A Dark Night's Work ..........................................................................................................................................1

Elizabeth Gaskell.....................................................................................................................................1

In the county town of a certain shire there lived (about forty years ago) one Mr Wilkins, a conveyancing

The certain shire was but a small county, and the principal town in it contained only about four thousand

inhabitants; so in saying that Mr Wilkins was the principal lawyer in Hamley, I say very little, unless I add

that he transacted all the legal business of the gentry for twenty miles round. His grandfather had established

the connection; his father had consolidated and strengthened it, and, indeed, by his wise and upright conduct,

as well as by his professional skill, had obtained for himself the position of confidential friend to many of the

surrounding families of distinction. He visited among them in a way which no mere lawyer had ever done

before; dined at their tables he alone, not accompanied by his wife, be it observed; rode to the meet

occasionally as if by accident, although he was as well mounted as any squire among them, and was often

persuaded (after a little coquetting about 'professional engagements,' and 'being wanted at the office') to have

a run with his clients; nay, once or twice he forgot his usual caution, was first in at the death, and rode home

with the brush. But in general he knew his place; as his place was held to be in that aristocratic county, and in

those days. Nor let it be supposed that he was in any way a toadeater. He respected himself too much for

that. He would give the most unpalatable advice, if need were; would counsel an unsparing reduction of

expenditure to an extravagant man; would recommend such an abatement of family pride as paved the way

for one or two happy marriages in some instances; nay, what was the most likely piece of conduct of all to

give offence forty years ago, he would speak up for an unjustlyused tenant; and that with so much temperate

and welltimed wisdom and good feeling, that he more than once gained his point. He had one son, Edward.

This boy was the secret joy and pride of his father's heart. For himself he was not in the least ambitious, but it

did cost him a hard struggle to acknowledge that his own business was too lucrative and brought in too large

an income, to pass away into the bands of a stranger, as it would do if he indulged his ambition for his son by

giving him a college education, and making him into a barrister. This determination on the more prudent side

of the argument took place while Edward was at Eton. The lad had, perhaps, the largest allowance of

pocketmoney of any boy at school; and he had always looked forward to going to Christ Church along with

his fellows, the sons of the squires, his father's employers. It was a severe mortification to him to find that his

destiny was changed, and that he had to return to Hamley to be articled to his father, and to assume the

hereditary subservient position to lads whom he had licked in the playground, and beaten at learning.

His father tried to compensate him for the disappointment by every indulgence which money could purchase.

Edward's horses were even finer than those of his father; his literary tastes were kept up and fostered, by his

father's permission to form an extensive library, for which purpose a noble room was added to Mr Wilkins's

already extensive house in the suburbs of Hamley. And after his year of legal study in London his father sent

him to make the grand tour, with something very like carte blanche as to expenditure, to judge from the

At last he came home came back to settle as his father's partner at Hamley. He was a son to be proud of,

and right down proud was old Mr Wilkins of his handsome, accomplished, gentlemanly lad. For Edward was

not one to be spoilt by the course of indulgence he had passed through; at least, if it had done him an injury,

the effects were at present hidden from view. He had no vulgar vices; he was, indeed, rather too refined for

the society he was likely to be thrown into, even supposing that society to consist of the highest of his father's

employers. He was well read, and an artist of no mean pretensions. Above all, 'his heart was in the right

place,' as his father used to observe. Nothing could exceed the deference he always showed to him. His

I do not know whether it was Edward's own ambition or his proud father's wishes that had led him to attend

the Hamley assemblies. I should conjecture the latter, for Edward had of himself too much good taste to wish

to intrude into any society. In the opinion of all the shire, no society had more reason to consider itself select

than that which met at every full moon in the Hamley assemblyroom, an excrescence built on to the

principal inn in the town by the joint subscription of all the county families. Into those choice and mysterious

precincts no townsperson was ever allowed to enter; no professional man might set his foot therein; no

infantry officer saw the interior of that ball, or that card room. The old original subscribers would fain have

had a man prove his sixteen quarterings before he might make his bow to the queen of the night; but the old

original founders of the Hamley assemblies were dropping off, minuets had vanished with them, country

dances had died away; quadrilles were in high vogue nay, one or two of the high magnates of shire were

trying to introduce waltzing, as they had seen it in London, where it had come in with the visit of the allied

sovereigns, when Edward Wilkins made his d�but on these boards. He had been at many splendid assemblies

abroad, but still the little old ballroom attached to the George Inn in his native town was to him a place

grander and more awful than the most magnificent saloons he had seen in Paris or Rome. He laughed at

himself for this unreasonable feeling of awe; but there it was notwithstanding. He had been dining at the

house of one of the lesser gentry, who was under considerable obligations to his father, and who was the

parent of eight 'mucklemou'ed' daughters, so hardly likely to oppose much aristocratic resistance to the elder

Mr Wilkins's clearly implied wish that Edward should be presented at the Hamley assemblyrooms. But

many a squire glowered and looked black at the introduction of Wilkins the attorney's son into the sacred

precincts; and perhaps there would have been much more mortification than pleasure in this assembly to the

young man, had it not been for an incident that occurred pretty late in the evening. The lordlieutenant of the

county usually came with a large party to the Hamley assemblies once in a season; and this night he was

expected, and with him a fashionable duchess and her daughters. But time wore on, and they did not make

their appearance. At last, there was a rustling and a bustling, and in sailed the superb party. For a few minutes

dancing was stopped; the earl led the duchess to a sofa; some of their acquaintances came up to speak to

them; and then the quadrilles were finished in rather a flat manner. A country dance followed, in which none

of the lordlieutenant's party joined; then there was a consultation, a request, an inspection of the dancers, a

message to the orchestra, and the band struck up a waltz; the duchess's daughters flew off to the music, and

some more young ladies seemed ready to follow, but, alas! there was a lack of gentlemen acquainted with the

newfashioned dance. One of the stewards bethought him of young Wilkins, only just returned from the

Continent. Edward was a beautiful dancer, and waltzed to admiration. For his next partner he had one of the

Lady s; for the duchess, to whom the shire squires and their little county politics and contempts were

alike unknown, saw no reason why her lovely Lady Sophy should not have a good partner, whatever his

pedigree might be, and begged the stewards to introduce Mr Wilkins to her. After this night, his fortune was

made with the young ladies of the Hamley assemblies. He was not unpopular with the mammas; but the

heavy squires still looked at him askance, and the heirs (whom he had licked at Eton) called him an upstart

It was not a satisfactory situation. Mr Wilkins had given his son an education and tastes beyond his position.

He could not associate with either profit or pleasure with the doctor or the brewer of Hamley; the vicar was

old and deaf, the curate a raw young man, half frightened at the sound of his own voice. Then, as to

matrimony; for the idea of his marriage was hardly more present in Edward's mind than in that of his father

he could scarcely fancy bringing home any one of the young ladies of Hamley to the elegant mansion, so frill

of suggestion and association to an educated person, so inappropriate a dwelling for an ignorant, uncouth,

illbroughtup girl. Yet Edward was fully aware, if his fond father was not, that of all the young ladies who

were glad enough of him as a partner at the Hamley assemblies, there was not one of them but would have

considered herself affronted by an offer of marriage from an attorney, the son and grandson of attorneys. The

young man had perhaps received many a slight and mortification pretty quietly during these years, which yet

told upon his character in after life. Even at this very time they were having their effect. He was of too sweet

a disposition to show resentment, as many men would have done. But nevertheless he took a secret pleasure

in the power which his father's money gave him. He would buy an expensive horse after five minutes'

conversation as to the price, about which a needy heir of one of the proud county families bad beer) haggling

for three weeks. His dogs were from the best kennels in England, no matter at what cost; his guns were the

newest and most improved make; and all these were expenses on objects which were among those of daily

envy to the squires and squires' sons around. They did not much care for the treasures of art, which report

said were being accumulated in Mr Wilkins's house. But they did covet the horses and hounds he possessed,

Byandby he formed a marriage, which went as near as marriages ever do towards pleasing everybody. He

was desperately in love with Miss Lamotte, so he was delighted when she consented to be his wife. His father

was delighted in his delight, and, besides, was charmed to remember that Miss Lamotte's mother bad been Sir

Frank Holster's youngest sister, and that, although her marriage had been disowned by her family, as beneath

her in rank, yet no one could efface her name out of the Baronetage, where Lettice, youngest daughter of Sir

Mark Holster, born 1772, married H. Lamotte, 1799, died 1810, was duly chronicled. She had left two

children, a boy and a girl, of whom their uncle, Sir Frank, took charge, as their father was worse than dead

an outlaw, whose name was never mentioned. Mark Lamotte was in the army; Lettice had a dependent

position in her uncle's family; not intentionally made more dependent than was rendered necessary by

circumstances, but still dependent enough to grate on the feelings of a sensitive girl, whose natural

susceptibility to slights was redoubled by the constant recollection of her father's disgrace. As Mr Wilkins

well knew, Sir Frank was considerably involved; but it was with very mixed feelings that he listened to the

suit which would provide his penniless niece with a comfortable, not to say luxurious, home, and with a

handsome, accomplished young man of unblemished character for a husband. He said one or two bitter and

insolent things to Mr Wilkins, even while he was giving his consent to the match; that was his temper, his

proud, evil temper; but he really and permanently was satisfied with the connection, though he would

occasionally turn round on his nephewinlaw, and sting him with a covert insult as to his want of birth, and

the inferior position which he held, forgetting, apparently, that his own brotherinlaw and Lettice's father

might be at any moment brought to the bar of justice if he attempted to reenter his native country.

Edward was annoyed at all this; Lettice resented it. She loved her husband dearly, and was proud of him, for

she had discernment enough to see how superior he was in every way to her cousins, the young Holsters, who

borrowed his horses, drank his wines, and yet had caught their father's habit of sneering at his profession.

Lettice wished that Edward would content himself with a purely domestic life, would let himself drop out of

the company of the shire squirearchy, and find his relaxation with her, in their luxurious library, or lovely

drawingroom, so full of whitegleaming statues, and gems of pictures. But, perhaps, this was too much to

expect of any man, especially of one who felt himself fitted in many ways to shine in society, and who was

social by nature. Sociality in that county at that time meant conviviality. Edward did not care for wine, and

yet he was obliged to drink and byandby he grew to pique himself on his character as a judge of wine.

His father by this time was dead; dead, happy old man, with a contented heart his affairs flourishing, his

poorer neighbours loving him, his richer respecting him, his son and daughterinlaw the most affectionate

and devoted that ever man had, and his healthy conscience at peace with his God.

Lettice could have lived to herself and her husband and children. Edward daily required more and more the

stimulus of society. His wife wondered how he could care to accept dinner invitations from people who

treated him as 'Wilkins the attorney, a very good sort of fellow,' as they introduced him to strangers who

might be staying in the country, but who bad no power to appreciate the taste, the talents, the impulsive

artistic nature which she held so dear. She forgot that by accepting such invitations Edward was occasionally

brought into contact with people not merely of high conventional, but of high intellectual rank; that when a

certain amount of wine had dissipated his sense of inferiority of rank and position, he was a brilliant talker, a

man to be listened to and admired even by wandering London statesmen, professional dinersout, or any

great authors who might find themselves visitors in a shire countryhouse. What she would have had him

share from the pride of her heart, she should have warned him to avoid from the temptations to sinful

extravagance which it led him into. He had begun to spend more than he ought, not in intellectual though

that would have been wrong but in purely sensual things. His wines, his table, should be such as no squire

Is purse or palate could command. His dinnerparties small in number, the viands rare and delicate in

quality, and sent up to table by an Italian cook should be such as even the London stars should notice with

admiration. He would have Lettice dressed in the richest materials, the most delicate lace; jewellery, he said,

was beyond their means: glancing with proud humility at the diamonds of the elder ladies, and the alloyed

gold of the younger. But he managed to spend as much on his wife's lace as would have bought many a set of

inferior jewellery. Lettice well became it all. If, as people said, her father had been nothing but a French

adventurer, she bore traces of her nature in her grace, her delicacy, her fascinating and elegant ways of doing

all things. She was made for society; and yet she hated it. And one day she went out of it altogether, and for

evermore. She had been well in the morning when Edward went down to his office in Hamley. At noon he

was sent for by hurried trembling messengers. When he got home, breathless and uncomprehending, she was

past speech. One glance from her lovely loving black eyes showed that she recognized him with the

passionate yearning that had been one of the characteristics of her love through life, There was no word

passed between them. He could not speak, any more than could she. He knelt down by her. She was dying;

she was dead; and he knelt on, immovable. They brought him his eldest child, Ellinor, in utter despair what to

do in order to rouse him. They had no thought as to the effect on her, hitherto shut up in the nursery during

this busy day of confusion and alarm. The child had no idea of death, and her father, kneeling and tearless,

was far less an object of surprise or interest to her than her mother, lying still and white, and not turning her

'Mamma! mamma!' cried the child, in shapeless terror. But the mother never stirred; and the father hid his

face yet deeper in the bedclothes, to stifle a cry as if a sharp knife had pierced his heart. The child forced her

impetuous way from her attendants, and rushed to the bed. Undeterred by deadly cold or stony immobility,

she kissed the lips, and stroked the glossy raven hair, murmuring sweet words of wild love, such as had

passed between the mother and child often and often when no witnesses were by; and altogether seemed so

nearly beside herself in an agony of love and terror, that Edward arose, and softly taking her in his arms, bore

her away, lying back like one dead (so exhausted was she by the terrible emotion they had forced on her

childish heart), into his study, a little room opening out of the grand library, where on happy evenings, never

to come again, he and his wife were wont to retire to have coffee together, and then perhaps stroll out of the

glassdoor into the open air, the shrubbery, the fields never more to be trodden by those dear feet. What

passed between father and child in this seclusion none could tell. Late in the evening Ellinor's supper was

sent for, and the servant who brought it in, saw the child lying as one dead in her father's arms, and before he

left the room, watched his master feeding her, the girl of six years of age, with as tender care as if she had

From that time the tie between father and daughter grew very strong and tender indeed. Ellinor, it is true,

divided her affection between her baby sister and her papa; but he, caring little for babies, had only a

theoretic regard for his younger child, while the elder absorbed all his love. Every day that he dined at home

Ellinor was placed opposite to him while he ate his late dinner; she sat where her mother had done during the

meal, although she had dined and even supped some time before on the more primitive nursery fare. It was

half pitiful, half amusing to see the little girl's grave, thoughtful ways and modes of speech, as if trying to act

up to the dignity of her place as her father's companion, till sometimes the little head nodded off to slumber in

the middle of lisping some wise little speech. 'Oldfashioned,' the nurses called her, and prophesied that she

would not live long in consequence of her oldfashionedness. But instead of the fulfilment of this prophecy,

the fat bright baby was seized with fits, and was well, ill, and dead in a day! Ellinor's grief was something

alarming, from its quietness and concealment. She waited till she was left as she thought alone at nights,

and then sobbed and cried her passionate cry for 'Baby, baby, come back to me come back!' till everyone

feared for the health of the frail little girl whose childish affections had had to stand two such shocks. Her

father put aside all business, all pleasure of every kind, to win his darling from her grief. No mother could

have done more, no tenderest nurse done half so much as Mr Wilkins then did for Ellinor.

If it had not been for him she would have just died of her grief. As it was, she overcame it but slowly,

wearily hardly letting herself love anyone for some time, as if she instinctively feared lest all her strong

attachments should find a sudden end in death. Her love thus dammed up into a small space at last burst

its banks, and overflowed on her father. It was a rich reward to him for all his care of her, and he took delight

perhaps a selfish delight in all the many pretty ways she perpetually found of convincing him, if he had

needed conviction, that he was ever the first object with her. The nurse told him that half an hour or so before

the earliest time at which he could be expected home in the evenings.' Miss Ellinor began to fold up her doll's

things and lull the inanimate treasure to sleep. Then she would sit and listen with an intensity of attention for

his footstep. Once the nurse had expressed some wonder at the distance at which Ellinor could hear her

father's approach, saying that she had listened and could not hear a sound, to which Ellinor had replied:

Then, when he went away in the morning, after he had kissed her, Ellinor would run to a certain window

from which she could watch him up the lane, now hidden behind a hedge, now reappearing through an open

space, again out of sight, till he reached a great old beechtree, where for an instant more she saw him. And

then she would turn away with a sigh, sometimes reassuring her unspoken fears by saying softly to herself,

Mr Wilkins liked to feel his child dependent on him for all her pleasures. He was even a little jealous of

anyone who devised a treat or conferred a present, the first news of which did not come from or through him.

At last it was necessary that Ellinor should have some more instruction than her good old nurse could give.

Her father did not care to take upon himself the office of teacher, which he thought he foresaw would

necessitate occasional blame, an occasional exercise of authority, which might possibly render him less

idolized by his little girl; so he commissioned Lady Holster to choose out one among her many prot�g�es for

a governess to his daughter. Now, Lady Holster, who kept a sort of amateur county registeroffice, was only

too glad to be made of use in this way; but when she inquired a little further as to the sort of person required,

'You know the kind of education a lady should have, and will, I am sure, choose a governess for Ellinor better

than I could direct you. Only, please, choose someone who will not marry me, and who will let Ellinor go on

making my tea, and doing pretty much what she likes, for she is so good they need not try to make her better,

Miss Monro was selected a plain, intelligent, quiet woman of forty and it was difficult to decide whether

she or Mr Wilkins took the most pains to avoid each other, acting, with regard to Ellinor, pretty much like the

famous Adam and Eve in the weatherglass; when the one came out, the other went in. Miss Monro had been

tossed about and overworked quite enough in her life to value the privilege and indulgence of her evenings to

herself, her comfortable schoolroom, her quiet cosy teas, her book, or her letterwriting afterwards. By

mutual agreement, she did not interfere with Ellinor and her ways and occupations on the evenings when the

girl had not her father for companion; and these occasions became more and more frequent as years passed

on, and the deep shadow was lightened which the sudden death that had visited his household had cast over

him. As I have said before, he was always a popular man at dinnerparties. His amount of intelligence and

accomplishment was rare in shire, and if it required more wine than formerly to bring his conversation up

to the desired point of range and brilliancy, wine was not an article spared or grudged at the county

dinnertables. Occasionally his business took him up to London. Hurried as these journeys might be, he

never returned without a new game, a new toy of some kind, to 'make home pleasant to his little maid,' as he

He liked, too, to see what was doing in art, or in literature; and as he gave pretty extensive orders for anything

he admired, he was almost sure to he followed down to Hamley by one or two packages or parcels, the arrival

and opening of which began soon to form the pleasant epochs in Ellinor's grave though happy life.

The only person of his own standing with whom Mr Wilkins kept up any intercourse in Hamley was the new

clergyman, a bachelor, about his own age, a learned man, a fellow of his college, whose first claim on Mr

Wilkins's attention was the fact that he had been travellingbachelor for his university, and had consequently

been on the Continent about the very same two years that Mr Wilkins had been there; and although they had

never met, yet they bad many common acquaintances and common recollections to talk over of this period,

which, after all, had been about the most bright and hopeful of Mr Wilkins's life.

Mr Ness had an occasional pupil; that is to say, he never put himself out of the way to obtain pupils, but did

not refuse the entreaties sometimes made to him that he would prepare a young man for college, by allowing

the said young man to reside and read with him. 'Ness's men' took rather high honours, for the tutor, too

indolent to find out work for himself, had a certain pride in doing well the work that was found for him.

When Ellinor was somewhere about fourteen, a young Mr Corbet came to be pupil to Mr Ness. Her father

always called on the young men reading with the clergyman, and asked them to his house. His hospitality had

in course of time lost its recherch� and elegant character, but was always generous, and often profuse.

Besides, it was in his character to like the joyous, thoughtless company of the young better than that of the

Mr Corbet was a young man of very good family, from a distant county. If his character had not been so

grave and deliberate, his years would only have entitled him to be called a boy, for he was but eighteen at the

time when he came to read with Mr Ness. But many men of fiveandtwenty have not reflected so deeply as

this young Mr Corbet already had. He had considered and almost matured his plan for life; had ascertained

what objects he desired most to accomplish in the dim future, which is to many at his age only a shapeless

mist; and had resolved on certain steady courses of action by which such objects were most likely to be

secured. A younger son, his family connections and family interest prearranged a legal career for him. and it

was in accordance with his own tastes and talents. All, however, which his father hoped for him was, that he

might be able to make an income sufficient for a gentleman to live on. Old Mr Corbet was hardly to be called

ambitious, or, if he were, his ambition was limited to views for the eldest son. But Ralph intended to be a

distinguished lawyer, not so much for the vision of the woolsack, which I suppose dances before the

imagination of every young lawyer, as for the grand intellectual exercise, and consequent power over

mankind, that distinguished lawyers may always possess if they choose. A seat in Parliament, statesmanship,

and all the great scope for a powerful and active mind that lay on each side of such a career these were the

objects which Ralph Corbet set before himself. To take high honours at college was the first step to be

accomplished; and in order to achieve this Ralph had, not persuaded persuasion was a weak instrument

which he despised but gravely reasoned his father into consenting to pay the large sum which Mr Ness

expected with a pupil. The goodnatured old squire was rather pressed for ready money, but sooner than

listen to an argument instead of taking his nap after dinner he would have yielded anything. But this did not

satisfy Ralph: his father's reason must be convinced of the desirability of the step, as well as his weak will

give way. The squire listened, looked wise, sighed; spoke of Edward's extravagance and the girls' expenses,

grew sleepy, and said, 'Very true,' 'That is but reasonable, certainly,' glanced at the door, and wondered when

his son would have ended his talking and go into the drawingroom; and at length found himself writing the

desired letter to Mr Ness, consenting to everything, terms and all. Mr Ness never had a more satisfactory

Mr Corbet, as Ralph was always called in Hamley, was resolute in his cultivation of himself, even exceeding

what his tutor demanded of him. He was greedy of information in the hours not devoted to absolute study. Mr

Ness enjoyed giving information, but most of all he liked the hard tough arguments on all metaphysical and

ethical questions in which Mr Corbet delighted to engage him. They lived together on terms of happy

equality, having thus much in common. They were essentially different, however, although there were so

many points of resemblance. Mr Ness was unworldly as far as the idea of real unworldliness is compatible

with a turn for selfindulgence and indolence; while Mr Corbet was deeply, radically worldly, yet for the

accomplishment of his object could deny himself all the careless pleasures natural to his age. The tutor and

pupil allowed themselves one frequent relaxation, that of Mr Wilkins's company. Mr Ness would stroll to

the office after the six hours' hard reading were over leaving Mr Corbet still bent over the table, book

bestrewn and see what Mr Wilkins's engagements were. If he had nothing better to do that evening, he was

either asked to dine at the parsonage, or he, in his careless hospitable way, invited the other two to dine with

him, Ellinor forming the fourth at table, as far as seats went, although her dinner had been eaten early with

Miss Monro. She was little and slight of her age, and her father never seemed to understand how she was

passing out of childhood. Yet while in stature she was like a child, in intellect, in force of character, in

strength of clinging affection, she was a woman. There might be much of the simplicity of a child about her,

there was little of the undeveloped girl, varying from day to day like an April sky, careless as to which way

her own character is tending. So the two young people sat with their elders, and both relished the company

they were thus prematurely thrown into. Mr Corbet talked as much as either of the other two gentlemen;

opposing and disputing on any side, as if to find out how much he could urge against received opinions.

Ellinor sat silent; her dark eyes flashing from time to time in vehement interest sometimes in vehement

indignation if Mr Corbet, riding atilt at everyone, ventured to attack her father. He saw how this course

excited her, and rather liked pursuing it in consequence; he thought it only amused him.

Another way in which Ellinor and Mr Corbet were thrown together occasionally was this. Mr Ness and Mr

Wilkins shared the same Times between them; and it was Ellinor's duty to see that the paper was regularly

taken from her father's house to the parsonage. Her father liked to dawdle over it. Until Mr Corbet had come

to live with him, Mr Ness had not much cared at what time it was passed on to him; but the young man took a

strong interest in all public events, and especially in all that was said about them. He grew impatient if the

paper was not forthcoming, and would set off himself to go for it, sometimes meeting the penitent breathless

Ellinor in the long lane which led from Hamley to Mr Wilkins's house. At first he used to receive her eager

'Oh! I am so sorry, Mr Corbet, but papa has only just done with it,' rather gruffly. After a time he had the

grace to tell her it did not signify; and byandby he would turn back with her to give her some advice about

her garden, or her plants for his mother and sisters were firstrate practical gardeners, and he himself was,

All this time his voice, his step, never raised the child's colour one shade the higher, never made her heart

beat the least quicker, as the slightest sign of her father's approach was wont to do. She learnt to rely on Mr

Corbet for advice, for a little occasional sympathy, and for much condescending attention. He also gave her

more faultfinding than all the rest of the world put together; and, curiously enough, she was grateful to him

for it, for she really was humble, and wished to improve. He liked the attitude of superiority which this

implied and exercised right gave him. They were very good friends at present. Nothing more.

All this time I have spoken only of Mr Wilkins's life as he stood in relation to his daughter. But there is far

more to be said about it. After his wife's death, he withdrew himself from society for a year or two in a more

positive and decided manner than is common with widowers. It was during this retirement of his that he

riveted his little daughter's heart in such a way as to influence all her future life.

When he began to go out again, it might have been perceived had anyone cared to notice how much the

different characters of his father and wife had influenced him and kept him steady. Not that he broke out into

any immoral conduct, but he gave up time to pleasure, which both old Mr Wilkins and Lettice would have

quietly induced him to spend in the office, superintending his business. His indulgence in hunting, and all

fieldsports, had hitherto been only occasional; they now became habitual, as far as the seasons permitted.

He shared a moor in Scotland with one of the Holsters one year, persuading himself that the bracing air was

good for Ellinor's health. But the year afterwards he took another, this time joining with a comparative

stranger; and on this moor there was no house to which it was fit to bring a child and her attendants. He

persuaded himself that by frequent journeys he could make up for his absences from Hamley. But journeys

cost money; and he was often away from his office when important business required attending to. There was

some talk of a new attorney setting up in Hamley, to be supported by one or two of the more influential

county families, who had found Wilkins not so attentive as his father, Sir Frank Holster sent for his relation,

and told him of this project, speaking to him, at the same time, in pretty round terms on the folly of the life he

was leading. Foolish it certainly was, and as such Mr Wilkins was secretly acknowledging it; but when Sir

Frank, lashing himself, began to talk of his hearer's presumption in joining the hunt, in aping the mode of life

and amusements of the landed gentry, Edward fired up. He knew how much Sir Frank was dipped, and

comparing it with the round sum his own father had left him, he said some plain truths to Sir Frank which the

latter never forgave, and henceforth there was no intercourse between Holster Court and Ford Bank, as Mr

Edward Wilkins had christened his father's house on his first return from the Continent.

The conversation had two consequences besides the immediate one of the quarrel. Mr Wilkins advertised for

a responsible and confidential clerk to conduct the business under his own superintendence; and he also wrote

to the Heralds' College to ask if he did not belong to the family bearing the same name in South Wales

Both applications were favourably answered. A skilful, experienced, middleaged clerk was recommended to

him by one of the principal legal firms in London, and immediately engaged to come to Hamley at his own

terms; which were pretty high. But, as Mr Wilkins said it was worth any money to pay for the relief from

constant responsibility which such a business as his involved, some people remarked that he had never

appeared to feel the responsibility very much hitherto, as witness his absences in Scotland, and his various

social engagements when at home; it had been very different (they said) in his father's day. The Heralds'

College held out hopes of affiliating him to the South Wales family, but it would require time and money to

make the requisite inquiries and substantiate the claim. Now, in many a place there would be none to contest

the right a man might have to assert that he belonged to such and such a family, or even to assume their arms.

But it was otherwise in shire. Everyone was up in genealogy and heraldry, and considered filching a name

and a pedigree a far worse sin than any of those mentioned in the Commandments. There were those among

them who would doubt and dispute even the decision of the Heralds' College; but with it, if in his favour, Mr

Wilkins intended to be satisfied, and accordingly he wrote in reply to their letter to say, that of course he was

aware such inquiries would take a considerable sum of money, but still he wished them to be made, and that

Before the end of the year he went up to London to order a brougham to be built (for Ellinor to drive out in

wet weather, he said; but as going in a closed carriage always made her ill, he used it principally himself in

driving to dinnerparties), with the De Winton Wilkinses' arms neatly emblazoned on panel and harness.

Hitherto he had always gone about in a dogcart the immediate descendant of his father's oldfashioned

For all this, the squires, his employers, only laughed at him, and did not treat him with one whit more respect.

Mr Dunster, the new clerk, was a quiet, respectablelooking man; you could not call him a gentleman in

manner, and yet no one could say he was vulgar. He had not much varying expression on his face, but a

permanent one of thoughtful consideration of the subject in hand, whatever it might be, that would have fitted

as well with the profession of medicine as with that of law, and was quite the right look for either.

Occasionally a bright flash of sudden intelligence lightened up his deepsunk eyes, but even this was quickly

extinguished as by some inward repression, and the habitually reflective, subdued expression returned to the

face. As soon as he came into his situation, he first began quietly to arrange the papers, and next the business

of which they were the outward sign, into more methodical order than they had been in since old Mr

Wilkins's death. Punctual to a moment himself, he looked his displeased surprise when the inferior clerks

carne tumbling in half an hour after the time in the morning; and his look was more effective than many

men's words; henceforward the subordinates were within five minutes of the appointed hour for opening the

office; but still he was always there before them. Mr Wilkins himself winced under his new clerk's order and

punctuality; Mr Dunster's raised eyebrow and contraction of the lips at some woeful confusion in the business

of the office chafed Mr Wilkins more, far more, than any open expression of opinion would have done; for

that he could have met, and explained away, as he fancied. A secret respectful dislike grew up in his bosom

against Mr Dunster. He esteemed him, he valued him, and he could not bear him. Year after year, Mr Wilkins

had become more under the influence of his feelings, and less under the command of his reason. He rather

cherished than repressed his nervous repugnance to the harsh measured tones of Mr Duster�s voice; the latter

spoke with a provincial twang which grated on his employer's sensitive car. He was annoyed at a certain

green coat which his new clerk brought with him, and he watched its increasing shabbiness with a sort of

childish pleasure. But byandby Mr Wilkins found out that, from some perversity of taste, Mr Dunster

always had his coats, Sunday and workingday, made of this obnoxious colour; and this knowledge did not

diminish his secret irritation. The worst of all, perhaps, was, that Mr Dunster was really invaluable in many

ways; 'a perfect treasure,' as Mr Wilkins used to term him in speaking of him after dinner; but, for all that, he

came to hate his 'perfect treasure,' as he gradually felt that Dunster had become so indispensable to the

The clients reechoed Mr Wilkins's words, and spoke of Mr Dunster as invaluable to his master; a thorough

treasure, the very saving of the business. They had not been better attended to, not even in old Mr Wilkins's

days; such a clear head, such a knowledge of law, such a steady, upright fellow, always at his post. The

grating voice, the drawling accent, the bottlegreen coat, were nothing to them; far less noticed, in fact, than

Wilkins's expensive habits, the money he paid for his wine and horses, and the nonsense of claiming kin with

the Welsh Wilkinses, and setting up his brougham to drive about shire lanes, and be knocked to pieces

All these remarks did not come near Ellinor to trouble her life. To her, her dear father was the first of human

beings; so sweet, so good, so kind, so charming in conversation, so full of accomplishment and information!

