity was violent enough to recall him instantly to himself, and to

make him master again, for the time, of his social resources as a man of the world.

"Excuse me for interrupting you," he said, stopping Midwinter for the moment, by a look of steady surprise.

"I happen to have seen the clock at Strasbourg; and it sounds almost absurd in my ears (if you will pardon me

for saying so) to put my little experiment in any light of comparison with that wonderful achievement. There

is nothing else of the kind like it in the world!" He paused, to control his own mounting enthusiasm; the clock

at Strasbourg was to Major Milroy what the name of Michael Angelo was to Sir Joshua Reynolds. "Mr.

Armadale's kindness has led him to exaggerate a little," pursued the major, smiling at Allan, and passing over

another attempt of Midwinter's to seize on the talk, as if no such attempt had been made. "But as there does

happen to be this one point of resemblance between the great clock abroad and the little clock at home, that

they both show what they can do on the stroke of noon, and as it is close on twelve now, if you still wish to

visit my workshop, Mr. Midwinter, the sooner I show you the way to it the better." He opened the door, and

apologized to Midwinter, with marked ceremony, for preceding him out of the room.

"What do you think of my friend?" whispered Allan, as he and Miss Milroy followed.

"He's the best and dearest fellow in the world, " rejoined the outspoken Allan. "You'll like him better when

Miss Milroy made a little grimace, implying supreme indifference to Midwinter, and saucy surprise at Allan's

earnest advocacy of the merits of his friend. "Has he got nothing more interesting to say to me than that," she

They were all in the major's workroom before Allan had the chance of trying a more attractive subject. There,

on the top of a rough wooden case, which evidently contained the machinery, was the wonderful clock. The

dial was crowned by a glass pedestal placed on rockwork in carved ebony; and on the top of the pedestal sat

the inevitable figure of Time, with his everlasting scythe in his hand. Below the dial was a little platform, and

at either end of it rose two miniature sentryboxes, with closed doors. Externally, this was all that appeared,

It wanted then about three minutes to twelve; and Major Milroy seized the opportunity of explaining what the

"At the first words, his mind fell back again into its old absorption over the one employment of his life. He

turned to Midwinter (who had persisted in talking all the way from the parlor, and who was talking still)

without a trace left in his manner of the cool and cutting composure with which he had spoken but a few

minutes before. The noisy, familiar man, who had been an illbred intruder in the parlor, became a privileged

guest in the workshop, for there he possessed the allatoning social advantage of being new to the

"At the first stroke of twelve, Mr. Midwinter," said the major, quite eagerly, "keep your eye on the figure of

Time: he will move his scythe, and point it downward to the glass pedestal. You will next see a little printed

card appear behind the glass, which will tell you the day of the month and the day of the week. At the last

stroke of the clock, Time will lift his scythe again into its former position, and the chimes will ring a peal.

The peal will be succeeded by the playing of a tunethe favorite march of my old regimentand then the

final performance of the clock will follow. The sentryboxes, which you may observe at each side, will both

open at the same moment. In one of them you will see the sentinel appear; and from the other a corporal and

two privates will march across the platform to relieve the guard, and will then disappear, leaving the new

sentinel at his post. I must ask your kind allowances for this last part of the performance. The machinery is a

little complicated, and there are defects in it which I am ashamed to say I have not yet succeeded in

remedying as I could wish. Sometimes the figures go all wrong, and sometimes they go all right. I hope they

As the major, posted near his clock, said the last words, his little audience of three, assembled at the opposite

end of the room, saw the hourhand and the minutehand on the dial point together to twelve. The first

stroke sounded, and Time, true to the signal, moved his scythe. The day of the month and the day of the week

announced themselves in print through the glass pedestal next; Midwinter applauding their appearance with a

noisy exaggeration of surprise, which Miss Milroy mistook for coarse sarcasm directed at her father's

pursuits, and which Allan (seeing that she was offended) attempted to moderate by touching the elbow of his

friend. Meanwhile, the performances of the clock went on. At the last stroke of twelve, Time lifted his scythe

again, the chimes rang, the march tune of the major's old regiment followed; and the crowning exhibition of

the relief of the guard announced itself in a preliminary trembling of the sentryboxes, and a sudden

The performance began with the opening of the sentrybox on the righthand side of the platform, as

punctually as could be desired; the door on the other side, however, was less tractableit remained

obstinately closed. Unaware of this hitch in the proceedings, the corporal and his two privates appeared in

their places in a state of perfect discipline, tottered out across the platform, all three trembling in every limb,

dashed themselves headlong against the closed door on the other side, and failed in producing the smallest

impression on the immovable sentry presumed to be within. An intermittent clicking, as of the major's keys

and tools at work, was heard in the machinery. The corporal and his two privates suddenly returned,

backward, across the platform, and shut themselves up with a bang inside their own door. Exactly at the same

moment, the other door opened for the first time, and the provoking sentry appeared with the utmost

deliberation at his post, waiting to be relieved. He was allowed to wait. Nothing happened in the other box

but an occasional knocking inside the door, as if the corporal and his privates were impatient to be let out.

The clicking of the major's tools was heard again among the machinery; the corporal and his party, suddenly

restored to liberty, appeared in a violent hurry, and spun furiously across the platform. Quick as they were,

however, the hitherto deliberate sentry on the other side now perversely showed himself to be quicker still.

He disappeared like lightning into his own premises, the door closed smartly after him, the corporal and his

privates dashed themselves headlong against it for the second time, and the major, appearing again round the

corner of the clock, asked his audience innocently "if they would be good enough to tell him whether

The fantastic absurdity of the exhibition, heightened by Major Milroy's grave inquiry at the end of it, was so

irresistibly ludicrous that the visitors shouted with laughter; and even Miss Milroy, with all her consideration

for her father's sensitive pride in his clock, could not restrain herself from joining in the merriment which the

catastrophe of the puppets had provoked. But there are limits even to the license of laughter; and these limits

were ere long so outrageously overstepped by one of the little party as to have the effect of almost instantly

silencing the other two. The fever of Midwinter's false spirits flamed out into sheer delirium as the

performance of the puppets came to an end. His paroxysms of laughter followed each other with such

convulsive violence that Miss Milroy started back from him in alarm, and even the patient major turned on

him with a look which said plainly, Leave the room! Allan, wisely impulsive for once in his life, seized

Midwinter by the arm, and dragged him out by main force into the garden, and thence into the park beyond.

"Good heavens! what has come to you!" he exclaimed, shrinking back from the tortured face before him, as

For the moment, Midwinter was incapable of answering. The hysterical paroxysm was passing from one

extreme to the other. He leaned against a tree, sobbing and gasping for breath, and stretched out his hand in

"You had better not have nursed me through my fever," he said, faintly, as soon as he could speak. "I'm mad

and miserable, Allan; I have never recovered it. Go back and ask them to forgive me; I am ashamed to go and

ask them myself. I can't tell how it happened; I can only ask your pardon and theirs." He turned aside his head

quickly so as to conceal his face. "Don't stop here," he said; "don't look at me; I shall soon get over it." Allan

still hesitated, and begged hard to be allowed to take him back to the house. It was useless. "You break my

heart with your kindness," he burst out, passionately. "For God's sake, leave me by my self!"

Allan went back to she cottage, and pleaded there for indulgence to Midwinter, with an earnestness and

simplicity which raised him immensely in the major's estimation, but which totally failed to produce the same

favorable impression on Miss Milroy. Little as she herself suspected it, she was fond enough of Allan already

"How excessively absurd!" she thought, pettishly. "As if either papa or I considered such a person of the

"You will kindly suspend your opinion, won't you, Major Milroy?" said Allan, in his hearty way, at parting.

Miss Milroy made a mercilessly formal bow. "My opinion, Mr. Armadale, is not of the slightest

Allan left the cottage, sorely puzzled to account for Miss Milroy's sudden coolness toward him. His grand

idea of conciliating the whole neighborhood by becoming a married man underwent some modification as he

closed the garden gate behind him. The virtue called Prudence and the Squire of Thorpe Ambrose became

personally acquainted with each other, on this occasion, for the first time; and Allan, entering headlong as

usual on the highroad to moral improvement, actually decided on doing nothing in a hurry!

A man who is entering on a course of reformation ought, if virtue is its own reward, to be a man engaged in

an essentially inspiriting pursuit. But virtue is not always its own reward; and the way that leads to

reformation is remarkably illlighted for so respectable a thoroughfare. Allan seemed to have caught the

infection of his friend's despondency. As he walked home, he, too, began to doubtin his widely different

way, and for his widely different reasonswhether the life at Thorpe Ambrose was promising quite as fairly

Two messages were waiting for Allan when he returned to the house. One had been left by Midwinter. "He

had gone out for a long walk, and Mr. Armadale was not to be alarmed if he did not get back till late in the

day." The other message had been left by "a person from Mr. Pedgift's office," who had called, according to

appointment, while the two gentlemen were away at the major's. "Mr. Bashwood's respects, and he would

Toward five o'clock, Midwinter returned, pale and silent. Allan hastened to assure him that his peace was

made at the cottage; and then, to change the subject, mentioned Mr. Bashwood's message. Midwinter's mind

was so preoccupied or so languid that he hardly seemed to remember the name. Allan was obliged to remind

him that Bashwood was the elderly clerk, whom Mr. Pedgift had sent to be his instructor in the duties of the

steward's office. He listened without making any remark, and withdrew to his room, to rest till dinnertime.

Left by himself, Allan went into the library, to try if he could while away the time over a book.

He took many volumes off the shelves, and put a few of them back again; and there he ended. Miss Milroy

contrived in some mysterious manner to get, in this case, between the reader and the books. Her formal bow

and her merciless parting speech dwelt, try how he might to forget them, on Allan's mind; he began to grow

more and more anxious as the idle hour wore on, to recover his lost place in her favor. To call again that day

at the cottage, and ask if he had been so unfortunate as to offend her, was impossible. To put the question in

writing with the needful nicety of expression proved, on trying the experiment, to be a task beyond his

literary reach. After a turn or two up and down the room, with his pen in his mouth, he decided on the more

diplomatic course (which happened, in this case, to be the easiest course, too), of writing to Miss Milroy as

cordially as if nothing had happened, and of testing his position in her good graces by the answer that she sent

him back. An invitation of some kind (including her father, of course, but addressed directly to herself) was

plainly the right thing to oblige her to send a written reply; but here the difficulty occurred of what the

invitation was to be. A ball was not to be thought of, in his present position with the resident gentry. A

dinnerparty, with no indispensable elderly lady on the premises to receive Miss Milroyexcept Mrs.

Gripper, who could only receive her in the kitchenwas equally out of the question. What was the invitation

to be? Never backward, when he wanted help, in asking for it right and left in every available direction,

Allan, feeling himself at the end of his own resources, coolly rang the bell, and astonished the servant who

answered it by inquiring how the late family at Thorpe Ambrose used to amuse themselves, and what sort of

"The family did what the rest of the gentry did, sir," said the man, staring at his master in utter bewilderment.

"They gave dinnerparties and balls. And in fine summer weather, sir, like this, they sometimes had

"That'll do!" shouted Allan. "A picnic's just the thing to please her. Richard, you're an invaluable man; you

"DEAR MISS MILROYSince I left you it has suddenly struck me that we might have a picnic. A little

change and amusement (what I should call a good shakingup, if I wasn't writing to a young lady) is just the

thing for you, after being so long indoors lately in Mrs. Milroy's room. A picnic is a change, and (when the

wine is good) amusement, too. Will you ask the major if he will consent to the picnic, and come? And if you

have got any friends in the neighborhood who like a picnic, pray ask them too, for I have got none. It shall be

your picnic, but I will provide everything and take everybody. You shall choose the day, and we will picnic

On reading over his composition before sealing it up, Allan frankly acknowledged to himself, this time, that it

was not quite faultless. " 'Picnic' comes in a little too often," he said. "Never mind; if she likes the idea, she

won't quarrel with that." He sent off the letter on the spot, with strict instructions to the messenger to wait for

In half an hour the answer came back on scented paper, without an erasure anywhere, fragrant to smell, and

The presentation of the naked truth is one of those exhibitions from which the native delicacy of the female

mind seems instinctively to revolt. Never were the tables turned more completely than they were now turned

on Allan by his fair correspondent. Machiavelli himself would never have suspected, from Miss Milroy's

letter, how heartily she had repented her petulance to the young squire as soon as his back was turned, and

how extravagantly delighted she was when his invitation was placed in her hands. Her letter was the

composition of a model young lady whose emotions are all kept under parental lock and key, and served out

for her judiciously as occasion may require. "Papa," appeared quite as frequently in Miss Milroy's reply as

"picnic" had appeared in Allan's invitation. "Papa" had been as considerately kind as Mr. Armadale in

wishing to procure her a little change and amusement, and had offered to forego his usual quiet habits and

join the picnic. With "papa's" sanction, therefore, she accepted, with much pleasure, Mr. Armadale's

proposal; and, at "papa's" suggestion, she would presume on Mr. Armadale's kindness to add two friends of

theirs recently settled at Thorpe Ambrose, to the picnic partya widow lady and her son; the latter in holy

orders and in delicate health. If Tuesday next would suit Mr. Armadale, Tuesday next would suit

"papa"being the first day he could spare from repairs which were required by his clock. The rest, by

"papa's" advice, she would beg to leave entirely in Mr. Armadale's hands; and, in the meantime, she would

Who would ever have supposed that the writer of that letter had jumped for joy when Allan's invitation

arrived? Who would ever have suspected that there was an entry already in Miss Milroy's diary, under that

day's date, to this effect: "The sweetest, dearest letter from Iknowwho; I'll never behave unkindly to him

again as long as I live?" As for Allan, he was charmed with the sweet success of his maneuver. Miss Milroy

had accepted his invitation; consequently, Miss Milroy was not offended with him. It was on the tip of his

tongue to mention the correspondence to his friend when they met at dinner. But there was something in

Midwinter's face and manner (even plain enough for Allan to see) which warned him to wait a little before he

said anything to revive the painful subject of their visit to the cottage. By common consent they both avoided

all topics connected with Thorpe Ambrose, not even the visit from Mr. Bashwood, which was to come with

the evening, being referred to by either of them. All through the dinner they drifted further and further back

into the old endless talk of past times about ships and sailing. When the butler withdrew from his attendance

at table, he came downstairs with a nautical problem on his mind, and asked his fellowservants if they any

of them knew the relative merits "on a wind" and "off a wind" of a schooner and a brig.

The two young men had sat longer at table than usual that day. When they went out into the garden with their

cigars, the summer twilight fell gray and dim on lawn and flower bed, and narrowed round them by slow

degrees the softly fading circle of the distant view. The dew was heavy, and, after a few minutes in the

garden, they agreed to go back to the drier ground on the drive in front of the house.

They were close to the turning which led into the shrubbery, when there suddenly glided out on them, from

behind the foliage, a softly stepping black figurea shadow, moving darkly through the dim evening light.

Midwinter started back at the sight of it, and even the less finely strung nerves of his friend were shaken for

The figure bared its head in the gray light, and came slowly a step nearer. Midwinter advanced a step on his

side, and looked closer. It was the man of the timid manners and the mourning garments, of whom he had

"I humbly beg your pardon, sir," faltered the stranger, stepping back again, confusedly. "The servants told me

"I beg your pardon for speaking to you so roughly," said Allan; "but the fact is, you rather startled me. My

name is Armadale (put on your hat, pray), and this is my friend, Mr. Midwinter, who wants your help in the

"We hardly stand in need of an introduction," said Midwinter. "I met Mr. Bashwood out walking a few days

"Put on your hat," reiterated Allan, as Mr. Bashwood, still bareheaded, stood bowing speechlessly, now to

one of the young men, and now to the other. "My good sir, put on your hat, and let me show you the way

back to the house. Excuse me for noticing it," added Allan, as the man, in sheer nervous helplessness, let his

hat fall, instead of putting it back on his head; "but you seem a little out of sorts; a glass of good wine will do

you no harm before you and my friend come to business. Whereabouts did you meet with Mr. Bashwood,

"I am too ignorant of the neighborhood to know. I must refer you to Mr. Bashwood."

"Come, tell us where it was," said Allan, trying, a little too abruptly, to set the man at his ease, as they all

The measure of Mr. Bashwood's constitutional timidity seemed to be filled to the brim by the loudness of

Allan's voice and the bluntness of Allan's request. He ran over in the same feeble flow of words with which

"It was on the road, sir," he began, addressing himself alternately to Allan, whom he called, "sir," and to

Midwinter, whom he called by his name, "I mean, if you please, on the road to Little Gill Beck. A singular

name, Mr. Midwinter, and a singular place; I don't mean the village; I mean the neighborhoodI mean the

'Broads' beyond the neighborhood. Perhaps you may have heard of the Norfolk Broads, sir? What they call

lakes in other parts of England, they call Broads here. The Broads are quite numerous; I think they would

repay a visit. You would have seen the first of them, Mr. Midwinter, if you had walked on a few miles from

where I had the honor of meeting you. Remarkably numerous, the Broads, sirsituated between this and the

sea. About three miles from the sea, Mr. Midwinterabout three miles. Mostly shallow, sir, with rivers

running between them. Beautiful; solitary. Quite a watery country, Mr. Midwinter; quite separate, as it were,

in itself. Parties sometimes visit them, sirpleasure parties in boats. It's quite a little network of lakes, or,

perhapsyes, perhaps, more correctly, pools. There is good sport in the cold weather. The wild fowl are

quite numerous. Yes; the Broads would repay a visit, Mr. Midwinter. The next time you are walking that

way. The distance from here to Little Gill Beck, and then from Little Gill Beck to Girdler Broad, which is the

first you come to, is altogether not more" In sheer nervous inability to leave off, he would apparently have

gone on talking of the Norfolk Broads for the rest of the evening, if one of his two listeners had not

"Are the Broads within an easy day's drive there and back from this house?" asked Allan, feeling, if they

They were by this time ascending the portico steps, Allan leading the way up, and calling to Midwinter and

In the interval which elapsed before the wine made its appearance, Midwinter looked at his chance

acquaintance of the highroad with strangely mingled feelings of compassion and distrustof compassion

that strengthened in spite of him; of distrust that persisted in diminishing, try as he might to encourage it to

grow. There, perched comfortless on the edge of his chair, sat the poor brokendown, nervous wretch, in his

worn black garments, with his watery eyes, his honest old outspoken wig, his miserable mohair stock, and his

false teeth that were incapable of deceiving anybodythere he sat, politely ill at ease; now shrinking in the

glare of the lamp, now wincing under the shock of Allan's sturdy voice; a man with the wrinkles of sixty

years in his face, and the manners of a child in the presence of strangers; an object of pity surely, if ever there

"Whatever else you're afraid of, Mr. Bashwood," cried Allan, pouring out a glass of wine, "don't be afraid of

that! There isn't a headache in a hogshead of it! Make yourself comfortable; I'll leave you and Mr. Midwinter

to talk your business over by yourselves. It's all in Mr. Midwinter's hands; he acts for me, and settles

He said those words with a cautious choice of expression very uncharacteristic of him, and, without further

explanation, made abruptly for the door. Midwinter, sitting near it, noticed his face as he went out. Easy as

the way was into Allan's favor, Mr. Bashwood, beyond all kind of doubt, had in some unaccountable manner

The two strangely assorted companions were left togetherparted widely, as it seemed on the surface, from

any possible interchange of sympathy; drawn invisibly one to the other, nevertheless, by those magnetic

similarities of temperament which overleap all difference of age or station, and defy all apparent

incongruities of mind and character. From the moment when Allan left the room, the hidden Influence that

works in darkness began slowly to draw the two men together, across the great social desert which had lain

"May I ask," he began, "if you have been made acquainted with my position here, and if you know why it is

Mr. Bashwoodstill hesitating and still timid, but manifestly relieved by Allan's departuresat further back

in his chair, and ventured on fortifying himself with a modest little sip of wine.

"Yes, sir," he replied; "Mr. Pedgift informed me of allat least I think I may say soof all the

"No, Mr. Bashwood; the first word was the best word of the two. I am quite ignorant of the duties which Mr.

Armadale's kindness has induced him to intrust to me. If I understand right, there can be no question of your

capacity to instruct me, for you once filled a steward's situation yourself. May I inquire where it was?"

"At Sir John Mellowship's, sir, in West Norfolk. Perhaps you would likeI have got it with meto see my

testimonial? Sir John might have dealt more kindly with me; but I have no complaint to make; it's all done

and over now!" His watery eyes looked more watery still, and the trembling in his hands spread to his lips as

he produced an old dingy letter from his pocketbook and laid it open on the table.

The testimonial was very briefly and very coldly expressed, but it was conclusive as far as it went. Sir John

considered it only right to say that he had no complaint to make of any want of capacity or integrity in his

steward. If Mr. Bashwood's domestic position had been compatible with the continued performance of his

duties on the estate, Sir John would have been glad to keep him. As it was, embarrassments caused by the

state of Mr. Bashwood's personal affairs had rendered it undesirable that he should continue in Sir John's

service; and on that ground, and that only, his employer and he had parted. Such was Sir John's testimony to

Mr. Bashwood's character. As Midwinter read the last lines, he thought of another testimonial, still in his own

possessionof the written character which they had given him at the school, when they turned their sick

usher adrift in the world. His superstition (distrusting all new events and all new faces at Thorpe Ambrose)

still doubted the man before him as obstinately as ever. But when he now tried to put those doubts into words,

The sudden pause in the conversation appeared to startle Mr. Bashwood. He comforted himself with another

little sip of wine, and, leaving the letter untouched, burst irrepressibly into words, as if the silence was quite

"I am ready to answer any question, sir," he began. "Mr. Pedgift told me that I must answer questions,

because I was applying for a place of trust. Mr. Pedgift said neither you nor Mr. Armadale was likely to think

the testimonial sufficient of itself. Sir John doesn't sayhe might have put it more kindly, but I don't

complainSir John doesn't say what the troubles were that lost me my place. Perhaps you might wish to

"If no interests but mine were concerned in the matter," rejoined Midwinter, "the testimonial would, I assure

you, be quite enough to satisfy me. But while I am learning my new duties, the person who teaches me will

be really and truly the steward of my friend's estate. I am very unwilling to ask you to speak on what may be

a painful subject, and I am sadly inexperienced in putting such questions as I ought to put; but, perhaps, in

Mr. Armadale's interests, I ought to know something more, either from yourself, or from Mr. Pedgift, if you

prefer it" He, too, stopped confusedly, looked at the testimonial, and said no more.

There was another moment of silence. The night was warm, and Mr. Bashwood, among his other misfortunes,

had the deplorable infirmity of perspiring in the palms of the hands. He took out a miserable little cotton

pockethandkerchief, rolled it up into a ball, and softly dabbed it to and fro, from one hand to the other, with

the regularity of a pendulum. Performed by other men, under other circumstances, the action might have been

ridiculous. Performed by this man, at the crisis of the interview, the action was horrible.

"Mr. Pedgift's time is too valuable, sir, to be wasted on me," he said. "I will mention what ought to be

mentioned myselfif you will please to allow me. I have been unfortunate in my family. It is very hard to

bear, though it seems not much to tell. My wife" One of his hands closed fast on the pockethandkerchief;

"My wife, sir," he resumed, "stood a little in my way; she did me (I am afraid I must confess) some injury

with Sir John. Soon after I got the steward's situation, she contractedshe tookshe fell into habits (I

hardly know how to say it) of drinking. I couldn't break her of it, and I couldn't always conceal it from Sir

John's knowledge. She broke out, andand tried his patience once or twice, when he came to my office on

business. Sir John excused it, not very kindly; but still he excused it. I don't complain of Sir John! I don't

complain now of my wife." He pointed a trembling finger at his miserable crapecovered beaver hat on the

floor. "I'm in mourning for her," he said, faintly. "She died nearly a year ago, in the county asylum here."

His mouth began to work convulsively. He took up the glass of wine at his side, and, instead of sipping it this

time, drained it to the bottom. "I'm not much used to wine, sir," he said, conscious, apparently, of the flush

that flew into his face as he drank, and still observant of the obligations of politeness amid all the misery of

"I beg, Mr. Bashwood, you will not distress yourself by telling me any more," said Midwinter, recoiling from

any further sanction on his part of a disclosure which had already bared the sorrows of the unhappy man

"I'm much obliged to you, sir," replied Mr. Bashwood. "But if I don't detain you too long, and if you will

please to remember that Mr. Pedgift's directions to me were very particularand, besides, I only mentioned

my late wife because if she hadn't tried Sir John's patience to begin with, things might have turned out

differently" He paused, gave up the disjointed sentence in which he had involved himself, and tried

another. "I had only two children, sir," he went on, advancing to a new point in his narrative, "a boy and a

girl. The girl died when she was a baby. My son lived to grow up; and it was my son who lost me my place. I

did my best for him; I got him into a respectable office in London. They wouldn't take him without security.

I'm afraid it was imprudent; but I had no rich friends to help me, and I became security. My boy turned out

badly, sir. Heperhaps you will kindly understand what I mean, if I say he behaved dishonestly. His

employers consented, at my entreaty, to let him off without prosecuting. I begged very hardI was fond of

my son Jamesand I took him home, and did my best to reform him. He wouldn't stay with me; he went

away again to London; heI beg your pardon, sir! I'm afraid I'm confusing things; I'm afraid I'm wandering

"No, no," said Midwinter, kindly. "If you think it right to tell me this sad story, tell it in your own way. Have

"No, sir. He's in London still, for all I know. When I last heard of him, he was getting his breadnot very

creditably. He was employed, under the inspector, at the Private Inquiry Office in Shadyside Place."

He spoke those wordsapparently (as events then stood) the most irrelevant to the matter in hand that had

yet escaped him; actually (as events were soon to be) the most vitally important that he had uttered yethe

spoke those words absently, looking about him in confusion, and trying vainly to recover the lost thread of

Midwinter compassionately helped him. "You were telling me," he said, "that your son had been the cause of

"In this way, sir," said Mr. Bashwood, getting back again excitedly into the right train of thought. "His

employers consented to let him off; but they came down on his security; and I was the man. I suppose they

were not to blame; the security covered their loss. I couldn't pay it all out of my savings; I had to borrowon

the word of a man, sir, I couldn't help itI had to borrow. My creditor pressed me; it seemed cruel, but, if he

wanted the money, I suppose it was only just. I was sold out of house and home. I dare say other gentlemen

would have said what Sir John said; I dare say most people would have refused to keep a steward who had

had the bailiffs after him, and his furniture sold in the neighborhood. That was how it ended, Mr. Midwinter.

I needn't detain you any longerhere is Sir John's address, if you wish to apply to him." Midwinter

"Thank you kindly, sir," said Mr. Bashwood, getting tremulously on his legs. "There is nothing more, I think,

exceptexcept that Mr. Pedgift will speak for me, if you wish to inquire into my conduct in his service. I'm

very much indebted to Mr. Pedgift; he's a little rough with me sometimes, but, if he hadn't taken me into his

office, I think I should have gone to the workhouse when I left Sir John, I was so broken down." He picked

up his dingy old hat from the floor. "I won't intrude any longer, sir. I shall be happy to call again if you wish

"I want no time to consider after what you have told me," replied Midwinter, warmly, his memory busy,

while he spoke, with the time when he had told his story to Mr. Brock, and was waiting for a generous word

in return, as the man before him was waiting now. "Today is Saturday," he went on. "Can you come and

give me my first lesson on Monday morning? I beg your pardon," he added, interrupting Mr. Bashwood's

profuse expressions of acknowledgment, and stopping him on his way out of the room; "there is one thing we

ought to settle, ought we not? We haven't spoken yet about your own interest in this matter; I mean, about the

terms." He referred, a little confusedly, to the pecuniary part of the subject. Mr. Bashwood (getting nearer and

"Anything, siranything you think right. I won't intrude any longer; I'll leave it to you and Mr. Armadale."

"I will send for Mr. Armadale, if you like," said Midwinter, following him into the hall. "But I am afraid he

has as little experience in matters of this kind as I have. Perhaps, if you see no objection, we might be guided

Mr. Bashwood caught eagerly at the last suggestion, pushing his retreat, while he spoke, as far as the front

door. "Yes, siroh, yes, yes! nobody better than Mr. Pedgift. Don'tpray don't disturb Mr. Armadale!" His

watery eyes looked quite wild with nervous alarm as he turned round for a moment in the light of the hall

lamp to make that polite request. If sending for Allan had been equivalent to unchaining a ferocious

watchdog, Mr. Bashwood could hardly have been more anxious to stop the proceeding. "I wish you kindly

goodevening, sir," he went on, getting out to the steps. "I'm much obliged to you. I will be scrupulously

punctual on Monday morningI hopeI thinkI'm sure you will soon learn everything I can teach you.

It's not difficultoh dear, nonot difficult at all! I wish you kindly goodevening, sir. A beautiful night;

With those words, all dropping out of his lips one on the top of the other, and without noticing, in his agony

of embarrassment at effecting his departure, Midwinter's outstretched hand, he went noiselessly down the

As Midwinter turned to reenter the house, the diningroom door opened and his friend met him in the hall.

"He has gone," replied Midwinter, "after telling me a very sad story, and leaving me a little ashamed of

myself for having doubted him without any just cause. I have arranged that he is to give me my first lesson in

"All right," said Allan. "You needn't be afraid, old boy, of my interrupting you over your studies. I dare say

The Sunday morning found Midwinter in the park, waiting to intercept the postman, on the chance of his

At the customary hour the man made his appearance, and placed the expected letter in Midwinter's hands. He

opened it, far away from all fear of observation this time, and read these lines:

"MY DEAR MIDWINTERI write more for the purpose of quieting your anxiety than because I have

anything definite to say. In my last hurried letter I had no time to tell you that the elder of the two women

whom I met in the Gardens had followed me, and spoken to me in the street. I believe I may characterize

what she said (without doing her any injustice) as a tissue of falsehoods from beginning to end. At any rate,

she confirmed me in the suspicion that some underhand proceeding is on foot, of which Allan is destined to

be the victim, and that the prime mover in the conspiracy is the vile woman who helped his mother's marriage

"Feeling this conviction, I have not hesitated to do, for Allan's sake, what I would have done for no other

creature in the world. I have left my hotel, and have installed myself (with my old servant Robert) in a house

opposite the house to which I traced the two women. We are alternately on the watch (quite unsuspected, I

am certain, by the people opposite) day and night. All my feelings, as a gentleman and a clergyman, revolt

from such an occupation as I am now engaged in; but there is no other choice. I must either do this violence

to my own selfrespect, or I must leave Allan, with his easy nature, and in his assailable position, to defend

himself against a wretch who is prepared, I firmly believe, to take the most unscrupulous advantage of his

weakness and his youth. His mother's dying entreaty has never left my memory; and, God help me, I am now

"There has been some reward already for the sacrifice. This day (Saturday) I have gained an immense

advantageI have at last seen the woman's face. She went out with her veil down as before; and Robert kept

her in view, having my instructions, if she returned to the house, not to follow her back to the door. She did

return to the house; and the result of my precaution was, as I had expected, to throw her off her guard. I saw

her face unveiled at the window, and afterward again in the balcony. If any occasion should arise for

describing her particularly, you shall have the description. At present I need only say that she looks the full

age (fiveandthirty) at which you estimated her, and that she is by no means so handsome a woman as I had

"This is all I can now tell you. If nothing more happens by Monday or Tuesday next, I shall have no choice

but to apply to my lawyers for assistance; though I am most unwilling to trust this delicate and dangerous

matter in other hands than mine. Setting my own feelings however, out of the question, the business which

has been the cause of my journey to London is too important to be trifled with much longer as I am trifling

with it now. In any and every case, depend on my keeping you informed of the progress of events, and

Midwinter secured the letter as he had secured the letter that preceded itside by side in his pocketbook

"How many days more?" he asked himself, as he went back to the house. "How many days more?"

Monday came, and brought Mr. Bashwood, punctual to the appointed hour. Monday came, and found Allan

immersed in his preparations for the picnic. He held a series of interviews, at home and abroad, all through

the day. He transacted business with Mrs. Gripper, with the butler, and with the coachman, in their three

several departments of eating, drinking, and driving. He went to the town to consult his professional advisers

on the subject of the Broads, and to invite both the lawyers, father and son (in the absence of anybody else in

the neighborhood whom he could ask), to join the picnic. Pedgift Senior (in his department) supplied general

information, but begged to be excused from appearing at the picnic, on the score of business engagements.

Pedgift Junior (in his department) added all the details; and, casting business engagements to the winds,

accepted the invitation with the greatest pleasure. Returning from the lawyer's office, Allan's next proceeding

was to go to the major's cottage and obtain Miss Milroy's approval of the proposed locality for the pleasure

party. This object accomplished, he returned to his own house, to meet the last difficulty now left to

encounterthe difficulty of persuading Midwinter to join the expedition to the Broads.

On first broaching the subject, Allan found his friend impenetrably resolute to remain at home. Midwinter's

natural reluctance to meet the major and his daughter after what had happened at the cottage, might probably

have been overcome. But Midwinter's determination not to allow Mr. Bashwood's course of instruction to be

interrupted was proof against every effort that could be made to shake it. After exerting his influence to the

utmost, Allan was obliged to remain contented with a compromise. Midwinter promised, not very willingly,

to join the party toward evening, at the place appointed for a gypsy teamaking, which was to close the

proceedings of the day. To this extent he would consent to take the opportunity of placing himself on a

friendly footing with the Milroys. More he could not concede, even to Allan's persuasion, and for more it

The day of the picnic came. The lovely morning, and the cheerful bustle of preparation for the expedition,

failed entirely to tempt Midwinter into altering his resolution. At the regular hour he left the breakfasttable

to join Mr. Bashwood in the steward's office. The two were quietly closeted over the books, at the back of the

house, while the packing for the picnic went on in front. Young Pedgift (short in stature, smart in costume,

and selfreliant in manner) arrived some little time before the hour for starting, to revise all the arrangements,

and to make any final improvements which his local knowledge might suggest. Allan and he were still busy

in consultation when the first hitch occurred in the proceedings. The womanservant from the cottage was

reported to be waiting below for an answer to a note from her young mistress, which was placed in Allan's

On this occasion Miss Milroy's emotions had apparently got the better of her sense of propriety. The tone of

the letter was feverish, and the handwriting wandered crookedly up and down in deplorable freedom from all

"Oh, Mr. Armadale" (wrote the major's daughter), "such a misfortune! What are we to do? Papa has got a

letter from grandmamma this morning about the new governess. Her reference has answered all the questions,

and she's ready to come at the shortest notice. Grandmamma thinks (how provoking!) the sooner the better;

and she says we may expect herI mean the governesseither today or tomorrow. Papa says (he will be

so absurdly considerate to everybody!) that we can't allow Miss Gwilt to come here (if she comes today)

and find nobody at home to receive her. What is to be done? I am ready to cry with vexation. I have got the

worst possible impression (though grandmamma says she is a charming person) of Miss Gwilt. Can you

suggest something, dear Mr. Armadale? I'm sure papa would give way if you could. Don't stop to write; send

me a message back. I have got a new hat for the picnic; and oh, the agony of not knowing whether I am to

"The devil take Miss Gwilt!" said Allan, staring at his legal adviser in a state of helpless consternation.

"With all my heart, sirI don't wish to interfere," remarked Pedgift Junior. "May I ask what's the matter?"

Allan told him. Mr. Pedgift the younger might have his faults, but a want of quickness of resource was not

"There's a way out of the difficulty, Mr. Armadale," he said. "If the governess comes today, let's have her at

"All the horses and carriages in the Thorpe Ambrose stables are not wanted for this small party of ours,"

proceeded Pedgift Junior. "Of course not! Very good. If Miss Gwilt comes today, she can't possibly get here

before five o'clock. Good again. You order an open carriage to be waiting at the major's door at that time, Mr.

Armadale, and I'll give the man his directions where to drive to. When the governess comes to the cottage, let

her find a nice little note of apology (along with the cold fowl, or whatever else they give her after her

journey) begging her to join us at the picnic, and putting a carriage at her own sole disposal to take her there.

Gad, sir!" said young Pedgift, gayly, "she must be a Touchy One if she thinks herself neglected after that!"

"Capital!" cried Allan. "She shall have every attention. I'll give her the ponychaise and the white harness,

He scribbled a line to relieve Miss Milroy's apprehensions, and gave the necessary orders for the

ponychaise. Ten minutes later, the carriages for the pleasure party were at the door.

"Now we've taken all this trouble about her," said Allan, reverting to the governess as they left the house, "I

"Depends, entirely on her age, sir," remarked young Pedgift, pronouncing judgment with the happy

confidence in himself which eminently distinguished him. "If she's an old one, she'll be knocked up with the

journey, and she'll stick to the cold fowl and the cottage. If she's a young one, either I know nothing of

The little group gathered together in Major Milroy's parlor to wait for the carriages from Thorpe Ambrose

would hardly have conveyed the idea, to any previously uninstructed person introduced among them, of a

party assembled in expectation of a picnic. They were almost dull enough, as far as outward appearances

Even Miss Milroy herself, though conscious, of looking her best in her bright muslin dress and her gayly

feathered new hat, was at this inauspicious moment Miss Milroy under a cloud. Although Allan's note had

assured her, in Allan's strongest language, that the one great object of reconciling the governess's arrival with

the celebration of the picnic was an object achieved, the doubt still remained whether the plan

proposedwhatever it might bewould meet with her father's approval. In a word, Miss Milroy declined to

feel sure of her day's pleasure until the carriage made its appearance and took her from the door. The major,

on his side, arrayed for the festive occasion in a tight blue frockcoat which he had not worn for years, and

threatened with a whole long day of separation from his old friend and comrade the clock, was a man out of

his element, if ever such a man existed yet. As for the friends who had been asked at Allan's requestthe

widow lady (otherwise Mrs. Pentecost) and her son (the Reverend Samuel) in delicate healthtwo people

less capable, apparently of adding to the hilarity of the day could hardly have been discovered in the length

and breadth of all England. A young man who plays his part in society by looking on in green spectacles, and

listening with a sickly smile, may be a prodigy of intellect and a mine of virtue, but he is hardly, perhaps, the

right sort of man to have at a picnic. An old lady afflicted with deafness, whose one inexhaustible subject of

interest is the subject of her son, and who (on the happily rare occasions when that son opens his lips) asks

everybody eagerly, "What does my boy say?" is a person to be pitied in respect of her infirmities, and a

person to be admired in respect of her maternal devotedness, but not a person, if the thing could possibly be

avoided, to take to a picnic. Such a man, nevertheless, was the Reverend Samuel Pentecost, and such a

woman was the Reverend Samuel's mother; and in the dearth of any other producible guests, there they were,

engaged to eat, drink, and be merry for the day at Mr. Armadale's pleasure party to the Norfolk Broads.

The arrival of Allan, with his faithful follower, Pedgift Junior, at his heels, roused the flagging spirits of the

party at the cottage. The plan for enabling the governess to join the picnic, if she arrived that day, satisfied

even Major Milroy's anxiety to show all proper attention to the lady who was coming into his house. After

writing the necessary note of apology and invitation, and addressing it in her very best handwriting to the new

governess, Miss Milroy ran upstairs to say goodby to her mother, and returned with a smiling face and a

side look of relief directed at her father, to announce that there was nothing now to keep any of them a

moment longer indoors. The company at once directed their steps to the garden gate, and were there met face

to face by the second great difficulty of the day. How were the six persons of the picnic to be divided

Here, again, Pedgift Junior exhibited his invaluable faculty of contrivance. This highly cultivated young man

possessed in an eminent degree an accomplishment more or less peculiar to all the young men of the age we

live in: he was perfectly capable of taking his pleasure without forgetting his business. Such a client as the

Master of Thorpe Ambrose fell but seldom in his father's way, and to pay special but unobtrusive attention to

Allan all through the day was the business of which young Pedgift, while proving himself to be the life and

soul of the picnic, never once lost sight from the beginning of the merrymaking to the end. He had detected

the state of affairs between Miss Milroy and Allan at glance, and he at once provided for his client's

inclinations in that quarter by offering, in virtue of his local knowledge, to lead the way in the first carriage,

and by asking Major Milroy and the curate if they would do him the honor of accompanying him.

"We shall pass a very interesting place to a military man, sir," said young Pedgift, addressing the major, with

his happy and unblushing confidence"the remains of a Roman encampment. And my father, sir, who is a

subscriber," proceeded this rising lawyer, turning to the curate, "wished me to ask your opinion of the new

Infant School buildings at Little Gill Beck. Would you kindly give it me as we go along?" He opened the

carriage door, and helped in the major and the curate before they could either of them start any difficulties.

The necessary result followed. Allan and Miss Milroy rode together in the same carriage, with the extra

convenience of a deaf old lady in attendance to keep the squire's compliments within the necessary limits.

Never yet had Allan enjoyed such an interview with Miss Milroy as the interview he now obtained on the

The dear old lady, after a little anecdote or two on the subject of her son, did the one thing wanting to secure

the perfect felicity of her two youthful companions: she became considerately blind for the occasion, as well

as deaf. A quarter of an hour after the carriage left the major's cottage, the poor old soul, reposing on snug

cushions, and fanned by a fine summer air, fell peaceably asleep. Allan made love, and Miss Milroy

sanctioned the manufacture of that occasionally precious article of human commerce, sublimely indifferent

on both sides to a solemn bass accompaniment on two notes, played by the curate's mother's unsuspecting

nose. The only interruption to the lovemaking (the snoring, being a thing more grave and permanent in its

nature, was not interrupted at all) came at intervals from the carriage ahead. Not satisfied with having the

major's Roman encampment and the curate's Infant Schools on his mind, Pedgift Junior rose erect from time

to time in his place, and, respectfully hailing the hindmost vehicle, directed Allan's attention, in a shrill tenor

voice, and with an excellent choice of language, to objects of interest on the road. The only way to quiet him

was to answer, which Allan invariably did by shouting back, "Yes, beautiful," upon which young Pedgift

disappeared again in the recesses of the leading carriage, and took up the Romans and the Infants where he

The scene through which the picnic party was now passing merited far more attention than it received either

An hour's steady driving from the major's cottage had taken young Armadale and his guests beyond the limits

of Midwinter's solitary walk, and was now bringing them nearer and nearer to one of the strangest and

loveliest aspects of nature which the inland landscape, not of Norfolk only, but of all England, can show.

Little by little the face of the country began to change as the carriages approached the remote and lonely

district of the Broads. The wheat fields and turnip fields became perceptibly fewer, and the fat green grazing

grounds on either side grew wider and wider in their smooth and sweeping range. Heaps of dry rushes and

reeds, laid up for the basketmaker and the thatcher, began to appear at the roadside. The old gabled

cottages of the early part of the drive dwindled and disappeared, and huts with mud walls rose in their place.

With the ancient church towers and the wind and water mills, which had hitherto been the only lofty objects

seen over the low marshy flat, there now rose all round the horizon, gliding slow and distant behind fringes of

pollard willows, the sails of invisible boats moving on invisible waters. All the strange and startling

anomalies presented by an inland agricultural district, isolated from other districts by its intricate surrounding

network of pools and streamsholding its communications and carrying its produce by water instead of by

landbegan to present themselves in closer and closer succession. Nets appeared on cottage pailings; little

flatbottomed boats lay strangely at rest among the flowers in cottage gardens; farmers' men passed to and

fro clad in composite costume of the coast and the field, in sailors' hats, and fishermen's boots, and plowmen's

smocks; and even yet the lowlying labyrinth of waters, embosomed in its mystery of solitude, was a hidden

labyrinth still. A minute more, and the carriages took a sudden turn from the hard highroad into a little

weedy lane. The wheels ran noiseless on the damp and spongy ground. A lonely outlying cottage appeared

with its litter of nets and boats. A few yards further on, and the last morsel of firm earth suddenly ended in a

tiny creek and quay. One turn more to the end of the quayand there, spreading its great sheet of water, far

and bright and smooth, on the right hand and the leftthere, as pure in its spotless blue, as still in its

heavenly peacefulness, as the summer sky above it, was the first of the Norfolk Broads.

The carriages stopped, the lovemaking broke off, and the venerable Mrs. Pentecost, recovering the use of

her senses at a moment's notice, fixed her eyes sternly on Allan the instant she woke.

"I see in your face, Mr. Armadale," said the old lady, sharply, "that you think I have been asleep."

The consciousness of guilt acts differently on the two sexes. In nine cases out of ten, it is a much more

manageable consciousness with a woman than with a man. All the confusion, on this occasion, was on the

man's side. While Allan reddened and looked embarrassed, the quickwitted Miss Milroy instantly embraced

the old lady with a burst of innocent laughter. "He is quite incapable, dear Mrs. Pentecost," said the little

"All I wish Mr. Armadale to know," pursued the old lady, still suspicious of Allan, "is, that my head being

giddy, I am obliged to close my eyes in a carriage. Closing the eyes, Mr. Armadale, is one thing, and going to

The Reverend Samuel appeared silently at the carriage door, and assisted his mother to get out ("Did you

enjoy the drive, Sammy?" asked the old lady. "Beautiful scenery, my dear, wasn't it?") Young Pedgift, on

whom the arrangements for exploring the Broads devolved, hustled about, giving his orders to the boatman.

Major Milroy, placid and patient, sat apart on an overturned punt, and privately looked at his watch. Was it

past noon already? More than an hour past. For the first time, for many a long year, the famous clock at home

had struck in an empty workshop. Time had lifted his wonderful scythe, and the corporal and his men had

relieved guard, with no master's eye to watch their performances, with no master's hand to encourage them to

do their best. The major sighed as he put his watch back in his pocket. "I'm afraid I'm too old for this sort of

thing," thought the good man, looking about him dreamily. "I don't find I enjoy it as much as I thought I

Neeliemore properly Miss Milroywas behind one of the carriages with the promoter of the picnic. They

were immersed in the interesting subject of their own Christian names, and Allan was as near a pointblank

proposal of marriage as it is well possible for a thoughtless young gentleman of twoandtwenty to be.

"Tell me the truth," said Miss Milroy, with her eyes modestly riveted on the ground. "When you first knew

"I like everything that belongs to you," rejoined Allan, vigorously. "I think Eleanor is a beautiful name; and

yet, I don't know why, I think the major made an improvement when he changed it to Neelie."

"I can tell you why, Mr. Armadale," said the major's daughter, with great gravity. 'There are some unfortunate

people in this world whose names arehow can I express it?whose names are misfits. Mine is a misfit. I

don't blame my parents, for of course it was impossible to know when I was a baby how I should grow up.

But as things are, I and my name don't fit each other. When you hear a young lady called Eleanor, you think

of a tall, beautiful, interesting creature directlythe very opposite of me! With my personal appearance,

Eleanor sounds ridiculous; and Neelie, as you yourself remarked, is just the thing. No! no! don't say any

more; I'm tired of the subject. I've got another name in my head, if we must speak of names, which is much

She stole a glance at her companion which said plainly enough, "The name is yours." Allan advanced a step

nearer to her, and lowered his voice, without the slightest necessity, to a mysterious whisper. Miss Milroy

instantly resumed her investigation of the ground. She looked at it with such extraordinary interest that a

geologist might have suspected her of scientific flirtation with the superficial strata.

Miss Milroy addressed her answer, in the form of a remark, to the superficial strataand let them do what

they liked with it, in their capacity of conductors of sound. "If I had been a man," she said, "I should so like

She felt his eyes on her as she spoke, and, turning her head aside, became absorbed in the graining of the

panel at the back of the carriage. "How beautiful it is!" she exclaimed, with a sudden outburst of interest in

Man persists, and woman yields. Allan declined to shift the ground from lovemaking to coachmaking.

"Call me by my name, if you really like it," he whispered, persuasively. "Call me 'Allan' for once; just to try."

She hesitated with a heightened color and a charming smile, and shook her head. "I couldn't just yet," she

She looked at him again, with a sudden disturbance about the bosom of her dress, and a sudden flash of

The inevitable answer was on the tip of Allan's tongue. At the very instant, however, when he opened his lips,

the abhorrent high tenor of Pedgift Junior, shouting for "Mr. Armadale," rang cheerfully through the quiet air.

At the same moment, from the other side of the carriage, the lurid spectacles of the Reverend Samuel showed

themselves officiously on the search; and the voice of the Reverend Samuel's mother (who had, with great

dexterity, put the two ideas of the presence of water and a sudden movement among the company together)

inquired distractedly if anybody was drowned? Sentiment flies and Love shudders at all demonstrations of the

noisy kind. Allan said: "Damn it," and rejoined young Pedgift. Miss Milroy sighed, and took refuge with her

"I've done it, Mr. Armadale!" cried young Pedgift, greeting his patron gayly. "We can all go on the water

together; I've got the biggest boat on the Broads. The little skiffs," he added, in a lower tone, as he led the

way to the quay steps, "besides being ticklish and easily upset, won't hold more than two, with the boatman;

and the major told me he should feel it his duty to go with his daughter, if we all separated in different boats.

I thought that would hardly do, sir," pursued Pedgift Junior, with a respectfully sly emphasis on the words.

"And, besides, if we had put the old lady into a skiff, with her weight (sixteen stone if she's a pound), we

might have had her upside down in the water half her time, which would have occasioned delay, and thrown

what you call a damp on the proceedings. Here's the boat, Mr. Armadale. What do you think of it?"

The boat added one more to the strangely anomalous objects which appeared at the Broads. It was nothing

less than a stout old lifeboat, passing its last declining years on the smooth fresh water, after the stormy days

of its youth time on the wild salt sea. A comfortable little cabin for the use of fowlers in the winter season had

been built amidships, and a mast and sail adapted for inland navigation had been fitted forward. There was

room enough and to spare for the guests, the dinner, and the three men in charge. Allan clapped his faithful

lieutenant approvingly on the shoulder; and even Mrs. Pentecost, when the whole party were comfortably

established on board, took a comparatively cheerful view of the prospects of the picnic. "If anything

happens," said the old lady, addressing the company generally, "there's one comfort for all of us. My son can

The boat floated out from the creek into the placid waters of the Broad, and the full beauty of the scene

On the northward and westward, as the boat reached the middle of the lake, the shore lay clear and low in the

sunshine, fringed darkly at certain points by rows of dwarf trees; and dotted here and there, in the opener

spaces, with windmills and reedthatched cottages, of puddled mud. Southward, the great sheet of water

narrowed gradually to a little group of closenestling islands which closed the prospect; while to the east a

long, gently undulating line of reeds followed the windings of the Broad, and shut out all view of the watery

wastes beyond. So clear and so light was the summer air that the one cloud in the eastern quarter of the

heaven was the smoke cloud left by a passing steamer three miles distant and more on the invisible sea. When

the voices of the pleasure party were still, not a sound rose, far or near, but the faint ripple at the bows, as the

men, with slow, deliberate strokes of their long poles, pressed the boat forward softly over the shallow water.

The world and the world's turmoil seemed left behind forever on the land; the silence was the silence of

enchantmentthe delicious interflow of the soft purity of the sky and the bright tranquillity of the lake.

Established in perfect comfort in the boatthe major and his daughter on one side, the curate and his mother

on the other, and Allan and young Pedgift between the twothe water party floated smoothly toward the

little nest of islands at the end of the Broad. Miss Milroy was in raptures; Allan was delighted; and the major

for once forgot his clock. Every one felt pleasurably, in their different ways, the quiet and beauty of the

"Look behind you, Mr. Armadale," whispered young Pedgift. "I think the parson's beginning to enjoy

An unwonted brisknessportentous apparently of coming speechdid certainly at that moment enliven the

curate's manner. He jerked his head from side to side like a bird; he cleared his throat, and clasped his hands,

and looked with a gentle interest at the company. Getting into spirits seemed, in the case of this excellent

"Even in this scene of tranquillity," said the Reverend Samuel, coming out softly with his first contribution to

the society in the shape of a remark, "the Christian mindled, so to speak, from one extreme to anotheris

forcibly recalled to the unstable nature of all earthly enjoyments. How if this calm should not last? How if the

"You needn't alarm yourself about that, sir," said young Pedgift; "June's the fine season hereand you can

Mrs. Pentecost (mesmerically affected, in all probability, by the near neighborhood of her son) opened her

The Reverend Samuel repeated his words in the key that suited his mother's infirmity. The old lady nodded in

high approval, and pursued her son's train of thought through the medium of a quotation.

"Ah!" sighed Mrs. Pentecost, with infinite relish, "He rides the whirlwind, Sammy, and directs the storm!"

"I say," whispered Allan, "if he goes on much longer in that way, what's to be done?"

"I told you, papa, it was a risk to ask them," added Miss Milroy, in another whisper.

"My dear!" remonstrated the major. "We knew nobody else in the neighborhood, and, as Mr. Armadale

"We can't upset the boat," remarked young Pedgift, with sardonic gravity. "It's a lifeboat, unfortunately. May

I venture to suggest putting something into the reverend gentleman's mouth, Mr. Armadale? It's close on three

Never was the right man more entirely in the right place than Pedgift Junior at the picnic. In ten minutes more

the boat was brought to a standstill among the reeds; the Thorpe Ambrose hampers were unpacked on the

roof of the cabin; and the current of the curate's eloquence was checked for the day.

How inestimably important in its moral resultsand therefore how praiseworthy in itselfis the act of

eating and drinking! The social virtues center in the stomach. A man who is not a better husband, father, and

brother after dinner than before is, digestively speaking, an incurably vicious man. What hidden charms of

character disclose themselves, what dormant amiabilities awaken, when our common humanity gathers

together to pour out the gastric juice! At the opening of the hampers from Thorpe Ambrose, sweet Sociability

(offspring of the happy union of Civilization and Mrs. Gripper) exhaled among the boating party, and melted

in one friendly fusion the discordant elements of which that party had hitherto been composed. Now did the

Reverend Samuel Pentecost, whose light had hitherto been hidden under a bushel, prove at last that he could

do something by proving that he could eat. Now did Pedgift Junior shine brighter than ever he had shone yet

in gems of caustic humor and exquisite fertilities of resource. Now did the squire, and the squire's charming

guest, prove the triple connection between Champagne that sparkles, Love that grows bolder, and Eyes whose

vocabulary is without the word No. Now did cheerful old times come back to the major's memory, and

cheerful old stories not told for years find their way to the major's lips. And now did Mrs. Pentecost, coming

out wakefully in the whole force of her estimable maternal character, seize on a supplementary fork, and ply

that useful instrument incessantly between the choicest morsels in the whole round of dishes, and the few

vacant places left available on the Reverend Samuel's plate. "Don't laugh at my son," cried the old lady,

observing the merriment which her proceedings produced among the company. "It's my fault, poor dearI

make him eat!" And there are men in this world who, seeing virtues such as these developed at the table, as

they are developed nowhere else, can, nevertheless, rank the glorious privilege of dining with the smallest of

the diurnal personal worries which necessity imposes on mankindwith buttoning your waistcoat, for

example, or lacing your stays! Trust no such monster as this with your tender secrets, your loves and hatreds,

your hopes and fears. His heart is uncorrected by his stomach, and the social virtues are not in him.

The last mellow hours of the day and the first cool breezes of the long summer evening had met before the

dishes were all laid waste, and the bottles as empty as bottles should be. This point in the proceedings

attained, the picnic party looked lazily at Pedgift Junior to know what was to be done next. That inexhaustible

functionary was equal as ever to all the calls on him. He had a new amusement ready before the quickest of

"Fond of music on the water, Miss Milroy?" he asked, in his airiest and pleasantest manner.

Miss Milroy adored music, both on the water and the landalways excepting the one case when she was

"We'll get out of the reeds first," said young Pedgift. He gave his orders to the boatmen, dived briskly into the

little cabin, and reappeared with a concertina in his hand. "Neat, Miss Milroy, isn't it?" he observed, pointing

to his initials, inlaid on the instrument in motherofpearl. "My name's Augustus, like my father's. Some of

my friends knock off the 'A,' and call me 'Gustus Junior.' A small joke goes a long way among friends,

doesn't it, Mr. Armadale? I sing a little to my own accompaniment, ladies and gentlemen; and, if quite

With this formidable announcement, the old lady opened a prodigious leather bag, from which she never

parted night or day, and took out an eartrumpet of the oldfashioned kindsomething between a

keybugle and a French horn. "I don't care to use the thing generally," explained Mrs. Pentecost, "because

I'm afraid of its making me deafer than ever. But I can't and won't miss the music. I dote on music. If you'll

hold the other end, Sammy, I'll stick it in my ear. Neelie, my dear, tell him to begin."

Young Pedgift was troubled with no nervous hesitation. He began at once, not with songs of the light and

modern kind, such as might have been expected from an amateur of his age and character, but with

declamatory and patriotic bursts of poetry, set to the bold and blatant music which the people of England

loved dearly at the earlier part of the present century, and which, whenever they can get it, they love dearly

still. "The Death of Marmion," "The Battle of the Baltic," "The Bay of Biscay," "Nelson," under various

vocal aspects, as exhibited by the late Brahamthese were the songs in which the roaring concertina and

strident tenor of Gustus Junior exulted together. "Tell me when you're tired, ladies and gentlemen," said the

minstrel solicitor. "There's no conceit about me. Will you have a little sentiment by way of variety? Shall I

Having favored his audience with those two cheerful melodies, young Pedgift respectfully requested the rest

of the company to follow his vocal example in turn, offering, in every case, to play "a running

accompaniment" impromptu, if the singer would only be so obliging as to favor him with the keynote.

"Go on, somebody!" cried Mrs. Pentecost, eagerly. "I tell you again, I dote on music. We haven't had half

The Reverend Samuel made no reply. The unhappy man had reasons of his ownnot exactly in his bosom,

but a little lowerfor remaining silent, in the midst of the general hilarity and the general applause. Alas for

humanity! Even maternal love is alloyed with mortal fallibility. Owing much already to his excellent mother,

the Reverend Samuel was now additionally indebted to her for a smart indigestion.

Nobody, however, noticed as yet the signs and tokens of internal revolution in the curate's face. Everybody

was occupied in entreating everybody else to sing. Miss Milroy appealed to the founder of the feast. "Do sing

"If you once begin, sir," added the cheerful Pedgift, "you'll find it get uncommonly easy as you go on. Music

"With all my heart," said Allan, in his goodhumored way. "I know lots of tunes, but the worst of it is, the

words escape me. I wonder if I can remember one of Moore's Melodies? My poor mother used to be fond of

"Whose melodies?" asked Mrs. Pentecost. "Moore's? Aha! I know Tom Moore by heart."

"Perhaps in that case you will he good enough to help me, ma'am, if my memory breaks down," rejoined

Allan. "I'll take the easiest melody in the whole collection, if you'll allow me. Everybody knows

"I'm familiar, in a general sort of way, with the national melodies of England, Scotland, and Ireland," said

Pedgift Junior. "I'll accompany you, sir, with the greatest pleasure. This is the sort of thing, I think." He

seated himself crosslegged on the roof of the cabin, and burst into a complicated musical improvisation

wonderful to heara mixture of instrumental flourishes and groans; a jig corrected by a dirge, and a dirge

enlivened by a jig. "That's the sort of thing," said young Pedgift, with his smile of supreme confidence. "Fire

Mrs. Pentecost elevated her trumpet, and Allan elevated his voice. "Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen's

Bower" He stopped; the accompaniment stopped; the audience waited. "It's a most extraordinary thing,"

said Allan; "I thought I had the next line on the tip of my tongue, and it seems to have escaped me. I'll begin

again, if you have no objection. 'Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen's Bower' "

"Thank you, ma'am," said Allan. "Now I shall get on smoothly. 'Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen's

Bower, the lord of the valley with false vows came. The moon was shining bright'"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," remonstrated Allan. "'The moon was shining bright' "

Pedgift Junior, foreseeing a dispute, persevered sotto voce with the accompaniment, in the interests of

"Your mother's copy was wrong," retorted Mrs. Pentecost. "Didn't I tell you just now that I knew Tom Moore

Pedgift Junior's peacemaking concertina still flourished and groaned in the minor key.

"What the moon ought to have done, sir, or Tom Moore wouldn't have written it so," rejoined Mrs. Pentecost.

"'The moon hid her light from the heaven that night, and wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame!' I

wish that young man would leave off playing," added Mrs. Pentecost, venting her rising irritation on Gustus

"Proud, I'm sure, ma'am," said the unblushing Pedgift. "The whole science of music consists in tickling the

"We seem to be drifting into a sort of argument," remarked Major Milroy, placidly. "Wouldn't it be better if

"One of them doesn't know the words, and the other doesn't know the music," said Mrs. Pentecost. "Let them

"Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am," said Pedgift Junior; "I'm ready to go on myself to any extent. Now, Mr.

Allan opened his lips to take up the unfinished melody where he had last left it. Before he could utter a note,

the curate suddenly rose, with a ghastly face, and a hand pressed convulsively over the middle region of his

"I am exceedingly unwell," said the Reverend Samuel Pentecost. The boat was instantly in a state of

confusion. "Eveleen's Bower" expired on Allan's lips, and even the irrepressible concertina of Pedgift was

silenced at last. The alarm proved to be quite needless. Mrs. Pentecost's son possessed a mother, and that

mother had a bag. In two seconds the art of medicine occupied the place left vacant in the attention of the

"Rub it gently, Sammy," said Mrs. Pentecost. "I'll get out the bottles and give you a dose. It's his poor

stomach, major. Hold my trumpet, somebodyand stop the boat. You take that bottle, Neelie, my dear; and

you take this one, Mr. Armadale; and give them to me as I want them. Ah, poor dear, I know what's the

matter with him! Want of power here, majorcold, acid, and flabby. Ginger to warm him; soda to correct

him; sal volatile to hold him up. There, Sammy! drink it before it settles; and then go and lie down, my dear,

in that dogkennel of a place they call the cabin. No more music!" added Mrs. Pentecost, shaking her

forefinger at the proprietor of the concertina"unless it's a hymn, and that I don't object to."

Nobody appearing to be in a fit frame of mind for singing a hymn, the allaccomplished Pedgift drew upon

his stores of local knowledge, and produced a new idea. The course of the boat was immediately changed

under his direction. In a few minutes more, the company found themselves in a little island creek, with a

lonely cottage at the far end of it, and a perfect forest of reeds closing the view all round them. "What do you

say, ladies and gentlemen, to stepping on shore and seeing what a reedcutter's cottage looks like?" suggested

"We say yes, to be sure," answered Allan. "I think our spirits have been a little dashed by Mr. Pentecost's

illness and Mrs. Pentecost's bag," he added, in a whisper to Miss Milroy. "A change of this sort is the very

He and young Pedgift handed Miss Milroy out of the boat. The major followed. Mrs. Pentecost sat

immovable as the Egyptian Sphinx, with her bag on her knees, mounting guard over "Sammy" in the cabin.

"We must keep the fun going, sir," said Allan, as he helped the major over the side of the boat. "We haven't

His voice seconded his hearty belief in his own prediction to such good purpose that even Mrs. Pentecost

"Ah!" sighed the curate's mother, "if you were as old as I am, young gentleman, you wouldn't feel quite so

So, in rebuke of the rashness of youth, spoke the caution of age. The negative view is notoriously the safe

view, all the world over, and the Pentecost philosophy is, as a necessary consequence, generally in the right.

It was close on six o'clock when Allan and his friends left the boat, and the evening influence was creeping

already, in its mystery and its stillness, over the watery solitude of the Broads.

The shore in these wild regions was not like the shore elsewhere. Firm as it looked, the garden ground in

front of the reedcutter's cottage was floating ground, that rose and fell and oozed into puddles under the

pressure of the foot. The boatmen who guided the visitors warned them to keep to the path, and pointed

through gaps in the reeds and pollards to grassy places, on which strangers would have walked confidently,

where the crust of earth was not strong enough to bear the weight of a child over the unfathomed depths of

slime and water beneath. The solitary cottage, built of planks pitched black, stood on ground that had been

steadied and strengthened by resting it on piles. A little wooden tower rose at one end of the roof, and served

as a lookout post in the fowling season. From this elevation the eye ranged far and wide over a wilderness of

winding water and lonesome marsh. If the reedcutter had lost his boat, he would have been as completely

isolated from all communication with town or village as if his place of abode had been a lightvessel instead

of a cottage. Neither he nor his family complained of their solitude, or looked in any way the rougher or the

worse for it. His wife received the visitors hospitably, in a snug little room, with a raftered ceiling, and

windows which looked like windows in a cabin on board ship. His wife's father told stories of the famous

days when the smugglers came up from the sea at night, rowing through the network of rivers with muffled

oars till they gained the lonely Broads, and sank their spirit casks in the water, far from the coastguard's

reach. His wild little children played at hideandseek with the visitors; and the visitors ranged in and out of

the cottage, and round and round the morsel of firm earth on which it stood, surprised and delighted by the

novelty of all they saw. The one person who noticed the advance of the eveningthe one person who

thought of the flying time and the stationary Pentecosts in the boatwas young Pedgift. That experienced

pilot of the Broads looked askance at his watch, and drew Allan aside at the first opportunity.

"I don't wish to hurry you, Mr. Armadale," said Pedgift Junior; "but the time is getting on, and there's a lady

"Yes, sir," rejoined young Pedgift. "A lady from London; connected (if you'll allow me to jog your memory)

"Good heavens, the governess!" cried Allan. "Why, we have forgotten all about her!"

"Don't be alarmed, sir; there's plenty of time, if we only get into the boat again. This is how it stands, Mr.

Armadale. We settled, if you remember, to have the gypsy teamaking at the next 'Broad' to thisHurle

"Certainly," said Allan. "Hurle Mere is the place where my friend Midwinter has promised to come and meet

"Hurle Mere is where the governess will be, sir, if your coachman follows my directions," pursued young

Pedgift. "We have got nearly an hour's punting to do, along the twists and turns of the narrow waters (which

they call The Sounds here) between this and Hurle Mere; and according to my calculations we must get on

board again in five minutes, if we are to be in time to meet the governess and to meet your friend."

"We mustn't miss my friend on any account," said Allan; "or the governess, either, of course. I'll tell the

Major Milroy was at that moment preparing to mount the wooden watchtower of the cottage to see the view.

The ever useful Pedgift volunteered to go up with him, and rattle off all the necessary local explanations in

half the time which the reedcutter would occupy in describing his own neighborhood to a stranger.

Allan remained standing in front of the cottage, more quiet and more thoughtful than usual. His interview

with young Pedgift had brought his absent friend to his memory for the first time since the picnic party had

started. He was surprised that Midwinter, so much in his thoughts on all other occasions, should have been so

long out of his thoughts now. Something troubled him, like a sense of selfreproach, as his mind reverted to

the faithful friend at home, toiling hard over the steward's books, in his interests and for his sake. "Dear old

fellow," thought Allan, "I shall be so glad to see him at the Mere; the day's pleasure won't be complete till he

"Should I be right or wrong, Mr. Armadale, if I guessed that you were thinking of somebody?" asked a voice,

Allan turned, and found the major's daughter at his side. Miss Milroy (not unmindful of a certain tender

interview which had taken place behind a carriage) had noticed her admirer standing thoughtfully by himself,

and had determined on giving him another opportunity, while her father and young Pedgift were at the top of

Miss Milroy stole a glance at hima glance of gentle encouragement. There could be but one human

creature in Mr. Armadale's mind after what had passed between them that morning! It would be only an act of

mercy to take him back again at once to the interrupted conversation of a few hours since on the subject of

"I have been thinking of somebody, too," she said, halfinviting, halfrepelling the coming avowal. "If I tell

you the first letter of my Somebody's name, will you tell me the first letter of yours?"

"I will tell you anything you like," rejoined Allan, with the utmost enthusiasm.

She still shrank coquettishly from the very subject that she wanted to approach. "Tell me your letter first," she

She started a little. Strange that he should be thinking of her by her surname instead of her Christian name;

She blushed and smiled. "Aif you will have it!" she answered, in a reluctant little whisper. She stole

another look at him, and luxuriously protracted her enjoyment of the coming avowal once more. "How many

syllables is the name in?" she asked, drawing patterns shyly on the ground with the end of the parasol.

No man with the slightest knowledge of the sex would have been rash enough, in Allan's position, to tell her

the truth. Allan, who knew nothing whatever of woman's natures, and who told the truth right and left in all

mortal emergencies, answered as if he had been under examination in a court of justice.

Miss Milroy's downcast eyes flashed up at him like lightning. "Three!" she repeated in the blankest

Allan was too inveterately straightforward to take the warning even now. "I'm not strong at my spelling, I

know," he said, with his lighthearted laugh. "But I don't think I'm wrong, in calling Midwinter a name in

three syllables. I was thinking of my friend; but never mind my thoughts. Tell me who A istell me whom

"Of the first letter of the alphabet, Mr. Armadale, and I beg positively to inform you of nothing more!"

With that annihilating answer the major's daughter put up her parasol and walked back by herself to the boat.

Allan stood petrified with amazement. If Miss Milroy had actually boxed his ears (and there is no denying

that she had privately longed to devote her hand to that purpose), he could hardly have felt more bewildered

than he felt now. "What on earth have I done?" he asked himself, helplessly, as the major and young Pedgift

joined him, and the three walked down together to the waterside. "I wonder what she'll say to me next?"

She said absolutely nothing; she never so much as looked at Allan when he took his place in the boat. There

she sat, with her eyes and her complexion both much brighter than usual, taking the deepest interest in the

curate's progress toward recovery; in the state of Mrs. Pentecost's spirits; in Pedgift Junior (for whom she

ostentatiously made room enough to let him sit beside her); in the scenery and the reedcutter's cottage; in

everybody and everything but Allanwhom she would have married with the greatest pleasure five minutes

since. "I'll never forgive him," thought the major's daughter. "To be thinking of that illbred wretch when I

was thinking of him; and to make me all but confess it before I found him out! Thank Heaven, Mr. Pedgift is

In this frame of mind Miss Neelie applied herself forthwith to the fascination of Pedgift and the discomfiture

of Allan. "Oh, Mr. Pedgift, how extremely clever and kind of you to think of showing us that sweet cottage!

Lonely, Mr. Armadale? I don't think it's lonely at all; I should like of all things to live there. What would this

picnic have been without you, Mr. Pedgift; you can't think how I have enjoyed it since we got into the boat.

Cool, Mr. Armadale? What can you possibly mean by saying it's cool; it's the warmest evening we've had this

summer. And the music, Mr. Pedgift; how nice it was of you to bring your concertina! I wonder if I could

accompany you on the piano? I would so like to try. Oh, yes, Mr. Armadale, no doubt you meant to do

something musical, too, and I dare say you sing very well when you know the words; but, to tell you the

Thus, with merciless dexterity of manipulation, did Miss Milroy work that sharpest female weapon of

offense, the tongue; and thus she would have used it for some time longer, if Allan had only shown the

necessary jealousy, or if Pedgift had only afforded the necessary encouragement. But adverse fortune had

decreed that she should select for her victims two men essentially unassailable under existing circumstances.

Allan was too innocent of all knowledge of female subtleties and susceptibilities to understand anything,

except that the charming Neelie was unreasonably out of temper with him without the slightest cause. The

wary Pedgift, as became one of the quickwitted youth of the present generation, submitted to female

influence, with his eye fixed immovably all the time on his own interests. Many a young man of the past

generation, who was no fool, has sacrificed everything for love. Not one young man in ten thousand of the

present generation, except the fools, has sacrificed a halfpenny. The daughters of Eve still inherit their

mother's merits and commit their mother's faults. But the sons of Adam, in these latter days, are men who

would have handed the famous apple back with a bow, and a "Thanks, no; it might get me into a scrape."

When Allan surprised and disappointedmoved away out of Miss Milroy's reach to the forward part of

the boat, Pedgift Junior rose and followed him. "You're a very nice girl," thought this shrewdly sensible

young man; "but a client's a client; and I am sorry to inform you, miss, it won't do." He set himself at once to

rouse Allan's spirits by diverting his attention to a new subject. There was to be a regatta that autumn on one

of the Broads, and his client's opinion as a yachtsman might be valuable to the committee. "Something new, I

should think, to you, sir, in a sailing match on fresh water?" he said, in his most ingratiatory manner. And

As for the rest of the party at the other end of the boat, they were in a fair way to confirm Mrs. Pentecost's

doubts whether the hilarity of the picnic would last the day out. Poor Neelie's natural feeling of irritation

under the disappointment which Allan's awkwardness had inflicted on her was now exasperated into silent

and settled resentment by her own keen sense of humiliation and defeat. The major had relapsed into his

habitually dreamy, absent manner; his mind was turning monotonously with the wheels of his clock. The

curate still secluded his indigestion from public view in the innermost recesses of the cabin; and the curate's

mother, with a second dose ready at a moment's notice, sat on guard at the door. Women of Mrs. Pentecost's

age and character generally enjoy their own bad spirits. "This," sighed the old lady, wagging her head with a

smile of sour satisfaction "is what you call a day's pleasure, is it? Ah, what fools we all were to leave our

Meanwhile the boat floated smoothly along the windings of the watery labyrinth which lay between the two

Broads. The view on either side was now limited to nothing but interminable rows of reeds. Not a sound was

heard, far or near; not so much as a glimpse of cultivated or inhabited land appeared anywhere. "A trifle

dreary hereabouts, Mr. Armadale," said the evercheerful Pedgift. "But we are just out of it now. Look ahead,

The reeds opened back on the right hand and the left, and the boat glided suddenly into the wide circle of a

pool. Round the nearer half of the circle, the eternal reeds still fringed the margin of the water. Round the

further half, the land appeared again, here rolling back from the pool in desolate sandhills, there rising

above it in a sweep of grassy shore. At one point the ground was occupied by a plantation, and at another by

the outbuildings of a lonely old red brick house, with a strip of byroad near, that skirted the garden wall

and ended at the pool. The sun was sinking in the clear heaven, and the water, where the sun's reflection

failed to tinge it, was beginning to look black and cold. The solitude that had been soothing, the silence that

had felt like an enchantment, on the other Broad, in the day's vigorous prime, was a solitude that saddened

herea silence that struck cold, in the stillness and melancholy of the day's decline.

The course of the boat was directed across the Mere to a creek in the grassy shore. One or two of the little

flatbottomed punts peculiar to the Broads lay in the creek; and the reed cutters to whom the punts belonged,

surprised at the appearance of strangers, came out, staring silently, from behind an angle of the old garden

wall. Not another sign of life was visible anywhere. No ponychaise had been seen by the reed cutters; no

stranger, either man or woman, had approached the shores of Hurle Mere that day.

Young Pedgift took another look at his watch, and addressed himself to Miss Milroy. "You may, or may not,

see the governess when you get back to Thorpe Ambrose," he said; "but, as the time stands now, you won't

see her here. You know best, Mr. Armadale," he added, turning to Allan, "whether your friend is to be

"I am certain he is to be depended on," replied Allan, looking about himin unconcealed disappointment at

"Very good," pursued Pedgift Junior. "If we light the fire for our gypsy teamaking on the open ground there,

your friend may find us out, sir, by the smoke. That's the Indian dodge for picking up a lost man on the

prairie, Miss Milroy and it's pretty nearly wild enough (isn't it?) to be a prairie here!"

There are some temptationsprincipally those of the smaller kindwhich it is not in the defensive capacity

of female human nature to resist. The temptation to direct the whole force of her influence, as the one young

lady of the party, toward the instant overthrow of Allan's arrangement for meeting his friend, was too much

for the major's daughter. She turned on the smiling Pedgift with a look which ought to have overwhelmed

"I think it's the most lonely, dreary, hideous place I ever saw in my life!" said Miss Neelie. "If you insist on

making tea here, Mr. Pedgift, don't make any for me. No! I shall stop in the boat; and, though I am absolutely

dying with thirst, I shall touch nothing till we get back again to the other Broad!"

The major opened his lips to remonstrate. To his daughter's infinite delight, Mrs. Pentecost rose from her seat

before he could say a word, and, after surveying the whole landward prospect, and seeing nothing in the

shape of a vehicle anywhere, asked indignantly whether they were going all the way back again to the place

where they had left the carriages in the middle of the day. On ascertaining that this was, in fact, the

arrangement proposed, and that, from the nature of the country, the carriages could not have been ordered

round to Hurle Mere without, in the first instance, sending them the whole of the way back to Thorpe

Ambrose, Mrs. Pentecost (speaking in her son's interests) instantly declared that no earthly power should

induce her to be out on the water after dark. "Call me a boat!" cried the old lady, in great agitation.

"Wherever there's water, there's a night mist, and wherever there's a night mist, my son Samuel catches cold.

Don't talk to me about your moonlight and your teamakingyou're all mad! Hi! you two men there!" cried

Mrs. Pentecost, hailing the silent reed cutters on shore. "Sixpence apiece for you, if you'll take me and my

Before young Pedgift could interfere, Allan himself settled the difficulty this time, with perfect patience and

"I can't think, Mrs. Pentecost, of your going back in any boat but the boat you have come out in," he said.

"There is not the least need (as you and Miss Milroy don't like the place) for anybody to go on shore here but

me. I must go on shore. My friend Midwinter never broke his promise to me yet; and I can't consent to leave

Hurle Mere as long as there is a chance of his keeping his appointment. But there's not the least reason in the

world why I should stand in the way on that account. You have the major and Mr. Pedgift to take care of you;

and you can get back to the carriages before dark, if you go at once. I will wait here, and give my friend half

"That's the most sensible thing, Mr. Armadale, you've said today," remarked Mrs. Pentecost, seating herself

"Tell them to be quick! " cried the old lady, shaking her fist at the boatmen. "Tell them to be quick!"

Allan gave the necessary directions, and stepped on shore. The wary Pedgift (sticking fast to his client) tried

"We can't leave you here alone, sir," he said, protesting eagerly in a whisper. "Let the major take care of the

"No, no!" said Allan, pressing him back. "They're all in low spirits on board. If you want to be of service to

me, stop like a good fellow where you are, and do your best to keep the thing going."

He waved his hand, and the men pushed the boat off from the shore. The others all waved their hands in

return except the major's daughter, who sat apart from the rest, with her face hidden under her parasol. The

tears stood thick in Neelie's eyes. Her last angry feeling against Allan died out, and her heart went back to

him penitently the moment he left the boat. "How good he is to us all!" she thought, "and what a wretch I

am!" She got up with every generous impulse in her nature urging her to make atonement to him. She got up,

reckless of appearances and looked after him with eager eyes and flushed checks, as he stood alone on the

shore. "Don't be long, Mr. Armadale!" she said, with a desperate disregard of what the rest of the company

The boat was already far out in the water, and with all Neelie's resolution the words were spoken in a faint

little voice, which failed to reach Allan's ears. The one sound he heard, as the boat gained the opposite

extremity of the Mere, and disappeared slowly among the reeds, was the sound of the concertina. The

indefatigable Pedgift was keeping things goingevidently under the auspices of Mrs. Pentecostby

Left by himself, Allan lit a cigar, and took a turn backward and forward on the shore. "She might have said a

word to me at parting!" he thought. "I've done everything for the best; I've as good as told her how fond of

her I am, and this is the way she treats me!" He stopped, and stood looking absently at the sinking sun, and

the fastdarkening waters of the Mere. Some inscrutable influence in the scene forced its way stealthily into

his mind, and diverted his thoughts from Miss Milroy to his absent friend. He started, and looked about him.

The reedcutters had gone back to their retreat behind the angle of the wall, not a living creature was visible,

not a sound rose anywhere along the dreary shore. Even Allan's spirits began to get depressed. It was nearly

an hour after the time when Midwinter had promised to be at Hurle Mere. He had himself arranged to walk to

the pool (with a stableboy from Thorpe Ambrose as his guide), by lanes and footpaths which shortened the

distance by the road. The boy knew the country well, and Midwinter was habitually punctual at all his

appointments. Had anything gone wrong at Thorpe Ambrose? Had some accident happened on the way?

Determined to remain no longer doubting and idling by himself, Allan made up his mind to walk inland from

the Mere, on the chance of meeting his friend. He went round at once to the angle in the wall, and asked one

The man led him away from the road, and pointed to a barely perceptible break in the outer trees of the

plantation. After pausing for one more useless look around him, Allan turned his back on the Mere and made

For a few paces, the path ran straight through the plantation. Thence it took a sudden turn; and the water and

the open country became both lost to view. Allan steadily followed the grassy track before him, seeing

nothing and hearing nothing, until he came to another winding of the path. Turning in the new direction, he

saw dimly a human figure sitting alone at the foot of one of the trees. Two steps nearer were enough to make

the figure familiar to him. "Midwinter!" he exclaimed, in astonishment. "This is not the place where I was to

Midwinter rose, without answering. The evening dimness among the trees, which obscured his face, made his

Allan went on eagerly questioning him. "Did you come here by yourself?" he asked. "I thought the boy was

This time Midwinter answered. "When we got as far as these trees," he said, "I sent the boy back. He told me

"What made you stop here when he left you?" reiterated Allan. "Why didn't you walk on?"

"Not the courage?" repeated Allan. He paused a moment. "Oh, I know!" he resumed, putting his hand gayly

on Midwinter's shoulder. "You're still shy of the Milroys. What nonsense, when I told you myself that your

"I wasn't thinking, Allan, of your friends at the cottage. The truth is, I'm hardly myself today. I am ill and

unnerved; trifles startle me." He stopped, and shrank away, under the anxious scrutiny of Allan's eyes. "If you

will have it," he burst out, abruptly, "the horror of that night on board the Wreck has got me again; there's a

dreadful oppression on my head; there's a dreadful sinking at my heart. I am afraid of something happening to

us, if we don't part before the day is out. I can't break my promise to you; for God's sake, release me from it,

Remonstrance, to any one who knew Midwinter, was plainly useless at that moment. Allan humored him.

"Come out of this dark, airless place," he said, "and we will talk about it. The water and the open sky are

within a stone's throw of us. I hate a wood in the evening; it even gives me the horrors. You have been

working too hard over the steward's books. Come and breathe freely in the blessed open air."

"You're right," he said, "and I'm wrong, as usual. I'm wasting time and distressing you to no purpose. What

"Well," repeated Midwinter, "something would have happened at the first step to stop me, that's all. Come

At the last turn in the path Allan's cigar went out. While he stopped to light it again, Midwinter walked on

Allan had just kindled the match, when, to his surprise, his friend came back to him round the turn in the

path. There was light enough to show objects more clearly in this part of the plantation. The match, as

"Good God!" he cried, starting back, "you look as you looked on board the Wreck!"

Midwinter held up his band for silence. He spoke with his wild eyes riveted on Allan's face, with his white

"You remember how I looked," he answered, in a whisper. "Do you remember what I said when you and the

As he made that answer, Midwinter took his hand, and led him round the last turn in the path.

The sun was sinking in the cloudless westward heaven. The waters of the Mere lay beneath, tinged red by the

dying light. The open country stretched away, darkening drearily already on the right hand and the left. And

on the near margin of the pool, where all had been solitude before, there now stood, fronting the sunset, the

The two Armadales stood together in silence, and looked at the lonely figure and the dreary view.

He opened the narrative of the Dream, and held it under Allan's eyes. His finger pointed to the lines which

recorded the first Vision; his voice, sinking lower and lower, repeated the words:

"The darkness opened, and showed me the visionas in a picture of a broad, lonely pool, surrounded by

open ground. Above the further margin of the pool I saw the cloudless western sky, red with the light of

He ceased, and let the hand which held the manuscript drop to his side. The other hand pointed to the lonely

"There," he said, "stands the living Woman, in the Shadow's place! There speaks the first of the dream

warnings to you and to me! Let the future time find us still together, and the second figure that stands in the

Even Allan was silenced by the terrible certainty of conviction with which he spoke.

In the pause that followed, the figure at the pool moved, and walked slowly away round the margin of the

shore. Allan stepped out beyond the last of the trees, and gained a wider view of the open ground. The first

He turned back to Midwinter with a laugh of relief. "What nonsense have you been talking!" he said. "And

Midwinter made no reply. Allan took him by the arm, and tried to lead him on. He released himself suddenly,

and seized Allan with both hands, holding him back from the figure at the pool, as he had held him back from

the cabin door on the deck of the timber ship. Once again the effort was in vain. Once again Allan broke

He had only advanced a few steps toward the Mere, when he heard, or thought he heard, a voice faintly

calling after him, once and once only, the word Farewell. He stopped, with a feeling of uneasy surprise, and

There was no answer. After hesitating a moment more, Allan returned to the plantation. Midwinter was gone.

He looked back at the pool, doubtful in the new emergency what to do next. The lonely figure had altered its

course in the interval; it had turned, and was advancing toward the trees. Allan had been evidently either

heard or seen. It was impossible to leave a woman unbefriended, in that helpless position and in that solitary

As he came within sight of her face, he stopped in ungovernable astonishment. The sudden revelation of her

beauty, as she smiled and looked at him inquiringly, suspended the movement in his limbs and the words on

He roused himself, and, advancing a few paces, mentioned his name. "May I ask," he added, "if I have the

The lady met him easily and gracefully halfway. "Major Milroy's governess," she said. "Miss Gwilt."

ALL was quiet at Thorpe Ambrose. The hall was solitary, the rooms were dark. The servants, waiting for the

supper hour in the garden at the back of the house, looked up at the clear heaven and the rising moon, and

agreed that there was little prospect of the return of the picnic party until later in the night. The general

opinion, led by the high authority of the cook, predicted that they might all sit down to supper without the

least fear of being disturbed by the bell. Having arrived at this conclusion, the servants assembled round the

The footman, wondering, went up stairs to open the door, and found to his astonishment Midwinter waiting

alone on the threshold, and looking (in the servant's opinion) miserably ill. He asked for a light, and, saying

he wanted nothing else, withdrew at once to his room. The footman went back to his fellowservants, and

On entering his room, Midwinter closed the door, and hurriedly filled a bag with the necessaries for traveling.

This done, he took from a locked drawer, and placed in the breast pocket of his coat, some little presents

which Allan had given hima cigar case, a purse, and a set of studs in plain gold. Having possessed himself

of these memorials, he snatched up the bag and laid his hand on the door. There, for the first time, he paused.

There, the headlong haste of all his actions thus far suddenly ceased, and the hard despair in his face began to

Up to that moment he had been conscious of but one motive that animated him, but one purpose that he was

resolute to achieve. "For Allan's sake!" he had said to himself, when he looked back toward the fatal

landscape and saw his friend leaving him to meet the woman at the pool. "For Allan's sake!" he had said

again, when he crossed the open country beyond the wood, and saw afar, in the gray twilight, the long line of

embankment and the distant glimmer of the railway lamps beckoning him away already to the iron road.

It was only when he now paused before he closed the door behind himit was only when his own impetuous

rapidity of action came for the first time to a check, that the nobler nature of the man rose in protest against

the superstitious despair which was hurrying him from all that he held dear. His conviction of the terrible

necessity of leaving Allan for Allan's good had not been shaken for an instant since he had seen the first

Vision of the Dream realized on the shores of the Mere. But now, for the first time, his own heart rose against

him in unanswerable rebuke. "Go, if you must and will! but remember the time when you were ill, and he sat

by your bedside; friendless, and he opened his heart to youand write, if you fear to speak; write and ask

The halfopened door closed again softly. Midwinter sat down at the writingtable and took up the pen.

He tried again and again, and yet again, to write the farewell words; he tried, till the floor all round him was

littered with torn sheets of paper. Turn from them which way he would, the old times still came back and

faced him reproachfully. The spacious bedchamber in which he sat, narrowed, in spite of him, to the sick

usher's garret at the westcountry inn. The kind hand that had once patted him on the shoulder touched him

again; the kind voice that had cheered him spoke unchangeably in the old friendly tones. He flung his arms

on the table and dropped his head on them in tearless despair. The parting words that his tongue was

powerless to utter his pen was powerless to write. Mercilessly in earnest, his superstition pointed to him to go

while the time was his own. Mercilessly in earnest, his love for Allan held him back till the farewell plea for

He rose with a sudden resolution, and rang for the servant, "When Mr. Armadale returns," he said, "ask him

to excuse my coming downstairs, and say that I am trying to get to sleep." He locked the door and put out the

light, and sat down alone in the darkness. "The night will keep us apart," he said; "and time may help me to

write. I may go in the early morning; I may go while" The thought died in him uncompleted; and the sharp

agony of the struggle forced to his lips the first cry of suffering that had escaped him yet.

As the time stole on, his senses remained mechanically awake, but his mind began to sink slowly under the

heavy strain that had now been laid on it for some hours past. A dull vacancy possessed him; he made no

attempt to kindle the light and write once more. He never started; he never moved to the open window, when

the first sound of approaching wheels broke in on the silence of the night. He heard the carriages draw up at

the door; he heard the horses champing their bits; he heard the voices of Allan and young Pedgift on the

steps; and still he sat quiet in the darkness, and still no interest was aroused in him by the sounds that reached

The voices remained audible after the carriages had been driven away; the two young men were evidently

lingering on the steps before they took leave of each other. Every word they said reached Midwinter through

the open window. Their one subject of conversation was the new governess. Allan's voice was loud in her

praise. He had never passed such an hour of delight in his life as the hour he had spent with Miss Gwilt in the

boat, on the way from Hurle Mere to the picnic party waiting at the other Broad. Agreeing, on his side, with

all that his client said in praise of the charming stranger, young Pedgift appeared to treat the subject, when it

fell into his hands, from a different point of view. Miss Gwilt's attractions had not so entirely absorbed his

attention as to prevent him from noticing the impression which the new governess had produced on her

"There's a screw loose somewhere, sir, in Major Milroy's family," said the voice of young Pedgift. "Did you

notice how the major and his daughter looked when Miss Gwilt made her excuses for being late at the Mere?

"Miss Gwilt reached the cottage this afternoon, sir, at the time when I told you she would reach it, and she

would have joined us at the time I told you she would come, but for Mrs. Milroy. Mrs. Milroy sent for her

upstairs as soon as she entered the house, and kept her upstairs a good halfhour and more. That was Miss

"You seem to forget, sir, what the whole neighborhood has heard about Mrs. Milroy ever since the major first

settled among us. We have all been told, on the doctor's own authority, that she is too great a sufferer to see

strangers. Isn't it a little odd that she should have suddenly turned out well enough to see Miss Gwilt (in her

"Not a bit of it! Of course she was anxious to make acquaintance with her daughter's governess."

"Likely enough, Mr. Armadale. But the major and Miss Neelie don't see it in that light, at any rate. I had my

eye on them both when the governess told them that Mrs. Milroy had sent for her. If ever I saw a girl look

thoroughly frightened, Miss Milroy was that girl; and (if I may be allowed, in the strictest confidence, to libel

a gallant soldier) I should say that the major himself was much in the same condition. Take my word for it,

sir, there's something wrong upstairs in that pretty cottage of yours; and Miss Gwilt is mixed up in it

There was a minute of silence. When the voices were next heard by Midwinter, they were further away from

the houseAllan was probably accompanying young Pedgift a few steps on his way back.

After a while, Allan's voice was audible once more under the portico, making inquiries after his friend;

answered by the servant's voice giving Midwinter's message. This brief interruption over, the silence was not

broken again till the time came for shutting up the house. The servants' footsteps passing to and fro, the clang

of closing doors, the barking of a disturbed dog in the stableyardthese sounds warned Midwinter it was

getting late. He rose mechanically to kindle a light. But his head was giddy, his hand trembled; he laid aside

the matchbox, and returned to his chair. The conversation between Allan and young Pedgift had ceased to

occupy his attention the instant he ceased to hear it; and now again, the sense that the precious time was

failing him became a lost sense as soon as the house noises which had awakened it had passed away. His

energies of body and mind were both alike worn out; he waited with a stolid resignation for the trouble that

An interval passed, and the silence was once more disturbed by voices outside; the voices of a man and a

woman this time. The first few words exchanged between them indicated plainly enough a meeting of the

clandestine kind; and revealed the man as one of the servants at Thorpe Ambrose, and the woman as one of

Here again, after the first greetings were over, the subject of the new governess became the allabsorbing

The major's servant was brimful of forebodings (inspired solely by Miss Gwilt's good looks) which she

poured out irrepressibly on her "sweetheart," try as he might to divert her to other topics. Sooner or later, let

him mark her words, there would be an awful "upset" at the cottage. Her master, it might be mentioned in

confidence, led a dreadful life with her mistress. The major was the best of men; he hadn't a thought in his

heart beyond his daughter and his everlasting clock. But only let a nicelooking woman come near the place,

and Mrs. Milroy was jealous of herraging jealous, like a woman possessed, on that miserable sickbed of

hers. If Miss Gwilt (who was certainly goodlooking, in spite of her hideous hair) didn't blow the fire into a

flame before many days more were over their heads, the mistress was the mistress no longer, but somebody

else. Whatever happened, the fault, this time, would lie at the door of the major's mother. The old lady and

the mistress had had a dreadful quarrel two years since; and the old lady had gone away in a fury, telling her

son, before all the servants, that, if he had a spark of spirit in him, he would never submit to his wife's temper

as he did. It would be too much, perhaps, to accuse the major's mother of purposely picking out a handsome

governess to spite the major's wife. But it might be safely said that the old lady was the last person in the

world to humor the mistress's jealousy, by declining to engage a capable and respectable governess for her

granddaughter because that governess happened to be blessed with good looks. How it was all to end (except

that it was certain to end badly) no human creature could say. Things were looking as black already as things

well could. Miss Neelie was crying, after the day's pleasure (which was one bad sign); the mistress had found

fault with nobody (which was another); the master had wished her goodnight through the door (which was a

third); and the governess had locked herself up in her room (which was the worst sign of all, for it looked as

if she distrusted the servants). Thus the stream of the woman's gossip ran on, and thus it reached Midwinter's

ears through the window, till the clock in the stableyard struck, and stopped the talking. When the last

vibrations of the bell had died away, the voices were not audible again, and the silence was broken no more.

Another interval passed, and Midwinter made a new effort to rouse himself. This time he kindled the light

He wrote at the first trial with a sudden facility of expression, which, surprising him as he went on, ended in

rousing in him some vague suspicion of himself. He left the table, and bathed his head and face in water, and

came back to read what he had written. The language was barely intelligible; sentences were left unfinished;

words were misplaced one for the other. Every line recorded the protest of the weary brain against the

merciless will that had forced it into action. Midwinter tore up the sheet of paper as he had torn up the other

sheets before it, and, sinking under the struggle at last, laid his weary head on the pillow. Almost on the

instant, exhaustion overcame him, and before he could put the light out he fell asleep.

He was roused by a noise at the door. The sunlight was pouring into the room, the candle had burned down

into the socket, and the servant was waiting outside with a letter which had come for him by the morning's

"I ventured to disturb you, sir," said the man, when Midwinter opened the door, "because the letter is marked

Midwinter thanked him, and looked at the letter. It was of some consequencethe handwriting was Mr.

He paused to collect his faculties. The torn sheets of paper on the floor recalled to him in a moment the

position in which he stood. He locked the door again, in the fear that Allan might rise earlier than usual and

come in to make inquiries. Thenfeeling strangely little interest in anything that the rector could write to

"MY DEAR MIDWINTERIt is sometimes best to tell bad news plainly, in few words. Let me tell mine at

once, in one sentence. My precautions have all been defeated: the woman has escaped me.

"This misfortunefor it is nothing lesshappened yesterday (Monday). Between eleven and twelve in the

forenoon of that day, the business which originally brought me to London obliged me to go to Doctors'

Commons, and to leave my servant Robert to watch the house opposite our lodging until my return. About an

hour and a half after my departure he observed an empty cab drawn up at the door of the house. Boxes and

bags made their appearance first; they were followed by the woman herself, in the dress I had first seen her

in. Having previously secured a cab, Robert traced her to the terminus of the NorthWestern Railway, saw

her pass through the ticket office, kept her in view till she reached the platform, and there, in the crowd and

confusion caused by the starting of a large mixed train, lost her. I must do him the justice to say that he at

once took the right course in this emergency. Instead of wasting time in searching for her on the platform, he

looked along the line of carriages; and he positively declares that he failed to see her in any one of them. He

admits, at the same time, that his search (conducted between two o'clock, when he lost sight of her, and ten

minutes past, when the train started) was, in the confusion of the moment, necessarily an imperfect one. But

this latter circumstance, in my opinion, matters little. I as firmly disbelieve in the woman's actual departure

by that train as if I had searched every one of the carriages myself; and you, I have no doubt, will entirely

"You now know how the disaster happened. Let us not waste time and words in lamenting it. The evil is

"What I have accomplished already, on my side, may be told in two words. Any hesitation I might have

previously felt at trusting this delicate business in strangers' hands was at an end the moment I heard Robert's

news. I went back at once to the city, and placed the whole matter confidentially before my lawyers. The

conference was a long one, and when I left the office it was past the post hour, or I should have written to you

on Monday instead of writing today. My interview with the lawyers was not very encouraging. They warn me

plainly that serious difficulties stand in the way of our recovering the lost trace. But they have promised to do

their best, and we have decided on the course to be taken, excepting one point on which we totally differ. I

must tell you what this difference is; for, while business keeps me away from Thorpe Ambrose, you are the

"The lawyers are of opinion, then, that the woman has been aware from the first that I was watching her; that

there is, consequently, no present hope of her being rash enough to appear personally at Thorpe Ambrose;

that any mischief she may have it in contemplation to do will be done in the first instance by deputy; and that

the only wise course for Allan's friends and guardians to take is to wait passively till events enlighten them.

My own idea is diametrically opposed to this. After what has happened at the railway, I cannot deny that the

woman must have discovered that I was watching her. But she has no reason to suppose that she has not

succeeded in deceiving me; and I firmly believe she is bold enough to take us by surprise, and to win or force

"You and you only (while I am detained in London) can decide whether I am right or wrongand you can

do it in this way. Ascertain at once whether any woman who is a stranger in the neighborhood has appeared

since Monday last at or near Thorpe Ambrose. If any such person has been observed (and nobody escapes

observation in the country), take the first opportunity you can get of seeing her, and ask yourself if her face

does or does not answer certain plain questions which I am now about to write down for you. You may

depend on my accuracy. I saw the woman unveiled on more than one occasion, and the last time through an

"1. Is her hair light brown, and (apparently) not very plentiful? 2. Is her forehead high, narrow, and sloping

backward from the brow? 3. Are her eyebrows very faintly marked, and are her eyes small, and nearer dark

than lighteither gray or hazel (I have not seen her close enough to be certain which)? 4. Is her nose

aquiline? 5 Are her lips thin, and is the upper lip long? 6. Does her complexion look like an originally fair

complexion, which has deteriorated into a dull, sickly paleness? 7 (and lastly). Has she a retreating chin, and

is there on the left side of it a mark of some kinda mole or a scar, I can't say which?

"I add nothing about her expression, for you may see her under circumstances which may partially alter it as

seen by me. Test her by her features, which no circumstances can change. If there is a stranger in the

neighborhood, and if her face answers my seven questions, you have found the woman! Go instantly, in that

case, to the nearest lawyer, and pledge my name and credit for whatever expenses may be incurred in keeping

her under inspection night and day. Having done this, take the speediest means of communicating with me;

and whether my business is finished or not, I will start for Norfolk by the first train.

Hardened by the fatalist conviction that now possessed him, Midwinter read the rector's confession of defeat,

from the first line to the last, without the slightest betrayal either of interest or surprise. The one part of the

letter at which he looked back was the closing part of it. "I owe much to Mr. Brock's kindness," he thought;

"and I shall never see Mr. Brock again. It is useless and hopeless; but he asks me to do it, and it shall be done.

A moment's look at her will be enougha moment's look at her with his letter in my handand a line to tell

Again he stood hesitating at the halfopened door; again the cruel necessity of writing his farewell to Allan

He looked aside doubtingly at the rector's letter. "I will write the two together," he said. "One may help the

other." His face flushed deep as the words escaped him. He was conscious of doing what he had not done

yetof voluntarily putting off the evil hour; of making Mr. Brock the pretext for gaining the last respite left,

The only sound that reached him through the open door was the sound of Allan stirring noisily in the next

room. He stepped at once into the empty corridor, and meeting no one on the stairs, made his way out of the

house. The dread that his resolution to leave Allan might fail him if he saw Allan again was as vividly present

to his mind in the morning as it had been all through the night. He drew a deep breath of relief as he

descended the house stepsrelief at having escaped the friendly greeting of the morning, from the one

He entered the shrubbery with Mr. Brock's letter in his hand, and took the nearest way that led to the major's

cottage. Not the slightest recollection was in his mind of the talk which had found its way to his ears during

the night. His one reason for determining to see the woman was the reason which the rector had put in his

mind. The one remembrance that now guided him to the place in which she lived was the remembrance of

Allan's exclamation when he first identified the governess with the figure at the pool.

Arrived at the gate of the cottage, he stopped. The thought struck him that he might defeat his own object if

he looked at the rector's questions in the woman's presence. Her suspicions would be probably roused, in the

first instance, by his asking to see her (as he had determined to ask, with or without an excuse), and the

She might defeat him by instantly leaving the room. Determined to fix the description in his mind first, and

then to confront her, he opened the letter; and, turning away slowly by the side of the house, read the seven

questions which he felt absolutely assured beforehand the woman's face would answer.

In the morning quiet of the park slight noises traveled far. A slight noise disturbed Midwinter over the letter.

