The Eustace Diamonds.......................................................................................................................................1

Anthony Trollope .....................................................................................................................................1

Lizzie Greystock......................................................................................................................................2

Lady Eustace ............................................................................................................................................6

Lucy Morris...........................................................................................................................................10

Frank Greystock .....................................................................................................................................14

The Eustace Necklace ............................................................................................................................19

Lady Linlithgow's Mission....................................................................................................................25

Mr Burke's Speeches .............................................................................................................................30

The conquering hero comes ...................................................................................................................35

Showing what the Miss Fawns said, and what Mrs Hittaway thought..................................................39

Lizzie and her Lover..............................................................................................................................46

Lord Fawn at his Office.........................................................................................................................53

``I only thought of it' ..............................................................................................................................56

Showing what Frank Greystock did .......................................................................................................60

``Doan't thou marry for munny'.............................................................................................................65

``I'll give you a Hundred Guinea Brooch' ..............................................................................................71

Certainly an Heirloom ............................................................................................................................78

The Diamonds are seen in Public ...........................................................................................................82

``And I Have nothing to give'................................................................................................................87

``As my Brother'....................................................................................................................................92

The Diamonds become Troublesome....................................................................................................99

``Ianthe's soul'......................................................................................................................................102

Lady Eustace procures a Pony for the use of her Cousin....................................................................107

Frank Greystock's first visit to Portray................................................................................................110

Showing what Frank Greystock thought about marriage....................................................................118

Mr Dove's opinion...............................................................................................................................122

Mr Gowran is very funny .....................................................................................................................125

Lucy Morris misbehaves ......................................................................................................................131

Mr Dove in his Chambers ....................................................................................................................135

``I had better go away'.........................................................................................................................141

Mr Greystock's Troubles ......................................................................................................................147

Frank Greystock's Second Visit to Portray ..........................................................................................152

Mr and Mrs Hittaway in Scotland ........................................................................................................159

``It won't be True'' ................................................................................................................................162

Lady Linlithgow at Home ....................................................................................................................168

Too Bad for Sympathy .........................................................................................................................174

Lizzie's Guests.....................................................................................................................................179

Lizzie's First Day.................................................................................................................................182

Nappie's Grey Horse............................................................................................................................189

Sir Griffin takes an Unfair Advantage .................................................................................................197

``You are not angry?'...........................................................................................................................200

``Likewise the bears in couples agree'.................................................................................................202

Sunday morning ...................................................................................................................................208

Life at Portray......................................................................................................................................212

A Midnight Adventure .........................................................................................................................217

The Journey to London........................................................................................................................222

Lucy Morris in Brook Street ................................................................................................................226

Matching Priory...................................................................................................................................234

Lizzie's Condition................................................................................................................................238

Bunfit and Gager ..................................................................................................................................241

In Hertford Street.................................................................................................................................246

Confidence...........................................................................................................................................251

Mrs Carbuncle goes to the Theatre......................................................................................................254

Lizzie's SickRoom.............................................................................................................................260

``I suppose I may say a Word'.............................................................................................................266

Quints or Semitenths.........................................................................................................................271

Job's Comforters..................................................................................................................................273

Humpty Dumpty..................................................................................................................................279

``The Fiddle with One String'..............................................................................................................286

Mr Gowran up in London....................................................................................................................288

``Let it be as though it had never been' ................................................................................................293

Lizzie's great Friend .............................................................................................................................298

``You know where my Heart is' ...........................................................................................................307

The Corsair is Afraid...........................................................................................................................312

Lizzie's Last Scheme ............................................................................................................................316

Tribute ..................................................................................................................................................320

The Aspirations of Mr Emilius............................................................................................................324

The Eye of the Public ...........................................................................................................................329

The Major .............................................................................................................................................334

``I cannot do it' .....................................................................................................................................340

Alas! .....................................................................................................................................................346

Lizzie is threatened with the Treadmill...............................................................................................350

Lizzie triumphs....................................................................................................................................356

Lizzie's last Lover................................................................................................................................360

Lizzie at the Police Court .....................................................................................................................367

Lord George gives his Reasons ............................................................................................................370

Lizzie returns to Scotland....................................................................................................................374

The Story of Lucy Morris is concluded...............................................................................................380

The Trial ...............................................................................................................................................385

Once more at Portray...........................................................................................................................390

What was said about it all at Matching ................................................................................................394

It was admitted by all her friends, and also by her enemieswho were in truth the more numerous and active

body of the twothat Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself. We will tell the story of Lizzie

Greystock from the beginning, but we will not dwell over it at great length, as we might do if we loved her.

She was the only child of old Admiral Greystock, who in the latter years of his life was much perplexed by

the possession of a daughter. The admiral was a man who liked whist, wineand wickedness in general we

may perhaps say, and whose ambition it was to live every day of his life up to the end of it. People say that he

succeeded, and that the whist, wine, and wickedness were there, at the side even of his dying bed. He had no

particular fortune, and yet his daughter, when she was little more than a child, went about everywhere with

jewels on her fingers, and red gems hanging round her neck, and yellow gems pendent from her ears, and

white gems shining in her black hair. She was hardly nineteen when her father died and she was taken home

by that dreadful old termagant, her aunt Lady Linlithgow. Lizzie would have sooner gone to any other friend

or relative, had there been any other friend or relative to take her possessed of a house in town. Her uncle,

Dean Greystock, of Bobsborough, would have had her, and a more goodnatured old soul than the dean's

wife did not existand there were three pleasant, goodtempered girls in the deanery who had made various

little efforts at friendship with their cousin Lizzie; but Lizzie had higher ideas for herself than life in the

deanery at Bobsborough. She hated Lady Linlithgow. During her father's lifetime, when she hoped to be able

to settle herself before his death, she was not in the habit of concealing her hatred for Lady Linlithgow. Lady

Linlithgow was not indeed amiable or easily managed. But when the admiral died, Lizzie did not hesitate for

a moment in going to the old ``vulturess,'' as she was in the habit of calling the countess in her occasional

The admiral died greatly in debtso much so that it was a marvel how tradesmen had trusted him. There was

literally nothing left for anybodyand Messrs Harter and Benjamin of Old Bond Street condescended to call

at Lady Linlithgow's house in Brook Street, and to beg that the jewels supplied during the last twelve months

might be returned. Lizzie protested that there were no jewelsnothing to signify, nothing worth restoring.

Lady Linlithgow had seen the diamonds, and demanded an explanation. They had been ``parted with'', by the

admiral's ordersso said Lizziefor the payment of other debts. Of this Lady Linlithgow did not believe a

word, but she could not get at any exact truth. At that moment the jewels were in very truth pawned for

money which had been necessary for Lizzie's needs. Certain things must be paid forone's own maid for

instance; and one must have some money in one's pocket for railway trains and little knickknacks which

cannot be had on credit. Lizzie when she was nineteen knew how to do without money as well as most girls;

but there were calls which she could not withstand, debts which even she must pay.

She did not, however, drop her acquaintance with Messrs Harter and Benjamin. Before her father had been

dead eight months, she was closeted with Mr Benjamin, transacting a little business with him. She had come

to him, she told him, the moment she was of age, and was willing to make herself responsible for the debt,

signing any bill, note, or document which the firm might demand from her, to that effect. Of course she had

nothing of her own, and never would have anything. That Mr Benjamin knew. As for payment of the debt by

Lady Linlithgow, who for a countess was as poor as Job, Mr Benjamin, she was quite sure, did not expect

anything of the kind. ButThen Lizzie paused, and Mr Benjamin, with the sweetest and wittiest of smiles,

suggested that perhaps Miss Greystock was going to be married. Lizzie, with a pretty maiden blush, admitted

that such a catastrophe was probable. She had been asked in marriage by Sir Florian Eustace. Now Mr

Benjamin knew, as all the world knew, that Sir Florian Eustace was a very rich man indeed; a man in no

degree embarrassed, and who could pay any amount of jewellers' bills for which claim might be made upon

him. Well; what did Miss Greystock want? Mr Benjamin did not suppose that Miss Greystock was actuated

simply by a desire to have her old bills paid by her future husband. Miss Greystock wanted a loan sufficient

to take the jewels out of pawn. She would then make herself responsible for the full amount due. Mr

Benjamin said that he would make a few inquiries. ``But you won't betray me,'' said Lizzie, ``for the match

There was not so much of falsehood as might have been expected in the statement which Lizzie Greystock

made to the jeweller. It was not true that she was of age, and therefore no future husband would be legally

liable for any debt which she might then contract. And it was not true that Sir Florian Eustace had asked her

in marriage. Those two little blemishes in her statement must be admitted. But it was true that Sir Florian was

at her feet; and that by a proper use of her various charmsthe pawned jewels includedshe might bring

him to an offer. Mr Benjamin made his inquiries, and acceded to the proposal. He did not tell Miss Greystock

that she had lied to him in that matter of her age, though he had discovered the lie. Sir Florian would no doubt

pay the bill for his wife without any arguments as to the legality of the claim. From such information as Mr

Benjamin could acquire he thought that there would be a marriage, and that the speculation was on the whole

in his favour. Lizzie recovered her jewels and Mr Benjamin was in possession of a promissory note

purporting to have been executed by a person who was no longer a minor. The jeweller was ultimately

Lady Linlithgow saw the jewels come back, one by one, ring added to ring on the little taper fingers, the

rubies for the neck, and the pendent yellow earrings. Though Lizzie was in mourning for her father, still these

things were allowed to be visible. The countess was not the woman to see them without inquiry, and she

inquired vigorously. She threatened, stormed, and protested. She attempted even a raid upon the young lady's

jewelbox. But she was not successful. Lizzie snapped and snarled and held her ownfor at that time the

match with Sir Florian was near its accomplishment, and the countess understood too well the value of such a

disposition of her niece to risk it at the moment by any open rupture. The little house in Brook Streetfor

the house was very small and very comfortlessa house that had been squeezed in, as it were, between two

others without any fitting space for itdid not contain a happy family. One bedroom, and that the biggest,

was appropriated to the Earl of Linlithgow, the son of the countess, a young man who passed perhaps five

nights in town during the year. Other inmate there was none besides the aunt and the niece and the four

servantsof whom one was Lizzie's own maid. Why should such a countess have troubled herself with the

custody of such a niece? Simply because the countess regarded it as a duty. Lady Linlithgow was worldly,

stingy, illtempered, selfish, and mean. Lady Linlithgow would cheat a butcher out of a mutton chop, or a

cook out of a month's wages, if she could do so with some slant of legal wind in her favour. She would tell

any number of lies to carry a point in what she believed to be social success. It was said of her that she

cheated at cards. In backbiting no venomous old woman between Bond Street and Park Lane could beat

heror, more wonderful still, no venomous old man at the clubs. But nevertheless she recognised certain

dutiesand performed them, though she hated them. She went to church, not merely that people might see

her thereas to which in truth she cared nothingbut because she thought it was right. And she took in

Lizzie Greystock, whom she hated almost as much as she did sermons, because the admiral's wife had been

her sister, and she recognised a duty. But, having thus bound herself to Lizziewho was a beautyof

course it became the first object of her life to get rid of Lizzie by a marriage. And, though she would have

liked to think that Lizzie would be tormented all her days, though she thoroughly believed that Lizzie

deserved to be tormented, she set her heart upon a splendid match. She would at any rate be able to throw it

daily in her niece's teeth that the splendour was of her doing. Now a marriage with Sir Florian Eustace would

be very splendid, and therefore she was unable to go into the matter of the jewels with that rigour which in

The match with Sir Florian Eustacefor a match it came to bewas certainly very splendid. Sir Florian was

a young man about eightandtwenty, very handsome, of immense wealth, quite unencumbered, moving in

the best circles, popular, so far prudent that he never risked his fortune on the turf or in gamblinghouses,

with the reputation of a gallant soldier, and a most devoted lover. There were two facts concerning him which

might, or might not, be taken as objections. He was vicious, andhe was dying. When a friend, intending to

be kind, hinted the latter circumstance to Lady Linlithgow, the countess blinked and winked and nodded, and

then swore that she had procured medical advice on the subject. Medical advice declared that Sir Florian was

not more likely to die than another manif only he would get married; all of which statement on her

ladyship's part was a lie. When the same friend hinted the same thing to Lizzie herself, Lizzie resolved that

We have said that Sir Florian was viciousbut he was not altogether a bad man, nor was he vicious in the

common sense of the word. He was one who denied himself no pleasure, let the cost be what it might in

health, pocket, or morals. Of sin or wickedness he had probably no distinct idea. In virtue, as an attribute of

the world around him, he had no belief. Of honour he thought very much, and had conceived a somewhat

noble idea that because much had been given to him much was demanded of him. He was haughty,

politeand very generous. There was almost a nobility even about his vices. And he had a special gallantry

of which it is hard to say whether it is or is not to be admired. They told him that he was like to dievery

like to die, if he did not change his manner of living. Would he go to Algiers for a period? Certainly not. He

would do no such thing. If he died, there was his brother John left to succeed him. And the fear of death never

cast a cloud over that grandly beautiful brow. They had all been shortlivedthe Eustaces. Consumption

had swept a hecatomb of victims from the family. But still they were grand people, and never were afraid of

And then Sir Florian fell in love. Discussing this matter with his brother, who was perhaps his only intimate

friend, he declared that if the girl he loved would give herself to him, he would make what atonement he

could to her for his own early death by a princely settlement. John Eustace, who was somewhat nearly

concerned in the matter, raised no objection to this proposal. There was ever something grand about these

Eustaces. Sir Florian was a grand gentleman; but surely he must have been dull of intellect, slow of

discernment, bleareyed in his ways about the town, when he took Lizzie Greystockof all the women

whom he could find in the worldto be the purest, the truest, and the noblest. It has been said of Sir Florian

that he did not believe in virtue. He freely expressed disbelief in the virtue of women around himin the

virtue of women of all ranks. But he believed in his mother and sisters as though they were heavenborn; and

he was one who could believe in his wife as though she were the queen of heaven. He did believe in Lizzie

Greystock, thinking that intellect, purity, truth, and beauty, each perfect in its degree, were combined in her.