To her healthy, happy mind everyone turned their bright side. She loved Miss Monro all the servants

especially Dixon, the coachman. He had been her father's playfellow as a boy, and, with all his respect and

admiration for his master, the freedom of intercourse that had been established between them then had never

been quite lost. Dixon was a fine, stalwart old fellow, and was as harmonious in his ways with his master as

Mr Dunster was discordant; accordingly, he was a great favourite, and could say many a thing which might

He was Ellinor's great confidant about many of her little plans and projects; things that she dared not speak of

to Mr Corbet, who, after her father and Dixon, was her next best friend. This intimacy with Dixon displeased

Mr Corbet. He once or twice insinuated that he did not think it was well to talk so familiarly as Ellinor did

with a servant one out of a completely different class such as Dixon. Ellinor did not easily take hints;

everyone had spoken plain out to her hitherto; so Mr Corbet had to say his, meaning plain out at last. Then,

for the first time, he saw her angry; but she was too young, too childish, to have words at will to express her

feelings; she only could say broken beginnings of sentences, such as 'What a shame! Good, dear Dixon, who

is as loyal and true and kind as any nobleman. I like him far better than you, Mr Corbet, and I shall talk to

him.' And then she burst into tears and ran away, and would not come to wish Mr Corbet goodbye, though

she knew she should not see him again for a long time, as he was returning the next day to his father's house,

He was annoyed at this result of the good advice he had thought himself bound to give to a motherless girl,

who had no one to instruct her in the proprieties in which his own sisters were brought up; he left Hamley

both sorry and displeased. As for Ellinor, when she found out the next day that he really was gone gone

without even coming to Ford Bank again to see if she were not penitent for her angry words gone without

saying or hearing a word of goodbye she shut herself up in her room, and cried more bitterly than ever,

because anger against herself was mixed with her regret for his loss. Luckily, her father was dining out, or he

would have inquired what was the matter with his darling; and she would have had to try to explain what

could not be explained. As it was, she sat with her back to the light during the schoolroom tea, and

afterwards, when Miss Monro had settled down to her study of the Spanish language, Ellinor stole out into

the garden, meaning to have a fresh cry over her own naughtiness and Mr Corbet's departure; but the August

evening was still and calm, and put her passionate grief to shame, hushing her up, as it were, with the other

young creatures, who were being soothed to rest by the serene time of day, and the subdued light of the

There was a piece of ground surrounding the flowergarden, which was not shrubbery, nor wood, nor

kitchengarden only a grassy bit, out of which a group of old foresttrees sprang. Their roots were heaved

above ground; their leaves fell in autumn so profusely that the turf was ragged and bare in spring; but, to

The roots of these old trees were Ellinor's favourite playplace; this space between these two was her doll's

kitchen, that its drawingroom, and so on. Mr Corbet rather despised her contrivances for doll's furniture, so

she had not often brought him here; but Dixon delighted in them, and contrived and planned with the

eagerness of six years old rather than forty. Tonight Ellinor went to this place, and there were all a new

collection of ornaments for Miss Dolly's sittingroom made out of firbobs, in the prettiest and most

ingenious way. She knew it was Dixon's doing, and rushed off in search of him to thank him.

'What's the matter with my pretty?' asked Dixon, as soon as the pleasant excitement of thanking and being

Dixon was silent for a minute or two, while she tried to turn off his attention by her hurried prattle.

'Oh no! It's really nothing nothing at all,' said she. 'It's only that Mr Corbet went away without saying

goodbye to me, that's all.' And she looked as if she should have liked to cry again.

'He had been giving me a lecture, and saying I didn't do what his sisters did just as if I were to be always

'I reckon you don't get much of it. But, indeed, my pretty, I daresay Mr Corbet was in the right; for, you see,

master is busy, and Miss Monro is so dreadful learned, and your poor mother is dead and gone, and you have

no one to teach you how young ladies go on; and by all accounts Mr Corbet comes of a good family. I've

heard say his father had the best studfarm in all Shropshire, and spared no money upon it; and the young

ladies his sisters will have been taught the best of manners; it might be well for my pretty to hear how. they

'You dear old Dixon, you don't know anything about my lecture, and I'm not going to tell you. Only I daresay

Mr Corbet might be a little bit right, though I'm sure he was a great deal wrong.

'But you'll not go on afretting you won't now, there's a good young lady for master won't like it, and it'll

'Trouble papa, trouble! Oh, Dixon! what do you mean?' exclaimed Ellinor, her face taking all a woman's

'Nay, I know nought,' said Dixon, evasively. 'Only that Dunster fellow is not to my mind, and I think he

'I hate Mr Dunster!' said Ellinor, vehemently. 'I won't speak a word to him the next time he comes to dine

'Missy will do what papa likes best,' said Dixon, admonishingly; and with this the pair of 'friends' parted.

The summer afterwards Mr Corbet came again to read with Mr Ness. He did not perceive any alteration in

himself, and indeed his earlymatured character had hardly made progress during the last twelve months,

whatever intellectual acquirements he might have made. Therefore it was astonishing to him to see the

alteration in Ellinor Wilkins. She had shot up from a rather puny girl to a tall slight young lady, with promise

of great beauty in the face, which a year ago had only been remarkable for the fineness of the eyes. Her

complexion was clear now, although colourless twelve months ago he would have called it sallow her

delicate cheek was smooth as marble, her teeth were even and white, and her rare smiles called out a lovely

She met her former friend and lecturer with a grave shyness, for she remembered well how they had parted,

and thought he could hardly have forgiven, much less forgotten, her passionate flinging away from him. But

the truth was, after the first few hours of offended displeasure, he had ceased to think of it at all. She, pour

child, by way of proving her repentance, had tried hard to reform her boisterous tomboy manners, in order

to show him that although she would not give up her dear old friend Dixon at his or anyone's bidding, she

would strive to profit by his lectures in all things reasonable. The consequence was, that she suddenly

appeared to him as an elegant dignified young lady, instead of the rough little girl he remembered. Still,

below her somewhat formal manners there lurked the old wild spirit, as he could plainly see, after a little

more watching; and he began to wish to call this out, and to strive, by reminding her of old days, and all her

childish frolics, to flavour her subdued manners and speech with a little of the former originality.

In this he succeeded. No one, neither Mr Wilkins, nor Miss Monro, nor Mr Ness, saw what this young couple

were about they did not know it themselves; but before the summer was over they were desperately in love

with each other, or perhaps I should rather say, Ellinor was desperately in love with him he, as passionately

as he could be with anyone; but in him the intellect was superior in strength to either affections or passions.

The causes of the blindness of those around them were these. Mr Wilkins still considered Ellinor as a little

girl, as his own pet, his darling, but nothing more. Miss Monro was anxious about her own improvement. Mr

Ness was deep in a new edition of Horace, which he was going to bring out with notes, I believe Dixon would

have been keenersighted, but Ellinor kept Mr Corbet and Dixon apart for obvious reasons they were each

her dear friends, but she knew that Mr Corbet did not like Dixon, and suspected that the feeling was mutual.

The only change of circumstances between this year and the previous one consisted in this development of

attachment between the young people. Otherwise, everything went on apparently as usual. With Ellinor the

course of the day was something like this. Up early and into the garden until breakfast time, when she made

tea for her father and Miss Monro in the diningroom, always taking care to lay a little nosegay of

freshlygathered flowers by her father's plate. After breakfast, when the conversation had been on general

and indifferent subjects, Mr Wilkins withdrew into the little study, so often mentioned. It opened out of a

passage that ran between the diningroom and the kitchen, on the lefthand of the hall. Corresponding to the

diningroom on the other side of the hall was the drawingroom, with its sidewindow serving as a door into

a conservatory, and this again opened into the library. Old Mr Wilkins had added a semicircular projection to

the library, which was lighted by a dome above, and showed off his son's Italian purchases of sculpture. The

library was by far the most striking and agreeable room in the house; and the consequence was that the

drawingroom was seldom used, and had the aspect of cold discomfort common to apartments rarely

occupied. Mr Wilkins's study, on the other side of the house, was also an afterthought, built only a few years

ago, and projecting from the regularity of the outside wall: a little stone passage led to it from the hall, small,

The study itself was a hexagon, one sidewindow, one Fireplace, and the remaining four sides occupied with

doors, two of which have been already mentioned, another at the foot of the narrow winding stairs which led

straight into Mr Wilkins's bedroom over the diningroom, and the fourth opening into a path through the

shrubbery to the right of the flowergarden as you looked from the house. This path led through the

stableyard, and then by a short cut right into Hamley, and brought you out close to Mr Wilkins's office; it

was by this way he always went and returned to his business. He used the study for a smoking and

loungingroom principally, although he always spoke of it as a convenient place for holding confidential

communications with such of his clients as did not like discussing their business within the possible hearing

of all the clerks in his office. By the outer door he could also pass to the stables, and see that proper care was

taken at all times of his favourite and valuable horses. Into this study Ellinor would follow him of a morning,

helping him on with his greatcoat, mending his gloves, talking an infinite deal of merry fond nothing, and

then, clinging to his arm, she would accompany him in his visits to the stables, going up to the shyest horses,

and petting them, and patting them, and feeding them with bread all the time that her father held converse

with Dixon. When he was finally gone and sometimes it was a long time first she returned to the

schoolroom to Miss Monro, and tried to set herself hard at work on her lessons. But she had not much time

for steady application; if her father had cared for her progress in anything, she would and could have worked

hard at that study or accomplishment; but Mr Wilkins, the ease and pleasure loving man, did not wish to

make himself into the pedagogue, as he would have considered it, if he had ever questioned Ellinor with a

real steady purpose of ascertaining her intellectual progress. It was quite enough for him that her general

intelligence and variety of desultory and miscellaneous reading made her a pleasant and agreeable companion

At twelve o'clock, Ellinor put away her books with joyful eagerness, kissed Miss Monro, asked her if they

should go a regular walk, and was always rather thankful when it was decided that it would be better to stroll

in the garden a decision very often come to, for Miss Monro hated fatigue, hated dirt, hated scrambling, and

dreaded rain; all of which are evils, the chances of which are never far distant from country walks. So Ellinor

danced out into the garden, worked away among her flowers, played at the old games among the roots of the

trees, and, when she could, seduced Dixon into the flowergarden to have a little consultation as to the horses

and dogs. For it was one of her father's few strict rules that Ellinor was never to go into the stableyard unless

he were with her; so these t�te�t�tes with Dixon were always held in the flowergarden, or bit of forest

ground surrounding it. Miss Monro sat and basked in the sun, close to the dial, which made the centre of the

At one o'clock, Ellinor and Miss Monro dined. An hour was allowed for Miss Monro's digestion, which

Ellinor again spent out of doors, and at three lessons began again and lasted till five. At that time they went to

dress preparatory for the schoolroom tea at halfpast five. After tea Ellinor tried to prepare her lessons for the

next day; but all the time she was listening for her father's footstep the moment she heard that, she dashed

down her book, and flew out of the room to welcome and kiss him. Seven was his dinnerhour; he hardly

ever dined alone; indeed, he often dined from home four days out of seven, and when he had no engagement

to take him our he liked to have someone to keep him company: Mr Ness very often, Mr Corbet along with

him if he was in Hamley, a stranger friend, or one of his clients. Sometimes, reluctantly, and when he fancied

he could not avoid the attention without giving offence, Mr Wilkins would ask Mr Dunster, and then the two

would always follow Ellinor into the library at a very early hour, as if their subjects for t�te�t�te

conversation were quite exhausted. With all his other visitors, Mr Wilkins sat long yes, and yearly longer;

with Mr Ness, because they became interested in each other's conversation; with some of the others, because

Mr Corbet used to leave his tutor and Mr Wilkins and saunter into the library. There sat Ellinor and Miss

Monro, each busy with their embroidery. He would bring a stool to Ellinor's side, question and tease her,

interest her, and they would become entirely absorbed in each other, Miss Monro's sense of propriety being

entirely set at rest by the consideration that Mr Wilkins must know what he was about in allowing a young

Mr Corbet had lately fallen into the habit of walking up to Ford Bank for The Times every day, near twelve

o'clock, and lounging about in the garden until one; not exactly with either Ellinor or Miss Monro, but

Miss Monro used to think he would have been glad to stay and lunch at their early dinner, but she never gave

the invitation, and he could not well stay without her expressed sanction. He told Ellinor all about his mother

and sisters, and their ways of going on, and spoke of them and of his father as of people she was one day

certain to know, and to know intimately; and she did not question or doubt this view of things; she simply

He had some discussion with himself as to whether he should speak to her, and so secure her promise to be

his before returning to Cambridge or not. He did not like the formality of an application to Mr Wilkins, which

would, after all, have been the proper and straightforward course to pursue with a girl of her age she was

barely sixteen. Not that he anticipated any difficulty on Mr Wilkins's part; his approval of the intimacy which

at their respective ages was pretty sure to lead to an attachment, was made as evident as could be by actions

without words. But there would have to be reference to his own father, who had no notion of the whole affair,

and would be sure to treat it as a boyish fancy; as if at twentyone Ralph was not a man, as clear and

deliberative in knowing his own mind, as resolute as he ever would be in deciding upon the course of

exertion that should lead him to independence and fame, if such were to be attained by clear intellect and a

But should he tell Ellinor in direct terms of his love his intention to marry her?

Again he inclined to the more prudent course of silence. He was not afraid of any change in his own

inclinations: of them he was sure. But he looked upon it in this way: If he made a regular declaration to her

she would be bound to tell it to her father. He should not respect her or like her so much if she did not. And

yet this course would lead to all the conversations, and discussions, and references to his own father, which

Whereas he was as sure of Ellinor's love for him as if she had uttered all the vows that women ever spoke; he

knew even better than she did how fully and entirely that innocent girlish heart was his own. He was too

proud to dread her inconstancy for an instant; 'besides,' as he went on to himself, as if to make assurance

doubly sure, 'whom does she see? Those stupid Holsters, who ought to be only too proud of having such a

girl for their cousin, ignore her existence, and spoke slightingly of her father only the very last time I dined

there. The country people in this precisely Boeotian shire clutch at me because my father goes up to the

Plantagenets for his pedigree not one whit for myself and neglect Ellinor; and only condescend to her

father because old Wilkins was nobodyknowswho's son. So much the worse for them, but so much the

better for me in this case. I'm above their silly antiquated prejudices, and shall be only too glad when the

fitting time comes to make Ellinor my wife. After all, a prosperous attorney's daughter may not be considered

an unsuitable match for me younger son as I am, Ellinor will make a glorious woman three or four years

hence; just the style my father admires such a figure, such limbs. I'll be patient and bide my time, and watch

So he bade Ellinor farewell in a most reluctant and affectionate manner, although his words might have been

spoken out in Hamley marketplace, and were little different from what he said to Miss Monro. Mr Wilkins

half expected a disclosure to himself of the love which he suspected in the young man; and when that did not

come, he prepared himself for a confidence from Ellinor. But she had nothing to tell him, as he very well

perceived from the child's open unembarrassed manner when they were left alone together after dinner. He

had refused an invitation, and shaken off Mr Ness, in order to have this confidential t�te�t�te with his

motherless girl; and there was nothing to make confidence of. He was half inclined to be angry; but then he

saw that, although sad, she was so much at peace with herself and with the world, that he, always an optimist,

began to think the young man had done wisely in not rearing open the rosebud of her feelings too

The next two years passed over in much the same way or a careless spectator might have thought so. I have

heard people say, that if you look at a regiment advancing with steady step over a plain on a reviewday, you

can hardly tell that they are not merely marking time on one spot of ground unless you compare their position

with some other object by which to mark their progress, so even is the repetition of the movement. And thus

the sad events of the future life of this father and daughter were hardly perceived in their steady advance, and

yet over the monotony and flat uniformity of their days sorrow came marching down upon them like an

armed man. Long before Mr Wilkins had recognized its shape it was approaching him in the distance as, in

fact, it is approaching all of us at this very time; you, reader, I, writer, have each our great sorrow bearing

down upon us. It may be yet beyond the dimmest point of our horizon, but in the stillness of the night our

hearts shrink at the sound of its coming footstep. Well is it for those who fall into the hands of the Lord rather

than into the hands of men; but worst of all is it for him who has hereafter to mingle the gall of remorse with

Mr Wilkins took his case and his pleasure yet more and more every year of his life; nor did the quality of his

case and his pleasure improve; it seldom does with selfindulgent people, He cared less for any books that

strained his faculties a little, less for engravings and sculptures perhaps more for pictures. He spent

extravagantly on his horses; 'thought of eating and drinking.' There was no open vice in all this, so that any

awful temptation to crime should come down upon him, and startle him out of his mode of thinking and

living; half the people about him did much the same, as far as their lives were patent to his unreflecting

observation. But most of his associates had their duties to do, and did them with a heart and a will, in the

hours when he was not in their company. Yes! I call them duties, though some of them might be

selfimposed and purely social; they were engagements they had entered into, either tacitly or with words,

and that they fulfilled. From Mr Hetherington, the Master of the Hounds, who was up at no one knows

what hour, to go down to the kennel and see that the men did their work well and thoroughly, to stern old Sir

Lionel Playfair, the upright magistrate, the thoughtful conscientious landlord they did their work according

to their lights; there were few laggards among those with whom Mr Wilkins associated in the field or at the

dinnertable. Mr Ness though as a clergyman he was not so active as he might have been yet even Mr

Ness fagged away with his pupils and his new edition of one of the classics. Only Mr Wilkins, dissatisfied

with his position, neglected to fulfil the duties thereof. He imitated the pleasures, and longed for the fancied

leisure of those about him; leisure that he imagined would be so much more valuable in the hands of a man

like himself, full of intellectual tastes and accomplishments, than frittered away by dull boors of untravelled,

uncultivated squires whose company, however, be it said by the way, he never refused.

And yet daily Mr Wilkins was sinking from the intellectually to the sensually selfindulgent man. He lay late

in bed, and hated Mr Dunster for his significant glance at the officeclock when he announced to his master

that such and such a client had been waiting more than an hour to keep an appointment. 'Why didn't you see

him yourself, Dunster? I'm sure you would have done quite as well as me,' Mr. Wilkins sometimes replied,

partly with a view of saying something pleasant to the man whom he disliked and feared. Mr Dunster always

replied in a meek matteroffact tone, 'Oh, sir, they wouldn't like to talk over their affairs with a subordinate.'

And every time he said this, or some speech of the same kind, the idea came more and more clearly into Mr

Wilkins's head of how pleasant it would be to himself to take Dunster into partnership, and thus throw all the

responsibility of the real work and drudgery upon his clerk's shoulders. Importunate clients, who would make

appointments at unseasonable hours and would keep to them, might confide in the partner though they would

not in the clerk. The great objections to this course were, first and foremost, Mr Wilkins's strong dislike to Mr

Dunster, his repugnance to his company, his dress, his voice, his ways, all of which irritated his

employer, till his state of feeling towards Dunster might be called antipathy; next, Mr Wilkins was fully

aware of the fact that all Mr Dunster's actions and words were carefully and thoughtfully prearranged to

further the great unspoken desire of his life that of being made a partner where he now was only a servant.

Mr Wilkins took a malicious pleasure in tantalizing Mr Dunster by such speeches as the one I have just

mentioned, which always seemed like an opening to the desired end, but still for a long time never led any

further. Yet all the while that end was becoming more and more certain, and at last it was reached.

Mr Dunster always suspected that the final push was given by some circumstance from without; some

reprimand for neglect some threat of withdrawal of business which his employer had received; but of this

he could not be certain; all he knew was, that Mr Wilkins proposed the partnership to him in about as

ungracious a way as such an offer could be made; an ungraciousness which, after all, had so little effect on

the real matter in hand, that Mr Dunster could pass it over with a private sneer, while taking al I possible

Mr Corbet's attachment to Ellinor had been formally disclosed to her just before this time. He had left

college, entered at the Middle Temple, and was fagging away at law, and feeling success in his own power;

Ellinor was to 'come out' at the next Hamley assemblies, and her lover began to be jealous of the possible

admirers her striking appearance and piquant conversation might attract, and thought it a good time to make

He needed not have alarmed himself even enough to make him take this step, if he had been capable of

understanding Ellinor's heart as fully as he did her appearance and conversation. She never missed the

absence of formal words and promises. She considered herself as fully engaged to him, as much pledged to

marry him and no one else, before he had asked the final question, as afterwards. She was rather surprised at

'Ellinor, dearest, will you can you marry me?' and her reply was given with a deep blush I must record,

'But still I must speak to him before I go. When can I see him, my Ellinor? I must go back to town at four

'I heard his voice in the stableyard only just before you came. Let me go and find out if he is gone to the

No! to be sure he was not gone. He was quietly smoking a cigar in his study, sitting in an easychair near the

open window, and leisurely glancing at all the advertisements in The Times. He hated going to the office

more and more since Dunster had become a partner; that fellow gave himself such airs of investigation and

He got up, took the cigar out of his mouth, and placed a chair for Mr Corbet, knowing well why he had thus

'No! I never smoke.' Mr Corbet despised all these kinds of indulgences, and put a little severity into his

refusal, but quite unintentionally; for though he was thankful he was not as other men, he was not at all the

'I want to speak to you about Ellinor. She says she thinks you must be aware of our mutual attachment.'

'Well!' said Mr Wilkins. He had resumed his cigar, partly to conceal his agitation at what he knew was

coming. 'I believe I have had my suspicions. It is not so very long since I was young myself.' And he sighed

'And I hope, sir, as you have been aware of it, and have never manifested any disapprobation of it, that you

Mr Wilkins did not speak for a little while a touch, a thought, a word more would have brought him to

tears; for at the last he found it hard to give the consent which would part him from his only child. Suddenly

he got up, and putting his hand into that of the anxious lover (for his silence had rendered Mr Corbet anxious

up to a certain point of perplexity he could not understand the implied he would and he would not), Mr

'Yes! God bless you both. I will give her to you, some day only it must be a long time first. And now go

Mr Corbet returned to Ellinor. Mr Wilkins sat down and buried his head in his hands, then went to his stable,

and had Wildfire saddled for a good gallop over the country. Mr Dunster waited for him in vain at the office,

where an obstinate old country gentleman from a distant part of the shire would ignore Dunster's existence as

A few days afterwards, Ellinor's father bethought himself that some further communication ought to take

place between him and his daughter's lover regarding the approval of the family of the latter to the young

man's engagement, and he accordingly wrote a very gentlemanly letter, saying that of course he trusted that

Ralph had informed his father of his engagement; that Mr Corbet was well known to Mr Wilkins by

reputation, holding the position which he did in Shropshire, but that, as Mr Wilkins did not pretend to be in

the same station of life, Mr Corbet might possibly never even have heard of his name, although in his own

county it was well known as having been for generations that of the principal conveyancer and land agent of

shire; that his wife had been a member of the old knightly family of Holsters, and that he himself was

descended from a younger branch of the South Wales De Wintons, or Wilkins; that Ellinor, as his only child,

would naturally inherit all his property, but that, in the meantime, of course some settlement upon her would

It was a very good straightforward letter, and well, fitted for the purpose to which Mr Wilkins knew it would

be applied of being forwarded to the young man's father. One would have thought that it was not an

engagement so disproportioned in point of station as to cause any great opposition on that score; but

unluckily, Captain Corbet, the heir and eldest son, had just formed a similar engagement with Lady Maria

Brabant, the daughter of one of the proudest earls in shire, who had always resented Mr Wilkins's

appearance on the field as an insult to the county, and ignored his presence at every dinnertable where they

met. Lady Maria was visiting the Corbets at the very time when Ralph's letter, enclosing Mr Wilkins's,

reached the paternal halls, and she merely repeated her father's opinions when Mrs Corbet and her daughters

naturally questioned her as to who these Wilkinses were; they remembered the name in Ralph's letters

formerly; the father was some friend of Mr Ness's, the clergyman with whom Ralph had read; they believed

Lady Maria was a goodnatured girl, and meant no harm in repeating her father's words; touched up, it is

true, by some of the dislike she herself felt to the intimate alliance proposed, which would make her

sisterinlaw to the daughter of an 'upstart attorney,' 'not received in the county,' 'always trying to push his

way into the set above him,' 'claiming connection with the De Wintons of Castle, who, as she well knew,

only laughed when he was spoken of, and said they were more rich in relations than they were aware of'

'not people papa would ever like her to know, whatever might be the family connection.'

These little speeches told in a way which the girl who uttered them did not intend they should. Mrs Corbet

and her daughters set themselves violently against this foolish entanglement of Ralph's; they would not call it

an engagement. They argued, and they urged, and they pleaded, till the squire, anxious for peace at any price,

and always more under the sway of the people who were with him, however unreasonable they might be, than

of the absent, even though these had the wisdom of Solomon or the prudence and sagacity of his son Ralph,

wrote an angry letter, saying that, as Ralph was of age, of course he had a right to please himself, therefore all

his father could say was, that the engagement was not at all what either he or Ralph's mother had expected or

hoped; that it was a degradation to the family just going to ally themselves with a peer of James the First's

creation; that of course Ralph must do what he liked, but that if he married this girl he must never expect to

have her received by the Corbets of Corbet Hall as a daughter. The squire was rather satisfied with his

production, and took it to show it to his wife; but she did not think it was strong enough, and added a little

Ralph was annoyed at the receipt of these letters, though he only smiled as he locked them up in his desk.

He did not think it necessary to reply to these letters immediately, nor did he even allude to their contents in

his to Ellinor. Mr Wilkins, who had been very well satisfied with his own letter to the young man, and had

thought that it must be equally agreeable to everyone, was not at all suspicious of any disapproval, because

the fact of a distinct sanction on the part of Mr Ralph Corbet's friends to his engagement was not

As for Ellinor, she trembled all over with happiness. Such a summer for the blossoming of flowers and

ripening of fruit had not been known for years; it seemed to her as if bountiful loving Nature wanted to fill

the cup of Ellinor's joy to overflowing, and as if everything, animate and inanimate, sympathised with her

happiness. Her father was well, and apparently content. Miss Monro was very kind. Dixon's lameness was

quite gone off. Only Mr Dunster came creeping about the house, on pretence of business, seeking our her

father, and disturbing all his leisure with his dustcoloured parchmentskinned careworn face, and seeming

Ellinor made her appearance at the Hamley assemblies, but with less �clat than either her father or her lover

expected. Her beauty and natural grace were admired by those who could discriminate; but to the greater

number there was (what they called) 'a want of style' want of elegance there certainly was not, for her

figure was perfect, and though she moved shyly, she moved well. Perhaps it was not a good place for a

correct appreciation of Miss Wilkins; some of the old dowagers thought it a piece of presumption in her to be

there at all but the Lady Holster of the day (who remembered her husband's quarrel with Mr Wilkins, and

looked away whenever Ellinor came near) resented this opinion. 'Miss Wilkins is descended from Sir Frank's

family, one of the oldest in the county; the objection might have been made years ago to the father, but as he

had been received, she did not know why Miss Wilkins was to be alluded to as out of her place.' Ellinor's

greatest enjoyment in the evening was to hear her father say, after all was over, and they were driving home,

'Well, I thought my Nelly the prettiest girl there, and I think I know some other people who would have said

'Thank you, papa,' said Ellinor, squeezing his hand, which she held. She thought he alluded to the absent

Ralph as the person who would have agreed with him, had he had the opportunity of seeing her; but no, he

seldom thought much of the absent; but had been rather flattered by seeing Lord Hildebrand take up his glass

'Your pearls, too, were as handsome as any in the room, child but we must have them reset; the sprays are

These balls were not such as to intoxicate Ellinor with success, and make her in love with gaiety. Large

parties came from the different countryhouses in the neighbourhood, and danced with each other. When

they had exhausted the resources they brought with them, they had generally a few dances to spare for friends

of the same standing with whom they were most intimate. Ellinor came with her father, and joined an old

cardplaying dowager, by way of a chaperone the said dowager being under old business obligations to the

firm of Wilkins and Son, and apologizing to all her acquaintances for her own weak condescension to Mr

Wilkins's foible in wishing to introduce his daughter into society above her natural sphere. It was upon this

lady, after she had uttered some such speech as the one I have just mentioned, that Lady Holster had come

down with the pedigree of Ellinor's mother. But though the old dowager had drawn back a little discomfited

at my lady's reply, she was not more attentive to Ellinor in consequence. She allowed Mr Wilkins to bring in

his daughter and place her on the crimson sofa beside her; spoke to her occasionally in the interval that

elapsed before the rubbers could be properly arranged in the cardroom; invited the girl to accompany her to

that sober amusement, and on Ellinor's declining, and preferring to remain with her father, the dowager left

her with a sweet smile on her plump countenance, and an approving conscience somewhere within her portly

frame, assuring her that she had done all that could possibly have been expected from her towards 'that good

Wilkins's daughter.' Ellinor stood by her father, watching the dances, and thankful for the occasional chance

of a dance. While she had been sitting by her chaperone, Mr Wilkins had made the tour of the room, dropping

out the little fact of his daughter's being present wherever he thought the seed likely to bring forth the fruit of

partners. And some came because they liked Mr Wilkins, and some asked Ellinor because they bad done their

duty dances to their own party, and might please themselves. So that she usually had an average of one

invitation to every three dances.' and this principally towards the end of the evening.

But considering her real beauty, and the care which her father always took about her appearance, she met

with far less than her due of admiration. Admiration she did not care for; partners she did; and sometimes felt

mortified when she had to sit or stand quiet during all the first part of the evening. If it had not been for her

father's wishes she would much rather have stayed at home; but, nevertheless, she talked even to the

irresponsive old dowager, and fairly chattered to her father when she got beside him, because she did not like

And, indeed, she had so much happiness in the daily course of this part of her life, that, on looking back upon

it afterwards, she could not imagine anything brighter than it had been. The delight of receiving her lover's

letters the anxious happiness of replying to them (always a little bit fearful lest she should not express

herself and her love in the precisely happy medium becoming a maiden) the father's love and satisfaction in

her the calm prosperity of the whole household was delightful at the time, and, looking back upon it, it

Occasionally Mr Corbet came down to see her. He always slept on these occasions at Mr Ness's; but he was

at Ford Bank the greater part of the one day between two nights that he allowed himself for the length of his

visits. And even these short peeps were not frequently taken. He was working hard at law: fagging at it tooth

and nail; arranging his whole life so as best to promote the ends of his ambition; feeling a delight in

surpassing and mastering his fellows those who started in the race at the same time. He read Ellinor's letters

over and over again; nothing else beside lawbooks. He perceived the repressed love hidden away in subdued

expressions in her communications, with an amused pleasure at the attempt at concealment. He was glad that

her gaieties were not more gay: he was glad that she was not too much admired, although a little indignant at

the want of taste on the part of the shire gentlemen. But if other admirers had come prominently forward,

he would have had to take some more decided steps to assert his rights than he had hitherto done; for he had

caused Ellinor to express a wish to her father that her engagement should not be too much talked about until

nearer the time when it would be prudent for him to marry her. He thought that the knowledge of this, the

only imprudently hasty step he ever meant to take in his life, might go against his character for wisdom, if the

fact became known while he was as yet only a student. Mr Wilkins wondered a little; but acceded, as he

always did, to any of Ellinor's requests. Mr Ness was a confidant, of course, and some of Lady Maria's

connections beard of it, and forgot it again very soon; and, as it happened, no one else was sufficiently

All this time, Mr Ralph Corbet maintained a very quietly decided attitude towards his own family. He was

engaged to Miss Wilkins; and all he could say was he felt sorry that they disapproved of it. He was not able to

marry just at present, and before the time for his marriage arrived, he trusted that his family would take a

more reasonable view of things, and be willing to receive her as his wife with all becoming respect or

affection. This was the substance of what he repeated in different forms in reply to his father's angry letters.

At length, his invariable determination made way with his father; the paternal thunderings were subdued to a

distant rumbling in the sky; and presently the inquiry was broached as to how much fortune Miss Wilkins

would have; how much down on her marriage; what were the eventual probabilities. Now this was a point

which Mr Ralph Corbet himself wished to be informed upon. He had not thought much about it in making the

engagement; he had been too young, or too much in love. But an only child of a wealthy attorney ought to

have something considerable; and an allowance so as to enable the young couple to start housekeeping in a

moderately good part of town, would be an advantage to him in his profession. So he replied to his father,

adroitly suggesting that a letter containing certain modifications of the inquiry which had been rather roughly

put in Mr Corbet's last, should be sent to him, in order that he might himself ascertain from Mr Wilkins what

The desired letter came; but not in such a form that he could pass it on to Mr Wilkins; he preferred to make

quotations, and even these quotations were a little altered and dressed before he sent them on. The gist of his

letter to Mr Wilkins was this. He stated that he hoped soon to be in a position to offer Ellinor a home; that he

anticipated a steady progress in his profession, and consequently in his income; but that contingencies might

arise, as his father suggested, which would deprive him of the power of earning a livelihood, perhaps when it

might be more required than it would be at first; that it was true that, after his mother's death, a small estate in

Shropshire would come to him as second son, and of course Ellinor would receive the benefit of this

property, secured to her legally as Mr Wilkins thought best that being a matter for after discussion but

that at present his father was anxious, as might be seen from the extract, to ascertain whether Mr Wilkins

could secure him from the contingency of having his son's widow and possible children thrown upon his

hands, by giving Ellinor a dowry; and if so, it was gently insinuated, what would be the amount of the same.

When Mr Wilkins received this letter it startled him out of a happy daydream. He liked Ralph Corbet and

the whole connection quite well enough to give his consent to an engagement; and sometimes even he was

glad to think that Ellinor's future was assured, and that she would have a protector and friends after he was

dead and gone. But he did not want them to assume their responsibilities so soon. He had not distinctly

contemplated her marriage as an event likely to happen before his death. He could not understand how his

own life would go on without her: or indeed, why she and Ralph Corbet could not continue just as they were

at present. He came down to breakfast with the letter in his hand. By Ellinor's blushes, as she glanced at the

handwriting, he knew that she had heard from her lover by the same post; by her tender caresses caresses

given as if to make up for the pain which the prospect of her leaving him was sure to cause him he was

certain that she was aware of the contents of the letter. Yet he put it in his pocket, and tried to forget it.