He looked up and found himself on the brink of a broad grassy trench, having the park on one side and the

high laurel hedge of an inclosure on the other. The inclosure evidently surrounded the back garden of the

cottage, and the trench was intended to protect it from being damaged by the cattle grazing in the park.

Listening carefully as the slight sound which had disturbed him grew fainter, he recognized in it the rustling

of women's dresses. A few paces ahead, the trench was crossed by a bridge (closed by a wicket gate) which

connected the garden with the park. He passed through the gate, crossed the bridge, and, opening a door at the

other end, found himself in a summerhouse thickly covered with creepers, and commanding a full view of

He looked, and saw the figures of two ladies walking slowly away from him toward the cottage. The shorter

of the two failed to occupy his attention for an instant; he never stopped to think whether she was or was not

the major's daughter. His eyes were riveted on the other figurethe figure that moved over the garden walk

with the long, lightly falling dress and the easy, seductive grace. There, presented exactly as be had seen her

once alreadythere, with her back again turned on him, was the Woman at the pool!

There was a chance that they might take another turn in the gardena turn back toward the summerhouse.

On that chance Midwinter waited. No consciousness of the intrusion that he was committing had stopped him

at the door of the summerhouse, and no consciousness of it troubled him even now. Every finer sensibility

in his nature, sinking under the cruel laceration of the past night, had ceased to feel. The dogged resolution to

do what he had come to do was the one animating influence left alive in him. He acted, he even looked, as the

most stolid man living might have acted and looked in his place. He was selfpossessed enough, in the

interval of expectation before governess and pupil reached the end of the walk, to open Mr. Brock's letter,

and to fortify his memory by a last look at the paragraph which described her face.

He was still absorbed over the description when he heard the smooth rustle of the dresses traveling toward

him again. Standing in the shadow of the summerhouse, he waited while she lessened the distance between

them. With her written portrait vividly impressed on his mind, and with the clear light of the morning to help

him, his eyes questioned her as she came on; and these were the answers that her face gave him back.

The hair in the rector's description was light brown and not plentiful. This woman's hair, superbly luxuriant in

its growth, was of the one unpardonably remarkable shade of color which the prejudice of the Northern

nations never entirely forgivesit was red! The forehead in the rector's description was high, narrow, and

sloping backward from the brow; the eyebrows were faintly marked; and the eyes small, and in color either

gray or hazel. This woman's forehead was low, upright, and broad toward the temples; her eyebrows, at once

strongly and delicately marked, were a shade darker than her hair; her eyes, large, bright, and well opened,

were of that purely blue color, without a tinge in it of gray or green, so often presented to our admiration in

pictures and books, so rarely met with in the living face. The nose in the rector's description was aquiline.

The line of this woman's nose bent neither outward nor inward: it was the straight, delicately molded nose

(with the short upper lip beneath) of the ancient statues and busts. The lips in the rector's description were

thin and the upper lip long; the complexion was of a dull, sickly paleness; the chin retreating and the mark of

a mole or a scar on the left side of it. This woman's lips were full, rich, and sensual. Her complexion was the

lovely complexion which accompanies such hair as hersso delicately bright in its rosier tints, so warmly

and softly white in its gentler gradations of color on the forehead and the neck. Her chin, round and dimpled,

was pure of the slightest blemish in every part of it, and perfectly in line with her forehead to the end. Nearer

and nearer, and fairer and fairer she came, in the glow of the morning lightthe most startling, the most

unanswerable contradiction that eye could see or mind conceive to the description in the rector's letter.

Both governess and pupil were close to the summerhouse before they looked that way, and noticed

"A friend of yours, Miss Milroy?" she asked, quietly, without starting or betraying any sign of surprise.

Neelie recognized him instantly. Prejudiced against Midwinter by his conduct when his friend had introduced

him at the cottage, she now fairly detested him as the unlucky first cause of her misunderstanding with Allan

at the picnic. Her face flushed and she drew back from the summerhouse with an expression of merciless

"He is a friend of Mr. Armadale's," she replied sharply. "I don't know what he wants, or why he is here."

"A friend of Mr. Armadale's!" The governess's face lighted up with a suddenly roused interest as she repeated

the words, She returned Midwinter's look, still steadily fixed on her, with equal steadiness on her side.

"For my part," pursued Neelie, resenting Midwinter's insensibility to her presence on the scene, "I think it a

"My dear Miss Milroy," she remonstrated, "there are certain distinctions to be observed. This gentleman is a

friend of Mr. Armadale's. You could hardly express yourself more strongly if he was a perfect stranger."

"I express my opinion," retorted Neelie, chafing under the satirically indulgent tone in which the governess

addressed her. "It's a matter of taste, Miss Gwilt; and tastes differ." She turned away petulantly, and walked

"She is very young," said Miss Gwilt, appealing with a smile to Midwinter's forbearance; "and, as you must

see for yourself, sir, she is a spoiled child." She pausedshowed, for an instant only, her surprise at

Midwinter's strange silence and strange persistency in keeping his eyes still fixed on herthen set herself,

with a charming grace and readiness, to help him out of the false position in which he stood. "As you have

extended your walk thus far," she resumed, "perhaps you will kindly favor me, on your return, by taking a

message to your friend? Mr. Armadale has been so good as to invite me to see the Thorpe Ambrose gardens

this morning. Will you say that Major Milroy permits me to accept the invitation (in company with Miss

Milroy) between ten and eleven o'clock?" For a moment her eyes rested, with a renewed look of interest, on

Midwinter's face. She waited, still in vain, for an answering word from himsmiled, as if his extraordinary

silence amused rather than angered herand followed her pupil back to the cottage.

It was only when the last trace of her had disappeared that Midwinter roused himself, and attempted to realize

the position in which he stood. The revelation of her beauty was in no respect answerable for the breathless

astonishment which had held him spellbound up to this moment. The one clear impression she had produced

on him thus far began and ended with his discovery of the astounding contradiction that her face offered, in

one feature after another, to the description in Mr. Brock's letter. All beyond this was vague and mistya

dim consciousness of a tall, elegant woman, and of kind words, modestly and gracefully spoken to him, and

He advanced a few steps into the garden without knowing why stopped, glancing hither and thither like a

man lostrecognized the summerhouse by an effort, as if years had elapsed since he had seen itand

made his way out again, at last, into the park. Even here, he wandered first in one direction, then in another.

His mind was still reeling under the shock that had fallen on it; his perceptions were all confused. Something

kept him mechanically in action, walking eagerly without a motive, walking he knew not where.

A far less sensitively organized man might have been overwhelmed, as he was overwhelmed now, by the

immense, the instantaneous revulsion of feeling which the event of the last few minutes had wrought in his

At the memorable instant when he had opened the door of the summerhouse, no confusing influence

troubled his faculties. In all that related to his position toward his friend, he had reached an absolutely

definite conclusion by an absolutely definite process of thought. The whole strength of the motive which had

driven him into the resolution to part from Allan rooted itself in the belief that he had seen at Hurle Mere the

fatal fulfillment of the first Vision of the Dream. And this belief, in its turn, rested, necessarily, on the

conviction that the woman who was the one survivor of the tragedy in Madeira must be also inevitably the

woman whom he had seen standing in the Shadow's place at the pool. Firm in that persuasion, he had himself

compared the object of his distrust and of the rector's distrust with the description written by the rector

himselfa description, carefully minute, by a man entirely trustworthyand his own eyes had informed

him that the woman whom he had seen at the Mere, and the woman whom Mr. Brock had identified in

London, were not one, but Two. In the place of the Dream Shadow, there had stood, on the evidence of the

No such doubts as might have troubled a less superstitious man, were started in his mind by the discovery

It never occurred to him to ask himself whether a stranger might not be the appointed instrument of the

Fatality, now when the letter had persuaded him that a stranger had been revealed as the figure in the dream

landscape. No such idea entered or could enter his mind. The one woman whom his superstition dreaded was

the woman who had entwined herself with the lives of the two Armadales in the first generation, and with the

fortunes of the two Armadales in the secondwho was at once the marked object of his father's deathbed

warning, and the first cause of the family calamities which had opened Allan's way to the Thorpe Ambrose

estatethe woman, in a word, whom he would have known instinctively, but for Mr. Brock's letter, to be the

Looking at events as they had just happened, under the influence of the misapprehension into which the

rector had innocently misled him, his mind saw and seized its new conclusion instantaneously, acting

precisely as it had acted in the past time of his interview with Mr. Brock at the Isle of Man.

Exactly as he had once declared it to be an allsufficient refutation of the idea of the Fatality, that he had

never met with the timbership in any of his voyages at sea, so he now seized on the similarly derived

conclusion, that the whole claim of the Dream to a supernatural origin stood selfrefuted by the disclosure of

a stranger in the Shadow's place. Once started from this pointonce encouraged to let his love for Allan

influence him undividedly again, his mind hurried along the whole resulting chain of thought at lightning

speed. If the Dream was proved to be no longer a warning from the other world, it followed inevitably that

accident and not fate had led the way to the night on the Wreck, and that all the events which had happened

since Allan and he had parted from Mr. Brock were events in themselves harmless, which his superstition had

distorted from their proper shape. In less than a moment his mobile imagination had taken him back to the

morning at Castletown when he had revealed to the rector the secret of his name; when he had declared to the

rector, with his father's letter before his eyes, the better faith that was in him. Now once more he felt his heart

holding firmly by the bond of brotherhood between Allan and himself; now once more he could say with the

eager sincerity of the old time, "If the thought of leaving him breaks my heart, the thought of leaving him is

wrong!" As that nobler conviction possessed itself again of his mindquieting the tumult, clearing the

confusion within himthe house at Thorpe Ambrose, with Allan on the steps, waiting, looking for him,

opened on his eyes through the trees. A sense of illimitable relief lifted his eager spirit high above the cares,

and doubts, and fears that had oppressed it so long, and showed him once more the better and brighter future

of his early dreams. His eyes filled with tears, and he pressed the rector's letter, in his wild, passionate way, to

his lips, as he looked at Allan through the vista of the trees. "But for this morsel of paper," he thought, "my

life might have been one long sorrow to me, and my father's crime might have parted us forever!"

Such was the result of the stratagem which had shown the housemaid's face to Mr. Brock as the face of Miss

Gwilt. And soby shaking Midwinter's trust in his own superstition, in the one case in which that

superstition pointed to the truthdid Mother Oldershaw's cunning triumph over difficulties and dangers

"MY DEAR MIDWINTERNo words can tell what a relief it was to me to get your letter this morning, and

what a happiness I honestly feel in having been thus far proved to be in the wrong. The precautions you have

taken in case the woman should still confirm my apprehensions by venturing herself at Thorpe Ambrose

seem to me to be all that can be desired. You are no doubt sure to hear of her from one or other of the people

in the lawyer's office, whom you have asked to inform you of the appearance of a stranger in the town.

"I am the more pleased at finding how entirely I can trust you in this matter; for I am likely to be obliged to

leave Allan's interests longer than I supposed solely in your hands. My visit to Thorpe Ambrose must, I regret

to say, be deferred for two months. The only one of my brotherclergymen in London who is able to take my

duty for me cannot make it convenient to remove with his family to Somersetshire before that time. I have no

alternative but to finish my business here, and be back at my rectory on Saturday next. If anything happens,

you will, of course, instantly communicate with me; and, in that case, be the inconvenience what it may, I

must leave home for Thorpe Ambrose. If, on the other hand, all goes more smoothly than my own obstinate

apprehensions will allow me to suppose, then Allan (to whom I have written) must not expect to see me till

"No result has, up to this time, rewarded our exertions to recover the trace lost at the railway. I will keep my

letter open, however, until post time, in case the next few hours bring any news.

"P. S.I have just heard from the lawyers. They have found out the name the woman passed by in London.

If this discovery (not a very important one, I am afraid) suggests any new course of proceeding to you, pray

"If you will promise not to be alarmed, Mamma Oldershaw, I will begin this letter in a very odd way, by

copying a page of a letter written by somebody else. You have an excellent memory, and you may not have

forgotten that I received a note from Major Milroy's mother (after she had engaged me as governess) on

Monday last. It was dated and signed; and here it is, as far as the first page: 'June 23d, 1851. Dear

MadamPray excuse my troubling you, before you go to Thorpe Ambrose, with a word more about the

habits observed in my son's household. When I had the pleasure of seeing you at two o'clock today, in

Kingsdown Crescent, I had another appointment in a distant part of London at three; and, in the hurry of the

moment, one or two little matters escaped me which I think I ought to impress on your attention.' The rest of

the letter is not of the slightest importance, but the lines that I have just copied are well worthy of all the

attention you can bestow on them. They have saved me from discovery, my dear, before I have been a week

"It happened no later than yesterday evening, and it began and ended in this manner:

"There is a gentleman here, (of whom I shall have more to say presently) who is an intimate friend of young

Armadale's, and who bears the strange name of Midwinter. He contrived yesterday to speak to me alone in

the park. Almost as soon as he opened his lips, I found that my name had been discovered in London (no

doubt by the Somersetshire clergyman); and that Mr. Midwinter had been chosen (evidently by the same

person) to identify the Miss Gwilt who had vanished from Brompton with the Miss Gwilt who had appeared

at Thorpe Ambrose. You foresaw this danger, I remember; but you could scarcely have imagined that the

"I spare you the details of our conversation to come to the end. Mr. Midwinter put the matter very delicately,

declaring, to my great surprise, that he felt quite certain himself that I was not the Miss Gwilt of whom his

friend was in search; and that he only acted as he did out of regard to the anxiety of a person whose wishes he

was bound to respect. Would I assist him in setting that anxiety completely at rest, as far as I was concerned,

by kindly answering one plain questionwhich he had no other right to ask me than the right my indulgence

might give him? The lost 'Miss Gwilt' had been missed on Monday last, at two o'clock, in the crowd on the

platform of the Northwestern Railway, in Euston Square. Would I authorize him to say that on that day, and

at that hour, the Miss Gwilt who was Major Milroy's governess had never been near the place?

"I need hardly tell you that I seized the fine opportunity he had given me of disarming all future suspicion. I

took a high tone on the spot, and met him with the old lady's letter. He politely refused to look at it. I insisted

on his looking at it. 'I don't choose to be mistaken,' I said, 'for a woman who may be a bad character, because

she happens to bear, or to have assumed, the same name as mine. I insist on your reading the first part of this

letter for my satisfaction, if not for your own.' He was obliged to comply; and there was the proof, in the old

lady's handwriting, that, at two o'clock on Monday last, she and I were together in Kingsdown Crescent,

which any directory would tell him is a 'crescent' in Bayswater! I leave you to imagine his apologies, and the

"I might, of course, if I had not preserved the letter, have referred him to you, or to the major's mother, with

similar results. As it is, the object has been gained without trouble or delay. I have been proved not to be

myself; and one of the many dangers that threatened me at Thorpe Ambrose is a danger blown over from this

moment. Your housemaid's face may not be a very handsome one; but there is no denying that it has done

"So much for the past; now for the future. You shall hear how I get on with the people about me; and you

shall judge for yourself what the chances are for and against my becoming mistress of Thorpe Ambrose.

"Let me begin with young Armadalebecause it is beginning with good news. I have produced the right

impression on him already, and Heaven knows that is nothing to boast of! Any moderately goodlooking

woman who chose to take the trouble could make him fall in love with her. He is a rattlepated young

foolone of those noisy, rosy, lighthaired, goodtempered men whom I particularly detest. I had a whole

hour alone with him in a boat, the first day I came here, and I have made good use of my time, I can tell you,

from that day to this. The only difficulty with him is the difficulty of concealing my own feelings, especially

when he turns my dislike of him into downright hatred by sometimes reminding me of his mother. I really

never saw a man whom I could use so ill, if I had the opportunity. He will give me the opportunity, I believe,

if no accident happens, sooner than we calculated on. I have just returned from a party at the great house, in

celebration of the rentday dinner, and the squire's attentions to me, and my modest reluctance to receive

"My pupil, Miss Milroy, comes next. She, too, is rosy and foolish; and, what is more, awkward and squat and

freckled, and illtempered and illdressed. No fear of her, though she hates me like poison, which is a great

comfort, for I get rid of her out of lesson time and walking time. It is perfectly easy to see that she has made

the most of her opportunities with young Armadale (opportunities, bytheby, which we never calculated

on), and that she has been stupid enough to let him slip through her fingers. When I tell you that she is

obliged, for the sake of appearances, to go with her father and me to the little entertainments at Thorpe

Ambrose, and to see how young Armadale admires me, you will understand the kind of place I hold in her

affections. She would try me past all endurance if I didn't see that I aggravate her by keeping my temper, so,

of course, I keep it. If I do break out, it will be over our lessonsnot over our French, our grammar, history,

and globesbut over our music. No words can say how I feel for her poor piano. Half the musical girls in

England ought to have their fingers chopped off in the interests of society, and, if I had my way, Miss

"As for the major, I can hardly stand higher in his estimation than I stand already. I am always ready to make

his breakfast, and his daughter is not. I can always find things for him when he loses them, and his daughter

can't. I never yawn when he proses, and his daughter does. I like the poor dear harmless old gentleman, so I

"Well, here is a fair prospect for the future surely? My good Oldershaw, there never was a prospect yet

without an ugly place in it. My prospect has two ugly places in it. The name of one of them is Mrs. Milroy,

"Mrs. Milroy first. Before I had been five minutes in the cottage, on the day of my arrival, what do you think

she did? She sent downstairs and asked to see me. The message startled me a little, after hearing from the old

lady, in London, that her daughterinlaw was too great a sufferer to see anybody; but, of course, when I got

her message, I had no choice but to go up stairs to the sickroom. I found her bedridden with an incurable

spinal complaint, and a really horrible object to look at, but with all her wits about her; and, if I am not

greatly mistaken, as deceitful a woman, with as vile a temper, as you could find anywhere in all your long

experience. Her excessive politeness, and her keeping her own face in the shade of the bedcurtains while

she contrived to keep mine in the light, put me on my guard the moment I entered the room. We were more

than half an hour together, without my stepping into any one of the many clever little traps she laid for me.

The only mystery in her behavior, which I failed to see through at the time, was her perpetually asking me to

bring her things (things she evidently did not want) from different parts of the room.

"Since then events have enlightened me. My first suspicions were raised by overhearing some of the servants'

gossip; and I have been confirmed in my opinion by the conduct of Mrs. Milroy's nurse.

"On the few occasions when I have happened to be alone with the major, the nurse has also happened to want

something of her master, and has invariably forgotten to announce her appearance by knocking, at the door.

Do you understand now why Mrs. Milroy sent for me the moment I got into the house, and what she wanted

when she kept me going backward and forward, first for one thing and then for another? There is hardly an

attractive light in which my face and figure can be seen, in which that woman's jealous eyes have not studied

them already. I am no longer puzzled to know why the father and daughter started, and looked at each other,

when I was first presented to them; or why the servants still stare at me with a mischievous expectation in

their eyes when I ring the bell and ask them to do anything. It is useless to disguise the truth, Mother

Oldershaw, between you and me. When I went upstairs into that sickroom, I marched blindfold into the

clutches of a jealous woman. If Mrs. Milroy can turn me out of the house, Mrs. Milroy will; and, morning

and night, she has nothing else to do in that bed prison of hers but to find out the way.

"In this awkward position, my own cautious conduct is admirably seconded by the dear old major's perfect

insensibility. His wife's jealousy of him is as monstrous a delusion as any that could be found in a

madhouse; it is the growth of her own vile temper, under the aggravation of an incurable illness. The poor

man hasn't a thought beyond his mechanical pursuits; and I don't believe he knows at this moment whether I

am a handsome woman or not. With this chance to help me, I may hope to set the nurse's intrusions and the

mistress's contrivances at defiancefor a time, at any rate. But you know what a jealous woman is, and I

think I know what Mrs. Milroy is; and I own I shall breathe more freely on the day when young Armadale

opens his foolish lips to some purpose, and sets the major advertising for a new governess.

"Armadale's name reminds me of Armadale's friend. There is more danger threatening in that quarter; and,

what is worse, I don't feel half as well armed beforehand against Mr. Midwinter as I do against Mrs. Milroy.

"Everything about this man is more or less mysterious, which I don't like, to begin with. How does he come

to be in the confidence of the Somersetshire clergyman? How much has that clergyman told him? How is it

that he was so firmly persuaded, when he spoke to me in the park, that I was not the Miss Gwilt of whom his

friend was in search? I haven't the ghost of an answer to give to any of those three questions. I can't even

discover who he is, or how he and young Armadale first became acquainted. I hate him. No, I don't; I only

want to find out about him. He is very young, little and lean, and active and dark, with bright black eyes

which say to me plainly, 'We belong to a man with brains in his head and a will of his own; a man who hasn't

always been hanging about a country house, in attendance on a fool.' Yes; I am positively certain Mr.

Midwinter has done something or suffered something in his past life, young as he is; and I would give I don't

know what to get at it. Don't resent my taking up so much space in my writing about him. He has influence

enough over young Armadale to be a very awkward obstacle in my way, unless I can secure his good opinion

"Well, you may ask, and what is to prevent your securing his good opinion? I am sadly afraid, Mother

Oldershaw, I have got it on terms I never bargained for I am sadly afraid the man is in love with me already.

"Don't toss your head and say, 'Just like her vanity!' After the horrors I have gone through, I have no vanity

left; and a man who admires me is a man who makes me shudder. There was a time, I ownPooh! what am I

writing? Sentiment, I declare! Sentiment to you! Laugh away, my dear. As for me, I neither laugh nor cry; I

"The only thing worth inquiring is, whether I am right or wrong in my idea of the impression I have made on

"Let me see; I have been four times in his company. The first time was in the major's garden, where we met

unexpectedly, face to face. He stood looking at me, like a man petrified, without speaking a word. The effect

of my horrid red hair, perhaps? Quite likely; let us lay it on my hair. The second time was in going over the

Thorpe Ambrose grounds, with young Armadale on one side of me, and my pupil (in the sulks) on the other.

Out comes Mr. Midwinter to join us, though he had work to do in the steward's office, which he had never

been known to neglect on any other occasion. Laziness, possibly? or an attachment to Miss Milroy? I can't

say; we will lay it on Miss Milroy, if you like; I only know he did nothing but look at me. The third time was

at the private interview in the park, which I have told you of already. I never saw a man so agitated at putting

a delicate question to a woman in my life. But that might have been only awkwardness; and his perpetually

looking back after me when we had parted might have been only looking back at the view. Lay it on the

view; by all means, lay it on the view! The fourth time was this very evening, at the little party. They made

me play; and, as the piano was a good one, I did my best. All the company crowded round me, and paid me

their compliments (my charming pupil paid hers, with a face like a cat's just before she spits), except Mr.

Midwinter. He waited till it was time to go, and then he caught me alone for a moment in the hall. There was

just time for him to take my hand, and say two words. Shall I tell you how he took my hand, and what his

voice sounded like when he spoke? Quite needless! You have always told me that the late Mr. Oldershaw

doted on you. Just recall the first time he took your hand, and whispered a word or two addressed to your

private ear. To what did you attribute his behavior that occasion? I have no doubt, if you had been playing on

the piano in the course of the evening, you would have attributed it entirely to the music!

"No! you may take my word for it, the harm is done. This man is no rattlepated fool, who changes his

fancies as readily as he changes his clothes. The fire that lights those big black eyes of his is not an easy fire,

when a woman has once kindled it, for that woman to put out. I don't wish to discourage you; I don't say the

changes are against us. But with Mrs. Milroy threatening me on one side, and Mr. Midwinter on the other, the

worst of all risks to run is the risk of losing time. Young Armadale has hinted already, as well as such a lout

can hint, at a private interview! Miss Milroy's eyes are sharp, and the nurse's eyes are sharper; and I shall lose

my place if either of them find me out. No matter! I must take my chance, and give him the interview. Only

let me get him alone, only let me escape the prying eyes of the women, andif his friend doesn't come

"In the meantime, have I anything more to tell you? Are there any other people in our way at Thorpe

Ambrose? Not another creature! None of the resident families call here, young Armadale being, most

fortunately, in bad odor in the neighborhood. There are no handsome highlybred women to come to the

house, and no persons of consequence to protest against his attentions to a governess. The only guests he

could collect at his party tonight were the lawyer and his family (a wife, a son, and two daughters), and a

deaf old woman and her sonall perfectly unimportant people, and all obedient humble servants of the

"Talking of obedient humble servants, there is one other person established here, who is employed in the

steward's officea miserable, shabby, dilapidated old man, named Bashwood. He is a perfect stranger to me,

and I am evidently a perfect stranger to him, for he has been asking the housemaid at the cottage who I am.

It is paying no great compliment to myself to confess it, but it is not the less true that I produced the most

extraordinary impression on this feeble old creature the first time he saw me. He turned all manner of colors,

and stood trembling and staring at me, as if there was something perfectly frightful in my face. I felt quite

startled for the moment, for, of all the ways in which men have looked at me, no man ever looked at me in

that way before. Did you ever see the boa constrictor fed at the Zoological Gardens? They put a live rabbit

into his cage, and there is a moment when the two creatures look at each other. I declare Mr. Bashwood

"Why do I mention this? I don't know why. Perhaps I have been writing too long, and my head is beginning

to fail me. Perhaps Mr. Bashwood's manner of admiring me strikes my fancy by its novelty. Absurd! I am

exciting myself, and troubling you about nothing. Oh, what a weary, long letter I have written! and how

brightly the stars look at me through the window, and how awfully quiet the night is! Send me some more of

those sleeping drops, and write me one of your nice, wicked, amusing letters. You shall hear from me again

as soon as I know a little better how it is all likely to end. Goodnight, and keep a corner in your stony old

"MY DEAR LYDIAI am in no state of mind to write you an amusing letter. Your news is very

discouraging, and the recklessness of your tone quite alarms me. Consider the money I have already

advanced, and the interests we both have at stake. Whatever else you are, don't be reckless, for Heaven's

"What can I do? I ask myself, as a woman of business, what can I do to help you? I can't give you advice, for

I am not on the spot, and I don't know how circumstances may alter from one day to another. Situated as we

are now, I can only be useful in one way. I can discover a new obstacle that threatens you, and I think I can

"You say, with great truth, that there never was a prospect yet without an ugly place in it, and that there are

two ugly places in your prospect. My dear, there may be three ugly places, if I don't bestir myself to prevent

it; and the name of the third place will beBrock! Is it possible you can refer, as you have done, to the

Somersetshire clergyman, and not see that the progress you make with young Armadale will be, sooner or

later, reported to him by young Armadale's friend? Why, now I think of it, you are doubly at the parson's

mercy! You are at the mercy of any fresh suspicion which may bring him into the neighborhood himself at a

day's notice; and you are at the mercy of his interference the moment he hears that the squire is committing

himself with a neighbor's governess. If I can do nothing else, I can keep this additional difficulty out of your

way. And oh, Lydia, with what alacrity I shall exert myself, after the manner in which the old wretch insulted

me when I told him that pitiable story in the street! I declare I tingle with pleasure at this new prospect of

"And how is it to be done? Just as we have done it already, to be sure. He has lost 'Miss Gwilt' (otherwise my

housemaid), hasn't he? Very well. He shall find her again, wherever he is now, suddenly settled within easy

reach of him. As long as she stops in the place, he will stop in it; and as we know he is not at Thorpe

Ambrose, there you are free of him! The old gentleman's suspicions have given us a great deal of trouble so

far. Let us turn them to some profitable account at last; let us tie him, by his suspicions, to my housemaid's

"The only help I need trouble you for is help you can easily give. Find out from Mr. Midwinter where the

parson is now, and let me know by return of post. If he is in London, I will personally assist my housemaid in

the necessary mystification of him. If he is anywhere else, I will send her after him, accompanied by a person

"You shall have the sleeping drops tomorrow. In the meantime, I say at the end what I said at the

beginningno recklessness. Don't encourage poetical feelings by looking at the stars; and don't talk about

the night being awfully quiet. There are people (in observatories) paid to look at the stars for you; leave it to

them. And as for the night, do what Providence intended you to do with the night when Providence provided

"MY DEAR MIDWINTEROne line before the post goes out, to relieve you of all sense of responsibility at

Thorpe Ambrose, and to make my apologies to the lady who lives as governess in Major Milroy's family.

"The Miss Gwiltor perhaps I ought to say, the woman calling herself by that namehas, to my

unspeakable astonishment, openly made her appearance here, in my own parish! She is staying at the inn,

accompanied by a plausiblelooking man, who passes as her brother. What this audacious proceeding really

meansunless it marks a new step in the conspiracy against Allan, taken under new adviceis, of course,

"My own idea is, that they have recognized the impossibility of getting at Allan, without finding me (or you)

as an obstacle in their way; and that they are going to make a virtue of necessity by boldly trying to open their

communications through me. The man looks capable of any stretch of audacity; and both he and the woman

had the impudence to bow when I met them in the village half an hour since. They have been making

inquiries already about Allan's mother here, where her exemplary life may set their closest scrutiny at

defiance. If they will only attempt to extort money, as the price of the woman's silence on the subject of poor

Mrs. Armadale's conduct in Madeira at the time of her marriage, they will find me well prepared for them

beforehand. I have written by this post to my lawyers to send a competent man to assist me, and he will stay

at the rectory, in any character which he thinks it safest to assume under present circumstances.

Nine days had passed, and the tenth day was nearly at an end, since Miss Gwilt and her pupil had taken their

The night was overcast. Since sunset, there had been signs in the sky from which the popular forecast had

predicted rain. The receptionrooms at the great house were all empty and dark. Allan was away, passing the

evening with the Milroys; and Midwinter was waiting his returnnot where Midwinter usually waited,

among the books in the library, but in the little back room which Allan's mother had inhabited in the last days

Nothing had been taken away, but much had been added to the room, since Midwinter had first seen it. The

books which Mrs. Armadale had left behind her, the furniture, the old matting on the floor, the old paper on

the walls, were all undisturbed. The statuette of Niobe still stood on its bracket, and the French window still

opened on the garden. But now, to the relics left by the mother, were added the personal possessions

belonging to the son. The wall, bare hitherto, was decorated with watercolor drawings Jwith a portrait of

Mrs. Armadale supported on one side by a view of the old house in Somersetshire, and on the other by a

picture of the yacht. Among the books which bore in faded ink Mrs. Armadale's inscriptions, "From my

father," were other books inscribed in the same handwriting, in brighter ink, "To my son." Hanging to the

wall, ranged on the chimneypiece, scattered over the table, were a host of little objects, some associated

with Allan's past life, others necessary to his daily pleasures and pursuits, and all plainly testifying that the

room which he habitually occupied at Thorpe Ambrose was the very room which had once recalled to

Midwinter the second vision of the dream. Here, strangely unmoved by the scene around him, so lately the

object of his superstitious distrust, Allan's friend now waited composedly for Allan's return; and here, more

strangely still, he looked on a change in the household arrangements, due in the first instance entirely to

himself. His own lips had revealed the discovery which he had made on the first morning in the new house;

his own voluntary act had induced the son to establish himself in the mother's room.

Under what motives had he spoken the words? Under no motives which were not the natural growth of the

The entire change wrought in his convictions by the memorable event that had brought him face to face with

Miss Gwilt was a change which it was not in his nature to hide from Allan's knowledge. He had spoken

openly, and had spoken as it was in his character to speak. The merit of conquering his superstition was a

merit which he shrank from claiming, until he had first unsparingly exposed that superstition in its worst and

It was only after he had unreservedly acknowledged the impulse under which he had left Allan at the Mere,

that he had taken credit to himself for the new point of view from which he could now look at the Dream.

Then, and not till then, he had spoken of the fulfillment of the first Vision as the doctor at the Isle of Man

might have spoken of it. He had asked, as the doctor might have asked, Where was the wonder of their seeing

a pool at sunset, when they had a whole network of pools within a few hours' drive of them? and what was

there extraordinary in discovering a woman at the Mere, when there were roads that led to it, and villages in

its neighborhood, and boats employed on it, and pleasure parties visiting it? So again, he had waited to

vindicate the firmer resolution with which he looked to the future, until he had first revealed all that he now

saw himself of the errors of the past. The abandonment of his friend's interests, the unworthiness of the

confidence that had given him the steward's place, the forgetfulness of the trust that Mr. Brock had reposed in

him all implied in the one idea of leaving Allanwere all pointed out. The glaring selfcontradictions

betrayed in accepting the Dream as the revelation of a fatality, and in attempting to escape that fatality by an

exertion of freewillin toiling to store up knowledge of the steward's duties for the future, and in shrinking

from letting the future find him in Allan's housewere, in their turn, unsparingly exposed. To every error, to

every inconsistency, he resolutely confessed, before he ventured on the last simple appeal which closed all,

A man who could thus open his whole heart, without one lurking reserve inspired by consideration for

himself, was not a man to forget any minor act of concealment of which his weakness might have led him to

be guilty toward his friend. It lay heavy on Midwinter's conscience that he had kept secret from Allan a

discovery which he ought in Allan's dearest interests to have revealedthe discovery of his mother's room.

But one doubt still closed his lipsthe doubt whether Mrs. Armadale's conduct in Madeira had been kept

Careful inquiry, first among the servants, then among the tenantry, careful consideration of the few reports

current at the time, as repeated to him by the few persons left who remembered them, convinced him at last

that the family secret had been successfully kept within the family limits. Once satisfied that whatever

inquiries the son might make would lead to no disclosure which could shake his respect for his mother's

memory, Midwinter had hesitated no longer. He had taken Allan into the room, and had shown him the books

on the shelves, and all that the writing in the books disclosed. He had said plainly, "My one motive for not

telling you this before sprang from my dread of interesting you in the room which I looked at with horror as

the second of the scenes pointed at in the Dream. Forgive me this also, and you will have forgiven me all."

With Allan's love for his mother's memory, but one result could follow such an avowal as this. He had liked

the little room from the first, as a pleasant contrast to the oppressive grandeur of the other rooms at Thorpe

Ambrose, and, now that he knew what associations were connected with it, his resolution was at once taken

to make it especially his own. The same day, all his personal possessions were collected and arranged in his

mother's roomin Midwinter's presence, and with Midwinter's assistance given to the work.

Under those circumstances had the change now wrought in the household arrangements been produced; and

in this way had Midwinter's victory over his own fatalismby making Allan the daily occupant of a room

which he might otherwise hardly ever have enteredactually favored the fulfillment of the Second Vision of

The hour wore on quietly as Allan's friend sat waiting for Allan's return. Sometimes reading, sometimes

thinking placidly, he whiled away the time. No vexing cares, no boding doubts, troubled him now. The

rentday, which he had once dreaded, had come and gone harmlessly. A friendlier understanding had been

established between Allan and his tenants; Mr. Bashwood had proved himself to be worthy of the confidence

reposed in him; the Pedgifts, father and son, had amply justified their client's good opinion of them.

Wherever Midwinter looked, the prospect was bright, the future was without a cloud.

He trimmed the lamp on the table beside him and looked out at the night. The stable clock was chiming the

halfhour past eleven as he walked to the window, and the first raindrops were beginning to fall. He had his

hand on the bell to summon the servant, and send him over to the cottage with an umbrella, when he was

"How late you are!" said Midwinter, as Allan entered through the open French window. "Was there a party at

"No! only ourselves. The time slipped away somehow." He answered in lower tones than usual, and sighed as

Allan hesitated. "I may as well tell you," he said, after a moment. "It's nothing to be ashamed of; I only

wonder you haven't noticed it before! There's a woman in it, as usualI'm in love."

Midwinter laughed. "Has Miss Milroy been more charming tonight than ever?" he asked, gayly.

"Miss Milroy!" repeated Allan. "What are you thinking of! I'm not in love with Miss Milroy."

There was a sudden silence. Allan sat listlessly, with his hands in his pockets, looking out through the open

window at the falling rain. If he had turned toward his friend when he mentioned Miss Gwilt's name he might

possibly have been a little startled by the change he would have seen in Midwinter's face.

"It's too late to make objections," proceeded Allan. "I really mean it when I tell you I'm in love with her."

"A fortnight since you were in love with Miss Milroy," said the other, in quiet, measured tones.

"Pooh! a mere flirtation. It's different this time. I'm in earnest about Miss Gwilt."

He looked round as he spoke. Midwinter turned his face aside on the instant, and bent it over a book.

"I see you don't approve of the thing," Allan went on. "Do you object to her being only a governess? You

can't do that, I'm sure. If you were in my place, her being only a governess wouldn't stand in the way with

"No," said Midwinter; "I can't honestly say it would stand in the way with me." He gave the answer

"A governess is a lady who is not rich," said Allan, in an oracular manner; "and a duchess is a lady who is not

poor. And that's all the difference I acknowledge between them. Miss Gwilt is older than I amI don't deny

that. What age do you guess her at, Midwinter? I say, seven or eight and twenty. What do you say?"

"Do you think seven or eight and twenty is too old for me? If you were in love with a woman yourself, you

"Well," resumed Allan, "if there's no harm in her being only a governess, and no harm in her being a little

"I don't say you have. But you don't seem to like the notion of it, for all that."

There was another pause. Midwinter was the first to break the silence this time.

"Are you sure of yourself, Allan?" he asked, with his face bent once more over the book. "Are you really

attached to this lady? Have you thought seriously already of asking her to be your wife?"

"I am thinking seriously of it at this moment," said Allan. "I can't be happyI can't live without her. Upon

"How long" His voice faltered, and he stopped. "How long," he reiterated, "have you worshipped the very

"Nonsense! I will trust you. There is a little difficulty in the way which I haven't mentioned yet. It's a matter

of some delicacy, and I want to consult you about it. Between ourselves, I have had private opportunities with

Allan looked round in astonishment. The door was closed again, and he was alone in the room.

"He has never shaken hands with me!" exclaimed Allan, looking bewildered at the empty chair.

"We haven't shaken hands," he said, abruptly. "God bless you, Allan! We'll talk of it tomorrow.

Allan stood alone at the window, looking out at the pouring rain. He felt ill at ease, without knowing why.

"Midwinter's ways get stranger and stranger," he thought. "What can he mean by putting me off till

tomorrow, when I wanted to speak to him tonight?" He took up his bedroom candle a little impatiently, put

it down again, and, walking back to the open window, stood looking out in the direction of the cottage. "I

She was thinking of him. She had just opened her desk to write to Mrs. Oldershaw; and her pen had that

It rained all through the night, and when the morning came it was raining still.

Contrary to his ordinary habit, Midwinter was waiting in the breakfastroom when Allan entered it. He

looked worn and weary, but his smile was gentler and his manner more composed than usual. To Allan's

surprise he approached the subject of the previous night's conversation of his own accord as soon as the

"I am afraid you thought me very impatient and very abrupt with you last night," he said. "I will try to make

amends for it this morning. I will hear everything you wish to say to me on the subject of Miss Gwilt."

"I hardly like to worry you," said Allan. "You look as if you had had a bad night's rest."

"I have not slept well for some time past," replied Midwinter, quietly. "Something has been wrong with me.

But I believe I have found out the way to put myself right again without troubling the doctors. Late in the

morning I shall have something to say to you about this. Let us get back first to what you were talking of last

night. You were speaking of some difficulty" He hesitated, and finished the sentence in a tone so low that

Allan failed to hear him. "Perhaps it would be better," he went on, "if, instead of speaking to me, you spoke

"I would rather speak to you," said Allan. "But tell me first, was I right or wrong last night in thinking you

Midwinter's lean, nervous fingers began to crumble the bread in his plate. His eyes looked away from Allan

Midwinter suddenly looked up again, his cheeks turning ashy pale, and his glittering black eyes fixed full on

"You won't think me vain?" returned Allan. "I told you yesterday I had had private opportunities with her"

Midwinter's eyes dropped again to the crumbs on his plate. "I understand," he interposed, quickly. "You were

"Don't you congratulate me?" asked Allan, a little uneasily. "Such a beautiful woman! such a clever woman!"

Midwinter held out his hand. "I owe you more than mere congratulations," he said. "In anything which is for

your happiness I owe you help." He took Allan's hand, and wrung it hard. "Can I help you?" he asked,

"My dear fellow," exclaimed Allan, "what is the matter with you? Your hand is as cold as ice."

Midwinter smiled faintly. "I am always in extremes," he said; "my hand was as hot as fire the first time you

took it at the old westcountry inn. Come to that difficulty which you have not come to yet. You are young,

Allan hesitated. "I hardly know how to put it," he replied. "As you said just now, I love her, and she loves

me; and yet there is a sort of strangeness between us. One talks a good deal about one's self when one is in

love, at least I do. I've told her all about myself and my mother, and how I came in for this place, and the rest

of it. Wellthough it doesn't strike me when we are togetherit comes across me now and then, when I'm

away from her, that she doesn't say much on her side. In fact, I know no more about her than you do."

"I said something of the sort the other day," returned Allan: "and I'm afraid, as usual, I said it in the wrong

way. She lookedI can't quite tell you how; not exactly displeased, butoh, what things words are! I'd give

the world, Midwinter, if I could only find the right word when I want it as well as you do."

"That's just what I was coming to. She said, 'I shall have a melancholy story to tell you one of these days, Mr.

Armadale, about myself and my family; but you look so happy, and the circumstances are so distressing, that

I have hardly the heart to speak of it now.' Ah, she can express herselfwith the tears in her eyes, my dear

fellow, with the tears in her eyes! Of course, I changed the subject directly. And now the difficulty is how to

get back to it, delicately, without making her cry again. We must get back to it, you know. Not on my

account; I am quite content to marry her first and hear of her family misfortunes, poor thing, afterward. But I

know Mr. Brock. If I can't satisfy him about her family when I write to tell him of this (which, of course, I

must do), he will be dead against the whole thing. I'm my own master, of course, and I can do as I like about

it. But dear old Brock was such a good friend to my poor mother, and he has been such a good friend to

"Certainly, Allan; Mr. Brock has been your second father. Any disagreement between you about such a

serious matter as this would be the saddest thing that could happen. You ought to satisfy him that Miss Gwilt

is (what I am sure Miss Gwilt will prove to be) worthy, in every way worthy" His voice sank in spite of

"Just my feeling in the matter!" Allan struck in, glibly. "Now we can come to what I particularly wanted to

consult you about. If this was your case, Midwinter, you would be able to say the right words to heryou

would put it delicately, even though you were putting it quite in the dark. I can't do that. I'm a blundering sort

of fellow; and I'm horribly afraid, if I can't get some hint at the truth to help me at starting, of saying

something to distress her. Family misfortunes are such tender subjects to touch on, especially with such a

refined woman, such a tenderhearted woman, as Miss Gwilt. There may have been some dreadful death in

the familysome relation who has disgraced himselfsome infernal cruelty which has forced the poor

thing out on the world as a governess. Well, turning it over in my mind, it struck me that the major might be

able to put me on the right tack. It is quite possible that he might have been informed of Miss Gwilt's family

"Just my feeling again! My notion is to speak to the major. If I could only get the story from him first, I

should know so much better how to speak to Miss Gwilt about it afterward. You advise me to try the major,

There was a pause before Midwinter replied. When he did answer, it was a little reluctantly.

"I hardly know how to advise you, Allan," he said. "This is a very delicate matter."

"I believe you would try the major, if you were in my place," returned Allan, reverting to his inveterately

"Perhaps I might," said Midwinter, more and more unwillingly. "But if I did speak to the major, I should be

very careful, in your place, not to put myself in a false position. I should be very careful to let no one suspect

Allan's face flushed. "Good heavens, Midwinter," he exclaimed, "who could suspect me of that?"

"The major knows me. The major is the last man in the world to misunderstand me. All I want him to do is to

help me (if he can) to speak about a delicate subject to Miss Gwilt, without hurting her feelings. Can anything

Instead of replying, Midwinter, still speaking as constrainedly as ever, asked a question on his side. "Do you

mean to tell Major Milroy," he said, "what your intentions really are toward Miss Gwilt?"

"I have been thinking of that," he replied; "and I mean to feel my way first, and then tell him or not afterward,

A proceeding so cautious as this was too strikingly inconsistent with Allan's character not to surprise any one

"You forget that foolish flirtation of mine with Miss Milroy," Allan went on, more and more confusedly.

"The major may have noticed it, and may have thought I meantwell, what I didn't mean. It might be rather

awkward, mightn't it, to propose to his face for his governess instead of his daughter?"

He waited for a word of answer, but none came. Midwinter opened his lips to speak, and suddenly checked

himself. Allan, uneasy at his silence, doubly uneasy under certain recollections of the major's daughter which

the conversation had called up, rose from the table and shortened the interview a little impatiently.

"Come! come!" he said, "don't sit there looking unutterable things; don't make mountains out of molehills.

You have such an old, old head, Midwinter, on those young shoulders of yours! Let's have done with all these

pros and cons. Do you mean to tell me in plain words that it won't do to speak to the major?"

"I can't take the responsibility, Allan, of telling you that. To be plainer still, I can't feel confident of the

soundness of any advice I may give you inin our present position toward each other. All I am sure of is

"If you speak to Major Milroy, pray remember the caution I have given you! Pray think of what you say

"Before you take any serious step in this matter, write and tell Mr. Brock. Will you promise me to do that?"

Allan led the way to the door. "Come into my room," he said, "and I'll give you a cigar. The servants will be

He remained seated until Allan had closed the door, then rose, and took from a corner of the room, where it

lay hidden behind one of the curtains, a knapsack ready packed for traveling. As he stood at the window

thinking, with the knapsack in his hand, a strangely old, careworn look stole over his face: he seemed to lose

What the woman's quicker insight had discovered days since, the man's slower perception had only realized

in the past night. The pang that had wrung him when he heard Allan's avowal had set the truth selfrevealed

before Midwinter for the first time. He had been conscious of looking at Miss Gwilt with new eyes and a new

mind, on the next occasion when they met after the memorable interview in Major Milroy's garden; but he

had never until now known the passion that she had roused in him for what it really was. Knowing it at last,

feeling it consciously in full possession of him, he had the courage which no man with a happier experience

of life would have possessedthe courage to recall what Allan had confided to him, and to look resolutely at

Steadfastly, through the sleepless hours of the night, he had bent his mind to the conviction that he must

conquer the passion which had taken possession of him, for Allan's sake; and that the one way to conquer it

wasto go. No afterdoubt as to the sacrifice had troubled him when morning came; and no afterdoubt

troubled him now. The one question that kept him hesitating was the question of leaving Thorpe Ambrose.

Though Mr. Brock's letter relieved him from all necessity of keeping watch in Norfolk for a woman who was

known to be in Somersetshire; though the duties of the steward's office were duties which might be safely left

in Mr. Bashwood's tried and trustworthy handsstill, admitting these considerations, his mind was not easy

at the thought of leaving Allan, at a time when a crisis was approaching in Allan's life.

He slung the knapsack loosely over his shoulder and put the question to his conscience for the last time. "Can

you trust yourself to see her, day by day as you must see hercan you trust yourself to hear him talk of her,

hour by hour, as you must hear himif you stay in this house?" Again the answer came, as it had come all

through the night. Again his heart warned him, in the very interests of the friendship that he held sacred, to go

while the time was his own; to go before the woman who had possessed herself of his love had possessed

He looked round the room mechanically before he turned to leave it. Every remembrance of the conversation

that had just taken place between Allan and himself pointed to the same conclusion, and warned him, as his

Had he honestly mentioned any one of the objections which he, or any man, must have seen to Allan's

attachment? Had heas his knowledge of his friend's facile character bound him to dowarned Allan to

distrust his own hasty impulses, and to test himself by time and absence, before he made sure that the

happiness of his whole life was bound up in Miss Gwilt? No. The bare doubt whether, in speaking of these

things, he could feel that he was speaking disinterestedly, had closed his lips, and would close his lips for the

future, till the time for speaking had gone by. Was the right man to restrain Allan the man who would have

given the world, if he had it, to stand in Allan's place? There was but one plain course of action that an honest

man and a grateful man could follow in the position in which he stood. Far removed from all chance of seeing

her, and from all chance of hearing of heralone with his own faithful recollection of what he owed to his

friendhe might hope to fight it down, as he had fought down the tears in his childhood under his gypsy

master's stick; as he had fought down the misery of his lonely youth time in the country bookseller's shop. "I

must go," he said, as he turned wearily from the window, "before she comes to the house again. I must go

With that resolution he left the room; and, in leaving it, took the irrevocable step from Present to Future.

The rain was still falling. The sullen sky, all round the horizon, still lowered watery and dark, when

Midwinter put him back gently into his chair, and drew a seat near to it for himself.

"When you noticed that I looked ill this morning," he said, "I told you that I had been thinking of a way to

recover my health, and that I meant to speak to you about it later in the day. That latter time has come. I have

been out of sorts, as the phrase is, for some time past. You have remarked it yourself, Allan, more than once;

and, with your usual kindness, you have allowed it to excuse many things in my conduct which would have

"My dear fellow," interposed Allan, "you don't mean to say you are going out on a walking tour in this

"Never mind the rain," rejoined Midwinter. "The rain and I are old friends. You know something, Allan, of

the life I led before you met with me. From the time when I was a child, I have been used to hardship and

exposure. Night and day, sometimes for months together, I never had my head under a roof. For years and

years, the life of a wild animalperhaps I ought to say, the life of a savagewas the life I led, while you

were at home and happy. I have the leaven of the vagabondthe vagabond animal, or the vagabond man, I

hardly know whichin me still. Does it distress you to hear me talk of myself in this way? I won't distress

you. I will only say that the comfort and the luxury of our life here are, at times, I think, a little too much for a

man to whom comforts and luxuries come as strange things. I want nothing to put me right again but more air

and exercise; fewer good breakfasts and dinners, my dear friend, than I get here. Let me go back to some of

the hardships which this comfortable house is expressly made to shut out. Let me meet the wind and weather

as I used to meet them when I was a boy; let me feel weary again for a little while, without a carriage near to

pick me up; and hungry when the night falls, with miles of walking between my supper and me. Give me a

week or two away, Allanup northward, on foot, to the Yorkshire moorsand I promise to return to

Thorpe Ambrose, better company for you and for your friends. I shall be back before you have time to miss

me. Mr. Bashwood will take care of the business in the office; it is only for a fortnight, and it is for my own

"I don't like it," said Allan. "I don't like your leaving me in this sudden manner. There's something so strange

and dreary about it. Why not try riding, if you want more exercise; all the horses in the stables are at your

"I thought nothing of the rain," he said, "when I was a mere child, getting my living with the dancing

dogswhy should I think anything of it now? My getting wet, and your getting wet, Allan, are two very

different things. When I was a fisherman's boy in the Hebrides, I hadn't a dry thread on me for weeks

"But you're not in the Hebrides now," persisted Allan; "and I expect our friends from the cottage tomorrow

evening. You can't start till after tomorrow. Miss Gwilt is going to give us some more music, and you know

Midwinter turned aside to buckle the straps of his knapsack. "Give me another chance of hearing Miss Gwilt

when I come back," he said, with his head down, and his fingers busy at the straps.

"You have one fault, my dear fellow, and it grows on you," remonstrated Allan; "when you have once taken a

thing into our head, you're the most obstinate man alive. There's no persuading you to listen to reason. If you

will go," added Allan, suddenly rising, as Midwinter took up his hat and stick in silence, "I have half a mind

"Go with me!" repeated Midwinter, with a momentary bitterness in his tone, "and leave Miss Gwilt!"

Allan sat down again, and admitted the force of the objection in significant silence. Without a word more on

his side, Midwinter held out his hand to take leave. They were both deeply moved, and each was anxious to

hide his agitation from the other. Allan took the last refuge which his friend's firmness left to him: he tried to

"I'll tell you what," he said, "I begin to doubt if you're quite cured yet of your belief in the Dream. I suspect

Midwinter looked at him, uncertain whether he was in jest or earnest. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"What did you tell me," retorted Allan, "when you took me in here the other day, and made a clean breast of

it? What did you say about this room, and the second vision of the dream? By Jupiter!" he exclaimed, starting

to his feet once more, "now I look again, here is the Second Vision! There's the rain pattering against the

windowthere's the lawn and the garden outsidehere am I where I stood in the Dreamand there are you

where the Shadow stood. The whole scene complete, outofdoors and in; and I've discovered it this time!"

A moment's life stirred again in the dead remains of Midwinter's superstition. His color changed, and he

"No!" he said, pointing to the little marble figure on the bracket, "the scene is not completeyou have

forgotten something, as usual. The Dream is wrong this time, thank Godutterly wrong! In the vision you

saw, the statue was lying in fragments on the floor, and you were stooping over them with a troubled and an

angry mind. There stands the statue safe and sound! and you haven't the vestige of an angry feeling in your

mind, have you?" He seized Allan impulsively by the hand. At the same moment the consciousness came to

him that he was speaking and acting as earnestly as if he still believed in the Dream. The color rushed back

"What did I tell you?" said Allan, laughing, a little uneasily. "That night on the Wreck is hanging on your

"Nothing hangs heavy on me," retorted Midwinter, with a sudden outburst of impatience, "but the knapsack

on my back, and the time I'm wasting here. I'll go out, and see if it's likely to clear up."

"Yes," he said, answering with all his former gentleness of manner; "I'll come back in a fortnight. Goodby,

He pushed the window to, and was away across the garden before his friend could open it again and follow

Allan rose, and took one step into the garden; then checked himself at the window, and returned to his chair.

He knew Midwinter well enough to feel the total uselessness of attempting to follow him or to call him back.

He was gone, and for two weeks to come there was no hope of seeing him again. An hour or more passed, the

rain still fell, and the sky still threatened. A heavier and heavier sense of loneliness and despondencythe

sense of all others which his previous life had least fitted him to understand and endurepossessed itself of

Allan's mind. In sheer horror of his own uninhabitably solitary house, he rang for his hat and umbrella, and

"I might have gone a little way with him," thought Allan, his mind still running on Midwinter as he put on his

hat. "I should like to have seen the dear old fellow fairly started on his journey."

He took his umbrella. If he had noticed the face of the servant who gave it to him, he might possibly have

asked some questions, and might have heard some news to interest him in his present frame of mind. As it

was, he went out without looking at the man, and without suspecting that his servants knew more of

Midwinter's last moments at Thorpe Ambrose than he knew himself. Not ten minutes since, the grocer and

butcher had called in to receive payment of their bills, and the grocer and the butcher had seen how

The grocer had met him first, not far from the house, stopping on his way, in the pouring rain, to speak to a

little ragged imp of a boy, the pest of the neighborhood. The boy's customary impudence had broken out even

more unrestrainedly than usual at the sight of the gentleman's knapsack. And what had the gentleman done in

return? He had stopped and looked distressed, and had put his two hands gently on the boy's shoulders. The

grocer's own eyes had seen that; and the grocer's own ears had heard him say, "Poor little chap! I know how

the wind gnaws and the rain wets through a ragged jacket, better than most people who have got a good coat

on their backs." And with those words he had put his hand in his pocket, and had rewarded the boy's

impudence with a present of a shilling. "Wrong hereabouts," said the grocer, touching his forehead. "That's

The butcher had seen him further on in the journey, at the other end of the town. He had stoppedagain in

the pouring rainand this time to look at nothing more remarkable than a halfstarved cur, shivering on a

doorstep. "I had my eye on him," said the butcher; "and what do you think he did? He crossed the road over

to my shop, and bought a bit of meat fit for a Christian. Very well. He says goodmorning, and crosses back

again; and, on the word of a man, down he goes on his knees on the wet doorstep, and out he takes his knife,

and cuts up the meat, and gives it to the dog. Meat, I tell you again, fit for a Christian! I'm not a hard man,

ma'am," concluded the butcher, addressing the cook, "but meat's meat; and it will serve your master's friend

With those old unforgotten sympathies of the old unforgotten time to keep him company on his lonely road,

he had left the town behind him, and had been lost to view in the misty rain. The grocer and the butcher had

seen the last of him, and had judged a great nature, as all natures are judged from the grocer and the butcher

Two days after Midwinter's departure from Thorpe Ambrose, Mrs. Milroy, having completed her morning

toilet, and having dismissed her nurse, rang the bell again five minutes afterward, and on the woman's

"Post?" echoed the nurse. "Haven't you got your watch? Don't you know that it's a good halfhour too soon to

ask for your letters?" She spoke with the confident insolence of a servant long accustomed to presume on her

mistress's weakness and her mistress's necessities. Mrs. Milroy, on her side, appeared to be well used to her

"When the postman does come," she said, "see him yourself. I am expecting a letter which I ought to have

had two days since. I don't understand it. I'm beginning to suspect the servants."

The nurse smiled contemptuously. "Whom will you suspect next?" she asked. "There! don't put yourself out.

I'll answer the gatebell this morning; and we'll see if I can't bring you a letter when the postman comes."

Saying those words, with the tone and manner of a woman who is quieting a fractious child, the nurse,

Mrs. Milroy turned slowly and wearily on her bed, when she was left by herself again, and let the light from

the window fall on her face. It was the face of a woman who had once been handsome, and who was still, so

far as years went, in the prime of her life. Longcontinued suffering of body and longcontinued irritation of

mind had worn her awayin the roughly expressive popular phraseto skin and bone. The utter wreck of

her beauty was made a wreck horrible to behold, by her desperate efforts to conceal the sight of it from her

own eyes, from the eyes of her husband and her child, from the eyes even of the doctor who attended her, and

whose business it was to penetrate to the truth. Her head, from which the greater part of the hair had fallen

off; would have been less shocking to see than the hideously youthful wig by which she tried to hide the loss.

No deterioration of her complexion, no wrinkling of her skin, could have been so dreadful to look at as the

rouge that lay thick on her cheeks, and the white enamel plastered on her forehead. The delicate lace, and the

bright trimming on her dressinggown, the ribbons in her cap, and the rings on her bony fingers, all intended

to draw the eye away from the change that had passed over her, directed the eye to it, on the contrary;

emphasized it; made it by sheer force of contrast more hopeless and more horrible than it really was. An

illustrated book of the fashions, in which women were represented exhibiting their finery by means of the

free use of their limbs, lay on the bed, from which she had not moved for years without being lifted by her

nurse. A handglass was placed with the book so that she could reach it easily. She took up the glass after her

attendant had left the room, and looked at her face with an unblushing interest and attention which she would

"Older and older, and thinner and thinner!" she said. "The major will soon be a free man; but I'll have that

She dropped the lookingglass on the counterpane, and clinched the hand that held it. Her eyes suddenly

riveted themselves on a little crayon portrait of her husband hanging on the opposite wall; they looked at the

likeness with the hard and cruel brightness of the eyes of a bird of prey. "Red is your taste in your old age is

it?" she said to the portrait. "Red hair, and a scrofulous complexion, and a padded figure, a balletgirl's walk,

and a pickpocket's light fingers. Miss Gwilt! Miss, with those eyes, and that walk!" She turned her head

suddenly on the pillow, and burst into a harsh, jeering laugh. "Miss!" she repeated over and over again, with

the venomously pointed emphasis of the most merciless of all human forms of contemptthe contempt of

The age we live in is an age which finds no human creature inexcusable. Is there an excuse for Mrs. Milroy?

She had married the major at an unusually early age; and, in marrying him, had taken a man for her husband

who was old enough to be her fathera man who, at that time, had the reputation, and not unjustly, of

having made the freest use of his social gifts and his advantages of personal appearance in the society of

women. Indifferently educated, and below her husband in station, she had begun by accepting his addresses

under the influence of her own flattered vanity, and had ended by feeling the fascination which Major Milroy

had exercised over women infinitely her mental superiors in his earlier life. He had been touched, on his side,

by her devotion, and had felt, in his turn, the attraction of her beauty, her freshness, and her youth. Up to the

time when their little daughter and only child had reached the age of eight years, their married life had been

an unusually happy one. At that period the double misfortune fell on the household, of the failure of the

wife's health, and the almost total loss of the husband's fortune; and from that moment the domestic

Having reached the age when men in general are readier, under the pressure of calamity, to resign themselves

than to resist, the major had secured the little relics of his property, had retired into the country, and had

patiently taken refuge in his mechanical pursuits. A woman nearer to him in age, or a woman with a better

training and more patience of disposition than his wife possessed, would have understood the major's

conduct, and have found consolation in the major's submission. Mrs. Milroy found consolation in nothing.

Neither nature nor training helped her to meet resignedly the cruel calamity which had struck at her in the

bloom of womanhood and the prime of beauty. The curse of incurable sickness blighted her at once and for

Suffering can, and does, develop the latent evil that there is in humanity, as well as the latent good. The good

that was in Mrs. Milroy's nature shrank up, under that subtly deteriorating influence in which the evil grew

and flourished. Month by month, as she became the weaker woman physically, she became the worse woman

morally. All that was mean, cruel, and false in her expanded in steady proportion to the contraction of all that

had once been generous, gentle, and true. Old suspicions of her husband's readiness to relapse into the

irregularities of his bachelor life, which, in her healthier days of mind and body, she had openly confessed to

himwhich she had always sooner or later seen to be suspicions that he had not deservedcame back, now

that sickness had divorced her from him, in the form of that baser conjugal distrust which keeps itself

cunningly secret; which gathers together its inflammatory particles atom by atom into a heap, and sets the

slowly burning frenzy of jealousy alight in the mind. No proof of her husband's blameless and patient life that

could now be shown to Mrs. Milroy; no appeal that could be made to her respect for herself, or for her child

growing up to womanhood, availed to dissipate the terrible delusion born of her hopeless illness, and growing

steadily with its growth. Like all other madness, it had its ebb and flow, its time of spasmodic outburst, and

its time of deceitful repose; but, active or passive, it was always in her. It had injured innocent servants, and

insulted blameless strangers. It had brought the first tears of shame and sorrow into her daughter's eyes, and

had set the deepest lines that scored it in her husband's face. It had made the secret misery of the little

household for years; and it was now to pass beyond the family limits, and to influence coming events at

Thorpe Ambrose, in which the future interests of Allan and Allan's friend were vitally concerned.

A moment's glance at the posture of domestic affairs in the cottage, prior to the engagement of the new

governess, is necessary to the due appreciation of the serious consequences that followed Miss Gwilt's

On the marriage of the governess who had lived in his service for many years (a woman of an age and an

appearance to set even Mrs. Milroy's jealousy at defiance), the major had considered the question of sending

his daughter away from home far more seriously than his wife supposed. He was conscious that scenes took

place in the house at which no young girl should be present; but he felt an invincible reluctance to apply the

one efficient remedythe keeping his daughter away from home in school time and holiday time alike. The

struggle thus raised in his mind once set at rest, by the resolution to advertise for a new governess, Major

Milroy's natural tendency to avoid trouble rather than to meet it had declared itself in its customary manner.

He had closed his eyes again on his home anxieties as quietly as usual, and had gone back, as he had gone

back on hundreds of previous occasions, to the consoling society of his old friend the clock.

It was far otherwise with the major's wife. The chance which her husband had entirely overlooked, that the

new governess who was to come might be a younger and a more attractive woman than the old governess

who had gone, was the first chance that presented itself as possible to Mrs. Milroy's mind. She had said

nothing. Secretly waiting, and secretly nursing her inveterate distrust, she had encouraged her husband and

her daughter to leave her on the occasion of the picnic, with the express purpose of making an opportunity for

seeing the new governess alone. The governess had shown herself; and the smoldering fire of Mrs. Milroy's

jealousy had burst into flame in the moment when she and the handsome stranger first set eyes on each other.

The interview over, Mrs. Milroy's suspicions fastened at once and immovably on her husband's mother.

She was well aware that there was no one else in London on whom the major could depend to make the

necessary inquiries; she was well aware that Miss Gwilt had applied for the situation, in the first instance, as a

stranger answering an advertisement published in a newspaper. Yet knowing this, she had obstinately closed

her eyes, with the blind frenzy of the blindest of all the passions, to the facts straight before her; and, looking

back to the last of many quarrels between them which had ended in separating the elder lady and herself, had

seized on the conclusion that Miss Gwilt's engagement was due to her motherinlaw's vindictive enjoyment

of making mischief in her household. The inference which the very servants themselves, witnesses of the

family scandal, had correctly drawnthat the major's mother, in securing the services of a

wellrecommended governess for her son, had thought it no part of her duty to consider that governess's

looks in the purely fanciful interests of the major's wifewas an inference which it was simply impossible to

convey into Mrs. Milroy's mind. Miss Gwilt had barely closed the sickroom door when the whispered words

hissed out of Mrs. Milroy's lips, "Before another week is over your head, my lady, you go!"

From that moment, through the wakeful night and the weary day, the one object of the bedridden woman's

The assistance of the nurse, in the capacity of spy, was securedas Mrs. Milroy had been accustomed to

secure other extra services which her attendant was not bound to render herby a present of a dress from the

mistress's wardrobe. One after another articles of wearing apparel which were now useless to Mrs. Milroy

had ministered in this way to feed the nurse's greedthe insatiable greed of an ugly woman for fine clothes.

Bribed with the smartest dress she had secured yet, the household spy took her secret orders, and applied

The days passed, the work went on; but nothing had come of it. Mistress and servant had a woman to deal

Repeated intrusions on the major, when the governess happened to be in the same room with him, failed to

discover the slightest impropriety of word, look, or action, on either side. Stealthy watching and listening at

the governess's bedroom door detected that she kept a light in her room at late hours of the night, and that she

groaned and ground her teeth in her sleepand detected nothing more. Careful superintendence in the

daytime proved that she regularly posted her own letters, instead of giving them to the servant; and that on

certain occasions, when the occupation of her hours out of lesson time and walking time was left at her own

disposal, she had been suddenly missed from the garden, and then caught coming back alone to it from the

park. Once and once only, the nurse had found an opportunity of following her out of the garden, had been

detected immediately in the park, and had been asked with the most exasperating politeness if she wished to

join Miss Gwilt in a walk. Small circumstances of this kind, which were sufficiently suspicious to the mind of

a jealous woman, were discovered in abundance. But circumstances, on which to found a valid ground of

complaint that might be laid before the major, proved to be utterly wanting. Day followed day, and Miss

Gwilt remained persistently correct in her conduct, and persistently irreproachable in her relations toward her

Foiled in this direction, Mrs. Milroy tried next to find an assailable place in the statement which the

Obtaining from the major the minutely careful report which his mother had addressed to him on this topic,

Mrs. Milroy read and reread it, and failed to find the weak point of which she was in search in any part of the

letter. All the customary questions on such occasions had been asked, and all had been scrupulously and

plainly answered. The one sole opening for an attack which it was possible to discover was an opening which

showed itself, after more practical matters had been all disposed of, in the closing sentences of the letter.

"I was so struck," the passage ran, "by the grace and distinction of Miss Gwilt's manners that I took an

opportunity, when she was out of the room, of asking how she first came to be governess. 'In the usual way,' I

was told. 'A sad family misfortune, in which she behaved nobly. She is a very sensitive person, and shrinks

from speaking of it among strangersa natural reluctance which I have always felt it a matter of delicacy to

respect.' Hearing this, of course, I felt the same delicacy on my side. It was no part of my duty to intrude on

the poor thing's private sorrows; my only business was to do what I have now done, to make sure that I was

After careful consideration of these lines, Mrs. Milroy, having a strong desire to find circumstances

suspicious, found them suspicious accordingly. She determined to sift the mystery of Miss Gwilt's family

misfortunes to the bottom, on the chance of extracting from it something useful to her purpose. There were

two ways of doing this. She might begin by questioning the governess herself, or she might begin by

questioning the governess's reference. Experience of Miss Gwilt's quickness of resource in dealing with

awkward questions at their introductory interview decided her on taking the latter course. "I'll get the

particulars from the reference first," thought Mrs. Milroy, "and then question the creature herself, and see if

Mrs. Milroy began by informing her correspondent that the state of her health necessitated leaving her

daughter entirely under the governess's influence and control. On that account she was more anxious than

most mothers to be thoroughly informed in every respect about the person to whom she confided the entire

charge of an only child; and feeling this anxiety, she might perhaps be excused for putting what might be

thought, after the excellent character Miss Gwilt had received, a somewhat unnecessary question. With that

preface, Mrs. Milroy came to the point, and requested to be informed of the circumstances which had obliged

The letter, expressed in these terms, was posted the same day. On the morning when the answer was due, no

answer appeared. The next morning arrived, and still there was no reply. When the third morning came, Mrs.

Milroy's impatience had broken loose from all restraint. She had rung for the nurse in the manner which has

been already recorded, and had ordered the woman to be in waiting to receive the letters of the morning with

her own hands. In this position matters now stood; and in these domestic circumstances the new series of

Mrs. Milroy had just looked at her watch, and had just put her hand once more to the bellpull, when the door

The nurse laid a letter on the bed without answering, and waited, with unconcealed curiosity, to watch the

Mrs. Milroy tore open the envelope the instant it was in her hand. A printed paper appeared (which she threw

aside), surrounding a letter (which she looked at) in her own handwriting! She snatched up the printed paper.

It was the customary Postoffice circular, informing her that her letter had been duly presented at the right

The question passed unheeded. Mrs. Milroy's writingdesk was on the table at the bedside. She took from it

the letter which the major's mother had written to her son, and turned to the page containing the name and

address of Miss Gwilt's reference. "Mrs Mandeville, 18 Kingsdown Crescent, Bayswater," she read, eagerly

to herself, and then looked at the address on her own returned letter. No error had been committed: the

"Thank Godyes!" cried Mrs. Milroy, with a sudden outburst of exultation. She tossed the Postoffice

circular to the nurse, and beat her bony hands on the bedclothes in an ecstasy of anticipated triumph. "Miss

Gwilt's an impostor! Miss Gwilt's an impostor! If I die for it, Rachel, I'll be carried to the window to see the

"It's one thing to say she's an impostor behind her back, and another thing to prove it to her face," remarked

the nurse. She put her hand as she spoke into her apron pocket, and, with a significant look at her mistress,

The nurse pointed in the direction of the park. "Out again, for another walk before breakfastby herself."

Mrs. Milroy beckoned to the nurse to stoop close over her. "Can you open it, Rachel?" she whispered.

The nurse opened the wardrobe in silence, took the scarf in silence, and left the room in silence. In less than

five minutes she came back with the envelope of Miss Gwilt's letter open in her hand.

"Thank you, ma'am, for the scarf," said Rachel, putting the open letter composedly on the counterpane of the

Mrs. Milroy looked at the envelope. It had been closed as usual by means of adhesive gum, which had been

made to give way by the application of steam. As Mrs. Milroy took out the letter, her hand trembled

violently, and the white enamel parted into cracks over the wrinkles on her forehead.

Rachel withdrew to the window to keep watch on the park. "Don't hurry," she said. "No signs of her yet."

Mrs. Milroy still paused, keeping the allimportant morsel of paper folded in her hand. She could have taken

"Are you troubled with scruples?" asked the nurse, with a sneer. "Consider it a duty you owe to your

"You wretch!" said Mrs. Milroy. With that expression of opinion, she opened the letter.

It was evidently written in great haste, was undated, and was signed in initials only. Thus it ran:

"BY DEAR LYDIAThe cab is waiting at the door, and I have only a moment to tell you that I am obliged

to leave London, on business, for three or four days, or a week at longest. My letters will be forwarded if you

write. I got yours yesterday, and I agree with you that it is very important to put him off the awkward subject

of yourself and your family as long as you safely can. The better you know him, the better you will be able to

make up the sort of story that will do. Once told, you will have to stick to it; and, having to stick to it, beware

of making it complicated, and beware of making it in a hurry. I will write again about this, and give you my

"Meeting him in the park!" repeated Mrs. Milroy, with her eyes still fastened on the letter. "Him! Rachel,

Mrs. Milroy was left alone again, to review her plan of attack by the new light that had now been thrown on

The information that had been gained by opening the governess's letter pointed plainly to the conclusion that

an adventuress had stolen her way into the house by means of a false reference. But having been obtained by

an act of treachery which it was impossible to acknowledge, it was not information that could be used either

for warning the major or for exposing Miss Gwilt. The one available weapon in Mrs. Milroy's hands was the

weapon furnished by her own returned letter, and the one question to decide was how to make the best and

The longer she turned the matter over in her mind, the more hasty and premature seemed the exultation which

she had felt at the first sight of the Postoffice circular. That a lady acting as reference to a governess should

have quitted her residence without leaving any trace behind her, and without even mentioning an address to

which her letters could be forwarded, was a circumstance in itself sufficiently suspicious to be mentioned to

the major. But Mrs. Milroy, however perverted her estimate of her husband might be in some respects, knew

enough of his character to be assured that, if she told him what had happened, he would frankly appeal to the

governess herself for an explanation. Miss Gwilt's quickness and cunning would, in that case, produce some

plausible answer on the spot, which the major's partiality would be only too ready to accept; and she would at

the same time, no doubt, place matters in train, by means of the post, for the due arrival of all needful

confirmation on the part of her accomplice in London. To keep strict silence for the present, and to institute

(without the governess's knowledge) such inquiries as might be necessary to the discovery of undeniable

evidence, was plainly the only safe course to take with such a man as the major, and with such a woman as

Miss Gwilt. Helpless herself, to whom could Mrs. Milroy commit the difficult and dangerous task of

investigation? The nurse, even if she was to be trusted, could not be spared at a day's notice, and could not be

sent away without the risk of exciting remark. Was there any other competent and reliable person to employ,

either at Thorpe Ambrose or in London? Mrs. Milroy turned from side to side of the bed, searching every

corner of her mind for the needful discovery, And searching in vain. "Oh, if I could only lay my hand on

some man I could trust!" she thought, despairingly. "If I only knew where to look for somebody to help me!"

As the idea passed through her mind, the sound of her daughter's voice startled her from the other side of the

"My breakfast?" repeated Mrs. Milroy, in surprise. "Why doesn't Rachel bring it up as usual?" She considered

Neelie entered the room, carrying the tray with the tea, the dry toast, and the pat of butter which composed

"What does this mean?" asked Mrs. Milroy, speaking and looking as she might have spoken and looked if the

Neelie put the tray down on the bedside table. "I thought I should like to bring you up your breakfast,

Neelie obeyed. As she stooped to kiss her mother, Mrs. Milroy caught her by the arm, and turned her roughly

to the light. There were plain signs of disturbance and distress in her daughter's face. A deadly thrill of terror

ran through Mrs. Milroy on the instant. She suspected that the opening of the letter had been discovered by

"Let me go, mamma," said Neelie, shrinking under her mother's grasp. "You hurt me."

"Tell me why you have brought up my breakfast this morning," persisted Mrs. Milroy.

"You have not! You have made an excuse; I see it in your face. Come! what is it?"

Neelie's resolution gave way before her mother's. She looked aside uneasily at the things in the tray. "I have

been vexed," she said, with an effort; "and I didn't want to stop in the breakfastroom. I wanted to come up

"Vexed? Who has vexed you? What has happened? Has Miss Gwilt anything to do with it?"

Neelie looked round again at her mother in sudden curiosity and alarm. "Mamma!" she said, "you read my

Before Mrs. Milroy could say a word more on her side, the door opened and the nurse looked in.

"Have you got what you want?" she asked, as composedly as usual. "Miss, there, insisted on taking your tray

As soon as her daughter's back was turned, she beckoned eagerly to the nurse. "Anything wrong?" she asked,

The nurse turned away with her hard, sneering smile. "I told you it should be done," she said, "and it has been

done. She hasn't the ghost of a suspicion. I waited in the room; and I saw her take up the letter and open it."

Mrs. Milroy drew a deep breath of relief. "Thank you," she said, loud enough for her daughter to hear. "I

The nurse withdrew; and Neelie came back from the window. Mrs. Milroy took her by the hand, and looked

at her more attentively and more kindly than usual. Her daughter interested her that morning; for her daughter

"I used to think that you promised to be pretty, child," she said, cautiously resuming the interrupted

conversation in the least direct way. "But you don't seem to be keeping your promise. You look out of health

If there had been any sympathy between mother and child, Neelie might have owned the truth. She might

have said frankly: "I am looking ill, because my life is miserable to me. I am fond of Mr. Armadale, and Mr.

Armadale was once fond of me. We had one little disagreement, only one, in which I was to blame. I wanted

to tell him so at the time, and I have wanted to tell him so ever since; and Miss Gwilt stands between us and

prevents me. She has made us like strangers; she has altered him, and taken him away from me. He doesn't

look at me as he did; he doesn't speak to me as he did; he is never alone with me as he used to be; I can't say

the words to him that I long to say; and I can't write to him, for it would look as if I wanted to get him back. It

is all over between me and Mr. Armadale; and it is that woman's fault. There is illblood between Miss Gwilt

and me the whole day long; and say what I may, and do what I may, she always gets the better of me, and

always puts me in the wrong. Everything I saw at Thorpe Ambrose pleased me, everything I did at Thorpe

Ambrose made me happy, before she came. Nothing pleases me, and nothing makes me happy now!" If

Neelie had ever been accustomed to ask her mother's advice and to trust herself to her mother's love, she

might have said such words as these. As. it was, the tears came into her eyes, and she hung her head in

"Come!" said Mrs. Milroy, beginning to lose patience. "You have something to say to me about Miss Gwilt.

"She aggravates me beyond endurance, mamma; I can't bear her; I shall do something" Neelie stopped, and

stamped her foot angrily on the floor. "I shall throw something at her head if we go on much longer like this!

I should have thrown something this morning if I hadn't left the room. Oh, do speak to papa about it! Do find

out some reason for sending her away! I'll go to schoolI'll do anything in the world to get rid of Miss

To get rid of Miss Gwilt! At those wordsat that echo from her daughter's lips of the one dominant desire

kept secret in her own heartMrs. Milroy slowly raised herself in bed. What did it mean? Was the help she

wanted coming from the very last of all quarters in which she could have thought of looking for it?

"Why do you want to get rid of Miss Gwilt?" she asked. "What have you got to complain of?"

"Nothing!" said Neelie. "That's the aggravation of it. Miss Gwilt won't let me have anything to complain of.

She is perfectly detestable; she is driving me mad; and she is the pink of propriety all the time. I dare say it's

Mrs. Milroy's eyes questioned her daughter's face as they had never questioned it yet. There was something

under the surface, evidentlysomething which it might be of vital importance to her own purpose to

discoverwhich had not risen into view. She went on probing her way deeper and deeper into Neelie's mind,

"Pour me out a cup of tea," she said; "and don't excite yourself, my dear. Why do you speak to me about this?

"I have tried to speak to papa," said Neelie. "But it's no use; he is too good to know what a wretch she is. She

is always on her best behavior with him; she is always contriving to be useful to him. I can't make him

understand why I dislike Miss Gwilt; I can't make you understandI only understand it myself." She tried to

pour out the tea, and in trying upset the cup. "I'll go downstairs again!" exclaimed Neelie, with a burst of

Mrs. Milroy seized her hand and stopped her. Trifling as it was, Neelie's reference to the relations between

the major and Miss Gwilt had roused her mother's ready jealousy. The restraints which Mrs. Milroy had laid

on herself thus far vanished in a momentvanished even in the presence of a girl of sixteen, and that girl her

"Wait here!" she said, eagerly. "You have come to the right place and the right person. Go on abusing Miss

For a moment Mrs. Milroy hesitated before she said more. Some lastleft instinct of her married life in its

earlier and happier time pleaded hard with her to respect the youth and the sex of her child. But jealousy

respects nothing; in the heaven above and on the earth beneath, nothing but itself. The slow fire of

selftorment, burning night and day in the miserable woman's breast, flashed its deadly light into her eyes, as

"If you had had eyes in your head, you would never have gone to your father," she said. "Your father has

reasons of his own for hearing nothing that you can say, or that anybody can say, against Miss Gwilt."

Many girls at Neelie's age would have failed to see the meaning hidden under those words. It was the

daughter's misfortune, in this instance, to have had experience enough of the mother to understand her. Neelie

started back from the bedside, with her face in a glow. "Mamma!" she said, "you are talking horribly! Papa is

Mrs. Milroy's fierce temper broke out in an instantbroke out all the more violently from her feeling herself,

"You impudent little fool!" she retorted, furiously. "Do you think I want you to remind me of what I owe to

your father? Am I to learn how to speak of your father, and how to think of your father, and how to love and

honor your father, from a forward little minx like you! I was finely disappointed, I can tell you, when you

were bornI wished for a boy, you impudent hussy! If you ever find a man who is fool enough to marry

you, he will be a lucky man if you only love him half as well, a quarter as well, a hundredthousandth part as

well, as I loved your father. Ah, you can cry when it's too late; you can come creeping back to beg your

mother's pardon after you have insulted her. You little dowdy, halfgrown creature! I was handsomer than

ever you will be when I married your father. I would have gone through fire and water to serve your father! If

he had asked me to cut off one of my arms, I would have done itI would have done it to please him!" She

turned suddenly with her face to the wall, forgetting her daughter, forgetting her husband, forgetting

everything but the torturing remembrance of her lost beauty. "My arms!" she repeated to herself, faintly.

"What arms I had when I was young!" She snatched up the sleeve of her dressinggown furtively, with a

Neelie fell on her knees at the bedside and hid her face. In sheer despair of finding comfort and help

anywhere else, she had cast herself impulsively on her mother's mercy; and this was how it had ended! "Oh,

mamma," she pleaded, "you know I didn't mean to offend you! I couldn't help it when you spoke so of my

Mrs. Milroy turned again on her pillow, and looked at her daughter vacantly. "Forgive you?" she repeated,

"I beg your pardon, mammaI beg your pardon on my knees. I am so unhappy; I do so want a little

"Wait a little," rejoined Mrs. Milroy. "Ah," she said, after an interval, "now I know! Forgive you? Yes; I'll

forgive you on one condition." She lifted Neelie's head, and looked her searchingly in the face. "Tell me why

you hate Miss Gwilt! You've a reason of your own for hating her, and you haven't confessed it yet."

Neelie's head dropped again. The burning color that she was hiding by hiding her face showed itself on her

Breathlessly interested, Mrs. Milroy leaned forward, and twined her hand caressingly in her daughter's hair.

Mrs. Milroy leaned back on her pillow in dead silence. The plain betrayal of her daughter's first love, by her

daughter's own lips, which would have absorbed the whole attention of other mothers, failed to occupy her

for a moment. Her jealousy, distorting all things to fit its own conclusions, was busied in distorting what she

had just heard. "A blind," she thought, "which has deceived my girl. It doesn't deceive me. Is Miss Gwilt

likely to succeed?" she asked, aloud. "Does Mr. Armadale show any sort of interest in her?"

Neelie looked up at her mother for the first time. The hardest part of the confession was over now. She had

"He shows the most unaccountable interest," she said. "It's impossible to understand it. It's downright

"How do you come to be in Mr. Armadale's secrets?" inquired Mrs. Milroy. "Has he informed you, of all the

"Me!" exclaimed Neelie, indignantly. "It's quite bad enough that he should have told papa."

At the reappearance of the major in the narrative, Mrs. Milroy's interest in the conversation rose to its

climax. She raised herself again from the pillow. "Get a chair," she said. "Sit down, child, and tell me all

"Saturday. I went in with papa's lunch to the workshop, and he said, 'I have just had a visit from Mr.

Armadale; and I want to give you a caution while I think of it.' I didn't say anything, mamma; I only waited.

Papa went on, and told me that Mr. Armadale had been speaking to him on the subject of Miss Gwilt, and

that he had been asking a question about her which nobody in his position had a right to ask. Papa said he had

been obliged, goodhumoredly, to warn Mr. Armadale to be a little more delicate, and a little more careful

next time. I didn't feel much interested, mamma; it didn't matter to me what Mr. Armadale said or did. Why

"Never mind yourself," interposed Mrs. Milroy, sharply. "Go on with what your father said. What was he

"Much as usual, mamma. He was walking up and down the workshop; and I took his arm and walked up and

"I don't care what you were doing," said Mrs. Milroy, more and more irritably. "Did your father tell you what

"Yes, mamma. He said Mr. Armadale began by mentioning that he was very much interested in Miss Gwilt,

and he then went on to ask whether papa could tell him anything about her family misfortunes"

"What!" cried Mrs. Milroy. The word burst from her almost in a scream, and the white enamel on her face

cracked in all directions. "Mr. Armadale said that?" she went on, leaning out further and further over the side

"Nothing, nothing, nothing," said Mrs. Milroy. She was too violently agitated to make any other than the

commonest excuse. "My nerves are bad this morning; don't notice it. I'll try the other side of the pillow. Go

on! go on!. I'm listening, though I'm not looking at you." She turned her face to the wall, and clinched her

trembling hands convulsively beneath the bedclothes. "I've got her!" she whispered to herself, under her

"I'm afraid I've been talking too much," said Neelie. "I'm afraid I've been stopping here too long. Shall I go

"Go on," repeated Mrs. Milroy, mechanically. "What did your father say next? Anything more about Mr.

"Nothing more, except how papa answered him," replied Neelie. "Papa repeated his own words when he told

me about it. He said, 'In the absence of any confidence volunteered by the lady herself, Mr. Armadale, all I

know or wish to knowand you must excuse me for saying, all any one else need know or wish to knowis

that Miss Gwilt gave me a perfectly satisfactory reference before she entered my house.' Severe, mamma,

wasn't it? I don't pity him in the least; he richly deserved it. The next thing was papa's caution to me. He told

me to check Mr. Armadale's curiosity if he applied to me next. As if he was likely to apply to me! And as if I

should listen to him if he did! That's all, mamma. You won't suppose, will you, that I have told you this

because I want to hinder Mr. Armadale from marrying Miss Gwilt? Let him marry her if he pleases; I don't

care!" said Neelie, in a voice that faltered a little, and with a face which was hardly composed enough to be in

perfect harmony with a declaration of indifference. "All I want is to be relieved from the misery of having

Miss Gwilt for my governess. I'd rather go to school. I should like to go to school. My mind's quite changed

about all that, only I haven't the heart to tell papa. I don't know what's come to me, I don't seem to have heart

enough for anything now; and when papa takes me on his knee in the evening, and says, 'Let's have a talk,

Neelie,' he makes me cry. Would you mind breaking it to him, mamma, that I've changed my mind, and I

want to go to school?" The tears rose thickly in her eyes, and she failed to see that her mother never even

"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Milroy, vacantly. "You're a good girl; you shall go to school."

The cruel brevity of the reply, and the tone in which it was spoken, told Neelie plainly that her mother's

attention had been wandering far away from her, and that it was useless and needless to prolong the

interview. She turned aside quietly, without a word of remonstrance. It was nothing new in her experience to

find herself shut out from her mother's sympathies. She looked at her eyes in the glass, and, pouring out some

cold water, bathed her face. "Miss Gwilt shan't see I've been crying!" thought Neelie, as she went back to the

bedside to take her leave. "I've tired you out," mamma," she said, gently. "Let me go now; and let me come

"Yes," repeated her mother, as mechanically as ever; "a little later when I have had some rest."

Neelie left the room. The minute after the door had closed on her, Mrs. Milroy rang the bell for her nurse. In

the face of the narrative she had just heard, in the face of every reasonable estimate of probabilities, she held

to her own jealous conclusions as firmly as ever. "Mr. Armadale may believe her, and my daughter may

believe her," thought the furious woman. "But I know the major; and she can't deceive me!"

The nurse came in. "Prop me up," said Mrs. Milroy. "And give me my desk. I want to write."

"Anything more?" asked Rachel, repeating her invariable formula as she placed the desk on the bed.

"Yes. Come back in half an hour. I shall want you to take a letter to the great house."

The nurse's sardonic composure deserted her for once. "Mercy on us!" she exclaimed, with an accent of

"I am going to write to Mr. Armadale," interposed Mrs. Milroy; "and you are going to take the letter to him,

and wait for an answer; and, mind this, not a living soul but our two selves must know of it in the house."

"Why are you writing to Mr. Armadale?" asked Rachel. "And why is nobody to know of it but our two

"Oh, if I only had the use of my limbs!" groaned Mrs. Milroy. "You wretch, if I could only do without you!"

"You have the use of your head," retorted the impenetrable nurse. "And you ought to know better than to trust

It was brutally put; but it was truedoubly true, after the opening of Miss Gwilt's letter. Mrs. Milroy gave

Mrs. Milroy held up the letter that had been returned to her by the authorities at the Postoffice.

The nurse stooped, with her eye on the door. "You know that the postman went with this letter to Kingsdown

Crescent?" said Mrs. Milroy. "And you know that he found Mrs. Mandeville gone away, nobody could tell

"This, next. When Mr. Armadale gets the letter that I am going to write to him, he will follow the same road

as the postman; and we'll see what happens when he knocks at Mrs. Mandeville's door."

The morning of the interview between Mrs. Milroy and her daughter at the cottage was a morning of serious

Even Allan's easytempered nature had not been proof against the disturbing influences exercised on it by the

events of the last three days. Midwinter's abrupt departure had vexed him; and Major Milroy's reception of

his inquiries relating to Miss Gwilt weighed unpleasantly on his mind. Since his visit to the cottage, he had

felt impatient and ill at ease, for the first time in his life, with everybody who came near him. Impatient with

Pedgift Junior, who had called on the previous evening to announce his departure for London, on business,

the next day, and to place his services at the disposal of his client; ill at ease with Miss Gwilt, at a secret

meeting with her in the park that morning; and ill at ease in his own company, as he now sat moodily

smoking in the solitude of his room. "I can't live this sort of life much longer," thought Allan. "If nobody will

help me to put the awkward question to Miss Gwilt, I must stumble on some way of putting it for myself."

What way? The answer to that question was as hard to find as ever. Allan tried to stimulate his sluggish

invention by walking up and down the room, and was disturbed by the appearance of the footman at the first

Allan looked at the address. It was in a strange handwriting. He opened the letter, and a little note inclosed in

it dropped to the ground. The note was directed, still in the strange handwriting, to "Mrs. Mandeville, 18

Kingsdown Crescent, Bayswater. Favored by Mr. Armadale." More and more surprised, Allan turned for

"Anne Milroy?" he repeated. "It must be the major's wife. What can she possibly want with me?" By way of

discovering what she wanted, Allan did at last what he might more wisely have done at first. He sat down to

"DEAR SIRThe name at the end of these lines will, I fear, recall to you a very rude return made on my

part, some time since, for an act of neighborly kindness on yours. I can only say in excuse that I am a great

sufferer, and that, if I was illtempered enough, in a moment of irritation under severe pain, to send back

your present of fruit, I have regretted doing so ever since. Attribute this letter, if you please, to my desire to

make some atonement, and to my wish to be of service to our good friend and landlord, if I possibly can.

"I have been informed of the question which you addressed to my husband, the day before yesterday, on the

subject of Miss Gwilt. From all I have heard of you, I am quite sure that your anxiety to know more of this

charming person than you know now is an anxiety proceeding from the most honorable motives. Believing

this, I feel a woman's interestincurable invalid as I amin assisting you. If you are desirous of becoming

acquainted with Miss Gwilt's family circumstances without directly appealing to Miss Gwilt herself, it rests

"It so happens that, some few days since, I wrote privately to Miss Gwilt's reference on this very subject. I

had long observed that my governess was singularly reluctant to speak of her family and her friends; and,

without attributing her silence to other than perfectly proper motives, I felt it my duty to my daughter to make

some inquiry on the subject. The answer that I have received is satisfactory as far as it goes. My

correspondent informs me that Miss Gwilt's story is a very sad one, and that her own conduct throughout has

been praiseworthy in the extreme. The circumstances (of a domestic nature, as I gather) are all plainly stated

in a collection of letters now in the possession of Miss Gwilt's reference. This lady is perfectly willing to let

me see the letters; but not possessing copies of them, and being personally responsible for their security, she

is reluctant, if it can be avoided, to trust them to the post; and she begs me to wait until she or I can find some

reliable person who can be employed to transmit the packet from her hands to mine.

"Under these circumstances, it has struck me that you might possibly, with your interest in the matter, be not

unwilling to take charge of the papers. If I am wrong in this idea, and if you are not disposed, after what I

have told you, to go to the trouble and expense of a journey to London, you have only to burn my letter and

inclosure, and to think no more about it. If you decide on becoming my envoy, I gladly provide you with the

necessary introduction to Mrs. Mandeville. You have only, on presenting it, to receive the letters in a sealed

packet, to send them here on your return to Thorpe Ambrose, and to wait an early communication from me

"In conclusion, I have only to add that I see no impropriety in your taking (if you feel so inclined) the course

that I propose to you. Miss Gwilt's manner of receiving such allusions as I have made to her family

circumstances has rendered it unpleasant for me (and would render it quite impossible for you) to seek

information in the first instance from herself. I am certainly justified in applying to her reference; and you are

certainly not to blame for being the medium of safely transmitting a sealed communication with one lady to

another. If I find in that communication family secrets which cannot honorably be mentioned to any third

person, I shall, of course, be obliged to keep you waiting until I have first appealed to Miss Gwilt. If I find

nothing recorded but what is to her honor, and what is sure to raise her still higher in your estimation, I am

undeniably doing her a service by taking you into my confidence. This is how I look at the matter; but pray

"In any case, I have one condition to make, which I am sure you will understand to be indispensable. The

most innocent actions are liable, in this wicked world, to the worst possible interpretation I must, therefore,

request that you will consider this communication as strictly private. I write to you in a confidence which is

on no account (until circumstances may, in my opinion, justify the revelation of it) to extend beyond our two

In this tempting form the unscrupulous ingenuity of the major's wife had set the trap. Without a moment's

hesitation, Allan followed his impulses, as usual, and walked straight into it, writing his answer and pursuing

his own reflections simultaneously in a highly characteristic state of mental confusion.

"By Jupiter, this is kind of Mrs. Milroy!" ("My dear madam.") "Just the thing I wanted, at the time when I

needed it most!" ("I don't know how to express my sense of your kindness, except by saying that I will go to

London and fetch the letters with the greatest pleasure.") "She shall have a basket of fruit regularly every day,

all through the season. " ("I will go at once, dear madam, and be back tomorrow.") "Ah, nothing like the

women for helping one when one is in love! This is just what my poor mother would have done in Mrs.

Milroy's place." ("On my word of honor as a gentleman, I will take the utmost care of the letters; and keep the

thing strictly private, as you request.") "I would have given five hundred pounds to anybody who would have

put me up to the right way to speak to Miss Gwilt; and here is this blessed woman does it for nothing."

Having sent his reply out to Mrs. Milroy's messenger, Allan paused in a momentary perplexity. He had an

appointment with Miss Gwilt in the park for the next morning. It was absolutely necessary to let her know

that he would be unable to keep it. She had forbidden him to write, and he had no chance that day of seeing

her alone. In this difficulty, he determined to let the necessary intimation reach her through the medium of a

message to the major, announcing his departure for London on business, and asking if he could be of service

to any member of the family. Having thus removed the only obstacle to his freedom of action, Allan

consulted the timetable, and found, to his disappointment, that there was a good hour to spare before it

would be necessary to drive to the railway station. In his existing frame of mind he would infinitely have

When the time came at last, Allan, on passing the steward's office, drummed at the door, and called through it

to Mr. Bashwood, "I'm going to town; back tomorrow." There was no answer from within; and the servant,

interposing, informed his master that Mr. Bashwood, having no business to attend to that day, had locked up

On reaching the station, the first person whom Allan encountered was Pedgift Junior, going to London on the

legal business which he had mentioned on the previous evening at the great house. The necessary

explanations exchanged, and it was decided that the two should travel in the same carriage. Allan was glad to

have a companion; and Pedgift, enchanted as usual to make himself useful to his client, bustled away to get

the tickets and see to the luggage. Sauntering to and fro on the platform, until his faithful follower returned,

Allan came suddenly upon no less a person than Mr. Bashwood himself, standing back in a corner with the

guard of the train, and putting a letter (accompanied, to all appearance, by a fee) privately into the man's

"Halloo!" cried Allan, in his hearty way. "Something important there, Mr. Bashwood, eh?"

If Mr. Bashwood had been caught in the act of committing murder, he could hardly have shown greater alarm

than he now testified at Allan's sudden discovery of him. Snatching off his dingy old hat, he bowed

bareheaded, in a palsy of nervous trembling from head to foot. "No, sirno, sir; only a little letter, a little

letter, a little letter," said the deputysteward, taking refuge in reiteration, and bowing himself swiftly

Allan turned carelessly on his heel. "I wish I could take to that fellow," he thought, "but I can't; he's such a

sneak! What the deuce was there to tremble about? Does he think I want to pry into his secrets?"

Mr. Bashwood's secret on this occasion concerned Allan more nearly than Allan supposed. The letter which

he had just placed in charge of the guard was nothing less than a word of warning addressed to Mrs.

"If you can hurry your business" (wrote the major's governess) "do so, and come back to London

immediately. Things are going wrong here, and Miss Milroy is at the bottom of the mischief. This morning

she insisted on taking up her mother's breakfast, always on other occasions taken up by the nurse. They had a

long confabulation in private; and half an hour later I saw the nurse slip out with a letter, and take the path

that leads to the great house. The sending of the letter has been followed by young Armadale's sudden

departure for Londonin the face of an appointment which he had with me for tomorrow morning. This

looks serious. The girl is evidently bold enough to make a fight of it for the position of Mrs. Armadale of

Thorpe Ambrose, and she has found out some way of getting her mother to help her. Don't suppose I am in

the least nervous or discouraged, and don't do anything till you hear from me again. Only get back to London,

for I may have serious need of your assistance in the course of the next day or two.

"I send this letter to town (to save a post) by the midday train, in charge of the guard. As you insist on

knowing every step I take at Thorpe Ambrose, I may as well tell you that my messenger (for I can't go to the

station myself) is that curious old creature whom I mentioned to you in my first letter. Ever since that time he

has been perpetually hanging about here for a look at me. I am not sure whether I frighten him or fascinate

him; perhaps I do both together. All you need care to know is that I can trust him with my trifling errands,

Meanwhile the train had started from the Thorpe Ambrose station, and the squire and his traveling companion

Some men, finding themselves in Allan's company under present circumstances, might have felt curious to

know the nature of his business in the metropolis. Young Pedgift's unerring instinct as a man of the world

penetrated the secret without the slightest difficulty. "The old story," thought this wary old head, wagging

privately on its lusty young shoulders, "There's a woman in the case, as usual. Any other business would have

been turned over to me." Perfectly satisfied with this conclusion, Mr. Pedgift the younger proceeded, with an

eye to his professional interest, to make himself agreeable to his client in the capacity of volunteer courier.

He seized on the whole administrative business of the journey to London, as he had seized on the whole

administrative business of the picnic at the Broads. On reaching the terminus, Allan was ready to go to any

hotel that might be recommended. His invaluable solicitor straightway drove him to a hotel at which the

"You don't object to vegetables, sir?" said the cheerful Pedgift, as the cab stopped at a hotel in Covent Garden

Market. "Very good; you may leave the rest to my grandfather, my father, and me. I don't know which of the

three is most beloved and respected in this house. How d'ye do, William? (Our headwaiter, Mr. Armadale.)

Is your wife's rheumatism better, and does the little boy get on nicely at school? Your master's out, is he?

Never mind, you'll do. This, William, is Mr. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose. I have prevailed on Mr.

Armadale to try our house. Have you got the bedroom I wrote for? Very good. Let Mr. Armadale have it

instead of me (my grandfather's favorite bedroom, sir; No. 57, on the second floor); pray take it; I can sleep

anywhere. Will you have the mattress on the top of the featherbed? You hear, William? Tell Matilda, the

mattress on the top of the featherbed. How is Matilda? Has she got the toothache, as usual? The

headchambermaid, Mr. Armadale, and a most extraordinary woman; she will not part with a hollow tooth in

her lower jaw. My grandfather says, 'Have it out;' my father says, 'Have it out;' I say, 'Have it out;' and

Matilda turns a deaf ear to all three of us. Yes, William, yes; if Mr. Armadale approves, this sittingroom will

do. About dinner, sir? Shall we say, in that case, halfpast seven? William, halfpast seven. Not the least

need to order anything, Mr. Armadale. The headwaiter has only to give my compliments to the cook, and

the best dinner in London will be sent up, punctual to the minute, as a necessary consequence. Say, Mr.

Pedgift Junior, if you please, William; otherwise, sir, we might get my grandfather's dinner or my father's

dinner, and they might turn out a little too heavy and oldfashioned in their way of feeding for you and me.

As to the wine, William. At dinner, my Champagne, and the sherry that my father thinks nasty. After dinner,

the claret with the blue sealthe wine my innocent grandfather said wasn't worth sixpence a bottle. Ha! ha!

poor old boy! You will send up the evening papers and the playbills, just as usual, andthat will do? I

think, William, for the present. An invaluable servant, Mr. Armadale; they're all invaluable servants in this

house. We may not be fashionable here, sir, but by the Lord Harry we are snug! A cab? you would like a cab?

Don't stir! I've rung the bell twicethat means, Cab wanted in a hurry. Might I ask, Mr. Armadale, which

way your business takes you? Toward Bayswater? Would you mind dropping me in the park? It's a habit of

mine when I'm in London to air myself among the aristocracy. Yours truly, sir, has an eye for a fine woman

and a fine horse; and when he's in Hyde Park he's quite in his native element." Thus the allaccomplished

Pedgift ran on; and by these little arts did he recommend himself to the good opinion of his client.