The intellect and beauty were therebut, for the purity and truth! how could it have been that such a one

Sir Florian was not, indeed, a clever man; but he believed himself to be a fool. And believing himself to be a

fool, he desired, nay painfully longed, for some of those results of cleverness which might, he thought, come

to him, from contact with a clever woman. Lizzie read poetry well, and she read verses to himsitting very

near to him, almost in the dark, with a shaded lamp throwing its light on her book. He was astonished to find

how sweet a thing was poetry. By himself he could never read a line, but as it came from her lips it seemed to

charm him. It was a new pleasure, and one which, though he had ridiculed it, he had so often coveted! And

then she told him of such wondrous thoughtssuch wondrous joys in the world which would come from

thinking! He was proud, I have said, and haughty; but he was essentially modest and humble in his

selfestimation. How divine was this creature, whose voice to him was as that of a goddess!

Then he spoke out to her, with his face a little turned from her. Would she be his wife? But, before she

answered him, let her listen to him. They had told him that an early death must probably be his fate. He did

not himself feel that it must be so. Sometimes he was illvery ill; but often he was well. If she would run the

risk with him he would endeavour to make her such recompense as might come from his wealth. The speech

But it was necessary to him that he should be made to know by some signal from her how it was going with

her feelings. As he spoke of his danger, there came a gurgling little trill of wailing from her throat, a soft,

almost musical sound of woe, which seemed to add an unaccustomed eloquence to his words. When he spoke

of his own hope the sound was somewhat changed, but it was still continued. When he alluded to the

disposition of his fortune, she was at his feet. ``Not that,'' she said, ``not that!'' He lifted her, and with his arm

round her waist he tried to tell her what it would be his duty to do for her. She escaped from his arm and

would not listen to him. Butbut! When he began to talk of love again, she stood with her forehead

bowed against his bosom. Of course the engagement was then a thing accomplished.

But still the cup might slip from her lips. Her father was now dead but ten months, and what answer could

she make, when the common pressing petition for an early marriage was poured into her ear? This was in

July, and it would never do that he should be left, unmarried, to the rigour of another winter. She looked into

his face and knew that she had cause for fear. Oh, heavens! if all these golden hopes should fall to the ground,

and she should come to be known only as the girl who had been engaged to the late Sir Florian! But he

himself pressed the marriage on the same ground. ``They tell me'', he said, ``that I had better get a little south

by the beginning of October. I won't go alone. You know what I meaneh, Lizzie?'' Of course she married

They spent a honeymoon of six weeks at a place he had in Scotland, and the first blow came upon him as they

passed through London, back from Scotland, on their way to Italy. Messrs Harter and Benjamin sent in their

little bill, which amounted to something over 400, and other little bills were sent in. Sir Florian was a man by

whom such bills would certainly be paid, but by whom they would not be paid without his understanding

much and conceiving more as to their cause and nature. How much he really did understand she was never

quite awarebut she did know that he detected her in a positive falsehood. She might certainly have

managed the matter better than she did; and had she admitted everything there might probably have been but

few words about it. She did not, however, understand the nature of the note she had signed, and thought that

simply new bills would be presented by the jewellers to her husband. She gave a false account of the

transaction, and the lie was detected. I do not know that she cared very much. As she was utterly devoid of

true tenderness, so also was she devoid of conscience. They went abroad, however; and by the time the winter

was half over in Naples, he knew what his wife wasand before the end of the spring he was dead.

She had so far played her game well, and had won her stakes. What regrets, what remorse she suffered when

she knew that he was going from herand then knew that he was gone, who can say? As man is never strong

enough to take unmixed delight in good, so may we presume also that he cannot be quite so weak as to find

perfect satisfaction in evil. There must have been qualms as she looked at his dying face, soured with the

disappointment she had brought upon him, and listened to the harsh querulous voice that was no longer eager

in the expressions of love. There must have been some pang when she reflected that the cruel wrong which

she had inflicted on him had probably hurried him to his grave. As a widow, in the first solemnity of her

widowhood, she was wretched and would see no one. Then she returned to England and shut herself up in a

small house at Brighton. Lady Linlithgow offered to go to her, but she begged that she might be left to

herself. For a few short months the awe arising from the rapidity with which it had all occurred did afflict her.

Twelve months since she had hardly known the man who was to be her husband. Now she was a widowa

widow very richly endowedand she bore beneath her bosom the fruit of her husband's love.

But, even in these early days, friends and enemies did not hesitate to say that Lizzie Greystock had done very

well with herself; for it was known by all concerned that in the settlements made she had been treated with

There were circumstances in her position which made it impossible that Lizzie Greystockor Lady Eustace,

as we must now call hershould be left altogether to herself in the modest widow's retreat which she had

found at Brighton. It was then April, and it was known that, if all things went well with her, she would be a

mother before the summer was over. On what the Fates might ordain in this matter immense interests were

dependent. If a son should be born he would inherit everything, subject, of course, to his mother's settlement.

If a daughter, to her would belong the great personal wealth which Sir Florian had owned at the time of his

death. Should there be no son, John Eustace, the brother, would inherit the estates in Yorkshire which had

been the backbone of the Eustace wealth. Should no child be born, John Eustace would inherit everything that

had not been settled upon or left to the widow. Sir Florian had made a settlement immediately before his

marriage, and a will immediately afterwards. Of what he had done then, nothing had been altered in those sad

Italian days. The settlement had been very generous. The whole property in Scotland was to belong to Lizzie

for her lifeand after her death was to go to a second son, if such second son there should be. By the will

money was left to her, more than would be needed for any possible temporary emergency. When she knew

how it was all arrangedas far as she did know itshe was aware that she was a rich woman. For so clever

a woman she was infinitely ignorant as to the possession and value of money and land and incomethough,

perhaps, not more ignorant than are most young girls under twentyone. As for the Scotch propertyshe

thought that it was her own, for ever, because there could not now be a second sonand yet was not quite

sure whether it would be her own at all if she had no son. Concerning that sum of money left to her, she did

not know whether it was to come out of the Scotch property or be given to her separatelyand whether it

was to come annually or to come only once. She had received, while still in Naples, a letter from the family

lawyer, giving her such details of the will as it was necessary that she should know, and now she longed to

ask questions, to have her belongings made plain to her, and to realise her wealth. She had brilliant prospects;

and yet, through it all, there was a sense of loneliness that nearly killed her. Would it not have been much

better if her husband had lived, and still worshipped her, and still allowed her to read poetry to him? But she

The reader has, or will have, but little to do with these days, and may be hurried on through the twelve, or

even twentyfour months which followed the death of poor Sir Florian. The question of the heirship,

however, was very grave, and early in the month of May Lady Eustace was visited by her husband's uncle,

Bishop Eustace, of Bobsborough. The bishop had been the younger brother of Sir Florian's fatherwas at

this time a man about fifty, very active and very popularand was one who stood high in the world, even

among bishops. He suggested to his nieceinlaw that it was very expedient that, during her coming hour of

trial, she should not absent herself from her husband's family, and at last persuaded her to take up her

residence at the palace at Bobsborough till such time as the event should be over. Lady Eustace was taken to

the palace, and in due time a son was born. John, who was now the uncle of the heir, came down, and, with

the frankest good humour, declared that he would devote himself to the little head of the family. He had been

left as guardian, and the management of the great family estates was to be in his hands. Lizzie had read no

poetry to him, and he had never liked her, and the bishop did not like her, and the ladies of the bishop's

family disliked her very much, and it was thought by them that the dean's peoplethe Dean of Bobsborough

was Lizzie's unclewere not very fond of Lizzie since Lizzie had so raised herself in the world as to want no

assistance from them. But still they were bound to do their duty by her as the widow of the late and the

mother of the present baronet. And they did not find much cause of complaining as to Lizzie's conduct in

these days. In that matter of the great family diamond necklacewhich certainly should not have been taken

to Naples at all, and as to which the jeweller had told the lawyer and the lawyer had told John Eustace that it

certainly should not now be detained among the widow's own private propertythe bishop strongly

recommended that nothing should be said at present. The mistake, if there was a mistake, could be remedied

at any time. And nothing in those very early days was said about the great Eustace necklace, which

Why Lizzie should have been so generally disliked by the Eustaces, it might be hard to explain. While she

remained at the palace she was very discreetand perhaps demure. It may be said they disliked her

expressed determination to cut her aunt, Lady Linlithgowfor they knew that Lady Linlithgow had been, at

any rate, a friend to Lizzie Greystock. There are people who can be wise within a certain margin, but beyond

that commit great imprudences. Lady Eustace submitted herself to the palace people for that period of her

prostration, but she could not hold her tongue as to her future intentions. She would, too, now and then ask of

Mrs Eustace, and even of her daughter, an eager, anxious question about her own property. ``She is dying to

handle her money,'' said Mrs Eustace to the bishop. ``She is only like the rest of the world in that,'' said the

bishop. ``If she would be really open, I wouldn't mind it,'' said Mrs Eustace. None of them liked herand

She remained at the palace for six months, and at the end of that time she went to her own place in Scotland.

Mrs Eustace had strongly advised her to ask her aunt, Lady Linlithgow, to accompany her, but in refusing to

do this Lizzie was quite firm. She had endured Lady Linlithgow for that year between her father's death and

her marriage; she was now beginning to dare to hope for the enjoyment of the good things which she had

won, and the presence of the dowager countess``the vulturess,''was certainly not one of these good

things. In what her enjoyment was to consist, she had not as yet quite formed a definite conclusion. She liked

jewels. She liked admiration. She liked the power of being arrogant to those around her. And she liked good

things to eat. But there were other matters that were also dear to her. She did like musicthough it may be

doubted whether she would ever play it or even listen to it alone. She did like reading, and especially the

reading of poetrythough even in this she was false and pretentious, skipping, pretending to have read, lying

about books, and making up her market of literature for outside admiration at the easiest possible cost of

trouble. And she had some dream of being in love, and would take delight even in building castles in the air,

which she would people with friends and lovers whom she would make happy with the most openhearted

benevolence. She had theoretical ideas of life which were not badbut in practice, she had gained her

There was considerable anxiety in the palace in reference to the future mode of life of Lady Eustace. Had it

not been for that baby heir, of course there would have been no cause for interference; but the rights of that

baby were so serious and important that it was almost impossible not to interfere. The mother, however, gave

some little signs that she did not intend to submit to much interference, and there was no real reason why she

should not be as free as air. But did she really intend to go down to Portray Castle all alonethat is, with her

baby and nurses? This was ended by an arrangement, in accordance with which she was accompanied by her

eldest cousin, Ellinor Greystock, a lady who was just ten years her senior. There could hardly be a better

woman than Ellinor Greystockor a more goodhumoured, kindly being. After many debates in the deanery

and in the palacefor there was much friendship between the two ecclesiastical establishmentsthe offer

was made and the advice given. Ellinor had accepted the martyrdom on the understanding that if the advice

were accepted she was to remain at Portray Castle for three months. After a long discussion between Lady

Eustace and the bishop's wife the offer was accepted, and the two ladies went to Scotland together.

During those three months the widow still bided her time. Of her future ideas of life she said not a word to

her companion. Of her infant she said very little. She would talk of bookschoosing such books as her

cousin did not read; and she would interlard her conversation with much Italian, because her cousin did not

know the language. There was a carriage kept by the widow, and they had themselves driven out together. Of

real companionship there was none. Lizzie was biding her time, and at the end of the three months Miss

Greystock thankfully, and, indeed, of necessity, returned to Bobsborough. ``I've done no good'', she said to

her mother, ``and have been very uncomfortable.'' ``My dear,'' said her mother, ``we have disposed of three

months out of a two years' period of danger. In two years from Sir Florian's death she will be married again.''