He did this not merely from his reluctance to complete any arrangements which might facilitate Ellinor's

marriage. There was a further annoyance connected with the affair. His money matters had been for some

time in an involved state; he had been living beyond his income, even reckoning that, as he always did, at the

highest point which it ever touched. He kept no regular accounts, reasoning with himself or, perhaps, I

should rather say persuading himself that there was no great occasion for regular accounts, when he had a

steady income arising from his profession, as well as the interest of a good sum of money left him by his

father; and when, living in his own house near a country town where provisions were cheap, his expenditure

for his small family only one child could never amount to anything like his incomings from the

abovementioned sources. But servants and horses, and choice wines and rare fruittrees, and a habit of

purchasing any book or engraving that may take the fancy, irrespective of the price, run away with money,

even though there be but one child. A year or two ago, Mr Wilkins had been startled into a system of

exaggerated retrenchment retrenchment which only lasted about six weeks by the sudden bursting of a

bubble speculation, in which he had invested a part of his father's savings. But as soon as the change in his

habits, necessitated by his new economies, became irksome, he had comforted himself for his relapse into his

former easy extravagance of living, by remembering the fact that Ellinor was engaged to the son of a man of

large property; and that though Ralph was only the second son, yet his mother's estate must come to him, as

Mr Wilkins did not doubt that he could easily make Ellinor a fitting allowance, or even pay down a requisite

dowry; but the doing so would involve an examination into the real state of his affairs, and this involved

distasteful trouble. He had no idea how much more than mere temporary annoyance would arise out of the

investigation. Until it was made, he decided in his own mind that he would not speak to Ellinor on the subject

of her lover's letter. So, for the next few days, she was kept in suspense, seeing little of her father; and during

the short times she was with him, she was made aware that he was nervously anxious to keep the

conversation engaged on general topics rather than on the one which she had at heart. As I have already said,

Mr Corbet had written to her by the same post as that on which he sent the letter to her father, telling her of

its contents, and begging her (in all those sweet words which lovers know how to use) to urge her father to

compliance for his sake his, her lover's who was pining and lonely in all the crowds of London, since her

loved presence was not there. He did not care for money, save as a means of hastening their marriage; indeed,

if there were only some income fixed, however small; some time for their marriage fixed, however distant, he

could be patient, He did not want superfluity of wealth; his habits were simple, as she well knew; and money

enough would be theirs in time, both from her share of contingencies, and the certainty of his finally

Ellinor delayed replying to this letter until her father should have spoken to her on the subject. But as she

perceived that he avoided all such conversation, the young girl's heart failed her. She began to blame herself

for wishing to leave him, to reproach herself for being accessory to any step which made him shun being

alone with her, and look distressed and full of care as he did now. It was the usual struggle between father

and lover for the possession of love, instead of the natural and graceful resignation of the parent to the

prescribed course of things; and, as usual, it was the poor girl who bore the suffering for no fault of her own:

although she blamed herself for being the cause of the disturbance in the previous order of affairs. Ellinor had

no one to speak to confidentially but her father and her lover, and when they were at issue she could talk

openly to neither, so she brooded over Mr Corbet's unanswered letter, and her father's silence, and became

pale and dispirited. Once or twice she looked up suddenly, and caught her father's eye gazing upon her with a

certain wistful anxiety; but the instant she saw this he pulled himself up, as it were, and would begin talking

gaily about the small topics of the day. At length Mr Corbet grew impatient at not hearing either from Mr

Wilkins or Ellinor, and wrote urgently to the former, making known to him a new proposal suggested to him

by his father, which was, that a certain sum should be paid down by Mr Wilkins; to be applied, under the

management of trustees, to the improvement of the Bromley estate, out of the profits of which, or other

sources in the elder Mr Corbet's hands, a heavy rate of interest should be paid on this advance, which would

secure an income to the young couple immediately, and considerably increase the value of the estate upon

which Ellinor's settlement was to be made. The terms offered for this laying down of ready money were so

advantageous that Mr Wilkins was strongly tempted to accede to them at once; as Ellinor's pale cheek and

want of appetite had only that very morning smote upon his conscience, and this immediate transfer of ready

money was as a sacrifice, a soothing balm to his selfreproach, and laziness and dislike to immediate

unpleasantness of action had its counterbalancing weakness in imprudence. Mr Wilkins made some rough

calculations on a piece of paper deeds, and all such tests of accuracy being down at the office; discovered

that he could pay down the sum required; wrote a letter agreeing to the proposal, and before he sealed it

called Ellinor into his study, and bade her read what he had been writing, and tell him what she thought of it.

He watched the colour come rushing into her white face, her lips quiver and tremble, and even before the

letter was ended she was in his arms, kissing him, and thanking him with blushing caresses rather t an words.

'There, there!' said he, smiling and sighing; 'that will do. Why, I do believe you took me for a hardhearted

father, just like a heroine's father in a book. You've looked as woebegone this week past as Ophelia. One

can't make up one's mind in a day about such sums of money as this, little woman; and you should have let

'Well, if I was a bit perplexed, seeing you look so ill and pining was not the way to bring me round. Old

Corbet, I must say, is trying to make a good bargain for his son. It is well for me that I have never been an

'Yes, yes! it is all right. You shall go into their family as a wellportioned girl, if you can't go as a Lady

Maria. Come, don't trouble your little head any more about it. Give me one more kiss, and then we'll go and

order the horses, and have a ride together, by way of keeping holiday. I deserve a holiday, don't I, Nelly?'

Some country people at work at the roadside, as the father and daughter passed along, stopped to admire their

bright happy looks, and one spoke of the hereditary handsomeness of the Wilkins family (for the old man, the

present Mr Wilkins's father, had been finelooking in his drab breeches and gaiters, and usual assumption of

a yeoman's dress). Another said it was easy for the rich to be handsome; they had always plenty to eat, and

could ride when they were tired of walking, and had no care for the morrow to keep them from sleeping at

nights. And in sad acquiescence with their contrasted lot, the men went on with their hedging and ditching in

And yet, if they had known if the poor did know the troubles and temptations of the rich; if those men

had foreseen the lot darkening over the father, and including the daughter in its cloud; if Mr Wilkins himself

had even imagined such a future possible . . . . Well, there was truth in the old heathen saying, 'Let no man be

Ellinor had no more rides with her father; no, not ever again; though they had stopped that afternoon at the

summit of a breezy common, and looked at a ruined hall, not so very far off, and discussed whether they

could reach it that day, and decided that it was too far away for anything but a hurried inspection, and that

some day soon they would make the old place into the principal object of an excursion. But a rainy time came

on, when no rides were possible; and whether it was the influence of the weather, or some other care or

trouble that oppressed him, Mr Wilkins seemed to lose all wish for much active exercise, and rather sought a

stimulus to his spirits and circulation in wine. But of this Ellinor was innocently unaware. He seemed dull

and weary, and sat long, drowsing and drinking after dinner. If the servants had not been so fond of him for

much previous generosity and kindness, they would have complained now, and with reason, of his irritability,

'You should get the master to take a ride with you, miss,' said Dixon, one day, as he was putting Ellinor on

But when Ellinor named it to her father, he rather hastily replied that it was all very well for women to ride

out whenever they liked men had something else to do; and then, as he saw her look grave and puzzled, he

softened down his abrupt saying by adding that Dunster had been making a fuss about his partner's

nonattendance, and altogether taking a good deal upon himself in a very offensive way, so that he thought it

better to go pretty regularly to the office, in order to show him who was master senior partner, and head of

Ellinor sighed a little over her disappointment at her father's preoccupation, and then forgot her own little

regret in anger at Mr Dunster, who had seemed all along to be a thorn in her father's side, and had latterly

gained some power and authority over him, the exercise of which, Ellinor could not help thinking, was a very

impertinent line of conduct from a junior partner, so lately only a paid clerk, to his superior. There was a

sense of something wrong in the Ford Bank household for many weeks about this time. Mr Wilkins was not

like himself, and his cheerful ways and careless genial speeches were missed, even on the days when he was

not irritable, and evidently uneasy with himself and all about him. The spring was late in coming, and cold

rain and sleet made any kind of outdoor exercise a trouble and discomfort rather than a bright natural event in

the course of the day. All sound of winter gaieties, of assemblies and meets, and jovial dinners, had died

away, and the summer pleasures were as yet unthought of. Still Ellinor had a secret perennial source of

sunshine in her heart; whenever she thought of Ralph she could not feel much oppression from the present

unspoken and indistinct gloom. He loved her; and oh, how she loved him! and perhaps this very next autumn

but that depended on his own success in his profession. After all, if it was not this autumn it would be the

next; and with the letters that she received weekly, and the occasional visits that her lover ran down to

Hamley to pay Mr Ness, Ellinor felt as if she would almost prefer the delay of the time when she must leave

At Easter just when the heavens and earth were looking their dreariest, for Easter fell very early this year

Mr Corbet came down. Mr Wilkins was too busy to see much of him; they were together even less than usual,

although not less friendly when they did meet. But to Ellinor the visit was one of unmixed happiness.

Hitherto she had always had a little fear mingled up with her love of Mr Corbet; but his manners were

softened, his opinions less decided and abrupt, and his whole treatment of her showed such tenderness that

the young girl basked and revelled in it. One or two of their conversations had reference to their future

married life in London; and she then perceived, although it did not jar against her, that her lover had not

forgotten his ambition in his love. He tried to inoculate her with something of his own craving for success in

life; but it was all in vain: she nestled to him and told him she did not care to be the Lord Chancellor's wife

wigs and woolsacks were not in her line; only if he wished it, she would wish it.

The last two days of his stay the weather changed. Sudden heat burst forth, as it does occasionally for a few

hours even in our chilly English spring. The greybrown bushes and trees started almost with visible progress

into the tender green shade which is the forerunner of the bursting leaves. The sky was of full cloudless blue.

Mr Wilkins was to come home pretty early from the office to ride out with his daughter and her lover; but,

after waiting some time for him, it grew too late, and they were obliged to give up the project. Nothing would

serve Ellinor, then, but that she must carry out a table and have tea in the garden, on the sunny side of the

tree, among the roots of which she used to play when a child. Miss Monro objected a little to this caprice of

Ellinor's, saying that it was too early for outofdoor meals; but Mr Corbet overruled all objections, and

helped her in her gay preparations. She always kept to the early hours of her childhood, although she, as then,

regularly sat with her father at his late dinner; and this meal, al fresco, was to be a reality to her and Miss

Monro. There was a place arranged for her father, and she seized upon him as he was coming from the

stableyard, by the shrubberypath, to his study, and with merry playfulness made him a prisoner, accusing

him of disappointing them of their ride, and drawing him, more than half unwilling, to his chair by the table.

But he was silent, and almost sad: his presence damped them all; they could hardly tell why, for he did not

object to anything, though he seemed to enjoy nothing, and only to force a smile at Ellinor's occasional

sallies. These became more and more rare as she perceived her father's depression. She watched him

anxiously. He perceived it, and said shivering in that strange, unaccountable manner which is popularly

explained by the expression that someone is passing over the earth that will one day form your grave

'Ellinor! this is not a day for outofdoor tea. I never felt so chilly a spot in my life. I cannot keep from

shaking where I sit. I must leave this place, my dear, in spite of all your good tea.'

'Oh, papa! I am so sorry. But look how full that hot sun's rays come on this turf. I thought I had chosen such a

But he got up and persisted in leaving the table, although he was evidently sorry to spoil the little party. He

walked up and down the gravel walk, close by them, talking to them as he kept passing by, and trying to

'Oh yes! All right. It's only that place that seems so chilly and damp. I'm as warm as a toast now.'

The next morning Mr Corbet left them. The unseasonably fine weather passed away too, and all things went

back to their rather grey and dreary aspect; but Ellinor was too happy to feel this much, knowing what absent

love existed for her alone, and from this knowledge unconsciously trusting in the sun behind the clouds.

I have said that few or none in the immediate neighbourhood of Hamley, beside their own household and Mr

Ness, knew of Ellinor's engagement. At one of the rare dinnerparties to which she accompanied her father

it was at the old lady's house who chaperoned her to the assemblies she was taken into dinner by a young

clergyman staying in the neighbourhood. He had just had a small living given to him in his own county, and

he felt as if this was a great step in his life. He was good, innocent, and rather boyish in appearance. Ellinor

was happy and at her case, and chatted away to this Mr Livingstone on many little points of interest which

they found they had in common: church music, and the difficulty they had in getting people to sing in parts;

Salisbury Cathedral, which they had both seen; styles of church architecture, Ruskin's works, and parish

schools, in which Mr Livingstone was somewhat shocked to find that Ellinor took no great interest. When the

gentlemen came in from the diningroom, it struck Ellinor, for the first time in her life, that her father had

taken more wine than was good for him. Indeed, this had rather become a habit with him of late; but as he

always tried to go quietly off to his own room when such had been the case, his daughter had never been

aware of it before, and the perception of it now made her cheeks hot with shame. She thought that everyone

must be as conscious of his altered manner and way of speaking as she was, and after a pause of sick silence,

during which she could not say a word, she set to and talked to Mr Livingstone about parish schools,

anything, with redoubled vigour and apparent interest, in order to keep one or two of the company, at least,

The effect of her behaviour was far more than she had intended. She kept Mr Livingstone, it is true, from

observing her father; but she also riveted his attention on herself. He had thought her very pretty and

agreeable during dinner; but after dinner he considered her bewitching, irresistible. He dreamed of her all

night, and wakened up the next morning to a calculation of how far his income would allow him to furnish

his pretty new parsonage with that crowning blessing, a wife. For a day or two he did up little sums, and

sighed, and thought of Ellinor, her face listening with admiring interest to his sermons, her arm passed into

his as they went together round the parish; her sweet voice instructing classes in his schools turn where he

The consequence was that he wrote an offer, which he found a far more perplexing piece of composition than

a sermon; a real hearty expression of love, going on, over all obstacles, to a straightforward explanation of his

present prospects and future hopes, and winding up with the information that on the succeeding morning he

would call to know whether he might speak to Mr Wilkins on the subject of this letter. It was given to Ellinor

in the evening, as she was sitting with Miss Monro in the library. Mr Wilkins was dining out, she hardly

knew where, as it was a sudden engagement, of which he had sent word from the office a gentleman's

dinnerparty, she supposed, as he had dressed in Hamley without coming home. Ellinor turned over the letter

when it was brought to her, as some people do when they cannot recognize the handwriting, as if to discover

from paper or seal what two moments would assure them of, if they opened the letter and looked at the

signature. Ellinor could not guess who had written it by any outward sign; but the moment she saw the name

'Herbert Livingstone,' the meaning of the letter flashed upon her, and she coloured all over. She put the letter

away, unread, for a few minutes, and then made some excuse for leaving the room and going upstairs. When

safe in her bedchamber, she read the young man's eager words with a sense of selfreproach. How must she,

engaged to one man, have been behaving to another, if this was the result of a single evening's interview? The

selfreproach was unjustly bestowed; but with that we have nothing to do. She made herself very miserable;

and at last went down with a heavy heart to go on with Dante, and rummage up words in the dictionary. All

the time she seemed to Miss Monro to be plodding on with her Italian more diligently and sedately than

usual, she was planning in her own mind to speak to her father as soon as he returned (and he had said that he

should not be late), and beg him to undo the mischief she had done by seeing Mr Livingstone the next

morning, and frankly explaining the real state of affairs to him. But she wanted to read her letter again, and

think it all over in peace; and so, at an early hour, she wished Miss Monro goodnight, and went up into her

own room above the drawingroom, and overlooking the flowergarden and shrubberypath to the

stableyard, by which her father was sure to return. She went upstairs and studied her letter well, and tried to

recall all her speeches and conduct on that miserable evening as she thought it then not knowing what

true misery was. Her head ached, and she put out the candle, and went and sat on the windowseat, looking

out into the moonlit garden, watching for her father. She opened the window; partly to cool her forehead,

partly to enable her to call down softly when she should see him coming along. Byandby the door from the

stableyard into the shrubbery clicked and opened, and in a moment she saw Mr Wilkins moving through the

bushes; but not alone, Mr Dunster was with him, and the two were talking together in rather excited tones,

immediately lost to hearing, however, as they entered Mr Wilkins's study by the outer door.

'They have been dining together somewhere. Probably at Mr Hanbury's' (the Hamley brewer), thought

Ellinor. 'But how provoking that he should have come home with papa this night of all nights!'

Two or three times before Mr Dunster had called on Mr Wilkins in the evening, as Ellinor knew; but she was

not quite aware of the reason for such late visits, and had never put together the two facts (as cause and

consequence) that on such occasions her father had been absent from the office all day, and that there might

be necessary business for him to transact, the urgency of which was the motive for Mr Dunster's visits. Mr

Wilkins always seemed to be annoyed by his coming at so late an hour, and spoke of it, resenting the

intrusion upon his leisure; and Ellinor, without consideration, adopted her father's mode of speaking and

thinking on the subject, and was rather more angry than he was whenever the obnoxious partner came on

business in the evening. This night was, of all nights, the most illpurposed time (so Ellinor thought) for a

t�te�t�te with her father! However, there was no doubt in her mind as to what she had to do. So late as it

was, the unwelcome visitor could not stop long; and then she would go down and have her little confidence

with her father, and beg him to see Mr Livingstone when he came the next morning, and dismiss him as

She sat on in the windowseat; dreaming waking dreams of future happiness. She kept losing herself in such

thoughts, and became almost afraid of forgetting why she sat there. Presently she felt cold, and got up to fetch

a shawl, in which she muffled herself and resumed her place. It seemed to her growing very late; the

moonlight was coming fuller and fuller into the garden, and the blackness of the shadow was more

concentrated and stronger. Surely Mr Dunster could not have gone away along the dark shrubberypath so

noiselessly but what she must have heard him? No! there was the swell of voices coming up through the

window from her father's study: angry voices they were; and her anger rose sympathetically, as she knew that

her father was being irritated. There was a sudden movement, as of chairs pushed hastily aside, and then a

mysterious unaccountable noise heavy, sudden; and then a slight movement as of chairs again; and then a

profound stillness. Ellinor leaned her head against the side of the window to listen more intently, for some

mysterious instinct made her sick and faint. No sound no noise. Only byandby she heard, what we have

all heard at such times of intent listening, the beating of the pulses of her heart, and then the whirling rush of

blood through her head. How long did this last? She never knew. Byandby she heard her father's hurried

footstep in his bedroom, next to hers; but when she ran thither to speak to him, and ask him what was amiss

if anything had been if she might come to him now about Mr Livingstone's letter, she found that he had

gone down again to his study, and almost at the same moment she heard the little private outer door of that

room open; someone went out, and then there were hurried footsteps along the shrubberypath. She thought,

of course, that it was Mr Dunster leaving the house; and went back for Mr Livingstone's letter. Having found

it, she passed through her father's room to the private staircase, thinking that if she went by the more regular

way, she would have run the risk of disturbing Miss Monro, and perhaps of being questioned in the morning.

Even in passing down this remote staircase, she trod softly for fear of being overheard. When she entered the

room, the full light of the candles dazzled her for an instant, coming out of the darkness. They were flaring

wildly in the draught that came in through the open door, by which the outer air was admitted; for a moment

there seemed to be no one in the room; and then she saw, with strange sick horror, the legs of someone lying

on the carpet behind the table. As if compelled, even while she shrank from doing it, she went round to see

who it was that lay there, so still and motionless as never to stir at her sudden coming. It was Mr Dunster; his

head propped on chaircushions, his eyes open, staring, distended. There was a strong smell of brandy and

hartshorn in the room; a smell so powerful as not to be neutralized by the free current of night air that blew

through the two open doors. Ellinor could not have told whether it was reason or instinct that made her act as

she did during this awful night. In thinking of it afterwards, with shuddering avoidance of the haunting

memory that would come and overshadow her during many, many years of her life, she grew to believe that

the powerful smell of the spilt brandy absolutely intoxicated her an unconscious Rechabite in practice. But

something gave her a presence of mind and a courage not her own. And though she learnt to think afterwards

that she had acted unwisely, if not wrongly and wickedly, yet she marvelled, in recalling that time, how she

could have then behaved as she did. First of all she lifted herself up from her fascinated gaze at the dead man,

and went to the staircase door, by which she had entered the study, and shut it softly. Then she went back

looked again; took the brandybottle and knelt down, and tried to pour some into the mouth; but this she

found she could not do. Then she wetted her handkerchief with the spirit, and moistened the lips; all to no

purpose; for, as I have said before, the man was dead killed by a rupture of a vessel of the brain; how

occasioned I must tell byandby. Of course, all Ellinor's little cares and efforts produced no effect; her

father had tried them before vain endeavours all, to bring back the precious breath of life! The poor girl

could not bear the look of those open eyes, and softly, tenderly, tried to close them, although unconscious that

in so doing she was rendering the pious offices of some beloved hand to a dead man. She was sitting by the

body on the floor when she heard steps coming with rushing and yet cautious tread, through the shrubbery;

she had no fear, although it might be the tread of robbers and murderers. The awfulness of the hour raised her

above common fears; though she did not go through the usual process of reasoning, and by it feel assured that

the feet which were coming so softly and swiftly along were the same which she had heard leaving the room

Her father entered, and started back, almost upsetting some one behind him by his recoil, on seeing his

She raised her eyes to the solemn, pitying, awestricken face behind her father's the countenance of Dixon.

The man stepped forwards, respectfully pushing his master on one side as he did so. He bent down over the

corpse, and looked, and listened, and then, reaching a candle off the table, he signed Mr Wilkins to close the

door. And Mr Wilkins obeyed, and looked with an intensity of eagerness almost amounting to faintness on

the experiment, and yet he could not hope. The flame was steady steady and pitilessly unstirred, even when

it was adjusted close to mouth and nostril; the head was raised up by one of Dixon's stalwart arms, while he

held the candle in the other band. Ellinor fancied that there was some trembling on Dixon's part, and grasped

All in vain. The head was placed again on the cushions, the servant rose and stood by his master, looking

sadly on the dead man, whom, living, none of them had liked or cared for, and Ellinor sat on, quiet and

'How was it, father?' at length she asked. He would fain have had her ignorant of all, but so questioned by her

lips, so adjured by her eyes, in the very presence of death, he could not choose but speak the truth; he spoke it

'He taunted me he was insolent, beyond my patience I could not bear it. I struck him I can't tell how it

was. He must have hit his head in falling. Oh, my God! one little hour ago I was innocent of this man's

Ellinor took the candle again; kneeling behind Mr Dunster's head, she tried the futile experiment once more.

'No!' said he, shaking his head, and looking with a sidelong glance at his master, who seemed to shrivel up

and to shrink away at the bare suggestion. 'Doctors can do nought, I'm afeard. All that a doctor could do, I

take it, would be to open a vein, and that I could do along with the best of them, if I had but my fleam here.'

He fumbled in his pockets as he spoke, and, as chance would have it, the 'fleam' (or cattlelancet) was

somewhere about his dress. He drew it out, smoothed and tried it on his finger. Ellinor tried to bare the arm,

but turned sick as she did so. Her father started eagerly forwards, and did what was necessary with hurried,

trembling hands. If they had cared less about the result, they might have been more afraid of the

consequences of the operation in the hands of one so ignorant as Dixon. But, vein or artery, it signified little;

no living blood gushed out; only a little watery moisture followed the cut of the fleam. They laid him back on

'Master Ned!' said he for he had known Mr Wilkins in his days of bright careless boyhood, and almost was

carried back to them by the sense of charge and protection which the servant's presence of mind and

sharpened senses gave him over his master on this dreary night 'Master Ned! we must do summut.'

'Did any folk see him come here?' Dixon asked, after a time. Ellinor looked up to hear her father's answer, a

wild hope coming into her mind that all might be concealed, somehow; she did not know how, nor did she

think of any consequences except saving her father from the vague dread, trouble and punishment that she

Mr Wilkins did not seem to hear; in fact, he did not hear anything but the unspoken echo of his own last

Dixon got up and poured our half a tumblerful of raw spirit from the brandybottle that stood on the table.

'Drink this, Master Ned!' putting it to his master's lips. 'Nay' to Ellinor 'it will do him no harm; only bring

back his senses, which, poor gentleman, are scared away. We shall need all our wits. Now, sir, please, answer

'I don't know,' said Mr Wilkins, recovering his speech. 'It all seems in a mist. He offered to walk home with

me; I did not want him. I was almost rude to him to keep him off. I did not want to talk of business; I had

taken too much wine to be very clear, and some things at the office were not quite in order, and he had found

it out. If anyone heard our conversation, they must know I did not want him to come with me. Oh! why

would he come? He was as obstinate he would come and here it has been his death!'

'Well, sir, what's done can't be undone, and I'm sure we'd any of us bring him back to life if we could, even

by cutting off our hands, though he was a mighty plaguy chap while he'd breath in him. But what I'm thinking

is this: it'll maybe go awkward with you, sir, if he's found here. One can't say. But don't you think, miss, as

he's neither kith nor kin to miss him, we might just bury him away before morning, somewhere? There's

better nor four hours of dark. I wish we could put him i' the churchyard, but that can't be; but to my mind, the

sooner we set about digging a place for him to lie in, poor fellow, and the better it'll be for us all in the end. I

can pare a piece of turf up where it'll never be missed, and if master'll take one spade, and I another, why,

'If my father could have known of my living to this! Why, they will try me as a criminal; and you, Ellinor!

Dixon, you are right. We must conceal it, or I must cut my throat, for I never could live through it. One

'Come along, sir,' said Dixon; 'there's no time to lose.' And they went out in search of tools; Ellinor following

them, shivering all over, but begging that she might be with them, and not have to remain in the study with

She would not be bidden into her own room; she dreaded inaction and solitude. She made herself busy with

carrying heavy baskets of turf, and straining her strength to the utmost; fetching all that was wanted, with soft

Once, as she passed near the open study door, she thought that she heard a rustling, and a flash of hope came

across her. Could he be reviving? She entered, but a moment was enough to undeceive her; it had only been a

They dug the hole deep and well; working with fierce energy to quench thought and remorse. Once or twice

her father asked for brandy, which Ellinor, reassured by the apparently good effect of the first dose, brought

to him without a word; and once at her father's suggestion she brought food, such as she could find in the

When all was ready for the reception of the body in its unblessed grave, Mr Wilkins bade Ellinor go up to her

own room she had done all she could to help them; the rest must be done by them alone. She felt that it

must.' and indeed both her nerves and her bodily strength were giving way. She would have kissed her father,

as he sat wearily at the head of the grave Dixon had gone in to make some arrangement for carrying the

'But I will, my own darling papa,' said she, throwing her arms passionately round his neck, and covering his

face with kisses. 'I love you, and I don't care what you are, if you were twenty times a murderer, which you

'Go in my child, go in, and try to get some rest. But go in, for we must finish as fast as we can. The moon is

down; it will soon be daylight. What a blessing there are no rooms on one side of the house. Go, Nelly.' And

she went; straining herself up to move noiselessly, with eyes averted, through the room which she shuddered

Once in her own room she bolted the door on the inside, and then stole to the window, as if some fascination

impelled her to watch all the proceedings to the end. But her aching eyes could hardly penetrate through the

thick darkness, which, at the time of the year of which I am speaking, so closely precedes the dawn. She

could discern the tops of the trees against the sky, and could single out the wellknown one, at a little

distance from the stem of which the grave was made, in the very piece of turf over which so lately she and

Ralph had had their merry little teamaking; and where her father, as she now remembered, had shuddered

and shivered, as if the ground on which his seat had then been placed, was fateful and ominous to him.

Those below moved softly and quietly in all they did; but every sound had a significant and terrible

interpretation to Ellinor's ears. Before they had ended, the little birds had begun to pipe out their gay reveill�e

Ellinor threw herself, in her clothes, on the bed; and was thankful for the intense weary physical pain which

took off something of the anguish of thought anguish that she fancied from time to time was leading to

Byandby the morning cold made her instinctively creep between the blankets; and, once there, she fell into

She was fully aroused in a moment, for she had fallen asleep with one clearly defined plan in her mind, only

one, for all thoughts and cares having no relation to the terrible event were as though they had never been. All

her purpose was to shield her father from suspicion. And to do this she must control herself heart, mind,

'Let me lie half an hour longer; and beg Miss Monro not to wait breakfast for me; but in half an hour bring

Mason went away. Ellinor sprang up; rapidly undressed herself, and got into bed again, so that when her maid

returned with her breakfast, there was no appearance of the night having been passed in any unusual manner.

'How ill you do look, miss!' said Mason. 'I am sure you had better not get up yet.'

Ellinor longed to ask if her father had yet shown himself; but this question so natural at any other time

seemed to her so suspicious under the circumstances, that she could not bring her lips to frame it. At any rate,

she must get up and struggle to make the day like all other days. So she rose, confessing that she did not feel

very well, but trying to make light of it, and when she could think of anything but the one awe, to say a trivial

sentence or two. But she could not recollect how she behaved in general, for her life hitherto had been simple,

Before she was dressed, a message came up to say that Mr Livingstone was in the drawingroom.

Mr Livingstone! He belonged to the old life of yesterday! The billows of the night had swept over his mark

on the sands of her memory; and it was only by a strong effort that she could remember who he was what

he wanted. She sent Mason down to inquire from the servant who admitted him whom it was that he had

'He asked for master first. But master has not rung for his water yet, so James told him he was not up. Then

he took thought for a while, and asked could he speak to you, he would wait if you were not at liberty; but

that he wished particular to see either master, or you. So James asked him to sit down in the drawingroom,

'I must go,' thought Ellinor. 'I will send him away directly; to come, thinking of marriage to a house like this

And she went down hastily, and in a hard unsparing mood towards a man, whose affection for her she

thought was like a gourd, grown up in a night, and of no account, but as a piece of foolish, boyish excitement.

She never thought of her own appearance she had dressed without looking in the glass. Her only object was

to dismiss her wouldbe suitor as speedily as possible. All feelings of shyness, awkwardness, or maiden

He was standing by the mantelpiece as she entered. He made a step or two forward to meet her; and then

'Miss Wilkins, I am afraid you are ill! I have come too early. But I have to leave Hamley in half an hour, and

For she sank into the chair nearest to her, as if overcome by his words; but, indeed, it was by the oppression

He came a step or two nearer, as if he longed to take her in his arms and comfort and shelter her; but she

stiffened herself and arose, and by an effort walked towards the fireplace, and there stood, as if awaiting what

he would say next. But he was overwhelmed by her aspect of illness. He almost forgot his own wishes, his

own suit, in his desire to relieve her from the pain, physical as he believed it, under which she was suffering.

'I received your letter yesterday, Mr Livingstone. I was anxious to see you today, in order that I might prevent

you from speaking to my father. I do not say anything of the kind of affection you can feel for me me,

whom you have only seen once. All I shall say is, that the sooner we both forget what I must call folly, the

She took the airs of a woman considerably older and more experienced than himself. He thought her haughty;

'You are mistaken,' said he, more quietly and with more dignity than was likely from his previous conduct. 'I

will not allow you to characterize as folly what might be presumptuous on my part I had no business to

express myself so soon but which in its foundation was true and sincere. That I can answer for most

solemnly. It is a possible, though it may not be a usual thing, for a man to feel so strongly attracted by the

charms and qualities of a woman, even at first sight, as to feel sure that she, and she alone, can make his

happiness. My folly consisted there you are right in even dreaming that you could return my feelings in

the slightest degree, when you had only seen me once. And I am most truly ashamed of myself. I cannot tell

you how sorry I am, when I see how you have compelled yourself to come and speak to me when you are so

She staggered into a chair, for with all her wish for his speedy dismissal, she was obliged to be seated. His

'No, don't!' she said. 'Wait a minute.' His eyes, bent upon her with a look of deep anxiety, touched her at that

moment, and she was on the point of shedding tears; but she checked herself, and rose again.

'I will go,' said he. 'It is the kindest thing I can do. Only, may I write? May I venture to write and urge what I

'No!' said she. 'Don't write. I have given you my answer. We are nothing, and can be nothing to each other. I

am engaged to be married. I should not have told you if you had not been so kind. Thank you. But go now.'

The poor young man's face fell, and he became almost as white as she was for the instant. After a moment's

'May God bless you, and him too, whoever he be. But if you want a friend, I may be that friend, may I not?

and try to prove that my words of regard were true, in a better and higher sense than I used them at first.' And

But solitude was not what she could bear. She went quickly upstairs, and took a strong dose of salvolatile,

'My dear, who was that gentleman that has been closeted with you in the drawingroom all this time?'

'Mrs Jackson has been here' (it was at Mrs Jackson's house that Mr Dunster lodged), wanting to know if we

could tell her where Mr Dunster was, for he never came home last night at all. And you were in the

drawingroom with who did you say he was? that Mr Livingstone, who might have come at a better time

to bid goodbye; and he had never dined here, had he? so I don't see any reason he had to come calling, and P.