When the dinner hour united the traveling companions again in their sittingroom at the hotel, a far less acute

observer than young Pedgift must have noticed the marked change that appeared in Allan's manner. He

looked vexed and puzzled, and sat drumming with his fingers on the diningtable without uttering a word.

"I'm afraid something has happened to annoy you, sir, since we parted company in the Park?" said Pedgift

"Something that I never expected has happened," returned Allan; "I don't know what to make of it. I should

like to have your opinion," he added, after a little hesitation; "that is to say, if you will excuse my not entering

"Certainly!" assented young Pedgift. "Sketch it in outline, sir. The merest hint will do; I wasn't born

yesterday." ("Oh, these women!" thought the youthful philosopher, in parenthesis.)

"Well," began Allan, "you know what I said when we got to this hotel; I said I had a place to go to in

Bayswater" (Pedgift mentally checked off the first point: Case in the suburbs, Bayswater); "and a

personthat is to saynoas I said before, a person to inquire after." (Pedgift checked off the next point:

Person in the case. Sheperson, or heperson? Sheperson, unquestionably!) "Well, I went to the house, and

when I asked for herI mean the personshethat is to say, the personoh, confound it!" cried Allan, "I

shall drive myself mad, and you, too, if I try to tell my story in this roundabout way. Here it is in two words. I

went to No. 18 Kingsdown Crescent, to see a lady named Mandeville; and, when I asked for her, the servant

said Mrs. Mandeville had gone away, without telling anybody where, and without even leaving an address at

which letters could be sent to her. There! it's out at last. And what do you think of it now?"

"Tell me first, sir," said the wary Pedgift, "what inquiries you made when you found this lady had vanished?"

"Inquiries!" repeated Allan. "I was utterly staggered; I didn't say anything. What inquiries ought I to have

Pedgift Junior cleared his throat, and crossed his legs in a strictly professional manner.

"I have no wish, Mr. Armadale," he began, "to inquire into your business with Mrs. Mandeville"

"No," interposed Allan, bluntly; "I hope you won't inquire into that. My business with Mrs. Mandeville must

"But," pursued Pedgift, laying down the law with the forefinger of one hand on the outstretched palm of the

other, "I may, perhaps, be allowed to ask generally whether your business with Mrs. Mandeville is of a nature

to interest you in tracing her from Kingsdown Crescent to her present residence?"

"Certainly!" said Allan. "I have a very particular reason for wishing to see her."

"In that case, sir," returned Pedgift Junior, "there were two obvious questions which you ought to have asked,

to begin withnamely, on what date Mrs. Mandeville left, and how she left. Having discovered this, you

should have ascertained next under what domestic circumstances she went awaywhether there was a

misunderstanding with anybody; say a difficulty about money matters. Also, whether she went away alone, or

with somebody else. Also, whether the house was her own, or whether she only lodged in it. Also, in the

"Stop! stop! you're making my head swim," cried Allan. "I don't understand all these ins and outs. I'm not

"I've been used to it myself from my childhood upward, sir," remarked Pedgift. "And if I can be of any

"You're very kind," returned Allan. "If you could only help me to find Mrs. Mandeville; and if you wouldn't

"I'll leave it in your hands, sir, with all the pleasure in life," said Pedgift Junior. ("And I'll lay five to one," he

added, mentally, "when the time comes, you'll leave it in mine!") "We'll go to Bayswater together, Mr.

Armadale, tomorrow morning. In the meantime. here's the soup. The case now before the court is, Pleasure

versus Business. I don't know what you say, sir; I say, without a moment's hesitation, Verdict for the plaintiff.

Let us gather our rosebuds while we may. Excuse my high spirits, Mr. Armadale. Though buried in the

country, I was made for a London life; the very air of the metropolis intoxicates me." With that avowal the

irresistible Pedgift placed a chair for his patron, and issued his orders cheerfully to his viceroy, the

headwaiter. "Iced punch, William, after the soup. I answer for the punch, Mr. Armadale; it's made after a

recipe of my greatuncle's. He kept a tavern, and founded the fortunes of the family. I don't mind telling you

the Pedgifts have had a publican among them; there's no false pride about me. 'Worth makes the man (as

Pope says) and want of it the fellow; the rest is all but leather and prunella.' I cultivate poetry as well as

music, sir, in my leisure hours; in fact, I'm more or less on familiar terms with the whole of the nine Muses.

Aha! here's the punch! The memory of my greatuncle, the publican, Mr. Armadaledrunk in solemn

Allan tried hard to emulate his companion's gayety and good humor, but with very indifferent success. His

visit to Kingsdown Crescent recurred ominously again and again to his memory all through the dinner, and

all through the public amusements to which he and his legal adviser repaired at a later hour of the evening.

When Pedgift Junior put out his candle that night, he shook his wary head, and regretfully apostrophized "the

By ten o'clock the next morning the indefatigable Pedgift was on the scene of action. To Allan's great relief,

he proposed making the necessary inquiries at Kingsdown Crescent in his own person, while his patron

waited near at hand, in the cab which had brought them from the hotel. After a delay of little more than five

minutes, he reappeared, in full possession of all attainable particulars. His first proceeding was to request

Allan to step out of the cab, and to pay the driver. Next, he politely offered his arm, and led the way round the

corner of the crescent, across a square, and into a bystreet, which was rendered exceptionally lively by the

presence of the local cabstand. Here he stopped, and asked jocosely whether Mr. Armadale saw his way

now, or whether it would be necessary to test his patience by making an explanation.

Pedgift Junior smiled compassionately, and entered on his explanation. It was a lodginghouse at Kingsdown

Crescent, he begged to state to begin with. He had insisted on seeing the landlady. A very nice person, with

all the remains of having been a fine girl about fifty years ago; quite in Pedgift's styleif he had only been

alive at the beginning of the present centuryquite in Pedgift's style. But perhaps Mr. Armadale would

prefer hearing about Mrs. Mandeville? Unfortunately, there was nothing to tell. There had been no quarreling,

and not a farthing left unpaid: the lodger had gone, and there wasn't an explanatory circumstance to lay hold

of anywhere. It was either Mrs. Mandeville's way to vanish, or there was something under the rose, quite

undiscoverable so far. Pedgift had got the date on which she left, and the time of day at which she left, and

the means by which she left. The means might help to trace her. She had gone away in a cab which the

servant had fetched from the nearest stand. The stand was now before their eyes; and the waterman was the

first person to apply togoing to the waterman for information being clearly (if Mr. Armadale would excuse

the joke) going to the fountainhead. Treating the subject in this airy manner, and telling Allan that he would

be back in a moment, Pedgift Junior sauntered down the street, and beckoned the waterman confidentially

In a little while the two reappeared, the waterman taking Pedgift in succession to the first, third, fourth, and

sixth of the cabmen whose vehicles were on the stand. The longest conference was held with the sixth man;

and it ended in the sudden approach of the sixth cab to the part of the street where Allan was waiting.

"Get in, sir," said Pedgift, opening the door; "I've found the man. He remembers the lady; and, though he has

forgotten the name of the street, he believes he can find the place he drove her to when he once gets back into

the neighborhood. I am charmed to inform you, Mr. Armadale, that we are in luck's way so far. I asked the

waterman to show me the regular men on the stand; and it turns out that one of the regular men drove Mrs.

Mandeville. The waterman vouches for him; he's quite an anomalya respectable cabman; drives his own

horse, and has never been in any trouble. These are the sort of men, sir, who sustain one's belief in human

nature. I've had a look at our friend, and I agree with the waterman; I think we can depend on him."

The investigation required some exercise of patience at the outset. It was not till the cab had traversed the

distance between Bayswater and Pimlico that the driver began to slacken his pace and look about him. After

once or twice retracing its course, the vehicle entered a quiet bystreet, ending in a dead wall, with a door in

it; and stopped at the last house on the lefthand side, the house next to the wall.

Allan and Allan's adviser both got out, and both looked at the house, with the same feeling of instinctive

Buildings have their physiognomyespecially buildings in great citiesand the face of this house was

essentially furtive in its expression. The front windows were all shut, and the front blinds were all drawn

down. It looked no larger than the other houses in the street, seen in front; but it ran back deceitfully and

gained its greater accommodation by means of its greater depth. It affected to be a shop on the groundfloor;

but it exhibited absolutely nothing in the space that intervened between the window and an inner row of red

curtains, which hid the interior entirely from view. At one side was the shop door, having more red curtains

behind the glazed part of it, and bearing a brass plate on the wooden part of it, inscribed with the name of

"Oldershaw." On the other side was the private door, with a bell marked Professional; and another brass

plate, indicating a medical occupant on this side of the house, for the name on it was, "Doctor Downward." If

ever brick and mortar spoke yet, the brick and mortar here said plainly, "We have got our secrets inside, and

'You know best, sir," remarked Pedgift Junior, with his sardonic gravity. "You know Mrs. Mandeville's

"I!" exclaimed Allan. "You may be surprised to hear it; but Mrs. Mandeville is a total stranger to me."

"I'm not in the least surprised to hear it, sir; the landlady at Kingsdown Crescent informed me that Mrs.

Mandeville was an old woman. Suppose we inquire?" added the impenetrable Pedgift, looking at the red

curtains in the shop window with a strong suspicion that Mrs. Mandeville's granddaughter might possibly be

They tried the shop door first. It was locked. They rang. A lean and yellow young woman, with a tattered

The yellow young woman stared at him in astonishment. "No person of that name is known here," she

"Rather a quicktempered young person that, sir," said Pedgift. "I congratulate Mrs. Mandeville on not being

acquainted with her." He led the way, as he spoke, to Doctor Downward's side of the premises, and rang the

The door was opened this time by a man in a shabby livery. He, too, stared when Mrs. Mandeville's name

"What is odd?" asked a softly stepping, softly speaking gentleman in black, suddenly appearing on the

Pedgift Junior politely explained the circumstances, and begged to know whether he had the pleasure of

The doctor bowed. If the expression may be pardoned, he was one of those carefully constructed physicians

in whom the publicespecially the female publicimplicitly trust. He had the necessary bald head, the

necessary double eyeglass, the necessary black clothes, and the necessary blandness of manner, all complete.

His voice was soothing, his ways were deliberate, his smile was confidential. What particular branch of his

profession Doctor Downward followed was not indicated on his doorplate; but he had utterly mistaken his

"Are you quite sure there is no mistake about the name?" asked the doctor, with a strong underlying anxiety

in his manner. "I have known very serious inconvenience to arise sometimes from mistakes about names. No?

There is really no mistake? In that case, gentlemen, I can only repeat what my servant has already told you.

Don't apologize, pray. Goodmorning." The doctor withdrew as noiselessly as he had appeared; the man in

the shabby livery silently opened the door; and Allan and his companion found themselves in the street again.

"That's awkward," returned Allan. "I was just going to ask you what we ought to do next."

"I don't like the look of the place, the look of the shopwoman, or the look of the doctor," pursued the other.

"And yet I can't say I think they are deceiving us; I can't say I think they really know Mrs. Mandeville's

The impressions of Pedgift Junior seldom misled him; and they had not misled him in this case. The caution

which had dictated Mrs. Oldershaw's private removal from Bayswater was the caution which frequently

overreaches itself. It had warned her to trust nobody at Pimlico with the secret of the name she had assumed

as Miss Gwilt's reference; but it had entirely failed to prepare her for the emergency that had really happened.

In a word, Mrs. Oldershaw had provided for everything except for the one unimaginable contingency of an

Nobody had ever yet caught Pedgift Junior at the end of his resources; and Allan failed to catch him at the

end of them now. "I quite agree with you, sir," he said; "we must do something. We'll crossexamine the

The cabman proved to be immovable. Charged with mistaking the place, he pointed to the empty shop

window. "I don't know what you may have seen, gentlemen," he remarked; "but there's the only shop window

I ever saw with nothing at all inside it. That fixed the place in my mind at the time, and I know it again when

I see it." Charged with mistaking the person or the day, or the house at which he had taken the person up, the

cabman proved to be still unassailable. The servant who fetched him was marked as a girl well known on the

stand. The day was marked as the unluckiest workingday he had had since the first of the year; and the lady

was marked as having had her money ready at the right moment (which not one elderly lady in a hundred

usually had), and having paid him his fare on demand without disputing it (which not one elderly lady in a

hundred usually did). "Take my number, gentlemen," concluded the cabman, "and pay me for my time; and

Pedgift made a note in his pocketbook of the man's number. Having added to it the name of the street, and

the names on the two brass plates, he quietly opened the cab door. "We are quite in the dark, thus far," he

He spoke and looked more seriously than usual The mere fact of "Mrs. Mandeville's" having changed her

lodging without telling any one where she was going, and without leaving any address at which letters could

be forwarded to herwhich the jealous malignity of Mrs. Milroy had interpreted as being undeniably

suspicious in itselfhad produced no great impression on the more impartial judgment of Allan's solicitor.

People frequently left their lodgings in a private manner, with perfectly producible reasons for doing so. But

the appearance of the place to which the cabman persisted in declaring that he had driven "Mrs. Mandeville"

set the character and proceedings of that mysterious lady before Pedgift Junior in a new light. His personal

interest in the inquiry suddenly strengthened, and he began to feel a curiosity to know the real nature of

"Our next move, Mr. Armadale, is not a very easy move to see," he said, as they drove back to the hotel. "Do

Allan hesitated; and Pedgift Junior saw that he had advanced a little too far. "I mustn't force it," he thought; "I

must give it time, and let it come of its own accord." "In the absence of any other information, sir," he

resumed, "what do you say to my making some inquiry about that queer shop, and about those two names on

the doorplate? My business in London, when I leave you, is of a professional nature; and I am going into the

He, too, spoke more seriously than usual; he, too, was beginning to feel an allmastering curiosity to know

more. Some vague connection, not to be distinctly realized or traced out, began to establish itself in his mind

between the difficulty of approaching Miss Gwilt's family circumstances and the difficulty of approaching

Miss Gwilt's reference. "I'll get down and walk, and leave you to go on to your business," he said. "I want to

"My business will be done, sir, between one and two," said Pedgift, when the cab had been stopped, and

Two o'clock came; and Pedgift Junior, punctual to his time, came with it. His vivacity of the morning had all

sparkled out; he greeted Allan with his customary politeness, but without his customary smile; and, when the

headwaiter came in for orders, his dismissal was instantly pronounced in words never yet heard to issue from

"You seem to be in low spirits," said Allan. "Can't we get our information? Can nobody tell you anything

"Three different people have told me about it, Mr. Armadale, and they have all three said the same thing."

Allan eagerly drew his chair nearer to the place occupied by his traveling companion. His reflections in the

interval since they had last seen each other had not tended to compose him. That strange connection, so easy

to feel, so hard to trace, between the difficulty of approaching Miss Gwilt's family circumstances and the

difficulty of approaching Miss Gwilt's reference, which had already established itself in his thoughts, had by

this time stealthily taken a firmer and firmer hold on his mind. Doubts troubled him which he could neither

understand nor express. Curiosity filled him, which he half longed and half dreaded to satisfy.

"I am afraid I must trouble you with a question or two, sir, before I can come to the point," said Pedgift

Junior. "I don't want to force myself into your confidence. I only want to see my way, in what looks to me

like a very awkward business. Do you mind telling me whether others besides yourself are interested in this

"Other people are interested in it," replied Allan. "There's no objection to telling you that."

"Is there any other person who is the object of the inquiry besides Mrs. Mandeville, herself?" pursued

Allan started. "How do you come to guess that?" he began, then checked himself, when it was too late. "Don't

ask me any more questions," he resumed. "I'm a bad hand at defending myself against a sharp fellow like

you; and I'm bound in honor toward other people to keep the particulars of this business to myself."

Pedgift Junior had apparently heard enough for his purpose. He drew his chair, in his turn, nearer to Allan. He

was evidently anxious and embarrassed; but his professional manner began to show itself again from sheer

"I've done with my questions, sir," he said; "and I have something to say now on my side. In my father's

absence, perhaps you may be kindly disposed to consider me as your legal adviser. If you will take my

"It is just possible, Mr. Armadale, that the cabman, positive as he is, may have been mistaken. I strongly

recommend you to take it for granted that he is mistaken, and to drop it there."

The caution was kindly intended; but it came too late. Allan did what ninetynine men out of a hundred in his

He leaned forward close to Allan's ear, and whispered what he had heard of the house in Pimlico, and of the

"Don't blame me, Mr. Armadale," he added, when the irrevocable words had been spoken. "I tried to spare

Allan suffered the shock, as all great shocks are suffered, in silence. His first impulse would have driven him

headlong for refuge to that very view of the cabman's assertion which had just been recommended to him, but

for one damning circumstance which placed itself inexorably in his way. Miss Gwilt's marked reluctance to

approach the story of her past life rose irrepressibly on his memory, in indirect but horrible confirmation of

the evidence which connected Miss Gwilt's reference with the house in Pimlico. One conclusion, and one

onlythe conclusion which any man must have drawn, hearing what he had just heard, and knowing no

more than he knewforced itself into his mind. A miserable, fallen woman, who had abandoned herself in

her extremity to the help of wretches skilled in criminal concealment, who had stolen her way back to decent

society and a reputable employment by means of a false character, and whose position now imposed on her

the dreadful necessity of perpetual secrecy and perpetual deceit in relation to her past lifesuch was the

aspect in which the beautiful governess at Thorpe Ambrose now stood revealed to Allan's eyes!

Falsely revealed, or truly revealed? Had she stolen her way back to decent society and a reputable

employment by means of a false character? She had. Did her position impose on her the dreadful necessity of

perpetual secrecy and perpetual deceit in relation to her past life? It did. Was she some such pitiable victim to

the treachery of a man unknown as Allan had supposed? She was no such pitiable victim. The conclusion

which Allan had drawnthe conclusion literally forced into his mind by the facts before himwas,

nevertheless, the conclusion of all others that was furthest even from touching on the truth. The true story of

Miss Gwilt's connection with the house in Pimlico and the people who inhabited ita house rightly

described as filled with wicked secrets, and people rightly represented as perpetually in danger of feeling the

grasp of the lawwas a story which coming events were yet to disclose: a story infinitely less revolting, and

yet infinitely more terrible, than Allan or Allan's companion had either of them supposed.

"I tried to spare you, Mr. Armadale," repeated Pedgift. "I was anxious, if I could possibly avoid it, not to

Allan looked up, and made an effort to control himself. "You have distressed me dreadfully," he said. "You

have quite crushed me down. But it is not your fault. I ought to feel you have done me a service; and what I

ought to do I will do, when I am my own man again. There is one thing," Allan added, after a moment's

painful consideration, "which ought to be understood between us at once. The advice you offered me just

now was very kindly meant, and it was the best advice that could be given. I will take it gratefully. We will

never talk of this again, if you please; and I beg and entreat you will never speak about it to any other person.

Pedgift gave the promise with very evident sincerity, but without his professional confidence of manner. The

distress in Allan's face seemed to daunt him. After a moment of very uncharacteristic hesitation, he

Left by himself, Allan rang for writing materials, and took out of his pocketbook the fatal letter of

A man accustomed to consider consequences and to prepare himself for action by previous thought would, in

Allan's present circumstances, have felt some difficulty as to the course which it might now be least

embarrassing and least dangerous to pursue. Accustomed to let his impulses direct him on all other occasions,

Allan acted on impulse in the serious emergency that now confronted him. Though his attachment to Miss

Gwilt was nothing like the deeply rooted feeling which he had himself honestly believed it to be, she had

taken no common place in his admiration, and she filled him with no common grief when he thought of her

now. His one dominant desire, at that critical moment in his life, was a man's merciful desire to protect from

exposure and ruin the unhappy woman who had lost her place in his estimation, without losing her claim to

the forbearance that could spare, and to the compassion that could shield her. "I can't go back to Thorpe

Ambrose; I can't trust myself to speak to her, or to see her again. But I can keep her miserable secret; and I

will!" With that thought in his heart, Allan set himself to perform the first and foremost duty which now

claimed himthe duty of communicating with Mrs. Milroy. If he had possessed a higher mental capacity

and a clearer mental view, he might have found the letter no easy one to write. As it was, he calculated no

consequences, and felt no difficulty. His instinct warned him to withdraw at once from the position in which

he now stood toward the major's wife, and he wrote what his instinct counseled him to write under those

"DEAR MADAMPray excuse my not returning to Thorpe Ambrose today, as I said I would. Unforeseen

circumstances oblige me to stop in London. I am sorry to say I have not succeeded in seeing Mrs.

Mandeville, for which reason I cannot perform your errand; and I beg, therefore, with many apologies, to

return the letter of introduction. I hope you will allow me to conclude by saying that I am very much obliged

to you for your kindness, and that I will not venture to trespass on it any further.

In those artless words, still entirely unsuspicious of the character of the woman he had to deal with, Allan put

The letter and its inclosure once sealed up and addressed, he was free to think of himself and his future. As he

sat idly drawing lines with his pen on the blottingpaper, the tears came into his eyes for the first timetears

in which the woman who had deceived him had no share. His heart had gone back to his dead mother. "If she

had been alive," he thought, "I might have trusted her, and she would have comforted me." It was useless to

dwell on it; he dashed away the tears, and turned his thoughts, with the heartsick resignation that we all

He wrote a line to Mr. Bashwood, briefly informing the deputy steward that his absence from Thorpe

Ambrose was likely to be prolonged for some little time, and that any further instructions which might be

necessary, under those circumstances, would reach him through Mr. Pedgift the elder. This done, and the

letters sent to the post, his thoughts were forced back once more on himself. Again the blank future waited

before him to be filled up; and again his heart shrank from it to the refuge of the past.

This time other images than the image of his mother filled his mind. The one allabsorbing interest of his

earlier days stirred living and eager in him again. He thought of the sea; he thought of his yacht lying idle in

the fishing harbor at his westcountry home. The old longing got possession of him to hear the wash of the

waves; to see the filling of the sails; to feel the vessel that his own hands had helped to build bounding under

him once more. He rose in his impetuous way to call for the timetable, and to start for Somersetshire by the

first train, when the dread of the questions which Mr. Brock might ask, the suspicion of the change which Mr.

Brock might see in him, drew him back to his chair. "I'll write," he thought, "to have the yacht rigged and

refitted, and I'll wait to go to Somersetshire myself till Midwinter can go with me." He sighed as his memory

reverted to his absent friend. Never had he felt the void made in his life by Midwinter's departure so painfully

as he felt it now, in the dreariest of all social solitudesthe solitude of a stranger in London, left by himself

Before long, Pedgift Junior looked in, with an apology for his intrusion. Allan felt too lonely and too

friendless not to welcome his companion's reappearance gratefully. "I'm not going back to Thorpe

Ambrose," he said; "I'm going to stay a little while in London. I hope you will be able to stay with me?" To

do him justice, Pedgift was touched by the solitary position in which the owner of the great Thorpe Ambrose

estate now appeared before him. He had never, in his relations with Allan, so entirely forgotten his business

"You are quite right, sir, to stop here; London's the place to divert your mind," said Pedgift, cheerfully. "All

business is more or less elastic in its nature, Mr. Armadale; I'll spin my business out, and keep you company

with the greatest pleasure. We are both of us on the right side of thirty, sir; let's enjoy ourselves. What do you

say to dining early, and going to the play, and trying the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park tomorrow morning,

after breakfast? If we only live like fightingcocks, and go in perpetually for public amusements, we shall

arrive in no time at the mens sana in corpore sano of the ancients. Don't be alarmed at the quotation, sir. I

dabble a little in Latin after business hours, and enlarge my sympathies by occasional perusal of the Pagan

writers, assisted by a crib. William, dinner at five; and, as it's particularly important today, I'll see the cook

The evening passed; the next day passed; Thursday morning came, and brought with it a letter for Allan. The

direction was in Mrs. Milroy's handwriting; and the form of address adopted in the letter warned Allan, the

"SIRI have just received your mysterious letter. It has more than surprised, it has really alarmed me. After

having made the friendliest advances to you on my side, I find myself suddenly shut out from your

confidence in the most unintelligible, and, I must add, the most discourteous manner. It is quite impossible

that I can allow the matter to rest where you have left it. The only conclusion I can draw from your letter is

that my confidence must have been abused in some way, and that you know a great deal more than you are

willing to tell me. Speaking in the interest of my daughter's welfare, I request that you will inform me what

the circumstances are which have prevented your seeing Mrs. Mandeville, and which have led to the

withdrawal of the assistance that you unconditionally promised me in your letter of Monday last.

"In my state of health, I cannot involve myself in a lengthened correspondence. I must endeavor to anticipate

any objections you may make, and I must say all that I have to say in my present letter. In the event (which I

am most unwilling to consider possible) of your declining to accede to the request that I have just addressed

to you, I beg to say that I shall consider it my duty to my daughter to have this very unpleasant matter cleared

up. If I don't hear from you to my full satisfaction by return of post, I shall be obliged to tell my husband that

circumstances have happened which justify us in immediately testing the respectability of Miss Gwilt's

In those terms the major's wife threw off the mask, and left her victim to survey at his leisure the trap in

which she had caught him. Allan's belief in Mrs. Milroy's good faith had been so implicitly sincere that her

letter simply bewildered him. He saw vaguely that he had been deceived in some way, and that Mrs. Milroy's

neighborly interest in him was not what it had looked on the surface; and he saw no more. The threat of

appealing to the majoron which, with a woman's ignorance of the natures of men, Mrs. Milroy had relied

for producing its effectwas the only part of the letter to which Allan reverted with any satisfaction: it

relieved instead of alarming him. "If there is to be a quarrel," he thought, "it will be a comfort, at any rate, to

Firm in his resolution to shield the unhappy woman whose secret he wrongly believed himself to have

surprised, Allan sat down to write his apologies to the major's wife. After setting up three polite declarations,

in close marching order, he retired from the field. "He was extremely sorry to have offended Mrs. Milroy. He

was innocent of all intention to offend Mrs. Milroy. And he begged to remain Mrs. Milroy's truly." Never had

Allan's habitual brevity as a letterwriter done him better service than it did him now. With a little more

skillfulness in the use of his pen, he might have given his enemy even a stronger hold on him than the hold

The interval day passed, and with the next morning's post Mrs. Milroy's threat came realized in the shape of a

letter from her husband. The major wrote less formally than his wife had written, but his questions were

"DEAR SIRWhen you did me the favor of calling here a few days since, you asked a question relating to

my governess, Miss Gwilt, which I thought rather a strange one at the time, and which caused, as you may

"This morning the subject of Miss Gwilt has been brought to my notice again in a manner which has caused

me the utmost astonishment. In plain words, Mrs. Milroy has informed me that Miss Gwilt has exposed

herself to the suspicion of having deceived us by a false reference. On my expressing the surprise which such

an extraordinary statement caused me, and requesting that it might be instantly substantiated, I was still

further astonished by being told to apply for all particulars to no less a person than Mr. Armadale. I have

vainly requested some further explanation from Mrs. Milroy; she persists in maintaining silence, and in

"Under these extraordinary circumstances, I am compelled, in justice to all parties, to ask you certain

questions which I will endeavor to put as plainly as possible, and which I am quite ready to believe (from my

"I beg to inquire, in the first place, whether you admit or deny Mrs. Milroy's assertion that you have made

yourself acquainted with particulars relating either to Miss Gwilt or to Miss Gwilt's reference, of which I am

entirely ignorant? In the second place, if you admit the truth of Mrs. Milroy's statement, I request to know

how you became acquainted with those particulars? Thirdly, and lastly, I beg to ask you what the particulars

"If any special justification for putting these questions be neededwhich, purely as a matter of courtesy

toward yourself, I am willing to admitI beg to remind you that the most precious charge in my house, the

charge of my daughter, is confided to Miss Gwilt; and that Mrs. Milroy's statement places you, to all

appearance, in the position of being competent to tell me whether that charge is properly bestowed or not.

"I have only to add that, as nothing has thus far occurred to justify me in entertaining the slightest suspicion

either of my governess or her reference, I shall wait before I make any appeal to Miss Gwilt until I have

received your answerwhich I shall expect by return of post. Believe me, dear sir, faithfully yours,

This transparently straightforward letter at once dissipated the confusion which had thus far existed in Allan's

mind. He saw the snare in which he had been caught (though he was still necessarily at a loss to understand

why it had been set for him) as he had not seen it yet. Mrs. Milroy had clearly placed him between two

alternativesthe alternative of putting himself in the wrong, by declining to answer her husband's questions;

or the alternative of meanly sheltering his responsibility behind the responsibility of a woman, by

In this difficulty Allan acted as usual, without hesitation. His pledge to Mrs. Milroy to consider their

correspondence private still bound him, disgracefully as she had abused it. And his resolution was as

immovable as ever to let no earthly consideration tempt him into betraying Miss Gwilt. "I may have behaved

like a fool," he thought, "but I won't break my word; and I won't be the means of turning that miserable

He wrote to the major as artlessly and briefly as he had written to the major's wife. He declared his

unwillingness to cause a friend and neighbor any disappointment, if he could possibly help it. On this

occasion he had no other choice. The questions the major asked him were questions which he could not

consent to answer. He was not very clever at explaining himself, and he hoped he might be excused for

Monday's post brought with it Major Milroy's rejoinder, and closed the correspondence.

"SIRYour refusal to answer my questions, unaccompanied as it is by even the shadow of an excuse for

such a proceeding, can be interpreted but in one way. Besides being an implied acknowledgment of the

correctness of Mrs. Milroy's statement, it is also an implied reflection on my governess's character. As an act

of justice toward a lady who lives under the protection of my roof, and who has given me no reason whatever

to distrust her, I shall now show our correspondence to Miss Gwilt; and I shall repeat to her the conversation

"One word more respecting the future relations between us, and I have done. My ideas on certain subjects

are, I dare say, the ideas of an oldfashioned man. In my time, we had a code of honor by which we regulated

our actions. According to that code, if a man made private inquiries into a lady's affairs, without being either

her husband, her father, or her brother, he subjected himself to the responsibility of justifying his conduct in

the estimation of others; and, if he evaded that responsibility, he abdicated the position of a gentleman. It is

quite possible that this antiquated way of thinking exists no longer; but it is too late for me, at my time of life,

to adopt more modern views. I am scrupulously anxious, seeing that we live in a country and a time in which

the only court of honor is a policecourt, to express myself with the utmost moderation of language upon this

the last occasion that I shall have to communicate with you. Allow me, therefore, merely to remark that our

ideas of the conduct which is becoming in a gentleman differ seriously; and permit me on this account to

request that you will consider yourself for the future as a stranger to my family and to myself.

The Monday morning on which his client received the major's letter was the blackest Monday that had yet

been marked in Pedgift's calendar. When Allan's first angry sense of the tone of contempt in which his friend

and neighbor pronounced sentence on him had subsided, it left him sunk in a state of depression from which

no efforts made by his traveling companion could rouse him for the rest of the day. Reverting naturally, now

that his sentence of banishment had been pronounced, to his early intercourse with the cottage, his memory

went back to Neelie, more regretfully and more penitently than it had gone back to her yet." If she had shut

the door on me, instead of her father," was the bitter reflection with which Allan now reviewed the past, "I

shouldn't have had a word to say against it; I should have felt it served me right."

The next day brought another lettera welcome letter this time, from Mr. Brock. Allan had written to

Somersetshire on the subject of refitting the yacht some days since. The letter had found the rector engaged,

as he innocently supposed, in protecting his old pupil against the woman whom he had watched in London,

and whom he now believed to have followed him back to his own home. Acting under the directions sent to

her, Mrs. Oldershaw's housemaid had completed the mystification of Mr. Brock. She had tranquilized all

further anxiety on the rector's part by giving him a written undertaking (in the character of Miss Gwilt),

engaging never to approach Mr. Armadale, either personally or by letter! Firmly persuaded that he had won

the victory at last, poor Mr. Brock answered Allan's note in the highest spirits, expressing some natural

surprise at his leaving Thorpe Ambrose, but readily promising that the yacht should be refitted, and offering

This letter did wonders in raising Allan's spirits. It gave him a new interest to look to, entirely disassociated

from his past life in Norfolk. He began to count the days that were still to pass before the return of his absent

friend. It was then Tuesday. If Midwinter came back from his walking trip, as he had engaged to come back,

in a fortnight, Saturday would find him at Thorpe Ambrose. A note sent to meet the traveler might bring him

to London the same night; and, if all went well, before another week was over they might be afloat together

The next day passed, to Allan's relief, without bringing any letters. The spirits of Pedgift rose sympathetically

with the spirits of his client. Toward dinner time he reverted to the mens sana in corpore sano of the ancients,

Thursday came, and brought the fatal postman with more news from Norfolk. A letterwriter now stepped on

the scene who had not appeared there yet; and the total overthrow of all Allan's plans for a visit to

Pedgift Junior happened that morning to be the first at the breakfast table. When Allan came in, he relapsed

into his professional manner, and offered a letter to his patron with a bow performed in dreary silence.

"For you, sirfrom my father," replied Pedgift, "inclosed in one to myself. Perhaps you will allow me to

suggest, by way of preparing you forfor something a little unpleasantthat we shall want a particularly

good dinner today; and (if they're not performing any modern German music tonight) I think we should do

"DEAR SIRI cannot reconcile it with my sense of duty to your interests to leave you any longer in

ignorance of reports current in this town and its neighborhood, which, I regret to say, are reports affecting

"The first intimation of anything unpleasant reached me on Monday last. It was widely rumored in the town

that something had gone wrong at Major Milroy's with the new governess, and that Mr. Armadale was mixed

up in it. I paid no heed to this, believing it to be one of the many trumpery pieces of scandal perpetually set

going here, and as necessary as the air they breathe to the comfort of the inhabitants of this highly respectable

"Tuesday, however, put the matter in a new light. The most interesting particulars were circulated on the

highest authority. On Wednesday, the gentry in the neighborhood took the matter up, and universally

sanctioned the view adopted by the town. Today the public feeling has reached its climax, and I find myself

"To begin at the beginning. It is asserted that a correspondence took place last week between Major Milroy

and yourself; in which you cast a very serious suspicion on Miss Gwilt's respectability, without defining your

accusations and without (on being applied to) producing your proofs. Upon this, the major appears to have

felt it his duty (while assuring his governess of his own firm belief in her respectability) to inform her of what

had happened, in order that she might have no future reason to complain of his having had any concealments

from her in a matter affecting her character. Very magnanimous on the major's part; but you will see directly

that Miss Gwilt was more magnanimous still. After expressing her thanks in a most becoming manner, she

"Various reports are in circulation as to the governess's reason for taking this step.

"The authorized version (as sanctioned by the resident gentry) represents Miss Gwilt to have said that she

could not condescendin justice to herself, and in justice to her highly respectable referenceto defend her

reputation against undefined imputations cast on it by a comparative stranger. At the same time it was

impossible for her to pursue such a course of conduct as this, unless she possessed a freedom of action which

was quite incompatible with her continuing to occupy the dependent position of a governess. For that reason

she felt it incumbent on her to leave her situation. But, while doing this, she was equally determined not to

lead to any misinterpretation of her motives by leaving the neighborhood. No matter at what inconvenience to

herself, she would remain long enough at Thorpe Ambrose to await any more definitely expressed

imputations that might be made on her character, and to repel them publicly the instant they assumed a

"Such is the position which this highminded lady has taken up, with an excellent effect on the public mind

in these parts. It is clearly her interest, for some reason, to leave her situation, without leaving the

neighborhood. On Monday last she established herself in a cheap lodging on the outskirts of the town. And

on the same day she probably wrote to her reference, for yesterday there came a letter from that lady to Major

Milroy, full of virtuous indignation, and courting the fullest inquiry. The letter has been shown publicly, and

has immensely strengthened Miss Gwilt's position. She is now considered to be quite a heroine. The Thorpe

Ambrose Mercury has got a leading article about her, comparing her to Joan of Arc. It is considered probable

that she will be referred to in the sermon next Sunday. We reckon five strongminded single ladies in this

neighborhoodand all five have called on her. A testimonial was suggested; but it has been given up at Miss

Gwilt's own request, and a general movement is now on foot to get her employment as a teacher of music.

Lastly, I have had the honor of a visit from the lady herself, in her capacity of martyr, to tell me, in the

sweetest manner, that she doesn't blame Mr. Armadale, and that she considers him to be an innocent

instrument in the hands of other and more designing people. I was carefully on my guard with her; for I don't

altogether believe in Miss Gwilt, and I have my lawyer's suspicions of the motive that is at the bottom of her

"I have written thus far, my dear sir, with little hesitation or embarrassment. But there is unfortunately a

serious side to this business as well as a ridiculous side; and I must unwillingly come to it before I close my

"It is, I think, quite impossible that you can permit yourself to be spoken of as you are spoken of now,

without stirring personally in the matter. You have unluckily made many enemies here, and foremost among

them is my colleague, Mr. Darch. He has been showing everywhere a somewhat rashly expressed letter you

wrote to him on the subject of letting the cottage to Major Milroy instead of to himself, and it has helped to

exasperate the feeling against you. It is roundly stated in so many words that you have been prying into Miss

Gwilt's family affairs, with the most dishonorable motives; that you have tried, for a profligate purpose of

your own, to damage her reputation, and to deprive her of the protection of Major Milroy's roof; and that,

after having been asked to substantiate by proof the suspicions that you have cast on the reputation of a

defenseless woman, you have maintained a silence which condemns you in the estimation of all honorable

"I hope it is quite unnecessary for me to say that I don't attach the smallest particle of credit to these infamous

reports. But they are too widely spread and too widely believed to be treated with contempt. I strongly urge

you to return at once to this place, and to take the necessary measures for defending your character, in concert

with me, as your legal adviser. I have formed, since my interview with Miss Gwilt, a very strong opinion of

my own on the subject of that lady which it is not necessary to commit to paper. Suffice it to say here that I

shall have a means to propose to you for silencing the slanderous tongues of your neighbors, on the success

of which I stake my professional reputation, if you will only back me by your presence and authority.

"It may, perhaps, help to show you the necessity there is for your return, if I mention one other assertion

respecting yourself, which is in everybody's mouth. Your absence is, I regret to tell you, attributed to the

meanest of all motives. It is said that you are remaining in London because you are afraid to show your face

Allan was of an age to feel the sting contained in the last sentence of his lawyer's letter. He started to his feet

in a paroxysm of indignation, which revealed his character to Pedgift Junior in an entirely new light.

"Where's the timetable?" cried Allan. "I must go back to Thorpe Ambrose by the next train! If it doesn't start

directly, I'll have a special engine. I must and will go back instantly, and I don't care two straws for the

"Suppose we telegraph to my father, sir?" suggested the judicious Pedgift. "It's the quickest way of

"So it is," said Allan. "Thank you for reminding me of it. Telegraph to them! Tell your father to give every

man in Thorpe Ambrose the lie direct, in my name. Put it in capital letters, Pedgiftput it in capital letters!"

Pedgift smiled and shook his head. If he was acquainted with no other variety of human nature, he thoroughly

"It won't have the least effect on them, Mr. Armadale," he remarked quietly. "They'll only go on lying harder

than ever. If you want to upset the whole town, one line will do it. With five shillings' worth of human labor

and electric fluid, sir (I dabble a little in science after business hours), we'll explode a bombshell in Thorpe

Ambrose!" He produced the bombshell on a slip of paper as he spoke: "A. Pedgift, Junior, to A. Pedgift,

Senior.Spread it all over the place that Mr. Armadale is coming down by the next train."

"Leave my father to make it stronger, sir," returned the wary Pedgift. "My father is on the spot, and his

command of language is something quite extraordinary." He rang the bell, and dispatched the telegram.

Now that something had been done, Allan subsided gradually into a state of composure. He looked back

"Can you guess your father's plan for setting me right in the neighborhood?" he asked.

Pedgift the younger shook his wise head. "His plan appears to be connected in some way, sir, with his

"I shouldn't be surprised, Mr. Armadale," returned Pedgift Junior, "if his opinion staggers you a little, when

you come to hear it. My father has had a large legal experience of the shady side of the sex, and he learned

Allan made no further inquiries. He seemed to shrink from pursuing the subject, after having started it

himself. "Let's be doing something to kill the time," he said. "Let's pack up and pay the bill."

They packed up and paid the bill. The hour came, and the train left for Norfolk at last.

While the travelers were on their way back, a somewhat longer telegraphic message than Allan's was flashing

its way past them along the wires, in the reverse directionfrom Thorpe Ambrose to London. The message

was in cipher, and, the signs being interpreted, it ran thus: "From Lydia Gwilt to Maria Oldershaw.Good

news! He is coming back. I mean to have an interview with him. Everything looks well. Now I have left the

cottage, I have no women's prying eyes to dread, and I can come and go as I please. Mr. Midwinter is luckily

out of the way. I don't despair of becoming Mrs. Armadale yet. Whatever happens, depend on my keeping

away from London until I am certain of not taking any spies after me to your place. I am in no hurry to leave

Shortly after that message was received in London, Allan was back again in his own house.

It was eveningPedgift Junior had just left himand Pedgift Senior was expected to call on business in half

After waiting to hold a preliminary consultation with his son, Mr. Pedgift the elder set forth alone for his

Allowing for the difference in their ages, the son was, in this instance, so accurately the reflection of the

father, that an acquaintance with either of the two Pedgifts was almost equivalent to an acquaintance with

both. Add some little height and size to the figure of Pedgift Junior, give more breadth and boldness to his

humor, and some additional solidity and composure to his confidence in himself, and the presence and

character of Pedgift Senior stood, for all general purposes, revealed before you.

The lawyer's conveyance to Thorpe Ambrose was his own smart gig, drawn by his famous fasttrotting mare.

It was his habit to drive himself; and it was one among the trifling external peculiarities in which he and his

son differed a little, to affect something of the sporting character in his dress. The drab trousers of Pedgift the

elder fitted close to his legs; his boots, in dry weather and wet alike, were equally thick in the sole; his coat

pockets overlapped his hips, and his favorite summer cravat was of light spotted muslin, tied in the neatest

and smallest of bows. He used tobacco like his son, but in a different form. While the younger man smoked,

the elder took snuff copiously; and it was noticed among his intimates that he always held his "pinch" in a

state of suspense between his box and his nose when he was going to clinch a good bargain or to say a good

thing. The art of diplomacy enters largely into the practice of all successful men in the lower branch of the

law. Mr. Pedgift's form of diplomatic practice had been the same throughout his life, on every occasion when

he found his arts of persuasion required at an interview with another man. He invariably kept his strongest

argument, or his boldest proposal, to the last, and invariably remembered it at the door (after previously

taking his leave), as if it was a purely accidental consideration which had that instant occurred to him. Jocular

friends, acquainted by previous experience with this form of proceeding, had given it the name of "Pedgift's

postscript." There were few people in Thorpe Ambrose who did not know what it meant when the lawyer

suddenly checked his exit at the opened door; came back softly to his chair, with his pinch of snuff suspended

between his box and his nose; said, "Bytheby, there's a point occurs to me;" and settled the question

This was the man whom the march of events at Thorpe Ambrose had now thrust capriciously into a foremost

place. This was the one friend at hand to whom Allan in his social isolation could turn for counsel in the hour

"Goodevening, Mr. Armadale. Many thanks for your prompt attention to my very disagreeable letter," said

Pedgift Senior, opening the conversation cheerfully the moment he entered his client's house. "I hope you

understand, sir, that I had really no choice under the circumstances but to write as I did?"

"I have very few friends, Mr. Pedgift," returned Allan, simply. "And I am sure you are one of the few."

"Much obliged, Mr. Armadale. I have always tried to deserve your good opinion, and I mean, if I can, to

deserve it now. You found yourself comfortable, I hope, sir, at the hotel in London? We call it Our hotel.

Some rare old wine in the cellar, which I should have introduced to your notice if I had had the honor of

Allan felt his false position in the neighborhood far too acutely to be capable of talking of anything but the

main business of the evening. His lawyer's politely roundabout method of approaching the painful subject to

be discussed between them rather irritated than composed him. He came at once to the point, in his own

"The hotel was very comfortable, Mr. Pedgift, and your son was very kind to me. But we are not in London

now; and I want to talk to you about how I am to meet the lies that are being told of me in this place. Only

point me out any one man," cried Allan, with a rising voice and a mounting color"any one man who says I

am afraid to show my face in the neighborhood, and I'll horsewhip him publicly before another day is over

Pedgift Senior helped himself to a pinch of snuff, and held it calmly in suspense midway between his box and

"You can horsewhip a man, sir; but you can't horsewhip a neighborhood," said the lawyer, in his politely

epigrammatic manner. "We will fight our battle, if you please, without borrowing our weapons of the

"But how are we to begin?" asked Allan, impatiently. "How am I to contradict the infamous things they say

"There are two ways of stepping out of your present awkward position, sira short way, and a long way,"

replied Pedgift Senior. "The short way (which is always the best) has occurred to me since I have heard of

your proceedings in London from my son. I understand that you permitted him, after you received my letter,

to take me into your confidence. I have drawn various conclusions from what he has told me, which I may

find it necessary to trouble you with presently. In the meantime I should be glad to know under what

circumstances you went to London to make these unfortunate inquiries about Miss Gwilt? Was it your own

notion to pay that visit to Mrs. Mandeville? or were you acting under the influence of some other person?"

Allan hesitated. "I can't honestly tell you it was my own notion," he replied, and said no more.

"I thought as much!" remarked Pedgift Senior, in high triumph. "The short way out of our present difficulty,

Mr. Armadale, lies straight through that other person, under whose influence you acted. That other person

must be presented forthwith to public notice, and must stand in that other person's proper place. The name, if

"I am sorry to say, Mr. Pedgift, that we must try the longest way, if you have no objection," replied Allan,

The men who rise in the law are the men who decline to take No for an answer. Mr. Pedgift the elder had

risen in the law; and Mr. Pedgift the elder now declined to take No for an answer. But all pertinacityeven

professional pertinacity includedsooner or later finds its limits; and the lawyer, doubly fortified as he was

by long experience and copious pinches of snuff, found his limits at the very outset of the interview. It was

impossible that Allan could respect the confidence which Mrs. Milroy had treacherously affected to place in

him. But he had an honest man's regard for his own pledged wordthe regard which looks straightforward at

the fact, and which never glances sidelong at the circumstancesand the utmost persistency of Pedgift

Senior failed to move him a hairbreadth from the position which he had taken up. "No" is the strongest word

in the English language, in the mouth of any man who has the courage to repeat it often enough, and Allan

"Very good, sir," said the lawyer, accepting his defeat without the slightest loss of temper. "The choice rests

with you, and you have chosen. We will go the long way. It starts (allow me to inform you) from my office;

"If you won't expose the person who is responsible in the first instance, sir, for the inquiries to which you

unfortunately lent yourself," proceeded Mr. Pedgift the elder, "the only other alternative, in your present

"By proving to the whole neighborhood, Mr. Armadale, what I firmly believe to be the truththat the pet

object of the public protection is an adventuress of the worst class; an undeniably worthless and dangerous

woman. In plainer English still, sir, by employing time enough and money enough to discover the truth about

Before Allan could say a word in answer, there was an interruption at the door. After the usual preliminary

"I told you I was not to be interrupted," said Allan, irritably. "Good heavens! am I never to have done with

"Yes, sir," said the man, holding it out. "And," he added, speaking words of evil omen in his master's ears,

Allan looked at the address of the letter with a natural expectation of encountering the handwriting of the

major's wife. The anticipation was not realized. His correspondent was plainly a lady, but the lady was not

"Who can it be?" he said, looking mechanically at Pedgift Senior as he opened the envelope.

Pedgift Senior gently tapped his snuffbox, and said, without a moment's hesitation, "Miss Gwilt."

Allan opened the letter. The first two words in it were the echo of the two words the lawyer had just

"I have known a good many of them in my time, sir," explained Pedgift Senior, with a modesty equally rare

and becoming in a man of his age. "Not as handsome as Miss Gwilt, I admit. But quite as bad, I dare say.

"Miss Gwilt presents her compliments to Mr. Armadale and begs to know if it will be convenient to him to

favor her with an interview, either this evening or tomorrow morning. Miss Gwilt offers no apology for

making her present request. She believes Mr. Armadale will grant it as an act of justice toward a friendless

woman whom he has been innocently the means of injuring, and who is earnestly desirous to set herself right

The face of Mr. Pedgift the elder expressed but one feeling when he had read the letter in his turn and had

handed it backa feeling of profound admiration. "What a lawyer she would have made," he exclaimed,

"I can't treat this as lightly as you do, Mr. Pedgift," said Allan. "It's dreadfully distressing to me. I was so

"Do you mean to say, sir, that you actually contemplate seeing Miss Gwilt?" he asked, with an expression of

"I can't treat her cruelly," returned Allan. "I have been the means of injuring herwithout intending it, God

"Mr. Armadale," said the lawyer, "you did me the honor, a little while since, to say that you considered me

your friend. May I presume on that position to ask you a question or two, before you go straight to your own

"Any questions you like," said Allan, looking back at the letterthe only letter he had ever received from

"You have had one trap set for you already, sir, and you have fallen into it. Do you want to fall into another?"

"I'll try again, Mr. Armadale; we lawyers are not easily discouraged. Do you think that any statement Miss

Gwilt might make to you, if you do see her, would be a statement to be relied on, after what you and my son

"She might explain what we discovered in London," suggested Allan, still looking at the writing, and thinking

"Might explain it? My dear sir, she is quite certain to explain it! I will do her justice: I believe she would

That last answer forced Allan's attention away from the letter. The lawyer's pitiless common sense showed

"If you see that woman again, sir," proceeded Pedgift Senior, "you will commit the rashest act of folly I ever

heard of in all my experience. She can have but one object in coming hereto practice on your weakness for

her. Nobody can say into what false step she may not lead you, if you once give her the opportunity. You

admit yourself that you have been fond of her; your attentions to her have been the subject of general remark;

if you haven't actually offered her the chance of becoming Mrs. Armadale, you have done the next thing to it;

and knowing all this, you propose to see her, and to let her work on you with her devilish beauty and her

devilish cleverness, in the character of your interesting victim! You, who are one of the best matches in

England! You, who are the natural prey of all the hungry single women in the community! I never heard the

like of it; I never, in all my professional experience, heard the like of it! If you must positively put yourself in

a dangerous position, Mr. Armadale," concluded Pedgift the elder, with the everlasting pinch of snuff held in

suspense between his box and his nose, "there's a wildbeast show coming to our town next week. Let in the

For the third time Allan looked at his lawyer. And for the third time his lawyer looked back at him quite

"The worst possible opinion, Mr. Armadale," retorted Pedgift Senior, coolly. "We will return to that when we

have sent the lady's messenger about his business. Will you take my advice? Will you decline to see her?"

"I would willingly declineit would be so dreadfully distressing to both of us," said Allan. "I would

"Bless my soul, Mr. Armadale, it's easy enough! Don't commit you yourself in writing. Send out to the

The short course thus suggested was a course which Allan positively declined to take. "It's treating her

Once more the pertinacity of Pedgift the elder found its limits, and once more that wise man yielded

gracefully to a compromise. On receiving his client's promise not to see Miss Gwilt, he consented to Allan's

committing himself in writing under his lawyer's dictation. The letter thus produced was modeled in Allan's

own style; it began and ended in one sentence. "Mr. Armadale presents his compliments to Miss Gwilt, and

regrets that he cannot have the pleasure of seeing her at Thorpe Ambrose." Allan had pleaded hard for a

second sentence, explaining that he only declined Miss Gwilt's request from a conviction that an interview

would be needlessly distressing on both sides. But his legal adviser firmly rejected the proposed addition to

the letter. "When you say No to a woman, sir," remarked Pedgift Senior, "always say it in one word. If you

Producing that little gem of wisdom from the rich mine of his professional experience, Mr. Pedgift the elder

sent out the answer to Miss Gwilt's messenger, and recommended the servant to "see the fellow, whoever he

"Now, sir," said the lawyer, "we will come back, if you like, to my opinion of Miss Gwilt. It doesn't at all

agree with yours, I'm afraid. You think her an object of pityquite natural at your age. I think her an object

for the inside of a prisonquite natural at mine. You shall hear the grounds on which I have formed my

opinion directly. Let me show you that I am in earnest by putting the opinion itself, in the first place, to a

practical test. Do you think Miss Gwilt is likely to persist in paying you a visit, Mr. Armadale, after the

"Quite impossible!" cried Allan, warmly. "Miss Gwilt is a lady; after the letter I have sent to her, she will

"There we join issue, sir," cried Pedgift Senior. "I say she will snap her fingers at your letter (which was one

of the reasons why I objected to your writing it). I say, she is in all probability waiting her messenger's return,

in or near your grounds at this moment. I say, she will try to force her way in here, before fourandtwenty

hours more are over your head. Egad, sir!" cried Mr. Pedgift, looking at his watch, "it's only seven o'clock

now. She's bold enough and clever enough to catch you unawares this very evening. Permit me to ring for the

servantpermit me to request that you will give him orders immediately to say you are not at home. You

needn't hesitate, Mr. Armadale! If you're right about Miss Gwilt, it's a mere formality. If I'm right, it's a wise

precaution. Back your opinion, sir," said Mr. Pedgift, ringing the bell; "I back mine!"

Allan was sufficiently nettled when the bell rang to feel ready to give the order. But when the servant came

in, past remembrances got the better of him, and the words stuck in his throat. "You give the order," he said

to Mr. Pedgift, and walked away abruptly to the window. "You're a good fellow!" thought the old lawyer,

looking after him, and penetrating his motive on the instant. "The claws of that shedevil shan't scratch you if

"If Miss Gwilt calls here, either this evening, or at any other time," said Pedgift Senior, "Mr. Armadale is not

at home. Wait! If she asks when Mr. Armadale will be back, you don't know. Wait! If she proposes coming in

and sitting down, you have a general order that nobody is to come in and sit down unless they have a

previous appointment with Mr. Armadale. Come!" cried old Pedgift, rubbing his hands cheerfully when the

servant had left the room, "I've stopped her out now, at any rate! The orders are all given, Mr. Armadale. We

Allan came back from the window. "The conversation is not a very pleasant one," he said. "No offense to

"We will get it over as soon as possible, sir," said Pedgift Senior, still persisting, as only lawyers and women

can persist, in forcing his way little by little nearer and nearer to his own object. "Let us go back, if you

please, to the practical suggestion which I offered to you when the servant came in with Miss Gwilt's note.

There is, I repeat, only one way left for you, Mr. Armadale, out of your present awkward position. You must

pursue your inquiries about this woman to an endon the chance (which I consider next to a certainty) that

"I wish to God I had never made any inquiries at all!" said Allan. "Nothing will induce me, Mr. Pedgift, to

"Can you ask me why," retorted Allan, hotly, "after your son has told you what we found out in London?

Even if I had less cause to beto be sorry for Miss Gwilt than I have; even if it was some other woman, do

you think I would inquire any further into the secret of a poor betrayed creaturemuch less expose it to the

neighborhood? I should think myself as great a scoundrel as the man who has cast her out helpless on the

world, if I did anything of the kind. I wonder you can ask me the questionupon my soul, I wonder you can

"Give me your hand, Mr. Armadale!" cried Pedgift Senior, warmly; "I honor you for being so angry with me.

The neighborhood may say what it pleases; you're a gentleman, sir, in the best sense of the word. Now,"

pursued the lawyer, dropping Allan's hand, and lapsing back instantly from sentiment to business, "just hear

what I have got to say in my own defense. Suppose Miss Gwilt's real position happens to be nothing like

"Such is your opinion, sir," persisted Pedgift. "Mine, founded on what is publicly known of Miss Gwilt's

proceedings here, and on what I have seen of Miss Gwilt herself, is that she is as far as I am from being the

sentimental victim you are inclined to make her out. Gently, Mr. Armadale! remember that I have put my

opinion to a practical test, and wait to condemn it offhand until events have justified you. Let me put my

points, sirmake allowances for me as a lawyerand let me put my points. You and my son are young

men; and I don't deny that the circumstances, on the surface, appear to justify the interpretation which, as

young men, you have placed on them. I am an old manI know that circumstances are not always to be

taken as they appear on the surfaceand I possess the great advantage, in the present case, of having had

years of professional experience among some of the wickedest women who ever walked this earth."

Allan opened his lips to protest, and checked himself, in despair of producing the slightest effect. Pedgift

Senior bowed in polite acknowledgment of his client's selfrestraint, and took instant advantage of it to go

"All Miss Gwilt's proceedings," he resumed, "since your unfortunate correspondence with the major show me

that she is an old hand at deceit. The moment she is threatened with exposureexposure of some kind, there

can be no doubt, after what you discovered in Londonshe turns your honorable silence to the best possible

account, and leaves the major's service in the character of a martyr. Once out of the house, what does she do

next? She boldly stops in the neighborhood, and serves three excellent purposes by doing so. In the first

place, she shows everybody that she is not afraid of facing another attack on her reputation. In the second

place, she is close at hand to twist you round her little finger, and to become Mrs. Armadale in spite of

circumstances, if you (and I) allow her the opportunity. In the third place, if you (and I) are wise enough to

distrust her, she is equally wise on her side, and doesn't give us the first great chance of following her to

London, and associating her with her accomplices. Is this the conduct of an unhappy woman who has lost her

character in a moment of weakness, and who has been driven unwillingly into a deception to get it back

"You put it cleverly," said Allan, answering with marked reluctance; "I can't deny that you put it cleverly."

"Your own common sense, Mr. Armadale, is beginning to tell you that I put it justly," said Pedgift Senior. "I

don't presume to say yet what this woman's connection may be with those people at Pimlico. All I assert is

that it is not the connection you suppose. Having stated the facts so far, I have only to add my own personal

impression of Miss Gwilt. I won't shock you, if I can help it; I'll try if I can't put it cleverly again. She came to

my office (as I told you in my letter), no doubt to make friends with your lawyer, if she could; she came to

tell me, in the most forgiving and Christian manner, that she didn't blame you."

"Sometimes, Mr. Armadale," returned Pedgift the elder, as unabashed as ever. "I believe as often as a lawyer

can. To proceed, sir. When I was in the criminal branch of practice, it fell to my lot to take instructions for the

defense of women committed for trial from the women's own lips. Whatever other difference there might be

among them, I got, in time, to notice, among those who were particularly wicked and unquestionably guilty,

one point in which they all resembled each other. Tall and short, old and young, handsome and ugly, they all

had a secret selfpossession that nothing could shake. On the surface they were as different as possible. Some

of them were in a state of indignation; some of them were drowned in tears; some of them were full of pious

confidence; and some of them were resolved to commit suicide before the night was out. But only put your

finger suddenly on the weak point in the story told by any one of them, and there was an end of her rage, or

her tears, or her piety, or her despair; and out came the genuine woman, in full possession of all her resources

with a neat little lie that exactly suited the circumstances of the case. Miss Gwilt was in tears, sirbecoming

tears that didn't make her nose redand I put my finger suddenly on the weak point in her story. Down

dropped her pathetic pockethandkerchief from her beautiful blue eyes, and out came the genuine woman

with the neat little lie that exactly suited the circumstances! I felt twenty years younger, Mr. Armadale, on the

spot. I declare I thought I was in Newgate again, with my notebook in my hand, taking my instructions for

"The next thing you'll say, Mr. Pedgift," cried Allan, angrily, "is that Miss Gwilt has been in prison!"

Pedgift Senior calmly rapped his snuffbox, and had his answer ready at a moment's notice.

"She may have richly deserved to see the inside of a prison, Mr. Armadale; but, in the age we live in, that is

one excellent reason for her never having been near any place of the kind. A prison, in the present tender state

of public feeling, for a charming woman like Miss Gwilt! My dear sir, if she had attempted to murder you or

me, and if an inhuman judge and jury had decided on sending her to a prison, the first object of modern

society would be to prevent her going into it; and, if that couldn't be done, the next object would be to let her

out again as soon as possible. Read your newspaper, Mr. Armadale, and you'll find we live in piping times for

the black sheep of the communityif they are only black enough. I insist on asserting, sir, that we have got

one of the blackest of the lot to deal with in this case. I insist on asserting that you have had the rare luck, in

these unfortunate inquiries, to pitch on a woman who happens to be a fit object for inquiry, in the interests of

the public protection. Differ with me as strongly as you please, but don't make up your mind finally about

Miss Gwilt until events have put those two opposite opinions of ours to the test that I have proposed. A fairer

test there can't be. I agree with you that no lady worthy of the name could attempt to force her way in here,

after receiving your letter. But I deny that Miss Gwilt is worthy of the name; and I say she will try to force

Pedgift Senior leaned back in his chair and smiled. There was a momentary silence, and in that silence the

They waited the event. The opening of the house door was audible, but the room was too far from it for the

sound of voices to reach the ear as well. After a long interval of expectation, the closing of the door was

heard at last. Allan rose impetuously and rang the bell. Mr. Pedgift the elder sat sublimely calm, and enjoyed,

The man looked at Pedgift Senior, with an expression of unutterable reverence, and answered, "Miss Gwilt."

"I don't want to crow over you, sir," said Mr. Pedgift the elder, when the servant had withdrawn. "But what

"Time is of some importance, Mr. Armadale. After what has just happened, do you still object to taking the

"I can't, Mr. Pedgift," said Allan. "I can't be the means of disgracing her in the neighborhood. I would rather

"Let me put it in another way, sir. Excuse my persisting. You have been very kind to me and my family; and I

have a personal interest, as well as a professional interest, in you. If you can't prevail on yourself to show this

woman's character in its true light, will you take common precautions to prevent her doing any more harm?

Will you consent to having her privately watched as long as she remains in this neighborhood?"

"It is, Mr. Pedgift; but I am much obliged to you for your advice, all the same."

Pedgift Senior rose in a state of gentle resignation, and took up his hat "Goodevening, sir," he said, and

made sorrowfully for the door. Allan rose on his side, innocently supposing that the interview was at an end.

Persons better acquainted with the diplomatic habits of his legal adviser would have recommended him to

keep his seat. The time was ripe for "Pedgift's postscript," and the lawyer's indicative snuffbox was at that

Pedgift Senior opened the door, stopped, considered, closed the door again, came back mysteriously with his

pinch of snuff in suspense between his box and his nose, and repeating his invariable formula, "Bytheby,

Allan, wondering, took the seat, in his turn, which he had just left. Lawyer and client looked at each other

"With all my heart, sir! This is the point. I attach considerable importanceif nothing else can be doneto

having Miss Gwilt privately looked after, as long as she stops at Thorpe Ambrose. It struck me just now at

the door, Mr. Armadale, that what you are not willing to do for your own security, you might be willing to do

"A young lady who is a near neighbor of yours, sir. Shall I mention the name in confidence? Miss Milroy."

"Miss Milroy!" he repeated. "Can she be concerned in this miserable business? I hope not, Mr. Pedgift; I

"I paid a visit, in your interests, sir, at the cottage this morning," proceeded Pedgift Senior. "You shall hear

what happened there, and judge for yourself. Major Milroy has been expressing his opinion of you pretty

freely; and I thought it highly desirable to give him a caution. It's always the way with those quiet

addleheaded men: when they do once wake up, there's no reasoning with their obstinacy, and no quieting

their violence. Well, sir, this morning I went to the cottage. The major and Miss Neelie were both in the

parlormiss not looking so pretty as usual; pale, I thought, pale, and worn, and anxious. Up jumps the

addleheaded major (I wouldn't give that, Mr. Armadale, for the brains of a man who can occupy himself for

half his lifetime n making a clock!)up jumps the addleheaded major, in the loftiest manner, and actually

tries to look me down. Ha! ha! the idea of anybody looking me down, at my time of life. I behaved like a

Christian; I nodded kindly to old What'so'clock 'Fine morning, major,' says I. 'Have you any business with

me?' says he. 'Just a word,' says I. Miss Neelie, like the sensible girl she is, gets up to leave the room; and

what does her ridiculous father do? He stops her. 'You needn't go, my dear, I have nothing to say to Mr.

Pedgift,' says this old military idiot, and turns my way, and tries to look me down again. 'You are Mr.

Armadale's lawyer,' says he; 'if you come on any business relating to Mr. Armadale, I refer you to my

solicitor.' (His solicitor is Darch; and Darch has had enough of me in business, I can tell you!) 'My errand

here, major, does certainly relate to Mr. Armadale,' says I; 'but it doesn't concern your lawyerat any rate,

just yet. I wish to caution you to suspend your opinion of my client, or, if you won't do that, to be careful how

you express it in public. I warn you that our turn is to come, and that you are not at the end yet of this scandal

about Miss Gwilt.' It struck me as likely that he would lose his temper when he found himself tackled in that

way, and he amply fulfilled my expectations. He was quite violent in his languagethe poor weak

creatureactually violent with me! I behaved like a Christian again; I nodded kindly, and wished him

goodmorning. When I looked round to wish Miss Neelie goodmorning, too, she was gone. You seem

restless, Mr. Armadale," remarked Pedgift Senior, as Allan, feeling the sting of old recollections, suddenly

started out of his chair, and began pacing up and down the room. "I won't try your patience much longer, sir;

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pedgift," said Allan, returning to his seat, and trying to look composedly at the

"Well, sir, I left the cottage," resumed Pedgift Senior. "Just as I turned the corner from the garden into the

park, whom should I stumble on but Miss Neelie herself, evidently on the lookout for me. 'I want to speak to

you for one moment, Mr. Pedgift!' says she. 'Does Mr. Armadale think me mixed up in this matter?' She was

violently agitatedtears in her eyes, sir, of the sort which my legal experience has not accustomed me to see.

I quite forgot myself; I actually gave her my arm, and led her away gently among the trees. (A nice position

to find me in, if any of the scandalmongers of the town had happened to be walking in that direction!) 'My

dear Miss Milroy,' says I, 'why should Mr. Armadale think you mixed up in it?' "

"You ought to have told her at once that I thought nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Allan, indignantly. "Why

"Because I am a lawyer, Mr. Armadale," rejoined Pedgift Senior, dryly. "Even in moments of sentiment,

under convenient trees, with a pretty girl on my arm, I can't entirely divest myself of my professional caution.

Don't look distressed, sir, pray! I set things right in due course of time. Before I left Miss Milroy, I told her,

"She was able to dispense with the use of my arm, sir," replied old Pedgift, as dryly as ever, "and to pledge

me to inviolable secrecy on the subject of our interview. She was particularly desirous that you should hear

nothing about it. If you are at all anxious on your side to know why I am now betraying her confidence, I beg

to inform you that her confidence related to no less a person than the lady who favored you with a call just

Allan, who had been once more restlessly pacing the room, stopped, and returned to his chair.

"Most serious, sir," returned Pedgift Senior. "I am betraying Miss Neelie's secret, in Miss Neelie's own

interest. Let us go back to that cautious question I put to her. She found some little difficulty in answering it,

for the reply involved her in a narrative of the parting interview between her governess and herself. This is

the substance of it. The two were alone when Miss Gwilt took leave of her pupil; and the words she used (as

reported to me by Miss Neelie) were these. She said, 'Your mother has declined to allow me to take leave of

her. Do you decline too?' Miss Neelie's answer was a remarkably sensible one for a girl of her age. 'We have

not been good friends,' she said, 'and I believe we are equally glad to part with each other. But I have no wish

to decline taking leave of you.' Saying that, she held out her hand. Miss Gwilt stood looking at her steadily,

without taking it, and addressed her in these words: 'You are not Mrs. Armadale yet.' Gently, sir! Keep your

temper. It's not at all wonderful that a woman, conscious of having her own mercenary designs on you,

should attribute similar designs to a young lady who happens to be your near neighbor. Let me go on. Miss

Neelie, by her own confession (and quite naturally, I think), was excessively indignant. She owns to having

answered, 'You shameless creature, how dare you say that to me!' Miss Gwilt's rejoinder was rather a

remarkable onethe anger, on her side, appears to have been of the cool, still, venomous kind. 'Nobody ever

yet injured me, Miss Milroy,' she said, 'without sooner or later bitterly repenting it. You will bitterly repent it.'

She stood looking at her pupil for a moment in dead silence, and then left the room. Miss Neelie appears to

have felt the imputation fastened on her, in connection with you, far more sensitively than she felt the threat.

She had previously known, as everybody had known in the house, that some unacknowledged proceedings of

yours in London had led to Miss Gwilt's voluntary withdrawal from her situation. And she now inferred, from

the language addressed to her, that she was actually believed by Miss Gwilt to have set those proceedings on

foot, to advance herself, and to injure her governess, in your estimation. Gently, sir, gently! I haven't quite

done yet. As soon as Miss Neelie had recovered herself, she went upstairs to speak to Mrs. Milroy. Miss

Gwilt's abominable imputation had taken her by surprise; and she went to her mother first for enlightenment

and advice. She got neither the one nor the other. Mrs. Milroy declared she was too ill to enter on the subject,

and she has remained too ill to enter on it ever since. Miss Neelie applied next to her father. The major

stopped her the moment your name passed her lips: he declared he would never hear you mentioned again by

any member of his family. She has been left in the dark from that time to this, not knowing how she might

have been misrepresented by Miss Gwilt, or what falsehoods you might have been led to believe of her. At

my age and in my profession, I don't profess to have any extraordinary softness of heart. But I do think, Mr.

"I'll do anything to help her!" cried Allan, impulsively. "You don't know, Mr. Pedgift, what reason I have"

He checked himself, and confusedly repeated his first words. "I'll do anything," he reiterated

"Do you really mean that, Mr. Armadale? Excuse my asking; but you can very materially help Miss Neelie, if

Having fired that shot pointblank at his client, the wise lawyer waited a little to let it take its effect before he

"Your son is hard enough to deal with, Mr. Pedgift," he said, "and you are harder than your son."

"Thank you, sir," rejoined the ready Pedgift, "in my son's name and my own, for a handsome compliment to

the firm. If you really wish to be of assistance to Miss Neelie," he went on, more seriously, "I have shown

you the way. You can do nothing to quiet her anxiety which I have not done already. As soon as I had assured

her that no misconception of her conduct existed in your mind, she went away satisfied. Her governess's

parting threat doesn't seem to have dwelt on her memory. I can tell you, Mr. Armadale, it dwells on mine!

You know my opinion of Miss Gwilt; and you know what Miss Gwilt herself has done this very evening to

justify that opinion even in your eyes. May I ask, after all that has passed, whether you think she is the sort of

The question was a formidable one to answer. Forced steadily back from the position which he had occupied

at the outset of the interview, by the irresistible pressure of plain facts, Allan began for the first time to show

symptoms of yielding on the subject of Miss Gwilt. "Is there no other way of protecting Miss Milroy but the

"Do you think the major would listen to you, sir, if you spoke to him?" asked Pedgift Senior, sarcastically.

"I'm rather afraid he wouldn't honor me with his attention. Or perhaps you would prefer alarming Miss Neelie

by telling her in plain words that we both think her in danger? Or, suppose you send me to Miss Gwilt, with

instructions to inform her that she has done her pupil a cruel injustice? Women are so proverbially ready to

listen to reason; and they are so universally disposed to alter their opinions of each other on

applicationespecially when one woman thinks that another woman has destroyed her prospect of making a

good marriage. Don't mind me, Mr. Armadale; I'm only a lawyer, and I can sit waterproof under another

"Damn it, Mr. Pedgift, tell me in plain words what you want to do!" cried Allan, losing his temper at last.

"In plain words, Mr. Armadale, I want to keep Miss Gwilt's proceedings privately under view, as long as she

stops in this neighborhood. I answer for finding a person who will look after her delicately and discreetly.

And I agree to discontinue even this harmless superintendence of her actions, if there isn't good reasons

shown for continuing it, to your entire satisfaction, in a week's time. I make that moderate proposal, sir, in

what I sincerely believe to be Miss Milroy's interest, and I wait your answer, Yes or No."

"Can't I have time to consider?" asked Allan, driven to the last helpless expedient of taking refuge in delay.

"Certainly, Mr. Armadale. But don't forget, while you are considering, that Miss Milroy is in the habit of

walking out alone in your park, innocent of all apprehension of danger, and that Miss Gwilt is perfectly free

"Do as you like!" exclaimed Allan, in despair. "And, for God's sake, don't torment me any longer!"

Popular prejudice may deny it, but the profession of the law is a practically Christian profession in one

respect at least. Of all the large collection of ready answers lying in wait for mankind on a lawyer's lips, none

is kept in better working order than "the soft answer which turneth away wrath." Pedgift Senior rose with the

alacrity of youth in his legs, and the wise moderation of age on his tongue. "Many thanks, sir," he said, "for

the attention you have bestowed on me. I congratulate you on your decision, and I wish you goodevening."

This time his indicative snuffbox was not in his hand when he opened the door, and he actually disappeared

Allan's head sank on his breast when he was left alone. "If it was only the end of the week!" he thought,

As that aspiration escaped the client's lips, the lawyer got gayly into his gig. "Hie away, old girl!" cried

Pedgift Senior, patting the fasttrotting mare with the end of his whip. "I never keep a lady waitingand I've

The outskirts of the little town of Thorpe Ambrose, on the side nearest to "the great house," have earned some

local celebrity as exhibiting the prettiest suburb of the kind to be found in East Norfolk. Here the villas and

gardens are for the most part built and laid out in excellent taste, the trees are in the prime of their growth,

and the healthy common beyond the houses rises and falls in picturesque and delightful variety of broken

ground. The rank, fashion, and beauty of the town make this place their evening promenade; and when a

stranger goes out for a drive, if he leaves it to the coachman, the coachman starts by way of the common as a

On the opposite side, that is to say, on the side furthest from "the great house," the suburbs (in the year 1851)

were universally regarded as a sore subject by all persons zealous for the reputation of the town.

Here nature was uninviting, man was poor, and social progress, as exhibited under the form of building,

halted miserably. The streets dwindled feebly, as they receded from the center of the town, into smaller and

smaller houses, and died away on the barren open ground into an atrophy of skeleton cottages. Builders

hereabouts appeared to have universally abandoned their work in the first stage of its creation. Landholders

set up poles on lost patches of ground, and, plaintively advertising that they were to let for building, raised

sickly little crops meanwhile, in despair of finding a purchaser to deal with them. All the waste paper of the

town seemed to float congenially to this neglected spot; and all the fretful children came and cried here, in

charge of all the slatternly nurses who disgraced the place. If there was any intention in Thorpe Ambrose of

sending a wornout horse to the knacker's, that horse was sure to be found waiting his doom in a field on this

side of the town. No growth flourished in these desert regions but the arid growth of rubbish; and no creatures

rejoiced but the creatures of the nightthe vermin here and there in the beds, and the cats everywhere on the

The sun had set, and the summer twilight was darkening. The fretful children were crying in their cradles; the

horse destined for the knacker dozed forlorn in the field of his imprisonment; the cats waited stealthily in

corners for the coming night. But one living figure appeared in the lonely suburbthe figure of Mr.

Bashwood. But one faint sound disturbed the dreadful silencethe sound of Mr. Bashwood's softly stepping

Moving slowly past the heaps of bricks rising at intervals along the road, coasting carefully round the old iron

and the broken tiles scattered here and there in his path, Mr. Bashwood advanced from the direction of the

country toward one of the unfinished streets of the suburb. His personal appearance had been apparently

made the object of some special attention. His false teeth were brilliantly white; his wig was carefully

brushed; his mourning garments, renewed throughout, gleamed with the hideous and slimy gloss of cheap

black cloth. He moved with a nervous jauntiness, and looked about him with a vacant smile. Having reached

the first of the skeleton cottages, his watery eyes settled steadily for the first time on the view of the street

before him. The next instant he started; his breath quickened; he leaned, trembling and flushing, against the

unfinished wall at his side. A lady, still at some distance, was advancing toward him down the length of the

street. "She's coming!" he whispered, with a strange mixture of rapture and fear, of alternating color and

paleness, showing itself in his haggard face. "I wish I was the ground she treads on! I wish I was the glove

she's got on her hand!" He burst ecstatically into those extravagant words, with a concentrated intensity of

delight in uttering them that actually shook his feeble figure from head to foot.

Smoothly and gracefully the lady glided nearer and nearer, until she revealed to Mr. Bashwood's eyes, what

Mr. Bashwood's instincts had recognized in the first instancethe face of Miss Gwilt.

She was dressed with an exquisitely expressive economy of outlay. The plainest straw bonnet procurable,

trimmed sparingly with the cheapest white ribbon, was on her head. Modest and tasteful poverty expressed

itself in the speckless cleanliness and the modestly proportioned skirts of her light "print" gown, and in the

scanty little mantilla of cheap black silk which she wore over it, edged with a simple frilling of the same

material. The luster of her terrible red hair showed itself unshrinkingly in a plaited coronet above her

forehead, and escaped in one vagrant lovelock, perfectly curled, that dropped over her left shoulder. Her

gloves, fitting her like a second skin, were of the sober brown hue which is slowest to show signs of use. One

hand lifted her dress daintily above the impurities of the road; the other held a little nosegay of the

commonest garden flowers. Noiselessly and smoothly she came on, with a gentle and regular undulation of

the print gown; with the lovelock softly lifted from moment to moment in the evening breeze; with her head

a little drooped, and her eyes on the groundin walk, and look, and manner, in every casual movement that

escaped her, expressing that subtle mixture of the voluptuous and the modest which, of the many attractive

"Mr. Bashwood!" she exclaimed, in loud, clear tones indicative of the utmost astonishment, "what a surprise

to find you here! I thought none but the wretched inhabitants ever ventured near this side of the town. Hush!"

she added quickly, in a whisper. "You heard right when you heard that Mr. Armadale was going to have me

followed and watched. There's a man behind one of the houses. We must talk out loud of indifferent things,

and look as if we had met by accident. Ask me what I am doing. Out loud! Directly! You shall never see me

She spoke with a merciless tyranny of eye and voicewith a merciless use of her power over the feeble

creature whom she addressed. Mr. Bashwood obeyed her in tones that quavered with agitation, and with eyes

"I am trying to earn a little money by teaching music," she said, in the voice intended to reach the spy's ears.

"If you are able to recommend me any pupils, Mr. Bashwood, your good word will oblige me. Have you been

in the grounds today?" she went on, dropping her voice again in a whisper. "Has Mr. Armadale been near

the cottage? Has Miss Milroy been out of the garden? No? Are you sure? Look out for them tomorrow, and

next day, and next day. They are certain to meet and make it up again, and I must and will know of it. Hush!

Ask me my terms for teaching music. What are you frightened about? It's me the man's afternot you.

Louder than when you asked me what I was doing, just now; louder, or I won't trust you any more; I'll go to

Once more Mr. Bashwood obeyed. "Don't be angry with me," he murmured, faintly, when he had spoken the

You poor old dear!" she whispered back, with a sudden change in her manner, with an easy satirical

tenderness. "What business have you with a heart at your age? Be here tomorrow at the same time, and tell

me what you have seen in the grounds. My terms are only five shillings a lesson," she went on, in her louder

tone. "I'm sure that's not much, Mr. Bashwood; I give such long lessons, and I get all my pupils' music

halfprice." She suddenly dropped her voice again, and looked him brightly into instant subjection. "Don't let

Mr. Armadale out of your sight tomorrow! If that girl manages to speak to him, and if I don't hear of it, I'll

frighten you to death. If I do hear of it, I'll kiss you! Hush! Wish me goodnight, and go on to the town, and

leave me to go the other way. I don't want youI'm not afraid of the man behind the houses; I can deal with

him by myself. Say goodnight, and I'll let you shake hands. Say it louder, and I'll give you one of my flowers,

if you'll promise not to fall in love with it." She raised her voice again. "Goodnight, Mr. Bashwood! Don't

forget my terms. Five shillings a lesson, and the lessons last an hour at a time, and I get all my pupils' music

halfprice, which is an immense advantage, isn't it?" She slipped a flower into his handfrowned him into

obedience, and smiled to reward him for obeying, at the same momentlifted her dress again above the

impurities of the roadand went on her way with a dainty and indolent deliberation, as a cat goes on her

Left alone, Mr. Bashwood turned to the low cottage wall near which he had been standing, and, resting

His past existence had disciplined him to bear disaster and insult, as few happier men could have borne them;

but it had not prepared him to feel the masterpassion of humanity, for the first time, at the dreary end of his

life, in the hopeless decay of a manhood that had withered under the double blight of conjugal

disappointment and parental sorrow. "Oh, if I was only young again!" murmured the poor wretch, resting his

arms on the wall and touching the flower with his dry, fevered lips in a stealthy rapture of tenderness. "She

might have liked me when I was twenty!" He suddenly started back into an erect position, and stared about

him in vacant bewilderment and terror. "She told me to go home," he said, with a startled look. "Why am I

stopping here?" He turned, and hurried on to the townin such dread of her anger, if she looked round and

saw him, that he never so much as ventured on a backward glance at the road by which she had retired, and

never detected the spy dogging her footsteps, under cover of the empty houses and the brickheaps by the

Smoothly and gracefully, carefully preserving the speckless integrity of her dress, never hastening her pace,

and never looking aside to the right hand or the left, Miss Gwilt pursued her way toward the open country.

The suburban road branched off at its end in two directions. On the left, the path wound through a ragged

little coppice to the grazing grounds of a neighboring farm; on the right, it led across a hillock of waste land

to the highroad. Stopping a moment to consider, but not showing the spy that she suspected him by glancing

behind her while there was a hidingplace within his reach, Miss Gwilt took the path across the hillock. "I'll

catch him there," she said to herself, looking up quietly at the long straight line of the empty highroad.

Once on the ground that she had chosen for her purpose, she met the difficulties of the position with perfect

tact and selfpossession. After walking some thirty yards along the road, she let her nosegay drop, half turned

round in stooping to pick it up, saw the man stopping at the same moment behind her, and instantly went on

again, quickening her pace little by little, until she was walking at the top of her speed. The spy fell into the

snare laid for him. Seeing the night coming, and fearing that he might lose sight of her in the darkness, he

rapidly lessened the distance between them. Miss Gwilt went on faster and faster till she plainly heard his

footstep behind her, then stopped, turned, and met the man face to face the next moment.

"My compliments to Mr. Armadale," she said, "and tell him I've caught you watching me."

"I'm not watching you, miss," retorted the spy, thrown off his guard by the daring plainness of the language in

Miss Gwilt's eyes measured him contemptuously from head to foot. He was a weakly, undersized man. She

"Take your hat off, you blackguard, when you speak to a lady," she said, and tossed his hat in an instant,

This time the spy was on his guard. He knew as well as Miss Gwilt knew the use which might be made of the

precious minutes, if he turned his back on her and crossed the ditch to recover his hat. "It's well for you you're

a woman," he said, standing scowling at her bareheaded in the fastdarkening light.

Miss Gwilt glanced sidelong down the onward vista of the road, and saw, through the gathering obscurity, the

solitary figure of a man rapidly advancing toward her. Some women would have noticed the approach of a

stranger at that hour and in that lonely place with a certain anxiety. Miss Gwilt was too confident in her own

powers of persuasion not to count on the man's assistance beforehand, whoever he might be, because he was

a man. She looked back at the spy with redoubled confidence in herself, and measured him contemptuously

"I wonder whether I'm strong enough to throw you after your hat?" she said. "I'll take a turn and consider it."

She sauntered on a few steps toward the figure advancing along the road. The spy followed her close. "Try

it," he said, brutally. "You're a fine woman; you're welcome to put your arms round me if you like." As the

words escaped him, he too saw the stranger for the first time. He drew back a step and waited. Miss Gwilt, on

The stranger came on, with the lithe, light step of a practiced walker, swinging a stick in his hand and

carrying a knapsack on his shoulders. A few paces nearer, and his face became visible. He was a dark man,

his black hair was powdered with dust, and his black eyes were looking steadfastly forward along the road

Miss Gwilt advanced with the first signs of agitation she had shown yet. "Is it possible?" she said, softly.

It was Midwinter, on his way back to Thorpe Ambrose, after his fortnight among the Yorkshire moors.

He stopped and looked at her, in breathless surprise. The image of the woman had been in his thoughts, at the

moment when the woman herself spoke to him. "Miss Gwilt!" he exclaimed, and mechanically held out his

She took it, and pressed it gently. "I should have been glad to see you at any time," she said. "You don't know

how glad I am to see you now. May I trouble you to speak to that man? He has been following me, and

Midwinter stepped past her without uttering a word. Faint as the light was, the spy saw what was coming in

his face, and, turning instantly, leaped the ditch by the roadside. Before Midwinter could follow, Miss

"Strange things have happened since you left us," she went on. "I have been forced to give up my situation,

and I am followed and watched by a paid spy. Don't ask who forced me out of my situation, and who pays the

spyat least not just yet. I can't make up my mind to tell you till I am a little more composed. Let the wretch

go. Do you mind seeing me safe back to my lodging? It's in your way home. May Imay I ask for the

support of your arm? My little stock of courage is quite exhausted." She took his arm and clung close to it.

The woman who had tyrannized over Mr. Bashwood was gone, and the woman who had tossed the spy's hat

into the pool was gone. A timid, shrinking, interesting creature filled the fair skin and trembled on the

symmetrical limbs of Miss Gwilt. She put her handkerchief to her eyes. "They say necessity has no law," she

murmured, faintly. "I am treating you like an old friend. God knows I want one!"

They went on toward the town. She recovered herself with a touching fortitude; she put her handkerchief

back in her pocket, and persisted in turning the conversation on Midwinter's walking tour. "It is bad enough

to be a burden on you," she said, gently pressing on his arm as she spoke; "I mustn't distress you as well. Tell

me where you have been, and what you have seen. Interest me in your journey; help me to escape from

They reached the modest little lodging in the miserable little suburb. Miss Gwilt sighed, and removed her

glove before she took Midwinter's hand. "I have taken refuge here," she said, simply. "It is clean and quiet; I

am too poor to want or expect more. We must say goodby, I suppose, unless"she hesitated modestly, and

satisfied herself by a quick look round that they were unobserved"unless you would like to come in and

rest a little? I feel so gratefully toward you, Mr. Midwinter! Is there any harm, do you think, in my offering

The magnetic influence of her touch was thrilling through him while she spoke. Change and absence, to

which he had trusted to weaken her hold on him, had treacherously strengthened it instead. A man

exceptionally sensitive, a man exceptionally pure in his past life, he stood hand in hand, in the tempting

secrecy of the night, with the first woman who had exercised over him the allabsorbing influence of her sex.

At his age, and in his position, who could have left her? The man (with a man's temperament) doesn't live

A stupid, sleepy lad opened the house door. Even he, being a male creature, brightened under the influence of

Miss Gwilt. "The urn, John," she said, kindly, "and another cup and saucer. I'll borrow your candle to light

my candles upstairs, and then I won't trouble you any more tonight." John was wakeful and active in an

instant. "No trouble, miss," he said, with awkward civility. Miss Gwilt took his candle with a smile. "How

good people are to me!" she whispered, innocently, to Midwinter, as she led the way upstairs to the little

She lit the candles, and, turning quickly on her guest, stopped him at the first attempt he made to remove the

knapsack from his shoulders. "No," she said, gently; "in the good old times there were occasions when the

ladies unarmed their knights. I claim the privilege of unarming my knight." Her dexterous fingers intercepted

his at the straps and buckles, and she had the dusty knapsack off, before he could protest against her touching

They sat down at the one little table in the room. It was very poorly furnished; but there was something of the

dainty neatness of the woman who inhabited it in the arrangement of the few poor ornaments on the

chimneypiece, in the one or two prettily bound volumes on the chiffonier, in the flowers on the table, and

the modest little workbasket in the window. "Women are not all coquettes," she said, as she took off her

bonnet and mantilla, and laid them carefully on a chair. "I won't go into my room, and look in my glass, and

make myself smart; you shall take me just as I am." Her hands moved about among the teathings with a

Her magnificent hair flashed crimson in the candlelight, as she turned her head hither and thither, searching

with an easy grace for the things she wanted in the tray. Exercise had heightened the brilliancy of her

complexion, and had quickened the rapid alternations of expression in her eyesthe delicious languor that

stole over them when she was listening or thinking, the bright intelligence that flashed from them softly when

she spoke. In the lightest word she said, in the least thing she did, there was something that gently solicited

the heart of the man who sat with her. Perfectly modest in her manner, possessed to perfection of the graceful

restraints and refinements of a lady, she had all the allurements that feast the eye, all the siren invitations that

seduce the sensea subtle suggestiveness in her silence, and a sexual sorcery in her smile.

"Should I be wrong," she asked, suddenly suspending the conversation which she had thus far persistently

restricted to the subject of Midwinter's walking tour, "if I guessed that you have something on your

mindsomething which neither my tea nor my talk can charm away? Are men as curious as women? Is the

Midwinter struggled against the fascination of looking at her and listening to her. "I am very anxious to hear

what has happened since I have been away," he said. "But I am still more anxious, Miss Gwilt, not to distress

She looked at him gratefully. "It is for your sake that I have avoided the painful subject," she said, toying

with her spoon among the dregs in her empty cup. "But you will hear about it from others, if you don't hear

about it from me; and you ought to know why you found me in that strange situation, and why you see me

here. Pray remember one thing, to begin with. I don't blame your friend, Mr. Armadale. I blame the people

Midwinter started. "Is it possible," he began, "that Allan can be in any way answerable?" He stopped, and

She gently laid her hand on his. "Don't be angry with me for only telling the truth," she said. "Your friend is

answerable for everything that has happened to meinnocently answerable, Mr. Midwinter, I firmly believe.

We are both victims. He is the victim of his position as the richest single man in the neighborhood; and I am

"Miss Milroy?" repeated Midwinter, more and more astonished. "Why, Allan himself told me" He stopped

"He told you that I was the object of his admiration? Poor fellow, he admires everybody; his head is almost as

empty as this," said Miss Gwilt, smiling indicatively into the hollow of her cup. She dropped the spoon,

sighed, and became serious again. "I am guilty of the vanity of having let him admire me," she went on,

penitently, "without the excuse of being able, on my side, to reciprocate even the passing interest that he felt

in me. I don't undervalue his many admirable qualities, or the excellent position he can offer to his wife. But

a woman's heart is not to be commandedno, Mr. Midwinter, not even by the fortunate master of Thorpe

She looked him full in the face as she uttered that magnanimous sentiment. His eyes dropped before hers, and

his dark color deepened. He had felt his heart leap in him at the declaration of her indifference to Allan. For

the first time since they had known each other, his interests now stood selfrevealed before him as openly

"I have been guilty of the vanity of letting Mr. Armadale admire me, and I have suffered for it," resumed

Miss Gwilt. "If there had been any confidence between my pupil and me, I might have easily satisfied her

that she might become Mrs. Armadaleif she couldwithout having any rivalry to fear on my part. But

Miss Milroy disliked and distrusted me from the first. She took her own jealous view, no doubt, of Mr.

Armadale's thoughtless attentions to me. It was her interest to destroy the position, such as it was, that I held

in his estimation; and it is quite likely her mother assisted her. Mrs. Milroy had her motive also (which I am

really ashamed to mention) for wishing to drive me out of the house. Anyhow, the conspiracy has succeeded.

I have been forced (with Mr. Armadale's help) to leave the major's service. Don't be angry, Mr. Midwinter!

Don't form a hasty opinion! I dare say Miss Milroy has some good qualities, though I have not found them

out; and I assure you again and again that I don't blame Mr. Armadale. I only blame the people whose

"How is he their instrument? How can he be the instrument of any enemy of yours?" asked Midwinter. "Pray

Miss Gwilt's eyes turned full on him again, and Miss Gwilt's heart abandoned itself innocently to an outburst

of enthusiasm. "How I admire your earnestness!" she said. "How I like your anxiety for your friend! Oh, if

women could only form such friendships! Oh you happy, happy men!" Her voice faltered, and her convenient

teacup absorbed her for the third time. "I would give all the little beauty I possess," she said, "if I could only

find such a friend as Mr. Armadale has found in you. I never shall, Mr. MidwinterI never shall. Let us go

back to what we were talking about. I can only tell you how your friend is concerned in my misfortune by

telling you something first about myself. I am like many other governesses; I am the victim of sad domestic

circumstances. It may be weak of me, but I have a horror of alluding to them among strangers. My silence

about my family and my friends exposes me to misinterpretation in my dependent position. Does it do me

"God forbid!" said Midwinter, fervently. "There is no man living," he went on, thinking of his own family

story, "who has better reason to understand and respect your silence than I have."

Miss Gwilt seized his hand impulsively. "Oh," she said, "I knew it, the first moment I saw you! I knew that

you, too, had suffered; that you, too, had sorrows which you kept sacred! Strange, strange sympathy! I

believe in mesmerismdo you?" She suddenly recollected herself, and shuddered. "Oh, what have I done?

What must you think of me?" she exclaimed, as he yielded to the magnetic fascination of her touch, and,

forgetting everything but the hand that lay warm in his own, bent over it and kissed it. "Spare me!" she said,

faintly, as she felt the burning touch of his lips. "I am so friendlessI am so completely at your mercy!"

He turned away from her, and hid his face in his hands; he was trembling, and she saw it. She looked at him

while his face was hidden from her; she looked at him with a furtive interest and surprise. "How that man

loves me!" she thought. "I wonder whether there was a time when I might have loved him?"

The silence between them remained unbroken for some minutes. He had felt her appeal to his consideration

as she had never expected or intended him to feel ithe shrank from looking at her or from speaking to her

"Shall I go on with my story?" she asked. "Shall we forget and forgive on both sides?" A woman's inveterate

indulgence for every expression of a man's admiration which keeps within the limits of personal respect

curved her lips gently into a charming smile. She looked down meditatively at her dress, and brushed a crumb

off her lap with a little flattering sigh. "I was telling you," she went on, "of my reluctance to speak to

strangers of my sad family story. It was in that way, as I afterward found out, that I laid myself open to Miss

Milroy's malice and Miss Milroy's suspicion. Private inquiries about me were addressed to the lady who was

my referenceat Miss Milroy's suggestion, in the first instance, I have no doubt. I am sorry to say, this is not

the worst of it. By some underhand means, of which I am quite ignorant, Mr. Armadale's simplicity was

imposed on; and, when application was made secretly to my reference in London, it was made, Mr.

Midwinter suddenly rose from his chair and looked at her. The fascination that she exercised over him,

powerful as it was, became a suspended influence, now that the plain disclosure came plainly at last from her

lips. He looked at her, and sat down again, like a man bewildered, without uttering a word.

"Remember how weak he is," pleaded Miss Gwilt, gently, "and make allowances for him as I do. The trifling

accident of his failing to find my reference at the address given him seems, I can't imagine why, to have

excited Mr. Armadale's suspicion. At any rate, he remained in London. What he did there, it is impossible for

me to say. I was quite in the dark; I knew nothing: I distrusted nobody; I was as happy in my little round of

duties as I could be with a pupil whose affections I had failed to win, when, one morning, to my indescribable

astonishment, Major Milroy showed me a correspondence between Mr. Armadale and himself. He spoke to

me in his wife's presence. Poor creature, I make no complaint of her; such affliction as she suffers excuses

everything. I wish I could give you some idea of the letters between Major Milroy and Mr. Armadale; but my

head is only a woman's head, and I was so confused and distressed at the time! All I can tell you is that Mr.

Armadale chose to preserve silence about his proceedings in London, under circumstances which made that

silence a reflection on my character. The major was most kind; his confidence in me remained unshaken; but

could his confidence protect me against his wife's prejudice and his daughter's illwill? Oh, the hardness of

women to each other! Oh, the humiliation if men only knew some of us as we really are! What could I do? I

couldn't defend myself against mere imputations; and I couldn't remain in my situation after a slur had been

cast on me. My pride (Heaven help me, I was brought up like a gentlewoman, and I have sensibilities that are

not blunted even yet!)my pride got the better of me, and I left my place. Don't let it distress you, Mr.

Midwinter! There's a bright side to the picture. The ladies in the neighborhood have overwhelmed me with

kindness; I have the prospect of getting pupils to teach; I am spared the mortification of going back to be a

burden on my friends. The only complaint I have to make is, I think, a just one. Mr. Armadale has been back

at Thorpe Ambrose for some days. I have entreated him, by letter, to grant me an interview; to tell me what

dreadful suspicions he has of me, and to let me set myself right in his estimation. Would you believe it? He

has declined to see meunder the influence of others, not of his own free will, I am sure! Cruel, isn't it? But

he has even used me more cruelly still; he persists in suspecting me; it is he who is having me watched. Oh,

Mr. Midwinter, don't hate me for telling you what you must know! The man you found persecuting me and

frightening me tonight was only earning his money, after all, as Mr. Armadale's spy."

Once more Midwinter started to his feet; and this time the thoughts that were in him found their way into

"I can't believe it; I won't believe it!" he exclaimed, indignantly. "If the man told you that, the man lied. I beg

your pardon, Miss Gwilt; I beg your pardon from the bottom of my heart. Don't, pray don't think I doubt you;

I only say there is some dreadful mistake. I am not sure that I understand as I ought all that you have told me.

But this last infamous meanness of which you think Allan guilty, I do understand. I swear to you, he is

incapable of it! Some scoundrel has been taking advantage of him; some scoundrel has been using his name.

I'll prove it to you, if you will only give me time. Let me go and clear it up at once. I can't rest; I can't bear to

think of it; I can't even enjoy the pleasure of being here. Oh," he burst out desperately, "I'm sure you feel for

He stopped in confusion. Miss Gwilt's eyes were looking at him again, and Miss Gwilt's hand had found its

"You are the most generous of living men," she said, softly. "I will believe what you tell me to believe. Go,"

she added, in a whisper, suddenly releasing his hand, and turning away from him. "For both our sakes, go!"

His heart beat fast; he looked at her as she dropped into a chair and put her handkerchief to her eyes. For one

moment he hesitated; the next, he snatched up his knapsack from the floor, and left her precipitately, without

She rose when the door closed on him. A change came over her the instant she was alone. The color faded out

of her cheeks; the beauty died out of her eyes; her face hardened horribly with a silent despair. "It's even

baser work than I bargained for," she said, "to deceive him." After pacing to and fro in the room for some

minutes, she stopped wearily before the glass over the fireplace. "You strange creature!" she murmured,

leaning her elbows on the mantelpiece, and languidly addressing the reflection of herself in the glass. "Have

The reflection of her face changed slowly. The color returned to her cheeks, the delicious languor began to

suffuse her eyes again. Her lips parted gently, and her quickening breath began to dim the surface of the

glass. She drew back from it, after a moment's absorption in her own thoughts, with a start of terror. "What

am I doing?" she asked herself, in a sudden panic of astonishment. "Am I mad enough to be thinking of him

She burst into a mocking laugh, and opened her desk on the table recklessly with a bang. "It's high time I had

some talk with Mother Jezebel," she said, and sat down to write to Mrs. Oldershaw.

"I have met with Mr. Midwinter," she began, "under very lucky circumstances; and I have made the most of

my opportunity. He has just left me for his friend Armadale; and one of two good things will happen

tomorrow. If they don't quarrel, the doors of Thorpe Ambrose will be opened to me again at Mr.

Midwinter's intercession. If they do quarrel, I shall be the unhappy cause of it, and I shall find my way in for

She hesitated at the next sentence, wrote the first few words of it, scratched them out again, and petulantly

tore the letter into fragments, and threw the pen to the other end of the room. Turning quickly on her chair,

she looked at the seat which Midwinter had occupied, her foot restlessly tapping the floor, and her

handkerchief thrust like a gag between her clinched teeth. "Young as you are," she thought, with her mind

reviving the image of him in the empty chair, "there has been something out of the common in your life; and I

The house clock struck the hour, and roused her. She sighed, and, walking back to the glass, wearily loosened

the fastenings of her dress; wearily removed the studs from the chemisette beneath it, and put them on the

chimneypiece. She looked indolently at the reflected beauties of her neck and bosom, as she unplaited her

hair and threw it back in one great mass over her shoulders. "Fancy," she thought, "if he saw me now!" She

turned back to the table, and sighed again as she extinguished one of the candles and took the other in her

hand. "Midwinter?" she said, as she passed through the foldingdoors of the room to her bedchamber. "I

The night had advanced by more than an hour before Midwinter was back again at the great house.

Twice, well as the homeward way was known to him, he had strayed out of the right road. The events of the

eveningthe interview with Miss Gwilt herself, after his fortnight's solitary thinking of her; the

extraordinary change that had taken place in her position since he had seen her last; and the startling assertion

of Allan's connection with ithad all conspired to throw his mind into a state of ungovernable confusion.

The darkness of the cloudy night added to his bewilderment. Even the familiar gates of Thorpe Ambrose

seemed strange to him. When he tried to think of it, it was a mystery to him how he had reached the place.

The front of the house was dark, and closed for the night. Midwinter went round to the back. The sound of

men's voices, as he advanced, caught his ear. They were soon distinguishable as the voices of the first and

"I'll bet you an even halfcrown he's driven out of the neighborhood before another week is over his head,"

"Isn't he!" retorted the other. "He'll be mobbed if he stops here! I tell you again, he's not satisfied with the

mess he's got into already. I know it for certain, he's having the governess watched."

At those words, Midwinter mechanically checked himself before he turned the corner of the house. His first

doubt of the result of his meditated appeal to Allan ran through him like a sudden chill. The influence

exercised by the voice of public scandal is a force which acts in opposition to the ordinary law of mechanics.