When this was said Lizzie had been a widow nearly a year, and had bided her time upon the whole discreetly.

Some foolish letters she had writtenchiefly to the lawyer about her money and property; and some foolish

things she had saidas when she told Ellinor Greystock that the Portray property was her own for ever, to do

what she liked with it. The sum of money left to her by her husband had by that time been paid into her own

hands, and she had opened a banker's account. The revenues from the Scotch estatesome 4,000 a

yearwere clearly her own for life. The family diamond necklace was still in her possession, and no answer

had been given by her to a postscript to a lawyer's letter in which a little advice had been given respecting it.

At the end of another year, when she had just reached the age of twentytwo, and had completed her second

year of widowhood, she was still Lady Eustace, thus contradicting the prophecy made by the dean's wife. It

was then spring, and she had a house of her own in London. She had broken openly with Lady Linlithgow.

She had opposed, though not absolutely refused, all overtures of brotherly care from John Eustace. She had

declined a further invitation, both for herself and for her child, to the palace. And she had positively asserted

her intention of keeping the diamonds. Her late husband, she said, had given the diamonds to her. As they

were supposed to be worth 10,000, and were really family diamonds, the matter was felt by all concerned to

be one of much importance. And she was oppressed by a heavy load of ignorance, which became serious

from the isolation of her position. She had learned to draw cheques, but she had no other correct notion as to

business. She knew nothing as to spending money, saving it, or investing it. Though she was clever, sharp,

and greedy, she had no idea what her money would do, and what it would not; and there was no one whom

she would trust to tell her. She had a young cousin, a barristera son of the dean's, whom she perhaps liked

better than any other of her relationsbut she declined advice even from her friend the barrister. She would

have no dealings on her own behalf with the old family solicitor of the Eustacesthe gentleman who had

now applied very formally for the restitution of the diamonds; but had appointed other solicitors to act for

her. Messrs Mowbray and Mopus were of opinion that as the diamonds had been given into her hands by her

husband without any terms as to their surrender, no one could claim them. Of the manner in which the

But when she started with her house in towna modest little house in Mount Street, near the parkjust two

years after her husband's death, she had a large circle of acquaintances. The Eustace people, and the

Greystock people, and even the Linlithgow people, did not entirely turn their backs on her. The countess,

indeed, was very venomous, as she well might be; but then the countess was known for her venom. The dean

and his family were still anxious that she should be encouraged to discreet living, and, though they feared

many things, thought that they had no ground for open complaint. The Eustace people were forbearing, and

hoped the best. ``Dthe necklace!'' John Eustace had said, and the bishop unfortunately had heard him say

it! ``John,'' said the prelate, ``whatever is to become of the bauble, you might express your opinion in more

sensible language.'' ``I beg your lordship's pardon,'' said John, ``I only mean to say that I think we shouldn't

trouble ourselves about a few stones.'' But the family lawyer, Mr Camperdown, would by no means take this

view of the matter. It was, however, generally thought that the young widow opened her campaign more

And now as so much has been said of the character and fortune and special circumstances of Lizzie

Greystock, who became Lady Eustace as a bride, and Lady Eustace as a widow and a mother, all within the

space of twelve months, it may be as well to give some description of her person and habits, such as they

were at the period in which our story is supposed to have its commencement. It must be understood in the

first place that she was very lovelymuch more so, indeed, now than when she had fascinated Sir Florian.

She was small, but taller than she looked to befor her form was perfectly symmetrical. Her feet and hands

might have been taken as models by a sculptor. Her figure was lithe, and soft, and slim, and slender. If it had

a fault it was thisthat it had in it too much of movement. There were some who said that she was almost

snakelike in her rapid bendings and the almost too easy gestures of her body; for she was much given to

action, and to the expression of her thought by the motion of her limbs. She might certainly have made her

way as an actress, had fortune calledupon her to earn her bread in that fashion. And her voice would have

suited the stage. It was powerful which she called upon it for power; but, at the same time, flexible and

capable of much pretence at feeling. She could bring it to a whisper that would almost melt your heart with

tendernessas she had melted Sir Florian's, when she sat near to him reading poetry; and then she could

raise it to a pitch of indignant wrath befitting a Lady Macbeth when her husband ventured to rebuke her. And

her ear was quite correct in modulating these tones. She knewand it must have been by instinct, for her

culture in such matters was smallhow to use her voice so that neither its tenderness nor its wrath should be

misapplied. There were pieces in verse that she could readthings not wondrously good in themselvesso

that she would ravish you; and she would so look at you as she did it that you would hardly dare either to

avert your eyes or to return her gaze. Sir Florian had not known whether to do the one thing or the other, and

had therefore seized her in his arms. Her face was ovalsomewhat longer than an ovalwith little in it,

perhaps nothing in it, of that brilliancy of colour which we call complexion. And yet the shades of her

countenance were ever changing between the softest and most transparent white, and the richest, mellowest

shades of brown. It was only when she simulated angershe was almost incapable of real angerthat she

would succeed in calling the thinnest streak of pink from her heart, to show that there was blood running in

her veins. Her hair, which was nearly blackbut in truth with more of softness and of lustre than ever belong

to hair that is really blackshe wore bound tight round her perfect forehead, with one long lovelock

hanging over her shoulder. The form of her head was so good that she could dare to carry it without a

chignon, or any adventitious adjuncts from an artiste's shop. Very bitter was she in consequence when

speaking of the headgear of other women. Her chin was perfect in its round, not over longas is the case

with so many such faces, utterly spoiling the symmetry of the countenance. But it lacked a dimple, and

therefore lacked feminine tenderness. Her mouth was perhaps faulty in being too small, or, at least, her lips

were too thin. There was wanting from the mouth that expression of eagerspeaking truthfulness which full

lips will often convey. Her teeth were without flaw or blemish, even, small, white, and delicate; but perhaps

they were shown too often. Her nose was small, but struck many as the prettiest feature of her face, so

exquisite was the moulding of it, and so eloquent and so graceful the slight inflations of the transparent

nostrils. Her eyes, in which she herself thought that the lustre of her beauty lay, were blue and clear, bright as

cerulean waters. They were long large eyesbut very dangerous. To those who knew how to read a face,

there was danger plainly written in them. Poor Sir Florian had not known. But, in truth, the charm of her face

did not lie in her eyes. This was felt by many even who could not read the book fluently. They were too

expressive, too loud in their demands for attention, and they lacked tenderness. How few there are among

women, few perhaps also among men, who know that the sweetest, softest, tenderest, truest eyes which a

woman can carry in her head are green in colour! Lizzie's eyes were not tenderneither were they true. But

they were surmounted by the most wonderfully pencilled eyebrows that ever nature unassisted planted on a

We have said that she was clever. We must add that she had in truth studied much. She spoke French,

understood Italian, and read German. She played well on the harp, and moderately well on the piano. She

sang, at least in good taste and in tune. Of things to be learned by reading she knew much, having really taken

diligent trouble with herself. She had learned much poetry by heart, and could apply it. She forgot nothing,

listened to everything, understood quickly, and was desirous to show not only as a beauty but as a wit. There

were men at this time who declared that she was simply the cleverest and the handsomest woman in England.

Although the first two chapters of this new history have been devoted to the fortunes and personal attributes

of Lady Eustace, the historian begs his readers not to believe that that opulent and aristocratic Becky Sharp is

to assume the dignity of heroine in the forthcoming pages. That there shall be any heroine the historian will

not take upon himself to assert; but if there be a heroine, that heroine shall not be Lady Eustace. Poor Lizzie

Greystock!as men double her own age, and who had known her as a forward, capricious, spoilt child in her

father's lifetime, would still call her. She did so many things, made so many efforts, caused so much suffering

to others, and suffered so much herself throughout the scenes with which we are about to deal, that the story

can hardly be told without giving her that prominence of place which has been assigned to her in the last two

Nor does the chronicler dare to put forward Lucy Morris as a heroine. The real heroine, if it be found possible

to arrange her drapery for her becomingly, and to put that part which she enacted into properly heroic words,

shall stalk in among us at some considerably later period of the narrative, when the writer shall have

accustomed himself to the flow of words, and have worked himself up to a state of mind fit for the reception

of noble acting and noble speaking. In the meantime, let it be understood that poor little Lucy Morris was a

governess in the house of old Lady Fawn, when our beautiful young widow established herself in Mount

Lady Eustace and Lucy Morris had known each other for many yearshad indeed been children

togetherthere having been some old family friendship between the Greystocks and the Morrises. When the

admiral's wife was living, Lucy had, as a little girl of eight or nine, been her guest. She had often been a guest

at the deanery. When Lady Eustace had gone down to the bishop's palace at Bobsborough, in order that an

heir to the Eustaces might be born under an auspicious roof, Lucy Morris was with the Greystocks. Lucy,

who was a year younger than Lizzie, had at that time been an orphan for the last four years. She too had been

left penniless, but no such brilliant future awaited her as that which Lizzie had earned for herself. There was

no countessaunt to take her into her London house. The dean and the dean's wife and the dean's daughter

had been her best friends, but they were not friends on whom she could be dependent. They were in no way

connected with her by blood. Therefore, at the age of eighteen, she had gone out to be a child's governess.

Then old Lady Fawn had heard of her virtuesLady Fawn, who had seven unmarried daughters running

down from sevenandtwenty to thirteen, and Lucy Morris had been hired to teach English, French, German,

During that visit at the deanery, when the heir of the Eustaces was being born, Lucy was undergoing a sort of

probation for the Fawn establishment. The proposed engagement with Lady Fawn was thought to be a great

thing for her. Lady Fawn was known as a miracle of Virtue, Benevolence, and Persistency. Every good

quality that she possessed was so marked as to be worthy of being expressed with a capital. But her virtues

were of that extraordinarily high character that there was no weakness in themno getting over them, no

perverting them with follies or even exaggerations. When she heard of the excellencies of Miss Morris from

the dean's wife and then, after minutest investigation, learned the exact qualities of the young lady, she

expressed herself willing to take Lucy into her house on special conditions. She must be able to teach music

up to a certain point. ``Then it's all over,'' said Lucy to the dean with her pretty smilethat smile which

caused all the old and middleaged men to fall in love with her. ``It's not over at all,'' said the dean. ``You've

got four months. Our organist is about as good a teacher as there is in England. You are clever and quick, and

he shall teach you.'' So Lucy went to Bobsborough, and was afterwards accepted by Lady Fawn.

While she was at the deanery there sprung up a renewed friendship between her and Lizzie. It was, indeed,

chiefly a onesided friendship; for Lucy, who was quick and unconsciously capable of reading that book to

which we alluded in a previous chapter, was somewhat afraid of the rich widow. And when Lizzie talked to

her of their old childish days, and quoted poetry, and spoke of things romanticas she was much given to

doLucy felt that the metal did not ring true. And then Lizzie had an ugly habit of abusing all her other

friends behind their backs. Now Lucy did not like to hear the Greystocks abused, and would say so. ``That's

all very well, you little minx,'' Lizzie would say playfully, ``but you know that they are all asses!'' Lucy by no

means thought that the Greystocks were asses, and was very strongly of opinion that one of them was as far

removed from being an ass as any human being she had ever known. This one was Frank Greystock, the

barrister. Of Frank Greystock some special but, let it be hoped, very short description must be given by and

by. For the present it will be sufficient to declare that, during that short Easter holiday which he spent at his

father's house in Bobsborough, he found Lucy Morris to be a most agreeable companion.

``You know what I mean, Frank. She is as sweet a girl as ever lived, and a perfect lady. But with a governess,

unless you mean to marry her, you should be more careful than with another girl, because you may do her

``If Lady Fawn knew that she had an admirer, Lady Fawn would not let her come into her house.''

``Then Lady Fawn is an idiot. If a girl be admirable, of course she will be admired. Who can hinder it?''

``YesI do; well. I don't suppose I can afford to marry Lucy Morris. At any rate, mother, I will never say a

``I don't know that at all. But I will never say any such word to herunless I make up my mind that I can

Mrs Dean was a very good woman, but she had aspirations in the direction of filthy lucre on behalf of her

children, or at least on behalf of this special child, and she did think it would be very nice if Frank would

marry an heiress. This, however, was a long time ago, nearly two years ago; and many grave things had got

themselves transacted since Lucy's visit to the deanery. She had become quite an old and an accustomed

member of Lady Fawn's family. The youngest Fawn girl was not yet fifteen, and it was understood that Lucy

was to remain with the Fawns for some quite indefinite time to come. Lady Fawn's eldest daughter, Mrs

Hittaway, had a family of her own, having been married ten or twelve years, and it was quite probable that

Lucy might be transferred. Lady Fawn fully appreciated her treasure and was, and ever had been,

conscientiously anxious to make Lucy's life happy. But she thought that a governess should not be desirous of

marrying, at any rate till a somewhat advanced period of life. A governess, if she were given to falling in

love, could hardly perform her duties in life. No doubt, not to be a governess, but a young lady free from the

embarrassing necessity of earning bread, free to have a lover and a husband, would be upon the whole nicer.