P. C.ing, and your papa not up. So I said to Mrs Jackson, "I'll send and ask Mr Wilkins, if you like, but I

don't see any use in it, for I can tell you just as well as anybody, that Mr Dunster is not in this house,

wherever he may be." Yet nothing would satisfy her but that someone must go and waken up your papa, and

'And did papa?' inquired Ellinor, her dry throat huskily forming the inquiry that seemed to be expected from

'No! to be sure not. How should Mr Wilkins know? As I said to Mrs Jackson, "Mr Wilkins is not likely to

know where Mr Dunster spends his time when he is not in the office, for they do not move in the same rank

of life, my good woman;" and Mrs Jackson apologised, but said that yesterday they had both been dining at

Mr Hodgson's together, she believed; and somehow she had got it into her head that Mr Dunster might have

missed his way in coming along Moor Lane, and might have slipped into the canal; so she just thought she

would step up and ask Mr Wilkins if they had left Mr Hodgson's together, or if your papa had driven home. I

asked her why she had not told me all these particulars before, for I could have asked your papa myself all

about when he last saw Mr Dunster; and I went up to ask him a second time, but he did not like it at all, for he

was busy dressing, and I had to shout my questions through the door, and he could not always hear me at

'Oh! he had walked part of the way with Mr Dunster, and then cut across by the short path through the fields,

as far as I could understand him through the door. He seemed very much annoyed to hear that Mr Dunster

had not been at home all night; but he said I was to tell Mrs Jackson that he would go to the office as soon as

he had had his breakfast, which he ordered to be sent up directly into his own room, and he had no doubt it

would all turn out right; but that she had better go home at once. And, as I told her, she might find Mr

Dunster there by the time she got there. There, there is your papa going out! He has not lost any time over his

Ellinor had taken up the Hamley Examiner, a daily paper, which lay on the table, to hide her face in the first

instance; but it served a second purpose, as she glanced languidly over the columns of the advertisements.

'Oh! here are Colonel Macdonald's orchidaceous plants to be sold. All the stock of hothouse and stoveplants

at Hartwell Priory. I must send James over to Hartwell to attend the sale. It is to last for three days.'

'Oh yes; he had better stay at the little inn there, to be on the spot. Three days,' and as she spoke, she ran out

to the gardener, who was sweeping up the newlymown grass in the front of the house. She gave him hasty

and unlimited 'directions, only seeming intent if anyone had been suspiciously watching her words and

actions to hurry him off to the distant village, where the auction was to take place.

When he was once gone she breathed more freely. Now, no one but the three cognizant of the terrible reason

of the disturbance of the turf under the trees in a certain spot in the belt round the flowergarden, would be

likely to go into the place. Miss Monro might wander round with a hook in her hand; but she never noticed

anything, and was shortsighted into the bargain. Three days of this moist, warm, growing weather, and the

green grass would spring, just as if life was what it had been twentyfour hours before.

When all this was done and said, it seemed as if Ellinor's strength and spirit sank down at once. Her voice

became feeble, her aspect wan; and although she told Miss Monro that nothing was the matter, yet it was

impossible for anyone who loved her not to perceive that she was far from well. The kind governess placed

her pupil on the sofa, covered her feet up warmly, darkened the room, and then stole out on tiptoe, fancying

that Ellinor would sleep. Her eyes were, indeed, shut; but try as much as she would to be quiet, she was up in

less than five minutes after Miss Monro had left the room, and walking up and down in all the restless agony

of body that arises from an overstrained mind. But soon Miss Monro reappeared, bringing with her a dose of

soothing medicine of her own concocting, for she was great in domestic quackery. What the medicine was

Ellinor did not care to know; she drank it without any sign of her usual merry resistance to physic of Miss

Monro's ordering; and, as the latter took up a book, and showed a set purpose of remaining with her patient,

She wakened late in the afternoon with a start. Her father was standing over her, listening to Miss Monro's

account of her indisposition. She only caught one glimpse of his strangely altered countenance, and hid her

head in the cushions hid it from memory, not from him. For in an instant she must have conjectured the

interpretation he was likely to put upon her shrinking action, and 'She had turned towards him, and had

thrown her arms round his neck, and was kissing his cold, passive face. Then she fell back. But all this time

their sad eyes never met they dreaded the look of recollection that must be in each other's gaze.

'There, my dear!' said Miss Monro. 'Now you must lie still till I fetch you a little broth. You are better now,

'You need not go for the broth, Miss Monro,' said Mr Wilkins, ringing the bell. 'Fletcher can surely bring it.'

He dreaded the being left alone with his daughter nor did she fear it less. She heard the strange alteration in

her father's voice, hard and hoarse, as if it was an effort to speak. The physical signs of his suffering cut her

to the heart; and yet she wondered how it was that they could both be alive, or, if alive, that they were not

rending their garments and crying aloud. Mr Wilkins seemed to have lost the power of careless action and

speech, it is true. He wished to leave the room now his anxiety about his daughter was relieved, but hardly

knew how to set about it. He was obliged to think about the veriest trifle, in order that by an effort of reason

he might understand how he should have spoken or acted if he had been free from bloodguiltiness. Ellinor

understood all by intuition. But henceforward the unspoken comprehension of each other's hidden motions

made their mutual presence a burdensome anxiety to each. Miss Monro was a relief; they were glad of her as

a third person, unconscious of the secret which constrained them. This afternoon her unconsciousness gave

present pain, although on after reflection each found in her speeches a cause of rejoicing.

'I have not heard. I have been riding. I went on business to Mr Estcourt's. Perhaps you will be so kind as to

Ellinor sickened at the words. She had been all her life a truthful, plainspoken girl. She held herself high

above deceit. Yet, here came the necessity for deceit a snare spread around her. She had not revolted so

much from the deed which brought unpremeditated death, as she did from these words of her father's. The

night before, in her mad fever of affright, she had fancied that to conceal the body was all that would be

required; she had not looked forward to the long, weary course of small lies, to be done and said, involved in

that one mistaken action. Yet, while her father's words made her soul revolt, his appearance melted her heart,

as she caught it, halfturned away from her, neither looking straight at Miss Monro, nor at anything

materially visible. His hollow sunken eye seemed, to Ellinor, to have a vision of the dead man before it. His

cheek was livid and worn, and its healthy colouring, gained by years of hearty outdoor exercise, was all gone

into the wanness of age. His hair even, to Ellinor, seemed greyer for the past night of wretchedness. He

stooped, and looked dreamily earthward, where formerly he had stood erect. It needed all the pity called forth

by such observation to quench Ellinor's passionate contempt for the course on which she and her father were

embarked, when she heard him repeat his words to the servant who came with her broth.

'Fletcher! go to Mrs Jackson's, and inquire if Mr Dunster is come home yet. I want to speak to him.'

'To him!' lying dead where he had been laid; killed by the man who now asked for his presence. Ellinor shut

her eyes, and lay back in despair. She wished she might die, and be out of this horrible tangle of events.

Two minutes after, she was conscious of her father and Miss Monro stealing softly out of the room. They

'Oh, God,' she prayed, 'Thou knowest! Help me! There is none other help but Thee!'

I suppose she fainted. For, an hour or more afterwards, Miss Monro, coming in, found her lying insensible by

She was carried to bed. She was not delirious, she was only in a stupor, which they feared might end in

delirium. To obviate this, her father sent far and wide for skilful physicians, who tended her, almost at the

People said how hard it was upon Mr Wilkins, that scarcely had that wretch Dunster gone off, with no one

knows how much out of the trusts of the firm, before his only child fell ill. And, to tell the truth, he himself

looked burnt and scared with affliction. He had a startled look, they said, as if he never could tell, after such

experience, from which side the awful proofs of the uncertainty of earth would appear, the terrible phantoms

of unforeseen dread. Both rich and poor, town and country, sympathized with him. The rich cared not to press

their claims, or their business, at such a time; and only wondered, in their superficial talk after dinner, how

such a good fellow as Wilkins could ever have been deceived by a man like Dunster. Even Sir Frank Holster

and his lady forgot their old quarrel, and came to inquire after Ellinor, and sent her hothouse fruit by the

Mr Corbet behaved as an anxious lover should do. He wrote daily to Miss Monro to beg for the most minute

bulletins; he procured everything in town that any doctor even fancied might be of service. He came down as

soon as there was the slightest hint of permission that Ellinor might see him. He overpowered her with tender

words and caresses, till at last she shrank away from them, as from something too bewildering, and past all

But one night before this, when all windows and doors stood open to admit the least breath that stirred the

sultry July air, a servant on velvet tiptoe had stolen up to Ellinor's open door, and had beckoned out of the

'A gentleman wants you,' were all the words the housemaid dared to say so close to the bedroom. And softly,

softly Miss Monro stepped down the stairs, into the drawingroom; and there she saw Mr Livingstone. But

'I have travelled all day. I heard she was ill was dying. May I just have one more look at her? I will not

'I beg your pardon, sir, but I don't know who you are; and if you mean Miss Wilkins, by "her," she is very ill,

but we hope not dying. She was very ill, indeed, yesterday; very dangerously ill, I may say, but she is having

a good sleep, in consequence of a soporific medicine, and we are really beginning to hope '

But just here Miss Monro's band was taken, and, to her infinite surprise, was kissed before she could

'God bless you, madam, for saying so. But if she sleeps, will you let me see her; it can do no harm, for I will

tread as if on eggshells; and I have come so far if I might just look on her sweet face. Pray, madam, let me

But he did ask for more, after he had had his wish. He stole upstairs after Miss Monro, who looked round

reproachfully at him if even a nightingale sang, or an owl hooted in the trees outside the open windows, yet

'Her father's room; he has not been in bed for six nights, till tonight; pray do not make a noise to waken him.'

And on into the deep stillness of the hushed room, where one clear ray of hidden lamplight shot athwart the

floor, where a watcher, breathing softly, sat beside the bed where Ellinor's dark head lay motionless on the

white pillow, her face almost as white, her form almost as still. You might have heard a pin fall. After a while

he moved to withdraw. Miss Monro, jealous of every sound, followed him, with steps all the more heavy

because they were taken with so much care, down the stairs, back into the drawingroom. By the bedcandle

flaring in the draught, she saw that there was the glittering mark of wet tears on his cheek; and she felt, as she

said afterwards, 'sorry for the young man.' And yet she urged him to go, for she knew that she might be

'Thank you. She looked so changed oh! she looked as though she were dead. You will write Herbert

Livingstone, Langham Vicarage, Yorkshire; you will promise me to write. If I could do anything for her, but

I can but pray. Oh, my darling; my darling! and I have no right to be with her.'

'Go away, there's a good young man,' said Miss Monro, all the more pressing to hurry him out by the front

door, because she was afraid of his emotion overmastering him, and making him noisy in his demonstrations.

'Yes, I will write; I will write, never fear!' and she bolted the door behind him, and was thankful.

Two minutes afterwards there was a low tap; she undid the fastenings, and there he stood, pale in the

'No, no! not I! Poor creature, she's not likely to care to hear anything this long while. She never roused at Mr

'Mr Corbet's!' said Livingstone, below his breath, and he turned and went away; this time for good. But

Ellinor recovered. She knew she was recovering, when day after day she felt involuntary strength and

appetite return. Her body seemed stronger than her will; for that would have induced her to creep into her

She lay, for the most part, with her eyes closed, very still and quiet; but she thought with the intensity of one

who seeks for lost peace, and cannot find it. She began to see that if in the mad impulses of that mad

nightmare of horror, they had all strengthened each other, and dared to be frank and open, confessing a great

fault, a greater disaster, a greater woe which in the first instance was hardly a crime their future course,

though sad and sorrowful, would have been a simple and straightforward one to tread. But it was not for her

to undo what was done, and to reveal the error and shame of a father. Only she, turning anew to God, in the

solemn and quiet watches of the night, made a covenant, that in her conduct, her own personal individual life,

she would act loyally and truthfully. And as for the future, and all the terrible chances involved in it, she

would leave it in His hands if, indeed (and here came in the Tempter), He would watch over one whose life

hereafter must seem based upon a lie. Her only plea, offered 'standing afar off,' was, 'The lie is said and done

and over it was not for my own sake. Can filial piety be so overcome by the rights of justice and truth, as to

Her father's severe, sharp punishment began. He knew why she suffered, what made her young strength fatter

and tremble, what made her life seen nigh about to be quenched in death. Yet he could not take his sorrow

and care in the natural manner. He was obliged to think how every word and deed would be construed. He

fancied that people were watching him with suspicious eyes, when nothing was further from their thoughts.

For once let the 'public' of any place be possessed by an idea, it is more difficult to dislodge it than anyone

imagines who has not tried. If Mr Wilkins had gone into Hamley Marketplace, and proclaimed himself guilty

of the manslaughter of Mr Dunster nay, if he had detailed all the circumstances the people would have

exclaimed, 'Poor man, he is crazed by this discovery of the unworthiness of the man he trusted so; and no

wonder it was such a thing to have done to have defrauded his partner to such an extent, and then have

For many small circumstances, which I do not stop to detail here, went far to prove this, as we know,

unfounded supposition; and Mr Wilkins, who was known, from his handsome boyhood, through his comely

manhood, up to the present time, by all the people in Hamley, was an object of sympathy and respect to

everyone who saw him, as he passed by, old, and lorn, and haggard before his time, all through the evil

conduct of one, Londonbred, who was as a hard, unlovely stranger to the popular mind of this little country

Mr Wilkins's own servants liked him. The workings of his temptations were such as they could understand. If

he had been hottempered, he had also been generous, or I should rather say careless and lavish with his

money. And now that he was cheated and impoverished by his partner's delinquency, they thought it no

wonder that he drank long and deep in the solitary evenings which he passed at home. It was not that he was

without invitations. Everyone came forward to testify their respect for him by asking him to their houses. He

had probably never been so universally popular since his father's death. But, as he said, he did not care to go

But if anyone had cared to observe his conduct at home, and to draw conclusions from it, they could have

noticed that, anxious as he was about Ellinor, he rather avoided than sought her presence, now that her

consciousness and memory were restored. Nor did she ask for, or wish for him. The presence of each was a

burden to the other. Oh, sad and woeful night of May overshadowing the coming summer months with

Still youth prevailed over all. Ellinor got well, as I have said, even when she would fain have died. And the

afternoon came when she left her room. Miss Monro would gladly have made a festival of her recovery, and

have had her conveyed into the unused drawingroom. But Ellinor begged that she might be taken into the

library into the schoolroom anywhere (thought she) not looking on the side of the house on the

flowergarden, which she had felt in all her illness as a ghastly pressure, lying within sight of those very

windows, through which the morning sun streamed right upon her bed like the accusing angel, bringing all

And when Ellinor was better still, when the Bathchair had been sent up for her use, by some kindly old

maid, out of Hamley, she still petitioned that it might be kept on the lawn or town side of the house, away

One day she almost screamed, when, as she was going to the front door, she saw Dixon standing ready to

draw her, instead of Fletcher, the servant who usually went. But she checked all demonstration of feeling;

although it was the first time she had seen him since he and she and one more had worked their hearts out in

As soon as they were out of immediate sight of the windows, she asked him to stop, forcing herself to speak

'Ay!' said he. 'We didn't think much of it at the time, did we, Miss Nelly? But it'll be the death on us, I'm

thinking. It has aged me above a bit. All my fifty years afore were but as a forenoon of child's play to that

night. Measter, too I could abear a good deal, but measter cuts through the stableyard, and past me,

wi'out a word, as if I was poison, or a stinking foumart. It's that as is worst, Miss Nelly, it is.'

And the poor man brushed some tears from his eyes with the back of his withered, furrowed hand. Ellinor

caught the infection, and cried outright, sobbed like a child, even while she held out her little white thin band

to his grasp. For as soon as he saw her emotion, he was penitent for what he had said.

'Dixon!' said she at length, 'you must not mind it. You must try not to mind it. I see he does not like to be

reminded of that, even by seeing me. He tries never to be alone with me. My poor old Dixon, it has spoilt my

She sobbed as if her heart would break; and now it was Dixon's turn to be comforter.

'Ah, dear, my blessing, he loves you above everything. It's only he can't abear the sight of us, as is but

natural. And if he doesn't fancy being alone with you, there's always one as does, and that's a comfort at the

worst of times. And don't ye fret about what I said a minute ago. I were put out because measter all but

pushed me out of his way this morning, without never a word. But I were an old fool for telling ye. And I've

really forgotten why I told Fletcher I'd drag ye a bit about today. Th' gardener is beginning for to wonder as

you don't want to see th' annuals and beddingout things as you were so particular about in May. And I

thought I'd just have a word wi' ye, and then if you'd let me, we'd go together just once round th'

flowergarden, just to say you've been, you know, and to give them chaps a bit of praise. You'll only have to

He began to pull resolutely in the direction of the flowergarden. Ellinor bit her lips to keep in the cry of

'It's not hardness, nothing like it; I've waited till I heerd you were better; but it's in for a penny in for a pound

wi' us all; and folk may talk; and bless your little brave heart, you'll stand a deal for your father's sake, and so

will I, though I do feel it above a bit, when he puts out his hand as if to keep me off, and I only going to speak

to him about Clipper's knees; though I'll own I had wondered many a day when I was to have the

'Well! and now you've seen the beds, and can say they looked mighty pretty, and is done all as you wished;

and we're got out again, and breathing fresher air than yon sunbaked hole, with its smelling flowers, not half

So the good man chattered on; not without the purpose of giving Ellinor time to recover herself, and partly

also to drown his own cares, which lay heavier on his heart than he could say. But he thought himself

rewarded by Ellinor's thanks, and warm pressure of his hard hand as she got out at the front door, and bade

The break to her days of weary monotony was the letters she constantly received from Mr Corbet. And yet,

here again lurked the sting. He was all astonishment and indignation at Mr Dunster's disappearance, or rather

flight to America. And now that she was growing stronger, he did not scruple to express curiosity respecting

the details, never doubting but that she was perfectly acquainted with much that he wanted to know; although

he had too much delicacy to question her on the point which was most important of all in his eyes, namely,

how far it had affected Mr Wilkins's worldly prospects; for the report prevalent in Hamley had reached

London, that Mr Dunster had made away with, or carried off, trustproperty to a considerable extent, for all

It was hard work for Ralph Corbet to keep from seeking direct information on this head from Mr Ness, or,

indeed, from Mr Wilkins himself. But he restrained himself, knowing that in August he should be able to

make all these inquiries personally. Before the end of the Long Vacation he had hoped to marry Ellinor; that

was the time which had been planned by them when they had met in the early spring before her illness and all

this misfortune happened. But now, as he wrote to his father, nothing could be definitively arranged until he

Accordingly, one Saturday in August, he came to Ford Bank, this time as a visitor to Ellinor's home, instead

The house was still as if asleep in the full heat of the afternoon sun, as Mr Corbet drove up. The

windowblinds were down; the front door wide open, great stands of heliotrope and roses and geraniums

stood just within the shadow of the hall; but through all the silence his approach seemed to excite no

commotion. He thought it strange that he had not been watched for, that Ellinor did not come running out to

meet him, that she allowed Fletcher to come and attend to his luggage, and usher him into the library just like

any common visitor, any morningcaller. He stiffened himself up into a moment's indignant coldness of

manner. But it vanished in an instant when, on the door being opened, he saw Ellinor standing, holding by the

table, looking for his appearance with almost panting anxiety. He thought of nothing then but her evident

weakness, her changed looks, for which no account of her illness had prepared him. For she was deadly

white, lips and all; and her dark eyes seemed unnaturally enlarged, while the caves in which they were set

were strangely deep and hollow. Her hair, too, had been cut off pretty closely; she did not usually wear a cap,

but with some faint idea of making herself look better in his eye, she had put one on this day, and the effect

was that she seemed to be forty years of age; but one instant after he had come in, her pale face was flooded

with crimson, and her eyes were full of tears. She had hard work to keep herself from going into hysterics,

but she instinctively knew how much he would hate a scene, and she checked herself in time.

'Oh,' she murmured, 'I am so glad to see you; it is such a comfort, such an infinite pleasure.' And so she went

on, cooing out words over him, and stroking his hair with her thin fingers. While he rather tried to avert his

But when she came down, dressed for dinner, this sense of her change was diminished to him. Her short

brown hair had already a little wave, and was ornamented by some black lace; she wore a large black lace

shawl it had been her mother's of old over some delicatecoloured muslin dress; her face was slightly

flushed, and had the tints of a wild rose; her lips kept pale and trembling with involuntary motion, it is true;

and as the lovers stood together, hand in hand, by the window, he was aware of a, little convulsive twitching

at every noise, even while she seemed gazing in tranquil pleasure on the long smooth slope of the

newlymown lawn, stretching down to the little brook that prattled merrily over the stones on its merry

He felt a stronger twitch than ever before. even while his ear, less delicate than hers, could distinguish no

peculiar sound. About two minutes after Mr Wilkins entered the room. He came up to Mr Corbet with warm

welcome: some of it real, some of it assumed. He talked volubly to him, taking little or no notice of Ellinor,

who dropped into the background, and sat down on the sofa by Miss Monro; for on this day they were all to

dine together. Ralph Corbet thought that Mr Wilkins was aged; but no wonder, after all his anxiety of various

kinds: Mr Dunster's flight and reported defalcations, Ellinor's illness, of the seriousness of which her lover

He would fain have spoken more to her during the dinner that ensued, but Mr Wilkins absorbed all his

attention, talking and questioning on subjects that left the ladies out of the conversation almost perpetually.

Mr Corbet recognized his host's fine tact, even while his persistence in talking annoyed him. He was quite

sure that Mr Wilkins was anxious to spare his daughter any exertion beyond that to which, indeed, she

seemed scarcely equal of sitting at the head of the table. And the more her father talked so fine an

observer was Mr Corbet the more silent and depressed Ellinor appeared. But byandby he accounted for

this inverse ratio of gaiety, as he perceived how quickly Mr Wilkins had his glass replenished. And here,

again, Mr Corbet drew his conclusions, from the silent way in which, without a word or a sign from his

master, Fletcher gave him more wine continually wine that was drained off at once.

'Six glasses of sherry before dessert,' thought Mr Corbet to himself. 'Bad habit no wonder Ellinor looks

grave.' And when the gentlemen were left alone, Mr Wilkins helped himself even still more freely; yet

without the slightest effect on the clearness and brilliancy of his conversation. He had always talked well and

racily, that Ralph knew, and in this power he now recognized a temptation to which he feared that his future

fatherinlaw had succumbed. And yet, while he perceived that this gift led into temptation, he coveted it for

himself; for he was perfectly aware that this fluency, this happy choice of epithets, was the one thing he

should fail in when he began to enter into the more active career of his profession. But after some time spent

in listening, and admiring, with this little feeling of envy lurking in the background, Mr Corbet became aware

of Mr Wilkins's increasing confusion of ideas, and rather unnatural merriment; and, with a sudden revulsion

from admiration to disgust, he rose up to go into the library, where Ellinor and Miss Monro were sitting. Mr

Wilkins accompanied him, laughing and talking somewhat loudly. Was Ellinor aware of her father's state? Of

that Mr Corbet could not be sure. She looked up with grave sad eyes as they came into the room, but with no

apparent sensation of surprise, annoyance, or shame. When her glance met her father's, Mr Corbet noticed

that it seemed to sober the latter immediately. He sat down near the open window, and did not speak, but

sighed heavily from time to time. Miss Monro took up a book, in order to leave the young people to

themselves; and after a little low murmured conversation, Ellinor went upstairs to put on her things for a

They were sometimes sauntering along in the lovely summer twilight, now resting on some grassy hedgerow

bank, or standing still, looking at the great barges, with their crimson sails, lazily floating down the river,

making ripples on the glassy opal surface of the water. They did not talk very much; Ellinor seemed

disinclined for the exertion; and her lover was thinking over Mr Wilkins's behaviour, with some surprise and

They came home, looking serious and tired: yet they could not account for their fatigue by the length of their

walk; and Miss Monro, forgetting Autolycus's song, kept fidgeting about Ellinor, and wondering how it was

she looked so pale, if she had only been as far as the Ash meadow. To escape from this wonder, Ellinor went

early to bed. Mr Wilkins was gone, no one knew where, and Ralph and Miss Monro were left to a halfhour's

t�te�t�te. He thought he could easily account for Ellinor's languor, if, indeed, she bad perceived as much as

he had done of her father's state, when they had come into the library after dinner. But there were many

details which he was anxious to hear from a comparatively indifferent person, and as soon as he could, he

passed on from the conversation about Ellinor's health, to inquiries as to the whole affair of Mr Dunster's

Next to her anxiety about Ellinor, Miss Monro liked to dilate on the mystery connected with Mr Dunster's

flight; for that was the word she employed without hesitation, as she gave him the account of the event

universally received and believed in by the people of Hamley. How Mr Dunster had never been liked by

anyone; how everybody remembered that he could never look them straight in the face; how he always

seemed to be hiding something that he did not want to have known; how he had drawn a large sum (exact

quantity unknown) out of the county bank, only the day before he left Hamley, doubtless in preparation for

his escape; how someone had told Mr Wilkins he had seen a man just like Dunster lurking about the docks at

Liverpool, about two days after he had left his lodgings, but that this someone, being in a hurry, had not cared

to stop and speak to the man; how that the affairs in the office were discovered to he in such a sad state; that

it was no wonder that Mr Dunster had absconded he that had been so trusted by poor dear Mr Wilkins.

'But has he no friends who can explain his proceedings, and account for the missing money, in some way?'

'No, none. Mr Wilkins has written everywhere, right and left, I believe. I know he had a letter from Mr

Dunster's nearest relation a tradesman in the City a cousin, I think, and he could give no information in

any way. He knew that about ten years ago Mr Dunster had had a great fancy for going to America, and had

read a great many travels all just what a man would do before going off to a country.'

'Ten years is a long time beforehand,' said Mr Corbet, half smiling; 'shows malice prepense with a

'No; I never heard of that,' said Miss Monro, rather unwillingly, for she considered it as a piece of loyalty to

the Wilkinses, whom Mr Dunster had injured (as she thought), to blacken his character as much as was

'Not at all,' she replied, quickly; 'I am sure, if you had seen the man, with one or two sidelocks of hair

combed over his baldness, as if he were ashamed of it, and his eyes that never looked at you, and his way of

eating with his knife when he thought he was not observed oh, and numbers of things! you would not

'I only meant that he seems to have had no extravagant or vicious habits which would account for his

embezzlement of the money that is missing but, to be sure, money in itself is a temptation only he, being

a partner, was in a fair way of making it without risk to himself. Has Mr Wilkins taken any steps to have him

'Oh, my dear Mr Ralph, you don't know our good Mr Wilkins! He would rather bear the loss, I am sure, and

all this trouble and care which it has brought upon him, than be revenged upon Mr Dunster.'

'Revenged! What nonsense! It is simple justice justice to himself and to others to see that villainy is so

sufficiently punished as to deter others from entering upon such courses. But I have little doubt Mr Wilkins

has taken the right steps: he is not the man to sit down quietly under such a loss.'

'No, indeed! He had him advertised in The Times and in the county papers, and offered a reward of twenty

'So I said. I told Ellinor that I would give twenty pounds myself to have him apprehended, and she, poor

darling! fell atrembling, and said, "I would give all I have I would give my life." And then she was in such

'Poor child poor child! she wants change of scene. Her nerves have been sadly shaken by her illness.'

The next day was Sunday; Ellinor was to go to church for the first time since her illness. Her father had

decided it for her, or else she would fain have stayed away she would hardly acknowledge why, even to

herself, but it seemed to her as if the very words and presence of God must there search her and find her out.

She went early, leaning on the arm of her lover, and trying to forget the past in the present. They walked

slowly along between the rows of waving golden corn ripe for the harvest. Mr Corbet gathered blue and

scarlet flowers, and made up a little rustic nosegay for her. She took and stuck it in her girdle, smiling faintly

Hamley Church had, in former days, been collegiate, and was, in consequence, much larger and grander than

the majority of countrytown churches. The Ford Bank pew was a square one, downstairs; the Ford Bank

servants sat in a front pew in the gallery, right before their master. Ellinor was 'hardening her heart' not to

listen, not to hearken to what might disturb the wound which was just being skinned over, when she caught

Dixon's face up above. He looked worn, sad, soured, and anxious to a miserable degree; but he was straining

eyes and cars, heart and soul, to hear the solemn words read from the pulpit, as if in them alone he could find

She was in a tumultuous state of mind when they left church; she wished to do her duty, yet could not

ascertain what it was. Who was to help her with wisdom and advice? Assuredly he to whom her future life

was to be trusted. But the case must be stated in an impersonal form. No one, not even her husband, must

ever know anything against her father from her. Ellinor was so artless herself, that she had little idea how

quickly and easily some people can penetrate motives, and combine disjointed sentences. She began to speak

'I can very easily suppose that, with you by me,' said he, filling up her pause.

'Oh! but I don't mean myself at all,' replied she, reddening. 'I am only thinking of what might happen; and

suppose that this girl knew of someone belonging to her we will call it a brother who had done something

wrong, that would bring disgrace upon the whole family if it was known though, indeed, it might not have

been so very wrong as it seemed, and as it would look to the world ought she to break off her engagement

'I can't answer supposititious cases. I must have the facts if facts there are more plainly before me before I

can give an opinion. Who are you thinking of, Ellinor?' asked he, rather abruptly.

'Oh, of no one,' she answered, in affright. 'Why should I be thinking of anyone? I often try to plan out what I

should do, or what I ought to do, if such and such a thing happened, just as you recollect I used to wonder if I

'Then, after all, you yourself are the girl who is engaged, and who has the imaginary brother who gets into

'Yes, I suppose so,' said she, a little annoyed at having betrayed any personal interest in the affair.

'I think you had better tell me fully out what is in your mind,' he replied, kindly. 'Something has happened

which has suggested these questions. Are you putting yourself in the place of anyone about whom you have

been hearing lately? I know you used to do so formerly, when you were a little girl.'

'No; it was a very foolish question of mine, and I ought not to have said anything about it. See! here is Mr

The clergyman joined them on the broad walk that ran by the riverside, and the talk became general. It was a

relief to Ellinor, who had not attained her end, but who had gone far towards betraying something of her own

individual interest in the question she had asked. Ralph had been more struck even by her manner than her

words. He was sure that something lurked behind, and had an idea of his own that it was connected with

Dunster's disappearance. But he was glad that Mr Ness's joining them gave him leisure to consider a little.

The end of his reflections was, that the next day, Monday, he went into the town, and artfully learnt all he

could hear about Mr Dunster's character and mode of going on; and with still more skill he extracted the

popular opinion as to the embarrassed nature of Mr Wilkins's affairs embarrassment which was generally

attributed to Dunster's disappearance with a good large sum belonging to the firm in his possession. But Mr

Corbet thought otherwise; he had accustomed himself to seek out the baser motives for men's conduct, and to

call the result of these researches wisdom. He imagined that Dunster had been well paid by Mr Wilkins for

his disappearance, which was an easy way of accounting for the derangement of accounts and loss of money

that arose, in fact, from Mr Wilkins's extravagance of habits and growing intemperance.

On the Monday afternoon he said to Ellinor, 'Mr Ness interrupted us yesterday in a very interesting

Ellinor reddened, and kept her head still more intently bent over a sketch she was making.

'I have been thinking about it. I still think she ought to tell her lover that such disgrace hung over him I

mean, over the family with whom he was going to connect himself, Of course, the only effect would be to

'Oh! but, Ralph, it might perhaps be something she ought not to tell, whatever came of her silence.'

'Of course there might be all sorts of cases. Unless I knew more I could not pretend to judge.'

This was said rather more coolly. It had the desired effect. Ellinor laid down her brush, and covered her face

'I will tell you this; and more you must not ask of me. I know you are as safe, as can be. I am the girl, you are

the lover, and possible shame hangs over my father, if something oh, so dreadful' (here she blanched), 'but

Though this was nothing more than he expected; though Ralph thought that he was aware what the dreadful

something might be, yet, when it was acknowledged in words, his heart contracted, and for a moment he

forgot the intent, wistful, beautiful face creeping close to his to read his expression aright. But after that his

presence of mind came in aid. He took her in his arms and kissed her; murmuring fond words of sympathy,

and promises of faith, nay, even of greater love than before, since greater need she might have of that love.