It is strongest, not by concentration, but by distribution. To the primary sound we may shut our ears; but the

reverberation of it in echoes is irresistible. On his way back, Midwinter's one desire had been to find Allan

up, and to speak to him immediately. His one hope now was to gain time to contend with the new doubts and

to silence the new misgivings; his one present anxiety was to hear that Allan had gone to bed. He turned the

corner of the house, and presented himself before the men smoking their pipes in the back garden. As soon as

their astonishment allowed them to speak, they offered to rouse their master. Allan had given his friend up for

"It was my master's' particular order, sir," said the headfootman, "that he was to be told of it if you came

"It is my particular request," returned Midwinter, "that you won't disturb him."

Appointed hours for the various domestic events of the day were things unknown at Thorpe Ambrose.

Irregular in all his habits, Allan accommodated himself to no stated times (with the solitary exception of

dinnertime) at any hour of the day or night. He retired to rest early or late, and he rose early or late, exactly

as he felt inclined. The servants were forbidden to call him; and Mrs. Gripper was accustomed to improvise

the breakfast as she best might, from the time when the kitchen fire was first lighted to the time when the

Toward nine o'clock on the morning after his return Midwinter knocked at Allan's door, and on entering the

room found it empty. After inquiry among the servants, it appeared that Allan had risen that morning before

the man who usually attended on him was up, and that his hot water had been brought to the door by one of

the housemaids, who was then still in ignorance of Midwinter's return. Nobody had chanced to see the

master, either on the stairs or in the hall; nobody had heard him ring the bell for breakfast, as usual. In brief,

nobody knew anything about him, except what was obviously clear to allthat he was not in the house.

Midwinter went out under the great portico. He stood at the head of the flight of steps considering in which

direction he should set forth to look for his friend. Allan's unexpected absence added one more to the

disquieting influences which still perplexed his mind. He was in the mood in which trifles irritate a man, and

The sky was cloudy; and the wind blew in puffs from the south; there was every prospect, to weatherwise

eyes, of coming rain. While Midwinter was still hesitating, one of the grooms passed him on the drive below.

The man proved, on being questioned, to be better informed about his master's movements than the servants

indoors. He had seen Allan pass the stables more than an hour since, going out by the back way into the park

A nosegay in his hand? The nosegay hung incomprehensibly on Midwinter's mind as he walked round, on the

chance of meeting Allan, to the back of the house. "What does the nosegay mean?" he asked himself, with an

unintelligible sense of irritation, and a petulant kick at a stone that stood in his way.

It meant that Allan had been following his impulses as usual. The one pleasant impression left on his mind

after his interview with Pedgift Senior was the impression made by the lawyer's account of his conversation

with Neelie in the park. The anxiety that he should not misjudge her, which the major's daughter had so

earnestly expressed, placed her before Allan's eyes in an irresistibly attractive characterthe character of the

one person among all his neighbors who had some respect still left for his good opinion. Acutely sensible of

his social isolation, now that there was no Midwinter to keep him company in the empty house, hungering

and thirsting in his solitude for a kind word and a friendly look, he began to think more and more regretfully

and more and more longingly of the bright young face so pleasantly associated with his first happiest days at

Thorpe Ambrose. To be conscious of such a feeling as this was, with a character like Allan's, to act on it

headlong, lead him where it might. He had gone out on the previous morning to look for Neelie with a

peaceoffering of flowers, but with no very distinct idea of what he should say to her if they met; and failing

to find her on the scene of her customary walks, he had characteristically persisted the next morning in

making a second attempt with another peaceoffering on a larger scale. Still ignorant of his friend's return, he

was now at some distance from the house, searching the park in a direction which he had not tried yet.

After walking out a few hundred yards beyond the stables, and failing to discover any signs of Allan,

Midwinter retraced his steps, and waited for his friend's return, pacing slowly to and fro on the little strip of

From time to time, as he passed it, he looked in absently at the room which had formerly been Mrs.

Armadale's, which was now (through his interposition) habitually occupied by her sonthe room with the

Statuette on the bracket, and the French windows opening to the ground, which had once recalled to him the

Second Vision of the Dream. The Shadow of the Man, which Allan had seen standing opposite to him at the

long window; the view over a lawn and flowergarden; the pattering of the rain against the glass; the

stretching out of the Shadow's arm, and the fall of the statue in fragments on the floorthese objects and

events of the visionary scene, so vividly present to his memory once, were all superseded by later

remembrances now, were all left to fade as they might in the dim background of time. He could pass the

room again and again, alone and anxious, and never once think of the boat drifting away in the moonlight,

Toward ten o'clock the wellremembered sound of Allan's voice became suddenly audible in the direction of

the stables. In a moment more he was visible from the garden. His second morning's search for Neelie had

ended to all appearance in a second defeat of his object. The nosegay was still in his hand; and he was

Midwinter impulsively took a step forward toward the stables, and abruptly checked his further progress.

Conscious that his position toward his friend was altered already in relation to Miss Gwilt, the first sight of

Allan filled his mind with a sudden distrust of the governess's influence over him, which was almost a

distrust of himself. He knew that he had set forth from the moors on his return to Thorpe Ambrose with the

resolution of acknowledging the passion that had mastered him, and of insisting, if necessary, on a second

and a longer absence in the interests of the sacrifice which he was bent on making to the happiness of his

friend. What had become of that resolution now? The discovery of Miss Gwilt's altered position, and the

declaration that she had voluntarily made of her indifference to Allan, had scattered it to the winds. The first

words with which he would have met his friend, if nothing had happened to him on the homeward way, were

words already dismissed from his lips. He drew back as he felt it, and struggled, with an instinctive loyalty

toward Allan, to free himself at the last moment from the influence of Miss Gwilt.

Having disposed of his useless nosegay, Allan passed on into the garden, and the instant he entered it

"Am I awake or dreaming?" he exclaimed, seizing his friend excitably by both hands." You dear old

Midwinter, have you sprung up out of the ground, or have you dropped from the clouds?"

It was not till Midwinter had explained the mystery of his unexpected appearance in every particular that

Allan could be prevailed on to say a word about himself. When he did speak, he shook his head ruefully, and

subdued the hearty loudness of his voice, with a preliminary look round to see if the servants were within

"I've learned to be cautious since you went away and left me," said Allan. "My dear fellow, you haven't the

least notion what things have happened, and what an awful scrape I'm in at this very moment!"

"You are mistaken, Allan. I have heard more of what has happened than you suppose."

"What! the dreadful mess I'm in with Miss Gwilt? the row with the major? the infernal scandalmongering in

"Good heavens! how? Did you stop at Thorpe Ambrose on your way back? Have you been in the

coffeeroom at the hotel? Have you met Pedgift? Have you dropped into the Reading Rooms, and seen what

Midwinter paused before he answered, and looked up at the sky. The clouds had been gathering unnoticed

"Come in here," said Allan. "We'll go up to breakfast this way." He led Midwinter through the open French

window into his own sittingroom. The wind blew toward that side of the house, and the rain followed them

Allan was too eager for the answer which the weather had interrupted to wait for it till they reached the

breakfastroom. He stopped close at the window, and added two more to his string of questions.

"How can you possibly have heard about me and Miss Gwilt?" he asked. "Who told you?"

Allan's manner changed the moment the governess's name passed his friend's lips.

"I wish you had heard my story first," he said. "Where did you meet with Miss Gwilt?"

There was a momentary pause. They both stood still at the window, absorbed in the interest of the moment.

They both forgot that their contemplated place of shelter from the rain had been the breakfastroom upstairs.

"Before I answer your question," said Midwinter, a little constrainedly, "I want to ask you something, Allan,

on my side. Is it really true that you are in some way concerned in Miss Gwilt's leaving Major Milroy's

There was another pause. The disturbance which had begun to appear in Allan's manner palpably increased.

"It's rather a long story," he began. "I have been taken in, Midwinter. I've been imposed on by a person,

whoI can't help saying itwho cheated me into promising what I oughtn't to have promised, and doing

what I had better not have done. It isn't breaking my promise to tell you. I can trust in your discretion, can't I?

"Stop!" said Midwinter. "Don't trust me with any secrets which are not your own. If you have given a

promise, don't trifle with it, even in speaking to such an intimate friend as I am." He laid his hand gently and

kindly on Allan's shoulder. "I can't help seeing that I have made you a little uncomfortable," he went on. "I

can't help seeing that my question is not so easy a one to answer as I had hoped and supposed. Shall we wait a

Allan was far too earnestly bent on presenting his conduct to his friend in the right aspect to heed Midwinter's

"My dear fellow, it's a perfectly easy question to answer. Only"he hesitated"only it requires what I'm a

"Do you mean," asked Midwinter, more seriously, but not less gently than before, "that you must first justify

"That's it!" said Allan, with an air of relief. "You're hit the right nail on the head, just as usual."

Midwinter's face darkened for the first time. "I am sorry to hear it," he said, his voice sinking low, and his

The rain was beginning to fall thickly. It swept across the garden, straight on the closed windows, and

"Sorry!" repeated Allan. "My dear fellow, you haven't heard the particulars yet. Wait till I explain the thing

"You are a bad hand at explanations," said Midwinter, repeating Allan's own words. "Don't place yourself at a

"You are my friendmy best and dearest friend," Midwinter went on. "I can't bear to let you justify yourself

to me as if I was your judge, or as if I doubted you." He looked up again at Allan frankly and kindly as he

said those words. "Besides," he resumed, "I think, if I look into my memory, I can anticipate your

explanation. We had a moment's talk, before I went away, about some very delicate questions which you

proposed putting to Major Milroy. I remember I warned you; I remember I had my misgivings. Should I be

guessing right if I guessed that those questions have been in some way the means of leading you into a false

position? If it is true that you have been concerned in Miss Gwilt's leaving her situation, is it also trueis it

only doing you justice to believethat any mischief for which you are responsible has been mischief

"Yes," said Allan, speaking, for the first time, a little constrainedly on his side. "It is only doing me justice to

say that." He stopped and began drawing lines absently with his finger on the blurred surface of the

windowpane. "You're not like other people, Midwinter," he resumed, suddenly, with an effort; "and I should

"I will hear them if you desire it," returned Midwinter. "But I am satisfied, without another word, that you

have not willingly been the means of depriving Miss Gwilt of her situation. If that is understood between you

and me, I think we need say no more. Besides, I have another question to ask, of much greater importancea

question that has been forced on me by what I saw with my own eyes, and heard with my own ears, last

He stopped, recoiling in spite of himself. "Shall we go upstairs first?" he asked, abruptly, leading the way to

It was useless. Once again, the room which they were both free to leave, the room which one of them had

Without answering, without even appearing to have heard Midwinter's proposal to go upstairs, Allan

followed him mechanically as far as the opposite side of the window. There he stopped. "Midwinter!" he

burst out, in a sudden panic of astonishment and alarm, "there seems to be something strange between us!

With his hand on the lock of the door, Midwinter turned, and looked back into the room. The moment had

come. His haunting fear of doing his friend an injustice had shown itself in a restraint of word, look, and

action which had been marked enough to force its way to Allan's notice. The one course left now, in the

dearest interests of the friendship that united them, was to speak at once, and to speak boldly.

"There's something strange between us," reiterated Allan. "For God's sake, what is it?"

Midwinter took his hand from the door, and came down again to the window, fronting Allan. He occupied the

place, of necessity, which Allan had just left. It was the side of the window on which the Statuette stood. The

little figure, placed on its projecting bracket, was, close behind him on his right hand. No signs of change

appeared in the stormy sky. The rain still swept slanting across the garden, and pattered heavily against the

"There is something strange between us," he said. "There is something to be set right which touches you

nearly; and it has not been set right yet. You asked me just now where I met with Miss Gwilt. I met with her

on my way back here, upon the highroad on the further side of the town. She entreated me to protect her

from a man who was following and frightening her. I saw the scoundrel with my own eyes, and I should have

laid hands on him, if Miss Gwilt herself had not stopped me. She gave a very strange reason for stopping me.

Allan's ruddy color suddenly deepened; he looked aside quickly through the window at the pouring rain. At

the same moment their hands fell apart, and there was a pause of silence on either side. Midwinter was the

"Later in the evening," he went on, "Miss Gwilt explained herself. She told me two things. She declared that

the man whom I had seen following her was a hired spy. I was surprised, but I could not dispute it. She told

me next, Allanwhat I believe with my whole heart and soul to be a falsehood which has been imposed on

Allan turned instantly from the window, and looked Midwinter full in the face again. "I must explain myself

The ashy paleness peculiar to him in moments of strong emotion began to show itself on Midwinter's cheeks.

"More explanations!" he said, and drew back a step, with his eyes fixed in a sudden terror of inquiry on

"You don't know what I know, Midwinter. You don't know that what I have done has been done with a good

"Did you hear what I said just now?" asked Midwinter, incredulously. "You can'tsurely, you can't have

"I haven't missed a word," rejoined Allan. "I tell you again, you don't know what I know of Miss Gwilt. She

has threatened Miss Milroy. Miss Milroy is in danger while her governess stops in this neighborhood."

Midwinter dismissed the major's daughter from the conversation with a contemptuous gesture of his hand.

"I don't want to hear about Miss, Milroy," he said. "Don't mix up Miss Milroy Good God, Allan, am I to

understand that the spy set to watch Miss Gwilt was doing his vile work with your approval?"

"Explain!" cried Midwinter, his eyes aflame, and his hot Creole blood rushing crimson into his face. "Explain

the employment of a spy? What! after having driven Miss Gwilt out of her situation by meddling with her

private affairs, you meddle again by the vilest of all meansthe means of a paid spy? You set a watch on the

woman whom you yourself told me you loved, only a fortnight sincethe woman you were thinking of as

your wife! I don't believe it; I won't believe it. Is my head failing me? Is it Allan Armadale I am speaking to?

Is it Allan Armadale's face looking at me? Stop! you are acting under some mistaken scruple. Some low

fellow has crept into your confidence, and has done this in your name without telling you first."

Allan controlled himself with admirable patience and admirable consideration for the temper of his friend. "If

you persist in refusing to hear me," he said, "I must wait as well as I can till my turn comes."

"Tell me you are a stranger to the employment of that man, and I will hear you willingly."

"Suppose there should be a necessity, that you know nothing about, for employing him?"

A momentary flush of irritationmomentary, and no morepassed over Allan's face. "You mightn't think

"Are you the man to tell me the truth?" retorted the other. "You who have refused to hear her in her own

"I know your temper is a hot one," he said. "But for all that, your violence quite takes me by surprise. I can't

account for it, unless"he hesitated a moment, and then finished the sentence in his usual frank, outspoken

Those last words heaped fuel on the fire. They stripped the truth instantly of all concealments and disguises,

and laid it bare to view. Allan's instinct had guessed, and the guiding influence stood revealed of Midwinter's

"What right have you to say that?" he asked, with raised voice and threatening eyes.

"I told you," said Allan, simply, "when I thought I was sweet on her myself. Come! come! it's a little hard, I

think, even if you are in love with her, to believe everything she tells you, and not to let me say a word. Is

"Yes, it is!" cried the other, infuriated by Allan's second allusion to Miss Gwilt. "When I am asked to choose

He stopped, struggling with himself. The torture of passion in Midwinter's face, from which a less simple and

less generous nature might have recoiled in horror, touched Allan suddenly with an artless distress, which, at

that moment, was little less than sublime. He advanced, with his eyes moistening, and his hand held out.

"You asked me for my hand just now," he said, "and I gave it you. Will you remember old times, and give me

"No!" retorted Midwinter, furiously. "I may meet Miss Gwilt again, and I may want my hand free to deal

He had drawn back along the wall as Allan advanced, until the bracket which supported the Statuette was

before instead of behind him. In the madness of his passion he saw nothing but Allan's face confronting him.

In the madness of his passion, he stretched out his right hand as he answered, and shook it threateningly in

the air. It struck the forgotten projection of the bracketand the next instant the Statuette lay in fragments on

The rain drove slanting over flowerbed and lawn, and pattered heavily against the glass; and the two

Armadales stood by the window, as the two Shadows had stood in the Second Vision of the Dream, with the

Allan stooped over the fragments of the little figure, and lifted them one by one from the floor.

Without a word, Midwinter moved back slowly. He stood for the second time with his hand on the door, and

looked his last at the room. The horror of the night on the Wreck had got him once more, and the flame of his

The door was tried from the outside, and a servant appeared with a trivial message about the breakfast.

Midwinter looked at the man with a blank, dreadful helplessness in his face. "Show me the way out," he said.

As the door closed on them, Allan picked up the last fragment of the broken figure. He sat down alone at the

table, and hid his face in his hands. The selfcontrol which he had bravely preserved under exasperation

renewed again and again now failed him at last in the friendless solitude of his room, and, in the first

bitterness of feeling that Midwinter had turned against him like the rest, he burst into tears.

The moments followed each other, the slow time wore on. Little by little the signs of a new elemental

disturbance began to show themselves in the summer storm. The shadow of a swiftly deepening darkness

swept over the sky. The pattering of the rain lessened with the lessening wind. There was a momentary hush

of stillness. Then on a sudden the rain poured down again like a cataract, and the low roll of thunder came up

"DEAR MADAMI received yesterday, by private messenger, your obliging note, in which you direct me

to communicate with you through the post only, as long as there is reason to believe that any visitors who

may come to you are likely to be observed. May I be permitted to say that I look forward with respectful

anxiety to the time when I shall again enjoy the only real happiness I have ever experiencedthe happiness

"In compliance with your desire that I should not allow this day (the Sunday) to pass without privately

noticing what went on at the great house, I took the keys, and went this morning to the steward's office. I

accounted for my appearance to the servants by informing them that I had work to do which it was important

to complete in the shortest possible time. The same excuse would have done for Mr. Armadale if we had met,

"Although I was at Thorpe Ambrose in what I thought good time, I was too late to see or hear anything

myself of a serious quarrel which appeared to have taken place, just before I arrived, between Mr. Armadale

"All the little information I can give you in this matter is derived from one of the servants. The man told me

that he heard the voices of the two gentlemen loud in Mr. Armadale's sittingroom. He went in to announce

breakfast shortly afterward, and found Mr. Midwinter in such a dreadful state of agitation that he had to be

helped out of the room. The servant tried to take him upstairs to lie down and compose himself. He declined,

saying he would wait a little first in one of the lower rooms, and begging that he might be left alone. The man

had hardly got downstairs again when he heard the front door opened and closed. He ran back, and found that

Mr. Midwinter was gone. The rain was pouring at the time, and thunder and lightning came soon afterward.

Dreadful weather certainly to go out in. The servant thinks Mr. Midwinter's mind was unsettled. I sincerely

hope not. Mr. Midwinter is one of the few people I have met with in the course of my life who have treated

"Hearing that Mr. Armadale still remained in the sittingroom, I went into the steward's office (which, as you

may remember, is on the same side of the house), and left the door ajar, and set the window open, waiting and

listening for anything that might happen. Dear madam, there was a time when I might have thought such a

position in the house of my employer not a very becoming one. Let me hasten to assure you that this is far

from being my feeling now. I glory in any position which makes me serviceable to you.

"The state of the weather seemed hopelessly adverse to that renewal of intercourse between Mr. Armadale

and Miss Milroy which you so confidently anticipate, and of which you are so anxious to be made aware.

Strangely enough, however, it is actually in consequence of the state of the weather that I am now in a

position to give you the very information you require. Mr. Armadale and Miss Milroy met about an hour

"Just at the beginning of the thunderstorm, I saw one of the grooms run across from the stables, and heard

him tap at his master's window. Mr. Armadale opened the window and asked what was the matter. The

groom said he came with a message from the coachman's wife. She had seen from her room over the stables

(which looks on to the park) Miss Milroy quite alone, standing for shelter under one of the trees. As that part

of the park was at some distance from the major's cottage, she had thought that her master might wish to send

and ask the young lady into the houseespecially as she had placed herself, with a thunderstorm coming

"The moment Mr. Armadale understood the man's message, he called for the waterproof things and the

umbrellas, and ran out himself, instead of leaving it to the servants. In a little time he and the groom came

back with Miss Milroy between them, as well protected as could be from the rain.

"I ascertained from one of the womenservants, who had taken the young lady into a bedroom, and had

supplied her with such dry things as she wanted, that Miss Milroy had been afterward shown into the

drawingroom, and that Mr. Armadale was there with her. The only way of following your instructions, and

finding out what passed between them, was to go round the house in the pelting rain, and get into the

conservatory (which opens into the drawingroom) by the outer door. I hesitate at nothing, dear madam, in

your service; I would cheerfully get wet every day, to please you. Besides, though I may at first sight be

thought rather an elderly man, a wetting is of no very serious consequence to me. I assure you I am not so old

"It was impossible for me to get near enough in the conservatory to see what went on in the drawingroom,

without the risk of being discovered. But most of the conversation reached me, except when they dropped

"I gathered that Miss Milroy had been prevailed on, against her will, to take refuge from the thunderstorm in

Mr. Armadale's house. She said so, at least, and she gave two reasons. The first was that her father had

forbidden all intercourse between the cottage and the great house. Mr. Armadale met this objection by

declaring that her father had issued his orders under a total misconception of the truth, and by entreating her

not to treat him as cruelly as the major had treated him. He entered, I suspect, into some explanations at this

point, but as he dropped his voice I am unable to say what they were. His language, when I did hear it, was

confused and ungrammatical. It seemed, however, to be quite intelligible enough to persuade Miss Milroy

that her father had been acting under a mistaken impression of the circumstances. At least, I infer this; for,

when I next heard the conversation, the young lady was driven back to her second objection to being in the

housewhich was, that Mr. Armadale had behaved very badly to her, and that he richly deserved that she

"In this latter case, Mr. Armadale attempted no defense of any kind. He agreed with her that he had behaved

badly; he agreed with her that he richly deserved she should never speak to him again. At the same time he

implored her to remember that he had suffered his punishment already. He was disgraced in the

neighborhood; and his dearest friend, his one intimate friend in the world, had that very morning turned

against him like the rest. Far or near, there was not a living creature whom he was fond of to comfort him, or

to say a friendly word to him. He was lonely and miserable, and his heart ached for a little kindnessand

"I must leave you, I fear, to judge for yourself of the effect of this on the young lady; for, though I tried hard,

I failed to catch what she said. I am almost certain I heard her crying, and Mr. Armadale entreating her not to

break his heart. They whispered a great deal, which aggravated me. I was afterward alarmed by Mr.

Armadale coming out into the conservatory to pick some flowers. He did not come as far, fortunately, as the

place where I was hidden; and he went in again into the drawingroom, and there was more talking (I suspect

at close quarters), which to my great regret I again failed to catch. Pray forgive me for having so little to tell

you. I can only add that, when the storm cleared off, Miss Milroy went away with the flowers in her hand,

and with Mr. Armadale escorting her from the house. My own humble opinion is that he had a powerful

friend at court, all through the interview, in the young lady's own liking for him.

"This is all I can say at present, with the exception of one other thing I heard, which I blush to mention. But

"Their talk turned once, dear madam, on yourself. I think I heard the word 'creature' from Miss Milroy; and I

am certain that Mr. Armadale, while acknowledging that he had once admired you, added that circumstances

had since satisfied him of 'his folly.' I quote his own expression; it made me quite tremble with indignation. If

I may be permitted to say so, the man who admires Miss Gwilt lives in Paradise. Respect, if nothing else,

ought to have closed Mr. Armadale's lips. He is my employer, I know; but after his calling it an act of folly to

"Trusting that I may have been so happy as to give you satisfaction thus far, and earnestly desirous to deserve

"MY DEAR LYDIAI trouble you with a few lines. They are written under a sense of the duty which I owe

"I am not at all satisfied with the tone of your last two letters; and I am still less pleased at your leaving me

this morning without any letter at alland this when we had arranged, in the doubtful state of our prospects,

that I was to hear from you every day. I can only interpret your conduct in one way. I can only infer that

"It is not my present object to reproach you, for why should I waste time, language, and paper? I merely wish

to recall to your memory certain considerations which you appear to be disposed to overlook. Shall I put them

in the plainest English? Yes; for, with all my faults, I am frankness personified.

"In the first place, then, I have an interest in your becoming Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose as well as

you. Secondly, I have provided you (to say nothing of good advice) with all the money needed to accomplish

our object. Thirdly, I hold your notes of hand, at short dates, for every farthing so advanced. Fourthly and

lastly, though I am indulgent to a fault in the capacity of a friendin the capacity of a woman of business,

my dear, I am not to be trifled with. That is all, Lydia, at least for the present.

"Pray don't suppose I write in anger; I am only sorry and disheartened. My state of mind resembles David's. If

"DEAR MADAMYou will probably receive these lines a few hours after my yesterday's communication

reaches you. I posted my first letter last night, and I shall post this before noon today.

"My present object in writing is to give you some more news from this house. I have the inexpressible

happiness of announcing that Mr. Armadale's disgraceful intrusion on your privacy is at an end. The watch

set on your actions is to be withdrawn this day. I write, dear madam, with the tears in my eyestears of joy,

caused by feelings which I ventured to express in my previous letter (see first paragraph toward the end).

Pardon me this personal reference. I can speak to you (I don't know why) so much more readily with my pen

"I had just arrived at the steward's office this morning, when Mr. Pedgift the elder followed me to the great

house to see Mr. Armadale by special appointment. It is needless to say that I at once suspended any little

business there was to do, feeling that your interests might possibly be concerned. It is also most gratifying to

add that this time circumstances favored me. I was able to stand under the open window and to hear the

"Mr. Armadale explained himself at once in the plainest terms. He gave orders that the person who had been

hired to watch you should be instantly dismissed. On being asked to explain this sudden change of purpose,

he did not conceal that it was owing to the effect produced on his mind by what had passed between Mr.

Midwinter and himself on the previous day. Mr. Midwinter's language, cruelly unjust as it was, had

nevertheless convinced him that no necessity whatever could excuse any proceeding so essentially base in

itself as the employment of a spy, and on that conviction he was now determined to act.

"But for your own positive directions to me to conceal nothing that passes here in which your name is

concerned, I should really be ashamed to report what Mr. Pedgift said on his side. He has behaved kindly to

me, I know. But if he was my own brother, I could never forgive him the tone in which he spoke of you, and

"He began by attacking Mr. Midwinter. He declared that Mr. Midwinter's opinion was the very worst opinion

that could be taken; for it was quite plain that you, dear madam, had twisted him round your finger.

Producing no effect by this coarse suggestion (which nobody who knows you could for a moment believe),

Mr. Pedgift next referred to Miss Milroy, and asked Mr. Armadale if he had given up all idea of protecting

her. What this meant I cannot imagine. I can only report it for your private consideration. Mr. Armadale

briefly answered that he had his own plan for protecting Miss Milroy, and that the circumstances were altered

in that quarter, or words to a similar effect. Still Mr. Pedgift persisted. He went on (I blush to mention) from

bad to worse. He tried to persuade Mr. Armadale next to bring an action at law against one or other of the

persons who had been most strongly condemning his conduct in the neighborhood, for the purposeI really

hardly know how to write itof getting you into the witnessbox. And worse yet: when Mr. Armadale still

said No, Mr. Pedgift, after having, as I suspected by the sound of his voice, been on the point of leaving the

room, artfully came back, and proposed sending for a detective officer from London, simply to look at you.

'The whole of this mystery about Miss Gwilt's true character,' he said, 'may turn on a question of identity. It

won't cost much to have a man down from London; and it's worth trying whether her face is or is not known

at headquarters to the police.' I again and again assure you, dearest lady, that I only repeat those abominable

words from a sense of duty toward yourself. I shookI declare I shook from head to foot when I heard them.

"Mr. Armadale (to his creditI don't deny it, though I don't like him) still said No. He appeared to be getting

irritated under Mr. Pedgift's persistence, and he spoke in a somewhat hasty way. 'You persuaded me on the

last occasion when we talked about this,' he said, 'to do something that I have been since heartily ashamed of.

You won't succeed in persuading me, Mr. Pedgift, a second time.' Those were his words. Mr. Pedgift took

"'If that is the light in which you see my advice, sir,' he said, 'the less you have of it for the future, the better.

Your character and position are publicly involved in this matter between yourself and Miss Gwilt; and you

persist, at a most critical moment, in taking a course of your own, which I believe will end badly. After what I

have already said and done in this very serious case, I can't consent to go on with it with both my hands tied,

and I can't drop it with credit to myself while I remain publicly known as your solicitor. You leave me no

alternative, sir, but to resign the honor of acting as your legal adviser.' 'I am sorry to hear it,' says Mr.

Armadale, 'but I have suffered enough already through interfering with Miss Gwilt. I can't and won't stir any

further in the matter.' 'You may not stir any further in it, sir,' says Mr. Pedgift, 'and I shall not stir any further

in it, for it has ceased to be a question of professional interest to me. But mark my words, Mr. Armadale, you

are not at the end of this business yet. Some other person's curiosity may go on from the point where you (and

I) have stopped; and some other person's hand may let the broad daylight in yet on Miss Gwilt.'

"I report their language, dear madam, almost word for word, I believe, as I heard it. It produced an

indescribable impression on me; it filled me, I hardly know why, with quite a panic of alarm. I don't at all

"Mr. Pedgift's voice, when he said those last words, sounded dreadfully close to me. He must have been

speaking at the open window, and he must, I fear, have seen me under it. I had time, before he left the house,

to get out quietly from among the laurels, but not to get back to the office. Accordingly I walked away along

the drive toward the lodge, as if I was going on some errand connected with the steward's business.

"Before long, Mr. Pedgift overtook me in his gig, and stopped. 'So you feel some curiosity about Miss Gwilt,

do you?' he said. 'Gratify your curiosity by all means; I don't object to it.' I felt naturally nervous, but I

managed to ask him what he meant. He didn't answer; he only looked down at me from the gig in a very odd

manner, and laughed. 'I have known stranger things happen even than that!' he said to himself suddenly, and

"I have ventured to trouble you with this last incident, though it may seem of no importance in your eyes, in

the hope that your superior ability may be able to explain it. My own poor faculties, I confess, are quite

unable to penetrate Mr. Pedgift's meaning. All I know is that he has no right to accuse me of any such

impertinent feeling as curiosity in relation to a lady whom I ardently esteem and admire. I dare not put it in

"I have only to add that I am in a position to be of continued service to you here if you wish it. Mr. Armadale

has just been into the office, and has told me briefly that, in Mr. Midwinter's continued absence, I am still to

"MY DEAR MR. BROCKI am in sad trouble. Midwinter has quarreled with me and left me; and my

lawyer has quarreled with me and left me; and (except dear little Miss Milroy, who has forgiven me) all the

neighbors have turned their backs on me. There is a good deal about 'me' in this, but I can't help it. I am very

miserable alone in my own house. Do pray come and see me! You are the only old friend I have left, and I do

"N. B.On my word of honor as a gentleman, I am not to blame. Yours affectionately,

"P. S.I would come to you (for this place is grown quite hateful to me), but I have a reason for not going

"RESPECTED SIRI see a letter in your writing, on the table along with the others, which I am sorry to say

my master is not well enough to open. He is down with a sort of low fever. The doctor says it has been

brought on with worry and anxiety which master was not strong enough to bear. This seems likely; for I was

with him when he went to London last month, and what with his own business, and the business of looking

after that person who afterward gave us the slip, he was worried and anxious all the time; and for the matter

"My master was talking of you a day or two since. He seemed unwilling that you should know of his illness,

unless he got worse. But I think you ought to know of it. At the same time he is not worse; perhaps a trifle

better. The doctor says he must be kept very quiet, and not agitated on any account. So be pleased to take no

notice of thisI mean in the way of coming to the rectory. I have the doctor's orders to say it is not needful,

"I will write again if you wish it. Please accept of my duty, and believe me to remain, sir, your humble

"P. S.The yacht has been rigged and repainted, waiting your orders. She looks beautiful."

"MISS GWILTThe post hour has passed for three mornings following, and has brought me no answer to

my letter. Are you purposely bent on insulting me? or have you left Thorpe Ambrose? In either case, I won't

put up with your conduct any longer. The law shall bring you to book, if I can't.

"Your first note of hand (for thirty pounds) falls due on Tuesday next, the 29th. If you had behaved with

common consideration toward me, I would have let you renew it with pleasure. As things are, I shall have the

note presented; and, if it is not paid, I shall instruct my man of business to take the usual course.

MRS. OLDERSHAWThe time of your man of business being, no doubt, of some value, I write a line to

assist him when he takes the usual course. He will find me waiting to be arrested in the firstfloor

apartments, at the above address. In my present situation, and with my present thoughts, the best service you

"MY DARLING LYDIAThe longer I live in this wicked world the more plainly I see that women's own

tempers are the worst enemies women have to contend with. What a truly regretful style of correspondence

we have fallen into! What a sad want of selfrestraint, my dear, on your side and on mine!

"Let me, as the oldest in years, be the first to make the needful excuses, the first to blush for my own want of

selfcontrol. Your cruel neglect, Lydia, stung me into writing as I did. I am so sensitive to ill treatment, when

it is inflicted on me by a person whom I love and admire; and, though turned sixty, I am still (unfortunately

for myself) so young at heart. Accept my apologies for having made use of my pen, when I ought to have

been content to take refuge in my pockethandkerchief. Forgive your attached Maria for being still young at

"But oh, my dearthough I own I threatened youhow hard of you to take me at my word! How cruel of

you, if your debt had been ten times what it is, to suppose me capable (whatever I might say) of the odious

inhumanity of arresting my bosom friend! Heavens! have I deserved to be taken at my word in this

unmercifully exact way, after the years of tender intimacy that have united us? But I don't complain; I only

mourn over the frailty of our common human nature. Let us expect as little of each other as possible, my

dear; we are both women, and we can't help it. I declare, when I reflect on the origin of our unfortunate

sexwhen I remember that we were all originally made of no better material than the rib of a man (and that

rib of so little importance to its possessor that he never appears to have missed it afterward), I am quite

"I am wandering a little; I am losing myself in serious thought, like that sweet character in Shakespeare who

was 'fancy free.' One last word, dearest, to say that my longing for an answer to this proceeds entirely from

my wish to hear from you again in your old friendly tone, and is quite unconnected with any curiosity to

know what you are doing at Thorpe Ambroseexcept such curiosity as you yourself might approve. Need I

add that I beg you as a favor to me to renew, on the customary terms? I refer to the little bill due on Tuesday

"I have just got your last letter. The brazen impudence of it has roused me. I am to be treated like a child, am

I?to be threatened first, and then, if threatening fails, to be coaxed afterward? You shall coax me; you shall

"I had a reason, Mrs. Oldershaw, for the silence which has so seriously offended you. I was afraidactually

afraidto let you into the secret of my thoughts. No such fear troubles me now. My only anxiety this

morning is to make you my best acknowledgments for the manner in which you have written to me. After

carefully considering it, I think the worst turn I can possibly do you is to tell you what you are burning to

know. So here I am at my desk, bent on telling it. If you don't bitterly repent, when you are at the end of this

letter, not having held to your first resolution, and locked me up out of harm's way while you had the chance,

"Where did my last letter end? I don't remember, and don't care. Make it out as you canI am not going

"There was a thunderstorm in the morning. It began to clear off toward noon. I didn't go out: I waited to see

Midwinter or to hear from him. (Are you surprised at my not writing 'Mr.' before his name? We have got so

familiar, my dear, that 'Mr.' would be quite out of place.) He had left me the evening before, under very

interesting circumstances. I had told him that his friend Armadale was persecuting me by means of a hired

spy. He had declined to believe it, and had gone straight to Thorpe Ambrose to clear the thing up. I let him

kiss my hand before he went. He promised to come back the next day (the Sunday). I felt I had secured my

"Well, the thunder passed away as I told you. The weather cleared up; the people walked out in their best

clothes; the dinners came in from the bakers; I sat dreaming at my wretched little hired piano, nicely dressed

and looking my bestand still no Midwinter appeared. It was late in the afternoon, and I was beginning to

feel offended, when a letter was brought to me. It had been left by a strange messenger who went away again

immediately. I looked at the letter. Midwinter at lastin writing, instead of in person. I began to feel more

offended than ever; for, as I told you, I thought I had used my influence over him to better purpose.

"The letter, when I read it, set my mind off in a new direction. It surprised, it puzzled, it interested me. I

"He began by asking my pardon for having doubted what I told him. Mr. Armadale's own lips had confirmed

me. They had quarreled (as I had anticipated they would); and he, and the man who had once been his dearest

friend on earth, had parted forever. So far, I was not surprised. I was amused by his telling me in his

extravagant way that he and his friend were parted forever; and I rather wondered what he would think when

I carried out my plan, and found my way into the great house on pretense of reconciling them.

"But the second part of the letter set me thinking. Here it is, in his own words.

"'It is only by struggling against myself (and no language can say how hard the struggle has been) that I have

decided on writing, instead of speaking to you. A merciless necessity claims my future life. I must leave

Thorpe Ambrose, I must leave England, without hesitating, without stopping to look back. There are

reasonsterrible reasons, which I have madly trifled withfor my never letting Mr. Armadale set eyes on

me, or hear of me again, after what has happened between us. I must go, never more to live under the same

roof, never more to breathe the same air with that man. I must hide myself from him under an assumed name;

I must put the mountains and the seas between us. I have been warned as no human creature was ever warned

before. I believeI dare not tell you whyI believe that, if the fascination you have for me draws me back

to you, fatal consequences will come of it to the man whose life has been so strangely mingled with your life

and minethe man who was once your admirer and my friend. And yet, feeling this, seeing it in my mind as

plainly as I see the sky above my head, there is a weakness in me that still shrinks from the one imperative

sacrifice of never seeing you again. I am fighting with it as a man fights with the strength of his despair. I

have been near enough, not an hour since, to see the house where you live, and have forced myself away

again out of sight of it. Can I force myself away further still, now that my letter is writtennow, when the

useless confession escapes me, and I own to loving you with the first love I have ever known, with the last

love I shall ever feel? Let the coming time answer the question; I dare not write of it or think of it more.'

"I felt a perfect fever of curiosity to know what he meant. His loving me, of course, was easy enough to

understand. But what did he mean by saying he had been warned? Why was he never to live under the same

roof, never to breathe the same air again, with young Armadale? What sort of quarrel could it be which

obliged one man to hide himself from another under an assumed name, and to put the mountains and the seas

between them? Above all, if he came back, and let me fascinate him, why should it be fatal to the hateful lout

"I never longed in my life as I longed to see him again and put these questions to him. I got quite

superstitious about it as the day drew on. They gave me a sweetbread and a cherry pudding for dinner. I

actually tried if he would come back by the stones in the plate! He will, he won't, he will, he won'tand so

on. It ended in 'He won't.' I rang the bell, and had the things taken away. I contradicted Destiny quite fiercely.

"You don't know what a pleasure it is to me to give you all these little particulars. Count upmy bosom

friend, my second mothercount up the money you have advanced on the chance of my becoming Mrs.

Armadale, and then think of my feeling this breathless interest in another man. Oh, Mrs. Oldershaw, how

"The day got on toward evening. I rang again, and sent down to borrow a railway timetable. What trains

were there to take him away on Sunday? The national respect for the Sabbath stood my friend. There was

only one train, which had started hours before he wrote to me. I went and consulted my glass. It paid me the

compliment of contradicting the divination by cherrystones. My glass said: 'Get behind the windowcurtain;

he won't pass the long lonely evening without coming back again to look at the house.' I got behind the

"The dismal Sunday light faded, and the dismal Sunday quietness in the street grew quieter still. The dusk

came, and I heard a step coming with it in the silence. My heart gave a little jumponly think of my having

"When he came in sight he was walking slowly, stopping and hesitating at every two or three steps. My ugly

little drawingroom window seemed to be beckoning him on in spite of himself. After waiting till I saw him

come to a standstill, a little aside from the house, but still within view of my irresistible window, I put on my

things and slipped out by the back way into the garden. The landlord and his family were at supper, and

nobody saw me. I opened the door in the wall, and got round by the lane into the street. At that awkward

moment I suddenly remembered, what I had forgotten before, the spy set to watch me, who was, no doubt,

"It was necessary to get time to think, and it was (in my state of mind) impossible to let Midwinter go without

speaking to him. In great difficulties you generally decide at once, if you decide at all. I decided to make an

appointment with him for the next evening, and to consider in the interval how to manage the interview so

that it might escape observation. This, as I felt at the time, was leaving my own curiosity free to torment me

for fourandtwenty mortal hours; but what other choice had I? It was as good as giving up being mistress of

Thorpe Ambrose altogether, to come to a private understanding with Midwinter in the sight and possibly in

"Finding an old letter of yours in my pocket, I drew back into the lane, and wrote on the blank leaf, with the

little pencil that hangs at my watchchain: 'I must and will speak to you. It is impossible tonight, but be in the

street tomorrow at this time, and leave me afterward forever, if you like. When you have read this, overtake

"I folded up the paper, and came on him suddenly from behind. As he started and turned round, I put the note

into his hand, pressed his hand, and passed on. Before I had taken ten steps I heard him behind me. I can't say

he didn't look roundI saw his big black eyes, bright and glittering in the dusk, devour me from head to foot

in a moment; but otherwise he did what I told him. 'I can deny you nothing,' he whispered; 'I promise.' He

went on and left me. I couldn't help thinking at the time how that brute and booby Armadale would have

"I tried hard all night to think of a way of making our interview of the next evening safe from discovery, and

tried in vain. Even as early as this, I began to feel as if Midwinter's letter had, in some unaccountable manner,

"Monday morning made matters worse. News came from my faithful ally, Mr. Bashwood, that Miss Milroy

and Armadale had met and become friends again. You may fancy the state I was in! An hour or two later

there came more news from Mr. Bashwoodgood news this time. The mischievous idiot at Thorpe Ambrose

had shown sense enough at last to be ashamed of himself. He had decided on withdrawing the spy that very

"So here was the obstacle which I was too stupid to remove for myself obligingly removed for me! No more

need to fret about the coming interview with Midwinter; and plenty of time to consider my next proceedings,

now that Miss Milroy and her precious swain had come together again. Would you believe it, the letter, or the

man himself (I don't know which), had taken such a hold on me that, though I tried and tried, I could think of

nothing else; and this when I had every reason to fear that Miss Milroy was in a fair way of changing her

name to Armadale, and when I knew that my heavy debt of obligation to her was not paid yet? Was there

"The dusk of the evening came at last. I looked out of the windowand there he was!

"I joined him at once; the people of the house, as before, being too much absorbed in their eating and

drinking to notice anything else. 'We mustn't be seen together here,' I whispered. 'I must go on first, and you

"He said nothing in the way of reply. What was going on in his mind I can't pretend to guess; but, after

coming to his appointment, he actually hung back as if he was half inclined to go away again.

"It was not encouraging; it was not complimentary. But I was in such a frenzy of curiosity by this time that, if

he had been ruder still, I should have taken no notice of it. I led the way a few steps toward the new

"'Must I ask it of you as a favor,' I said, 'after your giving me your promise, and after such a letter as you have

"Something suddenly changed him; he was at my side in an instant. 'I beg your pardon, Miss Gwilt; lead the

way where you please.' He dropped back a little after that answer, and I heard him say to himself, 'What is to

"It could hardly have been the words, for I didn't understand themit must have been the tone he spoke in, I

suppose, that made me feel a momentary tremor. I was half inclined, without the ghost of a reason for it, to

wish him goodnight, and go in again. Not much like me, you will say. Not much, indeed! It didn't last a

"I led the way toward the unfinished cottages, and the country beyond. It would have been much more to my

taste to have had him into the house, and have talked to him in the light of the candles. But I had risked it

once already; and in this scandalmongering place, and in my critical position, I was afraid to risk it again.

The garden was not to be thought of either, for the landlord smokes his pipe there after his supper. There was

"From time to time, I looked back as I went on. There he was, always at the same distance, dim and

"I must leave off for a little while. The church bells have broken out, and the jangling of them drives me mad.

In these days, when we have all got watches and clocks, why are bells wanted to remind us when the service

begins? We don't require to be rung into the theater. How excessively discreditable to the clergy to be obliged

"They have rung the congregation in at last; and I can take up my pen, and go on again.

"I was a little in doubt where to lead him to. The highroad was on one side of me; but, empty as it looked,

somebody might be passing when we least expected it. The other way was through the coppice. I led him

"At the outskirts of the trees, on the other side, there was a dip in the ground with some felled timber lying on

it, and a little pool beyond, still and white and shining in the twilight. The long grazinggrounds rose over its

further shore, with the mist thickening on them, and a dim black line far away of cattle in slow procession

going home. There wasn't a living creature near; there wasn't a sound to be heard. I sat down on one of the

felled trees and looked back for him. 'Come,' I said, softly'come and sit by me here.'

"Why am I so particular about all this? I hardly know. The place made an unaccountably vivid impression on

me, and I can't help writing about it. If I end badlysuppose we say on the scaffold?I believe the last

thing I shall see, before the hangman pulls the drop, will be the little shining pool, and the long, misty

grazinggrounds, and the cattle winding dimly home in the thickening night. Don't be alarmed, you worthy

creature! My fancies play me strange tricks sometimes; and there is a little of last night's laudanum, I dare

"He camein the strangest silent way, like a man walking in his sleephe came and sat down by me. Either

the night was very close, or I was by this time literally in a fever: I couldn't bear my bonnet on; I couldn't bear

my gloves. The want to look at him, and see what his singular silence meant, and the impossibility of doing it

in the darkening light, irritated my nerves, till I thought I should have screamed. I took his hand, to try if that

would help me. It was burning hot; and it closed instantly on mineyou know how. Silence, after that, was

"'Don't despise me,' I said. 'I am obliged to bring you to this lonely place; I should lose my character if we

"I waited a little. His hand warned me once more not to let the silence continue. I determined to make him

"'You have interested me, and frightened me,' I went on. 'You have written me a very strange letter. I must

"'It is too late to ask. You have taken the way, and I have taken the way, from which there is no turning back.'

He made that strange answer in a tone that was quite new to mea tone that made me even more uneasy

than his silence had made me the moment before. 'Too late,' he repeated'too late! There is only one

"As I said the words, a sudden trembling passed from his hand to mine, and told me instantly that I had better

have held my tongue. Before I could move, before I could think, he had me in his arms. 'Ask me if I love

you,' he whispered. At the same moment his head sank on my bosom; and some unutterable torture that was

"My first impulse was the impulse of a fool. I was on the point of making our usual protest and defending

myself in our usual way. Luckily or unluckily, I don't know which, I have lost the fine edge of the

sensitiveness of youth; and I checked the first movement of my hands, and the first word on my lips. Oh,

dear, how old I felt, while he was sobbing his heart out on my breast! How I thought of the time when he

might have possessed himself of my love! All he had possessed himself of now wasmy waist.

"I wonder whether I pitied him? It doesn't matter if I did. At any rate, my hand lifted itself somehow, and my

fingers twined themselves softly in his hair. Horrible recollections came back to me of other times, and made

"'I won't reproach you,' I said, gently. 'I won't say this is a cruel advantage to take of me, in such a position as

mine. You are dreadfully agitated; I will let you wait a little and compose yourself.'

"Having got as far as that, I stopped to consider how I should put the questions to him that I was burning to

ask. But I was too confused, I suppose, or perhaps too impatient to consider. I let out what was uppermost in

"'I don't believe you love me,' I said. 'You write strange things to me; you frighten me with mysteries. What

did you mean by saying in your letter that it would be fatal to Mr. Armadale if you came back to me? What

"Before I could finish the question, he suddenly lifted his head and unclasped his arms. I had apparently

touched some painful subject which recalled him to himself. Instead of my shrinking from him, it was he who

shrank from me. I felt offended with him; why, I don't knowbut offended I was; and I thanked him with

"'Do you believe in Dreams?' he burst out, in the most strangely abrupt manner, without taking the slightest

notice of what I had said to him. 'Tell me,' he went on, without allowing me time to answer, 'were you, or was

any relation of yours, ever connected with Allan Armadale's father or mother? Were you, or was anybody

"Conceive my astonishment, if you can. I turned cold. In an instant I turned cold all over. He was plainly in

the secret of what had happened when I was in Mrs. Armadale's service in Madeirain all probability before

he was born! That was startling enough of itself. And he had evidently some reason of his own for trying to

"'No,' I said, as soon as I could trust myself to speak. 'I know nothing of his father or mother.'

"'Strange!' he said. 'As certainly as I was in the Shadow's place at the window, she was in the Shadow's place

"Under other circumstances, his extraordinary behavior might have alarmed me. But after his question about

Madeira, there was some greater fear in me which kept all common alarm at a distance. I don't think I ever

determined on anything in my life as I determined on finding out how he had got his information, and who he

really was. It was quite plain to me that I had roused some hidden feeling in him by my question about

Armadale, which was as strong in its way as his feeling for me. What had become of my influence over him?

"I couldn't imagine what had become of it; but I could and did set to work to make him feel it again.

"'Don't treat me cruelly,' I said; 'I didn't treat you cruelly just now. Oh, Mr. Midwinter, it's so lonely, it's so

"'Frighten you!' He was close to me again in a moment. 'Frighten you!' He repeated the word with as much

astonishment as if I had woke him from a dream, and charged him with something that he had said in his

"It was on the tip of my tongue, finding how I had surprised him, to take him while he was off his guard, and

to ask why my question about Armadale had produced such a change in his behavior to me. But after what

had happened already, I was afraid to risk returning to the subject too soon. Something or otherwhat they

call an instinct, I dare saywarned me to let Armadale alone for the present, and to talk to him first about

himself. As I told you in one of my early letters, I had noticed signs and tokens in his manner and appearance

which convinced me, young as he was, that he had done something or suffered something out of the common

in his past life. I had asked myself more and more suspiciously every time I saw him whether he was what he

appeared to be; and first and foremost among my other doubts was a doubt whether he was passing among us

by his real name. Having secrets to keep about my own past life, and having gone myself in other days by

more than one assumed name, I suppose I am all the readier to suspect other people when I find something

mysterious about them. Any way, having the suspicion in my mind, I determined to startle him, as he had

"While I was thinking, he was thinking; and, as it soon appeared, of what I had just said to him. 'I am so

grieved to have frightened you,' he whispered, with that gentleness and humility which we all so heartily

despise in a man when he speaks to other women, and which we all so dearly like when he speaks to

ourselves. 'I hardly know what I have been saying,' he went on; 'my mind is miserably disturbed. Pray forgive

"'I am not angry,' I said; 'I have nothing to forgive. We are both imprudent; we are both unhappy.' I laid my

head on his shoulder. 'Do you really love me?' I asked him, softly, in a whisper.

"His arm stole round me again; and I felt the quick beat of his heart get quicker and quicker. 'If you only

knew!' he whispered back; 'if you only knew' He could say no more. I felt his face bending toward mine,

"'No,' I said; 'I am only a woman who has taken your fancy. You are treating me as if I was your promised

"'Be my promised wife!' he whispered, eagerly, and tried to raise my head. I kept it down. The horror of these

old remembrances that you know of came back and made me tremble a little when he asked me to be his

wife. I don't think I was actually faint; but something like faintness made me close my eyes. The moment I

shut them, the darkness seemed to open as if lightning had split it; and the ghosts of those other men rose in

"His voice helped me to recover myself. I had just sense enough left to remember that the time was passing,

"'Suppose I felt for you as you feel for me?' I said. 'Suppose I loved you dearly enough to trust you with the

"I paused a moment to get my breath. It was unbearably still and close; the air seemed to have died when the

"'Would you be marrying me honorably,' I went on, 'if you married me in your present name?'

"His arm dropped from my waist, and I felt him give one great start. After that he sat by me, still, and cold,

and silent, as if my question had struck him dumb. I put my arm round his neck, and lifted my head again on

his shoulder. Whatever the spell was I had laid on him, my coming closer in that way seemed to break it.

"'Who told you?' He stopped. 'No,' he went on, 'nobody can have told you. What made you suspect?' He

"'Nobody told me,' I said; 'and I don't know what made me suspect. Women have strange fancies sometimes.

"'I can't deceive you,' he answered, after another interval of silence; 'Midwinter is not really my name.'

"I lifted my face till my cheek just touched his. I persisted, with my lips close at his ear:

"'What, no confidence in me even yet! No confidence in the woman who has almost confessed she loves

"He turned his face to mine. For the second time he tried to kiss me, and for the second time I stopped him.

"'Why not?' I said. 'How can I love a manmuch less marry himif he keeps himself a stranger to me?'

"'It is a dreadful story,' he said. 'It may darken all your life, if you know it, as it has darkened mine.'

"I put my other arm round him, and persisted. 'Tell it me; I'm not afraid; tell it me.'

"'Will you keep it a sacred secret?' he said. 'Never to be breathednever to be known but to you and me?'

"I promised him it should be a secret. I waited in a perfect frenzy of expectation. Twice he tried to begin, and

"My curiosity, or more likely my temper, got beyond all control. He had irritated me till I was reckless what I

said or what I did. I suddenly clasped him close, and pressed my lips to his. 'I love you!' I whispered in a kiss.

"For the moment he was speechless. I don't know whether I did it purposely to drive him wild. I don't know

whether I did it involuntarily in a burst of rage. Nothing is certain but that I interpreted his silence the wrong

way. I pushed him back from me in a fury the instant after I had kissed him. 'I hate you!' I said. 'You have

maddened me into forgetting myself. Leave me. I don't care for the darkness. Leave me instantly, and never

"He caught me by the hand and stopped me. He spoke in a new voice; he suddenly commanded, as only men

"'Sit down,' he said. 'You have given me back my courageyou shall know who I am.'

"In the silence and the darkness all round us, he took me in his arms again, and told me who he was.

"Shall I trust you with his story? Shall I tell you his real name? Shall I show you, as I threatened, the thoughts

that have grown out of my interview with him and out of all that has happened to me since that time?

"Or shall I keep his secret as I promised? and keep my own secret too, by bringing this weary, long letter to

"Those are serious questions, Mrs. Oldershawmore serious than you suppose. I have had time to calm

down, and I begin to see, what I failed to see when I first took up my pen to write to you, the wisdom of

looking at consequences. Have I frightened myself in trying to frighten you? It is possiblestrange as it may

"I have been at the window for the last minute or two, thinking. There is plenty of time for thinking before

"I have settled to put my letter on one side, and to take a look at my diary. In plainer words I must see what I

risk if I decide on trusting you; and my diary will show me what my head is too weary to calculate without

help. I have written the story of my days (and sometimes the story of my nights) much more regularly than

usual for the last week, having reasons of my own for being particularly careful in this respect under present

circumstances. If I end in doing what it is now in my mind to do, it would be madness to trust to my memory.

The smallest forgetfulness of the slightest event that has happened from the night of my interview with

"July 21st, Monday night, eleven o'clock.Midwinter has just left me. We parted by my desire at the path

out of the coppice; he going his way to the hotel, and I going mine to my lodgings.

"I have managed to avoid making another appointment with him by arranging to write to him tomorrow

morning. This gives me the night's interval to compose myself, and to coax my mind back (if I can) to my

own affairs. Will the night pass, and the morning find me still thinking of the Letter that came to him from

his father's deathbed? of the night he watched through on the Wrecked Ship; and, more than all, of the first

"Would it help me to shake off these impressions, I wonder, if I made the effort of writing them down? There

would be no danger, in that case, of my forgetting anything important. And perhaps, after all, it may be the

fear of forgetting something which I ought to remember that keeps this story of Midwinter's weighing as it

does on my mind. At any rate, the experiment is worth trying. In my present situation I must be free to think

of other things, or I shall never find my way through all the difficulties at Thorpe Ambrose that are still to

"The Names haunt me. I keep saying and saying to myself: Both alike!Christian name and surname both

alike! A lighthaired Allan Armadale, whom I have long since known of, and who is the son of my old

mistress. A darkhaired Allan Armadale, whom I only know of now, and who is only known to others under

the name of Ozias Midwinter. Stranger still; it is not relationship, it is not chance, that has made them

namesakes. The father of the light Armadale was the man who was born to the family name, and who lost the

family inheritance. The father of the dark Armadale was the man who took the name, on condition of getting

"So there are two of themI can't help thinking of itboth unmarried. The lighthaired Armadale, who

offers to the woman who can secure him, eight thousand a year while he lives; who leaves her twelve

hundred a year when he dies; who must and shall marry me for those two golden reasons; and whom I hate

and loathe as I never hated and loathed a man yet. And the darkhaired Armadale, who has a poor little

income, which might perhaps pay his wife's milliner, if his wife was careful; who has just left me, persuaded

that I mean to marry him; and whomwell, whom I might have loved once, before I was the woman I am

"And Allan the Fair doesn't know he has a namesake. And Allan the Dark has kept the secret from everybody

"And there are two Allan Armadalestwo Allan Armadalestwo Allan Armadales. There! three is a lucky

"What next? The murder in the timber ship? No; the murder is a good reason why the dark Armadale, whose

father committed it, should keep his secret from the fair Armadale, whose father was killed; but it doesn't

concern me. I remember there was a suspicion in Madeira at the time of something wrong. Was it wrong?

Was the man who had been tricked out of his wife to blame for shutting the cabin door, and leaving the man

"I am sure of one very important thing. I am sure that MidwinterI must call him by his ugly false name, or

I may confuse the two Armadales before I have doneI am sure that Midwinter is perfectly ignorant that I

and the little imp of twelve years old who waited on Mrs. Armadale in Madeira, and copied the letters that

were supposed to arrive from the West Indies, are one and the same. There are not many girls of twelve who

could have imitated a man's handwriting, and held their tongues about it afterward, as I did; but that doesn't

matter now. What does matter is that Midwinter's belief in the Dream is Midwinter's only reason for trying to

connect me with Allan Armadale, by associating me with Allan Armadale's father and mother. I asked him if

he actually thought me old enough to have known either of them. And he said No, poor fellow, in the most

innocent, bewildered way. Would he say No if he saw me now? Shall I turn to the glass and see if I look my

"I wonder whether I am right in relying on Midwinter's superstition (as I do) to help me in keeping him at

armslength. After having let the excitement of the moment hurry me into saying more than I need have said,

he is certain to press me; he is certain to come back, with a man's hateful selfishness and impatience in such

things, to the question of marrying me. Will the Dream help me to check him? After alternately believing and

disbelieving in it, he has got, by his own confession, to believing in it again. Can I say I believe in it, too? I

have better reasons for doing so than he knows of. I am not only the person who helped Mrs. Armadale's

marriage by helping her to impose on her own father: I am the woman who tried to drown herself; the woman

who started the series of accidents which put young Armadale in possession of his fortune; the woman who

has come Thorpe Ambrose to marry him for his fortune, now he has got it; and more extraordinary still, the

woman who stood in the Shadow's place at the pool! These may be coincidences, but they are strange

"Suppose I say to him, 'I think as you think. I say what you said in your letter to me, Let us part before the

harm is done. Leave me before the Third Vision of the Dream comes true. Leave me, and put the mountains

"Suppose, on the other side, that his love for me makes him reckless of everything else? Suppose he says

those desperate words again, which I understand now: What is to be, will be. What have I to do with it, and

"I won't write any more. I hate writing. It doesn't relieve meit makes me worse. I'm further from being able

to think of all that I must think of than I was when I sat down. It is past midnight. Tomorrow has come

already; and here I am as helpless as the stupidest woman living! Bed is the only fit place for me.

"Bed? If it was ten years since, instead of today; and if I had married Midwinter for love, I might be going

to bed now with nothing heavier on my mind than a visit on tiptoe to the nursery, and a last look at night to

see if my children were sleeping quietly in their cribs. I wonder whether I should have loved my children if I

"Tuesday morning, ten o'clock.Who was the man who invented laudanum? I thank him from the bottom of

my heart whoever he was. If all the miserable wretches in pain of body and mind, whose comforter he has

been, could meet together to sing his praises, what a chorus it would be! I have had six delicious hours of

oblivion; I have woke up with my mind composed; I have written a perfect little letter to Midwinter; I have

drunk my nice cup of tea, with a real relish of it; I have dawdled over my morning toilet with an exquisite

sense of reliefand all through the modest little bottle of Drops, which I see on my bedroom chimneypiece

"My letter to Midwinter has been sent through the post; and I have told him to reply to me in the same

"I feel no anxiety about his answerhe can only answer in one way. I have asked for a little time to consider,

because my family circumstances require some consideration, in his interests as well as in mine. I have

engaged to tell him what those circumstances are (what shall I say, I wonder?) when we next meet; and I have

requested him in the meantime to keep all that has passed between us a secret for the present. As to what he is

to do himself in the interval while I am supposed to be considering, I have left it to his own

discretionmerely reminding him that his attempting to see me again (while our positions toward each other

cannot be openly avowed) might injure my reputation. I have offered to write to him if he wishes it; and I

have ended by promising to make the interval of our necessary separation as short as I can.

"This sort of plain, unaffected letterwhich I might have written to him last night, if his story had not been

running in my head as it didhas one defect, I know. It certainly keeps him out of the way, while I am

casting my net, and catching my gold fish at the great house for the second time; but it also leaves an

awkward day of reckoning to come with Midwinter if I succeed. How am I to manage him? What am I to do?

I ought to face those two questions as boldly as usual; but somehow my courage seems to fail me, and I don't

quite fancy meeting that difficulty, till the time comes when it must be met. Shall I confess to my diary that I

am sorry for Midwinter, and that I shrink a little from thinking of the day when he hears that I am going to be

"But I am not mistress yet; and I can't take a step in the direction of the great house till I have got the answer

to my letter, and till I know that Midwinter is out of the way. Patience! patience! I must go and forget myself

at my piano. There is the 'Moonlight Sonata' open, and tempting me, on the musicstand. Have I nerve

enough to play it, I wonder? Or will it set me shuddering with the mystery and terror of it, as it did the other

"Five o'clock.I have got his answer. The slightest request I can make is a command to him. He has gone;

and he sends me his address in London. 'There are two considerations' (he says) 'which help to reconcile me

to leaving you. The first is that you wish it, and that it is only to be for a little while. The second is that I think

I can make some arrangements in London for adding to my income by my own labor. I have never cared for

money for myself; but you don't know how I am beginning already to prize the luxuries and refinements that

money can provide, for my wife's sake.' Poor fellow! I almost wish I had not written to him as I did; I almost

"Fancy if Mother Oldershaw saw this page in my diary! I have had a letter from her this morninga letter to

remind me of my obligations, and to tell me she suspects things are all going wrong. Let her suspect! I shan't

trouble myself to answer; I can't be worried with that old wretch in the state I am in now.

"It is a lovely afternoonI want a walkI mustn't think of Midwinter. Suppose I put on my bonnet, and try

my experiment at once at the great house? Everything is in my favor. There is no spy to follow me, and no

lawyer to keep me out, this time. Am I handsome enough, today? Well, yes; handsome enough to be a match

for a little dowdy, awkward, freckled creature, who ought to be perched on a form at school, and strapped to a

"Eight o'clock.I have just got back from Armadale's house. I have seen him, and spoken to him; and the

end of it may be set down in three plain words. I have failed. There is no more chance of my being Mrs.

"Shall I write and tell Oldershaw? Shall I go back to London? Not till I have had time to think a little. Not

"Let me think; I have failed completelyfailed, with all the circumstances in favor of success. I caught him

alone on the drive in front of the house. He was excessively disconcerted, but at the same time quite willing

to hear me. I tried him, first quietlythen with tears, and the rest of it. I introduced myself in the character of

the poor innocent woman whom he had been the means of injuring. I confused, I interested, I convinced him.

I went on to the purely Christian part of my errand, and spoke with such feeling of his separation from his

friend, for which I was innocently responsible, that I turned his odious rosy face quite pale, and made him

beg me at last not to distress him. But, whatever other feelings I roused in him, I never once roused his old

feeling for me. I saw it in his eyes when he looked at me; I felt it in his fingers when we shook hands. We

"It is for this, is it, Miss Milroy, that I resisted temptation, morning after morning, when I knew you were out

alone in the park? I have just left you time to slip in, and take my place in Armadale's good graces, have I? I

never resisted temptation yet without suffering for it in some such way as this! If I had only followed my first

thoughts, on the day when I took leave of you, my young ladywell, well, never mind that now. I have got

the future before me; you are not Mrs. Armadale yet! And I can tell you one other thingwhoever else he

marries, he will never marry you. If I am even with you in no other way, trust me, whatever comes of it, to be

"I am not, to my own surprise, in one of my furious passions. The last time I was in this perfectly cool state,

under serious provocation, something came of it, which I daren't write down, even in my own private diary. I

"On my way back, I called at Mr. Bashwood's lodgings in the town. He was not at home, and I left a message

telling him to come here tonight and speak to me. I mean to relieve him at once of the duty of looking after

Armadale and Miss Milroy. I may not see my way yet to ruining her prospects at Thorpe Ambrose as

completely as she has ruined mine. But when the time comes, and I do see it, I don't know to what lengths my

sense of injury may take me; and there may be inconvenience, and possibly danger, in having such a

"I suspect I am more upset by all this than I supposed. Midwinter's story is beginning to haunt me again,

"A soft, quick, trembling knock at the street door! I know who it is. No hand but old Bashwood's could knock

"Nine o'clock.I have just got rid of him. He has surprised me by coming out in a new character.

"It seems (though I didn't detect him) that he was at the great house while I was in company with Armadale.

He saw us talking on the drive, and he afterward heard what the servants said, who saw us too. The wise

opinion below stairs is that we have 'made it up,' and that the master is likely to marry me after all. 'He's

sweet on her red hair,' was the elegant expression they used in the kitchen. 'Little missie can't match her there;

and little missie will get the worst of it.' How I hate the coarse ways of the lower orders!

"While old Bashwood was telling me this, I thought he looked even more confused and nervous than usual.

But I failed to see what was really the matter until after I had told him that he was to leave all further

observation of Mr. Armadale and Miss Milroy to me. Every drop of the little blood there is in the feeble old

creature's body seemed to fly up into his face. He made quite an overpowering effort; he really looked as if he

would drop down dead of fright at his own boldness; but be forced out the question for all that, stammering,

and stuttering, and kneading desperately with both hands at the brim of his hideous great hat. 'I beg your

pardon, Miss GwiGwiGwilt! You are not really gogogoing to marry Mr. Armadale, are you?

Jealousif ever I saw it in a man's face yet, I saw it in hisactually jealous of Armadale at his age! If I had

been in the humor for it, I should have burst out laughing in his face. As it was, I was angry, and lost all

patience with him. I told him he was an old fool, and ordered him to go on quietly with his usual business

until I sent him word that he was wanted again. He submitted as usual; but there was an indescribable

something in his watery old eyes, when he took leave of me, which I have never noticed in them before. Love

has the credit of working all sorts of strange transformations. Can it be really possible that Love has made

"Wednesday.My experience of Miss Milroy's habits suggested a suspicion to me last night which I thought

"It was always her way, when I was at the cottage, to take a walk early in the morning before breakfast.

Considering that I used often to choose that very time for my private meetings with Armadale, it struck me as

likely that my former pupil might be taking a leaf out of my book, and that I might make some desirable

discoveries if I turned my steps in the direction of the major's garden at the right hour. I deprived myself of

my Drops, to make sure of waking; passed a miserable night in consequence; and was ready enough to get up

at six o'clock, and walk the distance from my lodgings to the cottage in the fresh morning air.

"I had not been five minutes on the park side of the garden inclosure before I sat her come out.

"She seemed to have had a bad night too; her eyes were heavy and red, and her lips and cheeks looked

swollen as if she had been crying. There was something on her mind, evidently; something, as it soon

appeared, to take her out of the garden into the park. She walked (if one can call it walking; with such legs as

hers!) straight to the summer house, and opened the door, and crossed the bridge, and went on quicker and

quicker toward the low ground in the park, where the trees are thickest. I followed her over the open space

with perfect impunity in the preoccupied state she was in; and, when she began to slacken her pace among the

"Before long, there was a crackling and trampling of heavy feet coming up toward us through the

underwood in a deep dip of the ground. I knew that step as well as she knew it. 'Here I am,' she said, in a

faint little voice. I kept behind the trees a few yards off, in some doubt on which side Armadale would come

out of the underwood to join her. He came out up the side of the dell, opposite to the tree behind which I

was standing. They sat down together on the bank. I sat down behind the tree, and looked at them through the

underwood, and heard without the slightest difficulty every word that they said.

"The talk began by his noticing that she looked out of spirits, and asking if anything had gone wrong at the

cottage. The artful little minx lost no time in making the necessary impression on him; she began to cry. He

took her hand, of course, and tried, in his brutishly straightforward way, to comfort her. No; she was not to be

comforted. A miserable prospect was before her; she had not slept the whole night for thinking of it. Her

father had called her into his room the previous evening, had spoken about the state of her education, and had

told her in so many words that she was to go to school. The place had been found, and the terms had been

"'While that hateful Miss Gwilt was in the house,' says this model young person, 'I would have gone to school

willinglyI wanted to go. But it's all different now; I don't think of it in the same way; I feel too old for

school. I'm quite heartbroken, Mr. Armadale.' There she stopped as if she had meant to say more, and gave

him a look which finished the sentence plainly: 'I'm quite heartbroken, Mr. Armadale, now we are friendly

again, at going away from you!' For downright brazen impudence, which a grown woman would be ashamed

of, give me the young girls whose 'modesty' is so pertinaciously insisted on by the nauseous domestic

"Even Armadale, booby as he is, understood her. After bewildering himself in a labyrinth of words that led

nowhere, he took herone can hardly say round the waist, for she hasn't got onehe took her round the last

hookandeye of her dress, and, by way of offering her a refuge from the indignity of being sent to school at

"If I could have killed them both at that moment by lifting up my little finger, I have not the least doubt I

should have lifted it. As things were, I only waited to see what Miss Milroy would do.

"She appeared to think it necessaryfeeling, I suppose, that she had met him without her father's knowledge,

and not forgetting that I had had the start of her as the favored object of Mr. Armadale's good opinionto

assert herself by an explosion of virtuous indignation. She wondered how he could think of such a thing after

his conduct with Miss Gwilt, and after her father had forbidden him the house! Did he want to make her feel

how inexcusably she had forgotten what was due to herself? Was it worthy of a gentleman to propose what he

knew as well as she did was impossible? and so on, and so on. Any man with brains in his head would have

known what all this rodomontade really meant. Armadale took it so seriously that he actually attempted to

"He declared, in his headlong, blundering way, that he was quite in earnest; he and her father might make it

up and be friends again; and, if the major persisted in treating him as a stranger, young ladies and gentlemen

in their situation had made runaway marriages before now, and fathers and mothers who wouldn't forgive

them before had forgiven them afterward. Such outrageously straightforward lovemaking as this left Miss

Milroy, of course, but two alternativesto confess that she had been saying No when she meant Yes, or to

take refuge in another explosion. She was hypocrite enough to prefer another explosion. 'How dare you, Mr.

Armadale? Go away directly! It's inconsiderate, it's heartless, it's perfectly disgraceful to say such things to

me!' and so on, and so on. It seems incredible, but it is not the less true, that he was positively fool enough to

take her at her word. He begged her pardon, and went away like a child that is put in the cornerthe most

"She waited, after he had gone, to compose herself, and I waited behind the trees to see how she would

succeed. Her eyes wandered round slyly to the path by which he had left her. She smiled (grinned would be

the truer way of putting it, with such a mouth as hers); took a few steps on tiptoe to look after him; turned

back again, and suddenly burst into a violent fit of crying. I am not quite so easily taken in as Armadale, and I

"'Tomorrow,' I thought to myself, 'you will be in the park again, miss, by pure accident. The next day, you

will lead him on into proposing to you for the second time. The day after, he will venture back to the subject

of runaway marriages, and you will only be becomingly confused. And the day after that, if he has got a plan

to propose, and if your clothes are ready to be packed for school, you will listen to him.' Yes, yes; Time is

always on the man's side, where a woman is concerned, if the man is only patient enough to let Time help

"I let her leave the place and go back to the cottage, quite unconscious that I had been looking at her. I waited

among the trees, thinking. The truth is, I was impressed by what I had heard and seen, in a manner that it is

not very easy to describe. It put the whole thing before me in a new light. It showed mewhat I had never

"Heavy as my debt of obligation is to her, there is no fear now of my failing to pay it to the last farthing. It

would have been no small triumph for me to stand between Miss Milroy and her ambition to be one of the

leading ladies of the county. But it is infinitely more, where her first love is concerned, to stand between Miss

Milroy and her heart's desire. Shall I remember my own youth and spare her? No! She has deprived me of the

one chance I had of breaking the chain that binds me to a past life too horrible to be thought of. I am thrown

back into a position, compared to which the position of an outcast who walks the streets is endurable and

"I have been back some hours. I have been thinking, and nothing has come of it. Ever since I got that strange

letter of Midwinter's last Sunday, my usual readiness in emergencies has deserted me. When I am not

thinking of him or of his story, my mind feels quite stupefied. I, who have always known what to do on other

occasions, don't know what to do now. It would be easy enough, of course, to warn Major Milroy of his

daughter's proceedings. But the major is fond of his daughter; Armadale is anxious to be reconciled with him;

Armadale is rich and prosperous, and ready to submit to the elder man; and sooner or later they will be

friends again, and the marriage will follow. Warning Major Milroy is only the way to embarrass them for the

"What is the way? I can't see it. I could tear my own hair off my head! I could burn the house down! If there

was a train of gunpowder under the whole world, I could light it, and blow the whole world to destructionI

"Poor dear Midwinter! Yes, 'dear.' I don't care. I'm lonely and helpless. I want somebody who is gentle and

loving to make much of me; I wish I had his head on my bosom again; I have a good mind to go to London

and marry him. Am I mad? Yes; all people who are as miserable as I am are mad. I must go to the window

and get some air. Shall I jump out? No; it disfigures one so, and the coroner's inquest lets so many people see

"The air has revived me. I begin to remember that I have Time on my side, at any rate. Nobody knows but me

of their secret meetings in the park the first thing in the morning. If jealous old Bashwood, who is slinking

and sly enough for anything, tries to look privately after Armadale, in his own interests, he will try at the

usual time when he goes to the steward's office. He knows nothing of Miss Milroy's early habits; and he

won't be on the spot till Armadale has got back to the house. For another week to come, I may wait and watch

them, and choose my own time and way of interfering the moment I see a chance of his getting the better of

"So here I wait, without knowing how things will end with Midwinter in London; with my purse getting

emptier and emptier, and no appearance so far of any new pupils to fill it; with Mother Oldershaw certain to

insist on having her money back the moment she knows I have failed; without prospects, friends, or hopes of

any kinda lost woman, if ever there was a lost woman yet. Well! I say it again and again and againI

don't care! Here I stop, if I sell the clothes off my back, if I hire myself at the publichouse to play to the

brutes in the taproom; here I stop till the time comes, and I see the way to parting Armadale and Miss

"Seven o'clock.Any signs that the time is coming yet? I hardly know; there are signs of a change, at any

"Two of the oldest and ugliest of the many old and ugly ladies who took up my case when I left Major

Milroy's service have just called, announcing themselves, with the insufferable impudence of charitable

Englishwomen, as a deputation from my patronesses. It seems that the news of my reconciliation with

Armadale has spread from the servants' offices at the great house, and has reached the town, with this result.

"It is the unanimous opinion of my 'patronesses' (and the opinion of Major Milroy also, who has been

consulted) that I have acted with the most inexcusable imprudence in going to Armadale's house, and in there

speaking on friendly terms with a man whose conduct toward myself has made his name a byword in the

neighborhood. My total want of selfrespect in this matter has given rise to a report that I am trading as

cleverly as ever on my good looks, and that I am as likely as not to end in making Armadale marry me, after

all. My 'patronesses' are, of course, too charitable to believe this. They merely feel it necessary to remonstrate

with me in a Christian spirit, and to warn me that any second and similar imprudence on my part would force

all my best friends in the plate to withdraw the countenance and protection which I now enjoy.

"Having addressed me, turn and turn about, in these terms (evidently all rehearsed beforehand), my two

Gorgon visitors straightened themselves in their chairs, and looked at me as much as to say, 'You may often

have heard of Virtue, Miss Gwilt, but we don't believe you ever really saw it in full bloom till we came and

"Seeing they were bent on provoking me, I kept my temper, and answered them in my smoothest, sweetest,

and most ladylike manner. I have noticed that the Christianity of a certain class of respectable people begins

when they open their prayerbooks at eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, and ends when they shut them up

again at one o'clock on Sunday afternoon. Nothing so astonishes and insults Christians of this sort as

reminding them of their Christianity on a weekday. On this hint, as the man says in the play, I spoke.

"'What have I done that is wrong?' I asked, innocently. 'Mr. Armadale has injured me; and I have been to his

house and forgiven him the injury. Surely there must be some mistake, ladies? You can't have really come

here to remonstrate with me in a Christian spirit for performing an act of Christianity?'

"The two Gorgons got up. I firmly believe some women have cats' tails as well as cats' faces. I firmly believe

the tails of those two particular cats wagged slowly under their petticoats, and swelled to four times their

"'Temper we were prepared for, Miss Gwilt,' they said, 'but not Profanity. We wish you goodevening.'

"So they left me, and so 'Miss Gwilt' sinks out of the patronizing notice of the neighborhood

"I wonder what will come of this trumpery little quarrel? One thing will come of it which I can see already.

The report will reach Miss Milroy's ears; she will insist on Armadale's justifying himself; and Armadale will

end in satisfying her of his innocence by making another proposal. This will be quite likely to hasten matters

between them; at least it would with me. If I was in her place, I should say to myself, 'I will make sure of him

while I can.' Supposing it doesn't rain tomorrow morning, I think I will take another early walk in the

"Midnight.As I can't take my drops, with a morning walk before me, I may as well give up all hope of

sleeping, and go on with my diary. Even with my drops, I doubt if my head would be very quiet on my pillow

tonight. Since the little excitement of the scene with my 'ladypatronesses' has worn off, I have been

troubled with misgivings which would leave me but a poor chance, under any circumstances, of getting much

"I can't imagine why, but the parting words spoken to Armadale by that old brute of a lawyer have come back

to my mind! Here they are, as reported in Mr. Bashwood's letter: 'Some other person's curiosity may go on

from the point where you (and I) have stopped, and some other person's hand may let the broad daylight in

"What does he mean by that? And what did he mean afterward when he overtook old Bashwood in the drive,

by telling him to gratify his curiosity? Does this hateful Pedgift actually suppose there is any chance?

Ridiculous! Why, I have only to look at the feeble old creature, and he daren't lift his little finger unless I tell

him. He try to pry into my past life, indeed! Why, people with ten times his brains, and a hundred times his

"I don't know, though; it might have been better if I had kept my temper when Bashwood was here the other

night. And it might be better still if I saw him tomorrow, and took him back into my good graces by giving

him something to do for me. Suppose I tell him to look after the two Pedgifts, and to discover whether there

is any chance of their attempting to renew their connection with Armadale? No such thing is at all likely; but

if I gave old Bashwood this commission, it would flatter his sense of his own importance to me, and would at

"For once I have proved a true prophet. There they were together, at the same early hour, in the same

secluded situation among the trees; and there was miss in full possession of the report of my visit to the great

"After saying one or two things about me, which I promise him not to forget, Armadale took the way to

convince her of his constancy which I felt beforehand he would be driven to take. He repeated his proposal of

marriage, with excellent effect this time. Tears and kisses and protestations followed; and my late pupil

opened her heart at last, in the most innocent manner. Home, she confessed, was getting so miserable to her

now that it was only less miserable than going to school. Her mother's temper was becoming more violent

and unmanageable every day. The nurse, who was the only person with any influence over her, had gone

away in disgust. Her father was becoming more and more immersed in his clock, and was made more and

more resolute to send her away from home by the distressing scenes which now took place with her mother

almost day by day. I waited through these domestic disclosures on the chance of hearing any plans they might

have for the future discussed between them; and my patience, after no small exercise of it, was rewarded at

"The first suggestion (as was only natural where such a fool as Armadale was concerned) came from the girl.

"She started an idea which I own I had not anticipated. She proposed that Armadale should write to her

father; and, cleverer still, she prevented all fear of his blundering by telling him what he was to say. He was

to express himself as deeply distressed at his estrangement from the major, and to request permission to call

at the cottage, and say a few words in his own justification. That was all. The letter was not to be sent that

day, for the applicants for the vacant place of Mrs. Milroy's nurse were coming, and seeing them and

questioning them would put her father, with his dislike of such things, in no humor to receive Armadale's

application indulgently. The Friday would be the day to send the letter, and on the Saturday morning if the

answer was unfortunately not favorable, they might meet again, 'I don't like deceiving my father; he has

always been so kind to me. And there will be no need to deceive him, Allan, if we can only make you friends

"What will the major do? Saturday morning will show. I won't think of it till Saturday morning has come and

gone. They are not man and wife yet; and again and again I say it, though my brains are still as helpless as

"On my way home again, I caught Bashwood at his breakfast, with his poor old black teapot, and his little

penny loaf, and his one cheap morsel of oily butter, and his darned dirty tablecloth. It sickens me to think of

"I coaxed and comforted the miserable old creature till the tears stood in his eyes, and he quite blushed with

pleasure. He undertakes to look after the Pedgifts with the utmost alacrity. Pedgift the elder he described,

when once roused, as the most obstinate man living; nothing will induce him to give way, unless Armadale

gives way also on his side. Pedgift the younger is much the more likely of the two to make attempts at a

reconciliation. Such, at least, is Bashwood's opinion. It is of very little consequence now what happens either

way. The only important thing is to tie my elderly admirer safely again to my apronstring. And this is done.

"The post is late this morning. It has only just come in, and has brought me a letter from Midwinter.

"It is a charming letter; it flatters me and flutters me as if I was a young girl again. No reproaches for my

never having written to him; no hateful hurrying of me, in plain words, to marry him. He only writes to tell

me a piece of news. He has obtained, through his lawyers, a prospect of being employed as occasional

correspondent to a newspaper which is about to be started in London. The employment will require him to

leave England for the Continent, which would exactly meet his own wishes for the future, but he cannot

consider the proposal seriously until he has first ascertained whether it would meet my wishes too. He knows

no will but mine, and he leaves me to decide, after first mentioning the time allowed him before his answer

must be sent in. It is the time, of course (if I agree to his going abroad), in which I must marry him. But there

is not a word about this in his letter. He asks for nothing but a sight of my handwriting to help him through

"I think I can penetrate the secret of his fancy for going abroad. That wild idea of putting the mountains and

the seas between Armadale and himself is still in his mind. As if either he or I could escape doing what we

are fated to dosupposing we really are fatedby putting a few hundred or a few thousand miles between

Armadale and ourselves! What strange absurdity and inconsistency! And yet how I like him for being absurd

and inconsistent; for don't I see plainly that I am at the bottom of it all? Who leads this clever man astray in

spite of himself? Who makes him too blind to see the contradiction in his own conduct, which he would see

plainly in the conduct of another person? How interested I do feel in him! How dangerously near I am to

shutting my eyes on the past, and letting myself love him! Was Eve fonder of Adam than ever, I wonder, after

she had coaxed him into eating the apple? I should have quite doted on him if I had been in her place.

(Memorandum: To write Midwinter a charming little letter on my side, with a kiss in it; and as time is

allowed him before he sends in his answer, to ask for time, too, before I tell him whether I will or will not go

"Five o'clock.A tiresome visit from my landlady; eager for a little gossip, and full of news which she

"She is acquainted, I find, with Mrs. Milroy's late nurse; and she has been seeing her friend off at the station

this afternoon. They talked, of course, of affairs at the cottage, and my name found its way into the

conversation. I am quite wrong, it seems, if the nurse's authority is to be trusted, in believing Miss Milroy to

be responsible for sending Mr. Armadale to my reference in London. Miss Milroy really knew nothing about

it, and it all originated in her mother's mad jealousy of me. The present wretched state of things at the cottage

is due entirely to the same cause. Mrs. Milroy is firmly persuaded that my remaining at Thorpe Ambrose is

referable to my having some private means of communicating with the major which it is impossible for her to

discover. With this conviction in her mind, she has become so unmanageable that no person, with any chance

of bettering herself, could possibly remain in attendance an her; and sooner or later, the major, object to it as

"That is the sum and substance of what the wearisome landlady, had to tell me. Unnecessary to say that I was

not in the least interested by it. Even if the nurse's s assertion is to be depended onwhich I persist in

doubtingit is of no importance now. I know that Miss Milroy, and nobody but Miss Milroy has utterly

ruined my prospect of becoming Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose, and I care to know nothing more. If her

mother was really alone in the attempt to expose my false reference, her mother seems to be suffering for it,

at any rate. And so goodby to Mrs. Milroy; and Heaven defend me from any more last glimpses at the

"Nine o'clock.Bashwood has just left me, having come with news from the great house. Pedgift the

younger has made his attempt at bringing about a reconciliation this very day, and has failed. I am the sole

cause of the failure. Armadale is quite willing to be reconciled if Pedgift the elder will avoid all future

occasion of disagreement between them by never recurring to the subject of Miss Gwilt. This, however,

happens to be exactly the condition which Pedgift's fatherwith his opinion of me and my doingsshould

consider it his duty to Armadale not to accept. So lawyer and client remain as far apart as ever, and the

"It might have been a very awkward obstacle, so far as Pedgift the elder is concerned, if one of his

suggestions had been carried out; I mean, if an officer of the London police had been brought down here to

look at me. It is a question, even now, whether I had better not take to the thick veil again, which I always

wear in London and other large places. The only difficulty is that it would excite remark in this inquisitive

little town to see me wearing a thick veil, for the first time, in the summer weather.

"It is close on ten o'clock; I have been dawdling over my diary longer than I supposed.

"No words can describe how weary and languid I feel. Why don't I take my sleeping drops and go to bed?

There is no meeting between Armadale and Miss Milroy to force me into early rising tomorrow morning.

Am I trying, for the hundredth time, to see my way clearly into the futuretrying, in my present state of

fatigue, to be the quickwitted woman I once was, before all these anxieties came together and overpowered

me? or am I perversely afraid of my bed when I want it most? I don't know; I am tired and miserable; I am

looking wretchedly haggard and old. With a little encouragement, I might be fool enough to burst out crying.

"A cloudy night, with the moon showing at intervals, and the wind rising. I can just hear it moaning among

the ins and outs of the unfinished cottages at the end of the street. My nerves must be a little shaken, I think. I

was startled just now by a shadow on the wall. It was only after a moment or two that I mustered sense

"Shadows remind me of Midwinter; or, if the shadows don't, something else does. I must have another look at

"I shall end in getting fond of him. If I remain much longer in this lonely uncertain stateso irresolute, so

unlike my usual selfI shall end in getting fond of him. What madness! As if I could ever be really fond of a

"Suppose I took one of my sudden resolutions, and married him. Poor as he is, he would give me a name and

a position if I became his wife. Let me see how the namehis own namewould look, if I really did

"My nerves must be shaken. Here is my own handwriting startling me now! It is so strange; it is enough to

startle anybody. The similarity in the two names never struck me in this light before. Marry which of the two

I might, my name would, of course, be the same. I should have been Mrs. Armadale, if I had married the

lighthaired Allan at the great house. And I can be Mrs. Armadale still, if I marry the darkhaired Allan in

London. It's almost maddening to write it downto feel that something ought to come of itand to find

"How can anything come of it? If I did go to London, and marry him (as of course I must marry him) under

his real name, would he let me be known by it afterward? With all his reasons for concealing his real name,

he would insistno, he is too fond of me to do thathe would entreat me to take the name which he has

assumed. Mrs. Midwinter. Hideous! Ozias, too, when I wanted to address him familiarly, as his wife should.

"Suppose the brute at the great house happened to leave this neighborhood as a single man; and suppose, in

his absence, any of the people who know him heard of a Mrs. Allan Armadale, they would set her down at

once as his wife. Even if they actually saw meif I actually came among them with that name, and if he was

not present to contradict ithis own servants would be the first to say, 'We knew she would marry him, after

all!' And my ladypatronesses, who will be ready to believe anything of me now we have quarreled, would

join the chorus sotto voce: 'Only think, my dear, the report that so shocked us actually turns out to be true!'

No. If I marry Midwinter, I must either be perpetually putting my husband and myself in a false positionor

I must leave his real name, his pretty, romantic name, behind me at the church door.

"My husband! As if I was really going to marry him! I am not going to marry him, and there's an end of it.

"Halfpast ten.Oh, dear! oh, dear! how my temples throb, and how hot my weary eyes feel! There is the

moon looking at me through the window. How fast the little scattered clouds are flying before the wind! Now

they let the moon in; and now they shut the moon out. What strange shapes the patches of yellow light take,

and lose again, all in a moment! No peace and quiet for me, look where I may. The candle keeps flickering,

"'To bed! to bed!' as Lady Macbeth says. I wonder, bytheby, what Lady Macbeth would have done in my

position? She would have killed somebody when her difficulties first began. Probably Armadale.

"Friday morning.A night's rest, thanks again to my Drops. I went to breakfast in better spirits, and received

"My silence has produced its effect on Mother Jezebel. She attributes it to the right cause, and she shows her

claws at last. If I am not in a position to pay my note of hand for thirty pounds, which is due on Tuesday next,

her lawyer is instructed to 'take the usual course.' If I am not in a position to pay it! Why, when I have settled

today with my landlord, I shall have barely five pounds left! There is not the shadow of a prospect between

now and Tuesday of my earning any money; and I don't possess a friend in this place who would trust me

with sixpence. The difficulties that are swarming round me wanted but one more to complete them, and that

"Midwinter would assist me, of course, if I could bring myself to ask him for assistance. But that means

marrying him. Am I really desperate enough and helpless enough to end it in that way? No; not yet.

"Two o'clock.I believe I have caught the infection of Midwinter's superstition. I begin to think that events

are forcing me nearer and nearer to some end which I don't see yet, but which I am firmly persuaded is now

"After walking, as usual, in the most unfrequented place I could pick out, and after trying, not very

successfully, to think to some good purpose of what I am to do next, I remembered that I needed some

notepaper and pens, and went back to the town to the stationer's shop. It might have been wiser to have sent

for what I wanted. But I was weary of myself, and weary of my lonely rooms; and I did my own errand, for

"I had just got into the shop, and was asking for what I wanted, when another customer came in. We both

"A woman and a lad were behind the counter, besides the man who was serving me. The woman civilly

addressed the new customer. 'What can we have the pleasure of doing for you, miss?' After pointing it first by

looking me straight in the face, she answered, 'Nothing, thank you, at present. I'll come back when the shop is

"She went out. The three people in the shop looked at me in silence. In silence, on my side, I paid for my

purchases, and left the place. I don't know how I might have felt if I had been in my usual spirits. In the

"In the weakness of the moment (for it was nothing else), I was on the point of matching her petty

spitefulness by spitefulness quite as petty on my side. I had actually got as far as the whole length of the

street on my way to the major's cottage, bent on telling him the secret of his daughter's morning walks, before

my better sense came back to me. When I did cool down, I turned round at once, and took the way home. No,

no, Miss Milroy; mere temporary mischiefmaking at the cottage, which would only end in your father

forgiving you, and in Armadale profiting by his indulgence, will nothing like pay the debt I owe you. I don't

forget that your heart is set on Armadale; and that the major, however he may talk, has always ended hitherto

in giving you your own way. My head may be getting duller and duller, but it has not quite failed me yet.

"In the meantime, there is Mother Oldershaw's letter waiting obstinately to be answered; and here am I, not

knowing what to do about it yet. Shall I answer it or not? It doesn't matter for the present; there are some

"Suppose I asked Armadale to lend me the money? I should enjoy getting something out of him; and I

believe, in his present situation with Miss Milroy, he would do anything to be rid of me. Mean enough this,

on my part. Pooh! When you hate and despise a man, as I hate and despise Armadale, who cares for looking

"Halfpast twoonly halfpast two. Oh, the dreadful weariness of these long summer days! I can't keep

thinking and thinking any longer; I must do something to relieve my mind. Can I go to my piano? No; I'm not

fit for it. Work? No; I shall get thinking again if I take to my needle. A man, in my place, would find refuge

in drink. I'm not a man, and I can't drink. I'll dawdle over my dresses, and put my things tidy.

"I can't look back through these leaves, but I know I wrote somewhere that I felt myself getting nearer and

nearer to some end that was still hidden from me. The end is hidden no longer. The cloud is off my mind, the

"It came to meI never sought it. If I was lying on my deathbed, I could swear, with a safe conscience, I

"I was only looking over my things; I was as idly and as frivolously employed as the most idle and most

frivolous woman living. I went through my dresses, and my linen. What could be more innocent? Children go

"It was, such a long summer day, and I was so tired of myself. I went to my boxes next. I looked over the

large box first, which I usually leave open; and then I tried the small box, which I always keep locked.

"From one thing to the other, I came at last to the bundle of letters at the bottomthe letters of the man for

whom I once sacrificed and suffered everything; the man who has made me what I am.

"A hundred times I had determined to burn his letters; but I have never burned them. This, time, all I said

"The villainthe false, cowardly, heartless villainwhat have I to do with his letters now? Oh, the misery

of being a woman! Oh, the meanness that our memory of a man can tempt us to, when our love for him is

dead and gone! I read the lettersI was so lonely and so miserable, I read the letters.

"I came to the lastthe letter he wrote to encourage me, when I hesitated as the terrible time came nearer

and nearer; the letter that revived me when my resolution failed at the eleventh hour. I read on, line after line,

"'...I really have no patience with such absurdities as you have written to me. You say I am driving you on to

do what is beyond a woman's courage. Am I? I might refer you to any collection of Trials, English or foreign.

to show that you were utterly wrong. But such collections may be beyond your reach; and I will only refer

you to a case in yesterday's newspaper. The circumstances are totally different from our circumstances; but

"'You will find, among the law reports, a married woman charged with fraudulently representing herself to be

the missing widow of an officer in the merchant service, who was supposed to have been drowned. The name

of the prisoner's husband (living) and the name of the officer (a very common one, both as to Christian and

surname) happened to be identically the same. There was money to be got by it (sorely wanted by the

prisoner's husband, to whom she was devotedly attached), if the fraud had succeeded. The woman took it all

on herself. Her husband was helpless and ill, and the bailiffs were after him. The circumstances, as you may

read for yourself, were all in her favor, and were so well managed by her that the lawyers themselves

acknowledged she might have succeeded, if the supposed drowned man had not turned up alive and well in

the nick of time to confront her. The scene took place at the lawyer's office, and came out in the evidence at

the police court. The woman was handsome, and the sailor was a goodnatured man. He wanted, at first, if

the lawyers would have allowed him, to let her off. He said to her, among other things: "You didn't count on

the drowned man coming back, alive and hearty, did you, ma'am?" "It's lucky for you," she said, "I didn't

count on it. You have escaped the sea, but you wouldn't have escaped me." "Why, what would you have

done, if you had known I was coming back?" says the sailor. She looked him steadily in the face, and

answered: "I would have killed you." There! Do you think such a woman as that would have written to tell

me I was pressing her further than she had courage to go? A handsome woman, too, like yourself. You would

"I read no further. When I had got on, line by line, to those words, it burst on me like a flash of lightning. In

an instant I saw it as plainly as I see it now. It is horrible, it is unheard of, it outdares all daring; but, if I can

only nerve myself to face one terrible necessity, it is to be done. I may personate the richly provided widow

of Allan Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose, if I can count on Allan Armadale's death in a given time.

"There, in plain words, is the frightful temptation under which I now feel myself sinking. It is frightful in

more ways than one; for it has come straight out of that other temptation to which I yielded in the bygone

"Yes; there the letter has been waiting for me in my box, to serve a purpose never thought of by the villain

who wrote it. There is the Case, as he called itonly quoted to taunt me; utterly unlike my own case at the

timethere it has been, waiting and lurking for me through all the changes in my life, till it has come to be

"It might startle any woman to see this, and even this is not the worst. The whole thing has been in my Diary,

for days past, without my knowing it! Every idle fancy that escaped me has been tending secretly that one

way! And I never saw, never suspected it, till the reading of the letter put my own thoughts before me in a

new lighttill I saw the shadow of my own circumstances suddenly reflected in one special circumstance of

"It is to be done, if I can but look the necessity in the face. It is to be done, if I can count on Allan Armadale's

"All but his death is easy. The whole series of events under which I have been blindly chafing and fretting for

more than a week past have been, one and allthough I was too stupid to see itevents in my favor; events

"In three bold stepsonly three!that end might be reached. Let Midwinter marry me privately, under his

real namestep the first! Let Armadale leave Thorpe Ambrose a single man, and die in some distant place

"I will go on. Step the third, and last, is my appearance, after the announcement of Armadale's death has

reached this neighborhood, in the character of Armadale's widow, with my marriage certificate in my hand to

prove my claim. It is as clear as the sun at noonday. Thanks to the exact similarity between the two names,

and thanks to the careful manner in which the secret of that similarity has been kept, I may be the wife of the

dark Allan Armadale, known as such to nobody but my husband and myself; and I may, out of that very

position, claim the character of widow of the light Allan Armadale, with proof to support me (in the shape of

my marriage certificate) which would be proof in the estimation of the most incredulous person living.

"To think of my having put all this in my Diary! To think of my having actually contemplated this very

situation, and having seen nothing more in it, at the time, than a reason (if I married Midwinter) for

"I am actually suspected all over the neighborhood of intriguing to be mistress of Thorpe Ambrose. I am the

only person who knows the real turn that Armadale's inclinations have taken. Not a creature but myself is as

yet aware of his early morning meetings with Miss Milroy. If it is necessary to part them, I can do it at any

moment by an anonymous line to the major. If it is necessary to remove Armadale from Thorpe Ambrose, I

can get him away at three days' notice. His own lips informed me, when I last spoke to him, that he would go

to the ends of the earth to be friends again with Midwinter, if Midwinter would let him. I have only to tell

Midwinter to write from London, and ask to be reconciled; and Midwinter would obey meand to London

Armadale would go. Every difficulty, at starting, is smoothed over ready to my hand. Every afterdifficulty I

could manage for myself. In the whole venturedesperate as it looks to pass myself off for the widow of one

man, while I am all the while the wife of the otherthere is absolutely no necessity that wants twice

"His death! It might be a terrible necessity to any other woman; but is it, ought it to be terrible to Me?

"I hate him for his mother's sake. I hate him for his own sake. I hate him for going to London behind my

back, and making inquiries about me. I hate him for forcing me out of my situation before I wanted to go. I

hate him for destroying all my hopes of marrying him, and throwing me back helpless on my own miserable

life. But, oh, after what I have done already in the past time, how can I? how can I?

"The girl, toothe girl who has come between us; who has taken him away from me; who has openly

insulted me this very dayhow the girl whose heart is set on him would feel it if he died! What a vengeance

on her, if I did it! And when I was received as Armadale's widow what a triumph for me. Triumph! It is more

than triumphit is the salvation of me. A name that can't be assailed, a station that can't be assailed, to hide

myself in from my past life! Comfort, luxury, wealth! An income of twelve hundred a year secured to me

secured by a will which has been looked at by a lawyer: secured independently of anything Armadale can say

or do himself! I never had twelve hundred a year. At my luckiest time, I never had half as much, really my

own. What have I got now? Just five pounds left in the worldand the prospect next week of a debtor's

"But, oh, after what I have done already in the past time, how can I? how can I?

"Some womenin my place, and with my recollections to look back onwould feel it differently. Some

women would say, 'It's easier the second time than the first.' Why can't I? why can't I?

"Oh, you Devil tempting me, is there no Angel near to raise some timely obstacle between this and

"I shall sink under itI shall sink, if I write or think of it any more! I'll shut up these leaves and go out again.

I'll get some common person to come with me, and we will talk of common things. I'll take out the woman of

the house, and her children. We will go and see something. There is a show of some kind in the townI'll

treat them to it. I'm not such an illnatured woman when I try; and the landlady has really been kind to me.

Surely I might occupy my mind a little in seeing her and her children enjoying themselves.

"A minute since, I shut up these leaves as I said I would; and now I have opened them again, I don't know

why. I think my brain is turned. I feel as if something was lost out of my mind; I feel as if I ought to find it

"Is it possible that I can have been thinking of the reasons For and Against, for an hour pastwriting

Midwinter's name over and over againspeculating seriously on marrying himand all the time not once

remembering that, even with every other impediment removed, he alone, when the time came, would be an

insurmountable obstacle in my way? Has the effort to face the consideration of Armadale's death absorbed

me to that degree? I suppose it has. I can't account for such extraordinary forgetfulness on my part in any

"Shall I stop and think it out, as I have thought out all the rest? Shall I ask myself if the obstacle of Midwinter

would, after all, when the time came, be the unmanageable obstacle that it looks at present? No! What need is

there to think of it? I have made up my mind to get the better of the temptation. I have made up my mind to

give my landlady and her children a treat; I have made up my mind to close my Diary. And closed it shall be.

"Six o'clock.The landlady's gossip is unendurable; the landlady's children distract me. I have left them to

"The dread that I shall sink under the temptation has grown stronger and stronger on me. I have determined to

put it beyond my power to have my own way and follow my own will. Mother Oldershaw shall be the

salvation of me for the first time since I have known her. If I can't pay my note of hand, she threatens me with

an arrest. Well, she shall arrest me. In the state my mind is in now, the best thing that can happen to me is to

be taken away from Thorpe Ambrose, whether I like it or not. I will write and say that I am to be found here I

will write and tell her, in so many words, that the best service she can render me is to lock me up.