So it is nicer to be born to 10,000 a year than to have to wish for 500. Lady Fawn could talk excellent sense

on this subject by the hour, and always admitted that much was due to a governess who knew her place and

did her duty. She was very fond of Lucy Morris, and treated her dependant with affectionate

considerationbut she did not approve of visits from Mr Frank Greystock. Lucy, blushing up to the eyes,

had once declared that she desired to have no personal visitors at Lady Fawn's house; but that, as regarded her

own friendships, the matter was one for her own bosom. ``Dear Miss Morris,'' Lady Fawn had said, ``we

understand each other so perfectly, and you are so good, that I am quite sure everything will be as it ought to

be.'' Lady Fawn lived down at Richmond, all the year through, in a large oldfashioned house with a large

oldfashioned garden, called Fawn Court. After that speech of hers to Lucy, Frank Greystock did not call

again at Fawn Court for many months, and it is possible that her ladyship had said a word also to him. But

Lady Eustace, with her pretty little pair of grey ponies, would sometimes drive down to Richmond to see her

``dear little old friend'' Lucy, and her visits were allowed. Lady Fawn had expressed an opinion among her

daughters that she did not see any harm in Lady Eustace. She thought that she rather liked Lady Eustace. But

then Lady Fawn hated Lady Linlithgow as only two old women can hate each otherand she had not heard

Lucy Morris certainly was a treasurea treasure though no heroine. She was a sweetly social, genial little

human being whose presence in the house was ever felt to be like sunshine. She was never forward, but never

bashful. She was always open to familiar intercourse without ever putting herself forward. There was no man

or woman with whom she would not so talk as to make the man or woman feel that the conversation was

remarkably pleasantand she could do the same with any child. She was an active, mindful, bright,

energetic little thing to whom no work ever came amiss. She had catalogued the librarywhich had been

collected by the late Lord Fawn with peculiar reference to the Christian theology of the third and fourth

centuries. She had planned the new flower gardenthough Lady Fawn thought that she had done that

herself. She had been invaluable during Clara Fawn's long illness. She knew every rule at croquet, and could

play piquet. When the girls got up charades they had to acknowledge that everything depended on Miss

Morris. They were goodnatured, plain, unattractive girls, who spoke of her to her face as one who could

easily do anything to which she might put her hand. Lady Fawn did really love her. Lord Fawn, the eldest

son, a young man of about thirtyfive, a Peer of Parliament and an UnderSecretary of Statevery prudent

and very diligentof whom his mother and sisters stood in great awe, consulted her frequently and made no

secret of his friendship. The mother knew her awful son well, and was afraid of nothing wrong in that

direction. Lord Fawn had suffered a disappointment in love, but he had consoled himself with blue books,

and mastered his passion by incessant attendance at the India Board. The lady he had loved had been rich,

and Lord Fawn was poor; but nevertheless he had mastered his passion. There was no fear that his feelings

towards the governess would become too warmnor was it likely that Miss Morris should encounter danger

in regard to him. It was quite an understood thing in the family that Lord Fawn must marry money.

Lucy Morris was indeed a treasure. No brighter face ever looked into another to seek sympathy there, either

in mirth or woe. There was a gleam in her eyes that was almost magnetic, so sure was she to obtain by it that

community of interest which she desiredthough it were but for a moment. Lord Fawn was pompous, slow,

dull, and careful; but even he had given way to it at once. Lady Fawn too was very careful, but she had

owned to herself long since that she could not bear to look forward to any permanent severance. Of course

Lucy would be made over to the Hittaways, whose mother lived in Warwick Square, and whose father was

Chairman of the Board of Civil Appeals. The Hittaways were the only grandchildren with whom Lady Fawn

She was but a little thingand it cannot be said of her, as of Lady Eustace, that she was a beauty. The charm

of her face consisted in the peculiar, watery brightness of her eyesin the corners of which it would always

seem that a diamond of a tear was lurking whenever any matter of excitement was afoot. Her lightbrown

hair was soft and smooth and pretty. As hair it was very well, but it had no speciality. Her mouth was

somewhat large, but full of evervarying expression. Her forehead was low and broad, with prominent

temples, on which it was her habit to clasp tightly her little outstretched fingers as she sat listening to you. Of

listeners she was the very best, for she would always be saying a word or two, just to help youthe best

word that could be spoken, and then again she would be hanging on your lips. There are listeners who show

by their mode of listening that they listen as a dutynot because they are interested. Lucy Morris was not

such a one. She would take up your subject, whatever it was, and make it her own. There was forward just

then a question as to whether the Sawab of Mygawb should have twenty millions of rupees paid to him and

be placed upon a throne, or whether he should be kept in prison all his life. The British world generally could

not be made to interest itself about the Sawab, but Lucy positively mastered the subject, and almost got Lord

Fawn into a difficulty by persuading him to stand up against his chief on behalf of the injured prince.

What else can be said of her face or personal appearance that will interest a reader? When she smiled, there

was the daintiest little dimple on her cheek. And when she laughed, that little nose, which was not as

wellshaped a nose as it might have been, would almost change its shape and cock itself up in its mirth. Her

hands were very thin and long, and so were her feetby no means models as were those of her friend Lady

Eustace. She was a little, thin, quick, graceful creature, whom it was impossible that you should see without

wishing to have near you. A most unselfish little creature she was, but one who had a wellformed idea of

her own identity. She was quite resolved to be somebody among her fellowcreaturesnot somebody in the

way of marrying a lord or a rich man, or somebody in the way of being a beauty, or somebody as a wit; but

somebody as having a purpose and a use in life. She was the humblest little thing in the world in regard to

any possible putting of herself forward or needful putting of herself back; and yet, to herself, nobody was her

superior. What she had was her own, whether it was the old grey silk dress which she had bought with the

money she had earned, or the wit which nature had given her. And Lord Fawn's title was his own, and Lady

Fawn's rank her own. She coveted no man's possessionsand no woman's; but she was minded to hold by

her own. Of present advantages or disadvantageswhether she had the one or suffered from the othershe

thought not at all. It was her fault that she had nothing of feminine vanity. But no man or woman was ever

more anxious to be effective, to persuade, to obtain belief, sympathy, and cooperationnot for any result

personal to herself, but because, by obtaining these things, she could be effective in the object then before

One other thing may be told of her. She had given her heartfor good and all, as she owned to herselfto

Frank Greystock. She had owned to herself that it was so, and had owned to herself that nothing could come

of it. Frank was becoming a man of markbut was becoming a man of mark without much money. Of all

men he was the last who could afford to marry a governess. And then, moreover, he had never said a word to

make her think that he loved her. He had called on her once or twice at Fawn Courtas why should he not?

Seeing that there had been friendship between the families for so many years, who could complain of that?

Lady Fawn, however, hadnot complained, but just said a word. A word in season, how good is it? Lucy did

not much regard the word spoken to herself; but when she reflected that a word must also have been spoken

to Mr Greystockotherwise how should it have been that he never came again?that she did not like.

In herself she regarded this passion of hers as a healthy man regards the loss of a leg or an arm. It is a great

nuisance, a loss that maims the whole lifea misfortune to be much regretted. But because a leg is gone,

everything is not gone. A man with a wooden leg may stump about through much action, and may enjoy the

keenest pleasures of humanity. He has his eyes left to him, and his ears, and his intellect. He will not break

his heart for the loss of that leg. And so it was with Lucy Morris. She would still stump about and be very

Looking at her position, she told herself that stump about aould hardly have been her lot in life. Lady Fawn,

she thought, was right. A governess should make up her mind to do without a lover. She had given away her

heart, and yet she would do without a lover. When, on one dull, dark afternoon, as she was thinking of all

this, Lord Fawn suddenly put into her hands a cruelly long, printed, document respecting the Sawab, she went

to work upon it immediately. As she read it, she could not refrain from thinking how wonderfully Frank

Greystock would plead the cause of the Indian prince, if the privilege of pleading it could be given to him.

The spring had come round, with May and the London butterflies, at the time at which our story begins, and

during six months Frank Greystock had not been at Fawn Court. Then one day Lady Eustace came down with

her ponies, and her footman, and a new dear companion of hers, Miss Macnulty. While Miss Macnulty was

being honoured by Lady Fawn, Lizzie had retreated to a corner with her old dear friend Lucy Morris. It was

pretty to see how so wealthy and fashionable a woman as Lady Eustace could show so much friendship to a

governess. ``Have you seen Frank, lately?'' said Lady Eustace, referring to her cousin the barrister.

``He is not going to prove a false knight?'' asked Lady Eustace, in her lowest whisper:

``I don't know that Mr Greystock is much given to knighthood at all,'' said Lucy``unless it is to being made

``Nonsense, my dear; as if I didn't know. I suppose Lady Fawn has been interferinglike an old cat as she

``She is not an old cat, Lizzie! and I won't hear her called so. If you think so, you shouldn't come here. And

she hasn't interfered. That is, she has done nothing that she ought not to have done.''

``Then she has interfered,'' said Lady Eustace, as she got up and walked across the room, with a sweet smile,

Frank Greystock the barrister was the only son of the Dean of Bobsborough. Now the dean had a family of

daughtersnot quite so numerous indeed as that of Lady Fawn, for there were only three of themand was

by no means a rich man. Unless a dean have a private fortune, or has chanced to draw the happy lot of

Durham in the lottery of deans, he can hardly be wealthy. At Bobsborough the dean was endowed with a

large, rambling, picturesque, uncomfortable house, and with 1,500 a year. In regard to personal property it

may be asserted of all the Greystocks that they never had any. They were a family of which the males would

surely come to be deans and admirals, and the females would certainly find husbands. And they lived on the

good things of the world, and mixed with wealthy people. But they never had any money. The Eustaces

always had money, and the Bishop of Bobsborough was wealthy. The dean was a man very different from his

brother the admiral, who had never paid anybody anything. The dean did pay; but he was a little slow in his

payments, and money with him was never very plentiful. In these circumstances it became very expedient

Nevertheless, he had chosen a profession which is not often lucrative at first. He had been called to the Bar,

and had goneand was still goingthe circuit in which lies the cathedral city of Bobsborough.

Bobsborough is not much of a town, and was honoured with the judges' visits only every other circuit. Frank

began pretty well, getting some little work in London, and perhaps nearly enough to pay the cost of his circuit

out of the county in which the cathedral was situated. But he began life after that impecunious fashion for

which the Greystocks have been noted. Tailors, robemakers, and booksellers gave him trust, and did believe

that they would get their money. And any persistent tradesman did get it. He did not actually hoist the black

flag of impecuniosity, and proclaim his intention of preying generally upon the retail dealers, as his uncle the

admiral had done. But he became known as a young man with whom money was ``tight''. All this had been

going on for three or four years before he had met Lucy Morris at the deanery. He was then

eightandtwenty, and had been four years called. He was thirty when old Lady Fawn hinted to him that he

But things had much altered with him of late. At the time of that visit to the deanery he had made a sudden

start in his profession. The Corporation of the City of London had brought an action against the Bank of

England with reference to certain alleged encroachments, of which action, considerable as it was in all its

interests, no further notice need be taken here than is given by the statement that a great deal of money in this

cause had found its way among the lawyers. Some of it penetrated into the pocket of Frank Greystock, but he

earned more than money, better than money, out of that affair. It was attributed to him by the attorneys that

the Bank of England was saved from the necessity of reconstructing all its bullion cellars, and he had made

his character for industry. In the year after that the Bobsborough people were rather driven into a corner in

search of a clever young conservative candidate for the borough, and Frank Greystock was invited to stand. It

was not thought that there was much chance of success, and the dean was against it. But Frank liked the

honour and glory of the contest, and so did Frank's mother. Frank Greystock stood, and at the time in which

he was warned away from Fawn Court had been nearly a year in Parliament. ``Of course it does interfere with

one's business,'' he had said to his father, ``but then it brings one business also. A man with a seat in

Parliament who shows that he means work will always get nearly as much work as he can do.'' Such was

Frank's exposition to his father. It may perhaps not be found to hold water in all cases. Mrs Dean was of

course delighted with her son's success, and so were the girls. Women like to feel that the young men

belonging to them are doing something in the world, so that a reflected glory may be theirs. It was pleasant to

talk of Frank as member for the city. Brothers do not always care much for a brother's success, but a sister is

generally sympathetic. If Frank would only marry money, there was nothing he might not achieve. That he

would live to sit on the woolsack was now almost a certainty to the dear old lady. But in order that he might

sit there comfortably it was necessary that he should at least abstain from marrying a poor wife. For there was

``That notion of marrying money as you call it'', Frank said to his second sister Margaret, ``is the most

``It is as easy to love a girl who has something as one who has nothing,'' said Margaret.