But somehow he was glad when the dressingbell rang, and in the solitude of his own room he could reflect

on what he had heard; for the intelligence had been a great shock to him, although he had fancied that his

Ralph Corbet found it a very difficult thing to keep down his curiosity during the next few days. It was a

miserable thing to have Ellinor's unspoken secret severing them like a phantom. But he had given her his

word that he would make no further inquiries from her. Indeed, he thought he could well enough make out

the outline of past events; still, there was too much left to conjecture for his mind not to be always busy on

the subject. He felt inclined to probe Mr Wilkins, in their afterdinner conversation, in which his host was

frank and lax enough on many subjects. But once touch on the name of Dunster and Mr Wilkins sank into a

kind of suspicious depression of spirits; talking little, and with evident caution; and from time to time

shooting furtive glances at his interlocutor's face. Ellinor was resolutely impervious to any attempts of his to

bring his conversation with her back to the subject which more and more engrossed Ralph Corbet's mind. She

had done her duty, as she understood it; and had received assurances which she was only too glad to believe

fondly with all the tender faith of her heart. Whatever came to pass, Ralph's love would still be hers; nor was

he unwarned of what might come to pass in some dread future day. So she shut her eyes to what might be in

store for her (and, after all, the chances were immeasurably in her favour); and she bent herself with her

whole strength into enjoying the present. Day by day, Mr Corbet's spirits flagged. He was, however, so

generally uniform in the tenor of his talk never very merry, and always avoiding any subject that might call

out deep feeling either on his own or anyone else's part, that few people were aware of his changes of mood.

Ellinor felt them, though she would not acknowledge them: it was bringing her too much face to face with the

One morning he announced the fact of his brother's approaching marriage; the wedding was hastened on

account of some impending event in the duke's family; and the home letter he had received that day was to

bid his presence at Stokely Castle, and also to desire him to be at home by a certain time, not very distant, in

order to look over the requisite legal papers, and to give his assent to some of them. He gave many reasons

why this unlookedfor departure of his was absolutely necessary; but no one doubted it. He need not have

alleged such reiterated excuses. The truth was, he was, restrained and uncomfortable at Ford Bank ever since

Ellinor's confidence. He could not rightly calculate on the most desirable course for his own interests, while

his love for her was constantly being renewed by her sweet presence. Away from her, he could judge more

wisely. Nor did he allege any false reasons for his departure; but the sense of relief to himself was so great at

his recall home, that he was afraid of having it perceived by others; and so took the very way which, if others

Mr Wilkins, too, had begun to feel the restraint of Ralph's grave watchful presence. Ellinor was not strong

enough to be married; nor was the promised money forthcoming if she had been. And to have a fellow

dawdling about the house all day, sauntering into the flowergarden, peering about everywhere, and having a

kind of right to put all manner of unexpected questions, was anything but agreeable. It was only Ellinor that.

clung to his presence clung as though some shadow of what might happen before they met again had fallen

on her spirit. As soon as he had left the house she flew up to a spare bedroom window, to watch for the last

glimpse of the fly which was taking him into the town. And then she kissed the part of the pane on which his

figure, waving an arm out of the carriage window, had last appeared; and went down slowly to gather

together all the things he had last touched the pen he had mended, the flower he had played with, and to

lock them up in the little quaint cabinet that had held her treasures since she was a tiny child.

Miss Monro was, perhaps, very wise in proposing the translation of a difficult part of Dante for a distraction

to Ellinor. The girl went meekly, if reluctantly, to the task set her by her good governess, and byandby her

Ralph's people were not very slow in discovering that something had not gone on quite smoothly with him at

Ford Bank. They knew his ways and looks with family intuition, and could easily be certain thus far. But not

even his mother's skilfulest wiles, nor his favourite sister's coaxing, could obtain a word or a hint; and when

his father, the squire, who had heard the opinions of the female part of the family on this head, began, in his

honest blustering way, in their t�te�t�tes after dinner, to hope that Ralph was thinking better than to run his

head into that confounded Hamley attorney's noose, Ralph gravely required Mr Corbet to explain his

meaning, which he professed not to understand so worded. And when the squire had, with much perplexity,

put it into the plain terms of hoping that his son was thinking of breaking off his engagement to Miss

Wilkins, Ralph coolly asked him if he was aware that, in that case, he should lose all title to being a man of

Before very long the Corbet family moved en masse to Stokely Castle for the wedding. Of course, Ralph

associated on equal terms with the magnates of the county, who were the employers of Ellinor's father, and

spoke of him always as 'Wilkins,' just as they spoke of the butler as 'Simmons.' Here, too, among a class of

men high above local gossip, and thus unaware of his engagement, he learnt the popular opinion respecting

his future fatherinlaw; an opinion not entirely respectful, though intermingled with a good deal of personal

liking. 'Poor Wilkins,' as they called him, 'was sadly extravagant for a man in his position; had no right to

spend money, and act as if he were a man of independent fortune.' His habits of life were criticized; and pity,

not free from blame, was bestowed upon him for the losses he had sustained from his late clerk's

disappearance and defalcation. But what could be expected, if a man did not choose to attend to his own

The wedding went by, as grand weddings do, without let or hindrance, according to the approved pattern. A

cabinet minister honoured it with his presence, and, being a distant relation of the Brabants, remained for a

few days after the grand occasion. During this time he became rather intimate with Ralph Corbet; many of

their tastes were in common. Ralph took a great interest in the manner of working out political questions; in

the balance and state of parties; and had the right appreciation of the exact qualities on which the minister

piqued himself. In return, the latter was always on the lookout for promising young men, who, either by

their capability of speechmaking, or articlewriting, might advance the views of his party. Recognizing the

powers he most valued in Ralph, he spared no pains to attach him to his own political set. When they

separated, it was with the full understanding that they were to see a good deal of each other in London.

The holiday Ralph allowed himself was passing rapidly away; but, before he returned to his chambers and his

hard work, he had promised to spend a few more days with Ellinor; and it suited him to go straight from the

duke's to Ford Bank. He left the castle soon after breakfast the luxurious, elegant breakfast, served by

domestics who performed their work with the accuracy and perfection of machines. He arrived at Ford Bank

before the manservant had quite finished the dirtier part of his morning's work, and he came to the

glassdoor in his striped cotton jacket, a little soiled, and rolling up his working apron. Ellinor was not yet

strong enough to get up and go out and gather flowers for the rooms, so those left from yesterday were rather

faded; in short, the contrast from entire completeness and exquisite freshness of arrangement struck forcibly

upon Ralph's perceptions, which were critical rather than appreciative; and, as his affections were always

subdued to his intellect, Ellinor's lovely face and graceful figure flying to meet him did not gain his full

approval, because her hair was dressed in an oldfashioned way, her waist was either too long or too short,

her sleeves too full or too tight for the standard of fashion to which his eye had been accustomed while

But, as he had always piqued himself upon being able to put on one side all superficial worldliness in his

chase after power, it did not do for him to shrink from seeing and facing the incompleteness of moderate

means. Only marriage upon moderate means was gradually becoming more distasteful to him.

Nor did his subsequent intercourse with Lord Bolton, the cabinet minister before mentioned, tend to reconcile

him to early matrimony. At Lord Bolton's house he met polished and intellectual society, and all that

smoothness in ministering to the lower wants in eating and drinking which seems to provide that the right

thing shall always be at the right place at the right time, so that the want of it shall never impede for an instant

the feast of wit or reason; while, if he went to the houses of his friends, men of the same college and standing

as himself, who had been seduced into early marriages, he was uncomfortably aware of numerous

inconsistencies and hitches in their m�nages. Besides, the idea of the possible disgrace that might befall the

family with which he thought of allying himself haunted him with the tenacity and also with the exaggeration

of a nightmare, whenever he had overworked himself in his search after available and profitable knowledge,

or had a fit of indigestion after the exquisite dinners he was learning so well to appreciate.

Christmas was, of course, to be devoted to his own family; it was an unavoidable necessity, as he told Ellinor,

while, in reality, he was beginning to find absence from his betrothed something of a relief. Yet the

wranglings and folly of his home, even blessed by the presence of a Lady Maria, made him look forward to

Ellinor, with the fine tact which love gives, had discovered his annoyance at various little incongruities in the

household at the time of his second visit in the previous autumn, and had laboured to make all as perfect as

she could before his return. But she had much to struggle against. For the first time in her life there was a

great want of ready money; she could scarcely obtain the servants' wages; and the bill for the spring seeds

was a heavy weight on her conscience. For Miss Monro's methodical habits had taught her pupil great

Then, her father's temper had become very uncertain. He avoided being alone with her whenever he possibly

could; and the consciousness of this, and of the terrible mutual secret which was the cause of this

estrangement, were the reasons why Ellinor never recovered her pretty youthful bloom after her illness. Of

course it was to this that the outside world attributed her changed appearance. They would shake their heads

and say, 'Ah, poor Miss Wilkins! What a lovely creature she was before that fever!'

But youth is youth, and will assert itself in a certain elasticity of body and spirits; and at times Ellinor forgot

that fearful night for several hours together. Even when her father's averted eye brought it all once more

before her, she had learnt to form excuses, and palliations, and to regard Mr Dunster's death as only the

consequence of an unfortunate accident. But she tried to put the miserable remembrance entirely out of her

mind; to go on from day to day thinking only of the day, and how to arrange it so as to cause the least

irritation to her father. She would so gladly have spoken to him on the one subject which overshadowed all

their intercourse; she fancied that by speaking she might have been able to banish the phantom, or reduce its

terror to what she believed to be the due proportion. But her father was evidently determined to show that he

was never more to be spoken to on that subject; and all she could do was to follow his lead on the rare

occasions that they fell into something like the old confidential intercourse. As yet, to her, he had never given

way to anger; but before her he had often spoken in a manner which both pained and terrified her. Sometimes

his eye in the midst of his passion caught on her face of affright and dismay, and then he would stop, and

make such an effort to control himself as sometimes ended in tears. Ellinor did not understand that both these

phases were owing to his increasing habit of drinking more than he ought to have done. She set them down as

the direct effects of a sorely burdened conscience; and strove more and more to plan for his daily life at

home, how it should go on with oiled wheels, neither a jerk nor a jar. It was no wonder she looked wistful,

and careworn, and old. Miss Monro was her great comfort; the total unconsciousness on that lady's part of

anything below the surface, and yet her full and delicate recognition of all the little daily cares and trials,

made her sympathy most valuable to Ellinor, while there was no need to fear that it would ever give Miss

Monro that power of seeing into the heart of things which it frequently confers upon imaginative people, who

There was a strong bond between Ellinor and Dixon, although they scarcely ever exchanged a word save on

the most commonplace subjects; but their silence was based on different feelings from that which separated

Ellinor from her father. Ellinor and Dixon could not speak freely, because their hearts were full of pity for the

This was the state of the household to which Ralph Corbet came down at Easter. He might have been known

in London as a brilliant dinerout by this time; but he could not afford to throw his life away in fireworks; he

calculated his forces, and condensed their power as much as might be, only visiting where he was likely to

meet men who could help in his future career. He had been invited to spend the Easter vacation at a certain

country house, which would be full of such human steppingstones; and he declined in order to keep his

word to Ellinor, and go to Ford Bank. But he could not help looking upon himself a little in the light of a

martyr to duty; and perhaps this view of his own merits made him chafe under his future fatherinlaw's

irritability of manner, which now showed itself even to him. He found himself distinctly regretting that he

had suffered himself to be engaged so early in life; and having become conscious of the temptation and not

having repelled it at once, of course it returned and returned, and gradually obtained the mastery over him.

What was to be gained by keeping to his engagement with Ellinor? He should have a delicate wife to look

after, and even more than the common additional expenses of married life. He should have a fatherinlaw

whose character at best had had only a local and provincial respectability; which it was now daily losing by

habits which were both sensual and vulgarizing; a man, too, who was strangely changing from joyous

geniality into moody surliness. Besides, he doubted if, in the evident change in the prosperity of the family,

the fortune to be paid down on the occasion of his marriage to Ellinor could be forthcoming. And above all,

and around all, there hovered the shadow of some unrevealed disgrace, which might come to light at any

time, and involve him in it. He thought he had pretty well ascertained the nature of this possible shame, and

had little doubt it would turn out to be that Dunster's disappearance to America, or elsewhere, had been an

arranged plan with Mr Wilkins. Although Mr Ralph Corbet was capable of suspecting him of this mean crime

(so far removed from the impulsive commission of the past sin, which was dragging him daily lower and

lower down), it was of a kind that was peculiarly distasteful to the acute lawyer, who foresaw how such base

conduct would taint all whose names were ever mentioned, even by chance, in connection with it. He used to

lie miserably tossing on his sleepless bed, turning over these things in the night season. He was tormented by

all these thoughts; he would bitterly regret the past events that connected him with Ellinor, from the day

when he first came to read with Mr Ness, up to the present time. But when he came down in the morning, and

saw the faded Ellinor flash into momentary beauty at his entrance into the diningroom, and when she

blushingly drew near with the one single flower freshly gathered, which it had been her custom to place in his

buttonhole when he came down to breakfast, he felt as if his better self was stronger than temptation, and as

As the day wore on the temptation gathered strength. Mr Wilkins came down, and while he was on the scene

Ellinor seemed always engrossed by her father, who apparently cared little enough for all her attentions. Then

there was a complaining of the food, which did not suit the sickly palate of a man who had drunk hard the

night before; and possibly these complaints were extended to the servants, and their incompleteness or

incapacity was thus brought prominently before the eyes of Ralph, who would have preferred to eat a dry

crust in silence, or to have gone without breakfast altogether, if he could have had intellectual conversation of

some high order, to having the greatest dainties with the knowledge of the care required in their preparation

thus coarsely discussed before him. By the time such breakfasts were finished, Ellinor looked thirty, and her

spirits were gone for the day. It had become difficult for Ralph to contract his mind to her small domestic

interests, and she had little else to talk to him about, now that he responded but curtly to all her questions

about himself, and was weary of professing a love which he was ceasing to feel, in all the passionate nothings

which usually make up so much of lovers' talk. The books she had been reading were old classics, whose

place in literature no longer admitted of keen discussion; the poor whom she cared for were all very well in

their way; and, if they could have been brought in to illustrate a theory, hearing about them might have been

of some use; but, as it was, it was simply tiresome to hear day after day of Berry Palmer's rheumatism and

Mrs Kay's baby's fits. There was no talking politics with her, because she was so ignorant that she always

He even grew to find luncheon and Miss Monro not unpleasant varieties to his monotonous t�te�t�tes.

Then came the walk, generally to the town to fetch Mr Wilkins from his office; and once or twice it was

pretty evident how he had been employing his hours. One day in particular his walk was so unsteady and his

speech so thick, that Ralph could only wonder how it was that Ellinor did not perceive the cause; but she was

too openly anxious about the headache of which her father complained to have been at all aware of the

previous selfindulgence which must have brought it on. This very afternoon, as illluck would have it, the

Duke of Hinton and a gentleman whom Ralph had met in town at Lord Bolton's, rode by, and recognized

him; saw Ralph supporting a tipsy man with such quiet friendly interest as must show all passersby that they

were previous friends. Mr Corbet chafed and fumed inwardly all the way home after this unfortunate

occurrence; he was in a thoroughly evil temper before they reached Ford Bank, but he had too much

selfcommand to let this be very apparent, He turned into the shrubberypaths, leaving Ellinor to take her

father into the quietness of his own room, there to lie down and shake off his headache.

Ralph walked along, ruminating in gloomy mood as to what was to be done; how he could best extricate

himself from the miserable relation in which he had placed himself by giving way to impulse. Almost before

he was aware, a little hand stole within his folded arms, and Ellinor's sweet sad eyes looked into his.

'I have put papa down for an hour's rest before dinner,' said she. 'His head seems to ache terribly.'

Ralph was silent and unsympathising, trying to nerve himself up to be disagreeable, but finding it difficult in

Her head sunk. They were near a gardenseat, and she quietly sat down, without speaking.

'About some disgrace which you then fancied hung over you?' No answer. 'Does it still hang over you?'

'I wish you would tell me what it is,' he said, a little impatiently. 'I might be able to help you about it.'

'No! you could not,' replied Ellinor. 'I was sorry to my very heart to tell you what I did; I did not want help;

all that is past. But I wanted to know if you thought that a person situated as I was, was justified in marrying

'But if I don't know what you are alluding to in this mysterious way, you must see don't you see, love? I

am in the position of the ignorant man, whom I think you said you could not feel it right to marry. Why don't

you tell me straight out what it is?' He could not help his irritation betraying itself in his tones and manner of

speaking. She bent a little forward, and looked full into his face, as though to pierce to the very heart's truth

He reddened and grew indignant in a moment. 'What nonsense! just because I ask a question and make a

remark! I think your illness must have made you fanciful, Ellinor. Surely nothing I said deserves such an

interpretation. On the contrary, have I not shown the sincerity and depth of my affection to you by clinging to

He was going to say 'through the wearying opposition of my family,' but he stopped short, for he knew that

the very fact of his mother's opposition had only made him the more determined to have his own way in the

first instance; and even now he did not intend to let out what he had concealed up to this time, that his friends

Ellinor sat silently gazing out upon the meadows, but seeing nothing. Then she put her hand into his. 'I quite

trust you, Ralph. I was wrong to doubt. I am afraid I have grown fanciful and silly.'

He was rather put to it for the right words, for she had precisely divined the dim thought that had

overshadowed his mind when she had looked so intently at him. But he caressed her, and reassured her with

Byandby they sauntered homewards. When they reached the house, Ellinor left him, and flew up to see

how her father was. When Ralph went into his own room he was vexed with himself, both for what he had

Neither he nor Mr Wilkins was in good humour with the world in general at dinnertime, and it needs little in

such cases to condense and turn the lowering tempers into one particular direction. As long as Ellinor and

Miss Monro stayed in the diningroom, a sort of moody peace had been kept up, the ladies talking

incessantly to each other about the trivial nothings of their daily life, with an instinctive consciousness that if

they did not chatter on, something would be said by one of the gentlemen which would be distasteful to the

As soon as Ralph had shut the door behind them, Mr Wilkins went to the sideboard, and took out a bottle

'Have a little cognac?' he asked, with an assumption of carelessness, as he poured out a wineglassful. 'It's a

capital thing for the headache: and this nasty lowering weather has given me a racking headache all day.'

'I am sorry for it,' said Ralph, 'for I wanted particularly to speak to you about business about my marriage,

'What I wanted to say was, that I am anxious to have all things arranged for my marriage in August. Ellinor is

so much better now; in fact, so strong, that I think we may reckon upon her standing the change to a London

'Of course I may have the deeds drawn up in which, as by previous arrangement, you advance a certain

portion of Ellinor's fortune for the purposes therein to be assigned; as we settled last year when I hoped to

A thought flitted through Mr Wilkins's confused brain that he should find it impossible to produce the

thousands required without having recourse to the moneylenders, who were already making difficulties, and

charging him usurious interest for the advances they had lately made; and he unwisely tried to obtain a

diminution in the sum he bad originally proposed to give Ellinor. 'Unwisely,' because he might have read

Ralph's character better than to suppose he would easily consent to any diminution without good and

sufficient reason being given; or without some promise of compensating advantages in the future for the

present sacrifice asked from him. But, perhaps, Mr Wilkins, dulled as he was by wine, thought he could

'You must not be hard upon me, Ralph. That promise was made before before I exactly knew the state of

'Before Dunster's disappearance, in fact,' said Mr Corbet, fixing his steady penetrating eyes on Mr Wilkins's

'Yes exactly before Dunster's ' mumbled out Mr Wilkins, red and confused, and not finishing his

'By the way,' said Ralph (for with careful carelessness of manner he thought he could extract something of

the real nature of the impending disgrace from his companion, in the state in which he then was; and if he

only knew more about this danger he could guard against it; guard others: perhaps himself). 'By the way,

have you ever heard anything of Dunster since he went off to America, isn't it thought?'

He was startled beyond his power of selfcontrol by the instantaneous change in Mr Wilkins which his

question produced. Both started up; Mr Wilkins white, shaking, and trying to say something, but unable to

'Good God! sir, what is the matter?' said Ralph, alarmed at these signs of physical suffering.

'It is nothing, only this headache which shoots through me at times. Don't look at me, sir, in that way. It is

'I beg your pardon,' said Ralph, coldly; his shortlived sympathy thus repulsed, giving way to his curiosity.

But he waited for a minute or two without daring to renew the conversation at the point where they had

stopped: whether interrupted by bodily or mental discomfort on the part of his companion he was not quite

sure. While he hesitated how to begin again on the subject, Mr Wilkins pulled the bottle of brandy to himself

and filled his glass again, tossing off the spirit as if it had been water. Then he tried to look Mr Corbet full in

the face, with a stare as pertinacious as he could make it, but very different from the keen observant gaze

'What were we talking about?' said Ralph, at length, with the most natural air in the world, just as if he had

'Of what you'd a dd deal better hold your tongue about,' growled out Mr Wilkins, in a surly thick voice.

'Sir!' said Ralph, starting to his feet with real passion at being so addressed by 'Wilkins the attorney.'

'Yes,' continued the latter, 'I'll manage my own affairs, and allow of no meddling and no questioning. I said so

once before, and I was not minded, and bad came of it; and now I say it again. And if you're to come here and

put impertinent questions, and stare at me as you've been doing this halfhour past, why, the sooner you

Ralph half turned to take him at his word, and go at once; but then he 'gave Ellinor another chance,' as he

worded it in his thoughts; but it was in no spirit of conciliation that he said:

'You've taken too much of that stuff, sir. You don't know what you're saying. If you did, I should leave your

'You think so, do you?' said Mr Wilkins, trying to stand up, and look dignified and sober. 'I say, sir, that if

you ever venture again to talk and look as you have done tonight, why, sir, I will ring the bell and have you

shown the door by my servants. So now you're warned, my fine fellow!' He sat down, laughing a foolish tipsy

laugh of triumph. In another minute his arm was held firmly but gently by Ralph.

'Listen, Mr Wilkins!' he said, in a low hoarse voice. 'You shall never have to say to me twice what you have

said tonight. Henceforward we are as strangers to each other. As to Ellinor' his tones softened a little, and

he sighed in spite of himself 'I do not think we should have been happy. I believe our engagement was

formed when we were too young to know our own minds, but I would have done my duty and kept to my

word; but you, sir, have yourself severed the connection between us by your insolence tonight. I, to be turned

out of your house by your servants! I, a Corbet, of Westley, who would not submit to such threats from a

peer of the realm, let him be ever so drunk!' He was out of the room, almost out of the house, before he had

Mr Wilkins sat still, first fiercely angry, then astonished, and lastly dismayed into sobriety. 'Corbet, Corbet!

Ralph!' he called in vain; then he got up and went to the door, opened it, looked into the fullylighted hall; all

was so quiet there that he could hear the quiet voices of the women in the drawingroom talking together. He

thought for a moment, went to the hatstand, and missed Ralph's lowcrowned straw hat.

Then he sat down once more in the diningroom, and endeavoured to make out exactly what had passed; but

he could not believe that Mr Corbet had come to any enduring or final resolution to break off his engagement,

and he had almost reasoned himself back into his former state of indignation at impertinence and injury,

'Papa! what does this mean?' said she, putting an open note into his hand. He took up his glasses, but his hand

shook so that he could hardly read. The note was from the parsonage, to Ellinor; only three lines sent by Mr

Ness's servant, who had come to fetch Mr Corbet's things. He had written three lines with some consideration

for Ellinor, even when he was in his first flush of anger against her father, and it must be confessed of relief

at his own freedom, thus brought about by the act of another, and not of his own working out, which partly

'Papa, what is it?' Ellinor cried, clasping her hands together, as her father sat silent, vacantly gazing into the

'I don't know!' said he, looking up at her piteously; 'it's the world, I think. Everything goes wrong with me

and mine: it went wrong before THAT night so it can't be that, can it, Ellinor?'

He put one arm languidly round her. 'I used to read of Orestes and the Furies at Eton when I was a boy, and I

thought it was all a heathen fiction. Poor little motherless girl!' said he, laying his other hand on her head,

with the caressing gesture he had been accustomed to use when she had been a little child. 'Did you love him

so very dearly, Nelly?' he whispered, his cheek against her; 'for somehow of late he has not seemed to me

good enough for thee. He has got an inkling that something has gone wrong; and he was very inquisitive I

'Oh, papa, it was my doing, I am afraid, I said something long ago about possible disgrace.'

He pushed her away; he stood up, and looked at her with the eyes dilated, half in fear, half in fierceness, of an

animal at bay; he did not heed that his abrupt movement had almost thrown her prostrate on the ground.

'Oh, darling father, listen!' said she, creeping to his knees, and clasping them with her hands. 'I said it, as if it

were a possible case, of someone else last August but he immediately applied it, and asked me if it was

over me the disgrace, or shame I forget the words we used hung; and what could I say?'

'Anything anything to put him off the scent. God help me, I am a lost man, betrayed by my child!'

Ellinor let go his knees, and covered her face. Everyone stabbed at that poor heart. In a minute or so her

'I don't mean what I say. I often don't mean it now. Ellinor, you must forgive me, my child!' He stooped, and

lifted her up, and sat down, taking her on his knee, and smoothing her hair off her hot forehead. 'Remember,

child, how very miserable I am, and have forgiveness for me. He had none, and yet he must have seen I had

'Drinking, papa!' said Ellinor, raising her head, and looking at him with sorrowful surprise.

'Oh, how miserable we are!' cried Ellinor, bursting into tears 'how very miserable! It seems almost as if God

'Hush! hush!: said he. 'Your mother said once she did so pray that you might grow tip religious; you must be

religious, child, because she prayed for it so often. Poor Lettice, how glad I am that you are dead!' Here he

began to cry like a child. Ellinor comforted him with kisses rather than words. He pushed her away, after a

while, and said, sharply: 'How much does he know? I must make sure of that. How much did you tell him,

'I will, as well as I can; but it was last August. I only said, "Was it right for a woman to marry, knowing that

'No, not a word more. He referred to the subject again today, in the shrubbery; but I told him nothing more.

He pressed her to him, but did not speak. Then he took the note up again, and read it with as much care and

'Nelly,' said he, at length, 'be says true; he is not good enough for thee. He shrinks from the thought of the

He shook so much as he said this, that Ellinor had to put any suffering of her own on one side, and try to

confine her thoughts to the necessity of getting her father immediately up to bed. She sat by him till he went

to sleep and she could leave him, and go to her own room, to forgetfulness and rest, if she could find those

Mr Corbet was so well known at the parsonage by the two old servants, that he had no difficulty, on reaching

it, after his departure from Ford Bank, in having the spare bedchamber made ready for him, late as it was,

and in the absence of the master, who had taken a little holiday, now that Lent and Easter were over, for the

purpose of fishing. While his room was getting ready, Ralph sent for his clothes, and by the same messenger

he despatched the little note to Ellinor. But there was the letter he had promised her in it still to be written;

and it was almost his night's employment to say enough, yet not too much; for, as he expressed it to himself,

he was half way over the stream, and it would be folly to turn back, for he had given nearly as much pain

both to himself and Ellinor by this time as he should do by making the separation final. Besides, after Mr

Wilkins's speeches that evening but he was candid enough to acknowledge that, bad and offensive as they

Ellinor was making breakfast when this letter was given her. According to the wont of the servants of the

respective households of the parsonage and Ford Bank, the man asked if there was any answer. It was only

custom; for he had not been desired to do so. Ellinor went to the window to read her letter; the man waiting

all the time respectfully for her reply. She went to the writingtable, and wrote:

She kept putting down thought after thought, just to prolong the last pleasure of writing to him. She sealed

the note and gave it to the man. Then she sat down and waited for Miss Monro, who had gone to bed on the

'I am late, my dear,' said Miss Monro, on coming down, 'but I have a bad headache, and I knew you had a

'Mr Corbet not down yet!' she exclaimed. And then Ellinor had to tell her the outline of the facts so soon

likely to be made public; that Mr Corbet and she had determined to break off their engagement; and that Mr

Corbet had accordingly betaken himself to the parsonage; and that she did not expect him to return to Ford

Bank. Miss Monro's astonishment was unbounded. She kept going over and over all the little circumstances

she had noticed during the last visit, only on yesterday, in fact, which she could not reconcile with the notion

that the two, apparently so much attached to each other but a few hours before, were now to be for ever

separated and estranged. Ellinor sickened under the torture; which yet seemed like torture in a dream, from

which there must come an awakening and a relief. She felt as if she could not bear any more; yet there was

more to bear. Her father, as it turned out, was very ill, and had been so all night long; he had evidently had

some kind of attack on the brain, whether apoplectic or paralytic it was for the doctors to decide. In the hurry

and anxiety of this day of misery succeeding to misery, she almost forgot to wonder whether Ralph were still

at the parsonage still in Hamley; it was not till the evening visit of the physician that she learnt that he had

been seen by Dr Moore as he was taking his place in the morning mail to London. Dr Moore alluded to his

name as to a thought that would cheer and comfort the fragile girl during her nightwatch by her father's

bedside. But Miss Monro stole out after the doctor to warn him off the subject for the future, crying bitterly

over the forlorn position of her darling as she spoke crying as Ellinor had never yet been able to cry: though

all the time, in the pride of her sex, she was endeavouring to persuade the doctor it was entirely Ellinor's

doing, and the wisest and best thing she could have done, as he was not good enough for her, only a poor

barrister struggling for a livelihood. Like many other kindhearted people, she fell into the blunder of lowering

the moral character of those whom it is their greatest wish to exalt. But Dr Moore knew Ellinor too well to

believe the whole of what Miss Monro said; she would never act from interested motives, and was all the

more likely to cling to a man because he was down, and unsuccessful. No! there had been a lovers' quarrel;

Before the June roses were in full bloom, Mr Wilkins was dead. He had left his daughter to the guardianship

of Mr Ness by some will made years ago; but Mr Ness had caught a rheumatic fever with his Easter fishings,

and been unable to be moved home from the little Welsh inn where he had been staying when he was taken

ill. Since his last attack, Mr Wilkins's mind had been much affected; he often talked strangely and wildly; but

he had rare intervals of quietness and full possession of his senses. At one of these times he must have written

a halffinished pencil note, which his nurse found under his pillow after his death, and brought to Ellinor.

And there strength had failed; the paper and pencil had been laid aside to be resumed at some time when the

brain was clearer, the hand stronger. Ellinor kissed the letter, reverently folded it up, and laid it among her

sacred treasures, by her mother's halffinished sewing, and a little curl of her baby sister's golden hair.

Mr Johnson, who had been one of the trustees for Mrs Wilkins's marriagesettlement, a respectable solicitor

in the county town, and Mr Ness, had been appointed executors of his will, and guardians to Ellinor. The will

itself had been made several years before, when he imagined himself the possessor of a handsome fortune,

the bulk of which he bequeathed to his only child. By her mother's marriagesettlement, Ford Bank was held

in trust for the children of the marriage; the trustees being Sir Frank Holster and Mr Johnson. There were

legacies to his executors; a small annuity to Miss Monro, with the expression of a hope that it might be

arranged for her to continue living with Ellinor as long as the latter remained unmarried; all his servants were

What remained of the handsome fortune once possessed by the testator? The executors asked in vain; there

was nothing. They could hardly make out what had become of it, in such utter confusion were all the

accounts, both personal and official. Mr Johnson was hardly restrained by his compassion for the orphan

from throwing up the executorship in disgust. Mr Ness roused himself from his scholarlike abstraction to

labour at the examination of books, parchments, and papers, for Ellinor's sake. Sir Frank Holster professed

Meanwhile she went on living at Ford Bank, quite unconscious of the state of her father's affairs, but sunk

into a deep, plaintive melancholy, which affected her looks and the tones of her voice in such a manner as to

distress Miss Monro exceedingly. It was not that the good lady did not quite acknowledge the great cause her

pupil had for grieving deserted by her lover, her father dead but that she could not bear the outward signs

of how much these sorrows had told on Ellinor. Her love for the poor girl was infinitely distressed by seeing

the daily wasting away, the constant heavy depression of spirits, and she grew impatient of the continual pain

of sympathy. If Miss Monro could have done something to relieve Ellinor of her woe she would have been

The time came when Miss Monro could act; and after that, there was no more irritation on her part. When all

hope of Ellinor's having anything beyond the house and grounds of Ford Bank was gone; when it was proved

that of all the legacies bequeathed by Mr Wilkins not one farthing could ever be paid; when it came to be a

question how far the beautiful pictures and other objects of art in the house were not legally the property of

unsatisfied creditors, the state of her father's affairs was communicated to Ellinor as delicately as Mr Ness

She was drooping over her work she always drooped now and she left off sewing to listen to him, leaning

her head on the arm which rested on the table. She did not speak when he had ended his statement. She was

silent for whole minutes afterwards; he went on speaking out of very agitation and awkwardness.

'It was all the rascal Dunster's doing, I've no doubt,' said he, trying to account for the entire loss of Mr

To his surprise she lifted up her white stony face, and said slowly and faintly, but with almost solemn

'My dear Ellinor, there can be no doubt about it. Your father himself always referred to the losses he had

Ellinor covered her face with her hands. 'God forgive us all,' she said, and relapsed into the old unbearable

silence. Mr Ness had undertaken to discuss her future plans with her, and he was obliged to go on.