"Seven o'clock.The letter has gone to the post. I had begun to feel a little easier, when the children came in

to thank me for taking them to the show. One of them is a girl, and the girl upset me. She is a forward child,

and her hair is nearly the color of mine. She said, 'I shall be like you when I have grown bigger, shan't I?' Her

idiot of a mother said, 'Please to excuse her, miss,' and took her out of the room, laughing. Like me! I don't

"Saturday morning.I have done well for once in acting on impulse, and writing as I did to Mrs. Oldershaw.

The only new circumstance that has happened is another circumstance in my favor!

"Major Milroy has answered Armadale's letter, entreating permission to call at the cottage and justify himself.

His daughter read it in silence, when Armadale handed it to her at their meeting this morning, in the park. But

they talked about it afterward, loud enough for me to hear them. The major persists in the course he has

taken. He says his opinion of Armadale's conduct has been formed, not on common report, but on Armadale's

own letters, and he sees no reason to alter the conclusion at which he arrived when the correspondence

"This little matter had, I confess, slipped out of my memory. It might have ended awkwardly for me. If Major

Milroy had been less obstinately wedded to his own opinion, Armadale might have justified himself; the

marriage engagement might have been acknowledged; and all my power of influencing the matter might have

been at an end. As it is, they must continue to keep the engagement strictly secret; and Miss Milroy, who has

never ventured herself near the great house since the thunderstorm forced her into it for shelter, will be less

likely than ever to venture there now. I can part them when I please; with an anonymous line to the major, I

"After having discussed the letter, the talk between them turned on what they were to do next. Major Milroy's

severity, as it soon appeared, produced the usual results. Armadale returned to the subject of the elopement;

and this time she listened to him. There is everything to drive her to it. Her outfit of clothes is nearly ready;

and the summer holidays, at the school which has been chosen for her, end at the end of next week. When I

"The last words I heard him address to her, before I went away, shook me a little. He said: 'There is one

difficulty, Neelie, that needn't trouble us, at any rate. I have got plenty of money.' And then he kissed her. The

way to his life began to look an easier way to me when he talked of his money, and kissed her.

"Some hours have passed, and the more I think of it, the more I fear the blank interval between this time and

the time when Mrs. Oldershaw calls in the law, and protects me against myself. It might have been better if I

had stopped at home this morning. But how could I? After the insult she offered me yesterday, I tingled all

"Today; Sunday; Monday; Tuesday. They can't arrest me for the money before Wednesday. And my

miserable five pounds are dwindling to four! And he told her he had plenty of money! And she blushed and

trembled when he kissed her. It might have been better for him, better for her, and better for me, if my debt

had fallen due yesterday, and if the bailiffs had their hands on me at this moment.

"Suppose I had the means of leaving Thorpe Ambrose by the next train, and going somewhere abroad, and

absorbing myself in some new interest, among new people. Could I do it, rather than look again at that easy

"Perhaps I might. But where is the money to come from? Surely some way of getting it struck me a day or

two since? Yes; that mean idea of asking Armadale to help me! Well; I will be mean for once. I'll give him

the chance of making a generous use of that wellfilled purse which it is such a comfort to him to reflect on

in his present circumstances. It would soften my heart toward any man if he lent me money in my present

extremity; and, if Armadale lends me money, it might soften my heart toward him. When shall I go? At once!

"Yes! I have suffered it once from Miss Milroy. And I have now suffered it a second time from Armadale

"I had got through the town, and had advanced a few hundred yards along the road that leads to the great

house, when I saw Armadale at a little distance, coming toward me. He was walking fastevidently with

some errand of his own to take him to the town. The instant he caught sight of me he stopped, colored up,

took off his hat, hesitated, and turned aside down a lane behind him, which I happen to know would take him

exactly in the contrary direction to the direction in which he was walking when he first saw me. His conduct

said in so many words, 'Miss Milroy may hear of it; I daren't run the risk of being seen speaking to you.' Men

have used me heartlessly; men have done and said hard things to me; but no man living ever yet treated me as

if I was plaguestruck, and as if the very air about me was infected by my presence!

"I say no more. When he walked away from me down that lane, he walked to his death. I have written to

Midwinter to expect me in London nest week, and to be ready for our marriage soon afterward.

"Four o'clock.Half an hour since, I put on my bonnet to go out and post the letter to Midwinter myself.

And here I am, still in my room, with my mind torn by doubts, and my letter on the table.

"Armadale counts for nothing in the perplexities that are now torturing me. It is Midwinter who makes me

hesitate. Can I take the first of those three steps that lead me to the end, without the common caution of

looking at consequences? Can I marry Midwinter, without knowing beforehand how to meet the obstacle of

my husband, when the time comes which transforms me from the living Armadale's wife to the dead

"Why can't I think of it, when I know I must think of it? Why can't I look at it as steadily as I have looked at

all the rest? I feel his kisses on my lips; I feel his tears on my bosom; I feel his arms round me again. He is far

"Why can't I wait a little? Why can't I let Time help me? Time? It's Saturday! What need is there to think of

it, unless I like? There is no post to London today. I must wait. If I posted the letter, it wouldn't go. Besides,

to morrow I may hear from Mrs. Oldershaw. I ought to wait to hear from Mrs. Oldershaw. I can't consider

myself a free woman till I know what Mrs. Oldershaw means to do. There is a necessity for waiting till

"Sunday morning.There is no resisting it! One after another the circumstances crowd on me. They come

"I have got Mother Oldershaw's answer. The wretch fawns on me, and cringes to me. I can see, as plainly as

if she had acknowledged it, that she suspects me of seeing my own way to success at Thorpe Ambrose

without her assistance. Having found threatening me useless, she tries coaxing me now. I am her darling

Lydia again! She is quite shocked that I could imagine she ever really intended to arrest her bosom friend;

"I say once more, no mortal creature could resist it! Time after time I have tried to escape the temptation; and

time after time the circumstances drive me back again. I can struggle no longer. The post that takes the letters

"Tonight! If I give myself till tonight, something else may happen. If I give myself till tonight, I may

hesitate again. I'm weary of the torture of hesitating. I must and will have relief in the present, cost what it

may in the future. My letter to Midwinter will drive me mad if I see it staring and staring at me in my desk

"It is done. The first of the three steps that lead me to the end is a step taken. My mind is quieterthe letter

"By tomorrow Midwinter will receive it. Before the end of the week Armadale must be publicly seen to

"Have I looked at the consequences of my marriage to Midwinter? No! Do I know how to meet the obstacle

of my husband, when the time comes which transforms me from the living Armadale's wife to the dead

"No! When the time comes, I must meet the obstacle as I best may. I am going blindfold, thenso far as

Midwinter is concerned into this frightful risk? Yes; blindfold. Am I out of my senses? Very likely. Or am

I a little too fond of him to look the thing in the face? I dare say. Who cares?

"I won't, I won't, I won't think of it! Haven't I a will of my own? And can't I think, if I like, of something

"Here is Mother Jezebel's cringing letter. That is something else to think of. I'll answer it. I am in a fine

"...I told you, when I broke off, that I would wait before I finished this, and ask my Diary if I could safely tell

you what I have now got it in my mind to do. Well, I have asked; and my Diary says, 'Don't tell her!' Under

these circumstances I close my letterwith my best excuses for leaving you in the dark.

"I shall probably be in London before longand I may tell you by word of mouth what I don't think it safe to

write here. Mind, I make no promise! It all depends on how I feel toward you at the time. I don't doubt your

discretion; but (under certain circumstances) I am not so sure of your courage. L. G."

"P. S.My best thanks for your permission to renew the bill. I decline profiting by the proposal. The money

will be ready when the money is due. I have a friend now in London who will pay it if I ask him. Do you

wonder who the friend is? You will wonder at one or two other things, Mrs. Oldershaw, before many weeks

On the morning of Monday, the 28th of July, Miss Gwiltonce more on the watch for Allan and

Neeliereached her customary post of observation in the park, by the usual roundabout way.

She was a little surprised to find Neelie alone at the place of meeting. She was more seriously astonished,

when the tardy Allan made his appearance ten minutes later, to see him mounting the side of the dell, with a

large volume under his arm, and to hear him say, as an apology for being late, that "he had muddled away his

time in hunting for the Books; and that he had only found one, after all, which seemed in the least likely to

If Miss Gwilt had waited long enough in the park, on the previous Saturday, to hear the lovers' parting words

on that occasion, she would have been at no loss to explain the mystery of the volume under Allan's arm, and

she would have understood the apology which he now offered for being late as readily as Neelie herself.

There is a certain exceptional occasion in lifethe occasion of marriageon which even girls in their teens

sometimes become capable (more or less hysterically) of looking at consequences. At the farewell moment of

the interview on Saturday, Neelie's mind had suddenly precipitated itself into the future; and she had utterly

confounded Allan by inquiring whether the contemplated elopement was an offense punishable by the Law?

Her memory satisfied her that she had certainly read somewhere, at some former period, in some book or

other (possibly a novel), of an elopement with a dreadful endof a bride dragged home in hystericsand of

a bridegroom sentenced to languish in prison, with all his beautiful hair cut off, by Act of Parliament, close to

his head. Supposing she could bring herself to consent to the elopement at allwhich she positively declined

to promiseshe must first insist on discovering whether there was any fear of the police being concerned in

her marriage as well as the parson and the clerk. Allan, being a man, ought to know; and to Allan she looked

for informationwith this preliminary assurance to assist him in laying down the law, that she would die of

a broken heart a thousand times over, rather than be the innocent means of sending him to languish in prison,

and of cutting his hair off, by Act of Parliament, close to his head. "It's no laughing matter," said Neelie,

resolutely, in conclusion; "I decline even to think of our marriage till my mind is made easy first on the

"But I don't know anything about the law, not even as much as you do," said Allan. "Hang the law! I don't

"Risk it?" repeated Neelie, indignantly. "Have you no consideration for me? I won't risk it! Where there's a

"Out of books, to be sure! There must be quantities of information in that enormous library of yours at the

great house. If you really love me, you won't mind going over the backs of a few thousand books, for my

"I'll go over the backs of ten thousand!" cried Allan, warmly. "Would you mind telling me what I'm to look

"For 'Law,' to be sure! When it says 'Law' on the back, open it, and look inside for Marriageread every

word of itand then come here and explain it to me. What! you don't think your head is to be trusted to do

"Of course I can, if you can't manage without me! Law may be hard, but it can't be harder than music; and I

must, and will, satisfy my mind. Bring me all the books you can find, on Monday morningin a

wheelbarrow, if there are a good many of them, and if you can't manage it in any other way."

The result of this conversation was Allan's appearance in the park, with a volume of Blackstone's

Commentaries under his arm, on the fatal Monday morning, when Miss Gwilt's written engagement of

marriage was placed in Midwinter's hands. Here again, in this, as in all other human instances, the widely

discordant elements of the grotesque and the terrible were forced together by that subtle law of contrast which

is one of the laws of mortal life. Amid all the thickening complications now impending over their

headswith the shadow of meditated murder stealing toward one of them already from the lurkingplace

that hid Miss Gwiltthe two sat down, unconscious of the future, with the book between them; and applied

themselves to the study of the law of marriage, with a grave resolution to understand it, which, in two such

"Find the place," said Neelie, as soon as they were comfortably established. "We must manage this by what

She produced forthwith a smart little pocketbook and pencil, and opened the book in the middle, where

there was a blank page on the right hand and the left. At the top of the righthand page she wrote the word

Good. At the top of the lefthand page she wrote the word Bad. "'Good' means where the law is on our side,"

she explained; "and 'Bad' means where the law is against us. We will have 'Good' and 'Bad' opposite each

other, all down the two pages; and when we get to the bottom, we'll add them up, and act accordingly. They

say girls have no heads for business. Haven't they! Don't look at melook at Blackstone, and begin."

"I should mind it very much. In our serious situation, when we have both got to exert our intellects, I wonder

"That's why I asked for it," said the unblushing Allan. "I feel as if it would clear my head."

"Oh, if it would clear your head, that's quite another thing! I must clear your head, of course, at any sacrifice.

Only one, mind," she whispered, coquettishly; "and pray be careful of Blackstone, or you'll lose the place."

There was a pause in the conversation. Blackstone and the pocketbook both rolled on the ground together.

"If this happens again," said Neelie, picking up the pocketbook, with her eyes and her complexion at their

brightest and best, "I shall sit with my back to you for the rest of the morning. Will you go on?"

Allan found his place for the second time, and fell headlong into the bottomless abyss of the English Law.

"Page 280," he began. "Law of husband and wife. Here's a bit I don't understand, to begin with: 'It may be

observed generally that the law considers marriage in the light of a Contract.' What does that mean? I thought

a contract was the sort of a thing a builder signs when he promises to have the workmen out of the house in a

given time, and when the time comes (as my poor mother used to say) the workmen never go."

"Here's a bit that's more in our way: 'Incapacities. If any persons under legal incapacities come together, it is a

meretricious, and not a matrimonial union.' (Blackstone's a good one at long words, isn't he? I wonder what

he means by meretricious?) 'The first of these legal disabilities is a prior marriage, and having another

"Stop!" said Neelie; "I must make a note of that." She gravely made her first entry on the page headed

"Good," as follows: "I have no husband, and Allan has no wife. We are both entirely unmarried at the present

"'The next disability,'" proceeded Allan, "'is want of age. The age for consent to matrimony is, fourteen in

males, and twelve in females.' Come!" cried Allan, cheerfully, "Blackstone begins early enough, at any rate!"

Neelie was too businesslike to make any other remark, on her side, than the necessary remark in the

pocketbook. She made another entry under the head of "Good": "I am old enough to consent, and so is Allan

too. Go on," resumed Neelie, looking over the reader's shoulder. "Never mind all that prosing of Blackstone's,

about the husband being of years of discretion, and the wife under twelve. Abominable wretch! the wife

Neelie immediately made a third entry on the side of "Good": "Allan and I are both perfectly reasonable. Skip

Allan skipped. "'A fourth incapacity is in respect of proximity of relationship.'"

A fourth entry followed instantly on the cheering side of the pocketbook: "He loves me, and I love

himwithout our being in the slightest degree related to each other. Any more?" asked Neelie, tapping her

"Plenty more," rejoined Allan; "all in hieroglyphics. Look here: 'Marriage Acts, 4 Geo. IV., c. 76, and 6 and 7

Will. IV., c. 85 (q).' Blackstone's intellect seems to be wandering here. Shall we take another skip, and see if

"Wait a little," said Neelie; "what's that I see in the middle?" She read for a minute in silence, over Allan's

shoulder, and suddenly clasped her hands in despair. "I knew I was right!" she exclaimed. "Oh, heavens, here

"Where?" asked Allan. "I see nothing about languishing in prison, and cropping a fellow's hair close to his

head, unless it's in the hieroglyphics. Is '4 Geo. IV.' short for 'Lock him up'? and does 'c. 85 (q)' mean, 'Send

"Pray be serious," remonstrated Neelie. "We are both sitting on a volcano. There," she said pointing to the

place. "Read it! If anything can bring you to a proper sense of our situation, that will."

Allan cleared his throat, and Neelie held the point of her pencil ready on the depressing side of the

"'And as it is the policy of our law,'" Allan began, "'to prevent the marriage of persons under the age of

twentyone, without the consent of parents and guardians'"(Neelie made her first entry on the side of

"Bad!" "I'm only seventeen next birthday, and circumstances forbid me to confide my attachment to

papa")"'it is provided that in the case of the publication of banns of a person under twentyone, not being a

widower or widow, who are deemed emancipated'"(Neelie made another entry on the depressing side:

"Allan is not a widower, and I am not a widow; consequently, we are neither of us emancipated")"'if the

parent or guardian openly signifies his dissent at the time the banns are published'"("which papa would be

certain to do") "'such publication would be void.' I'll take breath here if you'll allow me," said Allan.

"Blackstone might put it in shorter sentences, I think, if he can't put it in fewer words. Cheer up, Neelie! there

must be other ways of marrying, besides this roundabout way, that ends in a Publication and a Void. Infernal

"We are not at the end of it yet," said Neelie. "The Void is nothing to what is to come."

"Whatever it is," rejoined Allan, "we'll treat it like a dose of physicwe'll take it at once, and be done with

it." He went on reading: "'And no license to marry without banns shall be granted, unless oath shall be first

made by one of the parties that he or she believes that there is no impediment of kindred or alliance'well, I

can take my oath of that with a safe conscience! What next? 'And one of the said parties must, for the space

of fifteen days immediately preceding such license, have had his or her usual place of abode within the parish

or chapelry within which such marriage is to be solemnized!' Chapelry! I'd live fifteen days in a dogkennel

with the greatest pleasure. I say, Neelie, all this seems like plain sailing enough. What are you shaking your

head about? Go on, and I shall see? Oh, all right; I'll go on. Here we are: 'And where one of the said parties,

not being a widower or widow, shall be under the age of twentyone years, oath must first be made that the

consent of the person or persons whose consent is required has been obtained, or that there is no person

having authority to give such consent. The consent required by this act is that of the father'" At those last

formidable words Allan came to a full stop. "The consent of the father," he repeated, with all needful

Neelie answered in expressive silence. She handed him the pocketbook, with the final entry completed, on

the side of "Bad," in these terms: "Our marriage is impossible, unless Allan commits perjury."

The lovers looked at each other, across the insuperable obstacle of Blackstone, in speechless dismay.

"Shut up the book," said Neelie, resignedly. "I have no doubt we should find the police, and the prison, and

the haircuttingall punishments for perjury, exactly as I told you!if we looked at the next page. But we

needn't trouble ourselves to look; we have found out quite enough already. It's all over with us. I must go to

school on Saturday, and you must manage to forget me as soon as you can. Perhaps we may meet in

afterlife, and you may be a widower and I may be a widow, and the cruel law may consider us emancipated,

when it's too late to be of the slightest use. By that time, no doubt, I shall be old and ugly, and you will

naturally have ceased to care about me, and it will all end in the grave, and the sooner the better. Goodby,"

concluded Neelie, rising mournfully, with the tears in her eyes. "It's only prolonging our misery to stop here,

"I've got something to propose," cried the headlong Allan. "It's an entirely new idea. Would you mind trying

"No earthly consideration," answered Neelie, indignantly, "would induce me to be married by a blacksmith!"

"Don't be offended," pleaded Allan; "I meant it for the best. Lots of people in our situation have tried the

blacksmith, and found him quite as good as a clergyman, and a most amiable man, I believe, into the bargain.

"Take my word for it," persisted Allan, stoutly, "there must be ways and means of circumventing Blackstone

(without perjury), if we only knew of them. It's a matter of law, and we must consult somebody in the

profession. I dare say it's a risk. But nothing venture, nothing have. What do you say to young Pedgift? He's a

thorough good fellow. I'm sure we could trust young Pedgift to keep our secret."

"Not for worlds!" exclaimed Neelie. "You may be willing to trust your secrets to the vulgar little wretch; I

won't have him trusted with mine. I hate him. No!" she concluded, with a mounting color and a peremptory

stamp of her foot on the grass. "I positively forbid you to take any of the Thorpe Ambrose people into your

confidence. They would instantly suspect me, and it would be all over the place in a moment. My attachment

may be an unhappy one," remarked Neelie, with her handkerchief to her eyes, "and papa may nip it in the

"Hush! hush!" said Allan. "I won't say a word at Thorpe Ambrose, I won't indeed!" He paused, and

considered for a moment. "There's another way!" he burst out, brightening up on the instant. "We've got the

There was a sudden rustlingheard neither by one nor the otheramong the trees behind them that

screened Miss Gwilt. One more of the difficulties in her way (the difficulty of getting Allan to London) now

"To London!" reiterated Allan. "That's far enough away from Thorpe Ambrose, surely? Wait a minute, and

don't forget that this is a question of law. Very well, I know some lawyers in London who managed all my

business for me when I first came in for this property; they are just the men to consult. And if they decline to

be mixed up in it, there's their head clerk, who is one of the best fellows I ever met with in my life. I asked

him to go yachting with me, I remember; and, though he couldn't go, he said he felt the obligation all the

same. That's the man to help us. Blackstone's a mere infant to him. Don't say it's absurd; don't say it's exactly

like me. Do pray hear me out. I won't breathe your name or your father's. I'll describe you as 'a young lady to

whom I am devotedly attached.' And if my friend the clerk asks where you live, I'll say the north of Scotland,

or the west of Ireland, or the Channel Islands, or anywhere else you like. My friend the clerk is a total

stranger to Thorpe Ambrose and everybody in it (which is one recommendation); and in five minutes' time

he'd put me up to what to do (which is another). If you only knew him! He's one of those extraordinary men

who appear once or twice in a centurythe sort of man who won't allow you to make a mistake if you try.

All I have got to say to him (putting it short) is, 'My dear fellow, I want to be privately married without

perjury.' All he has got to say to me (putting it short) is, 'You must do soandso and soandso, and you

must be careful to avoid this, that, and the other.' I have nothing in the world to do but to follow his

directions; and you have nothing in the world to do but what the bride always does when the bridegroom is

ready and willing!" His arm stole round Neelie's waist, and his lips pointed the moral of the last sentence with

that inarticulate eloquence which is so uniformly successful in persuading a woman against her will.

All Neelie's meditated objections dwindled, in spite of her, to one feeble little question. "Suppose I allow you

to go, Allan?" she whispered, toying nervously with the stud in the bosom of his shirt. "Shall you be very

"I'll be off today," said Allan, "by the eleven o'clock train. And I'll be back tomorrow, if I and my friend

"You'll write to me every day?" pleaded Neelie, clinging a little closer to him. "I shall sink under the

Allan promised to write twice a day, if she likedletter writing, which was such an effort to other men, was

"And mind, whatever those people may say to you in London," proceeded Neelie, "I insist on your coming

Allan promised for the second time, on his sacred word of honor, and at the full compass of his voice. But

Neelie was not satisfied even yet. She reverted to first principles, and insisted on knowing whether Allan was

quite sure he loved her. Allan called Heaven to witness how sure he was; and got another question directly

for his pains. Could he solemnly declare that he would never regret taking Neelie away from home? Allan

called Heaven to witness again, louder than ever. All to no purpose! The ravenous female appetite for tender

protestations still hungered for more. "I know what will happen one of these days," persisted Neelie. "You

will see some other girl who is prettier than I am; and you will wish you had married her instead of me!"

As Allan opened his lips for a final outburst of asseveration, the stable clock at the great house was faintly

audible in the distance striking the hour. Neelie started guiltily. It was breakfasttime at the cottagein other

words, time to take leave. At the last moment her heart went back to her father; and her head sank on Allan's

bosom as she tried to say, Goodby. "Papa has always been so kind to me, Allan," she whispered, holding

him back tremulously when he turned to leave her. "It seems so guilty and so heartless to go away from him

and be married in secret. Oh, do, do think before you really go to London; is there no way of making him a

little kinder and juster to you?" The question was useless; the major's resolutely unfavorable reception of

Allan's letter rose in Neelie's memory, and answered her as the words passed her lips. With a girl's

impulsiveness she pushed Allan away before he could speak, and signed to him impatiently to go. The

conflict of contending emotions, which she had mastered thus far, burst its way outward in spite of her after

he had waved his hand for the last time, and had disappeared in the depths of the dell. When she turned from

the place, on her side, her longrestrained tears fell freely at last, and made the lonely way back to the cottage

As she hurried homeward, the leaves parted behind her, and Miss Gwilt stepped softly into the open space.

She stood there in triumph, tall, beautiful, and resolute. Her lovely color brightened while she watched

"Cry, you little fool!" she said, with her quiet, clear tones, and her steady smile of contempt. "Cry as you

An hour later, the landlady at Miss Gwilt's lodgings was lost in astonishment, and the clamorous tongues of

the children were in a state of ungovernable revolt. "Unforeseen circumstances" had suddenly obliged the

tenant of the first floor to terminate the occupation of her apartments, and to go to London that day by the

"Please to have a fly at the door at halfpast ten," said Miss Gwilt, as the amazed landlady followed her

upstairs. "And excuse me, you good creature, if I beg and pray not to be disturbed till the fly comes. "Once

inside the room, she locked the door, and then opened her writingdesk. "Now for my letter to the major!"

A moment's consideration apparently decided her. Searching through her collection of pens, she carefully

selected the worst that could be found, and began the letter by writing the date of the day on a soiled sheet of

notepaper, in crooked, clumsy characters, which ended in a blot made purposely with the feather of the pen.

Pausing, sometimes to think a little, sometimes to make another blot, she completed the letter in these words:

"HON'D SIRIt is on my conscience to tell you something, which I think you ought to know. You ought to

know of the goingson of Miss, your daughter, with young Mister Armadale. I wish you to make sure, and,

what is more, I advise you to be quick about it, if she is going the way you want her to go, when she takes her

morning walk before breakfast. I scorn to make mischief, where there is true love on both sides. But I don't

think the young man means truly by Miss. What I mean is, I think Miss only has his fancy. Another person,

who shall be nameless betwixt us, has his true heart. Please to pardon my not putting my name; I am only a

humble person, and it might get me into trouble. This is all at present, dear sir, from yours,

"There!" said Miss Gwilt, as she folded the letter up. "If I had been a professed novelist, I could hardly have

written more naturally in the character of a servant than that!" She wrote the necessary address to Major

Milroy; looked admiringly for the last time at the coarse and clumsy writing which her own delicate hand had

produced; and rose to post the letter herself, before she entered next on the serious business of packing up.

"Curious!" she thought, when the letter had been posted, and she was back again making her traveling

preparations in her own room; "here I am, running headlong into a frightful riskand I never was in better

The boxes were ready when the fly was at the door, and Miss Gwilt was equipped (as becomingly as usual) in

her neat traveling costume. The thick veil, which she was accustomed to wear in London, appeared on her

country straw bonnet for the first time." One meets such rude men occasionally in the railway," she said to

the landlady. "And though I dress quietly, my hair is so very remarkable." She was a little paler than usual;

but she had never been so sweettempered and engaging, so gracefully cordial and friendly, as now, when the

moment of departure had come. The simple people of the house were quite moved at taking leave of her. She

insisted on shaking hands with the landlordon speaking to him in her prettiest way, and sunning him in her

brightest smiles. "Come!" she said to the landlady, "you have been so kind, you have been so like a mother to

me, you must give me a kiss at parting." She embraced the children all together in a lump, with a mixture of

humor and tenderness delightful to see, and left a shilling among them to buy a cake. "If I was only rich

enough to make it a sovereign," she whispered to the mother, "how glad I should be!" The awkward lad who

ran on errands stood waiting at the fly door. He was clumsy, he was frowsy, he had a gaping mouth and a

turnup nose; but the ineradicable female delight in being charming accepted him, for all that, in the

character of a last chance. "You dear, dingy John!" she said, kindly, at the carriage door. "I am so poor I have

only sixpence to give youwith my very best wishes. Take my advice, Johngrow to be a fine man, and

find yourself a nice sweetheart! Thank you a thousand times!" She gave him a friendly little pat on the cheek

Allan's anxiety not to miss the train had brought him to the station in better time than usual. After taking his

ticket and putting his portmanteau under the porter's charge, he was pacing the platform and thinking of

Neelie, when he heard the rustling of a lady's dress behind him, and, turning round to look, found himself

There was no escaping her this time. The station wall was on his right hand, and the line was on his left; a

tunnel was behind him, and Miss Gwilt was in front, inquiring in her sweetest tones whether Mr. Armadale

Allan colored scarlet with vexation and surprise. There he was obviously waiting for the train; and there was

his portmanteau close by, with his name on it, already labeled for London! What answer but the true one

could he make after that? Could he let the train go without him, and lose the precious hours so vitally

important to Neelie and himself? Impossible! Allan helplessly confirmed the printed statement on his

portmanteau, and heartily wished himself at the other end of the world as he said the words.

"How very fortunate!" rejoined Miss Gwilt. "I am going to London too. Might I ask you Mr. Armadale (as

Allan looked at the little assembly of travelers, and travelers' friends, collected on the platform, near the

bookingoffice door. They were all Thorpe Ambrose people. He was probably known by sight, and Miss

Gwilt was probably known by sight, to every one of them. In sheer desperation, hesitating more awkwardly

than ever, he produced his cigar case. "I should be delighted," he said, with an embarrassment which was

almost an insult under the circumstances. "But II'm what the people who get sick over a cigar call a slave

"I delight in smoking!" said Miss Gwilt, with undiminished vivacity and good humor. "It's one of the

privileges of the men which I have always envied. I'm afraid, Mr. Armadale, you must think I am forcing

myself on you. It certainly looks like it. The real truth is, I want particularly to say a word to you in private

The train came up at the same moment. Setting Midwinter out of the question, the common decencies of

politeness left Allan no alternative but to submit. After having been the cause of her leaving her situation at

Major Milroy's, after having pointedly avoided her only a few days since on the highroad, to have declined

going to London in the same carriage with Miss Gwilt would have been an act of downright brutality which it

was simply impossible to commit. "Damn her!" said Allan, internally, as he handed his traveling companion

into an empty carriage, officiously placed at his disposal, before all the people at the station, by the guard.

"You shan't be disturbed, sir," the man whispered, confidentially, with a smile and a touch of his hat. Allan

could have knocked him down with the utmost pleasure. "Stop!" he said, from the window. "I don't want the

carriage" It was useless; the guard was out of hearing; the whistle blew, and the train started for London.

The select assembly of travelers' friends, left behind on the platform, congregated in a circle on the spot, with

The stationmasterotherwise Mr. Mackwas a popular character in the neighborhood. He possessed two

social qualifications which invariably impress the average English mindhe was an old soldier, and he was

a man of few words. The conclave on the platform insisted on taking his opinion, before it committed itself

positively to an opinion of its own. A brisk fire of remarks exploded, as a matter of course, on all sides; but

everybody's view of the subject ended interrogatively, in a question aimed pointblank at the stationmaster's

"She's got him, hasn't she?" "She'll come back 'Mrs. Armadale,' won't she?" "He'd better have stuck to Miss

Milroy, hadn't he?" "Miss Milroy stuck to him. She paid him a visit at the great house, didn't she?" "Nothing

of the sort; it's a shame to take the girl's character away. She was caught in a thunderstorm close by; he was

obliged to give her shelter; and she's never been near the place since. Miss Gwilt's been there, if you like,

with no thunderstorm to force her in; and Miss Gwilt's off with him to London in a carriage all to themselves,

eh, Mr. Mack?" "Ah, he's a soft one, that Armadale! with all his money, to take up with a redhaired woman,

a good eight or nine years older than he is! She's thirty if she's a day. That's what I say, Mr. Mack. What do

you say?" "Older or younger, she'll rule the roast at Thorpe Ambrose; and I say, for the sake of the place, and

for the sake of trade, let's make the best of it; and Mr. Mack, as a man of the world, sees it in the same light as

"Gentlemen," said the stationmaster, with his abrupt military accent, and his impenetrable military manner,

"she's a devilish fine woman. And when I was Mr. Armadale's age, it's my opinion, if her fancy had laid that

With that expression of opinion the stationmaster wheeled to the right, and intrenched himself impregnably

The citizens of Thorpe Ambrose looked at the closed door, and gravely shook their heads. Mr. Mack had

disappointed them. No opinion which openly recognizes the frailty of human nature is ever a popular opinion

with mankind. "It's as good as saying that any of us might have married her if we had been Mr. Armadale's

age!" Such was the general impression on the minds of the conclave, when the meeting had been adjourned,

The last of the party to go was a slow old gentleman, with a habit of deliberately looking about him. Pausing

at the door, this observant person stared up the platform and down the platform, and discovered in the latter

direction, standing behind an angle of the wall, an elderly man in black, who had escaped the notice of

everybody up to that time. "Why, bless my soul!" said the old gentleman, advancing inquisitively by a step at

It was Mr. BashwoodMr. Bashwood, whose constitutional curiosity had taken him privately to the station,

bent on solving the mystery of Allan's sudden journey to LondonMr. Bashwood, who had seen and heard,

behind his angle in the wall, what everybody else had seen and heard, and who appeared to have been

impressed by it in no ordinary way. He stood stiffly against the wall, like a man petrified, with one hand

pressed on his bare head, and the other holding his hathe stood, with a dull flush on his face, and a dull

stare in his eyes, looking straight into the black depths of the tunnel outside the station, as if the train to

"Is your head bad?" asked the old gentleman. "Take my advice. Go home and lie down."

Mr. Bashwood listened mechanically, with his usual attention, and answered mechanically, with his usual

"Yes, sir," he said, in a low, lost tone, like a man between dreaming and waking; "I'll go home and lie down."

"That's right," rejoined the old gentleman, making for the door. "And take a pill, Mr. Bashwoodtake a pill."

Five minutes later, the porter charged with the business of locking up the station found Mr. Bashwood, still

standing bareheaded against the wall, and still looking straight into the black depths of the tunnel, as if the

"Come, sir!" said the porter; "I must lock up. Are you out of sorts? Anything wrong with your inside? Try a

"Yes," said Mr. Bashwood, answering the porter, exactly as he had answered the old gentleman; "I'll try a

The porter took him by the arm, and led him out. "You'll get it there," said the man, pointing confidentially to

"I shall get it there," echoed Mr. Bashwood, still mechanically repeating what was said to him; "and I shall

His will seemed to be paralyzed; his actions depended absolutely on what other people told him to do. He

took a few steps in the direction of the publichouse, hesitated, staggered, and caught at the pillar of one of

"Why, you've been drinking already!" exclaimed the man, with a suddenly quickened interest in Mr.

It was close on the porter's dinnertime. But, when the lower orders of the English people believe they have

discovered an intoxicated man, their sympathy with him is boundless. The porter let his dinner take its

chance, and carefully assisted Mr. Bashwood to reach the publichouse. "Ginandbitters will put you on

your legs again," whispered this Samaritan setterright of the alcoholic disasters of mankind.

If Mr. Bashwood had really been intoxicated, the effect of the porter's remedy would have been marvelous

indeed. Almost as soon as the glass was emptied, the stimulant did its work. The longweakened nervous

system of the deputysteward, prostrated for the moment by the shock that had fallen on it, rallied again like

a weary horse under the spur. The dull flush on his cheeks, the dull stare in his eyes, disappeared

simultaneously. After a momentary effort, he recovered memory enough of what had passed to thank the

porter, and to ask whether he would take something himself. The worthy creature instantly accepted a dose of

his own remedyin the capacity of a preventiveand went home to dinner as only those men can go home

who are physically warmed by ginandbitters and morally elevated by the performance of a good action.

Still strangely abstracted (but conscious now of the way by which he went), Mr. Bashwood left the

publichouse a few minutes later, in his turn. He walked on mechanically, in his dreary black garments,

moving like a blot on the white surface of the sunbrightened road, as Midwinter had seen him move in the

early days at Thorpe Ambrose, when they had first met. Arrived at the point where he had to choose between

the way that led into the town and the way that led to the great house, he stopped, incapable of deciding, and

careless, apparently, even of making the attempt. "I'll be revenged on her!" he whispered to himself, still

absorbed in his jealous frenzy of rage against the woman who had deceived him. "I'll be revenged on her," he

Some women of the disorderly sort, passing on their way to the town, heard him. "Ah, you old brute," they

called out, with the measureless license of their class, "whatever she did, she served you right!"

The coarseness of the voices startled him, whether he comprehended the words or not. He shrank away from

more interruption and more insult, into the quieter road that led to the great house.

At a solitary place by the wayside he stopped and sat down. He took off his hat and lifted his youthful wig a

little from his bald old head, and tried desperately to get beyond the one immovable conviction which lay on

his mind like leadthe conviction that Miss Gwilt had been purposely deceiving him from the first. It was

useless. No effort would free him from that one dominant impression, and from the one answering idea that it

had evokedthe idea of revenge. He got up again, and put on his hat and walked rapidly forward a little

waythen turned without knowing why, and slowly walked back again "If I had only dressed a little

smarter!" said the poor wretch, helplessly. "If I had only been a little bolder with her, she might have

overlooked my being an old man!" The angry fit returned on him. He clinched his clammy, trembling hands,

and shook them fiercely in the empty air. "I'll be revenged on her," he reiterated. "I'll be revenged on her, if I

spend every halfpenny I've got!" It was terribly suggestive of the hold she had taken on him, that his

vindictive sense of injury could not get far enough away from her to reach the man whom he believed to be

his rival, even yet. In his rage, as in his love, he was absorbed, body and soul, by Miss Gwilt.

In a moment more, the noise of running wheels approaching from behind startled him. He turned and looked

round. There was Mr. Pedgift the elder, rapidly overtaking him in the gig, just as Mr. Pedgift had overtaken

him once already, on that former occasion when he had listened under the window at the great house, and

when the lawyer had bluntly charged him with feeling a curiosity about Miss Gwilt!

In an instant the inevitable association of ideas burst on his mind. The opinion of Miss Gwilt, which he had

heard the lawyer express to Allan at parting, flashed back into his memory, side by side with Mr. Pedgift's

sarcastic approval of anything in the way of inquiry which his own curiosity might attempt. "I may be even

with her yet," he thought, "if Mr. Pedgift will help me!Stop, sir!" he called out, desperately, as the gig

Pedgift Senior slackened the pace of his fasttrotting mare, without pulling up. "Come to the office in half an

hour," he said; "I'm busy now." Without waiting for an answer, without noticing Mr. Bashwood's bow, he

Mr. Bashwood sat down once more in a shady place by the roadside. He appeared to be incapable of feeling

any slight but the one unpardonable slight put upon him by Miss Gwilt. He not only declined to resent, he

even made the best of Mr. Pedgift's unceremonious treatment of him. "Half an hour," he said, resignedly.

"Time enough to compose myself; and I want time. Very kind of Mr. Pedgift, though he mightn't have meant

The sense of oppression in his head forced him once again to remove his hat. He sat with it on his lap, deep in

thought; his face bent low, and the wavering fingers of one hand drumming absently on the crown of the hat.

If Mr. Pedgift the elder, seeing him as he sat now, could only have looked a little way into the future, the

monotonously drumming hand of the deputysteward might have been strong enough, feeble as it was, to

stop the lawyer by the roadside. It was the worn, weary, miserable old hand of a worn, weary, miserable old

man; but it was, for all that (to use the language of Mr. Pedgift's own parting prediction to Allan), the hand

Punctual to the moment, when the half hour's interval had expired, Mr. Bashwood was announced at the

The lawyer looked up from his papers with an air of annoyance: he had totally forgotten the meeting by the

roadside. "See what he wants," said Pedgift Senior to Pedgift Junior, working in the same room with him.

"Well," answered the son, "he is rather more shaky and unintelligible than usual. I can make nothing out of

him, except that he persists in wanting to see you. My own idea," pursued Pedgift Junior, with his usual,

sardonic gravity, "is that he is going to have a fit, and that he wishes to acknowledge your uniform kindness

Pedgift Senior habitually matched everybodyhis son included with their own weapons. "Be good

enough to remember, Augustus," he rejoined, "that my Room is not a Court of Law. A bad joke is not

Mr. Bashwood was introduced, and Pedgift Junior withdrew. "You mustn't bleed him, sir," whispered the

incorrigible joker, as he passed the back of his father's chair. "Hotwater bottles to the soles of his feet, and a

"Sit down, Bashwood," said Pedgift Senior when they were alone. "And don't forget that time's money. Out

with it, whatever it is, at the quickest possible rate, and in the fewest possible words."

These preliminary directions, bluntly but not at all unkindly spoken, rather increased than diminished the

painful agitation under which Mr. Bashwood was suffering. He stammered more helplessly, he trembled

more continuously than usual, as he made his little speech of thanks, and added his apologies at the end for

"Everybody in the place, Mr. Pedgift, sir, knows your time is valuable. Oh, dear, yes! oh, dear, yes! most

valuable, most valuable! Excuse me, sir, I'm coming out with it. Your goodness or rather your

businessno, your goodness gave me half an hour to waitand I have thought of what I had to say, and

prepared it, and put it short." Having got as far as that, he stopped with a pained, bewildered look. He had put

it away in his memory, and now, when the time came, he was too confused to find it. And there was Mr.

Pedgift mutely waiting; his face and manner expressive alike of that silent sense of the value of his own time

which every patient who has visited a great doctor, every client who has consulted a lawyer in large practice,

knows so well. "Have you heard the news, sir?" stammered Mr. Bashwood, shifting his ground in despair,

and letting the uppermost idea in his mind escape him, simply because it was the one idea in him that was

"Does it concern me?" asked Pedgift Senior, mercilessly brief, and mercilessly straight in coming to the

"It concerns a lady, sirno, not a ladya young man, I ought to say, in whom you used to feel some

interest. Oh, Mr. Pedgift, sir, what do you think! Mr. Armadale and Miss Gwilt have gone up to London

together todayalone, siralone in a carriage reserved for their two selves. Do you think he's going to

marry her? Do you really think, like the rest of them, he's going to marry her?"

He put the question with a sudden flush in his face and a sudden energy in his manner. His sense of the value

of the lawyer's time, his conviction of the greatness of the lawyer's condescension, his constitutional shyness

and timidityall yielded together to his one overwhelming interest in hearing Mr. Pedgift's answer. He was

"After my experience of Mr. Armadale," said the lawyer, instantly hardening in look and manner, "I believe

him to be infatuated enough to marry Miss Gwilt a dozen times over, if Miss Gwilt chose to ask him. Your

news doesn't surprise me in the least, Bashwood. I'm sorry for him. I can honestly say that, though he has set

my advice at defiance. And I'm more sorry still," he continued, softening again as his mind reverted to his

interview with Neelie under the trees of the park"I'm more sorry still for another person who shall be

nameless. But what have I to do with all this? And what on earth is the matter with you?" he resumed,

noticing for the first time the abject misery in Mr. Bashwood's manner, the blank despair in Mr. Bashwood's

face, which his answer had produced. "Are you ill? Is there something behind the curtain that you're afraid to

bring out? I don't understand it. Have you come herehere in my private room, in business hourswith

nothing to tell me but that young Armadale has been fool enough to ruin his prospects for life? Why, I

foresaw it all weeks since, and what is more, I as good as told him so at the last conversation I had with him

At those last words, Mr. Bashwood suddenly rallied. The lawyer's passing reference to the great house had

"That's it, sir!" he said, eagerly; "that's what I wanted to speak to you about; that's what I've been preparing in

my mind. Mr. Pedgift, sir, the last time you were at the great house, when you came away in your gig,

"I dare say I did," remarked Pedgift, resignedly. "My mare happens to be a trifle quicker on her legs than you

are on yours, Bashwood. Go on, go on. We shall come in time, I suppose, to what you are driving at."

"You stopped, and spoke to me, sir," proceeded Mr. Bashwood, advancing more and more eagerly to his end.

"You said you suspected me of feeling some curiosity about Miss Gwilt, and you told me (I remember the

exact words, sir)you told me to gratify my curiosity by all means, for you didn't object to it."

"I remember something of the sort," he replied; "and I also remember thinking it rather remarkable that you

should happenwe won't put it in any more offensive wayto be exactly under Mr. Armadale's open

window while I was talking to him. It might have been accident, of course; but it looked rather more like

curiosity. I could only judge by appearances," concluded Pedgift, pointing his sarcasm with a pinch of snuff;

"I don't deny it, sir. I only mentioned the circumstance because I wished to acknowledge that I was curious,

"Why?" asked Pedgift Senior, seeing something under the surface in Mr. Bashwood's face and manner, but

There was silence for a moment. The moment passed, Mr. Bashwood took the refuge usually taken by

nervous, unready men, placed in his circumstances, when they are at a loss for an answer. He simply

reiterated the assertion that he had just made. "I feel some curiosity sir," he said, with a strange mixture of

There was another moment of silence. In spite of his practiced acuteness and knowledge of the world, the

lawyer was more puzzled than ever. The case of Mr. Bashwood presented the one human riddle of all others

which he was least qualified to solve. Though year after year witnesses in thousands and thousands of cases,

the remorseless disinheriting of nearest and dearest relations, the unnatural breakingup of sacred family ties,

the deplorable severance of old and firm friendships, due entirely to the intense selfabsorption which the

sexual passion can produce when it enters the heart of an old man, the association of love with infirmity and

gray hairs arouses, nevertheless, all the world over, no other idea than the idea of extravagant improbability

or extravagant absurdity in the general mind. If the interview now taking place in Mr. Pedgift's

consultingroom had taken place at his dinnertable instead, when wine had opened his mind to humorous

influences, it is possible that he might, by this time, have suspected the truth. But, in his business hours,

Pedgift Senior was in the habit of investigating men's motives seriously from the business point of view; and

he was on that very account simply incapable of conceiving any improbability so startling, any absurdity so

Some men in the lawyer's position would have tried to force their way to enlightenment by obstinately

repeating the unanswered question. Pedgift Senior wisely postponed the question until he had moved the

conversation on another step. "Well," he resumed, "let us say you feel a curiosity about Miss Gwilt. What

The palms of Mr. Bashwood's hands began to moisten under the influence of his agitation, as they had

moistened in the past days when he had told the story of his domestic sorrows to Midwinter at the great

house. Once more he rolled his handkerchief into a ball, and dabbed it softly to and fro from one hand to the

"May I ask if I am right, sir," he began, "in believing that you have a very unfavorable opinion of Miss

"My good fellow," interrupted Pedgift Senior, "why need you be in any doubt about it? You were under Mr.

Armadale's open window all the while I was talking to him; and your ears, I presume, were not absolutely

Mr. Bashwood showed no sense of the interruption. The little sting of the lawyer's sarcasm was lost in the

"You are quite convinced, I think, sir," he resumed, "that there are circumstances in this lady's past life which

would be highly discreditable to her if they were discovered at the present time?"

"The window was open at the great house, Bashwood; and your ears, I presume, were not absolutely shut."

Still impenetrable to the sting, Mr. Bashwood persisted more obstinately than ever.

"Unless I am greatly mistaken," he said, "your long experience in such things has even suggested to you, sir,

Pedgift Senior's patience gave way. "You have been over ten minutes in this room," he broke out. "Can you,

In plain Englishwith the passion that had transformed him, the passion which (in Miss Gwilt's own words)

had made a man of him, burning in his haggard cheeksMr. Bashwood met the challenge, and faced the

"I wish to say, sir," he answered, "that your opinion in this matter is my opinion too. I believe there is

something wrong in Miss Gwilt's past life which she keeps concealed from everybody, and I want to be the

Pedgift Senior saw his chance, and instantly reverted to the question that he had postponed. "Why?" he asked

Could he acknowledge that he had been mad enough to love her, and mean enough to be a spy for her? Could

he say, She has deceived me from the first, and she has deserted me, now her object is served. After robbing

me of my happiness, robbing me of my honor, robbing me of my last hope left in life, she has gone from me

forever, and left me nothing but my old man's longing, slow and sly, and strong and changeless, for revenge.

Revenge that I may have, if I can poison her success by dragging her frailties into the public view. Revenge

that I will buy (for what is gold or what is life to me?) with the last farthing of my hoarded money and the last

drop of my stagnant blood. Could he say that to the man who sat waiting for his answer? No; he could only

"One of us must speak out," he said; "and as you evidently won't, I will. I can only account for this

extraordinary anxiety of yours to make yourself acquainted with Miss Gwilt's secrets, in one of two ways.

Your motive is either an excessively mean one (no offense, Bashwood, I am only putting the case), or an

excessively generous one. After my experience of your honest character and your creditable conduct, it is

only your due that I should absolve you at once of the mean motive. I believe you are as incapable as I amI

can say no moreof turning to mercenary account any discoveries you might make to Miss Gwilt's prejudice

in Miss Gwilt's past life. Shall I go on any further? or would you prefer, on second thoughts, opening your

"As you please," pursued Pedgift Senior. "Having absolved you of the mean motive, I come to the generous

motive next. It is possible that you are an unusually grateful man; and it is certain that Mr. Armadale has been

remarkably kind to you. After employing you under Mr. Midwinter, in the steward's office, he has had

confidence enough in your honesty and your capacity, now his friend has left him, to put his business entirely

and unreservedly in your hands. It's not in my experience of human naturebut it may be possible,

neverthelessthat you are so gratefully sensible of that confidence, and so gratefully interested in your

employer's welfare, that you can't see him, in his friendless position, going straight to his own disgrace and

ruin, without making an effort to save him. To put it in two words. Is it your idea that Mr. Armadale might be

prevented from marrying Miss Gwilt, if he could be informed in time of her real character? And do you wish

He stopped in astonishment. Acting under some uncontrollable impulse, Mr. Bashwood had started to his

feet. He stood, with his withered face lit up by a sudden irradiation from within, which made him look

younger than his age by a good twenty yearshe stood, gasping for breath enough to speak, and gesticulated

"Say it again, sir!" he burst out, eagerly, recovering his breath before Pedgift Senior had recovered his

surprise. "The question about Mr. Armadale, sir!only once more!only once more, Mr. Pedgift, please!"

With his practiced observation closely and distrustfully at work on Mr. Bashwood' s face, Pedgift Senior

"Do I think," said Mr. Bashwood, repeating the sense, but not the words of the question, "that Mr. Armadale

might be parted from Miss Gwilt, if she could be shown to him as she really is? Yes, sir! And do I wish to be

"It's rather strange," remarked the lawyer, looking at him more and more distrustfully, "that you should be so

The question happened to have hit a mark which Pedgift little dreamed of. It had released Mr. Bashwood's

mind in an instant from the dead pressure of his one dominant idea of revenge, and had shown him a purpose

to be achieved by the discovery of Miss Gwilt's secrets which had never occurred to him till that moment.

The marriage which he had blindly regarded as inevitable was a marriage that might be stoppednot in

Allan's interests, but in his ownand the woman whom he believed that he had lost might yet, in spite of

circumstances, be a woman won! His brain whirled as he thought of it. His own roused resolution almost

daunted him, by its terrible incongruity with all the familiar habits of his mind, and all the customary

Finding his last remark unanswered, Pedgift Senior considered a little before he said anything more.

"One thing is clear," reasoned the lawyer with himself. "His true motive in this matter is a motive which he is

afraid to avow. My question evidently offered him a chance of misleading me, and he has accepted it on the

spot. That's enough for me. If I was Mr. Armadale's lawyer, the mystery might be worth investigating. As

things are, it's no interest of mine to hunt Mr. Bashwood from one lie to another till I run him to earth at last.

I have nothing whatever to do with it; and I shall leave him free to follow his own roundabout courses, in his

own roundabout way." Having arrived at that conclusion, Pedgift Senior pushed back his chair, and rose

"Don't be alarmed, Bashwood," he began. "The subject of our conversation is a subject exhausted, so far as I

am concerned. I have only a few last words to say, and it's a habit of mine, as you know, to say my last words

on my legs. Whatever else I may be in the dark about, I have made one discovery, at any rate. I have found

"If you would be so very, very kind, sir!" stammered Mr. Bashwood. "If you would only give me the great

"Wait a bit, Bashwood We will separate those two things, if you please. A lawyer may offer an opinion like

any other man; but when a lawyer gives his adviceby the Lord Harry, sir, it's Professional! You're

welcome to my opinion in this matter; I have disguised it from nobody. I believe there have been events in

Miss Gwilt's career which (if they could be discovered) would even make Mr. Armadale, infatuated as he is,

afraid to marry hersupposing, of course, that he really is going to marry her; for, though the appearances

are in favor of it so far, it is only an assumption, after all. As to the mode of proceeding by which the blots on

this woman's character might or might not be brought to light in timeshe may be married by license in a

fortnight if she likesthat is a branch of the question on which I positively decline to enter. It implies

speaking in my character as a lawyer, and giving you, what I decline positively to give you, my professional

"Oh, sir, don't say that!" pleaded Mr. Bashwood. "Don't deny me the great favor, the inestimable advantage of

your advice! I have such a poor head, Mr. Pedgift! I am so old and so slow, sir, and I get so sadly startled and

worried when I'm thrown out of my ordinary ways. It's quite natural you should be a little impatient with me

for taking up your timeI know that time is money, to a clever man like you. Would you excuse

mewould you please excuse me, if I venture to say that I have saved a little something, a few pounds, sir;

and being quite lonely, with nobody dependent on me, I'm sure I may spend my savings as I please?" Blind to

every consideration but the one consideration of propitiating Mr. Pedgift, he took out a dingy, ragged old

pocketbook, and tried, with trembling fingers, to open it on the lawyer's table.

"Put your pocketbook back directly," said Pedgift Senior. "Richer men than you have tried that argument

with me, and have found that there is such a thing (off the stage) as a lawyer who is not to be bribed. I will

have nothing to do with the case, under existing circumstances. If you want to know why, I beg to inform you

that Miss Gwilt ceased to be professionally interesting to me on the day when I ceased to be Mr. Armadale's

lawyer. I may have other reasons besides, which I don't think it necessary to mention. The reason already

given is explicit enough. Go your own way, and take your responsibility on your own shoulders. You may

venture within reach of Miss Gwilt's claws and come out again without being scratched. Time will show. In

the meanwhile, I wish you goodmorningand I own, to my shame, that I never knew till today what a hero

This time, Mr. Bashwood felt the sting. Without another word of expostulation or entreaty, without even

saying "Goodmorning" on his side, he walked to the door, opened it, softly, and left the room.

The parting look in his face, and the sudden silence that had fallen on him, were not lost on Pedgift Senior.

"Bashwood will end badly," said the lawyer, shuffling his papers, and returning impenetrably to his

The change in Mr. Bashwood's face and manner to something dogged and selfcontained was so startlingly

uncharacteristic of him, that it even forced itself on the notice of Pedgift Junior and the clerks as he passed

through the outer office. Accustomed to make the old man their butt, they took a boisterously comic view of

the marked alteration in him. Deaf to the merciless raillery with which he was assailed on all sides, he

stopped opposite young Pedgift, and, looking him attentively in the face, said, in a quiet, absent manner, like

"Open an account instantly," said Pedgift Junior to the clerks, "in the name of Mr. Bashwood. Place a chair

for Mr. Bashwood, with a footstool close by, in case he wants it. Supply me with a quire of extra

doublewove satin paper, and a gross of picked quills, to take notes of Mr. Bashwood's case; and inform my

father instantly that I am going to leave him and set up in business for myself, on the strength of Mr.

Bashwood's patronage. Take a seat, sir, pray take a seat, and express your feelings freely."

Still impenetrably deaf to the raillery of which he was the object, Mr. Bashwood waited until Pedgift Junior

"I ought to have known better," he said, in the same absent manner as before. "He is his father's son all

overhe would make game of me on my deathbed." He paused a moment at the door, mechanically

The bright sunshine dazzled his eyes, the passing vehicles and footpassengers startled and bewildered him.

He shrank into a bystreet, and put his hand over his eyes. "I'd better go home," he thought, "and shut myself

His lodging was in a small house, in the poor quarter of the town. He let himself in with his key, and stole

softly upstairs. The one little room he possessed met him cruelly, look round it where he might, with silent

memorials of Miss Gwilt. On the chimneypiece were the flowers she had given him at various times, all

withered long since, and all preserved on a little china pedestal, protected by a glass shade. On the wall hung

a wretched colored print of a woman, which he had caused to be nicely framed and glazed, because there was

a look in it that reminded him of her face. In his clumsy old mahogany writingdesk were the few letters,

brief and peremptory, which she had written to him at the time when he was watching and listening meanly at

Thorpe Ambrose to please her. And when, turning his back on these, he sat down wearily on his

sofabedsteadthere, hanging over one end of it, was the gaudy cravat of blue satin, which he had bought

because she had told him she liked bright colors, and which he had never yet had the courage to wear, though

he had taken it out morning after morning with the resolution to put it on! Habitually quiet in his actions,

habitually restrained in his language, he now seized the cravat as if it was a living thing that could feel, and

The time passed; and still, though his resolution to stand between Miss Gwilt and her marriage remained

unbroken, he was as far as ever from discovering the means which might lead him to his end. The more he

thought and thought of it, the darker and the darker his course in the future looked to him.

He rose again, as wearily as he had sat down, and went to his cupboard. "I'm feverish and thirsty," he said; "a

cup of tea may help me." He opened his canister, and measured out his small allowance of tea, less carefully

than usual. "Even my own hands won't serve me today!" he thought, as he scraped together the few grains

In that fine summer weather, the one fire in the house was the kitchen fire. He went downstairs for the boiling

Nobody but the landlady was in the kitchen. She was one of the many English matrons whose path through

this world is a path of thorns; and who take a dismal pleasure, whenever the opportunity is afforded them, in

inspecting the scratched and bleeding feet of other people in a like condition with themselves. Her one vice

was of the lighter sortthe vice of curiosity; and among the many counterbalancing virtues she possessed

was the virtue of greatly respecting Mr. Bashwood, as a lodger whose rent was regularly paid, and whose

"What did you please to want, sir?" asked the landlady. "Boiling water, is it? Did you ever know the water

boil, Mr. Bashwood, when you wanted it? Did you ever see a sulkier fire than that? I'll put a stick or two in, if

you'll wait a little, and give me the chance. Dear, dear me, you'll excuse my mentioning it, sir, but how poorly

The strain on Mr. Bashwood's mind was beginning to tell. Something of the helplessness which he had shown

at the station appeared again in his face and manner as he put his teapot on the kitchen table and sat down.

"I'm in trouble, ma'am," he said, quietly; "and I find trouble gets harder to bear than it used to be."

"Ah, you may well say that!" groaned the landlady. "I'm ready for the undertaker, Mr. Bashwood, when my

time comes, whatever you may be. You're too lonely, sir. When you're in trouble, it's some helpthough not

muchto shift a share of it off on another person's shoulders. If your good lady had only been alive now, sir,

A momentary spasm of pain passed across Mr. Bashwood's face. The landlady had ignorantly recalled him to

the misfortunes of his married life. He had been long since forced to quiet her curiosity about his family

affairs by telling her that he was a widower, and that his domestic circumstances had not been happy ones;

but he had taken her no further into his confidence than this. The sad story which he had related to

Midwinter, of his drunken wife who had ended her miserable life in a lunatic asylum, was a story which he

had shrunk from confiding to the talkative woman, who would have confided it in her turn to every one else

"What I always say to my husband when he's low, sir," pursued the landlady, intent on the kettle, "is, 'What

would you do now, Sam, without me?' When his temper don't get the better of him (it will boil directly, Mr.

Bashwood), he says, 'Elizabeth, I could do nothing.' When his temper does get the better of him, he says, 'I

should try the publichouse, missus; and I'll try it now.' Ah, I've got my troubles! A man with grownup sons

and daughters tippling in a publichouse! I don't call to mind, Mr. Bashwood, whether you ever had any sons

and daughters? And yet, now I think of it, I seem to fancy you said yes, you had. Daughters, sir, weren't they?

"I had one daughter, ma'am," said Mr. Bashwood, patiently"only one, who died before she was a year old."

"Only one!" repeated the sympathizing landlady. "It's as near boiling as it ever will be, sir; give me the

teapot. Only one! Ah, it comes heavier (don't it?) when it's an only child? You said it was an only child, I

For a moment, Mr. Bashwood looked at the woman with vacant eyes, and without attempting to answer her.

After ignorantly recalling the memory of the wife who had disgraced him, she was now, as ignorantly,

forcing him back on the miserable remembrance of the son who had ruined and deserted him. For the first

time, since he had told his story to Midwinter, at their introductory interview in the great house, his mind

reverted once more to the bitter disappointment and disaster of the past. Again he thought of the bygone days,

when he had become security for his son, and when that son's dishonesty had forced him to sell everything he

possessed to pay the forfeit that was exacted when the forfeit was due. "I have a son, ma'am," he said,

becoming conscious that the landlady was looking at him in mute and melancholy surprise. "I did my best to

"Did he, now?" rejoined the landlady, with an appearance of the greatest interest. "Behaved badly to

youalmost broke your heart, didn't he? Ah, it will come home to him, sooner or later. Don't you fear!

'Honor your father and mother,' wasn't put on Moses's tables of stone for nothing, Mr. Bashwood. Where may

The question was in effect almost the same as the question which Midwinter had put when the circumstances

had been described to him. As Mr. Bashwood had answered it on the former occasion, so (in nearly the same

"My son is in London, ma'am, for all I know to the contrary. He was employed, when I last heard of him, in

At those words he suddenly checked himself. His face flushed, his eyes brightened; he pushed away the cup

which had just been filled for him, and rose from his seat. The landlady started back a step. There was

"I hope I've not offended you, sir," said the woman, recovering her selfpossession, and looking a little too

"Far from it, ma'am, far from it!" he rejoined, in a strangely eager, hurried way. "I have just remembered

somethingsomething very important. I must go upstairsit's a letter, a letter, a letter. I'll come back to my

tea, ma'am. I beg your pardon, I'm much obliged to you, you've been very kindI'll say goodby, if you'll

allow me, for the present." To the landlady's amazement, he cordially shook hands with her, and made for the

The moment he reached his own room, he locked himself in. For a little while he stood holding by the

chimneypiece, waiting to recover his breath. The moment he could move again, he opened his writingdesk

on the table. "That for you, Mr. Pedgift and Son!" he said, with a snap of his fingers as he sat down. "I've got

There was a knock at the doora knock, soft, considerate, and confidential. The anxious landlady wished to

know whether Mr. Bashwood was ill, and begged to intimate for the second time that she earnestly trusted

"No! no!" he called through the door. "I'm quite wellI'm writing, ma'am, I'm writingplease to excuse

me. She's a good woman; she's an excellent woman," he thought, when the landlady had retired. "I'll make

her a little present. My mind's so unsettled, I might never have thought of it but for her. Oh, if my boy is at

He took up his pen, and sat thinking anxiously, thinking long, before he touched the paper. Slowly, with

many patient pauses to think and think again, and with more than ordinary care to make his writing legible,

"MY DEAR JAMESYou will be surprised, I am afraid, to see my handwriting. Pray don't suppose I am

going to ask you for money, or to reproach you for having sold me out of house and home when you forfeited

your security, and I had to pay. I am willing and anxious to let bygones be bygones, and to forget the past.

"It is in your power (if you are still at the Private Inquiry Office) to do me a great service. I am in sore

anxiety and trouble on the subject of a person in whom I am interested. The person is a lady. Please don't

make game of me for confessing this, if you can help it. If you knew what I am now suffering, I think you

"I would enter into particulars, only I know your quick temper, and I fear exhausting your patience. Perhaps it

may be enough to say that I have reason to believe the lady's past life has not been a very creditable one, and

that I am interestedmore interested than words can tellin finding out what her life has really been, and in

"Though I know very little about the ways of business in an office like yours, I can understand that, without

first having the lady's present address, nothing can be done to help me. Unfortunately, I am not yet

acquainted with her present address. I only know that she went to town today, accompanied by a gentleman,

in whose employment I now am, and who (as I believe) will be likely to write to me for money before many

"Is this circumstance of a nature to help us? I venture to say 'us,' because I count already, my dear boy, on

your kind assistance and advice. Don't let money stand between us; I have saved a little something, and it is

all freely at your disposal. Pray, pray write to me by return of post! If you will only try your best to end the

dreadful suspense under which I am now suffering, you will atone for all the grief and disappointment you

caused me in times that are past, and you will confer an obligation that he will never forget on

After waiting a little, to dry his eyes, Mr. Bashwood added the date and address, and directed the letter to his

son, at "The Private Inquiry Office, Shadyside Place, London." That done, he went out at once, and posted his

letter with his own hands. It was then Monday; and, if the answer was sent by return of post, the answer

The interval day, the Tuesday, was passed by Mr. Bashwood in the steward's office at the great house. He had

a double motive for absorbing himself as deeply as might be in the various occupations connected with the

management of the estate. In the first place, employment helped him to control the devouring impatience with

which he looked for the coming of the next day. In the second place, the more forward he was with the

business of the office, the more free he would be to join his son in London, without attracting suspicion to

Toward the Tuesday afternoon, vague rumors of something wrong at the cottage found their way (through

Major Milroy's servants) to the servants at the great house, and attempted ineffectually through this latter

channel to engage the attention of Mr. Bashwood, impenetrably fixed on other things. The major and Miss

Neelie had been shut up together in mysterious conference; and Miss Neelie's appearance after the close of

the interview plainly showed that she had been crying. This had happened on the Monday afternoon; and on

the next day (that present Tuesday) the major had startled the household by announcing briefly that his

daughter wanted a change to the air of the seaside, and that he proposed taking her himself, by the next train,

to Lowestoft. The two had gone away together, both very serious and silent, but both, apparently, very good

friends, for all that. Opinions at the great house attributed this domestic revolution to the reports current on

the subject of Allan and Miss Gwilt. Opinions at the cottage rejected that solution of the difficulty, on

practical grounds. Miss Neelie had remained inaccessibly shut up in her own room, from the Monday

afternoon to the Tuesday morning when her father took her away. The major, during the same interval, had

not been outside the door, and had spoken to nobody And Mrs. Milroy, at the first attempt of her new

attendant to inform her of the prevailing scandal in the town, had sealed the servant's lips by flying into one

of her terrible passions the instant Miss Gwilt's name was mentioned. Something must have happened, of

course, to take Major Milroy and his daughter so suddenly from home; but that something was certainly not

The afternoon passed, and the evening passed, and no other event happened but the purely private and

personal event which had taken place at the cottage. Nothing occurred (for nothing in the nature of things

could occur) to dissipate the delusion on which Miss Gwilt had countedthe delusion which all Thorpe

Ambrose now shared with Mr. Bashwood, that she had gone privately to London with Allan in the character

On the Wednesday morning, the postman, entering the street in which Mr. Bashwood lived, was encountered

by Mr. Bashwood himself, so eager to know if there was a letter for him that he had come out without his hat.

These were the terms in which Bashwood the younger answered his father's supplication for helpafter

"MY DEAR DADWe have some little practice in dealing with mysteries at this office; but the mystery of

your letter beats me altogether. Are you speculating on the interesting hidden frailties of some charming

woman? Or, after your experience of matrimony, are you actually going to give me a stepmother at this time

"I am not joking, mindthough the temptation is not an easy one to resist. On the contrary, I have given you

a quarter of an hour of my valuable time already. The place you date from sounded somehow familiar to me.

I referred back to the memorandum book, and found that I was sent down to Thorpe Ambrose to make private

inquiries not very long since. My employer was a lively old lady, who was too sly to give us her right name

and address. As a matter of course, we set to work at once, and found out who she was. Her name is Mrs.

Oldershaw; and, if you think of her for my stepmother, I strongly recommend you to think again before you

"If it is not Mrs. Oldershaw, then all I can do, so far, is to tell you how you may find out the unknown lady's

address. Come to town yourself as soon as you get the letter you expect from the gentleman who has gone

away with her (I hope he is not a handsome young man, for your sake) and call here. I will send somebody to

help you in watching his hotel or lodgings; and if he communicates with the lady, or the lady with him, you

may consider her address discovered from that moment. Once let me identify her, and know where she is, and

you shall see all her charming little secrets as plainly as you see the paper on which your affectionate son is

"A word more about the terms. I am as willing as you are to be friends again; but, though I own you were out

of pocket by me once, I can't afford to be out of pocket by you. It must be understood that you are answerable

for all the expenses of the inquiry. We may have to employ some of the women attached to this office, if your

lady is too wideawake or too nicelooking to be dealt with by a man. There will be cab hire, and

postagestampsadmissions to public amusements, if she is inclined that wayshillings for pewopeners,

if she is serious, and takes our people into churches to hear popular preachers, and so on. My own

professional services you shall have gratis; but I can't lose by you as well. Only remember that, and you shall

In the ecstasy of seeing help placed at last within his reach, the father put his son's atrocious letter to his lips.

He put the letter down, and fell into a new train of thought. The next question to face was the serious question

of time. Mr. Pedgift had told him Miss Gwilt might be married in a fortnight. One day of the fourteen had

passed already, and another was passing. He beat his hand impatiently on the table at his side, wondering how

soon the want of money would force Allan to write to him from London. "Tomorrow?" he asked himself.

The morrow passed, and nothing happened. The next day came, and the letter arrived! It was on business, as

he had anticipated; it asked for money, as he had anticipated; and there, at the end of it, in a postscript, was

the address added, concluding with the words, "You may count on my staying here till further notice."

He gave one deep gasp of relief, and instantly busied himself though there were nearly two hours to spare

before the train started for Londonin packing his bag. The last thing he put in was his blue satin cravat.

"All Saints' Terrace, New Road, London, July 28th, Monday night.I can hardly hold my head up, I am so

tired. But in my situation, I dare not trust anything to memory. Before I go to bed, I must write my customary

"So far, the turn of luck in my favor (it was long enough before it took the turn!) seems likely to continue. I

succeeded in forcing Armadalethe brute required nothing short of forcing! to leave Thorpe Ambrose for

London, alone in the same carriage with me, before all the people in the station. There was a full attendance

of dealers in small scandal, all staring hard at us, and all evidently drawing their own conclusions. Either I

knew nothing of Thorpe Ambroseor the town gossip is busy enough by this time with Mr. Armadale and

"I had some difficulty with him for the first halfhour after we left the station. The guard (delightful man! I

felt so grateful to him!) had shut us up together, in expectation of half a crown at the end of the journey.

Armadale was suspicious of me, and he showed it plainly. Little by little I tamed my wild beastpartly by

taking care to display no curiosity about his journey to town, and partly by interesting him on the subject of

his friend Midwinter; dwelling especially on the opportunity that now offered itself for a reconciliation

between them. I kept harping on this string till I set his tongue going, and made him amuse me as a

gentleman is bound to do when he has the honor of escorting a lady on a long railway journey.

"What little mind he has was full, of course, of his own affairs and Miss Milroy's. No words can express the

clumsiness he showed in trying to talk about himself, without taking me into his confidence or mentioning

"He was going to London, he gravely informed me, on a matter of indescribable interest to him. It was a

secret for the present, but he hoped to tell it me soon; it had made a great difference already in the way in

which he looked at the slanders spoken of him in Thorpe Ambrose; he was too happy to care what the

scandalmongers said of him now, and he should soon stop their mouths by appearing in a new character that

would surprise them all. So he blundered on, with the firm persuasion that he was keeping me quite in the

dark. It was hard not to laugh, when I thought of my anonymous letter on its way to the major; but I managed

to control myselfthough, I must own, with some difficulty. As the time wore on, I began to feel a terrible

excitement; the position was, I think, a little too much for me. There I was, alone with him, talking in the

most innocent, easy, familiar manner, and having it in my mind all the time to brush his life out of my way,

when the moment comes, as I might brush a stain off my gown. It made my blood leap, and my cheeks flush.

I caught myself laughing once or twice much louder than I ought; and long before we got to London I thought

"There was no difficulty, on reaching the terminus, in getting him to come in the cab with me to the hotel

where Midwinter is staying. He was all eagerness to be reconciled with his dear friendprincipally, I have

no doubt, because he wants the dear friend to lend a helping hand to the elopement. The real difficulty lay, of

course, with Midwinter. My sudden journey to London had allowed me no opportunity of writing to combat

his superstitious conviction that he and his former friend are better apart. I thought it wise to leave Armadale

in the cab at the door, and to go into the hotel by myself to pave the way for him.

"Fortunately, Midwinter had not gone out. His delight at seeing me some days sooner than he had hoped had

something infectious in it, I suppose. Pooh! I may own the truth to my own diary! There was a moment when

I forgot everything in the world but our two selves as completely as he did. I felt as if I was back in my

teensuntil I remembered the lout in the cab at the door. And then I was fiveandthirty again in an instant.

"His face altered when he heard who was below, and what it was I wanted of him; he looked not angry, but

distressed. He yielded, however, before long, not to my reasons, for I gave him none, but to my entreaties.

His old fondness for his friend might possibly have had some share in persuading him against his will; but

my own opinion is that he acted entirely under the influence of his fondness for Me.

"I waited in the sittingroom while he went down to the door; so I knew nothing of what passed between

them when they first saw each other again. But oh, the difference between the two men when the interval had

"They were both agitated, but in such different ways! The hateful Armadale, so loud and red and clumsy; the

dear, lovable Midwinter, so pale and quiet, with such a gentleness in his voice when he spoke, and such

tenderness in his eyes every time they turned my way. Armadale overlooked me as completely as if I had not

been in the room. He referred to me over and over again in the conversation; he constantly looked at me to

see what I thought, while I sat in my corner silently watching them; he wanted to go with me and see me safe

to my lodgings, and spare me all trouble with the cabman and the luggage. When I thanked him and declined,

Armadale looked unaffectedly relieved at the prospect of seeing my back turned, and of having his friend all

to himself. I left him, with his awkward elbows half over the table, scrawling a letter (no doubt to Miss

Milroy), and shouting to the waiter that he wanted a bed at the hotel. I had calculated on his staying, as a

matter of course, where he found his friend staying. It was pleasant to find my anticipations realized, and to

"After promising to let Midwinter know where he could see me tomorrow, I went away in the cab to hunt

"With some difficulty I have succeeded in getting an endurable sittingroom and bedroom in this house,

where the people are perfect strangers to me. Having paid a week's rent in advance (for I naturally preferred

dispensing with a reference), I find myself with exactly three shillings and ninepence left in my purse. It is

impossible to ask Midwinter for money, after he has already paid Mrs. Oldershaw's note of hand. I must

borrow something tomorrow on my watch and chain at the pawnbroker's. Enough to keep me going for a

fortnight is all, and more than all, that I want. In that time, or in less than that time, Midwinter will have

"July 29th.Two o'clock.Early in the morning I sent a line to Midwinter, telling him that he would find

me here at three this afternoon. That done, I devoted the morning to two errands of my own. One is hardly

worth mentioningit was only to raise money on my watch and chain. I got more than I expected; and more

(even supposing I buy myself one or two little things in the way of cheap summer dress) than I am at all

"The other errand was of a far more serious kind. It led me into an attorney's office.

"I was well aware last night (though I was too weary to put it down in my diary), that I could not possibly see

Midwinter this morningin the position he now occupies toward mewithout at least appearing to take him

into my confidence on the subject of myself and my circumstances. Excepting one necessary consideration

which I must be careful not to overlook. there is not the least difficulty in my drawing on my invention, and

telling him any story I pleasefor thus far I have told no story to anybody. Midwinter went away to London

before it was possible to approach the subject. As to the Milroys (having provided them with the customary

reference), I could fortunately keep them at armslength on all questions relating purely to myself. And

lastly, when I affected my reconciliation with Armadale on the drive in front of the house, he was fool

enough to be too generous to let me defend my character. When I had expressed my regret for having lost my

temper and threatened Miss Milroy, and when I had accepted his assurance that my pupil had never done or

meant to do me any injury, he was too magnanimous to hear a word on the subject of my private affairs. Thus

I am quite unfettered by any former assertions of my own; and I may tell any story I pleasewith the one

drawback hinted at already in the shape of a restraint. Whatever I may invent in the way of pure fiction, I

must preserve the character in which I have appeared at Thorpe Ambrose; for, with the notoriety that is

attached to my other name, I have no other choice but to marry Midwinter in my maiden name as 'Miss

"This was the consideration that took me into the lawyer's office. I felt that I must inform myself, before I

saw Midwinter later in the day, of any awkward consequences that may follow the marriage of a widow if she

"Knowing of no other professional person whom I could trust, I went boldly to the lawyer who had my

interests in his charge, at that terrible past time in my life, which I have more reason than ever to shrink from

thinking of now. He was astonished, and, as I could plainly detect, by no means pleased to see me. I had

hardly opened my lips before he said he hoped I was not consulting him again (with a strong emphasis on the

word) on my own account. I took the hint, and put the question I had come to ask, in the interests of that

accommodating personage on such occasionsan absent friend. The lawyer evidently saw through it at

once; but he was sharp enough to turn my 'friend' to good account on his side. He said he would answer the

question as a matter of courtesy toward a lady represented by myself; but he must make it a condition that

"I accepted his terms; for I really respected the clever manner in which he contrived to keep me at

armslength without violating the laws of goodbreeding. In two minutes I heard what he had to say,

"Short as it was, the consultation told me everything I wanted to know. I risk nothing by marrying Midwinter

in my maiden instead of my widow's name. The marriage is a good marriage in this way: that it can only be

set aside if my husband finds out the imposture, and takes proceedings to invalidate our marriage in my

lifetime. That is the lawyer's answer in the lawyer's own words. It relieves me at oncein this direction, at

any rateof all apprehension about the future. The only imposture my husband will ever discoverand then

only if he happens to be on the spotis the imposture that puts me in the place, and gives me the income, of

Armadale's widow; and by that time I shall have invalidated my own marriage forever.

"Halfpast two! Midwinter will be here in half an hour. I must go and ask my glass how I look. I must rouse

my invention, and make up my little domestic romance. Am I feeling nervous about it? Something flutters in

the place where my heart used to be. At fiveandthirty, too! and after such a life as mine!

Six o'clock.He has just gone. The day for our marriage is a day determined on already.

"I have tried to rest and recover myself. I can't rest. I have come back to these leaves. There is much to be

"Let me begin with what I hate most to remember, and so be the sooner done with itlet me begin with the

"What can be the secret of this man's hold on me? How is it that he alters me so that I hardly know myself

again? I was like myself in the railway carriage yesterday with Armadale. It was surely frightful to be talking

to the living man, through the whole of that long journey, with the knowledge in me all the while that I meant

to be his widowand yet I was only excited and fevered. Hour after hour I never shrunk once from speaking

to Armadale; but the first trumpery falsehood I told Midwinter turned me cold when I saw that he believed it!

I felt a dreadful hysterical choking in the throat when he entreated me not to reveal my troubles. And onceI

am horrified when I think of itonce, when he said, 'If I could love you more dearly, I should love you more

dearly now,' I was within a hairbreadth of turning traitor to myself. I was on the very point of crying out to

him, 'Lies! all lies! I'm a fiend in human shape! Marry the wretchedest creature that prowls the streets, and

you will marry a better woman than me!' Yes! the seeing his eyes moisten, the hearing his voice tremble,

while I was deceiving him, shook me in that way. I have seen handsomer men by hundreds, cleverer men by

dozens. What can this man have roused in me? Is it Love? I thought I had loved, never to love again. Does a

woman not love when the man's hardness to her drives her to drown herself? A man drove me to that last

despair in days gone by. Did all my misery at that time come from something which was not Love? Have I

lived to be fiveandthirty, and am I only feeling now what Love really is?now, when it is too late?

Ridiculous! Besides, what is the use of asking? What do I know about it? What does any woman ever know?

The more we think of it, the more we deceive ourselves. I wish I had been born an animal. My beauty might

"Here is a whole page of my diary filled; and nothing written yet that is of the slightest use to me! My

miserable madeup story must be told over again here, while the incidents are fresh in my memoryor how

am I to refer to it consistently on afteroccasions when I may be obliged to speak of it again?

"There was nothing new in what I told him; it was the commonplace rubbish of the circulating libraries. A

dead father; a lost fortune; vagabond brothers, whom I dread ever seeing again; a bedridden mother

dependent on my exertionsNo! I can't write it down! I hate myself, I despise myself, when I remember that

he believed it because I said itthat he was distressed by it because it was my story! I will face the chances

of contradicting myselfI will risk discovery and ruinanything rather than dwell on that contemptible

"My lies came to an end at last. And then he talked to me of himself and of his prospects. Oh, what a relief it

"He has accepted the offer about which he wrote to me at Thorpe Ambrose; and he is now engaged as

occasional foreign correspondent to the new newspaper. His first destination is Naples. I wish it had been

some other place, for I have certain past associations with Naples which I am not at all anxious to renew. It

has been arranged that he is to leave England not later than the eleventh of next month. By that time,

"There is not the slightest difficulty about the marriage. All this part of it is so easy that I begin to dread an

"The proposal to keep the thing strictly privatewhich it might have embarrassed me to makecomes from

Midwinter. Marrying me in his own namethe name that he has kept concealed from every living creature

but myself and Mr. Brockit is his interest that not a soul who knows him should be present at the

ceremony; his friend Armadale least of all. He has been a week in London already. When another week has

passed, he proposes to get the License, and to be married in the church belonging to the parish in which the

hotel is situated. These are the only necessary formalities. I had but to say 'Yes' (he told me), and to feel no

further anxiety about the future. I said 'Yes' with such a devouring anxiety about the future that I was afraid

he would see it. What minutes the next few minutes were, when he whispered delicious words to me, while I

"I recovered myself first, and led him back to the subject of Armadale, having my own reasons for wanting to

"The manner in which Midwinter replied showed me that he was speaking under the restraint of respecting a

confidence placed in him by his friend. Long before he had done, I detected what the confidence was.

Armadale had been consulting him (exactly as I anticipated) on the subject of the elopement. Although he

appears to have remonstrated against taking the girl secretly away from her home, Midwinter seems to have

felt some delicacy about speaking strongly, remembering (widely different as the circumstances are) that he

was contemplating a private marriage himself. I gathered, at any rate, that he had produced very little effect

by what he had said; and that Armadale had already carried out his absurd intention of consulting the

"Having got as far as this, Midwinter put the question which I felt must come sooner or later. He asked if I

objected to our engagement being mentioned, in the strictest secrecy, to his friend.

"'I will answer,' he said, 'for Allan's respecting any confidence that I place in him. And I will undertake, when

the time comes, so to use my influence over him as to prevent his being present at the marriage, and

discovering (what he must never know) that my name is the same as his own. It would help me,' he went on,

'to speak more strongly about the object that has brought him to London, if I can requite the frankness with

which he has spoken of his private affairs to me by the same frankness on my side.'

"I had no choice but to give the necessary permission, and I gave it. It is of the utmost importance to me to

know what course Major Milroy takes with his daughter and Armadale after receiving my anonymous letter;

and, unless I invite Armadale's confidence in some way, I am nearly certain to be kept in the dark. Let him

once be trusted with the knowledge that I am to be Midwinter's wife, and what he tells his friend about his

"When it had been understood between us that Armadale was to be taken into our confidence, we began to

talk about ourselves again. How the time flew! What a sweet enchantment it was to forget everything in his

"I have promised to meet him tomorrow morning in the Regent's Park. The less he is seen here the better.

The people in this house are strangers to me, certainly; but it may be wise to consult appearances, as if I was

still at Thorpe Ambrose, and not to produce the impression, even on their minds, that Midwinter is engaged

to me. If any afterinquiries are made, when I have run my grand risk, the testimony of my London landlady

"That wretched old Bashwood! Writing of Thorpe Ambrose reminds me of him. What will he say when the

town gossip tells him that Armadale has taken me to London, in a carriage reserved for ourselves? It really is

too absurd in a man of Bashwood's age and appearance to presume to be in love!....

"July 30th.News at last! Armadale has heard from Miss Milroy. My anonymous letter has produced its

effect. The girl is removed from Thorpe Ambrose already; and the whole project of the elopement is blown to

the winds at once and forever. This was the substance of what Midwinter had to tell me when I met him in the

Park. I affected to be excessively astonished, and to feel the necessary feminine longing to know all the

particulars. 'Not that I expect to have my curiosity satisfied,' I added, 'for Mr. Armadale and I are little better

"'You are far more than a mere acquaintance in Allan's eyes,' said Midwinter. 'Having your permission to

"Hearing this, I thought it desirable, before I put any questions about Miss Milroy, to attend to my own

interests first, and to find out what effect the announcement of my coming marriage had produced on

Armadale. It was possible that he might be still suspicious of me, and that the inquiries he made in London, at

"'Did Mr. Armadale seem surprised,' I asked, 'when you told him of our engagement, and when you said it

"'He seemed greatly surprised,' said Midwinter, 'to hear that we were going to be married. All he said when I

told him it must be kept a secret was that he supposed there were reasons on your side for making the

"'I said the reasons were on my side,' answered Midwinter. 'And I thought it right to addconsidering that

Allan had allowed himself to be misled by the ignorant distrust of you at Thorpe Ambrosethat you had

confided to me the whole of your sad family story, and that you had amply justified your unwillingness;

("I breathed freely again. He had said just what was wanted, just in the right way.)

"'Thank you,' I said, 'for putting me right in your friend's estimation. Does he wish to see me?' I added, by

"'He is longing to see you,' returned Midwinter. 'He is in great distress, poor fellowdistress which I have

done my best to soothe, but which, I believe, would yield far more readily to a woman's sympathy than to

"He was at the hotel; and to the hotel I instantly proposed that we should go. It is a busy, crowded place; and

(with my veil down) I have less fear of compromising myself there than at my quiet lodgings. Besides, it is

vitally important to me to know what Armadale does next, under this total change of circumstancesfor I

must so control his proceedings as to get him away from England if I can. We took a cab: such was my

"Anything so ridiculous as Armadale's behavior under the double shock of discovering that his young lady

has been taken away from him, and that I am to be married to Midwinter, I never before witnessed in all my

experience. To say that he was like a child is a libel on all children who are not born idiots. He congratulated

me on my coming marriage, and execrated the unknown wretch who had written the anonymous letter, little

thinking that he was speaking of one and the same person in one and the same breath. Now he submissively

acknowledged that Major Milroy had his rights as a father, and now he reviled the major as having no feeling

for anything but his mechanics and his clock. At one moment he started up, with the tears in his eyes, and

declared that his 'darling Neelie' was an angel on earth. At another he sat down sulkily, and thought that a girl

of her spirit might have run away on the spot and joined him in London. After a good halfhour of this

absurd exhibition, I succeeded in quieting him; and then a few words of tender inquiry produced what I had

"It was outrageously long, and rambling, and confused; in short, the letter of a fool. I had to wade through

plenty of vulgar sentiment and lamentation, and to lose time and patience over maudlin outbursts of affection,

and nauseous kisses inclosed in circles of ink. However, I contrived to extract the information I wanted at

"The major, on receipt of my anonymous warning, appears to have sent at once for his daughter, and to have

shown her the letter. 'You know what a hard life I lead with your mother; don't make it harder still, Neelie, by

deceiving me.' That was all the poor old gentleman said. I always did like the major; and, though he was

afraid to show it, I know he always liked me. His appeal to his daughter (if her account of it is to be believed)

cut her to the heart. She burst out crying (let her alone for crying at the right moment!) and confessed

"After giving her time to recover herself (if he had given her a good box on the ears it would have been more

to the purpose!), the major seems to have put certain questions, and to have become convinced (as I was

convinced myself) that his daughter's heart, or fancy, or whatever she calls it, was really and truly set on

Armadale. The discovery evidently distressed as well as surprised him. He appears to have hesitated, and to

have maintained his own unfavorable opinion of Miss Neelie's lover for some little time. But his daughter's

tears and entreaties (so like the weakness of the dear old gentleman!) shook him at last. Though he firmly

refused to allow of any marriage engagement at present, he consented to overlook the clandestine meetings in

the park, and to put Armadale's fitness to become his soninlaw to the test, on certain conditions.

"These conditions are, that for the next six months to come all communication is to be broken off, both

personally and by writing, between Armadale and Miss Milroy. That space of time is to be occupied by the

young gentleman as he himself thinks best, and by the young lady in completing her education at school. If,

when the six months have passed, they are both still of the same mind, and if Armadale's conduct in the

interval has been such as to improve the major's opinion of him, he will be allowed to present himself in the

character of Miss Milroy's suitor, and, in six months more, if all goes well, the marriage may take place.

"I declare I could kiss the dear old major, if I was only within reach of him! If I had been at his elbow, and

had dictated the conditions myself, I could have asked for nothing better than this. Six months of total

separation between Armadale and Miss Milroy! In half that timewith all communication cut off between

the twoit must go hard with me, indeed, if I don't find myself dressed in the necessary mourning, and

"But I am forgetting the girl's letter. She gives her father's reasons for making his conditions, in her father's

own words. The major seems to have spoken so sensibly and so feelingly that he left his daughter no decent

alternativeand he leaves Armadale no decent alternativebut to submit. As well as I can remember, he

seems to have expressed himself to Miss Neelie in these, or nearly in these terms:

"'Don't think I am behaving cruelly to you, my dear: I am merely asking you to put Mr. Armadale to the

proof. It is not only right, it is absolutely necessary, that you should hold no communication with him for

some time to come; and I will show you why. In the first place, if you go to school, the necessary rules in

such placesnecessary for the sake of the other girlswould not permit you to see Mr. Armadale or to

receive letters from him; and, if you are to become mistress of Thorpe Ambrose, to school you must go, for

you would be ashamed, and I should be ashamed, if you occupied the position of a lady of station without

having the accomplishments which all ladies of station are expected to possess. In the second place, I want to

see whether Mr. Armadale will continue to think of you as he thinks now, without being encouraged in his

attachment by seeing you, or reminded of it by hearing from you. If I am wrong in thinking him flighty and

unreliable, and if your opinion of him is the right one, this is not putting the young man to an unfair

testtrue love survives much longer separations than a separation of six months. And when that time is over,

and well over; and when I have had him under my own eye for another six months, and have learned to think

as highly of him as you doeven then, my dear, after all that terrible delay, you will still be a married

woman before you are eighteen. Think of this, Neelie, and show that you love me and trust me, by accepting

my proposal. I will hold no communication with Mr. Armadale myself. I will leave it to you to write and tell

him what has been decided on. He may write back one letter, and one only, to acquaint you with his decision.

After that, for the sake of your reputation, nothing more is to be said, and nothing more is to be done, and the

matter is to be kept strictly private until the six months' interval is at an end.'

"To this effect the major spoke. His behavior to that little slut of a girl has produced a stronger impression on

me than anything else in the letter. It has set me thinking (me, of all the people in the world!) of what they

call 'a moral difficulty.' We are perpetually told that there can be no possible connection between virtue and

vice. Can there not? Here is Major Milroy doing exactly what an excellent father, at once kind and prudent,

affectionate and firm, would do under the circumstances; and by that very course of conduct he has now

smoothed the way for me, as completely as if he had been the chosen accomplice of that abominable creature,

Miss Gwilt. Only think of my reasoning in this way! But I am in such good spirits, I can do anything today.

"To return to the letter, for the last timeit is so excessively dull and stupid that I really can't help wandering

"After solemnly announcing that she meant to sacrifice herself to her beloved father's wishes (the brazen

assurance of her setting up for a martyr after what has happened exceeds anything I ever heard or read of!),

Miss Neelie next mentioned that the major proposed taking her to the seaside for change of air, during the

few days that were still to elapse before she went to school. Armadale was to send his answer by return of

post, and to address her, under cover to her father, at Lowestoft. With this, and with a last outburst of tender

protestation, crammed crookedly into a corner of the page, the letter ended. (N.B.The major's object in

taking her to the seaside is plain enough. He still privately distrusts Armadale, and he is wisely determined to

prevent any more clandestine meetings in the park before the girl is safely disposed of at school.)

"When I had done with the letterI had requested permission to read parts of it which I particularly admired,

for the second and third time!we all consulted together in a friendly way about what Armadale was to do.

"He was fool enough, at the outset, to protest against submitting to Major Milroy's conditions. He declared,

with his odious red face looking the picture of brute health, that he should never survive a six months'

separation from his beloved Neelie. Midwinter (as may easily be imagined) seemed a little ashamed of him,

and joined me in bringing him to his senses. We showed him, what would have been plain enough to

anybody but a booby, that there was no honorable or even decent alternative left but to follow the example of

submission set by the young lady. 'Wait, and you will have her for your wife,' was what I said. 'Wait, and you

will force the major to alter his unjust opinion of you,' was what Midwinter added. With two clever people

hammering common sense into his head at that rate, it is needless to say that his head gave way, and he

"Having decided him to accept the major's conditions (I was careful to warn him, before he wrote to Miss

Milroy, that my engagement to Midwinter was to be kept as strictly secret from her as from everybody else),

the next question we had to settle related to his future proceedings. I was ready with the necessary arguments

to stop him, if he had proposed returning to Thorpe Ambrose. But he proposed nothing of the sort. On the

contrary, he declared, of his own accord, that nothing would induce him to go back. The place and the people

were associated with everything that was hateful to him. There would be no Miss Milroy now to meet him in

the park, and no Midwinter to keep him company in the solitary house. 'I'd rather break stones on the road,'

was the sensible and cheerful way in which he put it, 'than go back to Thorpe Ambrose.'

"The first suggestion after this came from Midwinter. The sly old clergyman who gave Mrs. Oldershaw and

me so much trouble has, it seems, been ill, but has been latterly reported better. 'Why not go to

Somersetshire,' said Midwinter, 'and see your good friend, and my good friend, Mr. Brock?'

"Armadale caught at the proposal readily enough. He longed, in the first place, to see 'dear old Brock,' and he

longed, in the second place, to see his yacht. After staying a few days more in London with Midwinter, he

"Seeing my opportunity, I came to the rescue this time. 'You have got a yacht, Mr. Armadale,' I said; 'and you

know that Midwinter is going to Italy. When you are tired of Somersetshire, why not make a voyage to the

"I made the allusion to 'his friend's wife' with the most becoming modesty and confusion. Armadale was

enchanted. I had hit on the best of all ways of occupying the weary time. He started up, and wrung my hand

in quite an ecstasy of gratitude. How I do hate people who can only express their feelings by hurting other

"Midwinter was as pleased with my proposal as Armadale; but he saw difficulties in the way of carrying it

out. He considered the yacht too small for a cruise to the Mediterranean, and he thought it desirable to hire a

larger vessel. His friend thought otherwise. I left them arguing the question. It was quite enough for me to

have made sure, in the first place, that Armadale will not return to Thorpe Ambrose; and to have decided him,

in the second place, on going abroad. He may go how he likes. I should prefer the small yacht myself; for

there seems to be a chance that the small yacht might do me the inestimable service of drowning him....

"Five o'clock.The excitement of feeling that I had got Armadale's future movements completely under my

own control made me so restless, when I returned to my lodgings, that I was obliged to go out again, and do

something. A new interest to occupy me being what I wanted, I went to Pimlico to have it out with Mother

"I walked; and made up my mind, on the way, that I would begin by quarreling with her.

"One of my notes of hand being paid already, and Midwinter being willing to pay the other two when they

fall due, my present position with the old wretch is as independent a one as I could desire. I always get the

better of her when it comes to a downright battle between us, and find her wonderfully civil and obliging the

moment I have made her feel that mine is the strongest will of the two. In my present situation, she might be

of use to me in various ways, if I could secure her assistance, without trusting her with secrets which I am

now more than ever determined to keep to myself. That was my idea as I walked to Pimlico. Upsetting

Mother Oldershaw's nerves, in the first place, and then twisting her round my little finger, in the second,

promised me, as I thought, an interesting occupation for the rest of the afternoon.

"When I got to Pimlico, a surprise was in store for we. The house was shut upnot only on Mrs.

Oldershaw's side, but on Doctor Downward's as well. A padlock was on the shop door; and a man was

hanging about on the watch, who might have been an ordinary idler certainly, but who looked, to my mind,

"Knowing the risks the doctor runs in his particular form of practice, I suspected at once that something

serious had happened, and that even cunning Mrs. Oldershaw was compromised this time. Without stopping,

or making any inquiry, therefore, I called the first cab that passed me, and drove to the post office to which I

had desired my letters to be forwarded if any came for me after I left my Thorpe Ambrose lodging.

"On inquiry a letter was produced for 'Miss Gwilt.' It was in Mother Oldershaw's handwriting, and it told me

(as I had supposed) that the doctor had got into a serious difficultythat she was herself most unfortunately

mixed up in the matter, and that they were both in hiding for the present. The letter ended with some

sufficiently venomous sentences about my conduct at Thorpe Ambrose, and with a warning that I have not

heard the last of Mrs. Oldershaw yet. It relieved me to find her writing in this wayfor she would have been

civil and cringing if she had had any suspicion of what I have really got in view. I burned the letter as soon as

the candles came up. And there, for the present, is an end of the connection between Mother Jezebel and me.

I must do all my own dirty work now; and I shall be all the safer, perhaps, for trusting nobody's hands to do it

"July 31st.More useful information for me. I met Midwinter again in the Park (on the pretext that my

reputation might suffer if he called too often at my lodgings), and heard the last news of Armadale since I left

"After he had written to Miss Milroy, Midwinter took the opportunity of speaking to him about the necessary

business arrangements during his absence from the great house. It was decided that the servants should be put

on board wages, and that Mr. Bashwood should be left in charge. (Somehow, I don't like this reappearance

of Mr. Bashwood in connection with my present interests, but there is no help for it.) The next questionthe

question of moneywas settled at once by Mr. Armadale himself. All his available readymoney (a large

sum) is to be lodged by Mr. Bashwood in Coutts's Bank, and to be there deposited in Armadale's name. This,

he said, would save him the worry of any further letterwriting to his steward, and would enable him to get

what he wanted, when he went abroad, at a moment's notice. The plan thus proposed, being certainly the

simplest and the safest, was adopted with Midwinter's full concurrence; and here the business discussion

would have ended, if the everlasting Mr. Bashwood had not turned up again in the conversation, and

"On reflection, it seems to have struck Midwinter that the whole responsibility at Thorpe Ambrose ought not

to rest on Mr. Bashwood's shoulders. Without in the least distrusting him, Midwinter felt, nevertheless, that

he ought to have somebody set over him, to apply to in case of emergency. Armadale made no objection to

"Either of the two solicitors at Thorpe Ambrose might have been employed, but Armadale was on bad terms

with both of them. Any reconciliation with such a bitter enemy as the elder lawyer, Mr. Darch, was out of the

question; and reinstating Mr. Pedgift in his former position implied a tacit sanction on Armadale's part of the

lawyer's abominable conduct toward me, which was scarcely consistent with the respect and regard that he

felt for a lady who was soon to be his friend's wife. After some further discussion, Midwinter hit on a new

suggestion which appeared to meet the difficulty. He proposed that Armadale should write to a respectable

solicitor at Norwich, stating his position in general terms, and requesting that gentleman to act as Mr.

Bashwood's adviser and superintendent when occasion required. Norwich being within an easy railway ride

of Thorpe Ambrose, Armadale saw no objection to the proposal, and promised to write to the Norwich

lawyer. Fearing that he might make some mistake if he wrote without assistance, Midwinter had drawn him

out a draft of the necessary letter, and Armadale was now engaged in copying the draft, and also in writing to

"These details are so dry and uninteresting in themselves that I hesitated at first about putting them down in

my diary. But a little reflection has convinced me that they are too important to be passed over. Looked at

from my point of view, they mean thisthat Armadale's own act is now cutting him off from all

communication with Thorpe Ambrose, even by letter. He is as good as dead already to everybody he leaves

behind him. The causes which have led to such a result as that are causes which certainly claim the best place

"August 1st.Nothing to record, but that I have had a long, quiet, happy day with Midwinter. He hired a

carriage, and we drove to Richmond, and dined there. After today's experience, it is impossible to deceive

"I have fallen into low spirits since he left me. A persuasion has taken possession of my mind that the smooth

and prosperous course of my affairs since I have been in London is too smooth and prosperous to last. There

is something oppressing me tonight, which is more than the oppression of the heavy London air.

"August 2d.Three o'clock.My presentiments, like other people's, have deceived me often enough; but I

am almost afraid that my presentiment of last night was really prophetic, for once in a way.

"I went after breakfast to a milliner's in this neighborhood to order a few cheap summer things, and thence to

Midwinter's hotel to arrange with him for another day in the country. I drove to the milliner's and to the hotel,

and part of the way back. Then, feeling disgusted with the horrid close smell of the cab (somebody had been

smoking in it, I suppose), I got out to walk the rest of the way. Before I had been two minutes on my feet, I

"This may mean nothing but that an idle fellow has been struck by my figure, and my appearance generally.

My face could have made no impression on him, for it was hidden as usual by my veil. Whether he followed

me (in a cab, of course) from the milliner's, or from the hotel, I cannot say. Nor am I quite certain whether he

did or did not track me to this door. I only know that I lost sight of him before I got back. There is no help for

it but to wait till events enlighten me. If there is anything serious in what has happened, I shall soon discover

"Five o'clock.It is serious. Ten minutes since, I was in my bedroom, which communicates with the

sittingroom. I was just coming out, when I heard a strange voice on the landing outsidea woman's voice.

The next instant the sittingroom door was suddenly opened; the woman's voice said, 'Are these the

apartments you have got to let?' and though the landlady, behind her, answered, 'No! higher up, ma'am,' the

woman came on straight to my bedroom, as if she had not heard. I had just time to slam the door in her face

before she saw me. The necessary explanations and apologies followed between the landlady and the stranger

"I have no time to write more. It is plain that somebody has an interest in trying to identify me, and that, but

for my own quickness, the strange woman would have accomplished this object by taking me by surprise.

She and the man who followed me in the street are, I suspect, in league together; and there is probably

somebody in the background whose interests they are serving. Is Mother Oldershaw attacking me in the dark?

or who else can it be? No matter who it is; my present situation is too critical to be trifled with. I must get

away from this house tonight, and leave no trace behind me by which I can be followed to another place.