``Noit is not; because the girls with money are scarce, and those without it are plentifulan argument of

which I don't suppose you see the force.'' Then Margaret for the moment was snubbed and retired.

``And I think she was quite wrong. If there be anything in it, it won't be expelled by Lady Fawn's

interference. Do you think I should allow Lady Fawn to tell me not to choose such or such a woman for my

``It's the habit of seeing her, my dear. Nobody loves Lucy Morris better than I do. We all like her. But, dear

Frank Greystock was silent for a moment, and then he answered his mother's question. ``I am not quite sure

whether it would or would not. But I do think thisthat if I were bold enough to marry now, and to trust all

to the future, and could get Lucy to be my wife, I should be doing a great thing. I doubt, however, whether I

The reader, who has read so far will perhaps think that Frank Greystock was in love with Lucy as Lucy was

in love with him. But such was not exactly the case. To be in love, as an absolute, wellmarked,

acknowledged fact, is the condition of a woman more frequently and more readily than of a man. Such is not

the common theory on the matter, as it is the man's business to speak, and the woman's business to be

reticent. And the woman is presumed to have kept her heart free from any load of love, till she may accept the

burthen with an assurance that it shall become a joy and a comfort to her. But such presumptions, though they

may be very useful for the regulation of conduct, may not be always true. It comes more within the scope of a

woman's mind, than that of a man's, to think closely and decide sharply on such a matter. With a man it is

often chance that settles the question for him. He resolves to propose to a woman, or proposes without

resolving, because she is close to him. Frank Greystock ridiculed the idea of Lady Fawn's interference in so

high a matter as his loveor abstinence from love. Nevertheless, had he been made a welcome guest at

Fawn Court, he would undoubtedly have told his love to Lucy Morris. He was not a welcome guest, but had

been banished; and, as a consequence of that banishment, he had formed no resolution in regard to Lucy, and

did not absolutely know whether she was necessary to him or not. But Lucy Morris knew all about it.

Moreover, it frequently happens with men that they fail to analyse these things, and do not make out for

themselves any clear definition of what their feelings are or what they mean. We hear that a man has behaved

badly to a girl, when the behaviour of which he has been guilty has resulted simply from want of thought. He

has found a certain companionship to be agreeable to him, and he has accepted the pleasure without inquiry.

Some vague idea has floated across his brain that the world is wrong in supposing that such friendship cannot

exist without marriage, or question of marriage. It is simply friendship. And yet were his friend to tell him

that she intended to give herself in marriage elsewhere, he would suffer all the pangs of jealousy, and would

imagine himself to be horribly illtreated! To have such a frienda friend whom he cannot or will not make

his wifeis no injury to him. To him it is simply a delight, an excitement in life, a thing to be known to

himself only and not talked of to others, a source of pride and inward exultation. It is a joy to think of when

he wakes, and a consolation in his little troubles. It dispels the weariness of life, and makes a green spot of

holiday within his daily work. It is, indeed, death to herbut he does not know it. Frank Greystock did think

that he could not marry Lucy Morris without making an imprudent plunge into deep water, and yet he felt

that Lady Fawn was an illnatured old woman for hinting to him that he had better not, for the present,

continue his visits to Fawn Court. ``Of course you understand me, Mr Greystock,'' she had said, meaning to

be civil. ``When Miss Morris has left usshould she ever leave usI should be most happy to see you.''

``What on earth would take me to Fawn Court, if Lucy were not there!'' he said to himselfnot choosing to

Frank Greystock was at this time nearly thirty years old. He was a goodlooking, but not strikingly handsome

man; thin, of moderate height, with sharp grey eyes, a face clean shorn with the exception of a small whisker,

with wiry, strong dark hair, which was already beginning to show a tinge of greythe very opposite in

appearance to his late friend Sir Florian Eustace. He was quick, readywitted, selfreliant, and not over

scrupulous in the outward things of the world. He was desirous of doing his duty to others, but he was

specially desirous that others should do their duty to him. He intended to get on in the world, and believed

that happiness was to be achieved by success. He was certainly made for the profession which he had

adopted. His father, looking to certain morsels of Church patronage which occasionally came in his way, and

to the fact that he and the bishop were on most friendly terms, had wished his son to take orders. But Frank

had known himself and his own qualities too well to follow his father's advice. He had chosen to be a

He had been asked to stand for Bobsborough in the conservative interest, and as a Conservative he had been

returned. Those who invited him knew probably but little of his own political beliefs or feelingsdid not

probably know whether he had any. His father was a fine old Tory of the ancient school, who thought that

things were going from bad to worse, but was able to live happily in spite of his anticipations. The dean was

one of those oldworld politicianswe meet them every day, and they are generally pleasant peoplewho

enjoy the politics of the side to which they belong without any special belief in them. If pressed hard they

will almost own that their socalled convictions are prejudices. But not for worlds would they be rid of them.

When two or three of them meet together, they are as freemasons, who are bound by a pleasant bond which

separates them from the outer world. They feel among themselves that everything that is being done is

badeven though that everything is done by their own party. It was bad to interfere with Charles, bad to

endure Cromwell, bad to banish James, bad to put up with William. The House of Hanover was bad. All

interference with prerogative has been bad. The Reform bill was very bad. Encroachment on the estates of the

bishops was bad. Emancipation of Roman Catholics was the worst of all. Abolition of corn laws, church

rates, and oaths and tests were all bad. The meddling with the Universities has been grievous. The treatment

of the Irish Church has been Satanic. The overhauling of schools is most injurious to English education.

Education bills and Irish land bills were all bad. Every step taken has been bad. And yet to them old England

is of all countries in the world the best to live in, and is not at all the less comfortable because of the changes

that have been made. These people are ready to grumble at every boon conferred on them, and yet to enjoy

every boon. They know too their privileges, and, after a fashion, understand their position. It is picturesque,

and it pleases them. To have been always in the right and yet always on the losing side; always being ruined,

always under persecution from a wild spirit of republicandemagogismand yet never to lose anything, not

even position or public esteem, is pleasant enough. A huge, living, daily increasing grievance that does one

no palpable harm, is the happiest possession that a man can have. There is a large body of such men in

England, and, personally, they are the very salt of the nation. He who said that all Conservatives are stupid

did not know them. Stupid Conservatives there may beand there certainly are very stupid Radicals. The

welleducated, widelyread Conservative, who is well assured that all good things are gradually being

brought to an end by the voice of the people, is generally the pleasantest man to be met. But he is a Buddhist,

possessing a religious creed which is altogether dark and mysterious to the outer world. Those who watch the

ways of the advanced Buddhist hardly know whether the man does believe himself in his hidden god, but

men perceive that he is respectable, selfsatisfied, and a man of note. It is of course from the society of such

that Conservative candidates are to be sought; but, alas, it is hard to indoctrinate young minds with the old

Nevertheless Frank Greystock, when he was invited to stand for Bobsborough in the Conservative interest,

had not for a moment allowed any political heterodoxy on his own part to stand in the way of his

advancement. It may, perhaps, be the case that a barrister is less likely to be influenced by personal

convictions in taking his side in politics than any other man who devotes himself to public affairs. No slur on

the profession is intended by this suggestion. A busy, clever, useful man, who has been at work all his life,

finds that his own progress towards success demands from him that he shall become a politician. The highest

work of a lawyer can only be reached through political struggle. As a largeminded man of the world,

peculiarly conversant with the fact that every question has two sides, and that as much may often be said on

one side as on the other, he has probably not become violent in his feelings as a political partisan. Thus he

sees that there is an opening here or an opening there, and the offence in either case is not great to him. With

Frank Greystock the matter was very easy. There certainly was no apostacy. He had now and again attacked

his father's ultraToryism, and rebuked his mother and sisters when they spoke of Gladstone as Apollyon,

and called John Bright the Abomination of Desolation. But it was easy to him to fancy himself a

Conservative, and as such he took his seat in the House without any feeling of discomfort.

During the first four months of his first session he had not spokenbut he had made himself useful. He had

sat on one or two Committees, though as a barrister he might have excused himself, and had done his best to

learn the forms of the House. But he had already begun to find that the time which he devoted to Parliament

was much wanted for his profession. Money was very necessary to him. Then a new idea was presented to

John Eustace and Greystock were very intimateas also had been Sir Florian and Greystock. ``I tell you

what I wish you'd do, Greystock,'' Eustace said to him one day, as they were standing idly together in the

``It's only a trifle,'' said Eustace. ``Just to marry your cousin, my brother's widow.''

``I don't see why you shouldn't. She is sure to marry somebody, and at her age so she ought. She's not

twentythree yet. We could trust youwith the child and all the rest of it. As it is, she is giving us a deal of

``And so was Fawn. Lord Fawn is the man to marry Lizzie. You see if he doesn't. He was uncommonly sweet

``She'll never be Lady Fawn,'' said John Eustace. ``And to tell the truth, I shouldn't care to have to deal with

Lord Fawn. He would be infinitely troublesome; and I can hardly wash my hands of her affairs. She's worth

nearly 5,000 a year as long as she lives, and I really don't think that she's much amiss.''

``Much amiss! I don't know whether she's not the prettiest woman I ever saw,'' said Greystock.

``Yesbut I mean in conduct, and all that. She is making herself queer; and Camperdown, our lawyer,

means to jump upon her; but it's only because she doesn't know what she ought to be at, and what she ought

``It wouldn't suit me at all to have to quarrel with Camperdown,'' said the barrister, laughing.

``You and he would settle everything in five minutes, and it would save me a world of trouble,'' said Eustace.

``Fawn is your mantake my word for it,'' said Greystock, as he walked back into the House.

Dramatists, when they write their plays, have a delightful privilege of prefixing a list of their

personagesand the dramatists of old used to tell us who was in love with whom, and what were the blood

relationships of all the persons. In such a narrative as this, any proceeding of that kind would be

unusualand therefore the poor narrator has been driven to expend his first four chapters in the mere task of

introducing his characters. He regrets the length of these introductions, and will now begin at once the action

John Eustace, Lady Eustace's brotherinlaw, had told his friend Greystock, the lady's cousin, that Mr

Camperdown the lawyer intended to ``jump upon'' that lady. Making such allowance and deduction from the

force of these words as the slang expression requires, we may say that John Eustace was right. Mr

Camperdown was in earnest, and did intend to obtain the restoration of those jewels. Mr Camperdown was a

gentleman of about sixty, who had been lawyer to Sir Florian's father, and whose father had been lawyer to

Sir Florian's grandfather. His connection with the property and with the family was of a nature to allow him

to take almost any liberty with the Eustaces. When therefore John Eustace, in regard to those diamonds, had

pleaded that the heir in his long minority would obtain ample means of buying more diamonds, and of

suggesting that the plunder for the sake of tranquillity should be allowed, Mr Camperdown took upon himself

to say that he'd ``beif he'd put up with it!'' ``I really don't know what you are to do,'' said John Eustace.

``I'll file a bill in Chancery if it's necessary,'' said the old lawyer. ``Heaven on earth! as trustee how are you to

reconcile yourself to such a robbery? They represent 500 a year for ever, and she is to have them simply

``I suppose Florian could have given them away. At any rate he could have sold them.''

``I don't know that,'' said Mr Camperdown. ``I have not looked as yet, but I think that this necklace has been

made an heirloom. At any rate it represents an amount of property that shouldn't and couldn't be made over

legally without some visible evidence of transfer. It's as clear a case of stealing as I ever knew in my life, and

as bad a case. She hadn't a farthing, and she has got the whole of the Ayrshire property for her life. She goes

about and tells everybody that it's hers to sell tomorrow if she pleases to sell it! No, John'' Mr

Camperdown had known Eustace when he was a boy, and had watched him become a man, and hadn't yet

learned to drop the name by which he had called the boy``we mustn't allow it. What do you think of her

applying to me for an income to support her childa baby not yet two years old?'' Mr Camperdown had been

very adverse to all the circumstances of Sir Florian's marriage, and had subjected himself to Sir Florian's

displeasure for expressing his opinion. He had tried to explain that as the lady brought no money into the

family she was not entitled to such a jointure as Sir Florian was determined to lavish upon her. But Sir

Florian had been obstinateboth in regard to the settlement and the will. It was not till after Sir Florian's

death that this terrible matter of the jewels had even suggested itself to Mr Camperdown. The jewellers in

whose custody the things had been since the death of the late Lady Eustace had mentioned the affair to him

immediately on the young widow's return from Naples. Sir Florian had withdrawn, not all the jewels, but by

far the most valuable of them, from the jewellers' care on his return to London from their marriage tour to

Scotland, and this was the result. The jewellers were at that time without any doubt as to the date at which the

Mr Camperdown's first attempt was made by a most courteous and even complimentary note, in which he

suggested to Lady Eustace that it would be for the advantage of all parties that the family jewels should be

kept together. Lizzie as she read this note smiled, and said to herself that she did not exactly see how her own

interests would be best served by such an arrangement. She made no answer to Mr Camperdown's note. Some

months after this, when the heir was born, and as Lady Eustace was passing through London on her journey

from Bobsborough to portray, a meeting had been arranged between her and Mr Camperdown. She had

endeavoured by all the wiles she knew to avoid this meeting, but it had been forced upon her. She had been

almost given to understand that unless she submitted to it, she would not be able to draw her income from the

Portray property. Messrs Mowbray and Mopus had advised her to submit. ``My husband gave me a necklace,

and they want me to give it back,'' she had said to Mr Mopus. ``Do nothing of the kind,'' Mr Mopus had

replied. ``If you find it necessary refer Mr Camperdown to us. We will answer him.'' The interview had taken

place, during which Mr Camperdown took the trouble to explain very plainly and more than once that the

income from the Portray property belonged to Lady Eustace for her life only. It would after her death be

rejoined, of necessity, to the rest of the Eustace property. This was repeated to Lady Eustace in the presence

of John Eustace; but she made no remark on being so informed. ``You understand the nature of the

settlement, Lady Eustace?'' Mr Camperdown had said. ``I believe I understand everything,'' she replied. Then

just at the close of the interview, he asked a question about the jewels. Lady Eustace at first made no reply.