'Now, my dear child I have known you since you were quite a little girl, you know we must try not to

give way to feeling' he himself was choking; she was quite quiet 'but think what is to be done. You will

have the rent of this house; and we have a very good offer for it a tenant on lease of seven years at a

'I will never let this house,' said she, standing up suddenly, and as if defying him.

'Not let Ford Bank! Why? I don't understand it I can't have been clear Ellinor, the rent of this house is all

'I can't help it, I can't leave this house. Oh, Mr Ness, I can't leave this house.'

'My dear child, you shall not be hurried I know how hardly all these things are coming upon you (and I

wish I had never seen Corbet, with all my heart I do!)' this was almost to himself, but she must have heard

it, for she quivered all over 'but leave this house you must. You must eat, and the rent of this house must

pay for your food; you must dress, and there is nothing but the rent to clothe you. I will gladly have you to

stay at the parsonage as long as ever you like; but, in fact, the negotiations with Mr Osbaldistone, the

'No, my dear. It is held in trust for you by Sir Frank Holster and Mr Johnson; you to receive all moneys and

benefits accruing from it' he spoke gently, for he almost thought her head was turned 'but you remember

'Leave me,' she said, at length. 'You are very kind, but you don't know all. I cannot stand any more talking

Mr Ness bent over her and kissed her forehead, and withdrew without another word. He went to Miss Monro.

'Well! and how did you find her?' was her first inquiry, after the usual greetings had passed between them. 'It

is really quite sad to see how she gives way; I speak to her, and speak to her, and tell her how she is

'She has had to bear a still further sorrow today,' said Mr Ness. 'On the part of Mr Johnson and myself I have

a very painful duty to perform to you as well as to her. Mr Wilkins has died insolvent. I grieve to say there is

Miss Monro looked very blank, Many happy little visions faded away in those few moments; then she roused

up and said, 'I am but forty; I have a good fifteen years of work in me left yet, thank God. Insolvent! Do you

'Ellinor will have the rent of this house, which is hers by right of her mother's settlement, to live on.'

'She is at present unwilling enough to leave this house, poor girl. It is but natural; but she has no power in the

matter, even were there any other course open to her. I can only say how glad, how honoured, I shall feel by

as long a visit as you and she can be prevailed upon to pay me at the parsonage.'

'I do not know. After breaking off his engagement he wrote me a long letter, explanatory, as he called it;

exculpatory, as I termed it. I wrote back, curtly enough, saying that I regretted the breaking off of an

intercourse which had always been very pleasant to me, but that he must be aware that, with my intimacy

with the family at Ford Bank, it would be both awkward and unpleasant to all parties if he and I remained on

Miss Monro went to the window. 'Yes! I am thankful to see her on horseback again. It was only this morning

'Poor Dixon! he will suffer, too; his legacy can no more be paid than the others; and it is not many young

ladies who will be as content to have so oldfashioned a groom riding after them as Ellinor seems to be.'

As soon as Mr Ness had left, Miss Monro went to her desk and wrote a long letter to some friends she had at

the cathedral town of East Chester, where she had spent some happy years of her former life. Her thoughts

had gone back to this time even while Mr Ness had been speaking; for it was there her father had lived, and it

was after his death that her cares in search of a subsistence had begun. But the recollections of the peaceful

years spent there were stronger than the remembrance of the weeks of sorrow and care; and, while Ellinor's

marriage had seemed a probable event, she had made many a little plan of returning to her native place, and

obtaining what daily teaching she could there meet with, and the friends to whom she was now writing had

promised her their aid. She thought that as Ellinor had to leave Ford Bank, a home at a distance might be

more agreeable to her, and she went on to plan that they should live together, if possible, on her earnings, and

the small income that would be Ellinor's. Miss Monro loved her pupil so dearly, that, if her own pleasure only

were to be consulted, this projected life would be more agreeable to her than if Mr Wilkins's legacy had set

her in independence, with Ellinor away from her, married, and with interests in which her former governess

As soon as Mr Ness had left her, Ellinor rang the bell, and startled the servant who answered it by her sudden

sharp desire to have the horses at the door as soon as possible, and to tell Dixon to be ready to go out with

She felt that she must speak to him, and in her nervous state she wanted to be out on the free broad common,

where no one could notice or remark their talk. It was long since she had ridden, and much wonder was

excited by the sudden movement in kitchen and stableyard. But Dixon went gravely about his work of

They rode pretty hard till they reached Monk's Heath, six or seven miles away from Hamley. Ellinor had

previously determined that here she would talk over the plan Mr Ness had proposed to her with Dixon, and

lie seemed to understand her without any words passing between them. When she reined in he rode up to her,

'I was afeared on it, from all I've heerd say i' the town since the master's death.'

'Then you've heard then you know that papa has left hardly any money my poor dear Dixon, you won't

'Never heed, never heed,' said he, eagerly; 'I couldn't have touched it if it had been there, for the taking it

would ha' seemed too like ' Bloodmoney, he was going to say, but he stopped in time. She guessed the

'No, not that,' said she; 'his will was dated years before. But oh, Dixon, what must I do? They will make me

'But you'll have the rent on't, I reckon?' asked he, anxiously. 'I've many a time heerd 'em say as it was settled

'Ay!' said he, heavily. 'It's been oftentimes on my mind, waking, and I think there's ne'er a night as I don't

'But how can I leave it?' Ellinor cried, 'They may do a hundred things may dig up the shrubbery. Oh!

Dixon, I feel as if it was sure to be found out! Oh! Dixon, I cannot bear any more blame on papa it will kill

Dixon's face fell into the lines of habitual pain that it had always assumed of late years whenever he was

'They must ne'er ha' reason to speak ill of the dead, that's for certain,' said he. 'The Wilkinses have been

respected in Hamley all my lifetime, and all my father's before me, and surely, missy, there's ways and

means of tying tenants up from alterations both in the house and out of it, and I'd beg the trustees, or

whatever they's called, to be very particular, if I was you, and not have a thing touched either in the house, or

the gardens, or the meadows, or the stables. I think, wi' a word from you, they'd maybe keep me on i' the

stables, and I could look after things a bit. and the Day o' Judgment will come at last, when all our secrets

will be made known wi'out our having the trouble and the shame o' telling 'em. I'm getting rayther tired o' this

'Don't talk so,' said Ellinor, tenderly. 'I know how sad it is, but, oh! remember how I shall want a friend when

you're gone, to advise me as you have done today. You're not feeling ill, Dixon, are you?' she continued,

'No! I'm hearty enough, and likely for t' live. Father was eightyone, and mother above the seventies, when

they died. It's only my heart as is got to feel so heavy; and as for that matter, so is yours, I'll be bound. And

it's a comfort to us both if we can serve him as is dead by any care of ours, for he were such a bright

They rode on without much more speaking. Ellinor was silently planning for Dixon, and he, not caring to

look forward to the future, was bringing up before his fancy the time, thirty years ago, when he had first

entered the elder Mr Wilkins's service as stablelad, and pretty Molly, the scullerymaid, was his daily

delight. Pretty Molly lay buried in Hamley churchyard, and few living, except Dixon, could have gone

In a few days Miss Monro obtained a most satisfactory reply to her letter of inquiries as to whether a daily

governess could find employment in East Chester. For once, the application seemed to have come just at the

right time. The canons were most of them married men, with young families; those at present in residence

welcomed the idea of such instruction as Miss Monro could offer for their children, and could almost answer

for their successors in office. This was a great step gained. Miss Monro, the daughter of the precentor to this

very cathedral, had a secret unwillingness to being engaged as a teacher by any wealthy tradesman there; but,

to be received into the canons' families in almost any capacity, was like going home. Moreover, besides the

empty honour of the thing, there were many small pieces of patronage in the gift of the chapter such as a

small house opening on to the Close, which had formerly belonged to the verger, but which was now vacant,

Ellinor had once more sunk into her old depressed passive state; Mr Ness and Miss Monro, modest and

undecided as they both were in general, had to fix and arrange everything for her. Her great interest seemed

to be in the old servant Dixon, and her great pleasure to lie in seeing him, and talking over old times; so her

two friends talked about her, little knowing what a bitter, stinging pain her 'pleasure' was. In vain Ellinor tried

to plan how they could take Dixon with them to East Chester. If he had been a woman it would have been a

feasible step; but they were only to keep one servant, and Dixon, capable and versatile as he was, would not

do for that servant. All this was what passed through Ellinor's mind: it is still a question whether Dixon would

have felt his love of his native place, with all its associations and remembrances, or his love for Ellinor, the

stronger. But he was not put to the proof; he was only told that he must leave, and, seeing Ellinor's extreme

grief at the idea of their separation, he set himself to comfort her by every means in his power, reminding her,

with tender choice of words, how necessary it was that he should remain on the spot, in Mr Osbaldistone's

service, in order to frustrate, by any small influence he might have, every project of alteration in the garden

that contained the dreadful secret. He persisted in this view, though Ellinor repeated, with pertinacious

anxiety, the care which Mr Johnson had taken, in drawing up the lease, to provide against any change or

People in general were rather astonished at the eagerness Miss Wilkins showed to sell all the Ford Bank

furniture. Even Miss Monro was a little scandalized at this want of sentiment, although she said nothing

about it; indeed justified the step, by telling everyone how wisely Ellinor was acting, as the large, handsome

tables and chairs would be very much out of place and keeping with the small, oddlyshaped rooms of their

future home in East Chester Close. None knew how strong was the instinct of selfpreservation, it may

almost be called, which impelled Ellinor to shake off, at any cost of present pain, the incubus of a terrible

remembrance. She wanted to go into an unhaunted dwelling in a free, unknown country she felt as if it was

her only chance of sanity. Sometimes she thought her senses would not hold together till the time when all

these arrangements were ended. But she did not speak to anyone about her feelings, poor child to whom

could she speak on the subject but to Dixon? Nor did she define them to herself. All she knew was, that she

was as nearly going mad as possible; and if she did, she feared that she might betray her father's guilt. All this

time she never cried, or varied from her dull, passive demeanour. And they were blessed tears of relief that

she shed when Miss Monro, herself weeping bitterly, told her to put her head out of the postchaise window,

for at the next turning of the road they would catch the last glimpse of Hamley church spire.

Late one October evening, Ellinor had her first sight of East Chester Close, where she was to pass the

remainder of her life. Miss Monro had been backwards and forwards between Hamley and East Chester more

than once, while Ellinor remained at the parsonage; so she had not only the pride of proprietorship in the

whole of the beautiful city, but something of the desire of hospitably welcoming Ellinor to their joint future

'Look! the fly must take us a long round, because of our luggage; but behind these high old walls are the

canons' gardens. That highpitched roof, with the clumps of stonecrop on the walls near it, is Canon

Wilson's, whose four little girls I am to teach. Hark! the great cathedral clock. How proud I used to be of its

great boom when I was a child! I thought all the other church clocks in the town sounded so shrill and poor

after that, which I considered mine especially. There are rooks flying home to the elms in the Close. I wonder

if they are the same that used to be there when I was a girl. They say the rook is a very longlived bird, and I

feel as if I could swear to the way they are cawing. Ay, you may smile, Ellinor, but I understand now those

Now, dear, you must get out. This flagged walk leads to our front door; but our back rooms, which are the

pleasantest, look on to the Close, and the cathedral, and the limetree walk, and the deanery, and the rookery.'

It was a mere slip of a house; the kitchen being wisely placed close to the front door, and so reserving the

pretty view for the little diningroom, out of which a glassdoor opened into a small walledin garden,

which had again an entrance into the Close. Upstairs was a bedroom to the front, which Miss Monro had

taken for herself, because, as she said, she had old associations with the back of every house in the High

Street, while Ellinor mounted to the pleasant chamber above the tiny drawingroom, both of which looked on

to the vast and solemn cathedral, and the peaceful dignified Close. East Chester Cathedral is Norman, with a

low, massive tower, a grand, majestic nave, and a choir full of stately historic tombs. The whole city is so

quiet and decorous a place, that the perpetual daily chants and hymns of praise seemed to sound far and wide

over the roofs of the houses. Ellinor soon became a regular attendant at all the morning and evening services.

The sense of worship calmed and soothed her aching weary heart, and to be punctual to the cathedral hours

she roused and exerted herself, when probably nothing else would have been sufficient to this end.

Byandby Miss Monro formed many acquaintances; she picked up, or was picked up by, old friends, and

the descendants of old friends. The grave and kindly canons, whose children she taught, called upon her with

their wives, and talked over the former deans and chapters, of whom she had both a personal and traditional

knowledge, and as they walked away they talked about her silent, delicatelooking friend Miss Wilkins, and

perhaps planned some little present out of their fruitful garden or bounteous stores, which should make Miss

Monro's table a little more tempting to one apparently so frail as Ellinor, for the household was always

spoken of as belonging to Miss Monro, the active and prominent person. Byandby, Ellinor herself won her

way to their hearts, not by words or deeds, but by her sweet looks, and meek demeanour, as they marked her

regular attendance at cathedral service: and when they heard of her constant visits to a certain parochial

school, and of her being sometimes seen carrying a little covered basin to the cottages of the poor, they began

to try, and tempt her with more urgent words, to accompany Miss Monro in her frequent teadrinkings at

their houses. The old dean, that courteous gentleman and good Christian, had early become great friends with

Ellinor. He would watch at the windows of his great vaulted library till he saw her emerge from the garden

into the Close, and then open the deanery door, and join her, she softly adjusting the measure of her pace to

his. The time of his departure from East Chester became a great blank in her life, although she would never

accept, or allow Miss Monro to accept, his repeated invitations to go and pay him a visit at his countryplace.

Indeed, having once tasted comparative peace again in East Chester Cathedral Close, it seemed as though she

was afraid of ever venturing out of those calm precincts. All Mr Ness's invitations to visit him at his

parsonage at Hamley were declined, although he was welcomed at Miss Monro's, on the occasion of his

annual visit, by every means in their power. He slept at one of the canon's vacant houses, and lived with his

two friends, who made a yearly festivity, to the best of their means, in his honour, inviting such of the

cathedral clergy as were in residence; or, if they failed, condescending to the town clergy. Their friends knew

well that no presents were so acceptable as those sent while Mr Ness was with them; and from the dean, who

would send them a hamper of choice fruit and flowers from Oxton Park, down to the curate, who worked in

the same schools as Ellinor, and who was a great fisher, and caught splendid trout all did their best to help

them to give a welcome to the only visitor they ever had. The only visitor they ever had, as far as the stately

gentry knew. There was one, however, who came as often as his master could give him a holiday long

enough to undertake a journey to so distant a place; but few knew of his being a guest at Miss Monro's,

though his welcome there was not less hearty than Mr Ness's this was Dixon. Ellinor had convinced him

that he could give her no greater pleasure at any time than by allowing her to frank him to and from East

Chester. Whenever he came they were together the greater part of every day; she taking him hither and thither

to see all the sights that she thought would interest or please him; but they spoke very little to each other

during all this companionship. Miss Monro had much more to say to him. She questioned him right and left

whenever Ellinor was out of the room. She learnt that the house at Ford Bank was splendidly furnished, and

no money spared on the garden; that the eldest Miss Hanbury was very well married; that Brown had

succeeded to Jones in the haberdasher's shop. Then she hesitated a little before making her next inquiry:

'No, not he. I don't think as how Mr Ness would have him. but they write letters to each other by times. Old

Job you'll recollect old Job, ma'am, he that gardened for Mr Ness, and waited in the parlour when there was

company did say as one day he heerd them speaking about Mr Corbet; and he's a grand counsellor now

Ellinor could have told them both. They had The Times lent to them on the second day after publication by

one of their friends in the Close, and Ellinor, watching till Miss Monro's eyes were otherwise engaged,

always turned with trembling hands and a beating heart to the reports of the various courts of law. In them

she found at first rarely the name she sought for, the name she dwelt upon, as if every letter were a study.

Mr Losh and Mr Duncombe appeared for the plaintiff, Mr Smythe and Mr Corbet for the defendant. In a year

or two that name appeared more frequently, and generally took precedence of the other, whatever it might be;

then on special occasions his speeches were reported at full length, as if his words were accounted weighty;

and byandby she saw that he had been appointed a Queen's Counsel. And this was all she ever heard or

saw about him; his once familiar name never passed her lips except in hurried whispers to Dixon, when he

came to stay with them. Ellinor had had no idea when she parted from Mr Corbet how total the separation

between them was henceforward to be, so much seemed left unfinished, unexplained. It was so difficult, at

first, to break herself of the habit of constant mental reference to him; and for many a long year she kept

thinking that surely some kind fortune would bring them together again, and all this heartsickness and

melancholy estrangement from each other would then seem to both only as an ugly dream that had passed

The dean was an old man, but there was a canon who was older still, and whose death had been expected by

many, and speculated upon by some, anytime for ten years at least. Canon Holdsworth was too old to show

active kindness to anyone; the good dean's life was full of thoughtful and benevolent deeds. But he was taken,

and the other left. Ellinor looked out at the vacant deanery with tearful eyes, the last thing at night, the First in

the morning. But it is pretty nearly the same with church dignitaries as with kings; the dean is dead, long live

the dean! A clergyman from a distant county was appointed, and all the Close was astir to learn and hear

every particular connected with him. Luckily he came in at the tagend of one of the noble families in the

peerage; so, at any rate, all his future associates could learn with tolerable certainty that he was fortytwo

years of age, married, and with eight daughters and one son. The deanery, formerly so quiet and sedate a

dwelling of the one old man, was now to be filled with noise and merriment. Iron railings were being placed

before three windows, evidently to be the nursery. In the summer publicity of open windows and doors, the

sound of the busy carpenters was perpetually heard all over the Close; and byandby waggonloads of

furniture and carriageloads of people began to arrive. Neither Miss Monro nor Ellinor felt themselves of

sufficient importance or station to call on the newcomers, but they were as well acquainted with the

proceedings of the family as if they had been in daily intercourse; they knew that the eldest Miss Beauchamp

was seventeen, and very pretty, only one shoulder was higher than the other; that she was dotingly fond of

dancing, and talked a great deal in a t�te�t�te, but not much if her mamma was by, and never opened her

lips at all if the dean was in the room; that the next sister was wonderfully clever, and was supposed to know

all the governess could teach her, and to have private lessons in Greek and mathematics from her father; and

so on down to the little boy at the preparatory school and the baby girl in arms. Moreover, Miss Monro, at

any rate, could have stood an examination as to the number of servants at the deanery, their division of work,

and the hours of their meals. Presently, a very beautiful, haughtylooking young lady made her appearance in

the Close, and in the dean's pew. She was said to be his niece, the orphan daughter of his brother, General

Beauchamp, come to East Chester to reside for the necessary time before her marriage, which was to be

performed in the cathedral by her uncle, the new dignitary. But as callers at the deanery did not see this

beautiful brideelect, and as the Beauchamps had not as yet fallen into habits of intimacy with any of their

new acquaintances, very little was known of the circumstances of this approaching wedding beyond the

Ellinor and Miss Monro sat at their drawingroom window, a little shaded by the muslin curtains, watching

the busy preparations for the marriage, which was to take place the next day. All morning long hampers of

fruit and flowers, boxes from the railway for by this time East Chester had got a railway

shopmessengers, hired assistants, kept passing backwards and forwards in the busy Close. Towards

afternoon the bustle subsided, the scaffolding was up, the materials for the next day's feast carried out of

sight. It was to be concluded that the brideelect was seeing to the packing of her trousseau, helped by the

merry multitude of cousins, and that the servants were arranging the dinner for the day, or the breakfast for

the morrow. So Miss Monro had settled it, discussing every detail and every probability as though she were a

chief actor, instead of only a distant, uncaredfor spectator of the coming event. Ellinor was tired, and now

that there was nothing interesting going on, she had fallen back to her sewing, when she was startled by Miss

'Look, look! here are two gentlemen coming along the limetree walk! it must be the bridegroom and his

friend.' Out of much sympathy, and some curiosity, Ellinor bent forward, and saw just emerging from the

shadow of the trees on to the full afternoon sunlit pavement, Mr Corbet and another gentleman; the former

changed, worn, aged, though with still the same fine intellectual face, leaning on the arm of the younger taller

man, and talking eagerly. The other gentleman was doubtless the bridegroom, Ellinor said to herself, and yet

her prophetic heart did not believe her words. Even before the bright beauty at the deanery looked out of the

great orielwindow of the drawingroom, and blushed, and smiled, and kissed her hand a gesture replied to

by Mr Corbet with much empressement, while the other man only took off his hat, almost as if he saw her

there for the first time Ellinor's greedy eyes watched him till he was hidden from sight in the deanery,

unheeding Miss Monro's eager incoherent sentences, in turn entreating, apologizing, comforting, and

upbraiding. Then she slowly turned her painful eyes upon Miss Monro's face, and moved her lips without a

sound being heard, and fainted dead away. In all her life she had never done so before, and when she came

round she was not like herself: in all probability the persistence and wilfulness she, who was usually so meek

and docile, showed during the next twentyfour hours, was the consequence of fever. She resolved to be

present at the wedding: numbers were going; she would be unseen, unnoticed in the crowd; but whatever

befell, go she would, and neither the tears nor the prayers of Miss Monro could keep her back. She gave no

reason for this determination; indeed, in all probability she had none to give; so there was no arguing the

point. She was inflexible to entreaty, and no one had any authority over her, except, perhaps, distant Mr Ness.

Miss Monro had all sorts of forebodings as to the possible scenes that might come to pass. But all went on as

quietly, as though the fullest sympathy pervaded every individual of the great numbers assembled. No one

guessed that the muffled veiled figure, sitting in the shadow behind one of the great pillars, was that of one

who had once hoped to stand at the altar with the same bridegroom, who now cast tender looks at the

beautiful bride; her veil white and fairylike, Ellinor's black and shrouding as that of any nun.

Already Mr Corbet's name was known through the country as that of a great lawyer; people discussed his

speeches and character far and wide; and the wellinformed in legal gossip spoke of him as sure to be offered

a judgeship at the next vacancy. So he, though grave, and middleaged, and somewhat grey, divided attention

and remark with his lovely bride, and her pretty train of cousin bridesmaids. Miss Monro need not have

feared for Ellinor: she saw and heard all things as in a mist a dream; as something she had to go through,

before she could waken up to a reality of brightness in which her youth, and the hopes of her youth, should be

restored, and all these weary years of dreaminess and woe should be revealed as nothing but the nightmare of

a night. She sat motionless enough, still enough, Miss Monro by her, watching her as intently as a keeper

watches a madman, and with the same purpose to prevent any outburst even by bodily strength, if such

restraint be needed. When all was over, when the principal personages of the ceremony had filed into the

vestry to sign their names; when the swarm of townspeople were going out as swiftly as their individual

notions of the restraints of the sacred edifice permitted, when the great chords of the 'Wedding March'

clanged out from the organ, and the loud bells pealed overhead, Ellinor laid her hand in Miss Monro's. 'Take

There are some people who imperceptibly float away from their youth into middle age, and thence pass into

declining life with the soft and gentle motion of happy years. There are others who are whirled, in spite of

themselves, down dizzy rapids of agony away from their youth at one great bound, into old age with another

sudden shock; and thence into the vast calm ocean where there are no shoremarks to tell of time.

This last, it seemed, was to be Ellinor's lot. Her youth had gone in a single night, fifteen years ago, and now

she appeared to have become an elderly woman; very still and hopeless in look and movement, but as sweet

and gentle in speech and smile as ever she had been in her happiest days. All young people, when they came

to know her, loved her dearly, though at first they might call her dull, and heavy to get on with; and as for

children and old people, her ready watchful sympathy in their joys as well as their sorrows was an unfailing

passage to their hearts. After the first great shock of Mr Corbet's marriage was over, she seemed to pass into a

greater peace than she had known for years; the last faint hope of happiness was gone; it would, perhaps, be

more accurate to say, of the bright happiness she had planned for herself in her early youth. Unconsciously,

she was being weaned from selfseeking in any shape, and her daily life became, if possible, more innocent

and pure and holy. One of the canons used to laugh at her for her constant attendance at all the services, and

for her devotion to good works, and call her always the reverend sister. Miss Monro was a little annoyed at

this faint clerical joke; Ellinor smiled quietly. Miss Monro disapproved of Ellinor's grave ways and sober

'You may he as good as you like, my dear, and yet go dressed in some pretty colour, instead of those

perpetual blacks and greys, and then there would be no need for me to be perpetually telling people you are

only fourandthirty (and they don't believe me, though I tell them so till I am black in the face). Or, if you

would but wear a decentshaped bonnet, instead of always wearing those of the poky shape in fashion when

The old canon died, and someone was to be appointed in his stead. These clerical preferments and

appointments were the allimportant interests to the inhabitants of the Close, and the discussion of

probabilities came up invariably if any two met together, in street or house, or even in the very cathedral

itself. At length it was settled and announced by the higher powers. An energetic, hardworking clergyman

from a distant part of the diocese, Livingstone by name, was to have the vacant canonry.

Miss Monro said that the name was somehow familiar to her, and by degrees she recollected the young

curate, who had come to inquire after Ellinor in that dreadful illness she had had at Hamley in the year 1829.

Ellinor knew nothing of that visit; no more than Miss Monro did of what had passed between the two before

that anxious night. Ellinor just thought it possible it might be the same Mr Livingstone, and would rather it

were not, because she did not feel as if she could bear the frequent though not intimate intercourse she must

needs have, if such were the case, with one so closely associated with that great time of terror which she was

striving to bury out of sight by every effort in her power. Miss Monro, on the contrary, was busy weaving a

romance for her pupil; she thought of the passionate interest displayed by the fair young clergyman fifteen

years ago, and believed that occasionally men could be constant, and hoped that, if Mr Livingstone were the

new canon, he might prove the rara avis which exists but once in a century. He came, and it was the same. He

looked a little stouter, a little older, but had still the gait and aspect of a young man. His smooth fair face was

scarcely lined at all with any marks of care; the blue eyes looked so kindly and peaceful, that Miss Monro

could scarcely fancy they were the same which she had seen fast filling with tears; the bland calm look of the

whole man needed the ennoblement of his evident devoutness to be raised into the type of holy innocence

which some of the Romanists call the 'sacerdotal face.' His entire soul was in his work, and he looked as little

likely to step forth in the character of either a hero of romance or a faithful lover as could be imagined. Still

Miss Monro was not discouraged; she remembered the warm passionate feeling she had once seen break

through the calm exterior, and she believed that what had happened once might occur again.

Of course, while all eyes were directed on the new canon, he had to learn who the possessors of those eyes

were one by one; and it was probably some time before the idea came into his mind that Miss Wilkins, the

lady in black, with the sad pale face, so constant an attendant at service, so regular a visitor at the school, was

the same Miss Wilkins as the bright vision of his youth. It was her sweet smile at a painstaking child that

betrayed her if, indeed, betrayal it might be called where there was no wish or effort to conceal anything.

Canon Livingstone left the schoolroom almost directly, and, after being for an hour or so in his house, went

out to call on Mrs Randall, the person who knew more of her neighbours' affairs than anyone in East Chester.

The next day he called on Miss Wilkins herself. She would have been very glad if he had kept on in his

ignorance; it was so keenly painful to be in the company of one the sight of whom, even at a distance, had

brought her such a keen remembrance of past misery; and when told of his call, as she was sitting at her

sewing in the diningroom, she had to nerve herself for the interview before going upstairs into the

drawingroom, where he was being entertained by Miss Monro with warm demonstrations of welcome. A

little contraction of the brow, a little compression of the lips, an increased pallor on Ellinor's part, was all that

Miss Monro could see in her, though she had put on her glasses with foresight and intention to observe. She

turned to the canon; his colour had certainly deepened as he went forwards with outstretched hand to meet

Ellinor. That was all that was to be seen; but on the slight foundation of that blush, Miss Monro built many

castles; and when they faded away, one after one, she recognized that they were only baseless visions. She

used to put the disappointment of her hopes down to Ellinor's unvaried calmness of demeanour, which might

be taken for coldness of disposition; and to her steady refusal to allow Miss Monro to invite Canon

Livingstone to the small teas they were in the habit of occasionally giving. Yet he persevered in his calls;

about once every fortnight he came, and would sit an hour or more, looking covertly at his watch, as if, as

Miss Monro shrewdly observed to herself, he did not go away at last because he wished to do so, but because

he ought. Sometimes Ellinor was present, sometimes she was away; in this latter case Miss Monro thought

she could detect a certain wistful watching of the door every time a noise was heard outside the room. He

always avoided any reference to former days at Hamley, and that, Miss Monro feared, was a bad sign.

After this long uniformity of years without any event closely touching on Ellinor's own individual life, with

the one great exception of Mr Corbet's marriage, something happened which much affected her. Mr Ness died

suddenly at his parsonage, and Ellinor learnt it first from Mr Brown, a clergyman, whose living was near

Hamley, and who had been sent for by the parsonage servants as soon as they discovered that it was not

Mr Brown had been appointed executor by his late friend, and wrote to tell Ellinor that after a few legacies

were paid, she was to have a lifeinterest in the remainder of the small property which Mr Ness had left, and

that it would be necessary for her, as the residuary legatee, to come to Hamley Parsonage as soon as

convenient, to decide upon certain courses of action with regard to furniture, books, &c.

Ellinor shrank from this journey, which her love and duty towards her dead friend rendered necessary. She

had scarcely left East Chester since she first arrived there, sixteen or seventeen years ago, and she was

timorous about the very mode of travelling; and then to go back to Hamley, which she thought never to have

seen again! She never spoke much about any feelings of her own, but Miss Monro could always read her

silence, and interpreted it into pretty just and forcible words that afternoon when Canon Livingstone called.

She liked to talk about Ellinor to him, and suspected that he liked to hear. She was almost annoyed this time

by the comfort he would keep giving her; there was no greater danger in travelling by railroad than by coach,

a little care about certain things was required, that was all, and the average number of deaths by accidents on

railroads were not greater than the average number when people travelled by coach, if you took into

consideration the far greater number of travellers. Yes! returning to the deserted scenes of one's youth was

very painful. . . . Had Miss Wilkins made any provision for another lady to take her place as visitor at the

school? He believed it was her week. Miss Monro was out of all patience at his entire calmness and

reasonableness. Later in the day she became more at peace with him, when she received a kind little note

from Mrs Forbes, a great friend of hers, and the mother of the family she was now teaching, saying that

Canon Livingstone had called and told her that Ellinor had to go on a very painful journey, and that Mrs

Forbes was quite sure Miss Monro's companionship upon it would be a great comfort to both, and that she

could perfectly be set at liberty for a fortnight or so, for it would fall in admirably with the fact that 'Jeanie

was growing tall, and the doctor had advised sea air this spring; so a month's holiday would suit them now

even better than later on.' Was this going straight to Mrs Forbes, to whom she should herself scarcely have

liked to name it, the act of a good, thoughtful man, or of a lover? questioned Miss Monro; but she could not

answer her own inquiry, and had to be very grateful for the deed, without accounting for the motives.

A coach met the train at a station about ten miles from Hamley, and Dixon was at the inn where the coach

The old man was almost in tears at the sight of them again in the familiar place. He had put on his Sunday

clothes to do them honour; and to conceal his agitation he kept up a pretended bustle about their luggage. To

the indignation of the innporters, who were of a later generation, he would wheel it himself to the

parsonage, though he broke down from fatigue once or twice on the way, and had to stand and rest, his ladies

waiting by his side, and making remarks on the alterations of houses and the places of trees, in order to give

him ample time to recruit himself, for there was no one to wait for them and give them a welcome to the

parsonage, which was to be their temporary home. The respectful servants, in deep mourning, had all

prepared, and gave Ellinor a note from Mr Brown, saying that he purposely refrained from disturbing them

that day after their long journey, but would call on the morrow, and tell them of the arrangements he had

These were simple enough; certain legal forms to be gone through, any selections from books or furniture to

be made, and the rest to be sold by auction as speedily as convenient, as the successor to the living might

wish to have repairs and alterations effected in the old parsonage. For some days Ellinor employed herself in

business in the house, never going out except to church. Miss Monro, on the contrary, strolled about

everywhere, noticing all the alterations in place and people, which were never improvements in her opinion.

Ellinor had plenty of callers (her tenants, Mr and Mrs Osbaldistone among others), but, excepting in rare

cases most of them belonged to humble life she declined to see everyone, as she had business enough on

her hands: sixteen years makes a great difference in any set of people. The old acquaintances of her father in

his better days were almost all dead or removed; there were one or two remaining, and these Ellinor received;

one or two more, old and infirm, confined to their houses, she planned to call upon before leaving Hamley.