"August 3d.Gary Street, Tottenham Court Road.I got away last night (after writing an excuse to

Midwinter, in which 'my invalid mother' figured as the allsufficient cause of my disappearance); and I have

found refuge here. It has cost me some money; but my object is attained! Nobody can possibly have traced

"After paying my landlady the necessary forfeit for leaving her without notice, I arranged with her son that he

should take my boxes in a cab to the cloakroom at the nearest railway station, and send me the ticket in a

letter, to wait my application for it at the postoffice. While he went his way in one cab, I went mine in

"I drove straight to the milliner's shop, which I had observed, when I was there yesterday, had a back entrance

into a mews, for the apprentices to go in and out by. I went in at once, leaving the cab waiting for me at the

door. 'A man is following me,' I said, 'and I want to get rid of him. Here is my cab fare; wait ten minutes

before you give it to the driver, and let me out at once by the back way!' In a moment I was out in the mews;

in another, I was in the next street; in a third, I hailed a passing omnibus, and was a free woman again.

"Having now cut off all communication between me and my last lodgings, the next precaution (in case

Midwinter or Armadale are watched) is to cut off all communication, for some days to come at least, between

me and the hotel. I have written to Midwintermaking my supposititious mother once more the excuseto

say that I am tied to my nursing duties, and that we must communicate by writing only for the present.

Doubtful as I still am of who my hidden enemy really is, I can do no more to defend myself than I have done

"August 4th.The two friends at the hotel had both written to me. Midwinter expresses his regret at our

separation, in the tenderest terms. Armadale writes an entreaty for help under very awkward circumstances. A

letter from Major Milroy has been forwarded to him from the great house, and he incloses it in his letter to

"Having left the seaside, and placed his daughter safely at the school originally chosen for her (in the

neighborhood of Ely), the major appears to have returned to Thorpe Ambrose at the close of last week; to

have heard then, for the first time, the reports about Armadale and me; and to have written instantly to

"The letter is stern and short. Major Milroy dismisses the report as unworthy of credit, because it is

impossible for him to believe in such an act of 'coldblooded treachery,' as the scandal would imply, if the

scandal were true. He simply writes to warn Armadale that, if he is not more careful in his actions for the

future, he must resign all pretensions to Miss Milroy's hand. 'I neither expect, nor wish for, an answer to this'

(the letter ends), 'for I desire to receive no mere protestations in words. By your conduct, and by your conduct

alone, I shall judge you as time goes on. Let me also add that I positively forbid you to consider this letter as

an excuse for violating the terms agreed on between us, by writing again to my daughter. You have no need

to justify yourself in her eyes, for I fortunately removed her from Thorpe Ambrose before this abominable

report had time to reach her; and I shall take good care, for her sake, that she is not agitated and unsettled by

"Armadale's petition to me, under these circumstances, entreats (as I am the innocent cause of the new attack

on his character) that I will write to the major to absolve him of all indiscretion in the matter, and to say that

"I forgive the impudence of his request, in consideration of the news that he sends me. It is certainly another

circumstance in my favor that the scandal at Thorpe Ambrose is not to be allowed to reach Miss Milroy's

ears. With her temper (if she did hear it) she might do something desperate in the way of claiming her lover,

and might compromise me seriously. As for my own course with Armadale, it is easy enough. I shall quiet

him by promising to write to Major Milroy; and I shall take the liberty, in my own private interests, of not

"Nothing in the least suspicious has happened today. Whoever my enemies are, they have lost me, and

between this and the time when I leave England they shall not find me again. I have been to the postoffice,

and have got the ticket for my luggage, inclosed to me in a letter from All Saints' Terrace, as I directed. The

luggage itself I shall still leave at the cloakroom, until I see the way before me more clearly than I see it

"August 5th.Two letters again from the hotel. Midwinter writes to remind me, in the prettiest possible

manner, that he will have lived long enough in the parish by tomorrow to be able to get our

marriagelicense, and that he proposes applying for it in the usual way at Doctors' Commons. Now, if I am

ever to say it, is the time to say No. I can't say No. There is the plain truth and there is an end of it!

"Armadale's letter is a letter of farewell. He thanks me for my kindness in consenting to write to the major,

and bids me goodby, till we meet again at Naples. He has learned from his friend that there are private

reasons which will oblige him to forbid himself the pleasure of being present at our marriage. Under these

circumstances, there is nothing to keep him in London. He has made all his business arrangements; he goes to

Somersetshire by tonight's train; and, after staying some time with Mr. Brock, he will sail for the

Mediterranean from the Bristol Channel (in spite of Midwinter's objections) in his own yacht.

"The letter incloses a jeweler's box, with a ring in it Armadale's present to me on my marriage. It is a

rubybut rather a small one, and set in the worst possible taste. He would have given Miss Milroy a ring

worth ten times the money, if it had been her marriage present. There is no more hateful creature, in my

opinion, than a miserly young man. I wonder whether his trumpery little yacht will drown him?

"I am so excited and fluttered, I hardly know what I am writing. Not that I shrink from what is comingI

only feel as if I was being hurried on faster than I quite like to go. At this rate, if nothing happens, Midwinter

"August 6th.If anything could startle me now, I should feel startled by the news that has reached me

"On his return to the hotel this morning, after getting the marriagelicense, Midwinter found a telegram

waiting for him. It contained an urgent message from Armadale, announcing that Mr. Brock had had a

relapse, and that all hope of his recovery was pronounced by the doctors to be at an end. By the dying man's

own desire, Midwinter was summoned to take leave of him, and was entreated by Armadale not to lose a

"The hurried letter which tells me this tells me also that, by the time I receive it, Midwinter will be on his way

to the West. He promises to write at greater length, after he has seen Mr. Brock, by tonight's post.

"This news has an interest for me, which Midwinter little suspects. There is but one human creature, besides

myself, who knows the secret of his birth and his name; and that one is the old man who now lies waiting for

him at the point of death. What will they say to each other at the last moment? Will some chance word take

them back to the time when I was in Mrs. Armadale's service at Madeira? Will they speak of Me?

"August 7th.The promised letter has just reached me. No parting words have been exchanged between

them: it was all over before Midwinter reached Somersetshire. Armadale met him at the rectory gate with the

"I try to struggle against it, but, coming after the strange complication of circumstances that has been closing

round me for weeks past, there is something in this latest event of all that shakes my nerves. But one last

chance of detection stood in my way when I opened my diary yesterday. When I open it today, that chance

"The funeral is to be on Saturday morning. Midwinter will attend it as well as Armadale. But he proposes

returning to London first; and he writes word that he will call tonight, in the hope of seeing me, on his way

from the station to the hotel. Even if there was any risk in it, I should see him, as things are now. But there is

"Five o'clock.I was not mistaken in believing that my nerves were all unstrung. Trifles that would not have

"Two hours since, in despair of knowing how to get through the day, I bethought myself of the milliner who

is making my summer dress. I had intended to go and try it on yesterday; but it slipped out of my memory in

the excitement of hearing about Mr. Brock. So I went this afternoon, eager to do anything that might help me

to get rid of myself. I have returned, feeling more uneasy and more depressed than I felt when I went out; for

I have come back fearing that I may yet have reason to repent not having left my unfinished dress on the

"Nothing happened to me, this time, in the street. It was only in the tryingon room that my suspicions were

roused; and there it certainly did cross my mind that the attempt to discover me, which I defeated at All

Saints' Terrace, was not given up yet, and that some of the shopwomen had been tampered with, if not the

"Can I give myself anything in the shape of a reason for this impression? Let me think a little.

"I certainly noticed two things which were out of the ordinary routine, under the circumstances. In the first

place, there were twice as many women as were needed in the tryingon room. This looked suspicious; and

yet I might have accounted for it in more ways than one. Is it not the slack time now? and don't I know by

experience that I am the sort of woman about whom other women are always spitefully curious? I thought

again, in the second place, that one of the assistants persisted rather oddly in keeping me turned in a particular

direction, with my face toward the glazed and curtained door that led into the workroom. But, after all, she

gave a reason when I asked for it. She said the light fell better on me that way; and, when I looked round,

there was the window to prove her right. Still, these trifles produced such an effect on me, at the time, that I

purposely found fault with the dress, so as to have an excuse for trying it on again, before I told them where I

lived, and had it sent home. Pure fancy, I dare say. Pure fancy, perhaps, at the present moment. I don't care; I

shall act on instinct (as they say), and give up the dress. In plainer words still, I won't go back.

"Midnight.Midwinter came to see me as he promised. An hour has passed since we said goodnight; and

here I still sit, with my pen in my hand, thinking of him. No words of mine can describe what has passed

between us. The end of it is all I can write in these pages; and the end of it is that he has shaken my

resolution. For the first time since I saw the easy way to Armadale's life at Thorpe Ambrose, I feel as if the

"Is it my love for Midwinter that has altered me? Or is it his love for me that has taken possession not only of

all I wish to give him, but of all I wish to keep from him as well? I feel as if I had lost myselflost myself, I

mean, in himall through the evening. He was in great agitation about what had happened in Somersetshire;

and he made me feel as disheartened and as wretched about it as he did. Though he never confessed it in

words, I know that Mr. Brock's death has startled him as an ill omen for our marriageI know it, because I

feel Mr. Brock's death as an ill omen too. The superstitionhis superstition took so strong a hold on me,

that when we grew calmer and he spoke of time futurewhen he told me that he must either break his

engagement with his new employers or go abroad, as he is pledged to go, on Monday nextI actually shrank

at the thought of our marriage following close on Mr. Brock's funeral; I actually said to him, in the impulse of

the moment, 'Go, and begin your new life alone! go, and leave me here to wait for happier times.'

"He took me in his arms. He sighed, and kissed me with an angelic tenderness. He saidoh, so softly and so

sadly!I have no life now, apart from you.' As those words passed his lips, the thought seemed to rise in my

mind like an echo, 'Why not live out all the days that are left to me, happy and harmless in a love like this!' I

can't explain itI can't realize it. That was the thought in me at the time; and that is the thought in me still. I

see my own hand while I write the wordsand I ask myself whether it is really the hand of Lydia Gwilt!

"Yes! Let me write once morelet me think once more of him, because it quiets me to know that he is going

away, and that the sea will have parted us before I am married. His old home is home to him no longer, now

that the loss of his mother has been followed by the loss of his best and earliest friend. When the funeral is

over, he has decided to sail the same day for the foreign seas. We may, or we may not, meet at Naples. Shall I

"August 8th.A line from Midwinter. He has gone back to Somersetshire to be in readiness for the funeral

tomorrow; and he will return here (after bidding Armadale goodby) tomorrow evening.

"The last forms and ceremonies preliminary to our marriage have been complied with. I am to be his wife on

Monday next. The hour must not be later than halfpast tenwhich will give us just time, when the service

is over, to get from the church door to the railway, and to start on our journey to Naples the same day.

"TodaySaturdaySunday! I am not afraid of the time; the time will pass. I am not afraid of myself, if I

can only keep all thoughts but one out of my mind. I love him! Day and night, till Monday comes, I will think

"Four o'clock.Other thoughts are forced into my mind in spite of me. My suspicions of yesterday were no

mere fancies; the milliner has been tampered with. My folly in going back to her house has led to my being

traced here. I am absolutely certain that I never gave the woman my address; and yet my new gown was sent

"A man brought it with the bill, and a civil message, to say that, as I had not called at the appointed time to

try it on again, the dress had been finished and sent to me. He caught me in the passage; I had no choice but

to pay the bill, and dismiss him. Any other proceeding, as events have now turned out, would have been pure

folly. The messenger (not the man who followed me in the street, but another spy sent to look at me, beyond

all doubt) would have declared he knew nothing about it, if I had spoken to him. The milliner would tell me

to my face, if I went to her, that I had given her my address. The one useful thing to do now is to set my wits

to work in the interests of my own security, and to step out of the false position in which my own rashness

"Seven o'clock.My spirits have risen again. I believe I am in a fair way of extricating myself already.

"I have just come back from a long round in a cab. First, to the cloakroom of the Great Western, to get the

luggage which I sent there from All Saints' Terrace. Next, to the cloakroom of the Southeastern, to leave my

luggage (labeled in Midwinter's name), to wait for me till the starting of the tidal train on Monday. Next, to

the General Postoffice, to post a letter to Midwinter at the rectory, which he will receive tomorrow

morning. Lastly, back again to this housefrom which I shall move no more till Monday comes.

"My letter to Midwinter will, I have little doubt, lead to his seconding (quite innocently) the precautions that I

am taking for my own safety. The shortness of the time at our disposal on Monday will oblige him to pay his

bill at the hotel and to remove his luggage before the marriage ceremony takes place. All I ask him to do

beyond this is to take the luggage himself to the Southeastern (so as to make any inquiries useless which may

address themselves to the servants at the hotel)and, that done, to meet me at the church door, instead of

calling for me here. The rest concerns nobody but myself. When Sunday night or Monday morning comes, it

will be hard, indeedfreed as I am now from all incumbrancesif I can't give the people who are watching

"It seems needless enough to have written to Midwinter today, when he is coming back to me tomorrow

night. But it was impossible to ask, what I have been obliged to ask of him, without making my false family

circumstances once more the excuse; and having this to doI must own the truthI wrote to him because,

after what I suffered on the last occasion, I can never again deceive him to his face.

"August 9th.Two o'clock.I rose early this morning, more depressed in spirits than usual. The

rebeginning of one's life, at the rebeginning of every day, has already been something weary and hopeless

to me for years past. I dreamed, too, all through the nightnot of Midwinter and of my married life, as I had

hoped to dreambut of the wretched conspiracy to discover me, by which I have been driven from one place

to another, like a hunted animal. Nothing in the shape of a new revelation enlightened me in my sleep. All I

could guess dreaming was what I had guessed waking, that Mother Oldershaw is the enemy who is attacking

"My restless night has, however, produced one satisfactory result. It has led to my winning the good graces of

the servant here, and securing all the assistance she can give me when the time comes for making my escape.

"The girl noticed this morning that I looked pale and anxious. I took her into my confidence, to the extent of

telling her that I was privately engaged to be married, and that I had enemies who were trying to part me from

my sweetheart. This instantly roused her sympathy, and a present of a tenshilling piece for her kind services

to me did the rest. In the intervals of her housework she has been with me nearly the whole morning; and I

found out, among other things, that her sweetheart is a private soldier in the Guards, and that she expects to

see him tomorrow. I have got money enough left, little as it is, to turn the head of any Private in the British

army; and, if the person appointed to watch me tomorrow is a man, I think it just possible that he may find

his attention disagreeably diverted from Miss Gwilt in the course of the evening.

"When Midwinter came here last from the railway, he came at halfpast eight. How am I to get through the

weary, weary hours between this and the evening? I think I shall darken my bedroom, and drink the blessing

"Eleven o'clock.We have parted for the last time before the day comes that makes us man and wife.

"He has left me, as he left me before, with an absorbing subject of interest to think of in his absence. I noticed

a change in him the moment he entered the room. When he told me of the funeral, and of his parting with

Armadale on board the yacht, though he spoke with feelings deeply moved, he spoke with a mastery over

himself which is new to me in my experience of him. It was the same when our talk turned next on our own

hopes and prospects. He was plainly disappointed when he found that my family embarrassments would

prevent our meeting tomorrow, and plainly uneasy at the prospect of leaving me to find my way by myself

on Monday to the church. But there was a certain hopefulness and composure of manner underlying it all,

"'You know what odd fancies take possession of me sometimes,' I said. 'Shall I tell you the fancy that has

taken possession of me now? I can't help thinking that something has happened since we last saw each other

" Something has happened,' he answered. 'And it is something which you ought to know.'

"With those words he took out his pocketbook, and produced two written papers from it. One he looked at

"'Before I tell you what this is, and how it came into my possession,' he said, 'I must own something that I

have concealed from you. It is no more serious confession than the confession of my own weakness.'

"He then acknowledged to me that the renewal of his friendship with Armadale had been clouded, through

the whole period of their intercourse in London, by his own superstitious misgivings. He had obeyed the

summons which called him to the rector's bedside, with the firm intention of confiding his previsions of

coming trouble to Mr. Brock; and he had been doubly confirmed in his superstition when he found that Death

had entered the house before him, and had parted them, in this world, forever. More than this, he had traveled

back to be present at the funeral, with a secret sense of relief at the prospect of being parted from Armadale,

and with a secret resolution to make the aftermeeting agreed on between us three at Naples a meeting that

should never take place. With that purpose in his heart, he had gone up alone to the room prepared for him on

his arrival at the rectory, and had opened a letter which he found waiting for him on the table. The letter had

only that day been discovereddropped and lostunder the bed on which Mr. Brock had died. It was in the

rector's handwriting throughout; and the person to whom it was addressed was Midwinter himself.

"Having told me this, nearly in the words in which I have written it, he gave me the written paper that lay on

" 'Read it,' he said; 'and you will not need to be told that my mind is at peace again, and that I took Allan's

"I read the letter. There was no superstition to be conquered in my mind; there were no old feelings of

gratitude toward Armadale to be roused in my heart; and yet, the effect which the letter had had on Midwinter

was, I firmly believe, more than matched by the effect that the letter now produced on me.

"It was vain to ask him to leave it, and to let me read it again (as I wished) when I was left by myself. He is

determined to keep it side by side with that other paper which I had seen him take out of his pocketbook,

and which contains the written narrative of Armadale's Dream. All I could do was to ask his leave to copy it;

and this he granted readily. I wrote the copy in his presence; and I now place it here in my diary, to mark a

"MY DEAR MIDWINTERFor the first time since the beginning of my illness, I found strength enough

yesterday to look over my letters. One among them is a letter from Allan, which has been lying unopened on

my table for ten days past. He writes to me in great distress, to say that there has been dissension between

you, and that you have left him. If you still remember what passed between us, when you first opened your

heart to me in the Isle of Man, you will be at no loss to understand how I have thought over this miserable

news, through the night that has now passed, and you will not be surprised to hear that I have roused myself

"I want no explanation of the circumstances which have parted you from your friend. If my estimate of your

character is not founded on an entire delusion, the one influence which can have led to your estrangement

from Allan is the influence of that evil spirit of Superstition which I have once already cast out of your

heartwhich I will once again conquer, please God, if I have strength enough to make my pen speak my

"It is no part of my design to combat the belief which I know you to hold, that mortal creatures may be the

objects of supernatural intervention in their pilgrimage through this world. Speaking as a reasonable man, I

own that I cannot prove you to be wrong. Speaking as a believer in the Bible, I am bound to go further, and to

admit that you possess a higher than any human warrant for the faith that is in you. The one object which I

have it at heart to attain is to induce you to free yourself from the paralyzing fatalism of the heathen and the

savage, and to look at the mysteries that perplex, and the portents that daunt you, from the Christian's point of

view. If I can succeed in this, I shall clear your mind of the ghastly doubts that now oppress it, and I shall

"I have no means of seeing and questioning you. I can only send this letter to Allan to be forwarded, if he

knows, or can discover, your present address. Placed in this position toward you, I am bound to assume all

that can be assumed in your favor. I will take it for granted that something has happened to you or to Allan

which to your mind has not only confirmed the fatalist conviction in which your father died, but has added a

new and terrible meaning to the warning which he sent you in his deathbed letter.

"On this common ground I meet you. On this common ground I appeal to your higher nature and your better

"Preserve your present conviction that the events which have happened (be they what they may) are not to be

reconciled with ordinary mortal coincidences and ordinary mortal laws; and view your own position by the

best and clearest light that your superstition can throw on it. What are you? You are a helpless instrument in

the hands of Fate. You are doomed, beyond all human capacity of resistance, to bring misery and destruction

blindfold on a man to whom you have harmlessly and gratefully united yourself in the bonds of a brother's

love. All that is morally firmest in your will and morally purest in your aspirations avails nothing against the

hereditary impulsion of you toward evil, caused by a crime which your father committed before you were

born. In what does that belief end? It ends in the darkness in which you are now lost; in the

selfcontradictions in which you are now bewildered; in the stubborn despair by which a man profanes his

"Look up, my poor suffering brotherlook up, my hardly tried, my wellloved friend, higher than this! Meet

the doubts that now assail you from the blessed vantageground of Christian courage and Christian hope; and

your heart will turn again to Allan, and your mind will be at peace. Happen what may, God is allmerciful,

God is allwise: natural or supernatural, it happens through Him. The mystery of Evil that perplexes our

feeble minds, the sorrow and the suffering that torture us in this little life, leave the one great truth unshaken

that the destiny of man is in the hands of his Creator, and that God's blessed Son died to make us worthier of

it. Nothing that is done in unquestioning submission to the wisdom of the Almighty is done wrong. No evil

exists out of which, in obedience to his laws, Good may not come. Be true to what Christ tells you is true.

Encourage in yourself, be the circumstances what they may, all that is loving, all that is grateful, all that is

patient, all that is forgiving, toward your fellowmen. And humbly and trustfully leave the rest to the God

"This is the faith in which I have lived, by the Divine help and mercy, from my youth upward. I ask you

earnestly, I ask you confidently, to make it your faith, too. It is the mainspring of all the good I have ever

done, of all the happiness I have ever known; it lightens my darkness, it sustains my hope; it comforts and

quiets me, lying here, to live or die, I know not which. Let it sustain, comfort, and enlighten you. It will help

you in your sorest need, as it has helped me in mine. It will show you another purpose in the events which

brought you and Allan together than the purpose which your guilty father foresaw. Strange things, I do not

deny it, have happened to you already. Stranger things still may happen before long, which I may not live to

see. Remember, if that time comes, that I died firmly disbelieving in your influence over Allan being other

than an influence for good. The great sacrifice of the AtonementI say it reverentlyhas its mortal

reflections, even in this world. If danger ever threatens Allan, you, whose father took his father's lifeYOU,

and no other, may be the man whom the providence of God has appointed to save him.

"Come to me if I live. Go back to the friend who loves you, whether I live or die.

"'You, and no other, may be the man whom the providence of God has appointed to save him!'

"Those are the words which have shaken me to the soul. Those are the words which make me feel as if the

dead man had left his grave, and had put his hand on the place in my heart where my terrible secret lies

hidden from every living creature but myself. One part of the letter has come true already. The danger that it

"If the favoring circumstances which have driven me thus far drive me on to the end, and if that old man's last

earthly conviction is prophetic of the truth, Armadale will escape me, do what I may. And Midwinter will be

"It is horrible! it is impossible! it shall never be! At the thinking of it only, my hand trembles and my heart

sinks. I bless the trembling that unnerves me! I bless the sinking that turns me faint! I bless those words in the

letter which have revived the relenting thoughts that first came to me two days since! Is it hard, now that

events are taking me, smoothly and safely, nearer and nearer to the Endis it hard to conquer the temptation

to go on? No! If there is only a chance of harm coming to Midwinter, the dread of that chance is enough to

decide meenough to strengthen me to conquer the temptation, for his sake. I have never loved him yet,

"Sunday, August 10th.The eve of my weddingday! I close and lock this book, never to write in it, never

"I have won the great victory; I have trampled my own wickedness under foot. I am innocent; I am happy

again. My love! my angel! when tomorrow gives me to you, I will not have a thought in my heart which is

The time was nine o'clock in the morning. The place was a private room in one of the oldfashioned inns

which still remain on the Borough side of the Thames. The date was Monday, the 11th of August. And the

person was Mr. Bashwood, who had traveled to London on a summons from his son, and had taken up his

He had never yet looked so pitiably old and helpless as he looked now. The fever and chill of alternating hope

and despair had dried, and withered, and wasted him. The angles of his figure had sharpened. The outline of

his face had shrunk. His dress pointed the melancholy change in him with a merciless and shocking emphasis.

Never, even in his youth, had he worn such clothes as he wore now. With the desperate resolution to leave no

chance untried of producing an impression on Miss Gwilt, he had cast aside his dreary black garments; he had

even mustered the courage to wear his blue satin cravat. His coat was a ridingcoat of light gray. He had

ordered it, with a vindictive subtlety of purpose, to be made on the pattern of a coat that he had seen Allan

wear. His waistcoat was white; his trousers were of the gayest summer pattern, in the largest check. His wig

was oiled and scented, and brushed round, on either side, to hide the wrinkles on his temples. He was an

object to laugh at; he was an object to weep over. His enemies, if a creature so wretched could have had

enemies, would have forgiven him, on seeing him in his new dress. His friendshad any of his friends been

leftwould have been less distressed if they had looked at him in his coffin than if they had looked at him as

he was now. Incessantly restless, he paced the room from end to end. Now he looked at his watch; now he

looked out of the window; now he looked at the wellfurnished breakfasttablealways with the same

wistful, uneasy inquiry in his eyes. The waiter coming in, with the urn of boiling water, was addressed for the

fiftieth time in the one form of words which the miserable creature seemed to be capable of uttering that

morning: "My son is coming to breakfast. My son is very particular. I want everything of the besthot

things and cold thingsand tea and coffeeand all the rest of it, waiter; all the rest of it." For the fiftieth

time, he now reiterated those anxious words. For the fiftieth time, the impenetrable waiter had just returned

his one pacifying answer, "All right, sir; you may leave it to me"when the sound of leisurely footsteps was

heard on the stairs; the door opened; and the longexpected son sauntered indolently into the room, with a

"Well done, old gentleman!" said Bashwood the younger, surveying his father's dress with a smile of sardonic

"You have such good spirits, Jemmy," he said, using the name in its familiar form, as he had been

accustomed to use it in happier days. "You always had good spirits, my dear, from a child. Come and sit

down; I've ordered you a nice breakfast. Everything of the best! everything of the best! What a relief it is to

see you! Oh, dear, dear, what a relief it is to see you." He stopped and sat down at the table, his face flushed

with the effort to control the impatience that was devouring him. "Tell me about her!" he burst out, giving up

the effort with a sudden selfabandonment. "I shall die, Jemmy, if I wait for it any longer. Tell me! tell me!

"One thing at a time," said Bashwood the younger, perfectly unmoved by his father's impatience. "We'll try

the breakfast first, and come to the lady afterward! Gently does it, old gentlemangently does it!"

He put his leather bag on a chair, and sat down opposite to his father, composed, and smiling, and humming a

No ordinary observation, applying the ordinary rules of analysis, would have detected the character of

Bashwood the younger in his face. His youthful look, aided by his light hair and his plump beardless cheeks,

his easy manner and his everready smile, his eyes which met unshrinkingly the eyes of every one whom he

addressed, all combined to make the impression of him a favorable impression in the general mind. No eye

for reading character, but such an eye as belongs to one person, perhaps, in ten thousand, could have

penetrated the smoothly deceptive surface of this man, and have seen him for what he really wasthe vile

creature whom the viler need of Society has fashioned for its own use. There he satthe Confidential Spy of

modern times, whose business is steadily enlarging, whose Private Inquiry Offices are steadily on the

increase. There he satthe necessary Detective attendant on the progress of our national civilization; a man

who was, in this instance at least, the legitimate and intelligible product of the vocation that employed him; a

man professionally ready on the merest suspicion (if the merest suspicion paid him) to get under our beds,

and to look through gimletholes in our doors; a man who would have been useless to his employers if he

could have felt a touch of human sympathy in his father's presence; and who would have deservedly forfeited

his situation if, under any circumstances whatever, he had been personally accessible to a sense of pity or a

"Gently does it, old gentleman," he repeated, lifting the covers from the dishes, and looking under them one

"Don't be angry with me, Jemmy," pleaded his father. "Try, if you can, to think how anxious I must be. I got

your letter so long ago as yesterday morning. I have had to travel all the way from Thorpe AmbroseI have

had to get through the dreadful long evening and the dreadful long nightwith your letter telling me that you

had found out who she is, and telling me nothing more. Suspense is very hard to bear, Jemmy, when you

come to my age. What was it prevented you, my dear, from coming to me when I got here yesterday

Mr. Bashwood tried to comply with the request; but the hand with which he lifted the teapot trembled so

unmanageably that the tea missed the cup and streamed out on the cloth. "I'm very sorry; I can't help

trembling when I'm anxious," said the old man, as his son took the teapot out of his hand. "I'm afraid you

bear me malice, Jemmy, for what happened when I was last in town. I own I was obstinate and unreasonable

about going back to Thorpe Ambrose. I'm more sensible now. You were quite right in taking it all on

yourself, as soon as I showed you the veiled lady when we saw her come out of the hotel; and you were quite

right to send me back the same day to my business in the steward's office at the Great House." He watched

the effect of these concessions on his son, and ventured doubtfully on another entreaty. "If you won't tell me

anything else just yet," he said, faintly, "will you tell me how you found her out. Do, Jemmy, do!"

Bashwood the younger looked up from his plate. "I'll tell you that," he said. "The reckoning up of Miss Gwilt

has cost more money and taken more time than I expected; and the sooner we come to a settlement about it,

Without a word of expostulation, the father laid his dingy old pocketbook and his purse on the table before

the son. Bashwood the younger looked into the purse; observed, with a contemptuous elevation of the

eyebrows, that it held no more than a sovereign and some silver; and returned it intact. The pocketbook, on

being opened next, proved to contain four fivepound notes. Bashwood the younger transferred three of the

notes to his own keeping; and handed the pocketbook back to his father, with a bow expressive of mock

"A thousand thanks," he said. "Some of it is for the people at our office, and the balance is for myself. One of

the few stupid things, my dear sir, that I have done in the course of my life was to write you word, when you

first consulted me, that you might have my services gratis. As you see, I hasten to repair the error. An hour or

two at odd times I was ready enough to give you. But this business has taken days, and has got in the way of

other jobs. I told you I couldn't be out of pocket by youI put it in my letter, as plain as words could say it."

"Yes, yes, Jemmy. I don't complain, my dear, I don't complain. Never mind the moneytell me how you

"Besides," pursued Bashwood, the younger, proceeding impenetrably with his justification of himself, "I have

given you the benefit of my experience; I've done it cheap. It would have cost double the money if another

man had taken this in hand. Another man would have kept a watch on Mr. Armadale as well as Miss Gwilt. I

have saved you that expense. You are certain that Mr. Armadale is bent on marrying her. Very good. In that

case, while we have our eye on her, we have, for all useful purposes, got our eye on him. Know where the

"Quite true, Jemmy. But how was it Miss Gwilt came to give you so much trouble?"

"She's a devilish clever woman," said Bashwood the younger; "that's how it was. She gave us the slip at a

milliner's shop. We made it all right with the milliner, and speculated on the chance of her coming back to try

on a gown she had ordered. The cleverest women lose the use of their wits in nine cases out of ten where

there's a new dress in the case, and even Miss Gwilt was rash enough to go back. That was all we wanted.

One of the women from our office helped to try on her new gown, and put her in the right position to be seen

by one of our men behind the door. He instantly suspected who she was, on the strength of what he had been

told of her; for she's a famous woman in her way. Of course, we didn't trust to that. We traced her to her new

address; and we got a man from Scotland Yard, who was certain to know her, if our own man's idea was the

right one. The man from Scotland Yard turned milliner's lad for the occasion, and took her gown home. He

saw her in the passage, and identified her in an instant. You're in luck, I can tell you. Miss Gwilt's a public

character. If we had had a less notorious woman to deal with, she might have cost us weeks of inquiry, and

you might have had to pay hundreds of pounds. A day did it in Miss Gwilt's case; and another day put the

whole story of her life, in black and white, into my hand. There it is at the present moment, old gentleman, in

Bashwood the father made straight for the bag with eager eyes and outstretched hand. Bashwood the son took

a little key out of his waistcoat pocket, winked, shook his head, and put the key back again.

"I haven't done breakfast yet," he said. "Gently does it, my dear sirgently does it."

"I can't wait!" cried the old man, struggling vainly to preserve his selfcontrol. "It's past nine! It's a fortnight

today since she went to London with Mr. Armadale! She may be married to him in a fortnight! She may be

"There's no knowing what you can do till you try," rejoined Bashwood the younger. "Try, and you'll find you

can wait. What has become of your curiosity?" he went on, feeding the fire ingeniously with a stick at a time.

"Why don't you ask me what I mean by calling Miss Gwilt a public character? Why don't you wonder how I

came to lay my hand on the story of her life, in black and white? If you'll sit down again, I'll tell you. If you

"I wish you were not so fond of your joke, Jemmy," he said. "I wish, my dear, you were not quite so fond of

"Joke?" repeated his son. "It would be serious enough in some people's eyes, I can tell you. Miss Gwilt has

been tried for her life; and the papers in that black bag are the lawyer's instructions for the Defense. Do you

The father started to his feet, and looked straight across the table at the son with a smile of exultation that was

"She's been tried for her life!" he burst out, with a deep gasp of satisfaction. "She's been tried for her life!" He

broke into a low, prolonged laugh, and snapped his fingers exultingly. "Ahahaha! Something to frighten

Scoundrel as he was, the son was daunted by the explosion of pentup passion which burst on him in those

"Don't excite yourself," he said, with a sullen suppression of the mocking manner in which he had spoken

Mr. Bashwood sat down again, and passed his handkerchief over his forehead. "No," he said, nodding and

smiling at his son. "No, nono excitement, as you sayI can wait now, Jemmy; I can wait now."

He waited with immovable patience. At intervals, he nodded, and smiled, and whispered to himself,

"Something to frighten Mr. Armadale in that!" But he made no further attempt, by word, look, or action, to

Bashwood the younger finished his breakfast slowly, out of pure bravado; lit a cigar with the utmost

deliberation; looked at his father, and, seeing him still as immovably patient as ever, opened the black bag at

"How will you have it?" he asked. "Long or short? I have got her whole life here. The counsel who defended

her at the trial was instructed to hammer hard at the sympathies of the jury: he went head over ears into the

miseries of her past career, and shocked everybody in court in the most workmanlike manner. Shall I take

the same line? Do you want to know all about her, from the time when she was in short frocks and frilled

trousers? or do you prefer getting on at once to her first appearance as a prisoner in the dock?"

"I want to know all about her," said his father, eagerly. "The worst, and the bestthe worst particularly.

Don't spare my feelings, Jemmywhatever you do, don't spare my feelings! Can't I look at the papers

"No, you can't. They would be all Greek and Hebrew to you. Thank your stars that you have got a sharp son,

who can take the pith out of these papers, and give it a smack of the right flavor in serving it up. There are not

ten men in England who could tell you this woman's story as I can tell it. It's a gift, old gentleman, of the sort

He tapped his forehead smartly, and turned to the first page of the manuscript before him, with an

unconcealed triumph at the prospect of exhibiting his own cleverness, which was the first expression of a

"Miss Gwilt's story begins," said Bashwood the younger, "in the marketplace at Thorpe Ambrose. One day,

something like a quarter of a century ago, a traveling quack doctor, who dealt in perfumery as well as

medicines, came to the town with his cart, and exhibited, as a living example of the excellence of his washes

and hairoils and so on, a pretty little girl, with a beautiful complexion and wonderful hair. His name was

Oldershaw. He had a wife, who helped him in the perfumery part of his business, and who carried it on by

herself after his death. She has risen in the world of late years; and she is identical with that sly old lady who

employed me professionally a short time since. As for the pretty little girl, you know who she was as well as I

do. While the quack was haranguing the mob and showing them the child's hair, a young lady, driving

through the marketplace, stopped her carriage to hear what it was all about, saw the little girl, and took a

violent fancy to her on the spot. The young lady was the daughter of Mr. Blanchard, of Thorpe Ambrose. She

went home, and interested her father in the fate of the innocent little victim of the quack doctor. The same

evening, the Oldershaws were sent for to the great house and were questioned. They declared themselves to

be her uncle and aunta lie, of course!and they were quite willing to let her attend the village school,

while they stayed at Thorpe Ambrose, when the proposal was made to them. The new arrangement was

carried out the next day. And the day after that, the Oldershaws had disappeared, and had left the little girl on

the squire's hands! She evidently hadn't answered as they expected in the capacity of an advertisement, and

that was the way they took of providing for her for life. There is the first act of the play for you! Clear

"Clear enough, Jemmy, to clever people. But I'm old and slow. I don't understand one thing. Whose child was

"A very sensible question. Sorry to inform you that nobody can answer itMiss Gwilt herself included.

These Instructions that I'm refering to are founded, of course, on her own statements, sifted by her attorney.

All she could remember, on being questioned, was that she was beaten and half starved, somewhere in the

country, by a woman who took in children at nurse. The woman had a card with her, stating that her name

was Lydia Gwilt, and got a yearly allowance for taking care of her (paid through a lawyer) till she was eight

years old. At that time, the allowance stopped; the lawyer had no explanation to offer; nobody came to look

after her; nobody wrote. The Oldershaws saw her, and thought she might answer to exhibit; and the woman

parted with her for a trifle to the Oldershaws; and the Oldershaws parted with her for good and all to the

Blanchards. That's the story of her birth, parentage, and education! She may be the daughter of a duke, or the

daughter of a costermonger. The circumstances may be highly romantic, or utterly commonplace. Fancy

anything you likethere's nothing to stop you. When you've had your fancy out, say the word, and I'll turn

"The next glimpse of Miss Gwilt," resumed Bashwood the younger, turning over the papers, "is a glimpse at

a family mystery. The deserted child was in luck's way at last. She had taken the fancy of an amiable young

lady with a rich father, and she was petted and made much of at the great house, in the character of Miss

Blanchard's last new plaything. Not long afterward Mr. Blanchard and his daughter went abroad, and took the

girl with them in the capacity of Miss Blanchard's little maid. When they came back, the daughter had

married, and become a widow, in the interval; and the pretty little maid, instead of returning with them to

Thorpe Ambrose, turns up suddenly, all alone, as a pupil at a school in France. There she was, at a firstrate

establishment, with her maintenance and education secured until she married and settled in life, on this

understandingthat she never returned to England. Those were all the particulars she could be prevailed on

to give the lawyer who drew up these instructions. She declined to say what had happened abroad; she

declined even, after all the years that had passed, to mention her mistress's married name. It's quite clear, of

course, that she was in possession of some family secret; and that the Blanchards paid for her schooling on

the Continent to keep her out of the way. And it's equally plain that she would never have kept her secret as

she did if she had not seen her way to trading on it for her own advantage at some future time. A clever

woman, as I've told you already! A devilish clever woman, who hasn't been knocked about in the world, and

"Yes, yes, Jemmy; quite true. How long did she stop, please, at the school in France?"

Bashwood the younger referred to the papers. "She stopped at the French school," he replied, "till she was

seventeen. At that time something happened at the school which I find mildly described in these papers as

'something unpleasant.' The plain fact was that the musicmaster attached to the establishment fell in love

with Miss Gwilt. He was a respectable middleaged man, with a wife and family; and, finding the

circumstances entirely hopeless, he took a pistol, and, rashly assuming that he had brains in his head, tried to

blow them out. The doctor saved his life, but not his reason; he ended, where he had better have begun, in an

asylum. Miss Gwilt's beauty having been at the bottom of the scandal, it was, of course, impossiblethough

she was proved to have been otherwise quite blameless in the matterfor her to remain at the school after

what had happened. Her 'friends' (the Blanchards) were communicated with. And her friends transferred her

to another school; at Brussels, this timeWhat are you sighing about? What's wrong now?"

"According to her own account of it, dad, Miss Gwilt seems to have felt for him too. She took a serious turn;

and was 'converted' (as they call it) by the lady who had charge of her in the interval before she went to

Brussels. The priest at the Belgium school appears to have been a man of some discretion, and to have seen

that the girl's sensibilities were getting into a dangerously excited state. Before he could quiet her down, he

fell ill, and was succeeded by another priest, who was a fanatic. You will understand the sort of interest he

took in the girl, and the way in which he worked on her feelings, when I tell you that she announced it as her

decision, after having been nearly two years at the school, to end her days in a convent! You may well stare!

Miss Gwilt, in the character of a Nun, is the sort of female phenomenon you don't often set eyes on."

"Did she go into the convent?" asked Mr. Bashwood. "Did they let her go in, so friendless and so young, with

"The Blanchards were consulted, as a matter of form," pursued Bashwood the younger. "They had no

objection to her shutting herself up in a convent, as you may well imagine. The pleasantest letter they ever

had from her, I'll answer for it, was the letter in which she solemnly took leave of them in this world forever.

The people at the convent were as careful as usual not to commit themselves. Their rules wouldn't allow her

to take the veil till she had tried the life for a year first, and then, if she had any doubt, for another year after

that. She tried the life for the first year, accordingly, and doubted. She tried it for the second year, and was

wise enough, by that time, to give it up without further hesitation. Her position was rather an awkward one

when she found herself at liberty again. The sisters at the convent had lost their interest in her; the mistress at

the school declined to take her back as teacher, on the ground that she was too nicelooking for the place; the

priest considered her to be possessed by the devil. There was nothing for it but to write to the Blanchards

again, and ask them to start her in life as a teacher of music on her own account. She wrote to her former

mistress accordingly. Her former mistress had evidently doubted the genuineness of the girl's resolution to be

a nun, and had seized the opportunity offered by her entry into the convent to cut off all further

communication between her exwaitingmaid and herself. Miss Gwilt's letter was returned by the

postoffice. She caused inquiries to be made; and found that Mr. Blanchard was dead, and that his daughter

had left the great house for some place of retirement unknown. The next thing she did, upon this, was to write

to the heir in possession of the estate. The letter was answered by his solicitors, who were instructed to put

the law in force at the first attempt she made to extort money from any member of the family at Thorpe

Ambrose. The last chance was to get at the address of her mistress's place of retirement. The family bankers,

to whom she wrote, wrote back to say that they were instructed not to give the lady's address to any one

applying for it, without being previously empowered to do so by the lady herself. That last letter settled the

questionMiss Gwilt could do nothing more. With money at her command, she might have gone to England

and made the Blanchards think twice before they carried things with too high a hand. Not having a

halfpenny at command, she was helpless. Without money and without friends, you may wonder how she

supported herself while the correspondence was going on. She supported herself by playing the pianoforte at

a low concertroom in Brussels. The men laid siege to her, of course, in all directions; but they found her

insensible as adamant. One of these rejected gentlemen was a Russian; and he was the means of making her

acquainted with a countrywoman of his, whose name is unpronounceable by English lips. Let us give her her

title, and call her the baroness. The two women liked each other at their first introduction; and a new scene

opened in Miss Gwilt's life. She became reader and companion to the baroness. Everything was right,

everything was smooth on the surface. Everything was rotten and everything was wrong under it."

"In this way. The baroness was fond of traveling, and she had a select set of friends about her who were quite

of her way of thinking. They went from one city on the Continent to another, and were such charming people

that they picked up acquaintances everywhere. The acquaintances were invited to the baroness's receptions,

and cardtables were invariably a part of the baroness's furniture. Do you see it now? or must I tell you, in

the strictest confidence, that cards were not considered sinful on these festive occasions, and that the luck, at

the end of the evening, turned out to be almost invariably on the side of the baroness and her friends?

Swindlers, all of them; and there isn't a doubt on my mind, whatever there may be on yours, that Miss Gwilt's

manners and appearance made her a valuable member of the society in the capacity of a decoy. Her own

statement is that she was innocent of all knowledge of what really went on; that she was quite ignorant of

cardplaying; that she hadn't such a thing as a respectable friend to turn to in the world; and that she honestly

liked the baroness, for the simple reason that the baroness was a hearty good friend to her from first to last.

Believe that or not, as you please. For five years she traveled about all over the Continent with these

cardsharpers in high life, and she might have been among them at this moment, for anything I know to the

contrary, if the baroness had not caught a Tartar at Naples, in the shape of a rich traveling Englishman,

named Waldron. Aha! that name startles you, does it? You've read the Trial of the famous Mrs. Waldron, like

the rest of the world? And you know who Miss Gwilt is now, without my telling you?"

He paused, and looked at his father in sudden perplexity. Far from being overwhelmed by the discovery

which had just burst on him, Mr. Bashwood, after the first natural movement of surprise, faced his son with a

selfpossession which was nothing short of extraordinary under the circumstances. There was a new

brightness in his eyes, and a new color in his face. If it had been possible to conceive such a thing of a man in

his position, he seemed to be absolutely encouraged instead of depressed by what he had just heard. "Go on,

Jemmy," he said, quietly; "I am one of the few people who didn't read the trial; I only heard of it."

"You always were, and you always will be, behind the age," he said. "When we come to the trial, I can tell

you as much about it as you need know. In the meantime, we must go back to the baroness and Mr. Waldron.

For a certain number of nights the Englishman let the cardsharpers have it all their own way; in other words,

he paid for the privilege of making himself agreeable to Miss Gwilt. When he thought he had produced the

necessary impression on her, he exposed the whole confederacy without mercy. The police interfered; the

baroness found herself in prison; and Miss Gwilt was put between the two alternatives of accepting Mr.

Waldron's protection or being thrown on the world again. She was amazingly virtuous, or amazingly clever,

which you please. To Mr. Waldron's astonishment, she told him that she could face the prospect of being

thrown on the world; and that he must address her honorably or leave her forever. The end of it was what the

end always is, where the man is infatuated and the woman is determined. To the disgust of his family and

Bashwood the younger burst out laughing. "He was about old enough, daddy, to be your son, and rich enough

to have burst that precious pocketbook of yours with thousandpound notes! Don't hang your head. It wasn't

a happy marriage, though he was so young and so rich. They lived abroad, and got on well enough at first. He

made a new will, of course, as soon as he was married, and provided handsomely for his wife, under the

tender pressure of the honeymoon. But women wear out, like other things, with time; and one fine morning

Mr. Waldron woke up with a doubt in his mind whether he had not acted like a fool. He was an illtempered

man; he was discontented with himself; and of course he made his wife feel it. Having begun by quarreling

with her, he got on to suspecting her, and became savagely jealous of every male creature who entered the

house. They had no incumbrances in the shape of children, and they moved from one place to another, just as

his jealousy inclined him, till they moved back to England at last, after having been married close on four

years. He had a lonely old house of his own among the Yorkshire moors, and there he shut his wife and

himself up from every living creature, except his servants and his dogs. Only one result could come, of

course, of treating a highspirited young woman in that way. It may be her fate, or it may be chance; but,

whenever a woman is desperate, there is sure to be a man handy to take advantage of it. The man in this case

was rather a 'dark horse,' as they say on the turf. He was a certain Captain Manuel, a native of Cuba, and

(according to his own account) an exofficer in the Spanish navy. He had met Mr. Waldron's beautiful wife

on the journey back to England; had contrived to speak to her in spite of her husband's jealousy; and had

followed her to her place of imprisonment in Mr. Waldron's house on the moors. The captain is described as a

clever, determined fellowof the daring piratical sortwith the dash of mystery about him that women

"She's not the same as other women!" interposed Mr. Bashwood, suddenly interrupting his son. "Did she?"

"Did she like the captain?" suggested Bashwood the younger, with another laugh. "According to her own

account of it, she adored him. At the same time her conduct (as represented by herself) was perfectly

innocent. Considering how carefully her husband watched her, the statement (incredible as it appears) is

probably true. For six weeks or so they confined themselves to corresponding privately, the Cuban captain

(who spoke and wrote English perfectly) having contrived to make a gobetween of one of the female

servants in the Yorkshire house. How it might have ended we needn't trouble ourselves to inquireMr.

Waldron himself brought matters to a crisis. Whether he got wind of the clandestine correspondence or not,

doesn't appear. But this is certain, that he came home from a ride one day in a fiercer temper than usual; that

his wife showed him a sample of that high spirit of hers which he had never yet been able to break; and that it

ended in his striking her across the face with his ridingwhip. Ungentlemanly conduct, I am afraid we must

admit; but, to all outward appearance, the ridingwhip produced the most astonishing results. From that

moment the lady submitted as she had never submitted before. For a fortnight afterward he did what he liked,

and she never thwarted him; he said what he liked, and she never uttered a word of protest. Some men might

have suspected this sudden reformation of hiding something dangerous under the surface. Whether Mr.

Waldron looked at it in that light, I can't tell you. All that is known is that, before the mark of the whip was

off his wife's face, he fell ill, and that in two days afterward he was a dead man. What do you say to that?"

"I say he deserved it!" answered Mr. Bashwood, striking his hand excitedly on the table, as his son paused

"The doctor who attended the dying man was not of your way of thinking," remarked Bashwood the younger,

dryly. "He called in two other medical men, and they all three refused to certify the death. The usual legal

investigation followed. The evidence of the doctors and the evidence of the servants pointed irresistibly in

one and the same direction; and Mrs. Waldron was committed for trial, on the charge of murdering her

husband by poison. A solicitor in firstrate criminal practice was sent for from London to get up the

prisoner's defense, and these 'Instructions' took their form and shape accordingly.What's the matter? What

Suddenly rising from his chair, Mr. Bashwood stretched across the table, and tried to take the papers from his

son. "I want to look at them," he burst out, eagerly. "I want to see what they say about the captain from Cuba.

"Nobody doubted that who was in the secret of the case at the time," rejoined his son. "But nobody could

prove it. Sit down again, dad, and compose yourself. There's nothing here about Captain Manuel but the

lawyer's private suspicions of him, for the counsel to act on or not, at the counsel's discretion. From first to

last she persisted in screening the captain. At the outset of the business she volunteered two statements to the

lawyerboth of which he suspected to be false. In the first place she declared that she was innocent of the

crime. He wasn't surprised, of course, so far; his clients were, as a general rule, in the habit of deceiving him

in that way. In the second place, while admitting her private correspondence with the Cuban captain, she

declared that the letters on both sides related solely to a proposed elopement, to which her husband's

barbarous treatment had induced her to consent. The lawyer naturally asked to see the letters. 'He has burned

all my letters, and I have burned all his,' was the only answer he got. It was quite possible that Captain

Manuel might have burned her letters when he heard there was a coroner's inquest in the house. But it was in

her solicitor's experience (as it is in my experience too) that, when a woman is fond of a man, in ninetynine

cases out of a hundred, risk or no risk, she keeps his letters. Having his suspicions roused in this way, the

lawyer privately made some inquiries about the foreign captain, and found that he was as short of money as a

foreign captain could be. At the same time, he put some questions to his client about her expectations from

her deceased husband. She answered, in high indignation, that a will had been found among her husband's

papers, privately executed only a few days before his death, and leaving her no more, out of all his immense

fortune, than five thousand pounds. 'Was there an older will, then,' says the lawyer, 'which the new will

revoked?' Yes, there was; a will that he had given into her own possessiona will made when they were first

married. 'Leaving his widow well provided for?' Leaving her just ten times as much as the second will left

her. 'Had she ever mentioned that first will, now revoked, to Captain Manuel?' She saw the trap set for her,

and said, 'No, never!' without an instant's hesitation. That reply confirmed the lawyer's suspicions. He tried to

frighten her by declaring that her life might pay the forfeit of her deceiving him in this matter. With the usual

obstinacy of women, she remained just as immovable as ever. The captain, on his side, behaved in the most

exemplary manner. He confessed to planning the elopement; he declared that he had burned all the lady's

letters as they reached him, out of regard for her reputation; he remained in the neighborhood; and he

volunteered to attend before the magistrates. Nothing was discovered that could legally connect him with the

crime, or that could put him into court on the day of the trial, in any other capacity than the capacity of a

witness. I don't believe myself that there's any moral doubt (as they call it) that Manuel knew of the will

which left her mistress of fifty thousand pounds; and that he was ready and willing, in virtue of that

circumstance, to marry her on Mr. Waldron's death. If anybody tempted her to effect her own release from

her husband by making herself a widow, the captain must have been the man. And unless she contrived,

guarded and watched as she was, to get the poison for herself, the poison must have come to her in one of the

"I don't believe she used it, if it did come to her!" exclaimed Mr. Bashwood. "I believe it was the captain

Bashwood the younger, without noticing the interruption, folded up the Instructions for the Defense, which

had now served their purpose, put them back in his bag, and produced a printed pamphlet in their place.

"Here is one of the published Reports of the Trial," he said, "which you can read at your leisure, if you like.

We needn't waste time now by going into details. I have told you already how cleverly her counsel paved his

way for treating the charge of murder as the crowning calamity of the many that had already fallen on an

innocent woman. The two legal points relied on for the defense (after this preliminary flourish) were: First,

that there was no evidence to connect her with the possession of poison; and, secondly, that the medical

witnesses, while positively declaring that her husband had died by poison, differed in their conclusions as to

the particular drug that had killed him. Both good points, and both well worked; but the evidence on the other

side bore down everything before it. The prisoner was proved to have had no less than three excellent reasons

for killing her husband. He had treated her with almost unexampled barbarity; he had left her in a will

(unrevoked so far as she knew) mistress of a fortune on his death; and she was, by her own confession,

contemplating an elopement with another man. Having set forth these motives, the prosecution next showed

by evidence, which was never once shaken on any single point, that the one person in the house who could by

any human possibility have administered the poison was the prisoner at the bar. What could the judge and

jury do, with such evidence before them as this? The verdict was Guilty, as a matter of course; and the judge

declared that he agreed with it. The female part of the audience was in hysterics; and the male part was not

much better. The judge sobbed, and the bar shuddered. She was sentenced to death in such a scene as had

never been previously witnessed in an English court of justice. And she is alive and hearty at the present

moment; free to do any mischief she pleases, and to poison, at her own entire convenience, any man, woman,

or child that happens to stand in her way. A most interesting woman! Keep on good terms with her, my dear

sir, whatever you do, for the Law has said to her in the plainest possible English, 'My charming friend, I have

"How was she pardoned?" asked Mr. Bashwood, breathlessly. "They told me at the time, but I have forgotten.

Was it the Home Secretary? If it was, I respect the Home Secretary! I say the Home Secretary was deserving

"Quite right, old gentleman!" rejoined Bashwood the younger. "The Home Secretary was the obedient

humble servant of an enlightened Free Press, and he was deserving of his place. Is it possible you don't know

how she cheated the gallows? If you don't, I must tell you. On the evening of the trial, two or three of the

young buccaneers of literature went down to two or three newspaper offices, and wrote two or three

heartrending leading articles on the subject of the proceedings in court. The next morning the public caught

light like tinder; and the prisoner was tried over again, before an amateur court of justice, in the columns of

the newspapers. All the people who had no personal experience whatever on the subject seized their pens, and

rushed (by kind permission of the editor) into print. Doctors who had not attended the sick man, and who had

not been present at the examination of the body, declared by dozens that he had died a natural death.

Barristers without business, who had not heard the evidence, attacked the jury who had heard it, and judged

the judge, who had sat on the bench before some of them were born. The general public followed the lead of

the barristers and the doctors, and the young buccaneers who had set the thing going. Here was the law that

they all paid to protect them actually doing its duty in dreadful earnest! Shocking! shocking! The British

Public rose to protest as one man against the working of its own machinery; and the Home Secretary, in a

state of distraction, went to the judge. The judge held firm. He had said it was the right verdict at the time,

and he said so still. 'But suppose,' says the Home Secretary, 'that the prosecution had tried some other way of

proving her guilty at the trial than the way they did try, what would you and the jury have done then?' Of

course it was quite impossible for the judge to say. This comforted the Home Secretary, to begin with. And,

when he got the judge's consent, after that, to having the conflict of medical evidence submitted to one great

doctor; and when the one great doctor took the merciful view, after expressly stating, in the first instance, that

he knew nothing practically of the merits of the case, the Home Secretary was perfectly satisfied. The

prisoner's deathwarrant went into the wastepaper basket; the verdict of the law was reversed by general

acclamation; and the verdict of the newspapers carried the day. But the best of it is to come. You know what

happened when the people found themselves with the pet object of their sympathy suddenly cast loose on

their hands? A general impression prevailed directly that she was not quite innocent enough, after all, to be

let out of prison then and there! Punish her a littlethat was the state of the popular feelingpunish her a

little, Mr. Home Secretary, on general moral grounds. A small course of gentle legal medicine, if you love us,

"Don't joke about it!" cried his father. "Don't, don't, don't, Jemmy! Did they try her again? They couldn't!

"Pooh! pooh! she could be tried a second time for a second offense," retorted Bashwood the younger"and

tried she was. Luckily for the pacification of the public mind, she had rushed headlong into redressing her

own grievances (as women will), when she discovered that her husband had cut her down from a legacy of

fifty thousand pounds to a legacy of five thousand by a stroke of his pen. The day before the inquest a locked

drawer in Mr. Waldron's dressingroom table, which contained some valuable jewelry, was discovered to

have been opened and emptied; and when the prisoner was committed by the magistrates, the precious stones

were found torn out of their settings and sewed up in her stays. The lady considered it a case of justifiable

selfcompensation. The law declared it to be a robbery committed on the executors of the dead man. The

lighter offensewhich had been passed over when such a charge as murder was brought against herwas

just the thing to revive, to save appearances in the eyes of the public. They had stopped the course of justice,

in the case of the prisoner, at one trial; and now all they wanted was to set the course of justice going again,

in the case of the prisoner, at another! She was arraigned for the robbery, after having been pardoned for the

murder. And, what is more, if her beauty and her misfortunes hadn't made a strong impression on her lawyer,

she would not only have had to stand another trial, but would have had even the five thousand pounds, to

which she was entitled by the second will, taken away from her, as a felon, by the Crown."

"I respect her lawyer! I admire her lawyer!" exclaimed Mr. Bashwood. "I should like to take his hand, and tell

"He wouldn't thank you, if you did," remarked Bashwood the younger. "He is under a comfortable impression

"I beg your pardon, Jemmy," interposed his father. "But don't call her Mrs. Waldron. Speak of her, please, by

her name when she was innocent, and young, and a girl at school. Would you mind, for my sake, calling her

"Not I! It makes no difference to me what name I give her. Bother your sentiment! let's go on with the facts.

This is what the lawyer did before the second trial came off. He told her she would be found guilty again, to a

dead certainty. 'And this time,' he said, 'the public will let the law take its course. Have you got an old friend

whom you can trust?' She hadn't such a thing as an old friend in the world. 'Very well, then,' says the lawyer,

you must trust me. Sign this paper; and you will have executed a fictitious sale of all your property to myself.

When the right time comes, I shall first carefully settle with your husband's executors; and I shall then

reconvey the money to you, securing it properly (in case you ever marry again) in your own possession. The

Crown, in other transactions of this kind, frequently waives its right of disputing the validity of the sale; and,

if the Crown is no harder on you than on other people, when you come out of prison you will have your five

thousand pounds to begin the world with again.' Neat of the lawyer, when she was going to be tried for

robbing the executors, to put her up to a way of robbing the Crown, wasn't it? Ha! ha! what a world it is!"

The last effort of the son's sarcasm passed unheeded by the father. "In prison!" he said to himself. "Oh me,

"Yes," said Bashwood the younger, rising and stretching himself, "that's how it ended. The verdict was

Guilty; and the sentence was imprisonment for two years. She served her time; and came out, as well as I can

reckon it, about three years since. If you want to know what she did when she recovered her liberty, and how

she went on afterward, I may be able to tell you something about itsay, on another occasion, when you

have got an extra note or two in your pocketbook. For the present, all you need know, you do know. There

isn't the shadow of a doubt that this fascinating lady has the double slur on her of having been found guilty of

murder, and of having served her term of imprisonment for theft. There's your money's worth for your

moneywith the whole of my wonderful knack at stating a case clearly, thrown in for nothing. If you have

any gratitude in you, you ought to do something handsome, one of these days, for your son. But for me, I'll

tell you what you would have done, old gentleman. If you could have had your own way, you would have

Bashwood the younger started back a step. "After all I have told you?" he asked, in the blankest

"With the chance of being poisoned," answered Mr. Bashwood, "in fourandtwenty hours."

The Spy of the Private Inquiry Office dropped back into his chair, cowed by his father's words and his father's

"I should like to hear the rest of it," he said. "I should like to hear every word you have to tell me about her,

to the very last. But the time, the dreadful, galloping time, is getting on. For all I know, they may be on their

"What are you going to do?" asked Bashwood the younger, getting between his father and the door.

"I am going to the hotel," said the old man, trying to pass him. "I am going to see Mr. Armadale."

"To tell him everything you have told me." He paused after making that reply. The terrible smile of triumph

which had once already appeared on his face overspread it again. "Mr. Armadale is young; Mr. Armadale has

all his life before him," he whispered, cunningly, with his trembling fingers clutching his son's arm. "What

"Wait a minute," said Bashwood the younger. "Are you as certain as ever that Mr. Armadale is the man?"

The spy set his back against the door, and considered for a moment. Mr. Armadale was richMr. Armadale

(if he was not stark mad too) might be made to put the right moneyvalue on information that saved him

from the disgrace of marrying Miss Gwilt. "It may be a hundred pounds in my pocket if I work it myself,"

thought Bashwood the younger. "And it won't be a halfpenny if I leave it to my father." He took up his hat

and his leather bag. "Can you carry it all in your own addled old head, daddy?" he asked, with his easiest

impudence of manner. "Not you! I'll go with you and help you. What do you think of that?"

The father threw his arms in an ecstasy round the son's neck. "I can't help it, Jemmy," he said, in broken

tones. "You are so good to me. Take the other note, my dearI'll manage without ittake the other note."

The son threw open the door with a flourish; and magnanimously turned his back on the father's offered

pocketbook. "Hang it, old gentleman, I'm not quite so mercenary as that!" he said, with an appearance of the

deepest feeling. "Put up your pocketbook, and let's be off." "If I took my respected parent's last fivepound

note," he thought to himself, as he led the way downstairs, "how do I know he mightn't cry halves when he

sees the color of Mr. Armadale's money?" "Come along, dad!" he resumed. "We'll take a cab and catch the

They hailed a cab in the street, and started for the hotel which had been the residence of Midwinter and Allan

during their stay in London. The instant the door of the vehicle had closed, Mr. Bashwood returned to the

"Tell me the rest," he said, taking his son's hand, and patting it tenderly. "Let's go on talking about her all the

Bashwood the younger was in high spirits at the prospect of seeing the color of Mr. Armadale's money. He

"Let's see if you remember what I've told you already," he began. "There's a character in the story that's

dropped out of it without being accounted for. Come! can you tell me who it is?"

He had reckoned on finding his father unable to answer the question. But Mr. Bashwood's memory, for

anything that related to Miss Gwilt, was as clear and ready as his son's. "The foreign scoundrel who tempted

her, and let her screen him at the risk of her own life," he said, without an instant's hesitation. "Don't speak of

"I must speak of him," retorted the other. "You want to know what became of Miss Gwilt when she got out of

prison, don't you? Very goodI'm in a position to tell you. She became Mrs. Manuel. It's no use staring at

me, old gentleman. I know it officially. At the latter part of last year, a foreign lady came to our place, with

evidence to prove that she had been lawfully married to Captain Manuel, at a former period of his career,

when he had visited England for the first time. She had only lately discovered that he had been in this country

again; and she had reason to believe that he had married another woman in Scotland. Our people were

employed to make the necessary inquiries. Comparison of dates showed that the Scotch marriageif it was a

marriage at all, and not a shamhad taken place just about the time when Miss Gwilt was a free woman

again. And a little further investigation showed us that the second Mrs. Manuel was no other than the heroine

of the famous criminal trialwhom we didn't know then, but whom we do know now, to be identical with

Mr. Bashwood's head sank on his breast. He clasped his trembling hands fast in each other, and waited in

"Cheer up!" pursued his son. "She was no more the captain's wife than you are; and what is more, the captain

himself is out of your way now. One foggy day in December last he gave us the slip; and was off to the

continent, nobody knew where. He had spent the whole of the second Mrs. Manuel's five thousand pounds, in

the time that had elapsed (between two and three years) since she had come out of prison; and the wonder

was, where he had got the money to pay his traveling expenses. It turned out that he had got it from the

second Mrs. Manuel herself. She had filled his empty pockets; and there she was, waiting confidently in a

miserable London lodging, to hear from him and join him as soon as he was safely settled in foreign parts!

Where had she got the money, you may ask naturally enough? Nobody could tell at the time. My own notion

is, now, that her former mistress must have been still living, and that she must have turned her knowledge of

the Blanchards' family secret to profitable account at last. This is mere guesswork, of course; but there's a

circumstance that makes it likely guesswork to my mind. She had an elderly female friend to apply to at the

time, who was just the woman to help her in ferreting out her mistress's address. Can you guess the name of

Mr. Bashwood suddenly looked up. "Why should she go back," he asked, "to the woman who had deserted

"I can't say," rejoined his son, "unless she went back in the interests of her own magnificent head of hair. The

prisonscissors, I needn't tell you, had made short work of it with Miss Gwilt's lovelocks, in every sense of

the word and Mrs. Oldershaw, I beg to add, is the most eminent woman in England, as restorergeneral of the

dilapidated heads and faces of the female sex. Put two and two together; and perhaps you'll agree with me, in

"Yes, yes; two and two make four," repeated his father, impatiently. "But I want to know something else. Did

she hear from him again? Did he send for her after he had gone away to foreign parts?"

"The captain? Why, what on earth can you be thinking of? Hadn't he spent every farthing of her money? and

wasn't he loose on the Continent out of her reach? She waited to hear from him. I dare say, for she persisted

in believing in him. But I'll lay you any wager you like, she never saw the sight of his handwriting again. We

did our best at the office to open her eyes; we told her plainly that he had a first wife living, and that she

hadn't the shadow of a claim on him. She wouldn't believe us, though we met her with the evidence.

Obstinate, devilish obstinate. I dare say she waited for months together before she gave up the last hope of

Mr. Bashwood looked aside quickly out of the cab window. "Where could she turn for refuge next?" he said,

"Judging by my experience of women," remarked Bashwood the younger, overhearing him, "I should say she

probably tried to drown herself. But that's only guesswork again: it's all guesswork at this part of her story.

You catch me at the end of my evidence, dad, when you come to Miss Gwilt's proceedings in the spring and

summer of the present year. She might, or she might not, have been desperate enough to attempt suicide; and

she might, or she might not, have been at the bottom of those inquiries that I made for Mrs. Oldershaw. I dare

say you'll see her this morning; and perhaps, if you use your influence, you may he able to make her finish

Mr. Bashwood, still looking out of the cab window, suddenly laid his hand on his son's arm.

"Hush! hush!" he exclaimed, in violent agitation. "We have got there at last. Oh, Jemmy, feel how my heart

"Bother your heart," said Bashwood the younger. "Wait here while I make the inquiries."

"I'll come with you!" cried his father. "I can't wait! I tell you, I can't wait!"

The answer, after some little hesitation and delay, was that Mr. Armadale had gone away six days since. A

second waiter added that Mr. Armadale's friendMr. Midwinterhad only left that morning. Where had

Mr. Armadale gone? Somewhere into the country. Where had Mr. Midwinter gone? Nobody knew.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Bashwood the younger, pushing his father back roughly into the cab. "He's safe

The old man took his son's hand and kissed it. "Thank you, my dear," he said, gratefully. "Thank you for

The cab was driven next to the second lodging which Miss Gwilt had occupied, in the neighborhood of

"Stop here," said the spy, getting out, and shutting his father into the cab. "I mean to manage this part of the

He knocked at the house door. "I have got a note for Miss Gwilt," he said, walking into the passage, the

Bashwood the younger wasted no more words with the servant. He insisted on seeing the mistress. The

mistress confirmed the announcement of Miss Gwilt's departure on the previous evening. Where had she

gone to? The woman couldn't say. How had she left? On foot. At what hour? Between nine and ten. What had

she done with her luggage? She had no luggage. Had a gentleman been to see her on the previous day? Not a

The father's face, pale and wild, was looking out of the cab window as the son descended the house steps.

"Hold your tongue," cried the spy, with the native coarseness of his nature rising to the surface at last. "I'm

He crossed the road, and entered a coffeeshop situated exactly opposite the house he had just left.

"Which of you was on duty yesterday evening, between nine and ten o'clock?" asked Bashwood the younger,

"That will do," said Bashwood the younger. "I know what the soldier did, and who sent him to do it. She has

given us the slip again. You are the greatest ass living. Consider yourself dismissed." With those words, and

"She's gone!" cried his father. "Oh, Jemmy, Jemmy, I see it in your face!" He fell back into his own corner of

the cab, with a faint, wailing cry. "They're married," he moaned to himself; his hands falling helplessly on his

knees; his hat falling unregarded from his head. "Stop them!" he exclaimed, suddenly rousing himself, and

"Go back to the hotel," shouted Bashwood the younger to the cabman. "Hold your noise!" he added, turning

The varnish of smoothness was all off him by this time. His temper was roused. His prideeven such a man

has his pride! was wounded to the quick. Twice had he matched his wits against a woman's; and twice the

He got out, on reaching the hotel for the second time, and privately tried the servants with the offer of money.

The result of the experiment satisfied him that they had, in this instance, really and truly no information to

sell. After a moment's reflection, he stopped, before leaving the hotel, to ask the way to the parish church.

"The chance may be worth trying," he thought to himself, as he gave the address to the driver. "Faster!" he

called out, looking first at his watch, and then at his father. "The minutes are precious this morning; and the

It was true. Still capable of hearing and of understanding, Mr. Bashwood was past speaking by this time. He

clung with both hands to his son's grudging arm, and let his head fall helplessly on his son's averted shoulder.

The parish church stood back from the street, protected by gates and railings, and surrounded by a space of

open ground. Shaking off his father's hold, Bashwood the younger made straight for the vestry. The clerk,

putting away the books, and the clerk's assistant, hanging up a surplice, were the only persons in the room

when he entered it and asked leave to look at the marriage register for the day.

The clerk gravely opened the book, and stood aside from the desk on which it lay.

The day's register comprised three marriages solemnized that morning; and the first two signatures on the

Even the spyignorant as he was of the truth, unsuspicious as he was of the terrible future consequences to

which the act of that morning might leadeven the spy started, when his eye first fell on the page. It was

done! Come what might of it, it was done now. There, in black and white, was the registered evidence of the

marriage, which was at once a truth in itself, and a lie in the conclusion to which it led! Therethrough the

fatal similarity in the namesthere, in Midwinter's own signature, was the proof to persuade everybody that,

Bashwood the younger closed the book, and returned it to the clerk. He descended the vestry steps, with his

hands thrust doggedly into his pockets, and with a serious shock inflicted on his professional selfesteem.

The beadle met him under the church wall. He considered for a moment whether it was worth while to spend

a shilling in questioning the man, and decided in the affirmative. If they could be traced and overtaken, there

"How long is it," he asked, "since the first couple married here this morning left the church?"

The beadle deferred answering that second question until he had first pocketed his fee.

"You won't trace them from here, sir," he said, when he had got his shilling. "They went away on foot."

Left by himself, even the Detective of the Private Inquiry Office paused for a moment before he returned to

his father at the gate. He was roused from his hesitation by the sudden appearance, within the church

Bashwood the younger frowned angrily, and walked back to the cab. As he opened the door and looked in,

his father leaned forward and confronted him, with lips that moved speechlessly, and with a white stillness

The old man's body swayed for a moment from one side to the other. The instant after, his eyes closed and his

head fell forward toward the front seat of the cab. "Drive to the hospital!" cried his son. "He's in a fit. This is

what comes of putting myself out of my way to please my father," he muttered, sullenly raising Mr.

Bashwood's head, and loosening his cravat. "A nice morning's work. Upon my soul, a nice morning's work!"

"I shouldn't have thought it," rejoined the surgeon, taking the restoratives that were handed to him by the

nurse, and turning from the son to the father with an air of relief which he was at no pains to conceal. "Yes,"

The spy laid a card on the table. "I'll come back for him or send for him," he said. "I suppose I can go now, if

I leave my name and address?" With those words, he put on his hat, and walked out.

Between nine and ten o'clock that night, Mr. Bashwood awoke in his bed at the inn in the Borough. He had

slept for some hours since he had been brought back from the hospital; and his mind and body were now

A light was burning on the bedside table, and a letter lay on it, waiting for him till he was awake. It was in his

"MY DEAR DADHaving seen you safe out of the hospital, and back at your hotel, I think I may fairly

claim to have done my duty by you, and may consider myself free to look after my own affairs. Business will

prevent me from seeing you tonight; and I don't think it at all likely I shall be in your neighborhood

tomorrow morning. My advice to you is to go back to Thorpe Ambrose, and to stick to your employment in

the steward's office. Wherever Mr. Armadale may be, he must, sooner or later, write to you on business. I

wash my hands of the whole matter, mind, so far as I am concerned, from this time forth. But if you like to go

on with it, my professional opinion is (though you couldn't hinder his marriage), you may part him from his

The letter dropped from the old man's feeble hands. "I wish Jemmy could have come to see me tonight," he

He turned wearily on the pillow, and read the letter a second time. "Yes," he said, "there's nothing left for me

but to go back. I'm too poor and too old to hunt after them all by myself." He closed his eyes: the tears

trickled slowly over his wrinkled cheeks. "I've been a trouble to Jemmy," he murmured, faintly; "I've been a

sad trouble, I'm afraid, to poor Jemmy!" In a minute more his weakness overpowered him, and he fell asleep

The clock of the neighboring church struck. It was ten. As the bell tolled the hour, the tidal trainwith

Midwinter and his wife among the passengerswas speeding nearer and nearer to Paris. As the bell tolled

the hour, the watch on board Allan's outwardbound yacht had sighted the lighthouse off the Land's End,

"NAPLES, October 10th.It is two months today since I declared that I had closed my Diary, never to

"Why have I broken my resolution? Why have I gone back to this secret friend of my wretchedest and

wickedest hours? Because I am more friendless than ever; because I am more lonely than ever, though my

husband is sitting writing in the next room to me. My misery is a woman's misery, and it will speakhere,

rather than nowhere; to my second self, in this book, if I have no one else to hear me.

"How happy I was in the first days that followed our marriage, and how happy I made him! Only two months

have passed, and that time is a bygone time already! I try to think of anything I might have said or done

wrongly, on my sideof anything he might have said or done wrongly, on his; and I can remember nothing

unworthy of my husband, nothing unworthy of myself. I cannot even lay my finger on the day when the cloud

"I could bear it, if I loved him less dearly than I do. I could conquer the misery of our estrangement, if he

"But this never has happenednever will happen. It is not in his nature to inflict suffering on others. Not a

hard word, not a hard look, escapes him. It is only at night, when I hear him sighing in his sleep, and

sometimes when I see him dreaming in the morning hours, that I know how hopelessly I am losing the love

he once felt for me. He hides, or tries to hide, it in the day, for my sake. He is all gentleness, all kindness; but

his heart is not on his lips when he kisses me now; his hand tells me nothing when it touches mine. Day after

day the hours that he gives to his hateful writing grow longer and longer; day after day he becomes more and

"And, with all this, there is nothing that I can complain ofnothing marked enough to justify me in noticing

it. His disappointment shrinks from all open confession; his resignation collects itself by such fine degrees

that even my watchfulness fails to see the growth of it. Fifty times a day I feel the longing in me to throw my

arms round his neck, and say: 'For God's sake, do anything to me, rather than treat me like this!' and fifty

times a day the words are forced back into my heart by the cruel considerateness of his conduct; which gives

me no excuse for speaking them. I thought I had suffered the sharpest pain that I could feel when my first

husband laid his whip across my face. I thought I knew the worst that despair could do on the day when I

knew that the other villain, the meaner villain still, had cast me off. Live and learn. There is sharper pain than

I felt under Waldron's whip; there is bitterer despair than the despair I knew when Manuel deserted me.

"Am I too old for him? Surely not yet! Have I lost my beauty? Not a man passes me in the street but his eyes

"Ah, no! no! the secret lies deeper than that! I have thought and thought about it till a horrible fancy has taken

possession of me. He has been noble and good in his past life, and I have been wicked and disgraced. Who

can tell what a gap that dreadful difference may make between us, unknown to him and unknown to me? It is

folly, it is madness; but, when I lie awake by him in the darkness, I ask myself whether any unconscious

disclosure of the truth escapes me in the close intimacy that now unites us? Is there an unutterable Something

left by the horror of my past life, which clings invisibly to me still? And is he feeling the influence of it,

sensibly, and yet incomprehensibly to himself? Oh me! is there no purifying power in such love as mine? Are

there plaguespots of past wickedness on my heart which no afterrepentance can wash out?

"Who can tell? There is something wrong in our married life I can only come back to that. There is some

adverse influence that neither he nor I can trace which is parting us further and further from each other day by

"An open carriage has just driven by my window, with a nicely dressed lady in it. She had her husband by her

side, and her children on the seat opposite. At the moment when I saw her she was laughing and talking in

high spiritsa sparkling, lighthearted, happy woman. Ah, my lady, when you were a few years younger, if

"October 11th.The eleventh day of the month was the day (two months since) when we were married. He

said nothing about it to me when we woke, nor I to him. But I thought I would make it the occasion, at

"I don't think I ever took such pains with my toilet before. I don't think I ever looked better than I looked

when I went downstairs this morning. He had breakfasted by himself, and I found a little slip of paper on the

table with an apology written on it. The post to England, he said, went out that day and his letter to the

newspaper must be finished. In his place I would have let fifty posts go out rather than breakfast without him.

I went into his room. There he was, immersed body and soul in his hateful writing! 'Can't you give me a little

time this morning?' I asked. He got up with a start. 'Certainly, if you wish it.' He never even looked at me as

he said the words. The very sound of his voice told me that all his interest was centered in the pen that he had

just laid down. 'I see you are occupied,' I said; 'I don't wish it.' Before I had closed the door on him he was

back at his desk. I have often heard that the wives of authors have been for the most part unhappy women.

"I suppose, as I said yesterday, I shall learn to bear it. (What stuff, bytheby, I seem to have written

yesterday! How ashamed I should be if anybody saw it but myself!) I hope the trumpery newspaper he writes

for won't succeed! I hope his rubbishing letter will be well cut up by some other newspaper as soon as it gets

"What am I to do with myself all the morning? I can't go out, it's raining. If I open the piano, I shall disturb

the industrious journalist who is scribbling in the next room. Oh, dear, it was lonely enough in my lodging in

Thorpe Ambrose, but how much lonelier it is here! Shall I read? No; books don't interest me; I hate the whole

tribe of authors. I think I shall look back through these pages, and live my life over again when I was plotting

and planning, and finding a new excitement to occupy me in every new hour of the day.

"He might have looked at me, though he was so busy with his writing.He might have said, 'How nicely

you are dressed this morning!' He might have rememberednever mind what! All he remembers is the

"Twelve o'clock.I have been reading and thinking; and, thanks to my Diary, I have got through an hour.

"What a time it waswhat a life it was, at Thorpe Ambrose! I wonder I kept my senses. It makes my heart

"The rain still falls, and the journalist still scribbles. I don't want to think the thoughts of that past time over

"SupposingI only say supposingI felt now, as I felt when I traveled to London with Armadale; and when

I saw my way to his life as plainly as I saw the man himself all through the journey...?

"I'll go and look out of the window. I'll go and count the people as they pass by.

"A funeral has gone by, with the penitents in their black hoods, and the wax torches sputtering in the wet, and

the little bell ringing, and the priests droning their monotonous chant. A pleasant sight to meet me at the

"Supposing I was not the altered woman I amI only say, supposinghow would the Grand Risk that I

once thought of running look now? I have married Midwinter in the name that is really his own. And by

doing that I have taken the first of those three steps which were once to lead me, through Armadale's life, to

the fortune and the station of Armadale's widow. No matter how innocent my intentions might have been on

the wedding dayand they were innocentthis is one of the unalterable results of the marriage. Well,

having taken the first step, then, whether I would or no, howsupposing I meant to take the second step,

which I don'thow would present circumstances stand toward me? Would they warn me to draw back, I

"It will interest me to calculate the chances; and I can easily tear the leaf out, and destroy it, if the prospect

"We are living here (for economy's sake) far away from the expensive English quarter, in a suburb of the city,

on the Portici side. We have made no traveling acquaintances among our own country people. Our poverty is

against us; Midwinter's shyness is against us; and (with the women) my personal appearance is against us.

The men from whom my husband gets his information for the newspaper meet him at the cafe, and never

come here. I discourage his bringing any strangers to see me; for, though years have passed since I was last at

Naples, I cannot be sure that some of the many people I once knew in this place may not be living still. The

moral of all this is (as the children's storybooks say), that not a single witness has come to this house who

could declare, if any afterinquiry took place in England, that Midwinter and I had been living here as man

"Armadale next. Has any unforeseen accident led him to communicate with Thorpe Ambrose? Has he broken

the conditions which the major imposed on him, and asserted himself in the character of Miss Milroy's

"Nothing of the sort has taken place. No unforeseen accident has altered his positionhis tempting

positiontoward myself. I know all that has happened to him since he left England, through the letters

"He has been wrecked, to begin with. His trumpery little yacht has actually tried to drown him, after all, and

has failed! It happened (as Midwinter warned him it might happen with so small a vessel) in a sudden storm.

They were blown ashore on the coast of Portugal. The yacht went to pieces, but the lives, and papers, and so

on, were saved. The men have been sent back to Bristol, with recommendations from their master which have

already got them employment on board an outwardbound ship. And the master himself is on his way here,

after stopping first at Lisbon, and next at Gibraltar, and trying ineffectually in both places to supply himself

with another vessel. His third attempt is to be made at Naples, where there is an English yacht 'laid up,' as

they call it, to be had for sale or hire. He has had no occasion to write home since the wreck; for he took away

from Coutts's the whole of the large sum of money lodged there for him, in circular notes. And he has felt no

inclination to go back to England himself; for, with Mr. Brock dead, Miss Milroy at school, and Midwinter

here, he has not a living creature in whom he is interested to welcome him if he returned. To see us, and to

see the new yacht, are the only two present objects he has in view. Midwinter has been expecting him for a

week past, and he may walk into this very room in which I am writing, at this very moment, for all I know to

"Tempting circumstances, thesewith all the wrongs I have suffered at his mother's hands and at his, still

alive in my memory; with Miss Milroy confidently waiting to take her place at the head of his household;

with my dream of living happy and innocent in Midwinter's love dispelled forever, and with nothing left in its

place to help me against myself. I wish it wasn't raining; I wish I could go out.

"Perhaps something may happen to prevent Armadale from coming to Naples? When he last wrote, he was

waiting at Gibraltar for an English steamer in the Mediterranean trade to bring him on here. He may get tired

of waiting before the steamer comes, or he may hear of a yacht at some other place than this. A little bird

whispers in my ear that it may possibly be the wisest thing he ever did in his life if he breaks his engagement

"Shall I tear out the leaf on which all these shocking things have been written? No. My Diary is so nicely

boundit would be positive barbarity to tear out a leaf. Let me occupy myself harmlessly with something

else. What shall it be? My dressingcaseI will put my dressingcase tidy, and polish up the few little

"I have shut up the dressingcase again. The first thing I found in it was Armadale's shabby present to me on

my marriagethe rubbishing little ruby ring. That irritated me, to begin with. The second thing that turned

up was my bottle of Drops. I caught myself measuring the doses with my eye, and calculating how many of

them would be enough to take a living creature over the borderland between sleep and death. Why I should

have locked the dressingcase in a fright, before I had quite completed my calculation, I don't know; but I did

lock it. And here I am back again at my Diary, with nothing, absolutely nothing, to write about. Oh, the

weary day! the weary day! Will nothing happen to excite me a little in this horrible place?

"October 12th.Midwinter's allimportant letter to the newspaper was dispatched by the post last night. I

was foolish enough to suppose that I might be honored by having some of his spare attention bestowed on me

today. Nothing of the sort! He had a restless night, after all his writing, and got up with his head aching, and

his spirits miserably depressed. When he is in this state, his favorite remedy is to return to his old vagabond

habits, and go roaming away by himself nobody knows where. He went through the form this morning

(knowing I had no riding habit) of offering to hire a little brokenkneed brute of a pony for me, in case I

wished to accompany him! I preferred remaining at home. I will have a handsome horse and a handsome

habit, or I won't ride at all. He went away, without attempting to persuade me to change my mind. I wouldn't

have changed it, of course; but he might have tried to persuade me all the same.

"I can open the piano in his absencethat is one comfort. And I am in a fine humor for playingthat is

another. There is a sonata of Beethoven's (I forget the number), which always suggests to me the agony of

lost spirits in a place of torment. Come, my fingers and thumbs, and take me among the lost spirits this

"October 13th.Our windows look out on the sea. At noon today we saw a steamer coming in, with the

English flag flying. Midwinter has gone to the port, on the chance that this may be the vessel from Gibraltar,

"Two o'clock.It is the vessel from Gibraltar. Armadale has added one more to the long list of his blunders:

"October 16th.Two days missed out of my Diary! I can hardly tell why, unless it is that Armadale irritates

me beyond all endurance. The mere sight of him takes me back to Thorpe Ambrose. I fancy I must have been

afraid of what I might write about him, in the course of the last two days, if I indulged myself in the

"Is there any limit, I wonder, to the brutish stupidity of some men? I thought I had discovered Armadale's

limit when I was his neighbor in Norfolk; but my later experience at Naples shows me that I was wrong. He

is perpetually in and out of this house (crossing over to us in a boat from the hotel at Santa Lucia, where he

sleeps); and he has exactly two subjects of conversation the yacht for sale in the harbor here, and Miss

Milroy. Yes! he selects ME as the confidante of his devoted attachment to the major's daughter! 'It's so nice

to talk to a woman about it!' That is all the apology he has thought it necessary to make for appealing to my

sympathiesmy sympathies!on the subject of 'his darling Neelie,' fifty times a day. He is evidently

persuaded (if he thinks about it at all) that I have forgotten, as completely as he has forgotten, all that once

passed between us when I was first at Thorpe Ambrose. Such an utter want of the commonest delicacy and

the commonest tact, in a creature who is, to all appearance, possessed of a skin, and not a hide, and who does,

unless my ears deceive me, talk, and not bray, is really quite incredible when one comes to think of it. But it

is, for all that, quite true. He asked mehe actually asked me, last nighthow many hundreds a year the

wife of a rich man could spend on her dress. 'Don't put it too low,' the idiot added, with his intolerable grin.

'Neelie shall be one of the bestdressed women in England when I have married her.' And this to me, after

having had him at my feet, and then losing him again through Miss Milroy! This to me, with an alpaca gown

"I had better not dwell on it any longer. I had better think and write of something else.

"The yacht. As a relief from hearing about Miss Milroy, I declare the yacht in the harbor is quite an

interesting subject to me! She (the men call a vessel 'She'; and I suppose, if the women took an interest in

such things, they would call a vessel 'He')she is a beautiful model; and her 'topsides' (whatever they may

be) are especially distinguished by being built of mahogany. But, with these merits, she has the defect, on the

other hand, of being oldwhich is a sad drawbackand the crew and the sailingmaster have been 'paid

off,' and sent home to Englandwhich is additionally distressing. Still, if a new crew and a new

sailingmaster can be picked up here, such a beautiful creature (with all her drawbacks), is not to be

despised. It might answer to hire her for a cruise, and to see how she behaves. (If she is of my mind, her

behavior will rather astonish her new master!) The cruise will determine what faults she has, and what

repairs, through the unlucky circumstance of her age, she really stands in need of. And then it will be time to

settle whether to buy her outright or not. Such is Armadale's conversation when he is not talking of 'his

darling Neelie.' And Midwinter, who can steal no time from his newspaper work for his wife, can steal hours

for his friend, and can offer them unreservedly to my irresistible rival, the new yacht.

"I shall write no more today. If so ladylike a person as I am could feel a tigerish tingling all over her to the

very tips of her fingers, I should suspect myself of being in that condition at the present moment. But, with

my manners and accomplishments, the thing is, of course, out of the question. We all know that a lady has no

"October 17th.A letter for Midwinter this morning from the slaveownersI mean the newspaper people

in Londonwhich has set him at work again harder than ever. A visit at luncheontime and another visit at

dinnertime from Armadale. Conversation at luncheon about the yacht. Conversation at dinner about Miss

Milroy. I have been honored, in regard to that young lady, by an invitation to go with Armadale tomorrow

to the Toledo, and help him to buy some presents for the beloved object. I didn't fly out at himI only made

an excuse. Can words express the astonishment I feel at my own patience? No words can express it.

"October 18th.Armadale came to breakfast this morning, by way of catching Midwinter before he shuts

"Conversation the same as yesterday's conversation at lunch. Armadale has made his bargain with the agent

for hiring the yacht. The agent (compassionating his total ignorance of the language) has helped him to find

an interpreter, but can't help him to find a crew. The interpreter is civil and willing, but doesn't understand the

sea. Midwinter's assistance is indispensable; and Midwinter is requested (and consents!) to work harder than

ever, so as to make time for helping his friend. When the crew is found, the merits and defects of the vessel

are to be tried by a cruise to Sicily, with Midwinter on board to give his opinion. Lastly (in case she should

feel lonely), the ladies' cabin is most obligingly placed at the disposal of Midwinter's wife. All this was

settled at the breakfasttable; and it ended with one of Armadale's neatlyturned compliments, addressed to

myself: 'I mean to take Neelie sailing with me, when we are married. And you have such good taste, you will

be able to tell me everything the ladies' cabin wants between that time and this.'

"If some women bring such men as this into the world, ought other women to allow them to live? It is a

"What maddens me is to see, as I do see plainly, that Midwinter finds in Armadale's company, and in

Armadale's new yacht, a refuge from me. He is always in better spirits when Armadale is here. He forgets me

in Armadale almost as completely as he forgets me in his work. And I bear it! What a pattern wife, what an

"October 20th.One piece of news. Midwinter is suffering from nervous headache; and is working in spite

"October 21st.Midwinter is worse. Angry and wild and unapproachable, after two bad nights, and two

uninterrupted days at his desk. Under any other circumstances he would take the warning and leave off. But

nothing warns him now. He is still working as hard as ever, for Armadale's sake. How much longer will my

"October 22d.Signs, last night, that Midwinter is taxing his brains beyond what his brains will bear. When

he did fall asleep, he was frightfully restless; groaning and talking and grinding his teeth. From some of the

words I heard, he seemed at one time to be dreaming of his life when he was a boy, roaming the country with

the dancing dogs. At another time he was back again with Armadale, imprisoned all night on the wrecked

ship. Toward the early morning hours he grew quieter. I fell asleep; and, waking after a short interval, found

myself alone. My first glance round showed me a light burning in Midwinter's dressingroom. I rose softly,

"He was seated in the great, ugly, oldfashioned chair, which I ordered to be removed into the dressingroom

out of the way when we first came here. His head lay back, and one of his hands hung listlessly over the arm

of the chair. The other hand was on his lap. I stole a little nearer, and saw that exhaustion had overpowered

him while he was either reading or writing, for there were books, pens, ink, and paper on the table before

him. What had he got up to do secretly, at that hour of the morning? I looked closer at the papers on the table.

They were all neatly folded (as he usually keeps them), with one exception; and that exception, lying open on

"I looked round at him again, after making this discovery, and then noticed for the first time another written

paper, lying under the hand that rested on his lap. There was no moving it away without the risk of waking

him. Part of the open manuscript, however, was not covered by his hand. I looked at it to see what he had

secretly stolen away to read, besides Mr. Brock's letter; and made out enough to tell me that it was the

"That second discovery sent me back at once to my bedwith something serious to think of.

"Traveling through France, on our way to this place, Midwinter's shyness was conquered for once, by a very

pleasant manan Irish doctorwhom we met in the railway carriage, and who quite insisted on being

friendly and sociable with us all through the day's journey. Finding that Midwinter was devoting himself to

literary pursuits, our traveling companion warned him not to pass too many hours together at his desk. 'Your

face tells me more than you think,' the doctor said: 'If you are ever tempted to overwork your brain, you will

feel it sooner than most men. When you find your nerves playing you strange tricks, don't neglect the

"After my last night's discovery in the dressingroom, it looks as if Midwinter's nerves were beginning

already to justify the doctor's opinion of them. If one of the tricks they are playing him is the trick of

tormenting him again with his old superstitious terrors, there will be a change in our lives here before long. I

shall wait curiously to see whether the conviction that we two are destined to bring fatal danger to Armadale

takes possession of Midwinter's mind once more. If it does, I know what will happen. He will not stir a step

toward helping his friend to find a crew for the yacht; and he will certainly refuse to sail with Armadale, or to

"October 23d.Mr. Brock's letter has, apparently, not lost its influence yet. Midwinter is working again

today, and is as anxious as ever for the holidaytime that he is to pass with his friend.

"Two o'clock.Armadale here as usual; eager to know when Midwinter will be at his service. No definite

answer to be given to the question yet, seeing that it all depends on Midwinter's capacity to continue at his

desk. Armadale sat down disappointed; he yawned, and put his great clumsy hands in his pockets. I took up a

book. The brute didn't understand that I wanted to be left alone; he began again on the unendurable subject of

Miss Milroy, and of all the fine things she was to have when he married her. Her own ridinghorse; her own

ponycarriage; her own beautiful little sittingroom upstairs at the great house, and so on. All that I might

"Six o'clock.More of the everlasting Armadale! Half an hour since, Midwinter came in from his writing,

giddy and exhausted. I had been pining all day for a little music, and I knew they were giving 'Norma' at the

theater here. It struck me that an hour or two at the opera might do Midwinter good, as well as me; and I said:

'Why not take a box at the San Carlo tonight?' He answered, in a dull, uninterested manner, that he was not

rich enough to take a box. Armadale was present, and flourished his wellfilled purse in his usual

insufferable way. 'I'm rich enough, old boy, and it comes to the same thing.' With those words he took up his

hat, and trampled out on his great elephant's feet to get the box. I looked after him from the window as he

went down the street. 'Your widow, with her twelve hundred a year,' I thought to myself, 'might take a box at

the San Carlo whenever she pleased, without being beholden to anybody.' The emptyheaded wretch

whistled as he went his way to the theater, and tossed his loose silver magnificently to every beggar who ran

"Midnight.I am alone again at last. Have I nerve enough to write the history of this terrible evening, just as

it has passed? I have nerve enough, at any rate, to turn to a new leaf, and try.

"We went to the San Carlo. Armadale's stupidity showed itself, even in such a simple matter as taking a box.

He had confounded an opera with a play, and had chosen a box close to the stage, with the idea that one's

chief object at a musical performance is to see the faces of the singers as plainly as possible! Fortunately for

our ears, Bellini's lovely melodies are, for the most part, tenderly and delicately accompaniedor the

"I sat back in the box at first, well out of sight; for it was impossible to be sure that some of my old friends of

former days at Naples might not be in the theater. But the sweet music gradually tempted me out of my

seclusion. I was so charmed and interested that I leaned forward without knowing it, and looked at the stage.

"I was made aware of my own imprudence by a discovery which, for the moment, literally chilled my blood.

One of the singers, among the chorus of Druids, was looking at me while he sang with the rest. His head was

disguised in the long white hair, and the lower part of his face was completely covered with the flowing white

beard proper to the character. But the eyes with which he looked at me were the eyes of the one man on earth

"If it had not been for my smellingbottle, I believe I should have lost my senses. As it was, I drew back

again into the shadow. Even Armadale noticed the sudden change in me: he, as well as Midwinter, asked if I

was ill. I said I felt the heat, but hoped I should be better presently; and then leaned back in the box, and tried

to rally my courage. I succeeded in recovering selfpossession enough to be able to look again at the stage

(without showing myself) the next time the chorus appeared. There was the man again! But to my infinite

relief he never looked toward our box a second time. This welcome indifference, on his part, helped to satisfy

me that I had seen an extraordinary accidental resemblance, and nothing more. I still hold to this conclusion,

after having had leisure to think; but my mind would be more completely at ease than it is if I had seen the

rest of the man's face without the stage disguises that hid it from all investigation.

"When the curtain fell on the first act, there was a tiresome ballet to be performed (according to the absurd

Italian custom), before the opera went on. Though I had got over my first fright, I had been far too seriously

startled to feel comfortable in the theater. I dreaded all sorts of impossible accidents; and when Midwinter

and Armadale put the question to me, I told them I was not well enough to stay through the rest of the

"At the door of the theater Armadale proposed to say goodnight. But Midwinterevidently dreading the

evening with measked him to come back to supper, if I had no objection. I said the necessary words, and

"Ten minutes' quiet in my own room (assisted by a little dose of eaudecologne and water) restored me to

myself. I joined the men at the suppertable. They received my apologies for taking them away from the

opera, with the complimentary assurance that I had not cost either of them the slightest sacrifice of his own

pleasure. Midwinter declared that he was too completely worn out to care for anything but the two great

blessings, unattainable at the theater, of quiet and fresh air. Armadale saidwith an Englishman's

exasperating pride in his own stupidity wherever a matter of art is concernedthat he couldn't make head or

tail of the performance. The principal disappointment, he was good enough to add, was mine, for I evidently

understood foreign music, and enjoyed it. Ladies generally did. His darling little Neelie

"I was in no humor to be persecuted with his 'Darling Neelie' after what I had gone through at the theater. It

might have been the irritated state of my nerves, or it might have been the eaudecologne flying to my head,

but the bare mention of the girl seemed to set me in a flame. I tried to turn Armadale's attention in the

direction of the suppertable. He was much obliged, but he had no appetite for more. I offered him wine next,

the wine of the country, which is all that our poverty allows us to place on the table. He was much obliged

again. The foreign wine was very little more to his taste than the foreign music; but he would take some

because I asked him; and he would drink my health in the oldfashioned way, with his best wishes for the

happy time when we should all meet again at Thorpe Ambrose, and when there would be a mistress to

"Was he mad to persist in this way? No; his face answered for him. He was under the impression that he was

"I looked at Midwinter. He might have seen some reason for interfering to change the conversation, if he had

looked at me in return. But he sat silent in his chair, irritable and overworked, with his eyes on the ground,

"I got up and went to the window. Still impenetrable to a sense of his own clumsiness, Armadale followed

me. If I had been strong enough to toss him out of the window into the sea, I should certainly have done it at

that moment. Not being strong enough, I looked steadily at the view over the bay, and gave him a hint, the

"'A lovely night for a walk,' I said, 'if you are tempted to walk back to the hotel.'

"I doubt if he heard me. At any rate, I produced no sort of effect on him. He stood staring sentimentally at the

moonlight; andthere is really no other word to express itblew a sigh. I felt a presentiment of what was

"'With all your fondness for England,' I said, 'you must own that we have no such moonlight as that at home.'

"'I wonder whether it is fine tonight in England as it is here?' he said. 'I wonder whether my dear little girl at

"'Good heavens, Mr. Armadale!' I exclaimed, 'is there only one subject worth mentioning, in the narrow little

world you live in? I'm sick to death of Miss Milroy. Do pray talk of something else?'

"His great, broad, stupid face colored up to the roots of his hideous yellow hair. 'I beg your pardon,' he

stammered, with a kind of sulky surprise. 'I didn't suppose' He stopped confusedly, and looked from me to

Midwinter. I understood what the look meant. 'I didn't suppose she could be jealous of Miss Milroy after

marrying you!' That is what he would have said to Midwinter, if I had left them alone together in the room!

"As it was, Midwinter had heard us. Before I could speak againbefore Armadale could add another

wordhe finished his friend's uncompleted sentence, in a tone that I now heard, and with a look that I now

"'You didn't suppose, Allan,' he said, 'that a lady's temper could be so easily provoked.'

"The first bitter word of irony, the first hard look of contempt, I had ever had from him! And Armadale the

"My anger suddenly left me. Something came in its place which steadied me in an instant, and took me

"I sat down alone in the bedroom. I had a few minutes of thought with myself, which I don't choose to put

into words, even in these secret pages. I got up, and unlockednever mind what. I went round to

Midwinter's side of the bed, and tookno matter what I took. The last thing I did before I left the room was

to look at my watch. It was halfpast ten, Armadale's usual time for leaving us. I went back at once and

"No! On second thoughts. I won't put down what I said to him, or what I did afterward. I'm sick of Armadale!

he turns up at every second word I write. I shall pass over what happened in the course of the next hourthe

hour between halfpast ten and halfpast elevenand take up my story again at the time when Armadale

had left us. Can I tell what took place, as soon as our visitor's back was turned, between Midwinter and me in

our own room? Why not pass over what happened, in that case as well as in the other? Why agitate myself by

writing it down? I don't know! Why do I keep a diary at all? Why did the clever thief the other day (in the

English newspaper) keep the very thing to convict him in the shape of a record of everything he stole? Why

are we not perfectly reasonable in all that we do? Why am I not always on my guard and never inconsistent

"I don't care why! I must write down what happened between Midwinter and me tonight, because I must.

"It was halfpast eleven. Armadale had gone. I had put on my dressinggown, and had just sat down to

arrange my hair for the night, when I was surprised by a knock at the door, and Midwinter came in.

"He was frightfully pale. His eyes looked at me with a terrible despair in them. He never answered when I

expressed my surprise at his coming in so much sooner than usual; he wouldn't even tell me, when I asked the

question, if he was ill. Pointing peremptorily to the chair from which I had risen on his entering the room, he

told me to sit down again; and then, after a moment, added these words: 'I have something serious to say to

"I thought of what I had doneor, no, of what I had tried to doin that interval between halfpast ten and

halfpast eleven, which I have left unnoticed in my diaryand the deadly sickness of terror, which I never

felt at the time, came upon me now. I sat down again, as I had been told, without speaking to Midwinter, and

"His voice faltered, and he said no more. There was some dreadful grief at his heart that was trying to master

him. But there are times when his will is a will of iron. He took another turn in the room, and crushed it

"'When Allan comes here tomorrow,' he resumed, 'let him come into my room, if he wants to see me. I shall

tell him that I find it impossible to finish the work I now have on hand as soon as I had hoped, and that he

must, therefore, arrange to find a crew for the yacht without any assistance on my part. If he comes, in his

disappointment, to appeal to you, give him no hope of my being free in time to help him if he waits.