``They might as well be sent back to Messrs Garnett's,'' said Mr Camperdown. ``I don't know that I have any

to send back,'' she answered; and then she escaped before Mr Camperdown was able to arrange any further

attack. ``I can manage with her better by letter than I can personally,'' he said to John Eustace.

Lawyers such as Mr Camperdown are slow, and it was three or four months after that when he wrote a letter

in his own name to Lady Eustace, explaining to her, still courteously, that it was his business to see that the

property of the Eustace family was placed in fit hands, and that a certain valuable necklace of diamonds,

which was an heirloom of the family, and which was undeniably the property of the heir, was believed to be

in her custody. As such property was peculiarly subject to risks, would she have the kindness to make

arrangements for handing over the necklace to the custody of Messrs Garnett? To this letter Lizzie made no

answer whatever, nor did she to a second note, calling attention to the first. When John Eustace told

Greystock that Camperdown intended to ``jump on'' Lady Eustace, the following further letter had been

It is our duty as attorneys acting on behalf of the estate of your late husband Sir Florian Eustace, and in the

interest of your son his heir, to ask for restitution of a certain valuable diamond necklace which is believed to

be now in the possession of your ladyship. Our senior partner, Mr Camperdown, has written to your ladyship

more than once on the subject, but has not been honoured with any reply. Doubtless had there been any

mistake as to the necklace being in your hands we should have been so informed. The diamonds were

withdrawn from Messrs Garnett's, the jewellers, by Sir Florian soon after his marriage, and were, no doubt,

entrusted to your keeping. They are appanages of the family which should not be in your hands as the widow

of the late baronet, and they constitute an amount of property which certainly cannot be alienated from the

family without inquiry or right, as might any trifling article either of use or ornament. The jewels are valued

We are reluctantly compelled, by the fact of your having left unanswered three letters from Mr Camperdown

Senior, on the subject, to explain to you that if attention be not paid to this letter, we shall be obliged, in the

performance of our duty, to take legal steps for the restitution of the property.

A few days after it was sent old Mr Camperdown got the letterbook of the office and read the letter to John

``We'll throw upon her the burthen of showing that they have become legally her property. She can't do it.''

``We'll follow them up. 10,000, my dear John! God bless my soul! it's a magnificent dowry for a

daughteran ample provision for a younger son. And she is to be allowed to filch it, as other widows filch

china cups, and a silver teaspoon or two! It's quite a common thing, but I never heard of such a haul as this.''

``And then she still goes about everywhere declaring that the Portray property is her own. She's a bad lot. I

knew it from the first. Of course we shall have trouble.'' Then Mr Eustace explained to the lawyer that their

best way out of it all would be to get the widow married to some respectable husband. The was sure to marry

sooner or laterso John Eustace saidand any ``decently decent'' fellow would be easier to deal with than

she herself. ``He must be very indecently indecent if he is not,'' said Mr Camperdown. But Mr Eustace did not

When Lizzie first got the letter, which she did on the day after the visit at Fawn Court of which mention has

been made, she put it by unread for a couple of days. She opened it, not knowing the clerk's handwriting, but

read only the first line and the signature. For two days she went on with the ordinary affairs and amusements

of her life, as though no such letter had reached her; but she was thinking of it all the time. The diamonds

were in her possession, and she had had them valued by her old friend Mr Benjaminof the firm of Harter

and Benjamin. Mr Benjamin had suggested that stones of such a value should not be left to the risk of an

ordinary London house; but Lizzie had felt that if Mr Benjamin got them into his hands, Mr Benjamin might

perhaps not return them. Messrs Camperdown and Garnett between them might form a league with Mr

Benjamin. Where would she be, should Mr Benjamin tell her that under some legal sanction he had given the

jewels up to Mr Camperdown? She hinted to Mr Benjamin that she would perhaps sell them if she got a good

offer. Mr Benjamin, who was very familiar with her, hinted that there might be a little family difficulty. ``Oh,

none in the least,'' said Lizzie``but I don't think I shall part with them.'' Then she gave Mr Benjamin an

order for a strong box, which was supplied to her. The strong box, which was so heavy that she could barely

On the morning of the third day she read the letter. Miss Macnulty was staying with her, but she had not said

a word to Miss Macnulty about the letter. She read it up in her own bedroom, and then sat down to think

about it. Sir Florian, as he had handed to her the stones for the purpose of a special dinner party which had

been given to them when passing through London, had told her that they were family jewels. ``That setting

was done for my mother,'' he said, ``but it is already old. When we are at home again they shall be reset.''

Then he had added some little husband's joke as to a future daughterinlaw who should wear them.

Nevertheless she was not sure whether the fact of their being so handed to her did not make them her own.

She had spoken a second time to Mr Mopus, and Mr Mopus had asked her whether there existed any family

deed as to the diamonds. She had heard of no such deed, nor did Mr Camperdown mention such a deed. After

reading the letter once she read it a dozen times; and then, like a woman, made up her mind that her safest

But yet she felt sure that something unpleasant would come of it. Mr Camperdown was not a man to take up

such a question and to let it drop. Legal steps! What did legal steps mean, and what could they do to her?

Would Mr Camperdown be able to put her in prisonor to take away from her the estate of Portray? She

could swear that her husband had given them to her, and could invent any form of words she pleased as

accompanying the gift. No one else had been near them then. But she was, and felt herself to be absolutely,

alarmingly ignorant, not only of the laws, but of custom in such matters. Messrs Mowbray and Mopus and

Mr Benjamin were the allies to whom she looked for guidance; but she was wise enough to know that

Mowbray and Mopus, and Harter and Benjamin were not trustworthy, whereas Camperdown and Son and the

Messrs Garnett were all as firm as rocks and as respectable as the Bank of England.

Circumstancesunfortunate circumstancesdrove her to Harter and Benjamin and to Mowbray and Mopus,

while she would have taken so much delight in feeling the strong honesty of the other people to be on her

side! She would have talked to her friends about Mr Camperdown and the people at Garnett's with so much

satisfaction! But ease, security, and even respectability may be bought too dearly. Ten thousand pounds! Was

she prepared to surrender such a sum as that? She had, indeed, already realised the fact that it might be very

difficult to touch the money. When she had suggested to Mr Benjamin that he should buy the jewels, that

worthy tradesman had by no means jumped at the offer. Of what use to her would be a necklace always

locked up in an iron box, which box, for aught she knew, myrmidons from Mr Camperdown might carry off

during her absence from the house? Would it not be better to come to terms and surrender? But then what

If only there had been a friend whom she could consult; a friend whom she could consult on a really friendly

footing!not a simply respectable, offhanded, highminded friend, who would advise her as a matter of

course to make restitution. Her uncle the dean, or her cousin Frank, or old Lady Fawn, would be sure to give

her such advice as that. There are people who are so very highminded when they have to deal with the

Thoughts of a second marriage had, of course, crossed Lady Eustace's mind, and they were by no means the

worst thoughts that found a place there. She had a grand ideathis selfish, hardfisted little woman who

could not bring herself to abandon the plunder on which she had laid her handa grand idea of surrendering

herself and all her possessions to a great passion. For Florian Eustace she had never cared. She had sat down

by his side, and looked into his handsome face, and read poetry to himbecause of his wealth, and because

it had been indispensable to her to settle herself well. And he had been all very wella generous,

openhearted, chivalrous, irascible, but rather heavyminded gentleman; but she had never been in love with

him. Now she desired to be so in love that she could surrender everything to her love. There was as yet

nothing of such love in her bosom. She had seen no one who had so touched her. But she was alive to the

romance of the thing, and was in love with the idea of being in love. ``Ah,'' she would say to herself in her

moments of solitude, ``if I had a Corsair of my own, how I would sit on watch for my lover's boat by the

But it would also be very nice to be a peeressso that she might, without any doubt, be one of the great

ladies of London. As a baronet's widow with a large income, she was already almost a great lady; but she was

quite alive to a suspicion that she was not altogether strong in her position. The bishop's people and the dean's

people did not quite trust her. The Camperdowns and Garnetts utterly distrusted her. The Mopuses and

Benjamins were more familiar than they would be with a really great lady. She was sharp enough to

understand all this. Should it be Lord Fawn or should it be a Corsair? The worst of Lord Fawn was the

undoubted fact that he was not himself a great man. He could, no doubt, make his wife a peeress; but he was

poor, encumbered with a host of sisters, dull as a blue book, and possessed of little beyond his peerage to

recommend him. If she could only find a peer, unmarried, with a dash of the Corsair about him! In the

There was staying with her at this time a certain Miss Macnulty, who was related, after some distant fashion,

to old Lady Linlithgow, and who was as utterly destitute of possessions or means of existence as any

unfortunate, wellborn, and moderatelyeducated, middleaged woman in London. To live upon her friends,

such as they might be, was the only mode of life within her reach. It was not that she had chosen such

dependence; nor, indeed, had she endeavoured to reject it. It had come to her as a matter of courseeither

that or the poorhouse. As to earning her bread, except by that attendance which a poor friend givesthe

idea of any possibility that way had never entered her head. She could do nothingexcept dress like a lady

with the smallest possible cost, and endeavour to be obliging. Now, at this moment, her condition was

terribly precarious. She had quarrelled with Lady Linlithgow, and had been taken in by her old friend

Lizzieher old enemy might, perhaps, be a truer expressionbecause of that quarrel. But a permanent

home had not even been promised to her; and poor Miss Macnulty was aware that even a permanent home

with Lady Eustace would not be an unmixed blessing. In her way, Miss Macnulty was an honest woman.

They were sitting together one May afternoon in the little back drawingroom in Mount Street. They had

dined early, were now drinking tea, and intended to go to the opera. It was six o'clock, and was still broad

day, but the thick coloured blind was kept across the single window, and the folding doors of the room were

nearly closed, and there was a feeling of evening in the room. The necklace during the whole day had been so

heavy on Lizzie's heart, that she had been unable to apply her thoughts to the building of that castle in the air

in which the Corsair was to reign supreme, but not alone. ``My dear,'' she saidshe generally called Miss

``Wellyes; only it isn't a safe. A safe is a great big thing. I had it made especially for the diamonds Sir

``If I were you, Lady Eustace, I wouldn't keep them in the house. I should have them kept where Sir Florian

``I took them with me beforein my own care. I know that wasn't safe. I wish I knew what to do with them!''

Then Lizzie paused a moment. She was dying for counsel and for confidence. ``I cannot trust them

anywhere,'' she said. ``It is just possible there may be a lawsuit about them.''

``I cannot explain it all, but I am very unhappy about it. They want me to give them upbut my husband

gave them to me, and for his sake I will not do so. When he threw them round my neck he told me that they

were my ownso he did. How can a woman give up such a presentfrom a husbandwho is dead? As to

the value, I care nothing. But I won't do it.'' By this time Lady Eustace was in tears, and had so far succeeded

``They sha'n't. They shall find that I've got some spirit left.'' Then she reflected that a real Corsair lover would

protect her jewels for herwould guard them against a score of Camperdowns. But she doubted whether

Lord Fawn would do much in that way. Then the door was opened, and Lord Fawn was announced. It was

not at all unusual with Lord Fawn to call on the widow at this hour. Mount Street is not exactly in the way

from the India Office to the House of Lords; but a Hansom cab can make it almost in the way. Of neglect of

official duty Lord Fawn was never guilty; but a half hour for private business or for relaxation between one

stage of duty and anothercan any Minister grudge so much to an indefatigable follower? Lady Eustace had

been in tears as he was announced, but the light of the room was so low that the traces of them could hardly

be seen. She was in her Corsair state of mind, divided between her jewels and her poetry, and caring not very

much for the increased rank which Lord Fawn could give her. ``The Sawab's case is coming on in the House

of Commons this very night,'' he said, in answer to a question from Miss Macnulty. Then he turned to Lady

Eustace. ``Your cousin, Mr Greystock, is going to ask a question in the House.''