Every evening, when Dixon had done his work at Mr Osbaldistone's, he came up to the parsonage, ostensibly

to help her in moving or packing books, but really because these two clung to each other were bound to

each other by a bond never to be spoken about. It was understood between them that once before Ellinor left

she should go and see the old place, Ford Bank. Not to go into the house, though Mr and Mrs Osbaldistone

bad begged her to name her own time for revisiting it when they and their family would be absent, but to see

all the gardens and grounds once more; a solemn, miserable visit, which, because of the very misery it

Dixon and she talked together as she sat making a catalogue one evening in the old lowbrowed library; the

casement windows were open into the garden, and the May showers had brought out the scents of the

newleaved sweetbrier bush just below. Beyond the gardenhedge the grassy meadows sloped away down to

the river; the parsonage was so much raised that sitting in the house you could see over the boundary hedge.

Men with instruments were busy in the meadow. Ellinor, pausing in her work, asked Dixon what they were

'Them's the people for the new railway,' said he. 'Nought would satisfy the Hamley folk but to have a railway

He spoke with a tone of personal offence natural to a man who had passed all his life among horses, and

considered railwayengines as their despicable rivals, conquering only by stratagem.

Byandby Ellinor passed on to a subject the consideration of which she had repeatedly urged upon Dixon,

and entreated him to come and form one of their household at East Chester. He was growing old, she thought,

older even in looks and feelings than in years, and she would make him happy and comfortable in his

declining years if he would but come and pass them under her care. The addition which Mr Ness's bequest

made to her income would enable her to do not only this, but to relieve Miss Monro of her occupation of

teaching; which, at the years she had arrived at, was becoming burdensome. When she proposed the removal

'It's not that I don't thank you, and kindly, too; but I'm too old to go chopping and changing.'

On her urging him a little more, it came out that he had a strong feeling that if he did not watch the spot

where the dead man lay buried, the whole would be discovered; and that this dread of his had often poisoned

'I don't rightly know how it is, for I sometimes think if it wasn't for you, missy, I should be glad to have made

it all clear before I go; and yet at times I dream, or it comes into my head as I lie awake with the rheumatics,

that someone is there, digging; or that I hear 'em cutting down the tree; and then I get up and look out of the

loft window you'll mind the window over the stables, as looks into the garden, all covered over wi' the

leaves of the jargonelle peartree? That were my room when first I come as stableboy, and tho' Mr

Osbaldistone would fain give me a warmer one, I allays tell him I like th' old place best. And by times I've

getten up five or six times anight to make sure as there was no one at work under the tree.'

Ellinor shivered a little. He saw it, and restrained himself in the relief he was receiving from imparting his

'You see, missy, I could never rest anights if I didn't feel as if I kept the secret in my hand, and held it tight

day and night, so as I could open my hand at any minute and see as it was there. No! my own little missy will

let me come and see her now and again, and I know as I can allays ask her for what I want: and if it please

God to lay me by, I shall tell her so, and she'll see as I want for nothing. But somehow I could ne'er bear

'Nay, it'll be a mercy when I can lay me down and sleep in peace: though I sometimes fear as peace will not

come to me even there.' He was going out of the room, and was now more talking to himself than to her.

'They say blood will out, and if it weren't for her part in it, I could wish for a clear breast before I die.'

She did not hear the latter part of this mumbled sentence. She was looking at a letter just brought in and

requiring an immediate answer. It was from Mr Brown. Notes from him were of daily occurrence, but this

contained an open letter the writing of which was strangely familiar to her it did not need the signature,

'Ralph Corbet,' to tell her whom the letter came from. Fog some moments she could not read the words. They

expressed a simple enough request, and were addressed to the auctioneer who was to dispose of the rather

valuable library of the late Mr Ness, and whose name had been advertised in connection with the sale, in the

Athenaeum, and other similar papers. To him Mr Corbet wrote, saying that he should be unable to be present

when the books were sold, but that he wished to be allowed to buy in, at any price decided upon, a certain

rare folio edition of Virgil, bound in parchment, and with notes in Italian. The book was fully described.

Though no Latin scholar, Ellinor knew the book well remembered its look from old times, and could

instantly have laid her hand upon it. The auctioneer had sent the request on to his employer, Mr Brown. That

gentleman applied to Ellinor for her consent. She saw that the fact of the intended sale must be all that Mr

Corbet was aware of, and that he could not know to whom the books belonged. She chose out the book, and

wrapped and tied it up with trembling hands. He might be the person to untie the knot. It was strangely

familiar to her love, after so many years, to be brought into thus much contact with him. She wrote a short

note to Mr Brown, in which she requested him to say, as though from himself, and without any mention of

her name, that he, as executor, requested Mr Corbet's acceptance of the Virgil, as a remembrance of his

former friend and tutor. Then she rang the bell, and gave the letter and parcel to the servant.

Again alone, and Mr Corbet's open letter on the table. She took it up and looked at it till the letters dazzled

crimson on the white paper. Her life rolled backwards, and she was a girl again. At last she roused herself,

but instead of destroying the note it was long years since all her loveletters from him had been returned to

the writer she unlocked her little writingcase again, and placed this letter carefully down at the bottom,

among the dead roseleaves which embalmed the note from her father, found after his death under his pillow,

The shabby writingcase itself was given her by her father long ago, and had since been taken with her

everywhere. To be sure, her changes of places had been but few; but if she had gone to Nova Zembla, the

sight of that little leather box on awaking from her first sleep, would have given her a sense of home. She

A day or two afterwards she left Hamley. Before she went she compelled herself to go round the gardens and

grounds of Ford Bank. She had made Mrs Osbaldistone understand that it would be painful to her to reenter

'You see how literally we have obeyed the clause in the lease which ties us out from any alterations,' said he,

smiling. 'We are living in a tangled thicket of wood. I must confess that I should have liked to cut down a

good deal; but we do not do even the requisite thinnings without making the proper application for leave to

Mr Johnson. In fact, your old friend Dixon is jealous of every peastick the gardener cuts. I never met with

so faithful a fellow. A good enough servant, too, in his way; but somewhat too oldfashioned for my wife

'Oh, no; he and I are capital friends. And I believe Mrs Osbaldistone herself would never consent to his

leaving us. But some ladies, you know, like a little more subserviency in manner than our friend Dixon can

Ellinor made no reply. They were entering the painted flowergarden, hiding the ghastly memory. She could

not speak. She felt as if, with all her striving, she could not move just as one does in a nightmare but she

was past the place even as this terror came to its acme; and when she came to herself, Mr Osbaldistone was

'It is now a reward for our obedience to your wishes, Miss Wilkins, for if the projected railway passes

through the ashfield yonder, we should have been perpetually troubled with the sight of the trains.' indeed,

the sound would have been much more distinct than it will be now coming through the interlacing branches.

Then you will not go in, Miss Wilkins? Mrs Osbaldistone desired me to say how happy Ah! I can

understand such feelings Certainly, certainly; it is so much the shortest way to the town, that we elder ones

always go through the stableyard; for young people, it is perhaps not quite so desirable. Ha! Dixon,' he

continued, 'on the watch for the Miss Ellinor we so often hear of! This old man,' he continued to Ellinor, 'is

never satisfied with the seat of our young ladies, always comparing their way of riding with that of a certain

'I cannot help it, sir; they've quite a different style of hand, and sit all lumpishlike. Now, Miss Ellinor, there

'Hush, Dixon,' she said, suddenly aware of why the old servant was not popular with his mistress. 'I suppose I

may be allowed to ask for Dixon's company for an hour or so; we have something to do together before we

The consent given, the two walked away, as by previous appointment, to Hamley churchyard, where he was

to point out to her the exact spot where he wished to be buried. Trampling over the long, rank grass, but

avoiding passing directly over any of the thicklystrewn graves, he made straight for one spot, a little space

'I put this stone up over her with my first savings,' said he, looking at it; and then pulling out his knife, he

began to clean out the letters. I said then as I would lie by her. And it'll be a comfort to think you'll see me

laid here. I trust no one'll be so crabbed as to take a fancy to this here spot of ground.'

Ellinor grasped eagerly at the only pleasure which her money enabled her to give to the old man; and

promised him that she would take care and buy the right to that particular piece of ground. This was evidently

a gratification Dixon had frequently yearned after; he kept saying, 'I'm greatly obleeged to ye, Miss Ellinor. I

may say I'm truly obleeged.' And when he saw them off by the coach the next day, his last words were, 'I

cannot justly say how greatly I'm obleeged to you for that matter o' the churchyard.' It was a much more easy

affair to give Miss Monro some additional comforts; she was as cheerful as ever; still working away at her

languages in any spare time, but confessing that she was tired of the perpetual teaching in which her life had

been spent during the last thirty years. Ellinor was now enabled to set her at liberty from this, and she

accepted the kindness from her former pupil with as much simple gratitude as that with which a mother

receives a favour from a child. 'If Ellinor were but married to Canon Livingstone, I should be happier than I

have ever been since my father died,' she used to say to herself in the solitude of her bedchamber, for talking

aloud had become her wont in the early years of her isolated life as a governess. 'And yet,' she went on, 'I

don't know what I should do without her; it is lucky for me that things are not in my hands, for a pretty mess I

should make of them, one way or another. Dear! how old Mrs Cadogan used to hate that word "mess, and

correct her granddaughters for using it right before my face, when I knew I had said it myself only the

In spite of being glad that 'things were not in her hands,' Miss Monro tried to take affairs into her charge by

doing all she could to persuade Ellinor to allow her to invite the canon to their 'little sociable teas.' The most

provoking part was, that she was sure he would have come if he bad been asked; but she could never get

leave to do so. 'Of course no man could go on for ever and ever without encouragement,' as she confided to

herself in a plaintive tone of voice; and byandby many people were led to suppose that the bachelor canon

was paying attention to Miss Forbes, the eldest daughter of the family to which the delicate Jeanie belonged.

It was, perhaps, with the Forbeses that both Miss Monro and Ellinor were the most intimate of all the families

in East Chester. Mrs Forbes was a widow lady of good means, with a large family of pretty, delicate

daughters. She herself belonged to one of the great houses in shire, but had married into Scotland; so, after

her husband's death, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should settle in East Chester; and one

after another of her daughters had become first Miss Monro's pupil and afterwards her friend. Mrs Forbes

herself had always been strongly attracted by Ellinor, but it was long before she could conquer the timid

reserve by which Miss Wilkins was hedged round. It was Miss Monro, who was herself incapable of

jealousy, who persevered in praising them to one another, and in bringing them together; and now Ellinor was

as intimate and familiar in Mrs Forbes's household as she ever could be with any family not her own.

Mrs Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many

sisters she had lost by consumption. Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were

made irregular for very trifling causes. But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr

Ness's death, Mrs Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor's increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of

breathing. From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if anyone so sweet and patient could ever have been

worried) with respirators and precautions. Ellinor submitted to all her friend's wishes and cares, sooner than

make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November. Then Miss Monro's

anxiety took another turn. Ellinor's appetite and spirits failed her not at all an unnatural consequence of so

many weeks' confinement to the house. A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that

met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much

Mrs Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying cast

winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them? They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though

with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a

child to her. Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others

the doctor included who decided that such a step was highly desirable, if not absolutely necessary. She

knew that she had only a life interest both in her father's property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr Ness.

Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she

should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her. All she had to

bequeath to the two, was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially

considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years.

Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr

Johnson could suggest. She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of

Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old

As they drove out of the King's Cross station, they passed a gentleman's carriage entering. Ellinor saw a

bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never

forget. It was Mr Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway. They were going on a Christmas visit to

East Chester deanery. He had been leaning back, not noticing the passersby, not attending to the other

inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case. Such were the casual

glimpses Ellinor had of one, with whose life she had once thought herself bound up.

Who so proud as Miss Monro when a foreign letter came? Her correspondent was not particularly graphic in

her descriptions, nor were there any adventures to be described, nor was the habit of mind of Ellinor such as

to make her clear and definite in her own impressions of what she saw, and her natural reserve kept her from

being fluent in communicating them even to Miss Monro. But that lady would have been pleased to read

aloud these letters to the assembled dean and canons, and would not have been surprised if they had invited

her to the chapterhouse for that purpose. To her circle of untravelled ladies, ignorant of Murray, but

laudably desirous of information, all Ellinor's historical reminiscences, and rather formal details were really

interesting. There was no railroad in those days between Lyons and Marseilles, so their progress was slow,

and the passage of letters to and fro, when they had arrived in Rome, long and uncertain. But all seemed

going on well. Ellinor spoke of herself as in better health; and Canon Livingstone (between whom and Miss

Monro great intimacy had sprung up since Ellinor had gone away, and Miss Monro could ask him to tea)

confirmed this report of Miss Wilkins's health from a letter which he had received from Mrs Forbes.

Curiosity about that letter was Miss Monro's torment. What could they have had to write to each other about!

It was a very odd proceeding; although the Livingstones and Forbeses were distantly related, after the manner

of Scotland. Could it have been that he had offered to Euphemia, after all, and that her mother had answered;

or, possibly, there was a letter from Effie herself, enclosed? It was a pity for Miss Monro's peace of mind that

she did not ask him straight away. She would then have learnt what Canon Livingstone had no thought of

concealing, that Mrs Forbes had written solely to give him some fuller directions about certain charities than

she had had time to think about in the hurry of starting. As it was, and when a little later on, she heard him

speak of the possibility of his going himself to Rome, as soon as his term of residence was over, in time for

the Carnival, she gave up her fond project in despair, and felt very much like a child whose house of bricks

Meanwhile, the entire change of scene brought on the exquisite refreshment of entire change of thought.

Ellinor had not been able so completely to forget her past life for many years; it was like a renewing of her

youth; cut so suddenly short by the shears of fate. Ever since that night, she had had to rouse herself on

awakening in the morning into a full comprehension of the great cause she had for much fear and heavy grief.

Now, when she wakened in her little room, fourth piano, No. 36, Babuino, she saw the strange, pretty things

around her, and her mind went off into pleasant wonder and conjecture, happy recollections of the day before,

and pleasant anticipations of the day to come. Latent in Ellinor was her father's artistic temperament;

everything new and strange was a picture and a delight; the merest group in the street, a Roman facchino,

with his cloak draped over his shoulder, a girl going to market or carrying her pitcher back from the fountain,

everything and every person that presented it or himself to her senses, gave them a delicious shock, as if it

were something strangely familiar from Pinelli, but unseen by her mortal eyes before. She forgot her

despondency, her ill health disappeared as if by magic; the Misses Forbes, who had taken the pensive,

drooping invalid as a companion out of kindness of heart, found themselves amply rewarded by the sight of

her amended health, and her keen enjoyment of everything, and the halfquaint, halfna�ve expressions of

So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of violets and camellias were for sale at

the corner of the Condotti, and the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the belies of

the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attach�s of the Russian embassy threw their light and

lovely presents at every pretty girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage, covered

over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a protection to her face from the showers of lime

confetti, which otherwise would have been enough to blind her; Mrs Forbes had her own hired balcony as

became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had a great basket full of bouquets with which to

pelt their friends in the crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it was the last day

of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every

means in everyone's power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately contadini alone

sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and

white dominoes, foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slowdriving carriages, showers of flowers,

most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may

so soon turn into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their mother and Ellinor, who were

gazing half amused, half terrified, at the mad particoloured movement below; when a familiar face looked

up, smiling a recognition; and 'How shall I get to you?' was asked in English, by the wellknown voice of

Canon Livingstone. They saw him disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some

time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he was almost overpowered with

'When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner! It is so long since we have heard

anything; do tell us everything! It is three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have

been so irregular because of the weather.' 'How was everybody Miss Monro in particular?' Ellinor asks.

He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had only arrived the night before, and had

been hunting for them all day; but no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts in

all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their only English servant with them, and the

canon was not strong in his Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of Carnival, for he

was half blinded, and wholly deafened, as it was. He was at the Angleterre; he had left East Chester about a

week ago; he had letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the crowd for fear of having

his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well, but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long;

the irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English friends were full of wonder at not

hearing from Rome. And then followed some well deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of

the carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All these answers were satisfactory

enough, yet Mrs Forbes thought she saw a latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once

or twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there was no being quite sure in the increasing

darkness, which prevented countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and screams

which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable

extinguishers, fastened to long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper as fast

'You will come home with us,' said Mrs Forbes. 'I can only offer you cold meat with tea; our cook is gone

out, this being a universal festa; but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the commissariat.'

'Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough to ask me.'

When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon Livingstone had gone round to fetch the

letters with which he was entrusted), Mrs Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had something

particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited

her return from taking off her outofdoor things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation with Mrs Forbes

to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most distant window before he delivered her letters.

'From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received your home letters regularly?'

'No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has someone else who expected to hear. Your man

'My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr Livingstone. Tell me I want to know. I have been

'Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying it worse than it is. All your friends

'Well!' she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping at his arm.

For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When she came round she was lying

'You don't know. I must go home,' she repeated; and she tried to sit up, but fell back helpless. Then she did

not speak, but lay and thought. 'Will you bring me some meat?' she whispered. 'And some wine?' They

brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. 'Now, please, bring me my letters, and leave me

alone; and after that I should like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't be

There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs Forbes very anxious, but she judged it best

The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read them lying on her bed; and they left

her. Then she got up and stood on her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes

dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few minutes she sat down suddenly, and

began to read. Letters were evidently missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed

on the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched by the post, but the severe

weather, the unusual snow, had, in those days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles,

put a stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of the mail extremely uncertain; so,

much of that intelligence which Miss Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was

entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was told in these letters. One was from

Mr Johnson, one from Mr Brown, one from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She

spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr Dunster's body, found in the cutting of the new line of railroad

from Hamley to the nearest railway station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it

was now recognized a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal and indestructible things, such

as his watch and seal with his initials; of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further

discovery of a fleam, or horselancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon engraved on the handle; how

Dixon had gone on Mr Osbaldistone's business to a horsefair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had

his leg broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move about when the officers of

'Please, go away,' she said; 'please, go. I will be very quiet, only, please, go.'

She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she tore open Mr Johnson's the date

was a fortnight earlier than Miss Monro's.' he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply to

his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her trustees bad judged rightly; the handsome sum

the railway company had offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the line, Mr

Osbaldistone, &c. &c., she could not read any more; it was Fate pursuing her. Then she took the letter up

again and tried to read; but all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr Johnson had sent his

present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some private opportunity safer than the post.

Mr Brown's was just such a letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence that arose

out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr Ness. It, too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct.

Ellinor was on the point of putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: 'You will be

interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend who was so anxious to obtain the folio Virgil with

the Italian notes, is appointed the new judge in room of Mr Justice Jenkin. At least I conclude that Mr Ralph

'Yes,' said Ellinor, bitterly; 'he judged well; it would never have done.' They were the first words of anything

like reproach which she ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a few moments

of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's

letter. That excellent friend bad done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without delay. She had

written to Mr Johnson, and charged him to do everything he could to defend Dixon, and to spare no expense.

She was thinking of going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but Ellinor could

perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a

desire to set her mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon himself could be

innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the door, then turned back, and locked them up in her

writingcase with trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawingroom, looking liker to a ghost than

'Can I speak to you for a minute alone?' Her still, tuneless voice made the words into a command. Canon

Livingstone arose and followed her into the little diningroom. 'Will you tell me all you know all you have

heard about my you know what.' 'Miss Monro was my informant at least at first it was in The Times the

day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a moment of anger if the old servant is

really guilty.' that he was as steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong feeling

against Mr Dunster, as always giving your father much unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his

disappearance at the time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to Mr Wilkins.'

'No!' said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done to the dead man; and then she stopped

short, fearful of saying anything that should betray her full knowledge. 'I mean this,' she went on; 'Mr Dunster

was a very disagreeable man personally and papa we none of us liked him; but he was quite honest

The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to speak again.

He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her hands together in her endeavour to

regain the quiet manner she had striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a poor

'You do not believe him guilty!' said Canon Livingstone, in some surprise. 'I am afraid, from all I heard and

read, there is but little doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation, with no

'Mrs Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no boat to Marseilles till Thursday, the

'But I must go sooner!' said Ellinor, starting up. 'I must go; please help me. He may be tried before I can get

'Alas! I fear that will be the case, whatever haste you make. The trial was to come on at the Hellingford

Assizes, and that town stands first on the Midland Circuit list. Today is the 27th of February; the assizes

'I will start tomorrow morning early for Civita; there may be a boat there they do not know of here. At any

rate, I shall be on my way. If he dies, I must die too. Oh! I don't know what I am saying, I am so utterly

crushed down! It would be such a kindness if you would go away, and let no one come to me. I know Mrs

Forbes is so good, she will forgive me. I will say goodbye to you all before I go tomorrow morning; but I

For one moment he stood looking at her as if he longed to comfort her by more words. He thought better of it,

For a long time Ellinor sat still; now and then taking up Miss Monro's letter, and rereading the few terrible

details. Then she bethought her that possibly the canon might have brought a copy of The Times, containing

the examination of Dixon before the magistrates, and she opened the door and called to a passing servant to

make the inquiry. She was quite right in her conjecture; Dr Livingstone had had the paper in his pocket

during his interview with her; but he thought the evidence so conclusive, that the perusal of it would only be

adding to her extreme distress by accelerating the conviction of Dixon's guilt, which he believed she must

He had been reading the report over with Mrs Forbes and her daughters, after his return from Ellinor's room,

and they were all participating in his opinion upon it, when her request for The Times was brought. They had

reluctantly agreed, saying there did not appear to be a shadow of doubt on the fact of Dixon's having killed

Mr Dunster, only hoping there might prove to be some extenuating circumstances, which Ellinor had

probably recollected, and which she was desirous of producing on the approaching trial.

Ellinor, having read the report of Dixon's examination in the newspaper, bathed her eyes and forehead in cold

water, and tried to still her poor heart's beating, that she might be clear and collected enough to weigh the

Every line of it was condemnatory. One or two witnesses spoke of Dixon's unconcealed dislike of Dunster, a

dislike which Ellinor knew had been entertained by the old servant out of a species of loyalty to his master, as

well as from personal distaste. The fleam was proved beyond all doubt to be Dixon's; and a man, who had

been stableboy in Mr Wilkins's service, swore that on the day when Mr Dunster was missed, and when the

whole town was wondering what had become of him, a certain colt of Mr Wilkins's had needed bleeding, and

that he had been sent by Dixon to the farrier's for a horselancet an errand which he had remarked upon at

Mr Osbaldistone was examined. He kept interrupting himself perpetually to express his surprise at the fact of

so steady and wellconducted a man as Dixon being guilty of so heinous a crime, and was willing enough to

testify to the excellent character which he had borne during all the many years he had been in his (Mr

Osbaldistone's) service; but he appeared to be quite convinced by the evidence previously given of the

prisoner's guilt in the matter, and strengthened the case against him materially by stating the circumstance of

the old man's dogged unwillingness to have the slightest interference by cultivation with that particular piece

Here Ellinor shuddered. Before her, in that Roman bedchamber, rose the fatal oblong she knew by heart a

little green moss or lichen, and thinlygrowing blades of grass scarcely covering the caked and undisturbed

soil under the old tree. Oh, that she had been in England when the surveyors of the railway between

Ashcombe and Hamley had altered their line; she would have entreated, implored, compelled her trustees not

to have sold that piece of ground for any sum of money whatever. She would have bribed the surveyors, done

she knew not what but now it was too late; she would not let her mind wander off to what might have been;

she would force herself again to attend to the newspaper columns. There was little more: the prisoner had

been asked if he could say anything to clear himself, and properly cautioned not to say anything to

incriminate himself. The poor old man's person was described, and his evident emotion. 'The prisoner was

observed to clutch at the rail before him to steady himself, and his colour changed so much at this part of the

evidence that one of the turnkeys offered him a glass of water, which he declined. He is a man of a

'My poor, poor Dixon!' said Ellinor, laying down the paper for an instant, and she was near crying, only she

had resolved to shed no tears till she had finished all, and could judge of the chances. There were but a few

lines more: 'At one time the prisoner seemed to be desirous of alleging something in his defence, but he

changed his mind, if such had been the case, and in reply to Mr Gordon (the magistrate) he only said, "You've

made a pretty strong case out again me, gentlemen, and it seems for to satisfy you; so I think I'll not disturb

your minds by saying anything more." Accordingly, Dixon now stands committed for trial for murder at the

next Hellingford Assizes, which commence on March the sixth, before Baron Rushton and Mr justice Corbet.'

'Mr Justice Corbet!' The words ran through Ellinor as though she had been stabbed with a knife, and by an

irrepressible movement she stood up rigid. The young man, her lover in her youth, the old servant who in

those days was perpetually about her the two who had so often met in familiar if not friendly relations, now

to face each other as judge and accused! She could not tell how much Mr Corbet had conjectured from the

partial revelation she had made to him of the impending shame that hung over her and hers. A day or two

ago, she could have remembered the exact words she had used in that memorable interview; but now, strive

as she would, she could only recall facts, not words. After all, the Mr justice Corbet might not be Ralph.

While she was weighing probabilities in her sick dizzy mind, she heard soft steps outside her bolted door, and

low voices whispering. It was the bedtime of happy people with hearts at ease. Some of the footsteps passed

lightly on; but there was a gentle rap at Ellinor's door. She pressed her two hot hands hard against her temples

for an instant before she went to open the door. There stood Mrs Forbes in her handsome evening dress,

'May I come in, my dear?' she asked. Ellinor's stiff dry lips refused to utter the words of assent which indeed

'I am so grieved at this sad news which the canon brings. I can well understand what a shock it must be to

you; we have just been saying it must be as bad for you as it would be to us if our old Donald should turn out

to have been a hidden murderer all these years that he has lived with us; I really could have as soon suspected

Donald as that whitehaired respectable old man who used to come and see you at East Chester.'

Ellinor felt that she must say something. 'It is a terrible shock poor old man! and no friend near him, even

Mr Osbaldistone giving evidence against him. Oh, dear, dear! why did I ever come to Rome?'

'Now, my dear, you must not let yourself take an exaggerated view of the case. Sad and shocking as it is to

have been so deceived, it is what happens to many of us, though not to so terrible a degree; and as to your

(Mrs Forbes almost smiled at the idea, so anxious was she to banish the idea of selfreproach from Ellinor's

'Mrs Forbes! did he did Canon Livingstone tell you that I must leave tomorrow? I must go to England as

'Yes, he told us you were thinking of it, and it was partly that made me force myself in upon you tonight. I

think, my love, you are mistaken in feeling as if you were called upon to do more than what the canon tells

me Miss Monro has already done in your name engaged the best legal advice, and spared no expense to

give the suspected man every chance. What could you do more even if you were on the spot? And it is very

possible that the trial may have come on before you get home. Then what could you do? He would either

have been acquitted or condemned; if the former, he would find public sympathy all in his favour; it always is

for the unjustly accused. And if he turns out to be guilty, my dear Ellinor, it will be far better for you to have

all the softening which distance can give to such a dreadful termination to the life of a poor man whom you

But Ellinor spoke again with a kind of irritated determination, very foreign to her usual soft docility:

'Please just let me judge for myself this once. I am not ungrateful. God knows I don't want to vex one who

has been so kind to me as you have been, dear Mrs Forbes; but I must go and every word you say to

dissuade me only makes me more convinced. I am going to Civita tomorrow. I shall be that much on the way.

Mrs Forbes looked at her in grave silence. Ellinor could not bear the consciousness of that fixed gaze. Yet its

fixity only arose from Mrs Forbes's perplexity as to how best to assist Ellinor, whether to restrain her by

further advice of which the first dose had proved so useless or to speed her departure. Ellinor broke in on

'You have always been so kind and good to me, go on being so please, do! Leave me alone now, dear Mrs

Forbes, for I cannot bear talking about it, and help me to go tomorrow, and you do not know how I will pray

Such an appeal was irresistible. Mrs Forbes kissed her very tenderly, and went to rejoin her daughters, who

'She is in a very excited state, poor thing! and has got so strong an impression that it is her duty to go back to

England and do all she can for this wretched old man, that I am afraid we must not oppose her. I am afraid

Although Mrs Forbes secured the services of a travellingmaid, Dr Livingstone insisted on accompanying

Ellinor to England, and it would have required more energy than she possessed at this time to combat a

resolution which both words and manner expressed as determined. She would much rather have travelled

alone with her maid; she did not feel the need of the services he offered; but she was utterly listless and

broken down; all her interest was centred in the thought of Dixon and his approaching trial, and perplexity as

They embarked late that evening in the tardy Santa Lucia, and Ellinor immediately went to her berth. She was

not seasick; that might possibly have lessened her mental sufferings, which all night long tormented her.

Highperched in an upper berth, she did not like disturbing the other occupants of the cabin till daylight

appeared. Then she descended and dressed, and went on deck; the vessel was just passing the rocky coast of

Elba, and the sky was flushed with rosy light, that made the shadows on the island of the most exquisite

purple. The sea still heaved with yesterday's storm, but the motion only added to the beauty of the sparkles

and white foam that dimpled and curled on the blue waters. The air was delicious, after the closeness of the

cabin, and Ellinor only wondered that more people were not on deck to enjoy it. One or two stragglers came

up, time after time, and began pacing the deck. Dr Livingstone came up before very long; but he seemed to

have made a rule of not obtruding himself on Ellinor, excepting when he could be of some use. After a few

words of commonplace morning greeting, he, too, began to walk backwards and forwards, while Ellinor sat

quietly watching the lovely island receding fast from her view a beautiful vision never to be seen again by

Suddenly there was a shock and stound all over the vessel, her progress was stopped, and a rocking vibration

was felt everywhere. The quarterdeck was filled with blasts of steam, which obscured everything. Sick

people came rushing up out of their berths in strange undress; the steerage passengers a motley and

picturesque set of people, in many varieties of gay costume took refuge on the quarterdeck, speaking

loudly in all varieties of French and Italian patois. Ellinor stood up in silent, wondering dismay. Was the

Santa Lucia going down on the great deep, and Dixon unaided in his peril? Dr Livingstone was by her side in

a moment. She could scarcely see him for the vapour, nor hear him for the roar of the escaping steam.

'Do not be unnecessarily frightened,' he repeated, a little louder. 'Some accident has occurred to the engines. I

will go and make instant inquiry, and come back to you as soon as I can. Trust to me.'

'A part of the engine is broken, through the carelessness of these Neapolitan engineers; they say we must

'But Elba is not many miles away,' said Ellinor. 'If this steam were but away, you could see it still.'

'And if we were landed there we might stay on the island for many days; no steamer touches there; but if we

'Oh, dear, dear!' said Ellinor. 'Today is the second Sunday will be the fourth the assizes begin on the

'Yes!' he said, 'it is. And these things always appear so doubly unfortunate when they hinder our serving

others! But it does not follow that because the assizes begin at Hellingford on the seventh, Dixon's trial will

come on so soon. We may still get to Marseilles on Monday evening; on by diligence to Lyons; it will it

must, I fear, be Thursday, at the earliest, before we reach Paris Thursday, the eighth and I suppose you

He added this unwillingly; for he saw that Ellinor was jealous of the secrecy she had hitherto maintained as to

her reasons for believing Dixon innocent; but he could not help thinking that she, a gentle, timid woman,

unaccustomed to action or business, would require some of the assistance which he would have been so

thankful to give her; especially as this untoward accident would increase the press of time in which what was

But no. Ellinor scarcely replied to his halfinquiry as to her reasons for hastening to England. She yielded to

all his directions, agreed to his plans, but gave him none of her confidence, and he bad to submit to this

Once more in the dreary sala, with the gaudy painted ceiling, the bare dirty floor, the innumerable rattling

doors and windows! Ellinor was submissive and patient in demeanour, because so sick and despairing at

heart. Her maid was ten times as demonstrative of annoyance and disgust; she who had no particular reason

for wanting to reach England, but who thought it became her dignity to make it seem as though she had.

At length the weary time was over; and again they sailed past Elba, and arrived at Marseilles. Now Ellinor

began to feel how much assistance it was to her to have Dr Livingstone for a 'courier,' as he had several times

'To the Great Western,' said she; 'Hellingford is on that line, I see. But, please, now we must part.'

'Then I may not go with you to Hellingford? At any rate, you will allow me to go with you to the railway

station, and do my last office as courier in getting you your ticket and placing you in the carriage.'

So they went together to the station, and learnt that no train was leaving for Hellingford for two hours. There

was nothing for it but to go to the hotel close by, and pass away the time as best they could.

Ellinor called for her maid's accounts, and dismissed her. Some refreshment that the canon had ordered was

eaten, and the table cleared. He began walking up and down the room, his arms folded, his eyes cast down.

Every now and then he looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. When that showed that it only wanted a

quarter of an hour to the time appointed for the train to start, he came up to Ellinor, who sat leaning her head

'Miss Wilkins,' he began and there was something peculiar in his tone which startled Ellinor 'I am sure

you will not scruple to apply to me if in any possible way I can help you in this sad trouble of yours?'

'No, indeed I won't!' said Ellinor, gratefully, and putting out her hand as a token. He took it, and held it; she

went on, a little more hastily than before: 'You know you were so good as to say you would go at once and

see Miss Monro, and tell her all you know, and that I will write to her as soon as I can.'