Encourage him to take the best assistance he can get from strangers, and to set about manning the yacht

without any further delay. The more occupation he has to keep him away from this house, and the less you

encourage him to stay here if he does come, the better I shall be pleased. Don't forget that, and don't forget

one last direction which I have now to give you. When the vessel is ready for sea, and when Allan invites us

to sail with him, it is my wish that you should positively decline to go. He will try to make you change your

mind; for I shall, of course, decline, on my side, to leave you in this strange house, and in this foreign

country, by yourself. No matter what he says, let nothing persuade you to alter your decision. Refuse,

positively and finally! Refuse, I insist on it, to set your foot on the new yacht!'

"He ended quietly and firmly, with no faltering in his voice, and no signs of hesitation or relenting in his face.

The sense of surprise which I might otherwise have felt at the strange words he had addressed to me was lost

in the sense of relief that they brought to my mind. The dread of those other words that I had expected to hear

from him left me as suddenly as it had come. I could look at him, I could speak to him once more.

"'You may depend,' I answered, 'on my doing exactly what you order me to do. Must I obey you blindly? Or

may I know your reason for the extraordinary directions you have just given to me?'

"His, face darkened, and he sat down on the other side of my dressingtable, with a heavy, hopeless sigh.

"'You may know the reason,' he said, 'if you wish it.' He waited a little, and considered. 'You have a right to

know the reason,' he resumed, 'for you yourself are concerned in it.' He waited a little again, and again went

on. 'I can only explain the strange request I have just made to you in one way,' be said. 'I must ask you to

"He looked at me with a strange mixture of expressions in his face. At one moment I thought he felt pity for

me. At another, it seemed more like horror of me. I began to feel frightened again; I waited for his next words

"'I know that I have been working too hard lately,' he went on, 'and that my nerves are sadly shaken. It is

possible, in the state I am in now, that I may have unconsciously misinterpreted, or distorted, the

circumstances that really took place. You will do me a favor if you will test my recollection of what has

happened by your own. If my fancy has exaggerated anything, if my memory is playing me false anywhere, I

"I commanded myself sufficiently to ask what the circumstances were to which he referred, and in what way

"'You were personally concerned in them in this way,' he answered. 'The circumstances to which I refer

began with your speaking to Allan about Miss Milroy, in what I thought a very inconsiderate and very

impatient manner. I am afraid I spoke just as petulantly on my side, and I beg your pardon for what I said to

you in the irritation of the moment. You left the room. After a short absence, you came back again, and made

a perfectly proper apology to Allan, which he received with his usual kindness and sweetness of temper.

While this went on, you and he were both standing by the suppertable; and Allan resumed some

conversation which had already passed between you about the Neapolitan wine. He said he thought he should

learn to like it in time, and he asked leave to take another glass of the wine we had on the table. Am I right so

"The words almost died on my lips; but I forced them out, and answered him that he was right so far.

"'You took the flask out of Allan's hand,' he proceeded. 'You said to him, goodhumoredly, "You know you

don't really like the wine, Mr. Armadale. Let me make you something which may be more to your taste. I

have a recipe of my own for lemonade. Will you favor me by trying it?" In those words, you made your

proposal to him, and he accepted it. Did he also ask leave to look on, and learn how the lemonade was made?

and did you tell him that he would only confuse you, and that you would give him the recipe in writing, if he

"This time the words did really die on my lips. I could only bow my head, and answer 'Yes' mutely in that

"'Allan laughed, and went to the window to look out at the Bay, and I went with him. After a while Allan

remarked, jocosely, that the mere sound of the liquids you were pouring out made him thirsty. When he said

this, I turned round from the window. I approached you, and said the lemonade took a long time to make.

You touched me, as I was walking away again, and handed me the tumbler filled to the brim. At the same

time, Allan turned round from the window; and I, in my turn, handed the tumbler to him. Is there any

"The quick throbbing of my heart almost choked me. I could just shake my headI could do no more.

"'I saw Allan raise the tumbler to his lips.Did you see it? I saw his face turn white in an instant.Did you?

I saw the glass fall from his hand on the floor. I saw him stagger, and caught him before he fell. Are these

things true? For God's sake, search your memory, and tell meare these things true?'

"The throbbing at my heart seemed, for one breathless instant, to stop. The next moment something fiery,

something maddening, flew through me. I started to my feet, with my temper in a flame, reckless of all

"'Your questions are an insult! Your looks are an insult!' I burst out. 'Do you think I tried to poison him?'

"The words rushed out of my lips in spite of me. They were the last words under heaven that any woman, in

"He rose in alarm and gave me my smellingbottle. 'Hush! hush!' he said. 'You, too, are overwroughtyou,

too, are overexcited by all that has happened tonight. You are talking wildly and shockingly. Good God!

how can you have so utterly misunderstood me? Compose yourselfpray, compose yourself.'

"He might as well have told a wild animal to compose herself. Having been mad enough to say the words, I

was mad enough next to return to the subject of the lemonade, in spite of his entreaties to me to be silent.

"'I told you what I had put in the glass, the moment Mr. Armadale fainted,' I went on; insisting furiously on

defending myself, when no attack was made on me. 'I told you I had taken the flask of brandy which you kept

at your bedside, and mixed some of it with the lemonade. How could I know that he had a nervous horror of

the smell and taste of brandy? Didn't he say to me himself, when he came to his senses, It's my fault; I ought

to have warned you to put no brandy in it? Didn't he remind you afterward of the time when you and he were

in the Isle of Man together, and when the doctor there innocently made the same mistake with him that I

["I laid a great stress on my innocenceand with some reason too. Whatever else I may be, I pride myself on

not being a hypocrite. I was innocentso far as the brandy was concerned. I had put it into the lemonade, in

pure ignorance of Armadale's nervous peculiarity, to disguise the taste ofnever mind what! Another of the

things I pride myself on is that I never wander from my subject. What Midwinter said next is what I ought to

"He looked at me for a moment, as if he thought I had taken leave of my senses. Then he came round to my

"'If nothing else will satisfy you that you are entirely misinterpreting my motives,' he said, 'and that I haven't

"He took a paper from the breastpocket of his coat, and spread it open under my eyes. It was the Narrative

"In an instant the whole weight on my mind was lifted off it. I felt mistress of myself againI understood

"'Do you know what this is?' he asked. 'Do you remember what I said to you at Thorpe Ambrose about

Allan's Dream? I told you then that two out of the three Visions had already come true. I tell you now that the

"He turned over the leaves of the manuscript, and pointed to the lines that he wished me to read.

"I read these, or nearly read these words, from the Narrative of the Dream, as Midwinter had taken it down

"'The darkness opened for the third time, and showed me the Shadow of the Man and the Shadow of the

Woman together. The ManShade was the nearest; the WomanShadow stood back. From where she stood, I

heard a sound like the pouring out of a liquid softly. I saw her touch the Shadow of the Man with one hand,

and give him a glass with the other. He took the glass and handed it to me. At the moment when I put it to my

lips, a deadly faintness overcame me. When I recovered my senses again, the Shadows had vanished, and the

"For the moment, I was as completely staggered by this extraordinary coincidence as Midwinter himself.

"'Now do you understand my motive in coming here?' he asked. 'Now do you see that the last hope I had to

cling to was the hope that your memory of the night's events might prove my memory to be wrong? Now do

you know why I won't help Allan? Why I won't sail with him? Why I am plotting and lying, and making you

"He struck his hand passionately on the open manuscript. 'If Mr. Brook had lived to see what we have seen

tonight he would have felt what I feel, he would have said what I say!' His voice sank mysteriously, and his

great black eyes glittered at me as he made that answer. 'Thrice the Shadows of the Vision warned Allan in

his sleep,' he went on; 'and thrice those Shadows have been embodied in the aftertime by You and by Me!

You, and no other, stood in the Woman's place at the pool. I, and no other, stood in the Man's place at the

window. And you and I together, when the last Vision showed the Shadows together, stand in the Man's place

and the Woman's place still! For this, the miserable day dawned when you and I first met. For this, your

influence drew me to you, when my better angel warned me to fly the sight of your face. There is a curse on

our lives! there is a fatality in our footsteps! Allan's future depends on his separation from us at once and

forever. Drive him from the place we live in, and the air we breathe. Force him among strangersthe worst

and wickedest of them will be more harmless, to him than we are! Let his yacht sail, though he goes on his

knees to ask us, without you and without me; and let him know how I loved him in another world than this,

"His grief conquered him; his voice broke into a sob when he spoke those last words. He took the Narrative

"As I heard his door locked between us, my mind went back to what he had said to me about myself. In

remembering 'the miserable day' when we first saw each other, and 'the better angel' that had warned him to

'fly the sight of my face,' I forgot all else. It doesn't matter what I feltI wouldn't own it, even if I had a

friend to speak to. Who cares for the misery of such a woman as I am? who believes in it? Besides, he spoke

under the influence of a mad superstition that has got possession of him again. There is every excuse for

himthere is no excuse for me. If I can't help being fond of him through it all, I must take the consequences

and suffer. I deserve to suffer; I deserve neither love nor pity from anybody.Good heavens, what a fool I

"He is thinking, I suppose? Well! I can think too. What am I to do next? I shall wait and see. Events take odd

turns sometimes; and events may justify the fatalism of the amiable man in the next room, who curses the day

when he first saw my face. He may live to curse it for other reasons than he has now. If I am the Woman

pointed at in the Dream, there will be another temptation put in my way before long; and there will be no

"October 24th.Barely twelve hours have passed since I wrote my yesterday's entry; and that other

"This time there was no alternative. Instant exposure and ruin stared me in the face: I had no choice but to

yield in my own defense. In plainer words still, it was no accidental resemblance that startled me at the

"Not ten minutes after Midwinter had left the sittingroom for his study, the woman of the house came in

with a dirty little threecornered note in her hand. One look at the writing on the address was enough. He had

recognized me in the box; and the ballet between the acts of the opera had given him time to trace me home. I

drew that plain conclusion in the moment that elapsed before I opened the letter. It informed me, in two lines,

that he was waiting in a bystreet leading to the beach; and that, if I failed to make my appearance in ten

minutes, he should interpret my absence as my invitation to him to call at the house.

"What I went through yesterday must have hardened me, I suppose. At any rate, after reading the letter, I felt

more like the woman I once was than I have felt for months past. I put on my bonnet and went downstairs,

"In the instant when we stood face to face, all my wretched life with him came back to me. I thought of my

trust that he had betrayed; I thought of the cruel mockery of a marriage that he had practiced on me, when he

knew that he had a wife living; I thought of the time when I had felt despair enough at his desertion of me to

attempt my own life. When I recalled all this, and when the comparison between Midwinter and the mean,

miserable villain whom I had once believed in forced itself into my mind, I knew for the first time what a

woman feels when every atom of respect for herself has left her. If he had personally insulted me at that

"But he had no idea of insulting me, in the more brutal meaning of the word. He had me at his mercy, and his

way of making me feel it was to behave with an elaborate mockery of penitence and respect. I let him speak

as he pleased, without interrupting him, without looking at him a second time, without even allowing my

dress to touch him, as we walked together toward the quieter part of the beach. I had noticed the wretched

state of his clothes, and the greedy glitter in his eyes, in my first look at him. And I knew it would endas it

"Yes! After taking from me the last farthing I possessed of my own, and the last farthing I could extort for

him from my old mistress, he turned on me as we stood by the margin of the sea, and asked if I could

reconcile it to my conscience to let him be wearing such a coat as he then had on his back, and earning his

"My disgust, rather than my indignation, roused me into speaking to him at last.

"'In that case,' he replied, 'I shall be forced to remember that you are a treasure in yourself. And I shall be

under the painful necessity of pressing my claim to you on the attention of one of those two gentlemen whom

I saw with you at the operathe gentleman, of course, who is now honored by your preference, and who

"I made him no answer, for I had no answer to give. Disputing his right to claim me from anybody would

have been a mere waste of words. He knew as well as I did that he had not the shadow of a claim on me. But

the mere attempt to raise it would, as he was well aware, lead necessarily to the exposure of my whole past

"Still keeping silence, I looked out over the sea. I don't know why, except that I instinctively looked

"A little sailingboat was approaching the shore. The man steering was hidden from me by the sail; but the

boat was so near that I thought I recognized the flag on the mast. I looked at my watch. Yes! It was Armadale

"Before I had put my watch back in my belt, the means of extricating myself from the frightful position I was

"I turned and led the way to the higher part of the beach, where some fishingboats were drawn up which

completely screened us from the view of any one landing on the shore below. Seeing probably that I had a

purpose of some kind, Manuel followed me without uttering a word. As soon as we were safely under the

"'What should you say,' I asked, 'if I was rich instead of poor? What should you say if I could afford to give

"He started. I saw plainly that he had not expected so much as half the sum I had mentioned. It is needless to

add that his tongue lied, while his face spoke the truth, and that when he replied to me the answer was,

"'Suppose,' I went on, without taking any notice of what he had said, 'that I could show you a way of helping

yourself to twice as muchthree times as muchfive times as much as a hundred pounds, are you bold

"The greedy glitter came into his eyes once more. His voice dropped low, in breathless expectation of my

"I answered him at once, in the plainest terms. I threw Armadale to him, as I might have thrown a piece of

"'The person is a rich young Englishman,' I said. 'He has just hired the yacht called the Dorothea, in the

harbor here; and he stands in need of a sailingmaster and a crew. You were once an officer in the Spanish

navyyou speak English and Italian perfectlyyou are thoroughly well acquainted with Naples and all that

belongs to it. The rich young Englishman is ignorant of the language, and the interpreter who assists him

knows nothing of the sea. He is at his wits' end for want of useful help in this strange place; he has no more

knowledge of the world than that child who is digging holes with a stick there in the sand; and he carries all

his money with him in circular notes. So much for the person. As for the risk, estimate it for yourself.'

"The greedy glitter in his eyes grew brighter and brighter with every word I said. He was plainly ready to face

"I moved to the seaward end of the fishingboat, and saw that Armadale was at that moment disembarking on

"After a long look at Armadale walking carelessly up the slope of the beach, Manuel drew back again under

the shelter of the boat. He waited a moment, considering something carefully with himself, and put another

"'When the vessel is manned,' he said, 'and the Englishman sails from Naples, how many friends sail with

"'He has but two friends here,' I replied; 'that other gentleman whom you saw with me at the opera, and

myself. He will invite us both to sail with him; and when the time comes, we shall both refuse.'

"He walked a few steps away, and stood with his face hidden from me, thinking again. All I could see was

that he took off his hat and passed his handkerchief over his forehead. All I could hear was that he talked to

"There was a change in him when he came back. His face had turned to a livid yellow, and his eyes looked at

"'One last question,' he said, and suddenly came closer to me, suddenly spoke with a marked emphasis on his

"I started back from him. The question reminded me that I had an interest in the matter, which was entirely

unconnected with the interest of keeping Manuel and Midwinter apart. Thus far I had only remembered that

Midwinter's fatalism had smoothed the way for me, by abandoning Armadale beforehand to any stranger who

might come forward to help him. Thus far the sole object I had kept in view was to protect myself, by the

sacrifice of Armadale, from the exposure that threatened me. I tell no lies to my Diary. I don't affect to have

felt a moment's consideration for the interests of Armadale's purse or the safety of Armadale's life. I hated

him too savagely to care what pitfalls my tongue might be the means of opening under his feet. But I

certainly did not see (until that last question was put to me) that, in serving his own designs, Manuel

mightif he dared go all lengths for the moneybe serving my designs too. The one overpowering anxiety

to protect myself from exposure before Midwinter had (I suppose) filled all my mind, to the exclusion of

"Finding that I made no reply for the moment, Manuel reiterated his question, putting it in a new form.

"'You have cast your Englishman at me,' he said, 'like the sop to Cerberus. Would you have been quite so

ready to do that if you had not had a motive of your own? I repeat my question. You have an interest in

"'I have two interests,' I answered. 'The interest of forcing you to respect my position here, and the interest of

ridding myself of the sight of you at once and forever!' I spoke with a boldness he had not yet heard from me.

The sense that I was making the villain an instrument in my hands, and forcing him to help my purpose

blindly, while he was helping his own, roused my spirits, and made me feel like myself again.

"He laughed. 'Strong language, on certain occasions, is a lady's privilege,' he said. 'You may, or may not, rid

yourself of the sight of me, at once and forever. We will leave that question to be settled in the future. But

your other interest in this matter puzzles me. You have told me all I need know about the Englishman and his

yacht, and you have made no conditions before you opened your lips. Pray, how are you to force me, as you

"'I will tell you how,' I rejoined. 'You shall hear my conditions first. I insist on your leaving me in five

minutes more. I insist on your never again coming near the house where I live; and I forbid your attempting

to communicate in any way either with me or with that other gentleman whom you saw with me at the

"'In that case,' I answered, 'I shall say two words in private to the rich young Englishman, and you will find

"'You are a bold woman to take it for granted that I have my designs on the Englishman already, and that I

"There was a moment's silence between us. He looked at me, and I looked at him. We understood each other.

"He was the first to speak. The villainous smile died out of his face, and his voice dropped again distrustfully

"'I accept your terms,' he said. 'As long as your lips are closed, my lips shall be closed tooexcept in the

event of my finding that you have deceived me; in which case the bargain is at an end, and you will see me

again. I shall present myself to the Englishman tomorrow, with the necessary credentials to establish me in

"I gave it, and turned to leave him. Before I had stepped out of the shelter of the boats, I heard him behind me

"'One last word,' he said. 'Accidents sometimes happen at sea. Have you interest enough in the

Englishmanif an accident happens in his caseto wish to know what has become of him?'

"I stopped, and considered on my side. I had plainly failed to persuade him that I had no secret to serve in

placing Armadale's money and (as a probable consequence) Armadale's life at his mercy. And it was now

equally clear that he was cunningly attempting to associate himself with my private objects (whatever they

might be) by opening a means of communication between us in the future. There could be no hesitation about

how to answer him under such circumstances as these. If the 'accident' at which he hinted did really happen to

Armadale, I stood in no need of Manuel's intervention to give me the intelligence of it. An easy search

through the obituary columns of the English papers would tell me the newswith the great additional

advantage that the papers might be relied on, in such a matter as this, to tell the truth. I formally thanked

Manuel, and declined to accept his proposal. 'Having no interest in the Englishman,' I said, 'I have no wish

"He looked at me for a moment with steady attention, and with an interest in me which he had not shown yet.

"'What the game you are playing may be,' he rejoined, speaking slowly and significantly, 'I don't pretend to

know. But I venture on a prophecy, neverthelessyou will win it! If we ever meet again, remember I said

that.' He took off his hat, and bowed to me gravely. 'Go your way, madam. And leave me to go mine!'

"With those words, he released me from the sight of him. I waited a minute alone, to recover myself in the

"The first object that met my eyes, on entering the sittingroom, wasArmadale himself!

"He was waiting on the chance of seeing me, to beg that I would exert my influence with his friend. I made

the needful inquiry as to what he meant, and found that Midwinter had spoken as he had warned me he would

speak when he and Armadale next met. He had announced that he was unable to finish his work for the

newspaper as soon as he had hoped; and he had advised Armadale to find a crew for the yacht without

"All that it was necessary for me to do, on hearing this, was to perform the promise I had made to Midwinter,

when he gave me my directions how to act in the matter. Armadale's vexation on finding me resolved not to

interfere expressed itself in the form of all others that is most personally offensive to me. He declined to

believe my reiterated assurances that I possessed no influence to exert in his favor. 'If I was married to

Neelie,' he said, 'she could do anything she liked with me; and I am sure, when you choose, you can do

anything you like with Midwinter.' If the infatuated fool had actually tried to stifle the last faint struggles of

remorse and pity left stirring in my heart, he could have said nothing more fatally to the purpose than this! I

gave him a look which effectually silenced him, so far as I was concerned. He went out of the room

grumbling and growling to himself. 'It's all very well to talk about manning the yacht. I don't speak a word of

their gibberish here; and the interpreter thinks a fisherman and a sailor means the same thing. Hang me if I

"He will probably know by tomorrow. And if he only comes here as usual, I shall know too!

"He has just left us, after staying here more than an hour, and talking the whole time of nothing but his own

wonderful luck in finding the very help he wanted, at the time when he needed it most.

"At noon today he was on the Mole, it seems, with his interpreter, trying vainly to make himself understood

by the vagabond population of the waterside. Just as he was giving it up in despair, a stranger standing by

(Manuel had followed him, I suppose, to the Mole from his hotel) kindly interfered to put things right. He

said, 'I speak your language and their language, sir. I know Naples well; and I have been professionally

accustomed to the sea. Can I help you?' The inevitable result followed. Armadale shifted all his difficulties on

to the shoulders of the polite stranger, in his usual helpless, headlong way. His new friend, however, insisted,

in the most honorable manner, on complying with the customary formalities before he would consent to take

the matter into his own hands. He begged leave to wait on Mr. Armadale, with his testimonials to character

and capacity. The same afternoon he had come by appointment to the hotel, with all his papers, and with 'the

saddest story' of his sufferings and privations as 'a political refugee' that Armadale had ever heard. The

interview was decisive. Manuel left the hotel, commissioned to find a crew for the yacht, and to fill the post

"I watched Midwinter anxiously, while Armadale was telling us these particulars, and afterward, when he

produced the new sailingmaster's testimonials, which he had brought with him for his friend to see.

"For the moment, Midwinter's superstitious misgivings seemed to be all lost in his natural anxiety for his

friend. He examined the stranger's papersafter having told me that the sooner Armadale was in the hands

of strangers the better!with the closest scrutiny and the most businesslike distrust. It is needless to say

that the credentials were as perfectly regular and satisfactory as credentials could be. When Midwinter

handed them back, his color rose: he seemed to feel the inconsistency of his conduct, and to observe for the

first time that I was present noticing it. 'There is nothing to object to in the testimonials, Allan: I am glad you

have got the help you want at last.' That was all he said at parting. As soon as Armadale's back was turned, I

saw no more of him. He has locked himself up again for the night, in his own room.

"There is nowso far as I am concernedbut one anxiety left. When the yacht is ready for sea, and when I

decline to occupy the lady's cabin, will Midwinter hold to his resolution, and refuse to sail without me?

"October 26th.Warnings already of the coming ordeal. A letter from Armadale to Midwinter, which

"'DEAR MIDI am too busy to come today. Get on with your work, for Heaven's sake! The new

sailingmaster is a man of ten thousand. He has got an Englishman whom he knows to serve as mate on

board already; and he is positively certain of getting the crew together in three or four days' time. I am dying

for a whiff of the sea, and so are you, or you are no sailor. The rigging is set up, the stores are coming on

board, and we shall bend the sails tomorrow or next day. I never was in such spirits in my life. Remember

me to your wife, and tell her she will be doing me a favor if she will come at once, and order everything she

"Under this was written, in Midwinter's hand: 'Remember what I told you. Write (it will break it to him more

gently in that way), and beg him to accept your apologies, and to excuse you from sailing on the trial cruise.'

"I have written without a moment's loss of time. The sooner Manuel knows (which he is certain to do through

Armadale) that the promise not to sail in the yacht is performed already, so far as I am concerned, the safer I

"October 27th.A letter from Armadale, in answer to mine. He is full of ceremonio us regrets at the loss of

my company on the cruise; and he politely hopes that Midwinter may yet induce me to alter my mind. Wait a

"October 30th.Nothing new to record until today. Today the change in our lives here has come at last!

"Armadale presented himself this morning, in his noisiest high spirits, to announce that the yacht was ready

for sea, and to ask when Midwinter would be able to go on board. I told him to make the inquiry himself in

Midwinter's room. He left me, with a last request that I would consider my refusal to sail with him. I

answered by a last apology for persisting in my resolution, and then took a chair alone at the window to wait

"My whole future depended now on what passed between Midwinter and his friend! Everything had gone

smoothly up to this time. The one danger to dread was the danger of Midwinter's resolution, or rather of

Midwinter's fatalism, giving way at the last moment. If he allowed himself to be persuaded into

accompanying Armadale on the cruise, Manuel's exasperation against me would hesitate at nothinghe

would remember that I had answered to him for Armadale's sailing from Naples alone; and he would be

capable of exposing my whole past life to Midwinter before the vessel left the port. As I thought of this, and

as the slow minutes followed each other, and nothing reached my ears but the hum of voices in the next

room, my suspense became almost unendurable. It was vain to try and fix my attention on what was going on

in the street. I sat looking mechanically out of the window, and seeing nothing.

"SuddenlyI can't say in how long or how short a timethe hum of voices ceased; the door opened; and

"'I wish you goodby,' he said, roughly. 'And I hope, when I am married, my wife may never cause

"He gave me an angry look, and made me an angry bow, and, turning sharply, left the room.

"I saw the people in the street again! I saw the calm sea, and the masts of the shipping in the harbor where the

yacht lay! I could think, I could breathe freely once more! The words that saved me from Manuelthe words

that might be Armadale's sentence of deathhad been spoken. The yacht was to sail without Midwinter, as

"My first feeling of exultation was almost maddening. But it was the feeling of a moment only. My heart

"I went out into the passage to listen, and heard nothing. I tapped gently at his door, and got no answer. I

opened the door and looked in. He was sitting at the table, with his face hidden in his hands. I looked at him

in silence, and saw the glistening of the tears as they trickled through his fingers.

"I went back into the sittingroom. Who can understand women? we don't even understand ourselves. His

sending me away from him in that manner cut me to the heart. I don't believe the most harmless and most

gentle woman living could have felt it more acutely than I felt it. And this, after what I have been doing! this,

after what I was thinking of, the moment before I went into his room! Who can account for it? NobodyI

"Half an hour later his door opened, and I heard him hurrying down the stairs. I ran on without waiting to

think, and asked if I might go with him. He neither stopped nor answered. I went back to the window, and

"I can understand now that he might not have heard me. At the time I thought him inexcusably and brutally

unkind to me. I put on my bonnet, in a frenzy of rage with him; I sent out for a carriage, and told the man to

take me where he liked. He took me, as he took other strangers, to the Museum to see the statues and the

pictures. I flounced from room to room, with my face in a flame, and the people all staring at me. I came to

myself again, I don't know how. I returned to the carriage, and made the man drive me back in a violent

hurry, I don't know why. I tossed off my cloak and bonnet, and sat down once more at the window. The sight

of the sea cooled me. I forgot Midwinter, and thought of Armadale and his yacht. There wasn't a breath of

wind; there wasn't a cloud in the sky; the wide waters of the Bay were as smooth as the surface of a glass.

"The sun sank; the short twilight came and went. I had some tea, and sat at the table thinking and dreaming

over it. When I roused myself and went back to the window, the moon was up; but the quiet sea was as quiet

"I was still looking out, when I saw Midwinter in the street below, coming back. I was composed enough by

this time to remember his habits, and to guess that he had been trying to relieve the oppression on his mind by

one of his long solitary walks. When I heard him go into his own room, I was too prudent to disturb him

"Before long I heard his window opened, and I saw him, from my window, step into the balcony, and, after a

look at the sea, hold up his hand to the air. I was too stupid, for the moment, to remember that he had once

been a sailor, and to know what this meant. I waited, and wondered what would happen next.

"He went in again; and, after an interval, came out once more, and held up his hand as before to the air. This

time he waited, leaning on the balcony rail, and looking out steadily, with all his attention absorbed by the

"For a long, long time he never moved. Then, on a sudden, I saw him start. The next moment he sank on his

knees, with his clasped hands resting on the balcony rail. 'God Almighty bless and keep you, Allan!' he said,

"I looked out to the sea. A soft, steady breeze was blowing, and the rippled surface of the water was sparkling

in the quiet moonlight. I looked again, and there passed slowly, between me and the track of the moon, a long

black vessel with tall, shadowy, ghostlike sails, gliding smooth and noiseless through the water, like a snake.

"The wind had come fair with the night; and Armadale's yacht had sailed on the trial cruise.

"London, November 19th.I am alone again in the Great City; alone, for the first time since our marriage.

Nearly a week since I started on my homeward journey, leaving Midwinter behind me at Turin.

"The days have been so full of events since the month began, and I have been so harassed, in mind and body

both, for the greater part of the time, that my Diary has been wretchedly neglected. A few notes, written in

such hurry and confusion that I can hardly understand them myself, are all that I possess to remind me of

what has happened since the night when Armadale's yacht left Naples. Let me try if I can set this right

without more loss or time; let me try if I can recall the circumstances in their order as they have followed

"On the 3d of Novemberbeing then still at NaplesMidwinter received a hurried letter from Armadale,

date 'Messina.' 'The weather,' he said, 'had been lovely, and the yacht had made one of the quickest passages

on record. The crew were rather a rough set to look at; but Captain Manuel and his English mate' (the latter

described as 'the best of good fellows') 'managed them admirably.' After this prosperous beginning, Armadale

had arranged, as a matter of course, to prolong the cruise; and, at the sailingmaster's suggestion, he had

decided to visit some of the ports in the Adriatic, which the captain had described as full of character, and

"A postscript followed, explaining that Armadale had written in a hurry to catch the steamer to Naples, and

that he had opened his letter again, before sending it off, to add something that he had forgotten. On the day

before the yacht sailed, he had been at the banker's to get 'a few hundreds in gold,' and he believed he had left

his cigarcase there. It was an old friend of his, and he begged that Midwinter would oblige him by

"I thought over it carefully when Midwinter had left me alone again, after reading it. My idea was then (and

is still) that Manuel had not persuaded Armadale to cruise in a sea like the Adriatic, so much less frequented

by ships than the Mediterranean, for nothing. The terms, too, in which the trifling loss of the cigarcase was

mentioned struck me as being equally suggestive of what was coming. I concluded that Armadale's circular

notes had not been transformed into those 'few hundreds in gold' through any forethought or business

knowledge of his own. Manuel's influence, I suspected, had been exerted in this matter also, and once more

not without reason. At intervals through the wakeful night these considerations came back again and again to

me; and time after time they pointed obstinately (so far as my next movements were concerned) in one and

"How to get there, and especially how to get there unaccompanied by Midwinter, was more than I had wit

enough to discover that night. I tried and tried to meet the difficulty, and fell asleep exhausted toward the

"Some hours later, as soon as I was dressed, Midwinter came in, with news received by that morning's post

from his employers in London. The proprietors of the newspaper had received from the editor so favorable a

report of his correspondence from Naples that they had determined on advancing him to a place of greater

responsibility and greater emolument at Turin. His instructions were inclosed in the letter, and he was

"On hearing this, I relieved his mind, before he could put the question, of all anxiety about my willingness to

remove. Turin had the great attraction, in my eyes, of being on the road to England. I assured him at once that

"He thanked me for suiting myself to his plans, with more of his old gentleness and kindness than I had seen

in him for some time past. The good news from Armadale on the previous day seemed to have roused him a

little from the dull despair in which he had been sunk since the sailing of the yacht. And now the prospect of

advancement in his profession, and, more than that, the prospect of leaving the fatal place in which the Third

Vision of the Dream had come true, had (as he owned himself) additionally cheered and relieved him. He

asked, before he went away to make the arrangements for our journey, whether I expected to hear from my

'family' in England, and whether he should give instructions for the forwarding of my letters with his own to

the poste restante at Turin. I instantly thanked him, and accepted the offer. His proposal had suggested to me,

the moment he made it, that my fictitious 'family circumstances' might be turned to good account once more,

"On the thirteenth, Midwinterbeing then very busyasked if I would save him a loss of time by applying

for any letters which might have followed us from Naples. I had been waiting for the opportunity he now

offered me; and I determined to snatch at it without allowing myself time to hesitate. There were no letters at

the poste restante for either of us. But when he put the question on my return, I told him that there had been a

letter for me, with alarming news from 'home.' My 'mother' was dangerously ill, and I was entreated to lose

"It seems quite unaccountablenow that I am away from himbut it is none the less true, that I could not,

even yet, tell him a downright premeditated falsehood, without a sense of shrinking and shame, which other

people would think, and which I think myself, utterly inconsistent with such a character as mine. Inconsistent

or not, I felt it. And what is strangerperhaps I ought to say madderstill, if he had persisted in his first

resolution to accompany me himself to England rather than allow me to travel alone, I firmly believe I should

have turned my back on temptation for the second time, and have lulled myself to rest once more in the old

"Am I deceiving myself in this? It doesn't matterI dare say I am. Never mind what might have happened.

"It ended in Midwinter's letting me persuade him that I was old enough to take care of myself on the journey

to England, and that he owed it to the newspaper people, who had trusted their interests in his hands, not to

leave Turin just as he was established there. He didn't suffer at taking leave of me as he suffered when he saw

the last of his friend. I saw that, and set down the anxiety he expressed that I should write to him at its proper

value. I have quite got over my weakness for him at last. No man who really loved me would have put what

he owed to a peck of newspaper people before what he owed to his wife. I hate him for letting me convince

him! I believe he was glad to get rid of me. I believe he has seen some woman whom he likes at Turin. Well,

let him follow his new fancy, if he pleases! I shall be the widow of Mr. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose before

"The events on the journey were not worth mentioning, and my arrival in London stands recorded already on

"As for today, the one thing of any importance that I have done since I got to the cheap and quiet hotel at

which I am now staying, has been to send for the landlord, and ask him to help me to a sight of the back

numbers of The Times newspaper. He has politely offered to accompany me himself tomorrow morning to

some place in the City where all the papers are kept, as he calls it, in file. Till tomorrow, then, I must control

my impatience for news of Armadale as well as I can. And so goodnight to the pretty reflection of myself

"November 20th.Not a word of news yet, either in the obituary column or in any other part of the paper. I

looked carefully through each number in succession, dating from the day when Armadale's letter was written

at Messina to this present 20th of the month, and I am certain, whatever may have happened, that nothing is

known in England as yet. Patience! The newspaper is to meet me at the breakfasttable every morning till

"November 21st.No news again. I wrote to Midwinter today, to keep up appearances.

"When the letter was done, I fell into wretchedly low spiritsI can't imagine whyand felt such a longing

for a little company that, in despair of knowing where else to go, I actually went to Pimlico, on the chance

"There were changes since I had seen the place during my former stay in London. Doctor Downward's side of

the house was still empty. But the shop was being brightened up for the occupation of a milliner and

dressmaker. The people, when I went in to make inquiries, were all strangers to me. They showed, however,

no hesitation in giving me Mrs. Oldershaw's address when I asked for itfrom which I infer that the little

'difficulty' which forced her to be in hiding in August last is at an end, so far as she is concerned. As for the

doctor, the people at the shop either were, or pretended to be, quite unable to tell me what had become of

"I don't know whether it was the sight of the place at Pimlico that sickened me, or whether it was my own

perversity, or what. But now that I had got Mrs. Oldershaw's address, I felt as if she was the very last person

in the world that I wanted to see. I took a cab, and told the man to drive to the street she lived in, and then

told him to drive back to the hotel. I hardly know what is the matter with meunless it is that I am getting

more impatient every hour for information about Armadale. When will the future look a little less dark, I

"November 22d.Saturday's newspaper has lifted the veil! Words are vain to express the panic of

astonishment in which I write. I never once anticipated it; I can't believe it or realize it, now it has happened.

The winds and waves themselves have turned my accomplices! The yacht has foundered at sea, and every

"'DISASTER AT SEA.Intelligence has reached the Royal Yacht Squadron and the insurers which leaves

no reasonable doubt, we regret to say, of the total loss, on the fifth of the present month, of the yacht

Dorothea, with every soul on board. The particulars are as follows: At daylight, on the morning of the sixth,

the Italian brig Speranza, bound from Venice to Marsala for orders, encountered some floating objects off

Cape Spartivento (at the southernmost extremity of Italy) which attracted the curiosity of the people of the

brig. The previous day had been marked by one of the most severe of the sudden and violent storms, peculiar

to these southern seas, which has been remembered for years. The Speranza herself having been in danger

while the gale lasted, the captain and crew concluded that they were on the traces of a wreck, and a boat was

lowered for the purpose of examining the objects in the water. A hencoop, some broken spars, and

fragments of shattered plank were the first evidences discovered of the terrible disaster that had happened.

Some of the lighter articles of cabin furniture, wrenched and shattered, were found next. And, lastly, a

memento of melancholy interest turned up, in the shape of a lifebuoy, with a corked bottle attached to it.

These latter objects, with the relics of cabin furniture, were brought on board the Speranza. On the buoy the

name of the vessel was painted, as follows: "Dorothea, R. Y. S." (meaning Royal Yacht Squadron). The

bottle, on being uncorked, contained a sheet of notepaper, on which the following lines were hurriedly

traced in pencil: "Off Cape Spartivento; two days out from Messina. Nov. 5th, 4 P.M." (being the hour at

which the log of the Italian brig showed the storm to have been at its height). "Both our boats are stove in by

the sea. The rudder is gone, and we have sprung a leak astern which is more than we can stop. The Lord help

us allwe are sinking. (Signed) John Mitchenden, Mate." On reaching Marsala, the captain of the brig made

his report to the British consul, and left the objects discovered in that gentleman's charge. Inquiry at Messina

showed that the illfated vessel had arrived there from Naples. At the latter port it was ascertained that the

Dorothea had been hired from the owner's agent by an English gentleman, Mr. Armadale, of Thorpe

Ambrose, Norfolk. Whether Mr. Armadale had any friends on board with him has not been clearly

discovered. But there is unhappily no doubt that the illfated gentleman himself sailed in the yacht from

"Such is the story of the wreck, as the newspaper tells it in the plainest and fewest words. My head is in a

whirl; my confusion is so great that I think of fifty different things in trying to think of one. I must waita

day more or less is of no consequence nowI must wait till I can face my new position, without feeling

"November 23d.Eight in the morning.I rose an hour ago, and saw my way clearly to the first step that I

"It is of the utmost importance to me to know what is doing at Thorpe Ambrose; and it would be the height of

rashness, while I am quite in the dark in this matter, to venture there myself. The only other alternative is to

write to somebody on the spot for news; and the only person I can write to isBashwood.

"I have just finished the letter. It is headed 'private and confidential,' and signed 'Lydia Armadale.' There is

nothing in it to compromise me, if the old fool is mortally offended by my treatment of him, and if he

spitefully shows my letter to other people. But I don't believe he will do this. A man at his age forgives a

woman anything, if the woman only encourages him. I have requested him, as a personal favor, to keep our

correspondence for the present strictly private. I have hinted that my married life with my deceased husband

has not been a happy one; and that I feel the injudiciousness of having married a young man. In the postscript

I go further still, and venture boldly on these comforting words: 'I can explain, dear Mr. Bashwood, what may

have seemed fake and deceitful in my conduct toward you when you give me a personal opportunity.' If he

was on the right side of sixty, I should feel doubtful of results. But he is on the wrong side of sixty, and I

"Ten o'clock.I have been looking over the copy of my marriage certificate, with which I took care to

provide myself on the weddingday; and I have discovered, to my inexpressible dismay, an obstacle to my

appearance in the character of Armadale's widow which I now see for the first time.

"The description of Midwinter (under his own name) which the certificate presents answers in every

important particular to what would have been the description of Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose, if I had really

married him. 'Name and Surname'Allan Armadale. 'Age'twentyone, instead of twentytwo, which

might easily pass for a mistake. 'Condition'Bachelor. 'Rank or profession'Gentleman. 'Residence at the

time of Marriage' Frant's Hotel, Darley Street. 'Father's Name and Surname' Allan Armadale. 'Rank or

Profession of Father'Gentleman. Every particular (except the year's difference in their two ages) which

answers for the one answers for the other. But suppose, when I produce my copy of the certificate, that some

meddlesome lawyer insists on looking at the original register? Midwinter's writing is as different as possible

from the writing of his dead friend. The hand in which he has written 'Allan Armadale' in the book has not a

chance of passing for the hand in which Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose was accustomed to sign his name.

"Can I move safely in the matter, with such a pitfall as I see here open under my feet? How can I tell? Where

can I find an experienced person to inform me? I must shut up my diary and think.

"Seven o'clock.My prospects have changed again since I made my last entry. I have received a warning to

be careful in the future which I shall not neglect; and I have (I believe) succeeded in providing myself with

"After vainly trying to think of some better person to apply to in the difficulty which embarrassed me, I made

a virtue of necessity, and set forth to surprise Mrs. Oldershaw by a visit from her darling Lydia! It is almost

needless to add that I determined to sound her carefully, and not to let any secret of importance out of my

"A sour and solemn old maidservant admitted me into the house. When I asked for her mistress, I was

reminded with the bitterest emphasis that I had committed the impropriety of calling on a Sunday. Mrs.

Oldershaw was at home, solely in consequence of being too unwell to go to church! The servant thought it

very unlikely that she would see me. I thought it highly probable, on the contrary, that she would honor me

with an interview in her own interests, if I sent in my name as 'Miss Gwilt'and the event proved that I was

"There sat Mother Jezebel, with the air of a woman resting on the highroad to heaven, dressed in a

slatecolored gown, with gray mittens on her hands, a severely simple cap on her head, and a volume of

sermons on her lap. She turned up the whites of her eyes dev outly at the sight of me, and the first words she

"If I had been less anxious, the sudden presentation of Mrs. Oldershaw in an entirely new character might

have amused me. But I was in no humor for laughing, and (my notes of hand being all paid) I was under no

obligation to restrain my natural freedom of speech. 'Stuff and nonsense!' I said. 'Put your Sunday face in

your pocket. I have got some news for you, since I last wrote from Thorpe Ambrose.'

"The instant I mentioned 'Thorpe Ambrose,' the whites of the old hypocrite's eyes showed themselves again,

and she flatly refused to hear a word more from me on the subject of my proceedings in Norfolk. I insisted;

but it was quite useless. Mother Oldershaw only shook her head and groaned, and informed me that her

connection with the pomps and vanities of the world was at an end forever. 'I have been born again, Lydia,'

said the brazen old wretch, wiping her eyes. 'Nothing will induce me to return to the subject of that wicked

"After hearing this, I should have left her on the spot, but for one consideration which delayed me a moment

"It was easy to see, by this time, that the circumstances (whatever they might have been) which had obliged

Mother Oldershaw to keep in hiding, on the occasion of my former visit to London, had been sufficiently

serious to force her into giving up, or appearing to give up, her old business. And it was hardly less plain that

she had found it to her advantageeverybody in England finds it to their advantage in some way to cover the

outer side of her character carefully with a smooth varnish of Cant. This was, however, no business of mine;

and I should have made these reflections outside instead of inside the house, if my interests had not been

involved in putting the sincerity of Mother Oldershaw's reformation to the testso far as it affected her past

connection with myself. At the time when she had fitted me out for our enterprise, I remembered signing a

certain business document which gave her a handsome pecuniary interest in my success, if I became Mrs.

Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose. The chance of turning this mischievous morsel of paper to good account, in

the capacity of a touchstone, was too tempting to be resisted. I asked my devout friend's permission to say

"'As you have no further interest in my wicked speculation at Thorpe Ambrose,' I said, 'perhaps you will give

me back the written paper that I signed, when you were not quite such an exemplary person as you are now?'

"'On wicked and worldly grounds,' I rejoined, 'I beg to thank you for showing me your hand.'

"There could, indeed, be no doubt now about the object she really had in view. She would run no more risks

and lend no more money; she would leave me to win or lose singlehanded. If I lost, she would not be

compromised. If I won, she would produce the paper I had signed, and profit by it without remorse. In my

present situation, it was mere waste of time and words to prolong the matter by any useless recrimination on

my side. I put the warning away privately in my memory for future use, and got up to go.

"At the moment when I left my chair there was a sharp double knock at the street door. Mrs. Oldershaw

evidently recognized it. She rose in a violent hurry, and rang the bell. 'I am too unwell to see anybody,' she

said, when the servant appeared. 'Wait a moment, if you please,' she added, turning sharply on me, when the

"It was small, very small, spitefulness on my part, I know; but the satisfaction of thwarting Mother Jezebel,

even in a trifle, was not to be resisted. 'I can't wait,' I said; 'you reminded me just now that I ought to be at

"As I put my foot on the first stair the street door was opened, and a man's voice inquired whether Mrs.

"The doctor repeated the servant's message in a tone which betrayed unmistakable irritation at finding himself

"'Your mistress is not well enough to see visitors? Give her that card,' said the doctor, 'and say I expect her,

"If his voice had not told me plainly that he felt in no friendly mood toward Mrs. Oldershaw, I dare say I

should have let him go without claiming his acquaintance; but, as things were, I felt an impulse to speak to

him or to anybody who had a grudge against Mother Jezebel. There was more of my small spitefulness in

this, I suppose. Anyway, I slipped downstairs; and, following the doctor out quietly, overtook him in the

"I had recognized his voice, and I recognized his back as I walked behind him. But when I called him by his

name, and when he turned round with a start and confronted me, I followed his example, and started on my

side. The doctor's face was transformed into the face of a perfect stranger! His baldness had hidden itself

under an artfully grizzled wig. He had allowed his whiskers to grow, and had dyed them to match his new

head of hair. Hideous circular spectacles bestrode his nose in place of the neat double eyeglass that he used to

carry in his hand; and a black neckerchief, surmounted by immense shirtcollars, appeared as the unworthy

successor of the clerical white cravat of former times. Nothing remained of the man I once knew but the

comfortable plumpness of his figure, and the confidential courtesy and smoothness of his manner and his

"'Charmed to see you again,' said the doctor, looking about him a little anxiously, and producing his

cardcase in a very precipitate manner. 'But, my dear Miss Gwilt, permit me to rectify a slight mistake on

your part. Doctor Downward of Pimlico is dead and buried; and you will infinitely oblige me if you will

"I took the card he offered me, and discovered that I was now supposed to be speaking to 'Doctor Le Doux, of

"'You seem to have found it necessary,' I said, 'to change a great many things since I last saw you? Your

"'And my branch of practice,' interposed the doctor. 'I have purchased of the original possessor (a person of

feeble enterprise and no resources) a name, a diploma, and a partially completed sanitarium for the reception

of nervous invalids. We are open already to the inspection of a few privileged friendscome and see us. Are

you walking my way? Pray take my arm, and tell me to what happy chance I am indebted for the pleasure of

"I told him the circumstances exactly as they had happened, and I added (with a view to making sure of his

relations with his former ally at Pimlico) that I had been greatly surprised to hear Mrs. Oldershaw's door shut

on such an old friend as himself. Cautious as he was, the doctor's manner of receiving my remark satisfied me

at once that my suspicions of an estrangement were well founded. His smile vanished, and he settled his

"'Pardon me if I leave you to draw your own conclusions,' he said. 'The subject of Mrs. Oldershaw is, I regret

to say, far from agreeable to me under existing circumstancesa business difficulty connected with our late

partnership at Pimlico, entirely without interest for a young and brilliant woman like yourself. Tell me your

news! Have you left your situation at Thorpe Ambrose? Are you residing in London? Is there anything,

"That last question was a more important one than he supposed. Before I answered it, I felt the necessity of

"'You have kindly asked me, doctor, to pay you a visit,' I said. 'In your quiet house at Hampstead, I may

possibly have something to say to you which I can't say in this noisy street. When are you at home at the

"The doctor assured me that he was then on his way back, and begged that I would name my own hour. I

said, 'Toward the afternoon;' and, pleading an engagement, hailed the first omnibus that passed us. 'Don't

forget the address,' said the doctor, as he handed me in. 'I have got your card,' I answered, and so we parted.

"I returned to the hotel, and went up into my room, and thought over it very anxiously.

"The serious obstacle of the signature on the marriage register still stood in my way as unmanageably as ever.

All hope of getting assistance from Mrs. Oldershaw was at an end. I could only regard her henceforth as an

enemy hidden in the darkthe enemy, beyond all doubt now, who had had me followed and watched when I

was last in London. To what other counselor could I turn for the advice which my unlucky ignorance of law

and business obliged me to seek from some one more experienced than myself? Could I go to the lawyer

whom I consulted when I was about to marry Midwinter in my maiden name? Impossible! To say nothing of

his cold reception of me when I had last seen him, the advice I wanted this time related (disguise the facts as I

might) to commission of a Frauda fraud of the sort that no prosperous lawyer would consent to assist if he

had a character to lose. Was there any other competent person I could think of? There was one, and one

"I knew him to be entirely without scruples; to have the business experience that I wanted myself; and to be

as cunning, as clever, and as farseeing a man as could be found in all London. Beyond this, I had made two

important discoveries in connection with him that morning. In the first place, he was on bad terms with Mrs.

Oldershaw, which would protect me from all danger of the two leaguing together against me if I trusted him.

In the second place, circumstances still obliged him to keep his identity carefully disguised, which gave me a

hold over him in no respect inferior to any hold that I might give him over me. In every way he was the right

man, the only man, for my purpose; and yet I hesitated at going to himhesitated for a full hour and more,

"It was two o'clock before I finally decided on paying the doctor a visit. Having, after this, occupied nearly

another hour in determining to a hairbreadth how far I should take him into my confidence, I sent for a cab

"Fairweather Vale proved to be a new neighborhood, situated below the high ground of Hampstead, on the

southern side. The day was overcast, and the place looked very dreary. We approached it by a new road

running between trees, which might once have been the park avenue of a country house. At the end we came

upon a wilderness of open ground, with halffinished villas dotted about, and a hideous litter of boards,

wheelbarrows, and building materials of all sorts scattered in every direction. At one corner of this scene of

desolation, stood a great overgrown dismal house, plastered with drabcolored stucco, and surrounded by a

naked, unfinished garden, without a shrub or a flower in it, frightful to behold. On the open iron gate that led

into this inclosure was a new brass plate, with 'Sanitarium' inscribed on it in great black letters. The bell,

when the cabman rang it, pealed through the empty house like a knell; and the pallid, withered old

manservant in black who answered the door looked as if he had stepped up out of his grave to perform that

service. He let out on me a smell of damp plaster and new varnish; and he let in with me a chilling draft of the

damp November air. I didn't notice it at the time, but, writing of it now, I remember that I shivered as I

"I gave my name to the servant as 'Mrs. Armadale,' and was shown into the waitingroom. The very fire itself

was dying of damp in the grate. The only books on the table were the doctor's Works, in sober drab covers;

and the only object that ornamented the walls was the foreign Diploma (handsomely framed and glazed), of

which the doctor had possessed himself by purchase, along with the foreign name.

"After a moment or two, the proprietor of the Sanitarium came in, and held up his hands in cheerful

"'I hadn't an idea who "Mrs. Armadale" was!' he said. 'My dear lady, have you changed your name too? How

sly of you not to tell me when we met this morning! Come into my private snuggeryI can't think of

"The doctor's private snuggery was at the back of the house, looking out on fields and trees, doomed but not

yet destroyed by the builder. Horrible objects in brass and leather and glass, twisted and turned as if they

were sentient things writhing in agonies of pain, filled up one end of the room. A great bookcase with glass

doors extended over the whole of the opposite wall, and exhibited on its shelves long rows of glass jars, in

which shapeless dead creatures of a dull white color floated in yellow liquid. Above the fireplace hung a

collection of photographic portraits of men and women, inclosed in two large frames hanging side by side

with a space between them. The lefthand frame illustrated the effects of nervous suffering as seen in the

face; the righthand frame exhibited the ravages of insanity from the same point of view; while the space

between was occupied by an elegantly illuminated scroll, bearing inscribed on it the timehonored motto,

"'Here I am, with my galvanic apparatus, and my preserved specimens, and all the rest of it,' said the doctor,

placing me in a chair by the fireside. 'And there is my System mutely addressing you just above your head,

under a form of exposition which I venture to describe as frankness itself. This is no madhouse, my dear

lady. Let other men treat insanity, if they likeI stop it! No patients in the house as yet. But we live in an

age when nervous derangement (parent of insanity) is steadily on the increase; and in due time the sufferers

will come. I can wait as Harvey waited, as Jenner waited. And now do put your feet up on the fender, and tell

me about yourself. You are married, of course? And what a pretty name! Accept my best and most heartfelt

congratulations. You have the two greatest blessings that can fall to a woman's lot; the two capital H's, as I

"I interrupted the genial flow of the doctor's congratulations at the first opportunity.

"'I am married; but the circumstances are by no means of the ordinary kind,' I said, seriously. My present

position includes none of the blessings that are usually supposed to fall to a woman's lot. I am already in a

situation of very serious difficulty; and before long I may be in a situation of very serious danger as well.'

"The doctor drew his chair a little nearer to me, and fell at once into his old professional manner and his old

"'If you wish to consult me,' he said, softly, 'you know that I have kept some dangerous secrets in my time,

and you also know that I possess two valuable qualities as an adviser. I am not easily shocked; and I can be

"I hesitated even now, at the eleventh hour, sitting alone with him in his own room. It was so strange to me to

be trusting to anybody but myself! And yet, how could I help trusting another person in a difficulty which

"'Just as you please, you know,' added the doctor. 'I never invite confidences. I merely receive them.'

"There was no help for it; I had come there not to hesitate, but to speak. I risked it, and spoke.

"'The matter on which I wish to consult you,' I said, 'is not (as you seem to think) within your experience as a

professional man. But I believe you may be of assistance to me, if I trust myself to your larger experience as a

man of the world. I warn you beforehand that I shall certainly surprise, and possibly alarm, you before I have

"With that preface I entered on my story, telling him what I had settled to tell him, and no more.

"I made no secret, at the outset, of my intention to personate Armadale's widow; and I mentioned without

reserve (knowing that the doctor could go to the office and examine the will for himself) the handsome

income that would be settled on me in the event of my success. Some of the circumstances that followed next

in succession I thought it desirable to alter or conceal. I showed him the newspaper account of the loss of the

yacht, but I said nothing about events at Naples. I informed him of the exact similarity of the two names;

leaving him to imagine that it was accidental. I told him, as an important element in the matter, that my

husband had kept his real name a profound secret from everybody but myself; but (to prevent any

communication between them) I carefully concealed from the doctor what the assumed name under which

Midwinter had lived all his life really was. I acknowledged that I had left my husband behind me on the

Continent; but when the doctor put the question, I allowed him to concludeI couldn't, with all my

resolution, tell him positively!that Midwinter knew of the contemplated Fraud, and that he was staying

away purposely, so as not to compromise me by his presence. This difficulty smoothed overor, as I feel it

now, this baseness committedI reverted to myself, and came back again to the truth. One after another I

mentioned all the circumstances connected with my private marriage, and with the movements of Armadale

and Midwinter, which rendered any discovery of the false personation (through the evidence of other people)

a downright impossibility. 'So much,' I said, in conclusion, 'for the object in view. The next thing is to tell you

"The doctor, who had listened thus far without interrupting me, begged permission here to say a few words

"The 'few words' proved to be all questionsclever, searching, suspicious questionswhich I was,

however, able to answer with little or no reserve, for they related, in almost every instance, to the

circumstances under which I had been married, and to the chances for and against my lawful husband if he

"My replies informed the doctor, in the first place, that I had so managed matters at Thorpe Ambrose as to

produce a general impression that Armadale intended to marry me; in the second place, that my husband's

early life had not been of a kind to exhibit him favorably in the eyes of the world; in the third place, that we

had been married, without any witnesses present who knew us, at a large parish church in which two other

couples had been married the same morning, to say nothing of the dozens on dozens of other couples

(confusing all remembrance of us in the minds of the officiating people) who had been married since. When I

had put the doctor in possession of these factsand when he had further ascertained that Midwinter and I

had gone abroad among strangers immediately after leaving the church; and that the men employed on board

the yacht in which Armadale had sailed from Somersetshire (before my marriage) were now away in ships

voyaging to the other end of the worldhis confidence in my prospects showed itself plainly in his face. 'So

far as I can see,' he said, 'your husband's claim to you (after you have stepped into the place of the dead Mr.

Armadale's widow) would rest on nothing but his own bare assertion. And that I think you may safely set at

defiance. Excuse my apparent distrust of the gentleman. But there might be a misunderstanding between you

in the future, and it is highly desirable to ascertain beforehand exactly what he could or could not do under

those circumstances. And now that we have done with the main obstacle that I see in the way of your success,

"I was willing enough to come to it. The tone in which he spoke of Midwinter, though I myself was

responsible for it, jarred on me horribly, and roused for the moment some of the old folly of feeling which I

fancied I had laid asleep forever. I rushed at the chance of changing the subject, and mentioned the

discrepancy in the register between the hand in which Midwinter had signed the name of Allan Armadale,

and the hand in which Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose had been accustomed to write his name, with an

"'Is that all?' he asked, to my infinite surprise and relief, when I had done. 'My dear lady, pray set your mind

at ease! If the late Mr. Armadale's lawyers want a proof of your marriage, they won't go to the

"'What!' I exclaimed, in astonishment. 'Do you mean to say that the entry in the register is not a proof of my

"'It is a proof,' said the doctor, 'that you have been married to somebody. But it is no proof that you have been

married to Mr. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose. Jack Nokes or Tom Styles (excuse the homeliness of the

illustration!) might have got the license, and gone to the church to be married to you under Mr. Armadale's

name; and the register (how could it do otherwise?) must in that case have innocently assisted the deception. I

see I surprise you. My dear madam, when you opened this interesting business you surprised meI may own

it nowby laying so much stress on the curious similarity between the two names. You might have entered

on the very daring and romantic enterprise in which you are now engaged, without necessarily marrying your

present husband. Any other man would have done just as well, provided he was willing to take Mr.

"I felt my temper going at this. 'Any other man would not have done just as well,' I rejoined, instantly. 'But

for the similarity of the names, I should never have thought of the enterprise at all.'

"The doctor admitted that he had spoken too hastily. 'That personal view of the subject had, I confess,

escaped me,' he said. 'However, let us get back to the matter in hand. In the course of what I may term an

adventurous medical life, I have been brought more than once into contact with the gentlemen of the law, and

have had opportunities of observing their proceedings in cases of, let us say, Domestic Jurisprudence. I am

quite sure I am correct in informing you that the proof which will be required by Mr. Armadale's

representatives will be the evidence of a witness present at the marriage who can speak to the identity of the

"'But I have already told you,' I said, 'that there was no such person present.'

"'Precisely,' rejoined the doctor. 'In that case, what you now want, before you can safely stir a step in the

matter, isif you will pardon me the expressiona readymade witness, possessed of rare moral and

personal resources, who can be trusted to assume the necessary character, and to make the necessary

Declaration before a magistrate. Do you know of any such person?' asked the doctor, throwing himself back

"The doctor laughed softly. 'So like a woman!' he remarked, with the most exasperating good humor. 'The

moment she sees her object, she dashes at it headlong the nearest way. Oh, the sex! the sex!'

"'Never mind the sex!' I broke out, impatiently. 'I want a serious answerYes or No?'

"The doctor rose, and waved his hand with great gravity and dignity all round the room. 'You see this vast

establishment,' he began; 'you can possibly estimate to some extent the immense stake I have in its prosperity

and success. Your excellent natural sense will tell you that the Principal of this Sanitarium must be a man of

"The Principal of the Sanitarium suddenly relapsed into the character of my confidential friend.

"'My dear lady,' he said, 'it isn't Yes, and it isn't No, at a moment's notice. Give me till tomorrow afternoon.

By that time I engage to be ready to do one of two thingseither to withdraw myself from this business at

once, or to go into it with you heart and soul. Do you agree to that? Very good; we may drop the subject,

"There was no objection to my trusting him with my address at the hotel. I had taken care to present myself

there as 'Mrs. Armadale'; and I had given Midwinter an address at the neighboring postoffice to write to

when he answered my letters. We settled the hour at which the doctor was to call on me; and, that matter

arranged, I rose to go, resisting all offers of refreshment, and all proposals to show me over the house. His

smooth persistence in keeping up appearances after we had thoroughly understood each other disgusted me. I

got away from him as soon as I could, and came back to my diary and my own room.

"We shall see how it ends tomorrow. My own idea is that my confidential friend will say Yes.

"November 24th.The doctor has said Yes, as I supposed; but on terms which I never anticipated. The

condition on which I have secured his services amounts to nothing less than the payment to him, on my

stepping into the place of Armadale's widow, of half my first year's incomein other words, six hundred

"I protested against this extortionate demand in every way I could think of. All to no purpose. The doctor met

me with the most engaging frankness. Nothing, he said, but the accidental embarrassment of his position at

the present time would have induced him to mix himself up in the matter at all. He would honestly confess

that he had exhausted his own resources, and the resources of other persons whom he described as his

'backers,' in the purchase and completion of the Sanitarium. Under those circumstances, six hundred pounds

in prospect was an object to him. For that sum he would run the serious risk of advising and assisting me. Not

a farthing less would tempt him; and there he left it, with his best and friendliest wishes, in my hands!

"It ended in the only way in which it could end. I had no choice but to accept the terms, and to let the doctor

settle things on the spot as he pleased. The arrangement once made between us, I must do him the justice to

say that he showed no disposition to let the grass grow under his feet. He called briskly for pen, ink and

"We agreed on a form of letter which I wrote, and which he copied on the spot. I entered into no particulars at

starting. I simply asserted that I was the widow of the deceased Mr. Armadale; that I had been privately

married to him; that I had returned to England on his sailing in the yacht from Naples; and that I begged to

inclose a copy of my marriage certificate, as a matter of form with which I presumed it was customary to

comply. The letter was addressed to 'The Representatives of the late Allan Armadale, Esq., Thorpe Ambrose,

"I am not so excited and so impatient for results as I expected to be, now that the first step is taken. The

thought of Midwinter haunts me like a ghost. I have been writing to him againas before, to keep up

appearances. It will be my last letter, I think. My courage feels shaken, my spirits get depressed, when my

thoughts go back to Turin. I am no more capable of facing the consideration of Midwinter at this moment

than I was in the bygone time, The day of reckoning with him, once distant and doubtful, is a day that may

come to me now, I know not how soon. And here I am, trusting myself blindly to the chapter of Accidents

"November 25th.At two o'clock today the doctor called again by appointment. He has been to his lawyers

(of course without taking them into our confidence) to put the case simply of proving my marriage. The result

confirms what he has already told me. The pivot on which the whole matter will turn, if my claim is disputed,

will be the question of identity; and it may be necessary for the witness to make his Declaration in the

"In this position of affairs, the doctor thinks it important that we should be within easy reach of each other,

and proposes to find a quiet lodging for me in his neighborhood. I am quite willing to go anywhere; for,

among the other strange fancies that have got possession of me, I have an idea that I shall feel more

completely lost to Midwinter if I move out of the neighborhood in which his letters are addressed to me. I

was awake and thinking of him again last night This morning I have finally decided to write to him no more.

"After staying half an hour, the doctor left me, having first inquired whether I would like to accompany him

to Hampstead to look for lodgings. I informed him that I had some business of my own which would keep me

in London. He inquired what the business was. 'You will see,' I said, 'tomorrow or next day.'

"I had a moment's nervous trembling when I was by myself again. My business in London, besides being a

serious business in a woman's eyes, took my mind back to Midwinter in spite of me. The prospect of

removing to my new lodging had reminded me of the necessity of dressing in my new character. The time

"My first proceeding, after putting my bonnet on, was to provide myself with money. I got what I wanted to

fit me out for the character of Armadale's widow by nothing less than the sale of Armadale's own present to

me on my marriagethe ruby ring! It proved to be a more valuable jewel than I had supposed. I am likely to

"On leaving the jeweler's, I went to the great mourning shop in Regent Street. In fourandtwenty hours (if I

can give them no more) they have engaged to dress me in my widow's costume from head to foot. I had

another feverish moment when I left the shop; and, by way of further excitement on this agitating day, I

found a surprise in store for me on my return to the hotel. An elderly gentleman was announced to be waiting

"He had got my letter that morning, and had started for London by the next train to answer it in person. I had

expected a great deal from him, but I had certainly not expected that. It flattered me. For the moment, I

"I pass over the wretched old creature's raptures and reproaches, and groans and tears, and weary long

prosings about the lonely months he had passed at Thorpe Ambrose, brooding over my desertion of him. He

was quite eloquent at times; but I don't want his eloquence here. It is needless to say that I put myself right

with him, and consulted his feelings before I asked him for his news. What a blessing a woman's vanity is

sometimes! I almost forgot my risks and responsibilities in my anxieties to be charming. For a minute or two

I felt a warm little flutter of triumph. And it was a triumpheven with an old man! In a quarter of an hour I

had him smirking and smiling, hanging on my lightest words in an ecstasy, and answering all the questions I

"Here is his account of affairs at Thorpe Ambrose, as I gently extracted it from him bit by bit:

"In the first place, the news of Armadale's death has reached Miss Milroy. It has so completely overwhelmed

her that her father has been compelled to remove her from the school. She is back at the cottage, and the

doctor is in daily attendance. Do I pity her? Yes! I pity her exactly as much as she once pitied me!

"In the next place, the state of affairs at the great house, which I expected to find some difficulty in

comprehending, turns out to be quite intelligible, and certainly not discouraging so far. Only yesterday, the

lawyers on both sides came to an understanding. Mr. Darch (the family solicitor of the Blanchards, and

Armadale's bitter enemy in past times) represents the interests of Miss Blanchard, who (in the absence of any

male heir) is next heir to the estate, and who has, it appears, been in London for some time past. Mr. Smart,

of Norwich (originally employed to overlook Bashwood), represents the deceased Armadale. And this is what

"Mr. Darch, acting for Miss Blanchard, has claimed the possession of the estate, and the right of receiving the

rents at the Christmas audit, in her name. Mr. Smart, on his side, has admitted that there is great weight in the

family solicitor's application. He cannot see his way, as things are now, to contesting the question of

Armadale's death, and he will consent to offer no resistance to the application, if Mr. Darch will consent, on

his side, to assume the responsibility of taking possession in Miss Blanchard's name. This Mr. Darch has

"One result of this course of proceeding will be (as Bashwood thinks) to put Mr. Darch in the position of the

person who really decides on my claim to the widow's place and the widow's money. The income being

charged on the estate, it must come out of Miss Blanchard's pocket; and the question of paying it would

appear, therefore, to be a question for Miss Blanchard's lawyer. Tomorrow will probably decide whether

this view is the right one, for my letter to Armadale's representatives will have been delivered at the great

"So much for what old Bashwood had to tell me. Having recovered my influence over him, and possessed

myself of all his information so far, the next thing to consider was the right use to turn him to in the future.

He was entirely at my disposal, for his place at the steward's office has been already taken by Miss

Blanchard's man of business, and he pleaded hard to be allowed to stay and serve my interests in London.

There would not have been the least danger in letting him stay, for I had, as a matter of course, left him

undisturbed in his conviction that I really am the widow of Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose. But with the

doctor's resources at my command, I wanted no assistance of any sort in London; and it occurred to me that I

might make Bashwood more useful by sending him back to Norfolk to watch events there in my interests.

"He looked sorely disappointed (having had an eye evidently to paying his court to me in my widowed

condition!) when I told him of the conclusion at which I had arrived. But a few words of persuasion, and a

modest hint that he might cherish hopes in the future if he served me obediently in the present, did wonders

in reconciling him to the necessity of meeting my wishes. He asked helplessly for 'instructions' when it was

time for him to leave me and travel back by the evening train. I could give him none, for I had no idea as yet

of what the legal people might or might not do. 'But suppose something happens,' he persisted, 'that I don't

understand, what am I to do, so far away from you?' I could only give him one answer. 'Do nothing,' I said.

'Whatever it is, hold your tongue about it, and write, or come up to London immediately to consult me.' With

those parting directions, and with an understanding that we were to correspond regularly, I let him kiss my

"Now that I am alone again, and able to think calmly of the interview between me and my elderly admirer, I

find myself recalling a certain change in old Bashwood's manner which puzzled me at the time, and which

"Even in his first moments of agitation at seeing me, I thought that his eyes rested on my face with a new

kind of interest while I was speaking to him. Besides this, he dropped a word or two afterward, in telling me

of his lonely life at Thorpe Ambrose, which seemed to imply that he had been sustained in his solitude by a

feeling of confidence about his future relations with me when we next met. If he had been a younger and a

bolder man (and if any such discovery had been possible), I should almost have suspected him of having

found out something about my past life which had made him privately confident of controlling me, if I

showed any disposition to deceive and desert him again. But such an idea as this in connection with old

Bashwood is simply absurd. Perhaps I am overexcited by the suspense and anxiety of my present position?

Perhaps the merest fancies and suspicions are leading me astray? Let this be as it may, I have, at any rate,

more serious subjects than the subject of old Bashwood to occupy me now. Tomorrow's post may tell me

"November 26th.The answer has arrived this morning, in the form (as Bashwood supposed) of a letter

from Mr. Darch. The crabbed old lawyer acknowledges my letter in three lines. Before he takes any steps, or

expresses any opinion on the subject, he wants evidence of identity as well as the evidence of the certificate;

and he ventures to suggest that it may be desirable, before we go any further, to refer him to my legal

"Two o'clock.The doctor called shortly after twelve to say that he had found a lodging for me within

twenty minutes' walk of the Sanitarium. In return for his news, I showed him Mr. Darch's letter. He took it

away at once to his lawyers, and came back with the necessary information for my guidance. I have answered

Mr. Darch by sending him the address of my legal advisersotherwise, the doctor's lawyerswithout

making any comment on the desire that he has expressed for additional evidence of the marriage. This is all

that can be done today. Tomorrow will bring with it events of greater interest, for tomorrow the doctor is

to make his Declaration before the magistrate, and tomorrow I am to move to my new lodging in my

"November 27th.Fairweather Vale Villas.The Declaration has been made, with all the necessary

formalities. And I have taken possession, in my widow's costume, of my new rooms.

"I ought to be excited by the opening of this new act in the drama, and by the venturesome part that I am

playing in it myself. Strange to say, I am quiet and depressed. The thought of Midwinter has followed me to

my new abode, and is pressing on me heavily at this moment. I have no fear of any accident happening, in the

interval that must still pass before I step publicly into the place of Armadale's widow. But when that time

comes, and when Midwinter finds me (as sooner or later find me he must!) figuring in my false character, and

settled in the position that I have usurpedthen, I ask myself, What will happen? The answer still comes as

it first came to me this morning, when I put on my widow's dress. Now, as then, the presentiment is fixed in

my mind that he will kill me. If it was not too late to draw back Absurd! I shall shut up my journal.

"November 28th.The lawyers have heard from Mr. Darch, and have sent him the Declaration by return of

"When the doctor brought me this news, I asked him whether his lawyers were aware of my present address;

and, finding that he had not yet mentioned it to them, I begged that he would continue to keep it a secret for

the future. The doctor laughed. 'Are you afraid of Mr. Darch's stealing a march on us, and coming to attack

you personally?' he asked. I accepted the imputation, as the easiest way of making him comply with my

"My spirits have risen since the doctor left me. There is a pleasant sensation of security in feeling that no

strangers are in possession of my address. I am easy enough in my mind today to notice how wonderfully

well I look in my widow's weeds, and to make myself agreeable to the people of the house.

"Midwinter disturbed me a little again last night; but I have got over the ghastly delusion which possessed me

yesterday. I know better now than to dread violence from him when he discovers what I have done. And there

is still less fear of his stooping to assert his claim to a woman who has practiced on him such a deception as

mine. The one serious trial that I shall be put to when the day of reckoning comes will be the trial of

preserving my false character in his presence. I shall be safe in his loathing and contempt for me, after that.

On the day when I have denied him to his face, I shall have seen the last of him forever.

"Shall I be able to deny him to his face? Shall I be able to look at him and speak to him as if he had never

been more to me than a friend? How do I know till the time comes? Was there ever such an infatuated fool as

I am, to be writing of him at all, when writing only encourages me to think of him? I will make a new

"Monday, December 1st.The last month of the wornout old year 1851! If I allowed myself to look back,

what a miserable year I should see added to all the other miserable years that are gone! But I have made my

"I have nothing to record of the last two days, except that on the twentyninth I remembered Bashwood, and

wrote to tell him of my new address. This morning the lawyers heard again from Mr. Darch. He

acknowledges the receipt of the Declaration, but postpones stating the decision at which he has arrived until

he has communicated with the trustees under the late Mr. Blanchard's will, and has received his final

instructions from his client, Miss Blanchard. The doctor's lawyers declare that this last letter is a mere device

for gaining timewith what object they are, of course, not in a position to guess. The doctor himself says,

facetiously, it is the usual lawyer's object of making a long bill. My own idea is that Mr. Darch has his

"Ten, at night.I had written as far as that last unfinished sentence (toward four in the afternoon) when I

was startled by hearing a cab drive up to the door. I went to the window, and got there just in time to see old

Bashwood getting out with an activity of which I should never have supposed him capable. So little did I

anticipate the tremendous discovery that was going to burst on me in another minute, that I turned to the

glass, and wondered what the susceptible old gentleman would say to me in my widow's cap.

"The instant he entered the room, I saw that some serious disaster had happened. His eyes were wild, his wig

was awry. He approached me with a strange mixture of eagerness and dismay. 'I've done as you told me,' he

whispered, breathlessly. 'I've held my tongue about it, and come straight to you!' He caught me by the hand

before I could speak, with a boldness quite new in my experience of him. 'Oh how can I break it to you!' he

"'When you can speak,' I said, putting him into a chair, 'speak out. I see in your face that you bring me news I

"He put his hand into the breastpocket of his coat, and drew out a letter. He looked at the letter, and looked

at me. 'Newnew news you don't look for,' he stammered; 'but not from Thorpe Ambrose!'

"The first dawning of the truth broke on me at those words. I couldn't speakI could only hold out my hand

"He still shrank from giving it to me. 'I daren't! I daren't!' he said to himself, vacantly. 'The shock of it might

"I snatched the letter from him. One glance at the writing on the address was enough. My hands fell on my

lap, with the letter fast held in them. I sat petrified, without moving, without speaking, without hearing a

word of what Bashwood was saying to me, and slowly realized the terrible truth. The man whose widow I

had claimed to be was a living man to confront me! In vain I had mixed the drink at Naplesin vain I had

betrayed him into Manuel's hands. Twice I had set the deadly snare for him, and twice Armadale had escaped

me! "I came to my sense of outward things again, and found Bashwood on his knees at my feet, crying.

"'You look angry,' he murmured, helplessly. 'Are you angry with me? Oh, if you only knew what hopes I had

when we last saw each other, and how cruelly that letter has dashed them all to the ground!'

"I put the miserable old creature back from me, but very gently. 'Hush!' I said. 'Don't distress me now. I want

"He went away submissively to the other end of the room. As soon as my eye was off him, I heard him say to

himself, with impotent malignity, 'If the sea had been of my mind, the sea would have drowned him!'

"One by one I slowly opened the folds of the letter; feeling, while I did so, the strangest incapability of fixing

my attention on the very lines that I was burning to read. But why dwell any longer on sensations which I

can't describe? It will be more to the purpose if I place the letter itself, for future reference, on this page of my

"MR. BASHWOODThe address I date from will surprise you; and you will be more surprised still when

"I have been the victim of a rascally attempt at robbery and murder. The robbery has succeeded; and it is only

"I hired a yacht rather more than a month ago at Naples; and sailed (I am glad to think now) without any

friend with me, for Messina. From Messina I went for a cruise in the Adriatic. Two days out we were caught

in a storm. Storms get up in a hurry, and go down in a hurry, in those parts. The vessel behaved nobly: I

declare I feel the tears in my eyes now, when I think of her at the bottom of the sea! Toward sunset it began

to moderate; and by midnight, except for a long, smooth swell, the sea was as quiet as need be. I went below,

a little tired (having helped in working the yacht while the gale lasted), and fell asleep in five minutes. About

two hours after, I was woke by something falling into my cabin through a chink of the ventilator in the upper

part of the door. I jumped up, and found a bit of paper with a key wrapped in it, and with writing on the inner

"Up to this time I had not had the ghost of a suspicion that I was alone at sea with a gang of murderous

vagabonds (excepting one only) who would stick at nothing. I had got on very well with my sailingmaster

(the worst scoundrel of the lot), and better still with his English mate. The sailors, being all foreigners, I had

very little to say to. They did their work, and no quarrels and nothing unpleasant happened. If anybody had

told me, before I went to bed on the night after the storm, that the sailingmaster and the crew and the mate

(who had been no better than the rest of them at starting) were all in a conspiracy to rob me of the money I

had on board, and then to drown me in my own vessel afterward, I should have laughed in his face. Just

remember that; and then fancy for yourself (for I'm sure I can't tell you) what I must have thought when I

opened the paper round the key, and read what I now copy (from the mate's writing), as follows:

"'SIRStay in your bed till you hear a boat shove off from the starboard side, or you are a dead man. Your

money is stolen; and in five minutes' time the yacht will be scuttled, and the cabin hatch will be nailed down

on you. Dead men tell no tales; and the sailingmaster's notion is to leave proofs afloat that the vessel has

foundered with all on board. It was his doing, to begin with, and we were all in it. I can't find it in my heart

not to give you a chance for your life. It's a bad chance, but I can do no more. I should be murdered myself if

I didn't seem to go with the rest. The key of your cabin door is thrown back to you, inside this. Don't be

alarmed when you hear the hammer above. I shall do it, and I shall have short nails in my hand as well as

long, and use the short ones only. Wait till you hear the boat with all of us shove off, and then pry up the

cabin hatch with your back. The vessel will float a quarter of an hour after the holes are bored in her. Slip into

the sea on the port side, and keep the vessel between you and the boat. You will find plenty of loose lumber,

wrenched away on purpose, drifting about to hold on by. It's a fine night and a smooth sea, and there's a

chance that a ship may pick you up while there's life left in you. I can do no more.Yours truly, J. M.'

"As I came to those last words, I heard the hammering down of the hatch over my head. I don't suppose I'm

more of a coward than most people, but there was a moment when the sweat poured down me like rain. I got

to be my own man again before the hammering was done, and found myself thinking of somebody very dear

to me in England. I said to myself: 'I'll have a try for my life, for her sake, though the chances are dead

"I put a letter from that person I have mentioned into one of the stoppered bottles of my dressingcase, along

with the mate's warning, in case I lived to see him again. I hung this, and a flask of whisky, in a sling round

my neck; and, after first dressing myself in my confusion, thought better of it, and stripped, again, for

swimming, to my shirt and drawers. By the time I had done that the hammering was over and there was such

a silence that I could hear the water bubbling into the scuttled vessel amidships. The next noise was the noise

of the boat and the villains in her (always excepting my friend, the mate) shoving off from the starboard side.

I waited for the splash of the oars in the water, and then got my back under the hatch. The mate had kept his

promise. I lifted it easilycrept across the deck, under cover of the bulwarks, on all foursand slipped into

the sea on the port side. Lots of things were floating about. I took the first thing I came toa

hencoopand swam away with it about a couple of hundred yards, keeping the yacht between me and the

boat. Having got that distance, I was seized with a shivering fit, and I stopped (fearing the cramp next) to take

a pull at my flask. When I had closed the flask again, I turned for a moment to look back, and saw the yacht

in the act of sinking. In a minute more there was nothing between me and the boat but the pieces of wreck

that had been purposely thrown out to float. The moon was shining; and, if they had had a glass in the boat, I

believe they might have seen my head, though I carefully kept the hencoop between me and them.

"As it was, they laid on their oars; and I heard loud voices among them disputing. After what seemed an age

to me, I discovered what the dispute was about. The boat's head was suddenly turned my way. Some cleverer

scoundrel than the rest (the sailingmaster, I dare say) had evidently persuaded them to row back over the

place where the yacht had gone down, and make quite sure that I had gone down with her.

"They were more than halfway across the distance that separated us, and I had given myself up for lost,

when I heard a cry from one of them, and saw the boat's progress suddenly checked. In a minute or two more

the boat's head was turned again; and they rowed straight away from me like men rowing for their lives.

"I looked on one side toward the land, and saw nothing. I looked on the other toward the sea, and discovered

what the boat's crew had discovered before mea sail in the distance, growing steadily brighter and bigger

in the moonlight the longer I looked at it. In a quarter of an hour more the vessel was within hail of me, and

"They were all foreigners, and they quite deafened me by their jabber. I tried signs, but before I could make

them understand me I was seized with another shivering fit, and was carried below. The vessel held on her

course, I have no doubt, but I was in no condition to know anything about it. Before morning I was in a fever;

and from that time I can remember nothing clearly till I came to my senses at this place, and found myself

under the care of a Hungarian merchant, the consignee (as they call it) of the coasting vessel that had picked

me up. He speaks English as well or better than I do; and he has treated me with a kindness which I can find

no words to praise. When he was a young man he was in England himself, learning business, and he says he

has remembrances of our country which make his heart warm toward an Englishman. He has fitted me out

with clothes, and has lent me the money to travel with, as soon as the doctor allows me to start for home.

Supposing I don't get a relapse, I shall be fit to travel in a week's time from this. If I can catch the mail at

Trieste, and stand the fatigue, I shall be back again at Thorpe Ambrose in a week or ten days at most after

you get my letter. You will agree with me that it is a terribly long letter. But I can't help that. I seem to have

lost my old knack at putting things short, and finishing on the first page. However, I am near the end now; for

I have nothing left to mention but the reason why I write about what has happened to me, instead of waiting

"I fancy my head is still muddled by my illness. At any rate, it only struck me this morning that there is

barely a chance of some vessel having passed the place where the yacht foundered, and having picked up the

furniture, and other things wrenched out of her and left to float. Some false report of my being drowned may,

in that case, have reached England. If this has happened (which I hope to God may be an unfounded fear on

my part), go directly to Major Milroy at the cottage. Show him this letter I have written it quite as much

for his eye as for yoursand then give him the inclosed note, and ask him if he doesn't think the

circumstances justify me in hoping he will send it to Miss Milroy. I can't explain why I don't write directly to

the major, or to Miss Milroy, instead of to you. I can only say there are considerations I am bound in honor to

"I don't ask you to answer this, for I shall be on my way home, I hope, long before your letter could reach me

in this outoftheway place. Whatever you do, don't lose a moment in going to Major Milroy. Go, on

"I looked up when I had come to the end of the letter, and saw, for the first time, that Bashwood had left his

chair and had placed himself opposite to me. He was intently studying my face, with the inquiring expression

of a man who was trying to read my thoughts. His eyes fell guiltily when they met mine, and he shrank away

to his chair. Believing, as he did, that I was really married to Armadale, was he trying to discover whether the

news of Armadale's rescue from the sea was good news or bad news in my estimation? It was no time then

for entering into explanations with him. The first thing to be done was to communicate instantly with the

"'You have done me a service,' I said, 'which makes us closer friends than ever. I shall say more about this,

and about other matters of some interest to both of us, later in the day. I want you now to lend me Mr.

Armadale's letter (which I promise to bring back) and to wait here till I return. Will you do that for me, Mr.

"He would do anything I asked him, he said. I went into the bedroom and put on my bonnet and shawl.

"'Let me be quite sure of the facts before I leave you,' I resumed, when I was ready to go out. 'You have not

"He produced it from his pocket. I ran it over rapidlysaw that there was nothing in it of the slightest

importanceand put it in the fire on the spot. That done, I left Bashwood in the sittingroom, and went to

"The doctor had gone out, and the servant was unable to say positively at what time he would be back. I went

into his study, and wrote a line preparing him for the news I had brought with me, which I sealed up, with

Armadale's letter, in an envelope, to await his return. Having told the servant I would call again in an hour, I

"It was useless to go back to my lodgings and speak to Bashwood, until I knew first what the doctor meant to

do. I walked about the neighborhood, up and down new streets and crescents and squares, with a kind of dull,

numbed feeling in me, which prevented, not only all voluntary exercise of thought, but all sensation of bodily

fatigue. I remembered the same feeling overpowering me, years ago, on the morning when the people of the

prison came to take me into court to be tried for my life. All that frightful scene came back again to my mind

in the strangest manner, as if it had been a scene in which some other person had figured. Once or twice I

"When I went back to the Sanitarium, I was informed that the doctor had returned half an hour since, and that

"I went into the study, and found him sitting close by the fire with his head down and his hands on his knees.

On the table near him, beside Armadale's letter and my note, I saw, in the little circle of light thrown by the

readinglamp, an open railway guide. Was he meditating flight? It was impossible to tell from his face, when

he looked up at me, what he was meditating, or how the shock had struck him when he first discovered that

"I took a chair in silence. In silence, on his side, the doctor sat rubbing his knees before the fire.

"He rose, and suddenly removed the shade from the readinglamp, so that the light fell on my face.

"'My head feels dull, and my eyes are heavy and hot,' I replied. 'The weather, I suppose.'

"It was strange how we both got further and further from the one vitally important subject which we had both

"I accepted his suggestion; and he ordered the tea. While it was coming, he walked up and down the room,

"The tea revived me; and the doctor noticed a change for the better in my face. He sat down opposite to me at

"'If I had ten thousand pounds at this moment,' he began, 'I would give the whole of it never to have

"He said those words with an abruptness, almost with a violence, which was strangely uncharacteristic of his

ordinary manner. Was he frightened himself, or was he trying to frighten me? I determined to make him

explain himself at the outset, so far as I was concerned. 'Wait a moment, doctor,' I said. 'Do you hold me

"'Certainly not,' he replied, stiffly. 'Neither you nor anybody could have foreseen what has happened. When I

say I would give ten thousand pounds to be out of this business, I am blaming nobody but myself. And when

I tell you next that I, for one, won't allow Mr. Armadale's resurrection from the sea to be the ruin of me

without a fight for it, I tell you, my dear madam, one of the plainest truths I ever told to man or woman in the

whole course of my life. Don't suppose I am invidiously separating my interests from yours in the common

danger that now threatens us both. I simply indicate the difference in the risk that we have respectively run.

You have not sunk the whole of your resources in establishing a Sanitarium; and you have not made a false

"I interrupted him again. His selfishness did me more good than his tea: it roused my temper effectually.

'Suppose we let your risk and my risk alone, and come to the point,' I said. 'What do you mean by making a

fight for it? I see a railway guide on your table. Does making a fight for it meanrunning away?'

"'Running away?' repeated the doctor. 'You appear to forget that every farthing I have in the world is

"A solitary fly, the last of his race whom the winter had spared, was buzzing feebly about the doctor's face.

He caught it before he answered me, and held it out across the table in his closed hand.

"'If this fly's name was Armadale,' he said, 'and if you had got him as I have got him now, what would you

"His eyes, fixed on my face up to this time, turned significantly, as he ended this question, to my widow's

dress. I, too, looked at it when he looked. A thrill of the old deadly hatred and the old deadly determination

"The doctor started to his feet (with the fly still in his hand), and looked at mea little too theatricallywith

"'Kill him!' repeated the doctor, in a paroxysm of virtuous alarm. 'Violencemurderous violencein My

"I caught his eye while he was expressing himself in this elaborately indignant manner, scrutinizing me with

a searching curiosity which was, to say the least of it, a little at variance with the vehemence of his language

and the warmth of his tone. He laughed uneasily when our eyes met, and recovered his smoothly confidential

"'I beg a thousand pardons,' he said. 'I ought to have known better than to take a lady too literally at her word.

Permit me to remind you, however, that the circumstances are too serious for anything in the nature oflet

us say, an exaggeration or a joke. You shall hear what I propose, without further preface.' He paused, and

resumed his figurative use of the fly imprisoned in his hand. 'Here is Mr. Armadale. I can let him out, or keep

him in, just as I pleaseand he knows it. I say to him,' continued the doctor, facetiously addressing the fly,

'Give me proper security, Mr. Armadale, that no proceedings of any sort shall be taken against either this lady

or myself, and I will let you out of the hollow of my hand. Refuseand, be the risk what it may, I will keep

you in." Can you doubt, my dear madam, what Mr. Armadale's answer is, sooner or later, certain to be? Can

you doubt,' said the doctor, suiting the action to the word, and letting the fly go, 'that it will end to the entire

"'I won't say at present,' I answered, 'whether I doubt or not. Let me make sure that I understand you first.

You propose, if I am not mistaken, to shut the doors of this place on Mr. Armadale, and not to let him out

again until he has agreed to the terms which it is our interest to impose on him? May I ask, in that case, how

"'I propose,' said the doctor, with his hand on the railway guide, 'ascertaining first at what time during every

evening of this month the tidal trains from Dover and Folkestone reach the London Bridge terminus. And I

propose, next, posting a person whom Mr. Armadale knows, and whom you and I can trust, to wait the arrival

of the trains, and to meet our man at the moment when he steps out of the railway carriage.'

"'I have thought,' said the doctor, taking up Armadale's letter 'of the person to whom this letter is addressed.'

"The answer startled me. Was it possible that he and Bashwood knew one another? I put the question

"'Until today I never so much as heard of the gentleman's name,' said the doctor. 'I have simply pursued the

inductive process of reasoning, for which we are indebted to the immortal Bacon. How does this very

important letter come into your possession? I can't insult you by supposing it to have been stolen.

Consequently, it has come to you with the leave and license of the person to whom it is addressed.

Consequently, that person is in your confidence. Consequently, he is the first person I think of. You see the

process? Very good. Permit me a question or two, on the subject of Mr. Bashwood, before we go on any

"The doctor's questions went as straight to the point as usual. My answers informed him that Mr. Bashwood

stood toward Armadale in the relation of steward; that he had received the letter at Thorpe Ambrose that

morning, and had brought it straight to me by the first train; that he had not shown it, or spoken of it before

leaving, to Major Milroy or to any one else; that I had not obtained this service at his hands by trusting him

with my secret; that I had communicated with him in the character of Armadale's widow; that he had

suppressed the letter, under those circumstances, solely in obedience to a general caution I had given him to

keep his own counsel, if anything strange happened at Thorpe Ambrose, until he had first consulted me; and,

lastly, that the reason why he had done as I told him in this matter, was that in this matter, and in all others,

"At that point in the interrogatory, the doctor's eyes began to look at me distrustfully behind the doctor's

"'What is the secret of this blind devotion of Mr. Bashwood's to your interests?' he asked.

"I hesitated for a momentin pity to Bashwood, not in pity to myself. 'If you must know,' I answered, 'Mr.

"'Ay! ay!' exclaimed the doctor, with an air of relief. 'I begin to understand now. Is he a young man?'

"The doctor laid himself back in his chair, and chuckled softly. 'Better and better!' he said. 'Here is the very

man we want. Who so fit as Mr. Armadale's steward to meet Mr. Armadale on his return to London? And

who so capable of influencing Mr. Bashwood in the proper way as the charming object of Mr. Bashwood's

"There could be no doubt that Bashwood was the man to serve the doctor's purpose, and that my influence

was to be trusted to make him serve it. The difficulty was not here: the difficulty was in the unanswered

"'Suppose Mr. Armadale's steward meets his employer at the terminus,' I said. 'May I ask once more how Mr.

"'Don't think me ungallant,' rejoined the doctor in his gentlest manner, 'if I ask, on my side, how are men

persuaded to do ninetenths of the foolish acts of their lives? They are persuaded by your charming sex. The

weak side of every man is the woman's side of him. We have only to discover the woman's side of Mr.

Armadaleto tickle him on it gentlyand to lead him our way with a silken string. I observe here,' pursued

the doctor, opening Armadale's letter, 'a reference to a certain young lady, which looks promising. Where is

"Instead of answering him, I started, in a sudden burst of excitement, to my feet. The instant he mentioned

Miss Milroy's name all that I had heard from Bashwood of her illness, and of the cause of it, rushed back into

my memory. I saw the means of decoying Armadale into the Sanitarium as plainly as I saw the doctor on the

other side of the table, wondering at the extraordinary change in me. What a luxury it was to make Miss

"'Never mind the note,' I said. 'It's burned, for fear of accidents. I can tell you all (and more) than the note

could have told you. Miss Milroy cuts the knot! Miss Milroy ends the difficulty! She is privately engaged to

him. She has heard the false report of his death; and she has been seriously ill at Thorpe Ambrose ever since.

When Bashwood meets him at the station, the very first question he is certain to ask'

"'I see!' exclaimed the doctor, anticipating me. 'Mr. Bashwood has nothing to do but to help the truth with a

touch of fiction. When he tells his master that the false report has reached Miss Milroy, he has only to add

that the shock has affected her head, and that she is here under medical care. Perfect! perfect! We shall have

him at the Sanitarium as fast as the fastest cabhorse in London can bring him to us. And mind! no riskno

necessity for trusting other people. This is not a madhouse; this is not a licensed establishment; no doctors'

certificates are necessary here! My dear lady, I congratulate you; I congratulate myself. Permit me to hand

you the railway guide, with my best compliments to Mr. Bashwood, and with the page turned down for him,

"Remembering how long I had kept Bashwood waiting for me, I took the book at once, and wished the doctor

goodevening without further ceremony. As he politely opened the door for me, he reverted, without the

slightest necessity for doing so, and without a word from me to lead to it, to the outburst of virtuous alarm

"'I do hope,' he said, 'that you will kindly forget and forgive my extraordinary want of tact and perception

whenin short, when I caught the fly. I positively blush at my own stupidity in putting a literal interpretation

on a lady's little joke! Violence in My Sanitarium!' exclaimed the doctor, with his eyes once more fixed

attentively on my face'violence in this enlightened nineteenth century! Was there ever anything so

ridiculous? Do fasten your cloak before you go out, it is so cold and raw! Shall I escort you? Shall I send my

servant? Ah, you were always independent! always, if I may say so, a host in yourself! May I call tomorrow

"I said yes, and got away from him at last. In a quarter of an hour more I was back at my lodgings, and was

"I have not got the heart or the patienceI hardly know whichto waste many words on what passed

between me and Bashwood. It was so easy, so degradingly easy, to pull the strings of the poor old puppet in

any way I pleased! I met none of the difficulties which I should have been obliged to meet in the case of a

younger man, or of a man less infatuated with admiration for me. I left the allusions to Miss Milroy in

Armadale's letter, which had naturally puzzled him, to be explained at a future time. I never even troubled

myself to invent a plausible reason for wishing him to meet Armadale at the terminus, and to entrap him by a

stratagem into the doctor's Sanitarium. All that I found it necessary to do was to refer to what I had written to

Mr. Bashwood, on my arrival in London, and to what I had afterward said to him, when he came to answer

"'You know already,' I said, 'that my marriage has not been a happy one. Draw your own conclusions from

that; and don't press me to tell you whether the news of Mr. Armadale's rescue from the sea is, or is not, the

welcome news that it ought to be to his wife!' That was enough to put his withered old face in a glow, and to

set his withered old hopes growing again. I had only to add, 'If you will do what I ask you to do, no matter

how incomprehensible and how mysterious my request may seem to be; and if you will accept my assurances

that you shall run no risk yourself, and that you shall receive the proper explanations at the proper time, you

will have such a claim on my gratitude and my regard as no man living has ever had yet!' I had only to say

those words, and to point them by a look and a stolen pressure of his hand, and I had him at my feet, blindly

eager to obey me. If he could have seen what I thought of myself; but that doesn't matter: he saw nothing.

"Hours have passed since I sent him away (pledged to secrecy, possessed of his instructions, and provided

with his timetable) to the hotel near the terminus, at which he is to stay till Armadale appears on the railway

platform. The excitement of the earlier part of the evening has all worn off; and the dull, numbed sensation

has got me again. Are my energies wearing out, I wonder, just at the time when I most want them? Or is some

"I might be in a humor to sit here for some time longer, thinking thoughts like these, and letting them find

their way into words at their own will and pleasure, if my Diary would only let me. But my idle pen has been

busy enough to make its way to the end of the volume. I have reached the last morsel of space left on the last

page; and whether I like it or not, I must close the book this time for good and all, when I close it tonight.

"Goodby, my old friend and companion of many a miserable day! Having nothing else to be fond of, I half

On the night of the 2d of December, Mr. Bashwood took up his post of observation at the terminus of the

Southeastern Railway for the first time. It was an earlier date, by six days, than the date which Allan had

himself fixed for his return. But the doctor, taking counsel of his medical experience, had considered it just

probable that "Mr. Armadale might be perverse enough, at his enviable age, to recover sooner than his

medical advisers might have anticipated." For caution's sake, therefore, Mr. Bashwood was instructed to

begin watching the arrival of the tidal trains on the day after he had received his employer's letter.

From the 2d to the 7th of December, the steward waited punctually on the platform, saw the trains come in,

and satisfied himself, evening after evening, that the travelers were all strangers to him. From the 2d to the

7th of December, Miss Gwilt (to return to the name under which she is best known in these pages) received

his daily report, sometimes delivered personally, sometimes sent by letter. The doctor, to whom the reports

were communicated, received them in his turn with unabated confidence in the precautions that had been

adopted up to the morning of the 8th. On that date the irritation of continued suspense had produced a change

for the worse in Miss Gwilt's variable temper, which was perceptible to every one about her, and which,

strangely enough, was reflected by an equally marked change in the doctor's manner when he came to pay his

usual visit. By a coincidence so extraordinary that his enemies might have suspected it of not being a

coincidence at all, the morning on which Miss Gwilt lost her patience proved to be also the morning on which

"You seem strangely depressed this morning," she said. "What are you afraid of now?"

"The imputation of being afraid, madam," answered the doctor, solemnly, "is not an imputation to cast rashly

on any maneven when he belongs to such an essentially peaceful profession as mine. I am not afraid. I am

(as you more correctly put it in the first instance) strangely depressed. My nature is, as you know, naturally

sanguine, and I only see today what but for my habitual hopefulness I might have seen, and ought to have

Miss Gwilt impatiently threw down her work. "If words cost money," she said, "the luxury of talking would

"Which I might have seen, and ought to have seen," reiterated the doctor, without taking the slightest notice

of the interruption, "a week since. To put it plainly, I feel by no means so certain as I did that Mr. Armadale

will consent, without a struggle, to the terms which it is my interest (and in a minor degree yours) to impose

on him. Observe! I don't question our entrapping him successfully into the Sanitarium: I only doubt whether

he will prove quite as manageable as I originally anticipated when we have got him there. Say," remarked the

doctor, raising his eyes for the first time, and fixing them in steady inquiry on Miss Gwilt"say that he is

bold, obstinate, what you please; and that he holds outholds out for weeks together, for months together, as

men in similar situations to his have held out before him. What follows? The risk of keeping him forcibly in

concealmentof suppressing him, if I may so express myselfincreases at compound interest, and becomes

Enormous! My house is at this moment virtually ready for patients. Patients may present themselves in a

week's time. Patients may communicate with Mr. Armadale, or Mr. Armadale may communicate with

patients. A note may be smuggled out of the house, and may reach the Commissioners in Lunacy. Even in the

case of an unlicensed establishment like mine, those gentlemenno! those chartered despots in a land of

libertyhave only to apply to the Lord Chancellor for an order, and to enter (by heavens, to enter My

Sanitarium!) and search the house from top to bottom at a moment's notice! I don't wish to despond; I don't

wish to alarm you; I don't pretend to say that the means we are taking to secure your own safety are any other

than the best means at our disposal. All I ask you to do is to imagine the Commissioners in the houseand

then to conceive the consequences. The consequences!" repeated the doctor, getting sternly on his feet, and

He stood, hat in hand, waiting. For a full minute the two looked at each other in silence.

"I beg your pardon," returned the doctor, with his hand to his ear. "What did you say?"

"If you happened to catch another fly this morning," said Miss Gwilt, with a bitterly sarcastic emphasis on the

The doctor held up both hands, in polite deprecation, and looked as if he was beginning to recover his good

"Hard," he murmured, gently, "not to have forgiven me that unlucky blunder of mine, even yet!"

"What else have you to say? I am waiting for you," said Miss Gwilt. She turned her chair to the window

"I have a question to ask, in the first place," he said; "and a measure of necessary precaution to suggest, in the

second. If you will honor me with your attention, I will put the question first."

"You know that Mr. Armadale is alive," pursued the doctor, "and you know that he is coming back to

She answered him without an instant's hesitation, steadily going on with her work.

"Because I am of a sanguine disposition, like you. I mean to trust to the chapter of accidents to the very last.

"Madam!" remonstrated the doctor, in the deep bass which he reserved for his outbursts of virtuous

indignation. "Wait! you spoke of the chapter of accidents," he resumed, gliding back into his softer

conversational tones. "Yes! yes! of course. I understand you this time. Even the healing art is at the mercy of

accidents; even such a Sanitarium as mine is liable to be surprised by Death. Just so! just so!" said the doctor,

conceding the question with the utmost impartiality. "There is the chapter of accidents, I admitif you

There was another moment of silencesilence so profound that nothing was audible in the room but the

"True!" said the doctor. "Having put my question, I have my measure of precaution to impress on you next.

You will see, my dear madam, that I am not disposed to trust to the chapter of accidents on my side.

Reflection has convinced me that you and I are not (logically speaking) so conveniently situated as we might

be in case of emergency. Cabs are, as yet, rare in this rapidly improving neighborhood. I am twenty minutes'

walk from you; you are twenty minutes' walk from me. I know nothing of Mr. Armadale's character; you

know it well. It might be necessaryvitally necessaryto appeal to your superior knowledge of him at a

moment's notice. And how am I to do that unless we are within easy reach of each other, under the same

roof? In both our interests, I beg to invite you, my dear madam, to become for a limited period an inmate of

Miss Gwilt's rapid needle suddenly stopped. "I understand you," she said again, as quietly as before.