``Oh dear, no. But I shall be present. A peer can go, you know.'' Then Lord Fawn, at considerable length,

explained to the two ladies the nature and condition of the British Parliament. Miss Macnulty experienced an

innocent pleasure in having such things told to her by a lord. Lady Eustace knew that this was the way in

which Lord Fawn made love, and thought that from him it was as good as any other way. If she were to

marry a second time simply with the view of being a peeress, of having a respected husband, and making

good her footing in the world, she would as lief listen to parliamentary details and the prospects of the Sawab

as to any other matters. She knew very well that no Corsair propensities would be forthcoming from Lord

Fawn. Lord Fawn had just worked himself round to the Sawab again, when Frank Greystock entered the

room. ``Now we have both the Houses represented,'' said Lady Eustace, as she welcomed her cousin.

``You intend to ask your question about the Sawab tonight?'' asked Lord Fawn, with intense interest, feeling

that, had it been his lot to perform that task before he went to his couch, he would at this moment have been

But Frank Greystock had not come to his cousin's house to talk of the Prince of the Mygawb territory. When

his friend Eustace had suggested to him that he should marry the widow, he had ridiculed the ideabut

nevertheless he had thought of it a good deal. He was struggling hard, working diligently, making for himself

a character in Parliament, succeedingso said all his friendsas a barrister. He was a rising young man,

one of those whose names began to be much in the mouths of other menbut still he was poor. It seemed to

himself that among other good gifts that of economy had not been bestowed upon him. He owed a little

money, and though he owed it, he went on spending his earnings. He wanted just such a lift in the world as a

wife with an income would give him. As for looking about for a girl whom he could honestly love, and who

should have a fortune of her own as well as beauty, birth, and all the other thingsthat was out of his reach.

If he talked to himself of love, if he were ever to acknowledge to himself that love was to have sway over

him, then must Lucy Morris be the mistress of his heart. He had come to know enough about himself to be

aware of thatbut he knew also that he had said nothing binding him to walk in that path. It was quite open

to him to indulge a discreet ambition without dishonour. Therefore he also had come to call upon the

beautiful widow. The courtship with her he knew need not be long. He could ask her to marry him

tomorrowas for that matter todaywithout a feeling of hesitation. She might accept him or might reject

An idea of the same kind flitted across Lizzie's mind as she sat and talked to the two gentlemen. She knew

that her cousin Frank was poor, but she thought that she could fall in love with him. He was not exactly a

Corsairbut he was a man who had certain Corsair propensities. He was bold and dashing, unscrupulous and

clever, a man to make a name for himself, and one to whom a woman could endure to be obedient. There

could be no question as to choice between him and Lord Fawn, if she were to allow herself to choose by

liking. And she thought that Frank Greystock would keep the necklace, if he himself were made to have an

interest in the necklace; whereas Lord Fawn would undoubtedly surrender it at once to Mr Camperdown.

Lord Fawn had some slight idea of waiting to see the cousin go; but as Greystock had a similar idea, and as

he was the stronger of the two, of course Lord Fawn went. He perhaps remembered that the Hansom cab was

at the doorcosting sixpence every fifteen minutesand that he wished to show himself in the House of

Lords before the peers rose. Miss Macnulty also left the room, and Frank was alone with the widow.

``Anything but happy, Frank. I have things that make me very unhappyone thing that I will tell you if you

will let me.'' Frank had almost made up his mind to ask her on the spot to give him permission to console all

her sorrows, when there came a clattering doubleknock at the door. ``They know I shall be at home to

nobody else now,'' said Lady Eustace. But Frank Greystock had hardly regained his selfpossession when

Miss Macnulty hurried into the room, and with a look almost of horror declared that Lady Linlithgow was in

``Yes, indeed!'' said Miss Macnulty, ``I did not speak to her, but I saw her. She has sent herlove to Lady

Lady Eustace had been so surprised by the announcement that hitherto she had not spoken a word. The

quarrel between her and her aunt had been of such a nature that it had seemed to be impossible that the old

countess should come to Mount Street. Lizzie had certainly behaved very badly to her auntabout as badly

as a young woman could behave to an old woman. She had accepted bread, and shelter, and the very clothes

on her back from her aunt's bounty, and had rejected even the hand of her benefactress the first moment that

she had bread, and shelter, and clothes of her own. And here was Lady Linlithgow downstairs in the parlour,

``I can't see her!'' said Lizzie. ``Good gracious, my dearwhat has she come for?''

``Of course you must see her,'' said Frank, ``Let me get out of the house, and then tell the servant to show her

up at once. Don't be weak now, Lizzie, and I'll come and find out all about it tomorrow.''

``Mind you do,'' said Lizzie. Then Frank took his departure, and Lizzie did as she was bidden. ``You remain

in here, Julia,'' she said``so as to be near if I want you. She shall come into the front room.'' Then,

absolutely shaking with fear of the approaching evil, she took her seat in the largest drawingroom. There

was still a little delay. Time was given to Frank Greystock to get away, and to do so without meeting Lady

Linlithgow in the passage. The message was conveyed by Miss Macnulty to the servant, and the same servant

opened the front door for Frank before he delivered it. Lady Linlithgow, too, though very strong, was old.

She was slow, or perhaps it might more properly be said she was stately in her movements. She was one of

those old women who are undoubtedly old womenwho in the remembrance of younger people seem

always to have been old womenbut on whom old age appears to have no debilitating effects. If the hand of

Lady Linlithgow ever trembled, it trembled from angerif her foot ever faltered, it faltered for effect. In her

way Lady Linlithgow was a very powerful human being. She knew nothing of fear, nothing of charity,

nothing of mercy, and nothing of the softness of love. She had no imagination. She was worldly, covetous,

and not unfrequently cruel. But she meant to be true and honest, though she often failed in her meaningand

she had an idea of her duty in life. She was not selfindulgent. She was as hard as an oak postbut then she

was also as trustworthy. No human being liked herbut she had the good word of a great many human

beings. At great cost to her own comfort she had endeavoured to do her duty to her niece, Lizzie Greystock,

when Lizzie was homeless. Undoubtedly Lizzie's bed, while it had been spread under her aunt's roof, had not

been one of roses; but such as it had been she had endured to occupy it while it served her needs. She had

constrained herself to bear her auntbut from the moment of her escape she had chosen to reject her aunt

altogether. Now her aunt's heavy step was heard upon the stairs! Lizzie also was a brave woman after a

certain fashion. She could dare to incur a great danger for an adequate object. But she was too young as yet to

have become mistress of that persistent courage which was Lady Linlithgow's peculiar possession.

When the countess entered the drawingroom Lizzie rose upon her legs, but did not come forward from her

chair. The old woman was not tallbut her face was long, and at the same time large, square at the chin and

square at the forehead, and gave her almost an appearance of height. Her nose was very prominent, not

beaked, but straight and strong, and broad at the bridge, and of a darkred colour. Her eyes were sharp and

grey. Her mouth was large, and over it there was almost beard enough for a young man's moustache. Her chin

was firm, and large, and solid. Her hair was still brown, and was only just grizzled in parts. Nothing becomes

an old woman like grey hair, but Lady Linlithgow's hair would never be grey. Her appearance on the whole

was not prepossessing, but it gave one an idea of honest, real strength. What one saw was not buckram,

whalebone, paint, and false hair. It was all humanhardly feminine, certainly not angelic, with perhaps a

hint in the other directionbut a human body, and not a thing of pads and patches. Lizzie, as she saw her

aunt, made up her mind for the combat. Who is there that has lived to be a man or woman, and has not

experienced a moment in which a combat has impended, and a call for such sudden courage has been

necessary? Alas!sometimes the combat comes, and the courage is not there. Lady Eustace was not at her

ease as she saw her aunt enter the room. ``Oh, come ye in peace, or come ye in war?'' she would have said

had she dared. Her aunt had sent up her loveif the message had been delivered aright; but what of love

could there be between the two? The countess dashed at once to the matter in hand, making no allusion to

Lizzie's ungrateful conduct to herself. ``Lizzie,'' she said, ``I've been asked to come to you by Mr

``YesMr Camperdown. You know who he is. He has been with me because I am your nearest relation. So I

``As for that, Aunt Penelope, you've done it to please yourself,'' said Lizzie, in a tone of insolence with which

``No, I haven't, miss. I haven't come for my own pleasure at all. I have come for the credit of the family, if

any good can be done towards saving it. You've got your husband's diamonds locked up somewhere, and you

``They are family diamonds, Eustace diamonds, heirloomsold property belonging to the Eustaces, just like

their estates. Sir Florian didn't give 'em away, and couldn't, and wouldn't if he could. Such things ain't given

``Nothing, is it? You'll see. Mr Camperdown says so. All the world will say so. If you don't take care, you'll

find yourself brought into a court of law, my dear, and a jury will say so. That's what it will come to. What

good will they do you? You can't sell themand as a widow you can't wear 'em. If you marry again, you

wouldn't disgrace your husband by going about showing off the Eustace diamonds! But you don't know

``I know every bit as much as you do, Aunt Penelope, and I don't want you to teach me.''

``No; I won't. I mean tokeep themformy child.'' Then there came forth a sob, and a tear, and Lizzie's

``Your child! Wouldn't they be kept properly for him, and for the family, if the jewellers had them? I don't

``I shall say just what I think, Lizzie. You can't frighten me. The fact is, you are disgracing the family you

``As you are my niece, I have undertaken to come to you and to tell you that if you don't give 'em up within a

week from this time, they'll proceed against you forstealing 'em!'' Lady Linlithgow, as she uttered this

terrible threat, bobbed her head at her niece in a manner calculated to add very much to the force of her

``You wouldn't answer Mr Camperdown's letters, you know. That alone will condemn you. After that there

isn't a word to be said about itnot a word. Mr Camperdown is the family lawyer, and when he writes to you

letter after letter you take no more notice of him than adog!'' The old woman was certainly very powerful.

The way in which she pronounced that last word did make Lady Eustace ashamed of herself. ``Why didn't

you answer his letters, unless you knew you were in the wrong? Of course you knew you were in the wrong.''

``No; I didn't. A woman isn't obliged to answer everything that is written to her.''

``Very well! You just say that before the judge! for you'll have to go before a judge. I tell you, Lizzie

Greystock, or Eustace, or whatever your name is, it's downright picking and stealing. I suppose you want to

``You must stand it: and you'll have to stand worse than that. You don't suppose Mr Camperdown got me to

come here for nothing. If you don't want to be made out to be a thief before all the world''

``I won't stand it!'' shrieked Lizzie. ``You have no business to come here and say such things to me. It's my

``Miss Macnulty, come in.'' And Lizzie threw open the door, hardly knowing how the very weak ally whom

she now invoked could help her, but driven by the stress of the combat to seek assistance somewhere. Miss

Macnulty, who was seated near the door, and who had necessarily heard every word of the conversation, had

no alternative but to appear. Of all human beings Lady Linlithgow was to her the most terrible, and yet, after

a fashion, she loved the old woman. Miss Macnulty was humble, cowardly, and subservient; but she was not

a fool, and she understood the difference between truth and falsehood. She had endured fearful things from

Lady Linlithgow; but she knew that there might be more of sound protection in Lady Linlithgow's real wrath

``Listening, I suppose. Wellso much the better. You know well enough, and you can tell her. You ain't a

``Julia,'' said Lady Eustace, ``will you have the kindness to see that my aunt is shown to her carriage. I cannot

stand her violence, and I will go upstairs.'' So saying she made her way very gracefully into the back

But her aunt fired a last shot at her. ``Unless you do as you're bid, Lizzie, you'll find yourself in prison as sure

as eggs!'' Then, when her niece was beyond hearing, she turned to Miss Macnulty. ``I suppose you've heard

``She has no more right to them than you have. I suppose you're afraid to tell her so, lest she should turn you

outbut it's well she should know it. I've done my duty. Never mind about the servant. I'll find my way out

of the house.'' Neverthless the bell was rung, and the countess was shown to her carriage with proper

The two ladies went to the opera, and it was not till after their return, and just as they were going to bed, that

anything further was said about either the necklace or the visit. Miss Macnulty would not begin the subject,

and Lizzie purposely postponed it. But not for a moment had it been off Lady Eustace's mind. She did not

care much for music, though she professed to do soand thought that she did. But on this night, had she at

other times been a slave to St Cecilia, she would have been free from that thraldom. The old woman's threats

had gone into her very heart's blood. Theft, and prison, and juries, and judges had been thrown at her head so

violently that she was almost stunned. Could it really be the case that they would prosecute her for stealing?

She was Lady Eustace, and who but Lady Eustace should have these diamonds or be allowed to wear them?