'Certainly: so kind a friend as you shall bear all I can tell; that is, all I am at liberty to tell.'

'A friend! Yes, I am a friend; and I will not urge any other claim just now. Perhaps '

Ellinor could not affect to misunderstand him. His manner implied even more than his words.

'No!' she said, eagerly. 'We are friends. That is it. I think we shall always be friends, though I will tell you

now something this much it is a sad secret. God help me! I am as guilty as poor Dixon, if, indeed, he is

'If he is no more guilty than you, I am sure he is! Let me be more than your friend, Ellinor let me know all,

'No, no!' said she, frightened both at what she had revealed, and his eager, warm, imploring manner. 'That can

'If that is all,' said be, 'I take my risk if that is all if you only fear that I may shrink from sharing any peril

She did not perceive the implied encouragement in these words.' but he did, and they sufficed to make him

patient. The time was up, and he could only render her his last services as 'courier,' and none other but the

necessary words at starting passed between them. But he went away from the station with a cheerful heart;

while she sitting alone and quiet, and at last approaching near to the place where so much was to be decided,

All the intelligence she bad gained since she had seen the Galignani in Paris, had been from the waiter at the

Great Western Hotel, who, after returning from a vain search for an unoccupied Times, had volunteered the

information that there was an unusual demand for the paper because of Hellingford Assizes, and the trial

There was no electric telegraph in those days; at every station Ellinor put her head out, and inquired if the

murder trial at Hellingford was ended. Some porters told her one thing, some another, in their hurry; she felt

'Drive to Mr Johnson's in the High Street quick, quick. I will give you halfacrown if you will go quick.'

For, indeed, her endurance, her patience, was strained almost to snapping; yet at Hellingford station, where

doubtless they could have told her the truth, she dared not ask the question. It was past eight o'clock at night.

In many houses in the little country town there were unusual lights and sounds. The inhabitants were showing

their hospitality to such of the strangers brought by the assizes, as were lingering there now that the business

which had drawn them was over. The judges had left the town that afternoon, to wind up the circuit by the

Mr Johnson was entertaining a dinnerparty of attorneys when he was summoned from dessert by the

He went into his study in not the best of tempers. There he found his client, Miss Wilkins, white and ghastly,

'Ah! that's a sad piece of business, and I'm afraid it has shortened your visit at Rome.'

'Ay, I am afraid there's no doubt of his guilt. At any rate, the jury found him guilty, and '

'And!' she repeated, quickly, sitting down, the better to hear the words that she knew were coming

'The Saturday but one after the judges left the town, I suppose it's the usual time.'

'Judge Corbet; and, for a new judge, I must say I never knew one who got through his business so well. It was

really as much as I could stand to hear him condemning the prisoner to death. Dixon was undoubtedly guilty,

and he was as stubborn as could be a sullen old fellow who would let no one help him through. I am sure I

did my best for him at Miss Monro's desire and for your sake. But he would furnish me with no particulars,

help us to no evidence. I had the hardest work to keep him from confessing all before witnesses, who would

have been bound to repeat it as evidence against him. Indeed, I never thought he would have pleaded "Not

Guilty." I think it was only with a desire to justify himself in the eyes of some old Hamley acquaintances.

Good God, Miss Wilkins! What's the matter? You're not fainting!' He rang the bell till the rope remained in

his bands. 'Here, Esther! Jerry! Whoever you are, come quick! Miss Wilkins has fainted! Water! Wine! Tell

Mrs Johnson, a kind, motherly woman, who had been excluded from the 'gentleman's dinnerparty,' and had

devoted her time to superintending the dinner her husband had ordered, came in answer to his call for

'Bessy, Miss Wilkins has fainted; she has had a long journey, and is in a fidget about Dixon, the old fellow

who was sentenced to be hung for that murder, you know. I can't stop here, I must go back to those men. You

bring her round, and see her to bed. The blue room is empty since Horner left. She must stop here, and I'll see

her in the morning. Take care of her, and keep her mind as easy as you can, will you, for she can do no good

And, knowing that he left Ellinor in good hands, and with plenty of assistance about her, he returned to his

'No; to be sure not, dear. Here, drink this. it is some of Mr Johnson's best port wine that he has sent out on

purpose for you. Or would you rather have some white soup or what? We've had everything you could

think of at dinner, and you've only to ask and have. And then you must go to bed, my dear Mr Johnson says

you must; and there's a wellaired room, for Mr Horner only left us this morning.'

'But indeed you must not. You must not worry your poor head with business now; and Johnson would only

talk to you on business. No; go to bed, and sleep soundly, and then you'll get up quite bright and strong, and

'I cannot sleep I cannot rest till I have asked Mr Johnson one or two more questions; indeed I cannot,'

Mrs Johnson knew that her husband's orders on such occasions were peremptory, and that she should come in

for a good conjugal scolding if, after what he had said, she ventured to send for him again. Yet Ellinor looked

so entreating and wistful that she could hardly find in her heart to refuse her. A bright thought struck her.

'Here is pen and paper, my dear. Could you not write the questions you wanted to ask? and he'll just jot down

the answers upon the same piece of paper. I'll send it in by Jerry. He has got friends to dinner with him, you

Ellinor yielded. She sat, resting her weary head on her hand, and wondering what were the questions which

would have come so readily to her tongue could she have been face to face with him. As it was, she only

'How early can I see you tomorrow morning? Will you take all the necessary steps for my going to Dixon as

'I suppose he knows best,' said Ellinor, sighing, as she read the last word. 'But it seems wicked in me to be

When she rose up and stood she felt the former dizziness return, and that reconciled her to seeking rest before

she entered upon the duties which were becoming clearer before her, now that she knew all and was on the

scene of action. Mrs Johnson brought her whitewine whey instead of the tea she had asked for; and perhaps

When Ellinor awoke the clear light of dawn was fully in the room. She could not remember where she was;

for so many mornings she had wakened up in strange places that it took her several minutes before she could

make out the geographical whereabouts of the heavy blue moreen curtains, the print of the lordlieutenant of

the county on the wall, and all the handsome ponderous mahogany furniture that stuffed up the room. As

soon as full memory came into her mind, she started up; nor did she go to bed again, although she saw by her

watch on the dressingtable that it was not yet six o'clock. She dressed herself with the dainty completeness

so habitual to her that it had become an unconscious habit, and then the instinct was irrepressible she put

on her bonnet and shawl, and went down, past the servant on her knees cleaning the door step, out into the

fresh open air; and so she found her way down the High Street to Hellingford Castle, the building in which

the courts of assize were held the prison in which Dixon lay condemned to die. She almost knew she Could

not see him; yet it seemed like some amends to her conscience for having slept through so many hours of the

night if she made the attempt. She went up to the porter's lodge, and asked the little girl sweeping out the

place if she might see Abraham Dixon. The child stared at her, and ran into the house, bringing out her father,

a great burly man, who had not yet donned either coat or waistcoat, and who, consequently, felt the morning

'Him as is to be hung come Saturday se'nnight? Why, ma'am, I've nought to do with it. You may go to the

governor's house and try; but, if you'll excuse me, you'll have your walk for your pains. Them in the

condemned cells is never seen by nobody without the sheriff's order. You may go up to the governor's house,

Ellinor fully believed the man, and yet she went on to the house indicated, as if she still hoped that in her case

there might be some exception to the rule, which she now remembered to have heard of before, in days when

such a possible desire as to see a condemned prisoner was treated by her as a wish that some people might

have, did have people as far removed from her circle of circumstances as the inhabitants of the moon. Of

course she met with the same reply, a little more abruptly given, as if every man was from his birth bound to

She went out past the porter, now fully clothed. He was sorry for her disappointment, but could not help

She walked as nearly round the castle as ever she could, looking up at the few highbarred windows she

could see, and wondering in what part of the building Dixon was confined. Then she went into the adjoining

churchyard, and sitting down upon a tombstone, she gazed idly at the view spread below her a view which

was considered as the lion of the place, to be shown to all strangers by the inhabitants of Hellingford. Ellinor

did not see it, however. She only saw the blackness of that fatal night. The hurried work the lanterns

glancing to and fro. She only heard the hard breathing of those who are engaged upon unwonted labour; the

few hoarse muttered words; the swaying of the branches to and fro. All at once the church clock above her

struck eight, and then pealed out for distant labourers to cease their work for a time. Such was the old custom

of the place. Ellinor rose up, and made her way back to Mr Johnson's house in High Street. The room felt

close and confined in which she awaited her interview with Mr Johnson, who had sent down an apology for

having overslept himself, and at last made his appearance in a hurried, halfawakened state, in consequence

'I am so sorry I gave you all so much trouble last night,' said Ellinor, apologetically. 'I was overtired, and

'No trouble, no trouble, I am sure. Neither Mrs Johnson nor I felt it in the least a trouble. Many ladies, I

know, feel such things very trying, though there are others that can stand a judge's putting on the black cap

better than most men. I'm sure I saw some as composed as could be under judge Corbet's speech.'

'Well, I don't know that he will,' said Mr Johnson, in something of the tone of voice he would have used in

soothing a child. 'Judge Corbet said something about the possibility of a pardon. The jury did not recommend

him to mercy: you see, his looks went so much against him, and all the evidence was so strong, and no

defence, so to speak, for he would not furnish any information on which we could base defence. But the

judge did give some hope, to my mind, though there are others that think differently.'

'Whew! Have you got additional evidence?' with a sudden. sharp glance of professional inquiry.

'Never mind,' Ellinor answered. 'I beg your pardon . . . only tell me into whose hands the power of life and

'Into the Home Secretary's Sir Philip Homes; but you cannot get access to him on such an errand. It is the

'Yes; and he was rather inclined to take a merciful view of the whole case. I saw it in his charge. He'll be the

person for you to see. I suppose you don't like to give me your confidence, or else I could arrange and draw

'No. What I have to say must be spoken to the arbiter to no one else. I am afraid I answered you impatiently

'Say no more, my dear lady. We will suppose you have some evidence not adduced at the trial. Well; you

must go up and see the judge, since you don't choose to impart it to anyone, and lay it before him. He will,

doubtless, compare it with his notes of the trial, and see how far it agrees with them. Of course you must be

prepared with some kind of proof; for Judge Corbet will have to test your evidence.'

'It seems strange to think of him as the judge,' said Ellinor, almost to herself.

'Why, yes. He's but a young judge. You knew him at Hamley, I suppose? I remember his reading there with

'Yes: but do not let us talk more about that time. Tell me, when can I see Dixon? I have been to the castle

'To be sure. I desired Mrs Johnson to tell you so last night. Old Ormerod was dining here. he is clerk to the

magistrates, and I told him of your wish. He said he would see Sir Henry Croper, and have the order here

before ten. But all this time Mrs Johnson is waiting breakfast for us. Let me take you into the diningroom.'

It was very hard work for Ellinor to do her duty as a guest, and to allow herself to be interested and talked to

on local affairs by her host and hostess. But she felt as if she had spoken shortly and abruptly to Mr Johnson

in their previous conversation, and that she must try and make amends for it; so she attended to all the details

about the restoration of the church, and the difficulty of getting a good musicmaster for the three little Miss

Johnsons, with all her usual gentle good breeding and patience, though no one can tell how her heart and

Byandby Mr Johnson was called out of the room to see Mr Ormerod, and receive the order of admission

from him. Ellinor clasped her hands tight together as she listened with apparent composure to Mrs Johnson's

neverending praise of the Hullah system. But, when Mr Johnson returned she could not help interrupting her

Yes, the order was there she might go, and Mr Johnson would accompany her, to see that she met with no

As they walked thither, he told her that someone a turnkey, or someone would have to be present at the

interview. that such was always the rule in the case of condemned prisoners; but that if this third person was

'obliging,' he would keep out of earshot. Mr Johnson quietly took care to see that the turnkey who

The man took her across highwalled courts, along stone corridors, and through many locked doors, before

'I've had three at a time in here,' said he, unlocking the final door, 'after judge Morton had been here. We

always called him the "Hanging judge." But it's five years since he died, and now there's never more than one

in at a time; though once it was a woman for poisoning her husband. Mary Jones was her name.'

The stone passage out of which the cells opened was light, and bare, and scrupulously clean. Over each door

was a small barred window, and an outer window of the same description was placed high up in the cell,

Old Abraham Dixon was sitting on the side of his bed, doing nothing. His head was bent, his frame sunk, and

Ellinor tried to keep down her sobs while the man went up to him, and laying his hand on his shoulder, and

'Here's a friend come to see you, Dixon.' Then, turning to Ellinor, he added, 'There's some as takes it in this

kind o' stunned way, while others are as restless as a wild beast in a cage, after they're sentenced.' And then

he withdrew into the passage, leaving the door open, so that he could see all that passed if he chose to look,

but ostentatiously keeping his eyes averted, and whistling to himself, so that he could not hear what they said

Dixon looked up at Ellinor, but then let his eyes fall on the ground again; the increasing trembling of his

She sat down by him, and took his large horny hand in hers. She wanted to overcome her inclination to sob

hysterically before she spoke. She stroked the bony shrivelled fingers, on which her hot scalding tears kept

'Dunnot do that,' said he, at length, in a hollow voice. 'Dunnot take on about it; it's best as it is, missy.'

'I'm rather tired of living. It's been a great strain and labour for me. I think I'd as lief be with God as with men.

And you see, I were fond on him ever sin' he were a little lad, and told me what hard times he had at school,

he did, just as if I were his brother! I loved him next to Molly Greaves. Dear! and I shall see her again, I

reckon, come next Saturday week! They'll think well on me, up there, I'll be bound; though I cannot say as

'Guilty o' murder,' said he. 'That's what they called it. Murder. And that it never were, choose who did it.'

'My poor, poor father did it. I am going up to London this afternoon; I am going to see the judge, and tell him

'Don't you demean yourself to that fellow, missy. It's him as left you in the lurch as soon as sorrow and shame

He looked up at her now, for the first time; but she went on as if she had not noticed those wistful, weary

'Yes! I shall go to him. I know who it is; and I am resolved. After all, he may be better than a stranger, for

real help; and I shall never remember any anything else, when I think of you, good faithful friend.'

'He looks but a wizened old fellow in his grey wig. I should hardly ha' known him. I gave him a look, as

much as to say, "I could tell tales o' you, my lord judge, if I chose." I don't know if he heeded me, though. I

suppose it were for a sign of old acquaintance that he said he'd recommend me to mercy. But I'd sooner have

death nor mercy, by long odds. Yon man out there says mercy means Botany Bay. It 'ud be like killing me by

inches, that would. It would. I'd liefer go straight to Heaven, than live on, among the black folk.'

He began to shake again: this idea of transportation, from its very mysteriousness, was more terrifying to him

than death. He kept on saying plaintively, 'Missy, you'll never let 'em send me to Botany Bay; I couldn't stand

'No, no!' said she. 'You shall come out of this prison, and go home with me to East Chester.' I promise you,

you shall. I promise you. I don't yet quite know how, but trust in my promise. Don't fret about Botany Bay. If

you go there, I go too. I am so sure you will not go. And you know if you have done anything against the law

in concealing that fatal night's work, I did too, and if you are to be punished, I will be punished too. But I feel

sure it will be right; I mean, as right as anything can be, with the recollection of that time present to us, as it

must always be.' She almost spoke these last words to herself. They sat on, hand in hand, for a few minutes

'I thought you'd come to me. I knowed you were far away in foreign parts. But I used to pray to God. "Dear

Lord God!" I used to say, "let me see her again." I told the chaplain as I'd begin to pray for repentance, at

after I'd done praying that I might see you once again: for it just seemed to take all my strength to say those

words as I've named. And I thought as how God knew what was in my heart better than I could tell Him.

How I was main and sorry for all as I'd ever done wrong; I allays were, at after it was done; but I thought as

Again they sank into silence. Ellinor felt as if she would fain be away and active in procuring his release; but

she also perceived how precious her presence was to him; and she did not like to leave him a moment before

the time allowed her. His voice had changed to a weak piping old man's quaver, and between the times of his

talking he seemed to relapse into a dreamy state; but through it all he held her hand tight, as though afraid

So the hour elapsed, with no more spoken words than those above. From time to time Ellinor's tears dropped

down upon her lap; she could not restrain them, though she scarce knew why she cried just then.

At length the turnkey said that the time allowed for the interview was ended. Ellinor spoke no word; but rose,

So, almost without an articulate word from him in reply (he rose up, and stood on his shaking legs, as she

bade him farewell, putting his hand to his head with the old habitual mark of respect), she went her way,

swiftly out of the prison, swiftly back with Mr Johnson to his house, scarcely patient or strong enough in her

hurry to explain to him fully all that she meant to do. She only asked him a few absolutely requisite

questions; and informed him of her intention to go straight to London to see judge Corbet.

Just before the railway carriage in which she was seated started on the journey, she bent forward and put out

her hand once more to Mr Johnson. 'Tomorrow I will thank you for all,' she said. 'I cannot now.'

It was about the same time that she had reached Hellingford on the previous night, that she arrived at the

Great Western station on this evening past eight o'clock. On the way she had remembered and arranged

many things: one important question she had omitted to ask Mr Johnson; but that was easily remedied. She

had not inquired where she could find judge Corbet; if she had, Mr Johnson could probably have given her

his professional address. As it was, she asked for a PostOffice Directory at the hotel, and looked out for his

'Can I send a messenger to Hyde Park Gardens,' she said, hurrying on to her business, tired and wornout as

she was. 'It is only to ask if judge Corbet is at home this evening. If he is, I must go and see him.'

The waiter was a little surprised, and would gladly have had her name to authorize the inquiry; but she could

not bear to send it; it would be bad enough that first meeting, without the feeling that he, too, had had time to

recall all the past days. Better to go in upon him unprepared, and plunge into the subject.

The waiter returned with the answer while she yet was pacing up and down the room restlessly, nerving

'The messenger has been to Hyde Park Gardens, ma'am. The Judge and Lady Corbet are gone out to dinner.'

Lady Corbet! Of course Ellinor knew that he was married. Had she not been present at the wedding in East

Chester Cathedral; but, somehow, these recent events had so carried her back to old times, that the intimate

association of the names, 'the judge and Lady Corbet,' seemed to awaken her out of some dream.

'Oh, very well,' she said, just as if these thoughts were not passing rapidly through her mind. 'Let me be called

at seven tomorrow morning, and let me have a cab at the door to Hyde Park Gardens at eight.'

And so she went to bed; but scarcely to sleep. All night long she had the scenes of those old times, the happy,

happy days of her youth, the one terrible night that cut all happiness short, present before her. She could

almost have fancied that she heard the longsilent sounds of her father's step, her father's way of breathing,

the rustle of his newspaper as he hastily turned it over, coming through the lapse of years; the silence of the

night. She knew that she had the little writingcase of her girlhood with her, in her box. The treasures of the

dead that it contained, the morsel of dainty sewing, the little sister's golden curl, the halffinished letter to Mr

Corbet, were all there. She took them out, and looked at each separately; looked at them long long and

wistfully. 'Will it be of any use to me?' she questioned of herself, as she was about to put her father's letter

back into its receptacle. She read the last words over again, once more: 'From my deathbed I adjure you to

'I will take it,' thought she. 'I need not bring it out; most likely there will be no need for it, after what I shall

have to say. All is so altered, so changed between us, as utterly as if it never had been, that I think I shall have

no shame in showing it him for my own part of it. While, if he sees poor papa's, dear, dear papa's suffering

humility, it may make him think more gently of one who loved him once, though they parted in wrath with

Every nerve in her body was in such a high state of tension that she could have screamed out at the cabman's

boisterous knock at the door. She got out hastily, before anyone was ready or willing to answer such an

untimely summons.' paid the man double what he ought to have had; and stood there, sick, trembling, and

'Is judge Corbet at home? Can I see him?' she asked of the footman, who at length answered the door.

'Why, yes! He's pretty sure to be at home at this time of day; but whether he'll see you is quite another thing.'

'Can you give me a card? your name, perhaps, will do, if you have not a card. I say, Simmons' (to a

'Oh, yes! he's in his dressingroom this halfhour. My lady is coming down directly. It is just breakfast time.'

'Can't you put it off, and come again, a little later?' said he, turning once more to Ellinor white Ellinor!

'No! please let me come in. I will wait. I am sure judge Corbet will see me, if you will tell him I am here.

'Well, then; will you wait here till I have got breakfast in?' said the man, letting her into the hall, and pointing

to the bench there. He took her, from her dress, to be a lady'smaid or governess, or at most a tradesman's

daughter; and besides, he was behindhand with all his preparations. She came in and sat down.

'Oh, yes, never fear: I'll send up word, though I don't believe he'll come to you before breakfast.'

He told a page, who ran upstairs, and, knocking at the judge's door, said that a Miss Jenkins wanted to speak

So Ellinor waited. Presently down the stairs, with slow deliberate dignity, came the handsome Lady Corbet,

in her rustling silks and ample petticoats, carrying her fine boy, and followed by her majestic nurse. She was

illpleased that anyone should come and take up her husband's time when he was at home, and supposed to

be enjoying domestic leisure; and her imperious, inconsiderate nature did not prompt her to any civility

towards the gentle creature sitting down weary and heartsick in her house. On the contrary, she looked her

over as she slowly descended, till Ellinor shrank abashed from the steady gaze of the large black eyes. Then

she, her baby and nurse, disappeared into the large diningroom, into which all the preparations for breakfast

The next person to come down would be the judge. Ellinor instinctively put down her veil. She heard his

He gave one of his sharp, shrewd glances at the person sitting in the hall and waiting to speak to him, and his

'Will you just come into this room,' said he, opening the door of his study, to the front of the house: the

The astute lawyer placed himself with his back to the window; it was the natural position of the master of the

apartment; but it also gave him the advantage of seeing his companion's face in full light. Ellinor lifted her

veil; it had only been a dislike to a recognition in the hall, which had made her put it down.

Judge Corbet's countenance changed more than hers; she had been prepared for the interview; he was not. But

'Ellinor! Miss Wilkins! is it you?' And he went forwards, holding out his hand with cordial greeting, under

which the embarrassment, if he felt any, was carefully concealed. She could not speak all at once in the way

'That stupid Henry told me Jenkins! I beg your pardon. How could they put you down to sit in the hall? You

must come in and have some breakfast with us; Lady Corbet will be delighted, I'm sure.' His sense of the

awkwardness of the meeting with the woman who was once to have been his wife, and of the probable

introduction which was to follow to the woman who was his actual wife, grew upon him, and made him

speak a little hurriedly. Ellinor's next words were a wonderful relief; and her soft, gentle way of speaking was

'Thank you, you must excuse me. I am come strictly on business, otherwise I should never have thought of

'Ah! I thought as much!' said the judge, handing her a chair, and sitting down himself. He tried to compose

his mind to business, but, in spite of his strength of character, and his present efforts, the remembrance of old

times would come back at the sound of her voice. He wondered if he was as much changed in appearance as

she struck him as being in that first look of recognition; after that first glance he rather avoided meeting her

'I knew how much you would feel it. Someone at Hellingford told me you were abroad, in Rome, I think. But

you must not distress yourself unnecessarily; the sentence is sure to be commuted to transportation, or

something equivalent. I was talking to the Home Secretary about it only last night. Lapse of time and

subsequent good character quite preclude any idea of capital punishment.' All the time that he said this he had

other thoughts at the back of his mind some curiosity, a little regret, a touch of remorse, a wonder how the

meeting (which, of course, would have to be some time) between Lady Corbet and Ellinor would go off, but

he spoke clearly enough on the subject in hand, and no outward mark of distraction from it appeared.

'I came to tell you, what I suppose may be told to any judge, in confidence and full reliance on his secrecy,

that Abraham Dixon was not the murderer.' She stopped short, and choked a little.

'Yes,' she replied, with a low, steady voice, looking him full in the face, with sad, solemn eyes.

The truth flashed into his mind. He shaded his face, and did not speak for a minute or two. Then he said, not

looking up, a little hoarsely, 'This, then, was the shame you told me of long ago?'

Both sat quite still; quite silent for some time. Through the silence a sharp, clear voice was heard speaking

'Take the kedgeree down, and tell the cook to keep it hot for the judge. It is so tiresome people coming on

He got up hastily, and went into the diningroom; but he had audibly some difficulty in curbing his wife's

'Oh! it's all nonsense!' said he, in a tone of annoyance. 'You've done quite right.' He seated himself where he

'And Dixon knew of this. I believe I must put the fact plainly to you your father was the guilty person? He

'Yes. If you call it murder. It was done by a blow, in the heat of passion. No one can ever tell how Dunster

always irritated papa,' said Ellinor, in a stupid, heavy way; and then she sighed.

'How do you know this?' There was a kind of tender reluctance in the judge's voice, as he put all these

questions. Ellinor had made up her mind beforehand that something like them must be asked, and must also

'I came into papa's room just after he had struck Mr Dunster the blow. He was lying insensible, as we thought

'What was Dixon's part in it? He must have known a good deal about it. And the horselancet that was found

'Papa went to wake Dixon, and he brought his fleam I suppose to try and bleed him. I have said enough,

have I not? I seem so confused. But I will answer any question to make it appear that Dixon is innocent.'

The judge had been noting all down. He sat still now without replying to her. Then he wrote rapidly, referring

to his previous paper, from time to time. In five minutes or so he read the facts which Ellinor had stated, as he

now arranged them, in a legal and connected form. He just asked her one or two trivial questions as he did so.

Then he read it over to her, and asked her to sign it. She took up the pen, and held it, hesitating.

'There are not many men like Dixon,' said the judge, almost to himself, as he sealed the paper in an envelope.

And just at the same moment the reflection on a less faithful person that these words might seem to imply

struck both of them, and each instinctively glanced at the other. 'Ellinor!' said the judge, after a moment's

He felt a little chagrined at her answer. Why, he could hardly tell. To cover any sign of his feeling he went on

'But you come sometimes to town, don't you? Let us know always whenever you come; and Lady Corbet

'Thank you. I am going straight back to Hellingford; at least, as soon as you can get me the pardon for Dixon.'

'The pardon must be sent to the sheriff, who holds the warrant for his execution. But, of course, you may have

every assurance that it shall be sent as soon as possible. It is just the same as if he had it now.'

'Pray don't go without breakfast. if you would rather not see Lady Corbet just now, it shall be sent in to you in

'No, thank you; I would rather not. You are very kind, and I am very glad to have seen you once again. There

is just one thing more,' said she, colouring a little and hesitating. 'This note to you was found under papa's

pillow after his death; some of it refers to past things; but I should be glad if you could think as kindly as you

He took it and read it, not without emotion. Then he laid it down on his table, and said,

'Poor man! he must have suffered a great deal for that night's work. And you, Ellinor, you have suffered too.'

Yes, she had suffered; and he who spoke had been one of the instruments of her suffering, although he

seemed forgetful of it. She shook her head a little for reply. Then she looked up at him they were both

'I think I shall be happier now. I always knew it must be found out. Once more, goodbye, and thank you. I

may take this letter, I suppose?' said she, casting envious loving eyes at her father's note, lying unregarded on

'Oh! certainly, certainly,' said he; and then he took her hand; he held it, while he looked into her face. He had

thought it changed when he had first seen her, but it was now almost the same to him as of yore. The sweet

shy eyes, the indicated dimple in the cheek, and something of fever had brought a faint pink flush into her

usually colourless cheeks. Married judge though he was, he was not sure if she had not more charms for him

still in her sorrow and her shabbiness than the handsome stately wife in the next room, whose looks had not

been of the pleasantest when he left her a few minutes before. He sighed a little regretfully as Ellinor went

away. He had obtained the position he had struggled for, and sacrificed for; but now he could not help

wishing that the slaughtered creature laid on the shrine of his ambition were alive again.

The kedgeree was brought up again, smoking hot, but it remained untasted by him; and though he appeared to

be reading The Times, he did not see a word of the distinct type. His wife, meanwhile, continued her

complaints of the untimely visitor, whose name he did not give to her in its corrected form, as he was not

anxious that she should have it in her power to identify the call of this morning with a possible future

When Ellinor reached Mr Johnson's house in Hellingford that afternoon, she found Miss Monro was there,

and that she had been with much difficulty restrained by Mr Johnson from following her to London.

Miss Monro fondled and purred inarticulately through her tears over her recovered darling, before she could

speak intelligibly enough to tell her that Canon Livingstone had come straight to see her immediately on his

return to East Chester, and had suggested her journey to Hellingford, in order that she might be of all the

comfort she could to Ellinor. She did not at first let out that he had accompanied her to Hellingford; she was a

little afraid of Ellinor's displeasure at his being there; Ellinor had always objected so much to any advance

towards intimacy with him that Miss Monro had wished to make. But Ellinor was different now.

'How white you are, Nelly!' said Miss Monro. 'You have been travelling too much and too fast, my child.'

'My head aches!' said Ellinor, wearily. 'But I must go to the castle, and tell my poor Dixon that he is

reprieved, I am so tired! Will you ask Mr Johnson to get me leave to see him? He will know all about it.'

She threw herself down on the bed in the spare room; the bed with the heavy blue curtains. After an unheeded

remonstrance, Miss Monro went to do her bidding. But it was now late afternoon, and Mr Johnson said that it

'Besides,' said he, courteously, 'one scarcely knows whether Miss Wilkins may not give the old man false

hopes, whether she has not been excited to have false hopes herself; it might be a cruel kindness to let her

see him, without more legal certainty as to what his sentence, or reprieve, is to be. By tomorrow morning, if I

'She is so dreadfully tired, poor creature,' put in Miss Monro, who never could bear the shadow of a suspicion

Mr Johnson went on, with a deprecatory bow: 'Well then it really is the only course open to her besides,

persuade her to rest for this evening. By tomorrow morning I will have obtained the sheriff's leave, and he

When Miss Monro returned to the bedroom, Ellinor was in a heavy feverish slumber: so feverish and so

uneasy did she appear, that, after the hesitation of a moment or two, Miss Monro had no scruple in wakening

But she did not appear to understand the answer to her request; she did not seem even to remember that she

The journey to England, the misery, the surprises, had been too much for her. The morrow morning came,

bringing the formal free pardon for Abraham Dixon. The sheriff's order for her admission to see the old man

For days, nay weeks, she hovered between life and death, tended, as of old, by Miss Monro, while good Mrs

'At the canon's house at Bromham.' This was the name of Dr Livingstone's country parish.

From that time she recovered pretty steadily. Her great desire was to return to East Chester as soon as

possible. The associations of grief, anxiety, and coming illness, connected with Hellingford, made her wish to

Canon Livingstone came over to assist Miss Monro in managing the journey with her invalid. But he did not

'He is at the canon's house. He sent for him from Bromham, in order that he might be ready for you to see

She went to the door to meet the tottering old man; she led him to the easychair that had been placed and

arranged for herself, she knelt down before him, and put his hands on her head, he trembling and shaking all

'Forgive me all the shame and misery, Dixon. Say you forgive me; and give me your blessing. And then let

'I forgive thee!' said he. And then he raised himself to his feet with effort, and, standing up above her, he

'Yon's a good man, missy,' he said, at length, lifting his slow eyes and looking at her. 'Better nor t'other ever

But no more was spoken on the subject. The next day, Canon Livingstone made his formal call. Ellinor

would fain have kept Miss Monro in the room, but that worthy lady knew better than to stop.

They went on, forcing talk on indifferent subjects. At last he could speak no longer on everything but that

which he had most at heart, 'Miss Wilkins!' (he had got up, and was standing by the mantelpiece, apparently

examining the ornaments upon it) 'Miss Wilkins! is there any chance of your giving me a favourable

answer now you know what I mean what we spoke about at the Great Western Hotel, that day?'

'Yes! I know; to Mr Corbet he that is now the judge; you cannot suppose that would make any difference, if

that is all. I have loved you, and you only, ever since we met eighteen years ago, Miss Wilkins Ellinor put

'I will!' said she, putting out her thin white hand for him to take and kiss, almost with tears of gratitude, but

she seemed frightened at his impetuosity, and tried to check him. 'Wait you have not heard all my poor,

poor father, in a fit of anger, irritated beyond his bearing, struck the blow that killed Mr Dunster Dixon and

I knew of it, just after the blow was struck we helped to hide it we kept the secret my poor father died

of sorrow and remorse you now know all can you still love me? It seems to me as if I had been an

'Poor, poor Ellinor!' said he, now taking her in his arms as a shelter. 'How I wish I had known of all this years

Those who pass through the village of Bromham, and pause to look over the laurelhedge that separates the

rectory garden from the road, may often see, on summer days, an old, old man, sitting in a wickerchair, out

upon the lawn. He leans upon his stick, and seldom raises his bent head; but for all that his eyes are on a level

with the two little fairy children who come to him in all their small joys and sorrows, and who learnt to lisp

Nor is Miss Monro often absent; and although she prefers to retain the old house in the Close for winter

quarters, she generally makes her way across to Canon Livingstone's residence every evening.