"I beg your pardon," said the doctor, with another attack of deafness, and with his hand once more at his ear.

She laughed to herselfa low, terrible laugh, which startled even the doctor into taking his hand off the back

"An inmate of your Sanitarium?" she repeated. "You consult appearances in everything else; do you propose

"Most assuredly!" replied the doctor, with enthusiasm. "I am surprised at your asking me the question! Did

you ever know a man of any eminence in my profession who set appearances at defiance? If you honor me by

accepting my invitation, you enter My Sanitarium in the most unimpeachable of all possible charactersin

"Leave me, then. I don't keep up appearances. I wish to be alone, and I say so. Goodmorning."

"Oh, the sex! the sex!" said the doctor, with his excellent temper in perfect working order again. "So

delightfully impulsive! so charmingly reckless of what they say or how they say it! 'Oh, woman, in our hours

of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please!' There! there! there! Goodmorning!"

Miss Gwilt rose and looked after him contemptuously from the window, when the street door had closed, and

"Armadale himself drove me to it the first time," she said. "Manuel drove me to it the second time.You

cowardly scoundrel! shall I let you drive me to it for the third time, and the last?"

She turned from the window, and looked thoughtfully at her widow's dress in the glass.

The hours of the day passedand she decided nothing. The night cameand she hesitated still. The new

By the early post there came a letter for her. It was Mr. Bashwood's usual report. Again he had watched for

"I'll have more time!" she determined, passionately. "No man alive shall hurry me faster than I like!"

At breakfast that morning (the morning of the 9th) the doctor was surprised in his study by a visit from Miss

"I want another day," she said, the moment the servant had closed the door on her.

The doctor looked at her before he answered, and saw the danger of driving her to extremities plainly

"The time is getting on," he remonstrated, in his most persuasive manner. "For all we know to the contrary,

"Granted!" said the doctor, looking nervously toward the door. "Don't be too loudthe servants may hear

you. Mind!" he added, "I depend on your honor not to press me for any further delay."

"Quite right, my dear!" he thought. "I remember where your despair led you in past times; and I think I may

At a quarter to eight o'clock that night Mr. Bashwood took up his post of observation, as usual, on the

platform of the terminus at London Bridge. He was in the highest good spirits; he smiled and smirked in

irrepressible exultation. The sense that he held in reserve a means of influence over Miss Gwilt, in virtue of

his knowledge of her past career, had had no share in effecting the transformation that now appeared in him.

It had upheld his courage in his forlorn life at Thorpe Ambrose, and it had given him that increased

confidence of manner which Miss Gwilt herself had noticed; but, from the moment when he had regained his

old place in her favor, it had vanished as a motive power in him, annihilated by the electric shock of her touch

and her look. His vanitythe vanity which in men at his age is only despair in disguisehad now lifted him

to the seventh heaven of fatuous happiness once more. He believed in her again as he believed in the smart

new winter overcoat that he woreas he believed in the dainty little cane (appropriate to the dawning

dandyism of lads in their teens) that he flourished in his hand. He hummed! The wornout old creature, who

had not sung since his childhood, hummed, as he paced the platform, the few fragments he could remember

The train was due as early as eight o'clock that night. At five minutes past the hour the whistle sounded. In

Following the instructions that had been given to him, Mr. Bashwood made his way, as well as the crowd

would let him, along the line of carriages, and, discovering no familiar face on that first investigation, joined

the passengers for a second search among them in the customhouse waitingroom next.

He had looked round the room, and had satisfied himself that the persons occupying it were all strangers,

when he heard a voice behind him, exclaiming: "Can that be Mr. Bashwood!" He turned in eager expectation,

and found himself face to face with the last man under heaven whom he had expected to see.

Noticing Mr. Bashwood's confusion (after a moment's glance at the change in his personal appearance),

"I see I have surprised you," he said. "You are looking, I suppose, for somebody else? Have you heard from

The inquiry about Allan, though it would naturally have suggested itself to any one in Midwinter's position at

that moment, added to Mr. Bashwood's confusion. Not knowing how else to extricate himself from the

"I know nothing about Mr. Armadaleoh dear, no, sir, I know nothing about Mr. Armadale," he answered,

with needless eagerness and hurry. "Welcome back to England, sir," he went on, changing the subject in his

nervously talkative manner. "I didn't know you had been abroad. It's so long since we have had the

pleasuresince I have had the pleasure. Have you enjoyed yourself, sir, in foreign parts? Such different

manners from oursyes, yes, yessuch different manners from ours! Do you make a long stay in England,

"I hardly know," said Midwinter. "I have been obliged to alter my plans, and to come to England

unexpectedly." He hesitated a little; his manner changed, and he added, in lower tones: "A serious anxiety has

brought me back. I can't say what my plans will be until that anxiety is set at rest."

The light of a lamp fell on his face while he spoke, and Mr. Bashwood observed, for the first time, that he

"I'm sorry, sirI'm sure I'm very sorry. If I could be of any use" suggested Mr. Bashwood, speaking under

the influence in some degree of his nervous politeness, and in some degree of his remembrance of what

Midwinter thanked him and turned away sadly. "I am afraid you can be of no use, Mr. Bashwoodbut I am

obliged to you for your offer, all the same." He stopped, and considered a little, "Suppose she should not be

ill? Suppose some misfortune should have happened?" he resumed, speaking to himself, and turning again

toward the steward. "If she has left her mother, some trace of her might be found by inquiring at Thorpe

Mr. Bashwood's curiosity was instantly aroused. The whole sex was interesting to him now, for the sake of

"Married, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Bashwood. "Married since I last had the pleasure of seeing you! Might I take

The steward started back as he might have started back from a loaded pistol leveled at his head. His eyes

glared as if he had suddenly lost his senses, and the nervous trembling to which he was subject shook him

"What's the matter?" said Midwinter. There was no answer. "What is there so very startling," he went on, a

"Your wife?" repeated Mr. Bashwood, helplessly. "Mrs. Armadale!" He checked himself by a desperate

The stupor of astonishment which possessed the steward was instantly reflected in Midwinter's face. The

name in which he had secretly married his wife had passed the lips of the last man in the world whom he

would have dreamed of admitting into his confidence! He took Mr. Bashwood by the arm, and led him away

to a quieter part of the terminus than the part of it in which they had hitherto spoken to each other.

"You referred to my wife just now," he said; "and you spoke of Mrs. Armadale in the same breath. What do

Again there was no answer. Utterly incapable of understanding more than that he had involved himself in

some serious complication which was a complete mystery to him, Mr. Bashwood struggled to extricate

Midwinter sternly repeated the question. "I ask you again," he said, "what do you mean by it?"

"Nothing, sir! I give you my word of honor, I meant nothing!" He felt the hand on his arm tightening its

grasp; he saw, even in the obscurity of the remote corner in which they stood, that Midwinter's fiery temper

was rising, and was not to be trifled with. The extremity of his danger inspired him with the one ready

capacity that a timid man possesses when he is compelled by main force to face an emergencythe capacity

to lie. "I only meant to say, sir," he burst out, with a desperate effort to look and speak confidently, "that Mr.

"No, siron my word of honor, on my sacred word of honor, you are mistakenyou are, indeed! I said Mr.

Armadalehow could I say anything else? Please to let me go, sirI'm pressed for time. I do assure you I'm

For a moment longer Midwinter maintained his hold, and in that moment he decided what to do.

He had accurately stated his motive for returning to England as proceeding from anxiety about his

wifeanxiety naturally caused (after the regular receipt of a letter from her every other, or every third day)

by the sudden cessation of the correspondence between them on her side for a whole week. The first vaguely

terrible suspicion of some other reason for her silence than the reason of accident or of illness, to which he

had hitherto attributed it, had struck through him like a sudden chill the instant he heard the steward associate

the name of "Mrs. Armadale" with the idea of his wife. Little irregularities in her correspondence with him,

which he had thus far only thought strange, now came back on his mind, and proclaimed themselves to be

suspicions as well. He had hitherto believed the reasons she had given for referring him, when he answered

her letters, to no more definite address than an address at a postoffice. Now he suspected her reasons of

being excuses, for the first time. He had hitherto resolved, on reaching London, to inquire at the only place he

knew of at which a clew to her could be foundthe address she had given him as the address at which "her

mother" lived. Now (with a motive which he was afraid to define even to himself, but which was strong

enough to overbear every other consideration in his mind) he determined, before all things, to solve the

mystery of Mr. Bashwood's familiarity with a secret, which was a marriage secret between himself and his

wife. Any direct appeal to a man of the steward's disposition, in the steward's present state of mind, would be

evidently useless. The weapon of deception was, in this case, a weapon literally forced into Midwinter's

hands. He let go of Mr. Bashwood's arm, and accepted Mr. Bashwood's explanation.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I have no doubt you are right. Pray attribute my rudeness to overanxiety and

The station was by this time almost a solitude, the passengers by the train being assembled at the examination

of their luggage in the customhouse waitingroom. It was no easy matter, ostensibly to take leave of Mr.

Bashwood, and really to keep him in view. But Midwinter's early life with the gypsy master had been of a

nature to practice him in such stratagems as he was now compelled to adopt. He walked away toward the

waitingroom by the line of empty carriages; opened the door of one of them, as if to look after something

that he had left behind, and detected Mr. Bashwood making for the cabrank on the opposite side of the

platform. In an instant Midwinter had crossed, and had passed through the long row of vehicles, so as to skirt

it on the side furthest from the platform. He entered the second cab by the lefthand door the moment after

Mr. Bashwood had entered the first cab by the righthand door. "Double your fare, whatever it is," he said to

the driver, "if you keep the cab before you in view, and follow it wherever it goes." In a minute more both

The clerk sat in the sentrybox at the gate, taking down the destinations of the cabs as they passed.

Midwinter heard the man who was driving him call out "Hampstead!" as he went by the clerk's window.

Over and over again, on the wearisome journey to the northwestern suburb, Midwinter asked if the cab was

It was between nine and ten o'clock when the driver pulled up his horse at last. Midwinter got out, and saw

the cab before them waiting at a house door. As soon as he had satisfied himself that the driver was the man

whom Mr. Bashwood had hired, he paid the promised reward, and dismissed his own cab.

He took a turn backward and forward before the door. The vaguely terrible suspicion which had risen in his

mind at the terminus had forced itself by this time into a definite form which was abhorrent to him. Without

the shadow of an assignable reason for it, he found himself blindly distrusting his wife's fidelity, and blindly

suspecting Mr. Bashwood of serving her in the capacity of gobetween. In sheer horror of his own morbid

fancy, he determined to take down the number of the house, and the name of the street in which it stood; and

then, in justice to his wife, to return at once to the address which she had given him as the address at which

her mother lived. He had taken out his pocketbook, and was on his way to the corner of the street, when he

observed the man who had driven Mr. Bashwood looking at him with an expression of inquisitive surprise.

The idea of questioning the cabdriver, while he had the opportunity, instantly occurred to him. He took a

"Has the gentleman whom you drove from the station gone into that house?" he asked.

"He asked for a lady, sir. Mrs." The man hesitated. "It wasn't a common name, sir; I should know it again

The doubt implied in that last answer decided Midwinter to investigate the matter on the spot. He ascended

the house steps. As he raised his hand to the bell at the side of the door, the violence of his agitation mastered

him physically for the moment. A strange sensation, as of something leaping up from his heart to his brain,

turned his head wildly giddy. He held by the house railings and kept his face to the air, and resolutely waited

"Is?"he tried to ask for "Mrs. Armadale," when the maidservant had opened the door, but not even his

resolution could force the name to pass his lips"is your mistress at home?" he asked.

The girl showed him into a back parlor, and presented him to a little old lady, with an obliging manner and a

"There is some mistake," said Midwinter. "I wished to see" Once more he tried to utter the name, and once

Mr. Bashwood had barely completed his report of what had happened at the terminus; Mr. Bashwood's

imperious mistress was still sitting speechless under the shock of the discovery that had burst on herwhen

the door of the room opened; and, without a word of warning to proceed him, Midwinter appeared on the

threshold. He took one step into the room, and mechanically pushed the door to behind him. He stood in dead

silence, and confronted his wife, with a scrutiny that was terrible in its unnatural selfpossession, and that

In dead silence on her side, she rose from her chair, In dead silence she stood erect on the hearthrug, and

faced her husband in widow's weeds. He took one step nearer to her, and stopped again. He lifted his hand,

"What does that mean?" he asked, without losing his terrible selfpossession, and without moving his

At the sound of his voice, the quick rise and fall of her bosomwhich had been the one outward betrayal

thus far of the inner agony that tortured hersuddenly stopped. She stood impenetrably silent, breathlessly

stillas if his question had struck her dead, and his pointing hand had petrified her.

He advanced one step nearer, and reiterated his words in a voice even lower and quieter than the voice in

One moment more of silence, one moment more of inaction, might have been the salvation of her. But the

fatal force of her character triumphed at the crisis of her destiny, and his. White and still, and haggard and

old, she met the dreadful emergency with a dreadful courage, and spoke the irrevocable words which

"Mr. Midwinter," she said, in tones unnaturally hard and unnaturally clear, "our acquaintance hardly entitles

you to speak to me in that manner." Those were her words. She never lifted her eyes from the ground while

she spoke them. When she had done, the last faint vestige of color in her cheeks faded out.

There was a pause. Still steadily looking at her, he set himself to fix the language she had used to him in his

mind. "She calls me 'Mr. Midwinter,'" he said, slowly, in a whisper. "She speaks of 'our acquaintance.'" He

waited a little and looked round the room. His wandering eyes encountered Mr. Bashwood for the first time.

"I once did you a service," he said; "and you once told me you were not an ungrateful man. Are you grateful

He waited a little again. Mr. Bashwood still stood trembling at the fireplace, silently watching him.

"I see you looking at me," he went on. "Is there some change in me that I am not conscious of myself? Am I

seeing things that you don't see? Am I hearing words that you don't hear? Am I looking or speaking like a

Again he waited, and again the silence was unbroken. His eyes began to glitter; and the savage blood that he

"Is that woman," he asked, "the woman whom you once knew, whose name was Miss Gwilt?"

Once more his wife collected her fatal courage. Once more his wife spoke her fatal words.

"You compel me to repeat," she said, "that you are presuming on our acquaintance, and that you are

He turned upon her, with a savage suddenness which forced a cry of alarm from Mr. Bashwood's lips.

She raised her eyes to his for the first time. Her lost spirit looked at him, steadily defiant, out of the hell of its

He staggered back, with his hands groping for something to hold by, like the hands of a man in the dark. He

leaned heavily against the wall of the room, and looked at the woman who had slept on his bosom, and who

Mr. Bashwood stole panicstricken to her side. "Go in there!" he whispered, trying to draw her toward the

foldingdoors which led into the next room. "For God's sake, be quick! He'll kill you!"

She put the old man back with her hand. She looked at him with a sudden irradiation of her blank face. She

As the words passed her lips, he sprang forward from the wall, with a cry that rang through the house. The

frenzy of a maddened man flashed at her from his glassy eyes, and clutched at her in his threatening hands.

He came on till he was within armslength of herand suddenly stood still. The black flush died out of his

face in the instant when he stopped. His eyelids fell, his outstretched hands wavered and sank helpless. He

dropped, as the dead drop. He lay as the dead lie, in the arms of the wife who had denied him.

She knelt on the floor, and rested his head on her knee. She caught the arm of the steward hurrying to help

her, with a hand that closed round it like a vise. "Go for a doctor," she said, "and keep the people of the house

away till he comes." There was that in her eye, there was that in her voice, which would have warned any

man living to obey her in silence. In silence Mr. Bashwood submitted, and hurried out of the room.

The instant she was alone she raised him from her knee. With both arms clasped round him, the miserable

woman lifted his lifeless face to hers and rocked him on her bosom in an agony of tenderness beyond all

relief in tears, in a passion of remorse beyond all expression in words. In silence she held him to her breast, in

silence she devoured his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, with kisses. Not a sound escaped her till she heard the

trampling footsteps outside, hurrying up the stairs. Then a low moan burst from her lips, as she looked her

last at him, and lowered his head again to her knee, before the strangers came in.

The landlady and the steward were the first persons whom she saw when the door was opened. The medical

man (a surgeon living in the street) followed. The horror and the beauty of her face as she looked up at him

absorbed the surgeon's attention for the moment, to the exclusion of everything else. She had to beckon to

him, she had to point to the senseless man, before she could claim his attention for his patient and divert it

The surgeon carried Midwinter to the sofa, and ordered the windows to be opened. "It is a fainting fit," he

At that answer her strength failed her for the first time. She drew a deep breath of relief, and leaned on the

chimneypiece for support. Mr. Bashwood was the only person present who noticed that she was overcome.

He led her to the opposite end of the room, where there was an easychair, leaving the landlady to hand the

"Are you going to wait here till he recovers?" whispered the steward, looking toward the sofa, and trembling

The question forced her to a sense of her positionto a knowledge of the merciless necessities which that

position now forced her to confront. With a heavy sigh she looked toward the sofa, considered with herself

Mr. Bashwood hesitated. She lifted her eyes to his, and, with a look, sent him out of the room.

"The gentleman is coming to, ma'am," said the landlady, as the steward closed the door. "He has just breathed

She bowed in mute reply, rose, and considered with herself once morelooked toward the sofa for the

After a short lapse of time the surgeon drew back from the sofa and motioned to the landlady to stand aside.

The bodily recovery of the patient was assured. There was nothing to be done now but to wait, and let his

"Where is she?" were the first words he said to the surgeon, and the landlady anxiously watching him.

The landlady knocked at the foldingdoors, and received no answer. She went in, and found the room empty.

A sheet of notepaper was on the dressingtable, with the doctor's fee placed on it. The paper contained these

lines, evidently written in great agitation or in great haste: "It is impossible for me to remain here tonight,

after what has happened. I will return tomorrow to take away my luggage, and to pay what I owe you."

"Where is she?" Midwinter asked again, when the landlady returned alone to the drawingroom.

The old lady's color rose. "If you know her handwriting, sir," she answered, handing him the sheet of

He looked at the paper. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said, as he handed it back"I beg your pardon, with

There was something in his face as he spoke those words which more than soothed the old lady's irritation: it

touched her with a sudden pity for the man who had offended her. "I am afraid there is some dreadful trouble,

sir, at the bottom of all this," she said, simply. "Do you wish me to give any message to the lady when she

Midwinter rose and steadied himself for a moment against the sofa. "I will bring my own message

The surgeon accompanied his patient into the street. "Can I see you home?" he said, kindly. "You had better

not walk, if it is far. You mustn't overexert yourself; you mustn't catch a chill this cold night."

Midwinter took his hand and thanked him. "I have been used to hard walking and cold nights, sir," he said;

"and I am not easily worn out, even when I look so broken as I do now. If you will tell me the nearest way

out of these streets, I think the quiet of the country and the quiet of the night will help me. I have something

serious to do tomorrow," he added, in a lower tone; "and I can't rest or sleep till I have thought over it

The surgeon understood that he had no common man to deal with. He gave the necessary directions without

Left by himself, Midwinter paused, and looked up at the heavens in silence. The night had cleared, and the

stars were outthe stars which he had first learned to know from his gypsy master on the hillside. For the

first time his mind went back regretfully to his boyish days. "Oh, for the old life!" he thought, longingly. "I

He roused himself, and went on toward the open country. His face darkened as he left the streets behind him

"She has denied her husband tonight," he said. "She shall know her master tomorrow."

The cab was waiting at the gates as Miss Gwilt approached the Sanitarium. Mr. Bashwood got out and

advanced to meet her. She took his arm and led him aside a few steps, out of the cabman's hearing.

"Think what you like of me," she said, keeping her thick black veil down over her face, "but don't speak to

me tonight. Drive back to your hotel as if nothing had happened. Meet the tidal train tomorrow as usual,

and come to me afterward at the Sanitarium. Go without a word, and I shall believe there is one man in the

world who really loves me. Stay and ask questions, and I shall bid you goodby at once and forever!"

She pointed to the cab. In a minute more it had left the Sanitarium and was taking Mr. Bashwood back to his

She opened the iron gate and walked slowly up to the house door. A shudder ran through her as she rang the

bell. She laughed bitterly. "Shivering again!" she said to herself. "Who would have thought I had so much

For once in her life the doctor's face told the truth, when the study door opened between ten and eleven at

"Mercy on me!" he exclaimed, with a look of the blankest bewilderment. "What does this mean?"

"It means," she answered, "that I have decided tonight instead of deciding tomorrow. You, who know

women so well, ought to know that they act on impulse. I am here on an impulse. Take me or leave me, just

"Take you or leave you?" repeated the doctor, recovering his presence of mind. "My dear lady, what a

dreadful way of putting it! Your room shall be got ready instantly! Where is your luggage? Will you let me

send for it? No? You can do without your luggage tonight? What admirable fortitude! You will fetch it

yourself tomorrow? What extraordinary independence! Do take off your bonnet. Do draw in to the fire!

"Offer me the strongest sleeping draught you ever made in your life," she replied. "And leave me alone till

the time comes to take it. I shall be your patient in earnest!" she added, fiercely, as the doctor attempted to

The Principal of the Sanitarium became gravely and briefly professional in an instant.

"Sit down in that dark corner," he said. "Not a soul shall disturb you. In half an hour you will find your room

ready, and your sleeping draught on the table.""It's been a harder struggle for her than I anticipated," he

thought, as he left the room, and crossed to his Dispensary on the opposite side of the hall. "Good heavens,

The Dispensary was elaborately fitted up with all the latest improvements in medical furniture. But one of the

four walls of the room was unoccupied by shelves, and here the vacant space was filled by a handsome

antique cabinet of carved wood, curiously out of harmony, as an object, with the unornamented utilitarian

aspect of the place generally. On either side of the cabinet two speakingtubes were inserted in the wall,

communicating with the upper regions of the house, and labeled respectively "Resident Dispenser" and "Head

Nurse." Into the second of these tubes the doctor spoke, on entering the room. An elderly woman appeared,

took her orders for preparing Mrs. Armadale's bedchamber, courtesied, and retired.

Left alone again in the Dispensary, the doctor unlocked the center compartment of the cabinet, and disclosed

a collection of bottles inside, containing the various poisons used in medicine. After taking out the laudanum

wanted for the sleeping draught, and placing it on the dispensary table, he went back to the cabinet, looked

into it for a little while, shook his head doubtfully, and crossed to the open shelves on the opposite side of the

Here, after more consideration, he took down one out of the row of large chemical bottles before him, filled

with a yellow liquid; placing the bottle on the table, he returned to the cabinet, and opened a side

compartment, containing some specimens of Bohemian glasswork. After measuring it with his eye, he took

from the specimens a handsome purple flask, high and narrow in form, and closed by a glass stopper. This he

filled with the yellow liquid, leaving a small quantity only at the bottom of the bottle, and locking up the flask

again in the place from which he had taken it. The bottle was next restored to its place, after having been

filled up with water from the cistern in the Dispensary, mixed with certain chemical liquids in small

quantities, which restored it (so far as appearances went) to the condition in which it had been when it was

first removed from the shelf. Having completed these mysterious proceedings, the doctor laughed softly, and

The Resident Dispenser made his appearance shrouded in the necessary white apron from his waist to his

feet. The doctor solemnly wrote a prescription for a composing draught, and handed it to his assistant.

"Wanted immediately, Benjamin," he said in a soft and melancholy voice. "A lady patientMrs. Armadale,

Room No. 1, second floor. Ah, dear, dear!" groaned the doctor, absently; "an anxious case, Benjaminan

anxious case." He opened the brandnew ledger of the establishment, and entered the Case at full length, with

a brief abstract of the prescription. "Have you done with the laudanum? Put it back, and lock the cabinet, and

give me the key. Is the draught ready? Label it, 'To be taken at bedtime,' and give it to the nurse,

While the doctor's lips were issuing these directions, the doctor's hands were occupied in opening a drawer

under the desk on which the ledger was placed. He took out some gayly printed cards of admission "to view

the Sanitarium, between the hours of two and four P.M.," and filled them up with the date of the next day,

"December 10th." When a dozen of the cards had been wrapped up in a dozen lithographed letters of

invitation, and inclosed in a dozen envelopes, he next consulted a list of the families resident in the

neighborhood, and directed the envelopes from the list. Ringing a bell this time, instead of speaking through a

tube, he summoned the manservant, and gave him the letters, to be delivered by hand the first thing the next

morning. "I think it will do," said the doctor, taking a turn in the Dispensary when the servant had gone

out"I think it will do." While he was still absorbed in his own reflections, the nurse reappeared to

announce that the lady's room was ready; and the doctor thereupon formally returned to the study to

She had not moved since he left her. She rose from her dark corner when he made his announcement, and,

After a brief interval, the nurse came downstairs again, with a word for her master's private ear.

"The lady has ordered me to call her tomorrow at seven o'clock, sir," she said. "She means to fetch her

luggage herself, and she wants to have a cab at the door as soon as she is dressed. What am I to do?"

"Do what the lady tells you," said the doctor. "She may be safely trusted to return to the Sanitarium."

The breakfast hour at the Sanitarium was halfpast eight o'clock. By that time Miss Gwilt had settled

everything at her lodgings, and had returned with her luggage in her own possession. The doctor was quite

"Why waste so much energy?" he asked, when they met at the breakfasttable. "Why be in such a hurry, my

"Mere restlessness!" she said, briefly. "The longer I live, the more impatient I get."

The doctor, who had noticed before she spoke that her face looked strangely pale and old that morning,

observed, when she answered him, that her expressionnaturally mobile in no ordinary degreeremained

quite unaltered by the effort of speaking. There was none of the usual animation on her lips, none of the usual

temper in her eyes. He had never seen her so impenetrably and coldly composed as he saw her now. "She has

made up her mind at last," he thought. "I may say to her this morning what I couldn't say to her last night."

"Now you have got your luggage," he began, gravely, "permit me to suggest putting that cap away, and

"Do you remember what you told me a day or two since?" asked the doctor. "You said there was a chance of

"A more unlikely chance," pursued the doctor, deaf as ever to all awkward interruptions, "it is hardly possible

to imagine! But as long as it is a chance at all, it is worth considering. Say, then, that he diesdies suddenly

and unexpectedly, and makes a Coroner's Inquest necessary in the house. What is our course in that case? Our

course is to preserve the characters to which we have committed ourselvesyou as his widow, and I as the

witness of your marriageand, in those characters, to court the fullest inquiry. In the entirely improbable

event of his dying just when we want him to die, my ideaI might even say, my resolutionis to admit that

we knew of his resurrection from the sea; and to acknowledge that we instructed Mr. Bashwood to entrap him

into this house, by means of a false statement about Miss Milroy. When the inevitable questions follow, I

propose to assert that he exhibited symptoms of mental alienation shortly after your marriage; that his

delusion consisted in denying that you were his wife, and in declaring that he was engaged to be married to

Miss Milroy; that you were in such terror of him on this account, when you heard he was alive and coming

back, as to be in a state of nervous agitation that required my care; that at your request, and to calm that

nervous agitation, I saw him professionally, and got him quietly into the house by a humoring of his delusion,

perfectly justifiable in such a case; and, lastly, that I can certify his brain to have been affected by one of

those mysterious disorders, eminently incurable, eminently fatal, in relation to which medical science is still

in the dark. Such a course as this (in the remotely possible event which we are now supposing) would be, in

your interests and mine, unquestionably the right course to take; and such a dress as that is, just as certainly,

"Shall I take it off at once?" she asked, rising from the breakfasttable, without a word of remark on what had

She looked at him with a languid curiositynothing more. "Why before two?" she inquired.

"Because this is one of my 'Visitors' Days,' And the visitors' time is from two to four."

"Simply this. I think it important that perfectly respectable and perfectly disinterested witnesses should see

"Your motive seems rather farfetched, Is it the only motive you have in the matter?"

"My dear, dear lady!" remonstrated the doctor, "have I any concealments from you? Surely, you ought to

"Yes," she said, with a we ary contempt. "It's dull enough of me not to understand you by this time. Send

Two o'clock came; and in a quarter of an hour afterward the visitors had arrived. Short as the notice had been,

cheerless as the Sanitarium looked to spectators from without, the doctor's invitation had been largely

accepted, nevertheless, by the female members of the families whom he had addressed. In the miserable

monotony of the lives led by a large section of the middle classes of England, anything is welcome to the

women which offers them any sort of harmless refuge from the established tyranny of the principle that all

human happiness begins and ends at home. While the imperious needs of a commercial country limited the

representatives of the male sex, among the doctor's visitors, to one feeble old man and one sleepy little boy,

the women, poor souls, to the number of no less than sixteenold and young, married and singlehad

seized the golden opportunity of a plunge into public life. Harmoniously united by the two common objects

which they all had in viewin the first place, to look at each other, and, in the second place, to look at the

Sanitariumthey streamed in neatly dressed procession through the doctor's dreary iron gates, with a thin

varnish over them of assumed superiority to all unladylike excitement, most significant and most pitiable to

The proprietor of the Sanitarium received his visitors in the hall with Miss Gwilt on his arm. The hungry eyes

of every woman in the company overlooked the doctor as if no such person had existed; and, fixing on the

"My First Inmate," said the doctor, presenting Miss Gwilt. "This lady only arrived late last night; and she

takes the present opportunity (the only one my morning's engagements have allowed me to give her) of going

over the Sanitarium.Allow me, ma'am," he went on, releasing Miss Gwilt, and giving his arm to the eldest

lady among the visitors. "Shattered nervesdomestic anxiety," he whispered, confidentially. "Sweet woman!

The flock of visitors followed, Miss Gwilt accompanying them in silence, and walking aloneamong them,

"The grounds, ladies and gentlemen," said the doctor, wheeling round, and addressing his audience from the

foot of the stairs, "are, as you have seen, in a partially unfinished condition. Under any circumstances, I

should lay little stress on the grounds, having Hampstead Heath so near at hand, and carriage exercise and

horse exercise being parts of my System. In a lesser degree, it is also necessary for me to ask your indulgence

for the basement floor, on which we now stand. The waitingroom and study on that side, and the Dispensary

on the other (to which I shall presently ask your attention), are completed. But the large drawingroom is still

in the decorator's hands. In that room (when the walls are drynot a moment before) my inmates will

assemble for cheerful society. Nothing will be spared that can improve, elevate, and adorn life at these happy

little gatherings. Every evening, for example, there will be music for those who like it."

At this point there was a faint stir among the visitors. A mother of a family interrupted the doctor. She begged

to know whether music "every evening" included Sunday evening; and, if so, what music was performed?

"Sacred music, of course, ma'am," said the doctor. "Handel on Sunday eveningand Haydn occasionally,

when not too cheerful. But, as I was about to say, music is not the only entertainment offered to my nervous

There was another stir among the visitors. Another mother of a family wished to know whether amusing

"Only such novels as I have selected and perused myself, in the first instance," said the doctor. "Nothing

painful, ma'am! There may be plenty that is painful in real life; but for that very reason, we don't want it in

books. The English novelist who enters my house (no foreign novelist will be admitted) must understand his

art as the healthyminded English reader understands it in our time. He must know that our purer modern

taste, our higher modern morality, limits him to doing exactly two things for us, when he writes us a book.

All we want of him isoccasionally to make us laugh; and invariably to make us comfortable."

There was a third stir among the visitorscaused plainly this time by approval of the sentiments which they

had just heard. The doctor, wisely cautious of disturbing the favorable impression that he had produced,

dropped the subject of the drawingroom, and led the way upstairs. As before, the company followed; and, as

before, Miss Gwilt walked silently behind them, last of all. One after another the ladies looked at her with the

idea of speaking, and saw something in her face, utterly unintelligible to them, which checked the

wellmeant words on their lips. The prevalent impression was that the Principal of the Sanitarium had been

The doctor led the waywith intervals of breathingtime accorded to the old lady on his armstraight to

the top of the house. Having collected his visitors in the corridor, and having waved his hand indicatively at

the numbered doors opening out of it on either side, he invited the company to look into any or all of the

"Numbers one to four, ladies and gentlemen," said the doctor, "include the dormitories of the attendants.

Numbers four to eight are rooms intended for the accommodation of the poorer class of patients, whom I

receive on terms which simply cover my expenditurenothing more. In the cases of these poorer persons

among my suffering fellow creatures, personal piety and the recommendation of two clergymen are

indispensable to admission. Those are the only conditions I make; but those I insist on. Pray observe that the

rooms are all ventilated, and the bedsteads all iron and kindly notice, as we descend again to the second floor,

that there is a door shutting off all communication between the second story and the top story when

necessary. The rooms on the second floor, which we have now reached, are (with the exception of my own

room) entirely devoted to the reception of ladyinmatesexperience having convinced me that the greater

sensitiveness of the female constitution necessitates the higher position of the sleeping apartment, with a view

to the greater purity and freer circulation of the air. Here the ladies are established immediately under my

care, while my assistant physician (whom I expect to arrive in a week's time) looks after the gentlemen on

the floor beneath. Observe, again, as we descend to this lower, or first floor, a second door, closing all

communication at night between the two stories to every one but the assistant physician and myself. And now

that we have reached the gentleman's part of the house, and that you have observed for yourselves the

regulations of the establishment, permit me to introduce you to a specimen of my system of treatment next. I

can exemplify it practically, by introducing you to a room fitted up, under my own direction, for the

accommodation of the most complicated cases of nervous suffering and nervous delusion that can come

He threw open the door of a room at one extremity of the corridor, numbered Four. "Look in, ladies and

The room was not very large, but it was well lit by one broad window. Comfortably furnished as a bedroom,

it was only remarkable among other rooms of the same sort in one way. It had no fireplace. The visitors

having noticed this, were informed that the room was warmed in winter by means of hot water; and were then

invited back again into the corridor, to make the discoveries, under professional direction, which they were

"A word, ladies and gentlemen," said the doctor; "literally a word, on nervous derangement first. What is the

process of treatment, when, let us say, mental anxiety has broken you down, and you apply to your doctor?

He sees you, hears you, and gives you two prescriptions. One is written on paper, and made up at the

chemist's. The other is administered by word of mouth, at the propitious moment when the fee is ready; and

consists in a general recommendation to you to keep your mind easy. That excellent advice given, your

doctor leaves you to spare yourself all earthly annoyances by your own unaided efforts, until he calls again.

Here my System steps in and helps you! When I see the necessity of keeping your mind easy, I take the bull

by the horns and do it for you. I place you in a sphere of action in which the ten thousand trifles which must,

and do, irritate nervous people at home are expressly considered and provided against. I throw up

impregnable moral intrenchments between Worry and You. Find a door banging in this house, if you can!

Catch a servant in this house rattling the teathings when he takes away the tray! Discover barking dogs,

crowing cocks, hammering workmen, screeching children hereand I engage to close My Sanitarium

tomorrow! Are these nuisances laughing matters to nervous people? Ask them! Can they escape these

nuisances at home? Ask them! Will ten minutes' irritation from a barking dog or a screeching child undo

every atom of good done to a nervous sufferer by a month's medical treatment? There isn't a competent

doctor in England who will venture to deny it! On those plain grounds my System is based. I assert the

medical treatment of nervous suffering to be entirely subsidiary to the moral treatment of it. That moral

treatment of it you find here. That moral treatment, sedulously pursued throughout the day, follows the

sufferer into his room at night; and soothes, helps and cures him, without his own knowledgeyou shall see

The doctor paused to take breath and looked, for the first time since the visitors had entered the house, at

Miss Gwilt. For the first time, on her side, she stepped forward among the audience, and looked at him in

return. After a momentary obstruction in the shape of a cough, the doctor went on.

"Say, ladies and gentlemen," he proceeded, "that my patient has just come in. His mind is one mass of

nervous fancies and caprices, which his friends (with the best possible intentions) have been ignorantly

irritating at home. They have been afraid of him, for instance, at night. They have forced him to have

somebody to sleep in the room with him, or they have forbidden him, in case of accidents, to lock his door.

He comes to me the first night, and says: 'Mind, I won't have anybody in my room!''Certainly not!''I

insist on locking my door.''By all means!' In he goes, and locks his door; and there he is, soothed and

quieted, predisposed to confidence, predisposed to sleep, by having his own way. 'This is all very well,' you

may say; 'but suppose something happens, suppose he has a fit in the night, what then?' You shall see! Hallo,

my young friend!" cried the doctor, suddenly addressing the sleepy little boy. "Let's have a game. You shall

be the poor sick man, and I'll be the good doctor. Go into that room and lock the door. There's a brave boy!

Have you locked it? Very good! Do you think I can't get at you if I like? I wait till you're asleepI press this

little white button, hidden here in the stencilled pattern of the outer wallthe mortise of the lock inside falls

back silently against the doorpostand I walk into the room whenever I like. The same plan is pursued

with the window. My capricious patient won't open it at night, when he ought. I humor him again. 'Shut it,

dear sir, by all means!' As soon as he is asleep, I pull the black handle hidden here, in the corner of the wall.

The window of the room inside noiselessly opens, as you see. Say the patient's caprice is the other wayhe

persists in opening the window when he ought to shut it. Let him! by all means, let him! I pull a second

handle when he is snug in his bed, and the window noiselessly closes in a moment. Nothing to irritate him,

ladies and gentlemenabsolutely nothing to irritate him! But I haven't done with him yet. Epidemic disease,

in spite of all my precautions, may enter this Sanitarium, and may render the purifying of the sickroom

necessary. Or the patient's case may be complicated by other than nervous maladysay, for instance,

asthmatic difficulty of breathing. In the one case, fumigation is necessary; in the other, additional oxygen in

the air will give relief. The epidemic nervous patient says, 'I won't be smoked under my own nose!' The

asthmatic nervous patient gasps with terror at the idea of a chemical explosion in his room. I noiselessly

fumigate one of them; I noiselessly oxygenize the other, by means of a simple Apparatus fixed outside in the

corner here. It is protected by this wooden casing; it is locked with my own key; and it communicates by

With a preliminary glance at Miss Gwilt, the doctor unlocked the lid of the wooden casing, and disclosed

inside nothing more remarkable than a large stone jar, having a glass funnel, and a pipe communicating with

the wall, inserted in the cork which closed the mouth of it. With another look at Miss Gwilt, the doctor locked

the lid again, and asked, in the blandest manner, whether his System was intelligible now?

"I might introduce you to all sorts of other contrivances of the same kind," he resumed, leading the way

downstairs; "but it would be only the same thing over and over again. A nervous patient who always has his

own way is a nervous patient who is never worried; and a nervous patient who is never worried is a nervous

patient cured. There it is in a nutshell! Come and see the Dispensary, ladies; the Dispensary and the kitchen

Once more, Miss Gwilt dropped behind the visitors, and waited alonelooking steadfastly at the Room

which the doctor had opened, and at the apparatus which the doctor had unlocked. Again, without a word

passing between them, she had understood him. She knew, as well as if he had confessed it, that he was

craftily putting the necessary temptation in her way, before witnesses who could speak to the superficially

innocent acts which they had seen, if anything serious happened. The apparatus, originally constructed to

serve the purpose of the doctor's medical crotchets, was evidently to be put to some other use, of which the

doctor himself had probably never dreamed till now. And the chances were that, before the day was over, that

other use would be privately revealed to her at the right moment, in the presence of the right witness.

"Armadale will die this time," she said to herself, as she went slowly down the stairs. "The doctor will kill

The visitors were in the Dispensary when she joined them. All the ladies were admiring the beauty of the

antique cabinet; and, as a necessary consequence, all the ladies were desirous of seeing what was inside. The

doctorafter a preliminary look at Miss Gwiltgoodhumoredly shook his head. "There is nothing to

interest you inside," he said. "Nothing but rows of little shabby bottles containing the poisons used in

medicine which I keep under lock and key. Come to the kitchen, ladies, and honor me with your advice on

domestic matters below stairs." He glanced again at Miss Gwilt as the company crossed the hall, with a look

In another quarter of an hour the doctor had expounded his views on cookery and diet, and the visitors (duly

furnished with prospectuses) were taking leave of him at the door. "Quite an intellectual treat!" they said to

each other, as they streamed out again in neatly dressed procession through the iron gates. "And what a very

The doctor turned back to the Dispensary, humming absently to himself, and failing entirely to observe the

corner of the hall in which Miss Gwilt stood retired. After an instant's hesitation, she followed him. The

assistant was in the room when she entered itsummoned by his employer the moment before.

"Doctor," she said, coldly and mechanically, as if she was repeating a lesson, "I am as curious as the other

ladies about that pretty cabinet of yours. Now they are all gone, won't you show the inside of it to me?"

"The old story," he said. "BlueBeard's locked chamber, and female curiosity! (Don't go, Benjamin, don't

go.) My dear lady, what interest can you possibly have in looking at a medical bottle, simply because it

"I have the interest of looking at it," she said, "and of thinking, if it got into some people's hands, of the

"Curious, Benjamin," he said, "the romantic view taken of these drugs of ours by the unscientific mind! My

dear lady," he added, turning to Miss Gwilt, "if that is the interest you attach to looking at poisons, you

needn't ask me to unlock my cabinetyou need only look about you round the shelves of this room. There

are all sorts of medical liquids and substances in those bottles most innocent, most useful in

themselveswhich, in combination with other substances and other liquids, become poisons as terrible and

Still smiling as goodhumoredly as ever, the doctor humored his nervous patient. He pointed to the bottle

from which he had privately removed the yellow liquid on the previous day, and which he had filled up again

"Do you see that bottle," he said"that plump, round, comfortablelooking bottle? Never mind the name of

what is beside it; let us stick to the bottle, and distinguish it, if you like, by giving it a name of our own.

Suppose we call it 'our Stout Friend'? Very good. Our Stout Friend, by himself, is a most harmless and useful

medicine. He is freely dispensed every day to tens of thousands of patients all over the civilized world. He

has made no romantic appearances in courts of law; he has excited no breathless interest in novels; he has

played no terrifying part on the stage. There he is, an innocent, inoffensive creature, who troubles nobody

with the responsibility of locking him up! But bring him into contact with something elseintroduce him to

the acquaintance of a certain common mineral substance, of a universally accessible kind, broken into

fragments; provide yourself with (say) six doses of our Stout Friend, and pour those doses consecutively on

the fragments I have mentioned, at intervals of not less than five minutes. Quantities of little bubbles will rise

at every pouring; collect the gas in those bubbles, and convey it into a closed chamberand let Samson

himself be in that closed chamber; our stout Friend will kill him in half an hour! Will kill him slowly, without

his seeing anything, without his smelling anything, without his feeling anything but sleepiness. Will kill him,

and tell the whole College of Surgeons nothing, if they examine him after death, but that he died of apoplexy

or congestion of the lungs! What do you think of that, my dear lady, in the way of mystery and romance? Is

our harmless Stout Friend as interesting now as if he rejoiced in the terrible popular fame of the Arsenic and

the Strychnine which I keep locked up there? Don't suppose I am exaggerating! Don't suppose I'm inventing a

story to put you off with, as the children say. Ask Benjamin there," said the doctor, appealing to his assistant,

with his eyes fixed on Miss Gwilt. "Ask Benjamin," he repeated, with the steadiest emphasis on the next

words, "if six doses from that bottle, at intervals of five minutes each, would not, under the conditions I have

The Resident Dispenser, modestly admiring Miss Gwilt at a distance, started and colored up. He was plainly

"The doctor is quite right, ma'am," he said, addressing Miss Gwilt, with his best bow; "the production of the

gas, extended over half an hour, would be quite gradual enough. And," added the Dispenser, silently

appealing to his employer to let him exhibit a little chemical knowledge on his own account, "the volume of

the gas would be sufficient at the end of the timeif I am not mistaken, sir?to be fatal to any person

"Unquestionably, Benjamin," rejoined the doctor. "But I think we have had enough of chemistry for the

present," he added, turning to Miss Gwilt. "With every desire, my dear lady, to gratify every passing wish

you may form, I venture to propose trying a more cheerful subject. Suppose we leave the Dispensary, before

it suggests any more inquiries to that active mind of yours? No? You want to see an experiment? You want to

see how the little bubbles are made? Well, well! there is no harm in that. We will let Mrs. Armadale see the

bubbles," continued the doctor, in the tone of a parent humoring a spoiled child. "Try if you can find a few of

those fragments that we want, Benjamin. I dare say the workmen (slovenly fellows!) have left something of

As soon as his back was turned, the doctor began opening and shutting drawers in various parts of the

Dispensary, with the air of a man who wants something in a hurry, and does not know where to find it. "Bless

my soul!" he exclaimed, suddenly stopping at the drawer from which he had taken his cards of invitation on

the previous day, "what's this? A key? A duplicate key, as I'm alive, of my fumigating apparatus upstairs! Oh

dear, dear, how careless I get," said the doctor, turning round briskly to Miss Gwilt. "I hadn't the least idea

that I possessed this second key. I should never have missed it. I do assure you I should never have missed it

if anybody had taken it out of the drawer!" He bustled away to the other end of the roomwithout closing

In silence, Miss Gwilt listened till he had done. In silence, she glided to the drawer. In silence, she took the

The Dispenser came back, with the fragments required of him, collected in a basin. "Thank you, Benjamin,"

As accidents sometimes happen in the most perfectly regulated families, so clumsiness sometimes possesses

itself of the most perfectly disciplined hands. In the process of its transfer from the shelf to the doctor, the

"Oh, my fingers and thumbs!" cried the doctor, with an air of comic vexation, "what in the world do you

mean by playing me such a wicked trick as that? Well, well, wellit can't be helped. Have we got any more

"Not a drop!" echoed the doctor. "My dear madam, what excuses can I offer you? My clumsiness has made

our little experiment impossible for today. Remind me to order some more tomorrow, Benjamin, and don't

think of troubling yourself to put that mess to rights. I'll send the man here to mop it all up. Our Stout Friend

is harmless enough now, my dear ladyin combination with a boarded floor and a coming mop! I'm so

sorry; I really am so sorry to have disappointed you." With those soothing words, he offered his arm, and led

"Oh, dear, dear, what a way of putting it!" exclaimed the doctor. "Dinner at six," he added, with his politest

emphasis, as she turned from him in disdainful silence, and slowly mounted the stairs to her own room.

A clock of the noiseless sortincapable of offending irritable nerveswas fixed in the wall, above the

firstfloor landing, at the Sanitarium. At the moment when the hands pointed to a quarter before six, the

silence of the lonely upper regions was softly broken by the rustling of Miss Gwilt's dress. She advanced

along the corridor of the first floorpaused at the covered apparatus fixed outside the room numbered

The open lid cast a shadow over the inside of the casing. All she saw at first was what she had seen

alreadythe jar, and the pipe and glass funnel inserted in the cork. She removed the funnel; and, looking

about her, observed on the windowsill close by a waxtipped wand used for lighting the gas. She took the

wand, and, introducing it through the aperture occupied by the funnel, moved it to and fro in the jar. The faint

splash of some liquid, and the grating noise of certain hard substances which she was stirring about, were the

two sounds that caught her ear. She drew out the wand, and cautiously touched the wet left on it with the tip

In putting the funnel back in its place, she noticed something faintly shining in the obscurely lit vacant space

at the side of the jar. She drew it out, and produced a Purple Flask. The liquid with which it was filled

showed dark through the transparent coloring of the glass; and fastened at regular intervals down one side of

the Flask were six thin strips of paper, which divided the contents into six equal parts.

There was no doubt now that the apparatus had been secretly prepared for herthe apparatus of which she

She put back the Flask, and locked the cover of the casing. For a moment she stood looking at it, with the key

in her hand. On a sudden, her lost color came back. On a sudden, its natural animation returned, for the first

time that day, to her face. She turned and hurried breathlessly upstairs to her room on the second floor. With

eager hands she snatched her cloak out of the wardrobe, and took her bonnet from the box. "I'm not in

prison!" she burst out, impetuously. "I've got the use of my limbs! I can gono matter where, as long as I am

With her cloak on her shoulders, with her bonnet in her hand, she crossed the room to the door. A moment

moreand she would have been out in the passage. In that moment the remembrance flashed back on her of

the husband whom she had denied to his face. She stopped instantly, and threw the cloak and bonnet from her

There was a knock at the door. The doctor's voice outside politely reminded her that it was six o'clock.

"At ten," answered the doctor, in a voice which all the world might hear, and welcome.

"Number Four let it be," he said, graciously. "Provided, of course, that Number Four is unoccupied at the

At a few minutes before ten, Mr. Bashwood was again at his post, once more on the watch for the coming of

The inspector on duty, who knew him by sight, and who had personally ascertained that his regular

attendance at the terminus implied no designs on the purses and portmanteaus of the passengers, noticed two

new circumstances in connection with Mr. Bashwood that night. In the first place, instead of exhibiting his

customary cheerfulness, he looked anxious and depressed. In the second place, while he was watching for the

train, he was to all appearance being watched in his turn, by a slim, dark, undersized man, who had left his

luggage (marked with the name of Midwinter) at the customhouse department the evening before, and who

What had brought Midwinter to the terminus? And why was he, too, waiting for the tidal train?

After straying as far as Hendon during his lonely walk of the previous night, he had taken refuge at the

village inn, and had fallen asleep (from sheer exhaustion) toward those later hours of the morning which were

the hours that his wife's foresight had turned to account. When he returned to the lodging, the landlady could

only inform him that her tenant had settled everything with her, and had left (for what destination neither she

Having given some little time to inquiries, the result of which convinced him that the clew was lost so far,

Midwinter had quitted the house, and had pursued his way mechanically to the busier and more central parts

of the metropolis. With the light now thrown on his wife's character, to call at the address she had given him

as the address at which her mother lived would be plainly useless. He went on through the streets, resolute to

discover her, and trying vainly to see the means to his end, till the sense of fatigue forced itself on him once

more. Stopping to rest and recruit his strength at the first hotel he came to, a chance dispute between the

waiter and a stranger about a lost portmanteau reminded him of his own luggage, left at the terminus, and

instantly took his mind back to the circumstances under which he and Mr. Bashwood had met. In a moment

more, the idea that he had been vainly seeking on his way through the streets flashed on him. In a moment

more, he had determined to try the chance of finding the steward again on the watch for the person whose

Ignorant of the report of Allan's death at sea; uninformed, at the terrible interview with his wife, of the

purpose which her assumption of a widow's dress really had in view, Midwinter's first vague suspicions of

her fidelity had now inevitably developed into the conviction that she was false. He could place but one

interpretation on her open disavowal of him, and on her taking the name under which he had secretly married

her. Her conduct forced the conclusion on him that she was engaged in some infamous intrigue; and that she

had basely secured herself beforehand in the position of all others in which she knew it would be most odious

and most repellent to him to claim his authority over her. With that conviction he was now watching Mr.

Bashwood, firmly persuaded that his wife's hidingplace was known to the vile servant of his wife's vices;

and darkly suspecting, as the time wore on, that the unknown man who had wronged him, and the unknown

The train was late that night, and the carriages were more than usually crowded when they arrived at last.

Midwinter became involved in the confusion on the platform, and in the effort to extricate himself he lost

A lapse of some few minutes had passed before he again discovered the steward talking eagerly to a man in a

loose shaggy coat, whose back was turned toward him. Forgetful of all the cautions and restraints which he

had imposed on himself before the train appeared, Midwinter instantly advanced on them. Mr. Bashwood saw

his threatening face as he came on, and fell back in silence. The man in the loose coat turned to look where

the steward was looking, and disclosed to Midwinter, in the full light of the stationlamp, Allan's face!

For the moment they both stood speechless, hand in hand, looking at each other. Allan was the first to recover

"Thank God for this!" he said, fervently. "I don't ask how you came here: it's enough for me that you have

come. Miserable news has met me already, Midwinter. Nobody but you can comfort me, and help me to bear

The tone in which he had spoken roused Midwinter to meet the circumstances as they were, by appealing to

the old grateful interest in his friend which had once been the foremost interest of his life. He mastered his

personal misery for the first time since it had fallen on him, and gently taking Allan aside, asked what had

The answerafter informing him of his friend's reported death at seaannounced (on Mr. Bashwood's

authority) that the news had reached Miss Milroy, and that the deplorable result of the shock thus inflicted

had obliged the major to place his daughter in the neighborhood of London, under medical care.

Before saying a word on his side, Midwinter looked distrustfully behind him. Mr. Bashwood had followed

"Was he waiting your arrival here to tell you this about Miss Milroy?" asked Midwinter, looking again from

"Yes," said Allan. "He has been kindly waiting here, night after night, to meet me, and break the news to me."

Midwinter paused once more. The attempt to reconcile the conclusion he had drawn from his wife's conduct

with the discovery that Allan was the man for whose arrival Mr. Bashwood had been waiting was hopeless.

The one present chance of discovering a truer solution of the mystery was to press the steward on the one

available point in which he had laid himself open to attack. He had positively denied on the previous evening

that he knew anything of Allan's movements, or that he had any interest in Allan's return to England. Having

detected Mr. Bashwood in one lie told to himself. Midwinter instantly suspected him of telling another to

Allan. He seized the opportunity of sifting the statement about Miss Milroy on the spot.

"How have you become acquainted with this sad news?" he inquired, turning suddenly on Mr. Bashwood.

"Who is the doctor who has the care of Miss Milroy?" persisted Midwinter, still addressing Mr. Bashwood.

For the second time the steward made no reply. For the second time, Allan answered for him.

"He is a man with a foreign name," said Allan. "He keeps a Sanitarium near Hampstead. What did you say

"Fairweather Vale, sir," said the steward, answering his employer, as a matter of necessity, but answering

The address of the Sanitarium instantly reminded Midwinter that he had traced his wife to Fairweather Vale

Villas the previous night. He began to see light through the darkness, dimly, for the first time. The instinct

which comes with emergency, before the slower process of reason can assert itself, brought him at a leap to

the conclusion that Mr. Bashwoodwho had been certainly acting under his wife's influence the previous

daymight be acting again under his wife's influence now. He persisted in sifting the steward's statement,

with the conviction growing firmer and firmer in his mind that the statement was a lie, and that his wife was

"In Norfolk," said Mr. Bashwood. Having answered Allan's look of inquiry, instead of Midwinter's spoken

question, in those words, he hesitated, looked Midwinter in the face for the first time, and added, suddenly: "I

object, if you please, to be crossexamined, sir. I know what I have told Mr. Armadale, and I know no more."

The words, and the voice in which they were spoken, were alike at variance with Mr. Bashwood's usual

language and Mr. Bashwood's usual tone. There was a sullen depression in his facethere was a furtive

distrust and dislike in his eyes when they looked at Midwinter, which Midwinter himself now noticed for the

first time. Before he could answer the steward's extraordinary outbreak, Allan interfered.

"Don't think me impatient," he said; "but it's getting late; it's a long way to Hampstead. I'm afraid the

Allan took his friend's hand and wrung it hard. "If you were as fond of her as I am," he whispered, "you

would take no rest, you could get no sleep, till you had seen the doctor, and heard the best and the worst he

had to tell you. Poor dear little soul! who knows, if she could only see me alive and well" The tears came

Midwinter looked at the steward. "Stand back," he said. "I want to speak to Mr. Armadale." There was

something in his eye which it was not safe to trifle with. Mr. Bashwood drew back out of hearing, but not out

"Allan," he said, "I have reasons" He stopped. Could the reasons be given before he had fairly realized

them himself; at that time, too, and under those circumstances? Impossible! "I have reasons," he resumed,

"for advising you not to believe too readily what Mr. Bashwood may say. Don't tell him this, but take the

Allan looked at his friend in astonishment. "It was you who always liked Mr. Bashwood!" he exclaimed. "It

"Perhaps I was wrong, Allan, and perhaps you were right. Will you only wait till we can telegraph to Major

"I shall go mad if I wait over the night," said Allan. "You have made me more anxious than I was before. If I

am not to speak about it to Bashwood, I must and will go to the Sanitarium, and find out whether she is or is

Midwinter saw that it was useless. In Allan's interests there was only one other course left to take. "Will you

Allan's face brightened for the first time. "You dear, good fellow!" he exclaimed. "It was the very thing I was

Midwinter beckoned to the steward. "Mr. Armadale is going to the Sanitarium," he said, "and I mean to

He waited, to see whether Mr. Bashwood would comply. Having been strictly ordered, when Allan did arrive,

not to lose sight of him, and having, in his own interests, Midwinter's unexpected appearance to explain to

Miss Gwilt, the steward had no choice but to comply. In sullen submission he did as he had been told. The

keys of Allan's baggage was given to the foreign traveling servant whom he had brought with him, and the

man was instructed to wait his master's orders at the terminus hotel. In a minute more the cab was on its way

out of the stationwith Midwinter and Allan inside, and Mr. Bashwood by the driver on the box.

Between eleven and twelve o'clock that night, Miss Gwilt, standing alone at the window which lit the

corridor of the Sanitarium on the second floor, heard the roll of wheels coming toward her. The sound,

gathering rapidly in volume through the silence of the lonely neighborhood, stopped at the iron gates. In

The earlier night had been cloudy, but the sky was clearing now and the moon was out. She opened the

window to see and hear more clearly. By the light of the moon she saw Allan get out of the cab, and turn

round to speak to some other person inside. The answering voice told her, before he appeared in his turn, that

The same petrifying influence that had fallen on her at the interview with him of the previous day fell on her

now. She stood by the window, white and still, and haggard and oldas she had stood when she first faced

Mr. Bashwood, stealing up alone to the second floor to make his report, knew, the instant he set eyes on her,

that the report was needless. "It's not my fault," was all he said, as she slowly turned her head and looked at

She drew a long breath, and motioned him to be silent. "Wait a little," she said; "I know all about it."

Turning from him at those words, she slowly paced the corridor to its furthest end; turned, and slowly came

back to him with frowning brow and drooping headwith all the grace and beauty gone from her, but the

"Do you wish to speak to me?" she asked; her mind far away from him, and her eyes looking at him vacantly

"Don't drive me to despair!" he cried, with a startling abruptness. "Don't look at me in that way, now I have

"What have you found out?" she asked, with a momentary surprise on her face, which faded from it again

"Mr. Armadale is not the man who took you away from me," he answered. "Mr. Midwinter is the man. I

found it out in your face yesterday. I see it in your face now. Why did you sign your name 'Armadale' when

He spoke those bold words at long intervals, with an effort to resist her influence over him, pitiable and

She looked at him for the first time with softened eyes. "I wish I had pitied you when we first met," she said,

He struggled desperately to go on and say the words to her which he had strung himself to the pitch of saying

on the drive from the terminus. They were words which hinted darkly at his knowledge of her past life; words

which warned herdo what else she might, commit what crimes she pleasedto think twice before she

deceived and deserted him again. In those terms he had vowed to himself to address her. He had the phrases

picked and chosen; he had the sentences ranged and ordered in his mind; nothing was wanting but to make

the one crowning effort of speaking themand, even now, after all he had said and all he had dared, the

effort was more than he could compass! In helpless gratitude, even for so little as her pity, he stood looking at

She took his hand and spoke to himwith marked forbearance, but without the slightest sign of emotion on

"You have waited already at my request," she said. "Wait till tomorrow, and you will know all. If you trust

nothing else that I have told you, you may trust what I tell you now. It will end tonight."

As she said the words, the doctor's step was heard on the stairs. Mr. Bashwood drew back from her, with his

heart beating fast in unutterable expectation. "It will end tonight!" he repeated to himself, under his breath,

"Don't let me disturb you, sir," said the doctor, cheerfully, as they met. "I have nothing to say to Mrs.

Mr. Bashwood went on, without answering, to the far end of the corridor, still repeating to himself: "It will

end tonight!" The doctor, passing him in the opposite direction, joined Miss Gwilt.

"You have heard, no doubt," he began, in his blandest manner and his roundest tones, "that Mr. Armadale has

arrived. Permit me to add, my dear lady, that there is not the least reason for any nervous agitation on your

part. He has been carefully humored, and he is as quiet and manageable as his best friends could wish. I have

informed him that it is impossible to allow him an interview with the young lady tonight; but that he may

count on seeing her (with the proper precautions) at the earliest propitious hour, after she is awake

tomorrow morning. As there is no hotel near, and as the propitious hour may occur at a moment's notice, it

was clearly incumbent on me, under the peculiar circumstances, to offer him the hospitality of the Sanitarium.

He has accepted it with the utmost gratitude; and has thanked me in a most gentlemanly and touching manner

for the pains I have taken to set his mind at ease. Perfectly gratifying, perfectly satisfactory, so far! But there

has been a little hitchnow happily got overwhich I think it right to mention to you before we all retire

Having paved the way in those words (and in Mr. Bashwood's hearing) for the statement which he had

previously announced his intention of making, in the event of Allan's dying in the Sanitarium, the doctor was

about to proceed, when his attention was attracted by a sound below like the trying of a door.

He instantly descended the stairs, and unlocked the door of communication between the first and second

floors, which he had locked behind him on his way up. But the person who had tried the doorif such a

person there really had beenwas too quick for him. He looked along the corridor, and over the staircase

into the hall, and, discovering nothing, returned to Miss Gwilt, after securing the door of communication

"Pardon me," he resumed, "I thought I heard something downstairs. With regard to the little hitch that I

adverted to just now, permit me to inform you that Mr. Armadale has brought a friend here with him, who

bears the strange name of Midwinter. Do you know the gentleman at all?" asked the doctor, with a suspicious

anxiety in his eyes, which strangely belied the elaborate indifference of his tone.

"I know him to be an old friend of Mr. Armadale's," she said. "Does he?" Her voice failed her, and her

eyes fell before the doctor's steady scrutiny. She mastered the momentary weakness, and finished her

"Mr. Midwinter is a person of coarse manners and suspicious temper," rejoined the doctor, steadily watching

her. "He was rude enough to insist on staying here as soon as Mr. Armadale had accepted my invitation."

He paused to note the effect of those words on her. Left utterly in the dark by the caution with which she had

avoided mentioning her husband's assumed name to him at their first interview, the doctor's distrust of her

was necessarily of the vaguest kind. He had heard her voice fail herhe had seen her color change. He

suspected her of a mental reservation on the subject of Midwinterand of nothing more.

"Did you permit him to have his way?" she asked. "In your place, I should have shown him the door."

The impenetrable composure of her tone warned the doctor that her selfcommand was not to be further

shaken that night. He resumed the character of Mrs. Armadale's medical referee on the subject of Mr.

"If I had only had my own feelings to consult," he said, "I don't disguise from you that I should (as you say)

have shown Mr. Midwinter the door. But on appealing to Mr. Armadale, I found he was himself anxious not

to be parted from his friend. Under those circumstances, but one alternative was leftthe alternative of

humoring him again. The responsibility of thwarting himto say nothing," added the doctor, drifting for a

moment toward the truth, "of my natural apprehension, with such a temper as his friend's, of a scandal and

disturbance in the housewas not to be thought of for a moment. Mr. Midwinter accordingly remains here

for the night; and occupies (I ought to say, insists on occupying) the next room to Mr. Armadale. Advise me,

my dear madam, in this emergency," concluded the doctor, with his loudest emphasis. "What rooms shall we

"And his friend next to him, in Number Three?" said the doctor. "Well! well! well! perhaps they are the most

comfortable rooms. I'll give my orders immediately. Don't hurry away, Mr. Bashwood," he called out,

cheerfully, as he reached the top of the staircase. "I have left the assistant physician's key on the windowsill

yonder, and Mrs. Armadale can let you out at the staircase door whenever she pleases. Don't sit up late, Mrs.

Armadale! Yours is a nervous system that requires plenty of sleep. 'Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy

Mr. Bashwood came back from the far end of the corridorstill pondering, in unutterable expectation, on

"No. You are to stay. I said you should know all if you waited till the morning. Wait here."

He hesitated, and looked about him. "The doctor," he faltered. "I thought the doctor said"

"The doctor will interfere with nothing that I do in this house tonight. I tell you to stay. There are empty

Mr. Bashwood felt the trembling fit coming on him again as he looked at her. "May I ask?" he began.

She stamped her foot with a sudden outbreak of impatience. "Go!" she said, snatching the key of the staircase

door from the windowsill. "You do quite right to distrust meyou do quite right to follow me no further in

the dark. Go before the house is shut up. I can do without you." She led the way to the stairs, with the key in

Mr. Bashwood followed her in silence. No one, knowing what he knew of her earlier life, could have failed to

perceive that she was a woman driven to the last extremity, and standing consciously on the brink of a Crime.

In the first terror of the discovery, he broke free from the hold she had on him: he thought and acted like a

She put the key in the door, and turned to him before she opened it, with the light of the candle on her face.

She opened the door, and, standing inside it, after he had passed her, gave him her hand. He had resisted her

look, he had resisted her words, but the magnetic fascination of her touch conquered him at the final moment.

"I can't leave you!" he said, holding helplessly by the hand she had given him. "What must I do?"

Closing her hand firmly on his, she led him along the first floor corridor to the room numbered Four. "Notice

that room," she whispered. After a look over the stairs to see that they were alone, she retraced her steps with

him to the opposite extremity of the corridor. Here, facing the window which lit the place at the other end,

was one little room, with a narrow grating in the higher part of the door, intended for the sleeping apartment

of the doctor's deputy. From the position of this room, the grating commanded a view of the bedchambers

down each side of the corridor, and so enabled the deputyphysician to inform himself of any irregular

proceedings on the part of the patients under his care, with little or no chance of being detected in watching

"Wait here," she said, "while I go back upstairs; and lock yourself in, if you like. You will be in the dark, but

the gas will be burning in the corridor. Keep at the grating, and make sure that Mr. Armadale goes into the

room I have just pointed out to you, and that he doesn't leave it afterward. If you lose sight of the room for a

single moment before I come back, you will repent it to the end of your life. If you do as I tell you, you shall

see me tomorrow, and claim your own reward. Quick with your answer! Is it Yes or No?"

He could make no reply in words. He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it rapturously. She left him in the

room. From his place at the grating he saw her glide down the corridor to the staircase door. She passed

The next sound was the sound of the womenservants' voices. Two of them came up to put the sheets on the

beds in Number Three and Number Four. The women were in high goodhumor, laughing and talking to

each other through the open doors of the rooms. The master's customers were coming in at last, they said,

with a vengeance; the house would soon begin to look cheerful, if things went on like this.

After a little, the beds were got ready and the women returned to the kitchen floor, on which the

sleepingrooms of the domestic servants were all situated. Then there was silence again.

The next sound was the sound of the doctor's voice. He appeared at the end of the corridor, showing Allan

and Midwinter the way to their rooms. They all went together into Number Four. After a little, the doctor

came out first. He waited till Midwinter joined him, and pointed with a formal bow to the door of Number

Three. Midwinter entered the room without speaking, and shut himself in. The doctor, left alone, withdrew to

the staircase door and unlocked it, then waited in the corridor, whistling to himself softly, under his breath.

Voices pitched cautiously low became audible in a minute more in the hall. The Resident Dispenser and the

Head Nurse appeared, on their way to the dormitories of the attendants at the top of the house. The man

bowed silently, and passed the doctor; the woman courtesied silently, and followed the man. The doctor

acknowledged their salutations by a courteous wave of his hand; and, once more left alone, paused a moment,

still whistling softly to himself, then walked to the door of Number Four, and opened the case of the

fumigating apparatus fixed near it in the corner of the wall. As he lifted the lid and looked in, his whistling

ceased. He took a long purple bottle out, examined it by the gaslight, put it back, and closed the case. This

done, he advanced on tiptoe to the open staircase door, passed through it, and secured it on the inner side as

Mr. Bashwood had seen him at the apparatus; Mr. Bashwood had noticed the manner of his withdrawal

through the staircase door. Again the sense of an unutterable expectation throbbed at his heart. A terror that

was slow and cold and deadly crept into his hands, and guided them in the dark to the key that had been left

for him in the inner side of the door. He turned it in vague distrust of what might happen next, and waited.

The slow minutes passed, and nothing happened. The silence was horrible; the solitude of the lonely corridor

was a solitude of invisible treacheries. He began to count to keep his mind employedto keep his own

growing dread away from him. The numbers, as he whispered them, followed each other slowly up to a

hundred, and still nothing happened. He had begun the second hundred; he had got on to twentywhen,

without a sound to betray that he had been moving in his room, Midwinter suddenly appeared in the corridor.

He stood for a moment and listened; he went to the stairs and looked over into the hall beneath. Then, for the

second time that night, he tried the staircase door, and for the second time found it fast. After a moment's

reflection, he tried the doors of the bedrooms on his right hand next, looked into one after the other, and saw

that they were empty, then came to the door of the end room in which the steward was concealed. Here,

again, the lock resisted him. He listened, and looked up at the grating. No sound was to be heard, no light was

to be seen inside. "Shall I break the door in," he said to himself, "and make sure? No; it would be giving the

doctor an excuse for turning me out of the house." He moved away, and looked into the two empty rooms in

the row occupied by Allan and himself, then walked to the window at the staircase end of the corridor. Here

the case of the fumigating apparatus attracted his attention. After trying vainly to open it, his suspicion

seemed to be aroused. He searched back along the corridor, and observed that no object of a similar kind

appeared outside any of the other bedchambers. Again at the window, he looked again at the apparatus, and

turned away from it with a gesture which plainly indicated that he had tried, and failed, to guess what it might

Baffled at all points, he still showed no sign of returning to his bedchamber. He stood at the window, with

his eyes fixed on the door of Allan's room, thinking. If Mr. Bashwood, furtively watching him through the

grating, could have seen him at that moment in the mind as well as in the body, Mr. Bashwood's heart might

have throbbed even faster than it was throbbing now, in expectation of the next event which Midwinter's

On what was his mind occupied as he stood alone, at the dead of night, in the strange house?

His mind was occupied in drawing its disconnected impressions together, little by little, to one point.

Convinced from the first that some hidden danger threatened Allan in the Sanitarium, his distrustvaguely

associated, thus far, with the place itself; with his wife (whom he firmly believed to be now under the same

roof with him); with the doctor, who was as plainly in her confidence as Mr. Bashwood himselfnow

narrowed its range, and centered itself obstinately in Allan's room. Resigning all further effort to connect his

suspicion of a conspiracy against his friend with the outrage which had the day before been offered to

himselfan effort which would have led him, if he could have maintained it, to a discovery of the fraud

really contemplated by his wifehis mind, clouded and confused by disturbing influences, instinctively took

refuge in its impressions of facts as they had shown themselves since he had entered the house. Everything

that he had noticed below stairs suggested that there was some secret purpose to be answered by getting Allan

to sleep in the Sanitarium. Everything that he had noticed above stairs associated the lurkingplace in which

the danger lay hid with Allan's room. To reach this conclusion, and to decide on baffling the conspiracy,

whatever it might be, by taking Allan's place, was with Midwinter the work of an instant. Confronted by

actual peril, the great nature of the man intuitively freed itself from the weaknesses that had beset it in

happier and safer times. Not even the shadow of the old superstition rested on his mind nowno fatalist

suspicion of himself disturbed the steady resolution that was in him. The one last doubt that troubled him, as

he stood at the window thinking, was the doubt whether he could persuade Allan to change rooms with him,

without involving himself in an explanation which might lead Allan to suspect the truth.

In the minute that elapsed, while he waited with his eyes on the room, the doubt was resolvedhe found the

trivial, yet sufficient, excuse of which he was in search. Mr. Bashwood saw him rouse himself and go to the

door. Mr. Bashwood heard him knock softly, and whisper, "Allan, are you in bed?"

He appeared to be on the point of entering the room, when he checked himself as if he had suddenly

remembered something. "Wait a minute," he said, through the door, and, turning away, went straight to the

end room. "If there is anybody watching us in there," he said aloud, "let him watch us through this!" He took

out his handkerchief, and stuffed it into the wires of the grating, so as completely to close the aperture.

Having thus forced the spy inside (if there was one) either to betray himself by moving the handkerchief, or

to remain blinded to all view of what might happen next, Midwinter presented himself in Allan's room.

"You know what poor nerves I have," he said, "and what a wretched sleeper I am at the best of times. I can't

sleep tonight. The window in my room rattles every time the wind blows. I wish it was as fast as your

"My dear fellow!" cried Allan, "I don't mind a rattling window. Let's change rooms. Nonsense! Why should

you make excuses to me? Don't I know how easily trifles upset those excitable nerves of yours? Now the

doctor has quieted my mind about my poor little Neelie, I begin to feel the journey; and I'll answer for

sleeping anywhere till tomorrow comes." He took up his travelingbag. "We must be quick about it," he

added, pointing to his candle. "They haven't left me much candle to go to bed by."

"Be very quiet, Allan," said Midwinter, opening the door for him. "We mustn't disturb the house at this time

"Yes, yes," returned Allan, in a whisper. "Goodnight; I hope you'll sleep as well as I shall."

Midwinter saw him into Number Three, and noticed that his own candle (which he had left there) was as

He went straight to the grating, and looked and listened once more. The handkerchief remained exactly as he

had left it, and still there was no sound to be heard within. He returned slowly along the corridor, and thought

of the precautions he had taken, for the last time. Was there no other way than the way he was trying now?

There was none. Any openly avowed posture of defensewhile the nature of the danger, and the quarter

from which it might come, were alike unknownwould be useless in itself, and worse than useless in the

consequences which it might produce by putting the people of the house on their guard. Without a fact that

could justify to other minds his distrust of what might happen with the night, incapable of shaking Allan's

ready faith in the fair outside which the doctor had presented to him, the one safeguard in his friend's interests

that Midwinter could set up was the safeguard of changing the roomsthe one policy he could follow, come

what might of it, was the policy of waiting for events. "I can trust to one thing," he said to himself, as he

looked for the last time up and down the corridor"I can trust myself to keep awake."

After a glance at the clock on the wall opposite, he went into Number Four. The sound of the closing door

was heard, the sound of the turning lock followed it. Then the dead silence fell over the house once more.

Little by little, the steward's horror of the stillness and the darkness overcame his dread of moving the

handkerchief. He cautiously drew aside one corner of it, waited, looked, and took courage at last to draw the

whole handkerchief through the wires of the grating. After first hiding it in his pocket, he thought of the

consequences if it was found on him, and threw it down in a corner of the room. He trembled when he had

cast it from him, as he looked at his watch and placed himself again at the grating to wait for Miss Gwilt.

It was a quarter to one. The moon had come round from the side to the front of the Sanitarium. From time to

time her light gleamed on the window of the corridor when the gaps in the flying clouds let it through. The

wind had risen, and sung its mournful song faintly, as it swept at intervals over the desert ground in front of

The minute hand of the clock traveled on halfway round the circle of the dial. As it touched the quarterpast

one, Miss Gwilt stepped noiselessly into the corridor. "Let yourself out," she whispered through the grating,

"and follow me." She returned to the stairs by which she had just descended, pushed the door to softly after

Mr. Bashwood had followed her and led the way up to the landing of the second floor. There she put the

Something strange in his manner, something unfamiliar in his voice, as he made that last reply, attracted her

attention. She took her candle from a table near, on which she had left it, and threw its light on him. His eyes

were staring, his teeth chattered. There was everything to betray him to her as a terrified man; there was

nothing to tell her that the terror was caused by his consciousness of deceiving her, for the first time in his

life, to her face. If she had threatened him less openly when she placed him on the watch; if she had spoken

less unreservedly of the interview which was to reward him in the morning, he might have owned the truth.

As it was, his strongest fears and his dearest hopes were alike interested in telling her the fatal lie that he had

now toldthe fatal lie which he reiterated when she put her question for the second time.

She looked at him, deceived by the last man on earth whom she would have suspected of deceptionthe

"You seem to be overexcited," she said quietly. "The night has been too much for you. Go upstairs, and rest.

You will find the door of one of the rooms left open. That is the room you are to occupy. Goodnight."

She put the candle (which she had left burning for him) on the table, and gave him her hand. He held her back

by it desperately as she turned to leave him. His horror of what might happen when she was left by herself

forced the words to his lips which he would have feared to speak to her at any other time.

"Don't," he pleaded, in a whisper; "oh, don't, don't, don't go downstairs tonight!"

She released her hand, and signed to him to take the candle. "You shall see me tomorrow," she said. "Not a

Her stronger will conquered him at that last moment, as it had conquered him throughout. He took the candle

and waited, following her eagerly with his eyes as she descended the stairs. The cold of the December night

seemed to have found its way to her through the warmth of the house. She had put on a long, heavy black

shawl, and had fastened it close over her breast. The plaited coronet in which she wore her hair seemed to

have weighed too heavily on her head. She had untwisted it, and thrown it back over her shoulders. The old

man looked at her flowing hair, as it lay red over the black shawlat her supple, long fingered hand, as it

slid down the banistersat the smooth, seductive grace of every movement that took her further and further

away from him. "The night will go quickly," he said to himself, as she passed from his view; "I shall dream

She secured the staircase door, after she had passed through it listened, and satisfied herself that nothing

was stirringthen went on slowly along the corridor to the window. Leaning on the windowsill, she looked

out at the night. The clouds were over the moon at that moment; nothing was to be seen through the darkness

but the scattered gaslights in the suburb. Turning from the window, she looked at the clock. It was twenty

For the last time, the resolution that had come to her in the earlier night, with the knowledge that her husband

was in the house, forced itself uppermost in her mind. For the last time, the voice within her said, "Think if

She pondered over it till the minutehand of the clock pointed to the halfhour. "No!" she said, still thinking

of her husband. "The one chance left is to go through with it to the end. He will leave the thing undone which

he has come here to do; he will leave the words unspoken which he has come here to saywhen he knows

that the act may make me a public scandal, and that the words may send me to the scaffold!" Her color rose,

and she smiled with a terrible irony as she looked for the first time at the door of the Room. "I shall be your

She opened the case of the apparatus and took the Purple Flask in her hand. After marking the time by a

glance at the clock, she dropped into the glass funnel the first of the six separate Pourings that were measured

When she had put the Flask back, she listened at the mouth of the funnel. Not a sound reached her ear: the

deadly process did its work in the silence of death itself. When she rose and looked up the moon was shining

Oh, the time! the time! If it could only have been begun and ended with the first Pouring!

She went downstairs into the hall; she walked to and fro, and listened at the open door that led to the kitchen

stairs. She came up again; she went down again. The first of the intervals of five minutes was endless. The

The interval passed. As she took the Flask for the second time, and dropped in the second Pouring, the clouds

The restlessness that had driven her up and down the stairs, and backward and forward in the hall, left her as

suddenly as it had come. She waited through the second interval, leaning on the windowsill, and staring,

without conscious thought of any kind, into the black night. The howling of a belated dog was borne toward

her on the wind, at intervals, from some distant part of the suburb. She found herself following the faint

sound as it died away into silence with a dull attention, and listening for its coming again with an expectation

that was duller still. Her arms lay like lead on the windowsill; her forehead rested against the glass without

feeling the cold. It was not till the moon struggled out again that she was startled into sudden

selfremembrance. She turned quickly, and looked at the clock; seven minutes had passed since the second

As she snatched up the Flask, and fed the funnel for the third time, the full consciousness of her position

came back to her. The feverheat throbbed again in her blood, and flushed fiercely in her cheeks. Swift,

smooth, and noiseless, she paced from end to end of the corridor, with her arms folded in her shawl and her

Three out of the next five minutes passed, and again the suspense began to madden her. The space in the

corridor grew too confined for the illimitable restlessness that possessed her limbs. She went down into the

hall again, and circled round and round it like a wild creature in a cage. At the third turn, she felt something

moving softly against her dress. The housecat had come up through the open kitchen doora large, tawny,

companionable cat that purred in high good temper, and followed her for company. She took the animal up in

her armsit rubbed its sleek head luxuriously against her chin as she bent her face over it. "Armadale hates

cats," she whispered in the creature's ear. "Come up and see Armadale killed!" The next moment her own

frightful fancy horrified her. She dropped the cat with a shudder; she drove it below again with threatening

hands. For a moment after, she stood still, then in headlong haste suddenly mounted the stairs. Her husband

had forced his way back again into her thoughts; her husband threatened her with a danger which had never

entered her mind till now. What if he were not asleep? What if he came out upon her, and found her with the

She stole to the door of Number Three and listened. The slow, regular breathing of a sleeping man was just

audible. After waiting a moment to let the feeling of relief quiet her, she took a step toward Number Four,

and checked herself. It was needless to listen at that door. The doctor had told her that Sleep came first, as

certainly as Death afterward, in the poisoned air. She looked aside at the clock. The time had come for the

Her hand began to tremble violently as she fed the funnel for the fourth time. The fear of her husband was

back again in her heart. What if some noise disturbed him before the sixth Pouring? What if he woke on a

sudden (as she had often seen him wake) without any noise at all? She looked up and down the corridor. The

end room, in which Mr. Bashwood had been concealed, offered itself to her as a place of refuge. "I might go

in there!" she thought. "Has he left the key?" She opened the door to look, and saw the handkerchief thrown

down on the floor. Was it Mr. Bashwood's handkerchief, left there by accident? She examined it at the

Her first impulse hurried her to the staircase door, to rouse the steward and insist on an explanation. The next

moment she remembered the Purple Flask, and the danger of leaving the corridor. She turned, and looked at

the door of Number Three. Her husband, on the evidence of the handkerchief had unquestionably been out of

his roomand Mr. Bashwood had not told her. Was he in his room now? In the violence of her agitation, as

the question passed through her mind, she forgot the discovery which she had herself made not a minute

before. Again she listened at the door; again she heard the slow, regular breathing of the sleeping man. The

first time the evidence of her ears had been enough to quiet her; this time, in the tenfold aggravation of her

suspicion and her alarm, she was determined to have the evidence of her eyes as well. "All the doors open

softly in this house," she said to herself; "there's no fear of my waking him." Noiselessly, by an inch at a time,

she opened the unlocked door, and looked in the moment the aperture was wide enough. In the little light she

had let into the room, the sleeper's head was just visible on the pillow. Was it quite as dark against the white

pillow as her husband's head looked when he was in bed? Was the breathing as light as her husband's

There lay the man whose life she had attempted for the third time, peacefully sleeping in the room that had

The inevitable conclusion overwhelmed her on the instant. With a frantic upward action of her hands she

staggered back into the passage. The door of Allan's room fell to, but not noisily enough to wake him. She

turned as she heard it close. For one moment she stood staring at it like a woman stupefied. The next, her

instinct rushed into action, before her reason recovered itself. In two steps she was at the door of Number

She felt over the wall with both hands, wildly and clumsily, for the button which she had seen the doctor

press when he was showing the room to the visitors. Twice she missed it. The third time her eyes helped her

hands; she found the button and pressed on it. The mortise of the lock inside fell back, and the door yielded to

Without an instant's hesitation she entered the room. Though the door was openthough so short a time had

elapsed since the fourth Pouring that but little more than half the contemplated volume of gas had been

produced as yetthe poisoned air seized her, like the grasp of a hand at her throat, like the twisting of a wire

round her head. She found him on the floor at the foot of the bed: his head and one arm were toward the door,

as if he had risen under the first feeling of drowsiness, and had sunk in the effort to leave the room. With the

desperate concentration of strength of which women are capable in emergencies, she lifted him and dragged

him out into the corridor. Her brain reeled as she laid him down, and crawled back on her knees to the room

to shut out the poisoned air from pursuing them into the passage. After closing the door, she waited, without

daring to look at him the while, for strength enough to rise and get to the window over the stairs. When the

window was opened, when the keen air of the early winter morning blew steadily in, she ventured back to

Was it death that spread the livid pallor over his forehead and his cheeks, and the dull leaden hue on his

She loosened his cravat and opened his waistcoat, and bared his throat and breast to the air. With her hand on

his heart, with her bosom supporting his head, so that he fronted the window, she waited the event. A time

passed: a time short enough to be reckoned by minutes on the clock; and yet long enough to take her memory

back over all her married life with himlong enough to mature the resolution that now rose in her mind as

the one result that could come of the retrospect. As her eyes rested on him, a strange composure settled

slowly on her face. She bore the look of a woman who was equally resigned to welcome the chance of his

Not a cry or a tear had escaped her yet. Not a cry or a tear escaped her when the interval had passed, and she

felt the first faint fluttering of his heart, and heard the first faint catching of the breath of his lips. She silently

bent over him and kissed his forehead. When she looked up again, the hard despair had melted from her face.

There was something softly radiant in her eyes, which lit her whole countenance as with an inner light, and

She laid him down, and, taking off her shawl, made a pillow of it to support his head. "It might have been

hard, love," she said, as she felt the faint pulsation strengthening at his heart. "You have made it easy now."

She rose, and, turning from him, noticed the Purple Flask in the place where she had left it since the fourth

Pouring. "Ah," she thought, quietly, "I had forgotten my best friendI had forgotten that there is more to

With a steady hand, with a calm, attentive face, she fed the funnel for the fifth time. "Five minutes more," she

She fell into thoughtthought that only deepened the grave and gentle composure of her face. "Shall I write

him a farewell word?" she asked herself. "Shall I tell him the truth before I leave him forever?"

Her little gold pencilcase hung with the other toys at her watchchain. After looking about her for a

moment, she knelt over her husband and put her hand into the breastpocket of his coat.

His pocketbook was there. Some papers fell from it as she unfastened the clasp. One of them was the letter

which had come to him from Mr. Brock's deathbed. She turned over the two sheets of notepaper on which

the rector had written the words that had now come true, and found the last page of the last sheet a blank. On

"I am worse than the worst you can think of me. You have saved Armadale by changing rooms with him

tonight; and you have saved him from me. You can guess now whose widow I should have claimed to be, if

you had not preserved his life; and you will know what a wretch you married when you married the woman

who writes these lines. Still, I had some innocent moments, and then I loved you dearly. Forget me, my

darling, in the love of a better woman than I am. I might, perhaps, have been that better woman myself, if I

had not lived a miserable life before you met with me. It matters little now. The one atonement I can make for

all the wrong I have done you is the atonement of my death. It is not hard for me to die, now I know you will

live. Even my wickedness has one meritit has not prospered. I have never been a happy woman."

She folded the letter again, and put it into his hand, to attract his attention in that way when he came to

himself. As she gently closed his fingers on the paper and looked up, the last minute of the last interval faced

"Live, my angel, live!" she murmured, tenderly, with her lips just touching his. "All your life is before

With a last, lingering tenderness, she parted the hair back from his forehead. "It is no merit to have loved

you," she said. "You are one of the men whom women all like." She sighed and left him. It was her last

weakness. She bent her head affirmatively to the clock, as if it had been a living creature speaking to her; and

The waning moon shone in faintly at the window. With her hand on the door of the room, she turned and

"Oh, God, forgive me!" she said. "Oh, Christ, bear witness that I have suffered!"

One moment more she lingered on the threshold; lingered for her last look in this worldand turned that

The door of the room opened, and closed on her. There was an interval of silence.

The hands of the clock, following their steady course, reckoned the minutes of the morning as one by one

they lapsed away. It was the tenth minute since the door of the room had opened and closed, before

Midwinter stirred on his pillow, and, struggling to raise himself, felt the letter in his hand.

At the same moment a key was turned in the staircase door. And the doctor, looking expectantly toward the

fatal room, saw the Purple Flask on the windowsill, and the prostrate man trying to raise himself from the

"MY DEAR AUGUSTUSYour letter reached me yesterday. You seem to be making the most of your

youth (as you call it) with a vengeance. Well! enjoy your holiday. I made the most of my youth when I was

"You ask me for a good budget of news, and especially for more information about that mysterious business

"Curiosity, my dear boy, is a quality which (in our profession especially) sometimes leads to great results. I

doubt, however, if you will find it leading to much on this occasion. All I know of the mystery of the

Sanitarium, I know from Mr. Armadale: and he is entirely in the dark on more than one point of importance. I

have already told you how they were entrapped into the house, and how they passed the night there. To this I

can now add that something did certainly happen to Mr. Midwinter, which deprived him of consciousness;

and that the doctor, who appears to have been mixed up in the matter, carried things with a high hand, and

insisted on taking his own course in his own Sanitarium. There is not the least doubt that the miserable

woman (however she might have come by her death) was found deadthat a coroner's inquest inquired into

the circumstancesthat the evidence showed her to have entered the house as a patientand that the

medical investigation ended in discovering that she had died of apoplexy. My idea is that Mr. Midwinter had

a motive of his own for not coming forward with the evidence that he might have given. I have also reason to

suspect that Mr. Armadale, out of regard for him, followed his lead, and that the verdict at the inquest

(attaching no blame to anybody) proceeded, like many other verdicts of the same kind, from an entirely

"The key to the whole mystery is to be found, I firmly believe, in that wretched woman's attempt to personate

the character of Mr. Armadale's widow when the news of his death appeared in the papers. But what first set

her on this, and by what inconceivable process of deception she can have induced Mr. Midwinter to marry

her (as the certificate proves) under Mr. Armadale's name, is more than Mr. Armadale himself knows. The

point was not touched at the inquest, for the simple reason that the inquest only concerned itself with the

circumstances attending her death. Mr. Armadale, at his friend's request, saw Miss Blanchard, and induced

her to silence old Darch on the subject of the claim that had been made relating to the widow's income. As the

claim had never been admitted, even our stiffnecked brother practitioner consented for once to do as he was

asked. The doctor's statement that his patient was the widow of a gentleman named Armadale was

accordingly left unchallenged, and so the matter has been hushed up. She is buried in the great cemetery, near

the place where she died. Nobody but Mr. Midwinter and Mr. Armadale (who insisted on going with him)

followed her to the grave; and nothing has been inscribed on the tombstone but the initial letter of her

Christian name and the date of her death. So, after all the harm she has done, she rests at last; and so the two

"Is there more to say on this subject before we leave it? On referring to your letter, I find you have raised one

"You ask if there is reason to suppose that the doctor comes out of the matter with hands which are really as

clean as they look? My dear Augustus, I believe the doctor to have been at the bottom of more of this

mischief than we shall ever find out; and to have profited by the selfimposed silence of Mr. Midwinter and

Mr. Armadale, as rogues perpetually profit by the misfortunes and necessities of honest men. It is an

ascertained fact that he connived at the false statement about Miss Milroy, which entrapped the two

gentlemen into his house; and that one circumstance (after my Old Bailey experience) is enough for me. As to

evidence against him, there is not a jot; and as to Retribution overtaking him, I can only say I heartily hope

Retribution may prove, in the long run, to be the more cunning customer of the two. There is not much

prospect of it at present. The doctor's friends and admirers are, I understand, about to present him with a

Testimonial, 'expressive of their sympathy under the sad occurrence which has thrown a cloud over the

opening of his Sanitarium, and of their undiminished confidence in his integrity and ability as a medical man.'

We live, Augustus, in an age eminently favorable to the growth of all roguery which is careful enough to

keep up appearances. In this enlightened nineteenth century, I look upon the doctor as one of our rising men.

"To turn now to pleasanter subjects than Sanitariums, I may tell you that Miss Neelie is as good as well again,

and is, in my humble opinion, prettier than ever. She is staying in London under the care of a female relative;

and Mr. Armadale satisfies her of the fact of his existence (in case she should forget it) regularly every day.

They are to be married in the spring, unless Mrs. Milroy's death causes the ceremony to be postponed. The

medical men are of opinion that the poor lady is sinking at last. It may be a question of weeks or a question of

months, they can say no more. She is greatly alteredquiet and gentle, and anxiously affectionate with her

husband and her child. But in her case this happy change is, it seems, a sign of approaching dissolution, from

the medical point of view. There is a difficulty in making the poor old, major understand this. He only sees

that she has gone back to the likeness of her better self when he first married her; and he sits for hours by her

"Mr. Midwinter, of whom you will next expect me to say something, is improving rapidly. After causing

some anxiety at first to the medical men (who declared that he was suffering from a serious nervous shock,

produced by circumstances about which their patient's obstinate silence kept them quite in the dark), he has

rallied, as only men of his sensitive temperament (to quote the doctors again) can rally. He and Mr. Armadale

are together in a quiet lodging. I saw him last week when I was in London. His face showed signs of wear

and tear, very sad to see in so young a man. But he spoke of himself and his future with a courage and

hopefulness which men of twice his years (if he has suffered as I suspect him to have suffered) might have

envied. If I know anything of humanity, this is no common man; and we shall hear of him yet in no common

"You will wonder how I came to be in London. I went up, with a return ticket (from Saturday to Monday),

about that matter in dispute at our agent's. We had a tough fight; but, curiously enough, a point occurred to

me just as I got up to go; and I went back to my chair, and settled the question in no time. Of course I stayed

at Our Hotel in Covent Garden. William, the waiter, asked after you with the affection of a father; and

Matilda, the chambermaid, said you almost persuaded her that last time to have the hollow tooth taken out

of her lower jaw. I had the agent's second son (the young chap you nicknamed Mustapha, when he made that

dreadful mess about the Turkish Securities) to dine with me on Sunday. A little incident happened in the

evening which may be worth recording, as it connected itself with a certain old lady who was not 'at home'

when you and Mr. Armadale blundered on that house in Pimlico in the bygone time.

"Mustapha was like all the rest of you young men of the present dayhe got restless after dinner. 'Let's go to

a public amusement, Mr. Pedgift,' says he. 'Public amusement? Why, it's Sunday evening!' says I. 'All right,

sir,' says Mustapha. 'They stop acting on the stage, I grant you, on Sunday evening but they don't stop

acting in the pulpit. Come and see the last new Sunday performer of our time.' As he wouldn't have any more

"We went to a street at the West End, and found it blocked up with carriages. If it hadn't been Sunday night, I

should have thought we were going to the opera. 'What did I tell you?' says Mustapha, taking me up to an

open door with a gas star outside and a bill of the performance. I had just time to notice that I was going to

one of a series of 'Sunday Evening Discourses on the Pomps and Vanities of the World, by A Sinner Who

Has Served Them,' when Mustapha jogged my elbow, and whispered, 'Half a crown is the fashionable tip.' I

found myself between two demure and silent gentlemen, with plates in their hands, uncommonly well filled

already with the fashionable tip. Mustapha patronized one plate, and I the other. We passed through two

doors into a long room, crammed with people. And there, on a platform at the further end, holding forth to the

audience, wasnot a man, as I had expected but a Woman, and that woman, MOTHER OLDERSHAW!

You never listened to anything more eloquent in your life. As long as I heard her she was never once at a loss

for a word anywhere. I shall think less of oratory as a human accomplishment, for the rest of my days, after

that Sunday evening. As for the matter of the sermon, I may describe it as a narrative of Mrs. Oldershaw's

experience among dilapidated women, profusely illustrated in the pious and penitential style. You will ask

what sort of audience it was. Principally Women, Augustusand, as I hope to be saved, all the old harridans

of the world of fashion whom Mother Oldershaw had enameled in her time, sitting boldly in the front places,

with their cheeks ruddled with paint, in a state of devout enjoyment wonderful to see! I left Mustapha to hear

the end of it. And I thought to myself, as I went out, of what Shakespeare says somewhere, 'Lord, what fools

"Have I anything more to tell you before I leave off? Only one thing that I can remember.

"That wretched old Bashwood has confirmed the fears I told you I had about him when he was brought back

here from London. There is no kind of doubt that he has really lost all the little reason he ever had. He is

perfectly harmless, and perfectly happy. And he would do very well if we could only prevent him from going

out in his last new suit of clothes, smirking and smiling and inviting everybody to his approaching marriage

with the handsomest woman in England. It ends of course in the boys pelting him, and in his coming here

crying to me, covered with mud. The moment his clothes are cleaned again he falls back into his favorite

delusion, and struts about before the church gates, in the character of a bridegroom, waiting for Miss Gwilt.

We must get the poor wretch taken care of somewhere for the rest of the little time he has to live. Who would

ever have thought of a man at his age falling in love? And who would ever have believed that the mischief

that woman's beauty has done could have reached as far in the downward direction as our superannuated old

"Goodby, for the present, my dear boy. If you see a particularly handsome snuffbox in Paris,

rememberthough your father scorns Testimonialshe doesn't object to receive a present from his son.

"POSTSCRIPT.I think it likely that the account you mention in the French papers, of a fatal quarrel among

some foreign sailors in one of the Lipari Islands, and of the death of their captain, among others, may really

have been a quarrel among the scoundrels who robbed Mr. Armadale and scuttled his yacht. Those fellows,

luckily for society, can't always keep up appearances; and, in their case, Rogues and Retribution do

The spring had advanced to the end of April. It was the eve of Allan's weddingday. Midwinter and he had

sat talking together at the great house till far into the nighttill so far that it had struck twelve long since,

For the most part the conversation had turned on the bridegroom's plans and projects. It was not till the two

friends rose to go to rest that Allan insisted on making Midwinter speak of himself.

"We have had enough, and more than enough, of my future," he began, in his bluntly straightforward way.

"Let's say something now, Midwinter, about yours. You have promised me, I know, that, if you take to

literature, it shan't part us, and that, if you go on a seavoyage, you will remember, when you come back, that

my house is your home. But this is the last chance we have of being together in our old way; and I own I

should like to know" His voice faltered, and his eyes moistened a little. He left the sentence unfinished.

Midwinter took his hand and helped him, as he had often helped him to the words that he wanted in the

"You would like to know, Allan," he said, "that I shall not bring an aching heart with me to your wedding

day? If you will let me go back for a moment to the past, I think I can satisfy you."

They took their chairs again. Allan saw that Midwinter was moved. "Why distress yourself?" he asked,

"For two reasons, Allan. I ought to have thanked you long since for the silence you have observed, for my

sake, on a matter that must have seemed very strange to you. You know what the name is which appears on

the register of my marriage, and yet you have forborne to speak of it, from the fear of distressing me. Before

you enter on your new life, let us come to a first and last understanding about this. I ask youas one more

kindness to meto accept my assurance (strange as the thing may seem to you) that I am blameless in this

matter; and I entreat you to believe that the reasons I have for leaving it unexplained are reasons which, if Mr.

Brock was living, Mr. Brock himself would approve." In those words he kept the secret of the two names;

and left the memory of Allan's mother, what he had found it, a sacred memory in the heart of her son.

"One word more," he went on"a word which will take us, this time, from past to future. It has been said,

and truly said, that out of Evil may come Good. Out of the horror and the misery of that night you know of

has come the silencing of a doubt which once made my life miserable with groundless anxiety about you and

about myself. No clouds raised by my superstition will ever come between us again. I can't honestly tell you

that I am more willing now than I was when we were in the Isle of Man to take what is called the rational

view of your Dream. Though I know what extraordinary coincidences are perpetually happening in the

experience of all of us, still I cannot accept coincidences as explaining the fulfillment of the Visions which

our own eyes have seen. All I can sincerely say for myself is, what I think it will satisfy you to know, that I

have learned to view the purpose of the Dream with a new mind. I once believed that it was sent to rouse your

distrust of the friendless man whom you had taken as a brother to your heart. I now know that it came to you

as a timely warning to take him closer still. Does this help to satisfy you that I, too, am standing hopefully on

the brink of a new life, and that while we live, brother, your love and mine will never be divided again?"

They shook hands in silence. Allan was the first to recover himself. He answered in the few words of kindly

"I have heard all I ever want to hear about the past," he said; "and I know what I most wanted to know about

the future. Everybody says, Midwinter, you have a career before you, and I believe that everybody is right.

"Who need know?" said Midwinter, calmly. "Happen what may, God is allmerciful, God is allwise. In

those words your dear old friend once wrote to me. In that faith I can look back without murmuring at the

years that are past, and can look on without doubting to the years that are to come."

He rose, and walked to the window. While they had been speaking together the darkness had passed. The first

NOTEMy readers will perceive that I have purposely left them, with reference to the Dream in this story,

in the position which they would occupy in the case of a dream in real life: they are free to interpret it by the

natural or the supernatural theory, as the bent of their own minds may incline them. Persons disposed to take

the rational view may, under these circumstances, be interested in hearing of a coincidence relating to the

present story, which actually happened, and which in the matter of "extravagant improbability" sets anything

In November, 1865, that is to say, when thirteen monthly parts of "Armadale" had been published, and, I may

add, when more than a year and a half had elapsed since the end of the story, as it now appears, was first

sketched in my notebooka vessel lay in the Huskisson Dock at Liverpool which was looked after by one

man, who slept on board, in the capacity of shipkeeper. On a certain day in the week this man was found dead

in the deckhouse. On the next day a second man, who had taken his place, was carried dying to the Northern

Hospital. On the third day a third shipkeeper was appointed, and was found dead in the deckhouse which

had already proved fatal to the other two. The name of that ship was "The Armadale." And the proceedings at

the Inquest proved that the three men had been all suffocated by sleeping in poisoned air!

I am indebted for these particulars to the kindness of the reporters at Liverpool, who sent me their statement

of the facts. The case found its way into most of the newspapers. It was noticedto give two instances in

which I can cite the datesin the Times of November 30th, 1865, and was more fully described in the Daily

Before taking leave of "Armadale," I may perhaps be allowed to mention, for the benefit of any readers who

may be curious on such points, that the "Norfolk Broads" are here described after personal investigation of

them. In this, as in other cases, I have spared no pains to instruct myself on matters of fact. Wherever the

story touches on questions connected with Law, Medicine, or Chemistry, it has been submitted before

publication to the experience of professional men. The kindness of a friend supplied me with a plan of the

doctor's apparatus, and I saw the chemical ingredients at work before I ventured on describing the action of