Nobody could say that Sir Florian had not given them to her. It could not, surely, be brought against her as an

actual crime that she had not answered Mr Camperdown's letters? And yet she was not sure. Her ideas about

law and judicial proceedings were very vague. Of what was wrong and what was right she had a distinct

notion. She knew well enough that she was endeavouring to steal the Eustace diamonds; but she did not in the

least know what power there might be in the law to prevent, or to punish her for the intended theft. She knew

well that the thing was not really her own; but there were, as she thought, so many points in her favour, that

she felt it to be a cruelty that anyone should grudge her the plunder. Was not she the only Lady Eustace

living? As to these threats from Mr Camperdown and Lady Linlithgow, she felt certain they would be used

against her whether they were true or false. She would break her heart should she abandon her prey and

afterwards find that Mr Camperdown would have been wholly powerless against her had she held on to it.

But then who would tell her the truth? She was sharp enough to understand, or at any rate suspicious enough

to believe, that Mr Mopus would be actuated by no other desire in the matter than that of running up a bill

against her. ``My dear,'' she said to Miss Macnulty, as they went upstairs after the opera, ``come into my

``I wanted you to hear. Of course what she said was the greatest nonsense in the world.''

``When she talked about my being taken to prison for not answering a lawyer's letter, that must be nonsense?''

``And then she is such a ferocious old termagantsuch an old vulturess. Now isn't she a ferocious old

termagant?'' Lizzie paused for an answer, desirous that her companion should join her in her enmity against

her aunt, but Miss Macnulty was unwilling to say anything against one who had been her protectress, and

might, perhaps, be her protectress again. ``You don't mean to say you don't hate her?'' said Lizzie. ``If you

didn't hate her after all she has done to you, I should despise you. Don't you hate her?''

``I'm obliged to be a poor creature,'' said Miss Macnulty, with a red spot on each of her cheeks.

Lady Eustace understood this, and relented. ``But you needn't be afraid'', she said, ``to tell me what you

``You have enough without them. I'd give 'em up for peace and quiet.'' That was Miss Macnulty's advice.

``NoI haven't enoughor nearly enough. I've had to buy ever so many things since my husband died.

They've done all they could to be hard to me. They made me pay for the very furniture at Portray.'' This

wasn't true; but it was true that Lizzie had endeavoured to palm off on the Eustace estate bills for new things

which she had ordered for her own country house. ``I haven't near enough. I am in debt already. People talked

as though I were the richest woman in the world; but when it comes to be spent, I ain't rich. Why should I

``If I give you a present and then die, people can't come and take it away afterwards because I didn't put it

into my will. There'd be no making presents like that at all.'' This Lizzie said with an evident conviction in the

``That can't make a difference. If a thing is a man's own he can give it awaynot a house, or a farm, or a

wood, or anything like that; but a thing that he can carry about with himof course he can give it away.''

``But perhaps Sir Florian didn't mean to give it for always,'' suggested Miss Macnulty.

``But perhaps he did. He told me that they were mine, and I shall keep them. So that's the end of it. You can

Lizzie, as she sat thinking of it, owned to herself that no help was to be expected in that quarter. She was not

angry with Miss Macnulty, who was, almost of necessity, a poor creature. But she was convinced more

strongly than ever that some friend was necessary to her who should not be a poor creature. Lord Fawn,

though a peer, was a poor creature. Frank Greystock she believed to be as strong as a house.

Lucy Morris had been told by Lady Fawn thatin point of fact that, being a governess, she ought to give

over falling in love with Frank Greystock, and she had not liked it. Lady Fawn no doubt had used words less

abrupthad probably used but few words, and had expressed her meaning chiefly by little winks, and

shakings of her head, and small gestures of her hands, and had ended by a kissin all of which she had

intended to mingle mercy with justice, and had, in truth, been full of love. Nevertheless, Lucy had not liked

it. No girl likes to be warned against falling in love, whether the warning be needed or not needed. In this

case Lucy knew very well that the caution was too late. It might be all very well for Lady Fawn to decide that

her governess should not receive visits from a lover in her houseand then the governess might decide

whether, in those circumstances, she would remain or go away; but Lady Fawn could have no right to tell her

governess not to be in love. All this Lucy said to herself over and over again, and yet she knew that Lady

Fawn had treated her well. The old woman had kissed her, and purred over her, and praised her, and had

really loved her. As a matter of course, Lucy was not entitled to have a lover. Lucy knew that well enough.

As she walked alone among the shrubs she made arguments in defence of Lady Fawn as against herself. And

yet at every other minute she would blaze up into a grand wrath, and picture to herself a scene in which she

would tell Lady Fawn boldly that as her lover had been banished from Fawn Court, she, Lucy, would remain

there no longer. There were but two objections to this course. The first was that Frank Greystock was not her

lover; and the second, that on leaving Fawn Court she would not know whither to betake herself. It was

understood by everybody that she was never to leave Fawn Court till an unexceptionable home should be

found for her, either with the Hittaways or elsewhere. Lady Fawn would no more allow her to go away,

depending for her future on the mere chance of some promiscuous engagement, than she would have turned

one of her own daughters out of the house in the same forlorn condition. Lady Fawn was a tower of strength

Frank Greystock was not her lover. Ahthere was the worst of it all! She had given her heart and had got

nothing in return. She conned it all over in her own mind, striving to ascertain whether there was any real

cause for shame to her in her own conduct. Had she been unmaidenly? Had she been too forward with her

heart? Had it been extracted from her, as women's hearts are extracted, by efforts on the man's part; or had

she simply chucked it away from her to the first comer? Then she remembered certain scenes at the deanery,

words that had been spoken, looks that had been turned upon her, a pressure of the hand late at night, a little

whisper, a ribbon that had been begged, a flower that had been givenand once, oncethen there came a

burning blush upon her cheek that there should have been so much, and yet so little that was of avail. She had

no right to say to anyone that the man was her lover. She had no right to assure herself that he was her lover.

Of the importance of her own self as a living thing with a heart to suffer and a soul to endure, she thought

enough. She believed in herself, thinking of herself, that should it ever be her lot to be a man's wife, she

would be to him a true, loving friend and companion, living in his joys, and fighting, if it were necessary,

down to the stumps of her nails in his interests. But of what she had to give over and above her heart and

intellect she never thought at all. Of personal beauty she had very little appreciation even in others. The form

and face of Lady Eustace, which indeed were very lovely, were distasteful to her; whereas she delighted to

look upon the broad, plain, colourless countenance of Lydia Fawn, who was endeared to her by frank good

humour and an unselfish disposition. In regard to men she had never asked herself the question whether this

man was handsome or that man ugly. Of Frank Greystock she knew that his face was full of quick intellect;

and of Lord Fawn she knew that he bore no outward index of mind. One man she not only loved, but could

not help loving; the other man, as regarded that sort of sympathy which marriage should recognise, must

always have been worlds asunder from her. She knew that men demand that women shall possess beauty, and

she certainly had never thought of herself as beautiful; but it did not occur to her that on that account she was

doomed to fail. She was too stronghearted for any such fear. She did not think much of these things, but felt

herself to be so far endowed as to be fit to be the wife of such a man as Frank Greystock. She was a proud,

stout, selfconfident, but still modest, little woman, too fond of truth to tell lies of herself even to herself. She

was possessed of a great power of sympathy, genial, very social, greatly given to the mirth of

conversationthough in talking she would listen much and say but little. She was keenly alive to humour,

and had at her command a great fund of laughter, which would illumine her whole face without producing a

sound from her mouth. She knew herself to be too good to be a governess for lifeand yet how could it be

Lady Linlithgow's visit to her niece had been made on a Thursday, and on that same evening Frank

Greystock had asked his question in the House of Commonsor rather had made his speech about the

Sawab of Mygawb. We all know the meaning of such speeches. Had not Frank belonged to the party that was

out, and had not the resistance to the Sawab's claim come from the party that was in, Frank would not

probably have cared much about the prince. We may be sure that he would not have troubled himself to read

a line of that very dull and long pamphlet of which he had to make himself master before he could venture to

stir in the matter, had not the road of Opposition been open to him in that direction. But what exertion will

not a politician make with the view of getting the point of his lance within the joints of his enemies' harness?

Frank made his speech, and made it very well. It was just the case for a lawyer, admitting that kind of

advocacy which it is a lawyer's business to practise. The Indian minister of the day, Lord Fawn's chief, had

determined, after much anxious consideration, that it was his duty to resist the claim; and then, for resisting it

he was attacked. Had he yielded to the claim, the attack would have been as venomous, and very probably

would have come from the same quarter. No blame by such an assertion is cast upon the young Conservative

aspirant for party honours. It is thus the war is waged. Frank Greystock took up the Sawab's case, and would

have drawn mingled tears and indignation from his hearers, had not his hearers all known the conditions of

the contest. On neither side did the hearers care much for the Sawab's claims, but they felt that Greystock was

making good his own claims to some future reward from his party. He was very hard upon the ministerand

he was hard also upon Lord Fawn, stating that the cruelty of Government ascendancy had never been put

forward as a doctrine in plainer terms than those which had been used in ``another place'' in reference to the

wrongs of this poor illused native chieftain. This was very grievous to Lord Fawn, who had personally

desired to favour the illused chieftainand harder again because he and Greystock were intimate with each

other. He felt the thing keenly, and was full of his grievance when, in accordance with his custom, he came

The Fawn family, which consisted entirely of women, dined early. On Saturdays, when his lordship would

come down, a dinner was prepared for him alone. On Sundays they all dined together at three o'clock. On

Sunday evening Lord Fawn would return to town to prepare himself for his Monday's work. Perhaps, also, he

disliked the sermon which Lady Fawn always read to the assembled household at nine o'clock on Sunday

evening. On this Saturday he came out into the grounds after dinner, where the oldest unmarried daughter, the

present Miss Fawn, was walking with Lucy Morris. It was almost a summer eveningso much so, that some

of the party had been sitting on the garden benches, and four of the girls were still playing croquet on the

lawn, though there was hardly light enough to see the balls. Miss Fawn had already told Lucy that her brother

was very angry with Mr Greystock. Now, Lucy's sympathies were all with Frank and the Sawab. She had

endeavoured, indeed, and had partially succeeded, in perverting the UnderSecretary. Nor did she now intend

to change her opinions, although all the Fawn girls, and Lady Fawn, were against her. When a brother or a

son is an UnderSecretary of State, sisters and mothers will constantly be on the side of the Government, so

``Upon my word, Frederic,'' said Augusta Fawn, ``I do think Mr Greystock was too bad.''

``There's nothing these fellows won't say or do,'' exclaimed Lord Fawn. ``I can't understand it myself. When

``I wonder whether it was because he is angry with mamma,'' said Miss Fawn. Everybody who knew the

Fawns knew that Augusta Fawn was not clever, and that she would occasionally say the very thing that ought

``Oh, dear no,'' said the UnderSecretary, who could not endure the idea that the weak womankind of his

family should have, in any way, an influence on the august doings of Parliament.

``Nothing of that kind at all,'' said his lordship, putting down his sister with great authority. ``Mr Greystock is

simply not an honest politician. That is about the whole of it. He chose to attack me because there was an

opportunity. There isn't a man in either House who cares for such things, personally, less than I do;''had his

lordship said ``more than he did'' he might, perhaps, have been correct``but I can't bear the feeling. The

Lucy felt her face tingling with heat, and was preparing to say a word in defence of that special lawyer, when

Lady Fawn's voice was heard from the drawing room window. ``Come in, girls. It's nine o'clock.'' In that

house Lady Fawn reigned supreme, and no one ever doubted, for a moment, as to obedience. The clicking of

the balls ceased, and those who were walking immediately turned their faces to the drawingroom window.

But Lord Fawn, who was not one of the girls, took another turn by himself, thinking of the wrongs he had

``Frederic is so angry about Mr Greystock,'' said Augusta, as soon as they were seated.

``And considering that Mr Greystock has so often been here, I don't think it was kind,'' said the third.

Lydia did not speak, but could not refrain from glancing her eyes at Lucy's face. ``I believe everything is

Then Lord Fawn, who had heard the last words, entered through the window. ``I don't know about that,

mother,'' said he. ``Gentlemanlike conduct is the same everywhere. There are things that may be said and

there are things which may not. Mr Greystock has altogether gone beyond the usual limits, and I shall take

``I am not going to fight him, if you mean that; but I shall let him know that I think that he has transgressed.''

This his lordship said with that haughty superiority which a man may generally display with safety among the

Lucy had borne a great deal, knowing well that it was better that she should bear such injury in silencebut

there was a point beyond which she could not endure it. It was intolerable to her that Mr Greystock's

character as a gentleman should be impugned before all the ladies of the family, everyone of whom did, in

fact, know her liking for the man. And then it seemed to her that she could rush into the battle, giving a side

blow at his lordship on behalf of his absent antagonist, but appearing to fight for the Sawab. There had been a

time when the poor Sawab was in favour at Fawn Court. ``I think Mr Greystock was right to say all he could

for the prince. If he took up the cause, he was bound to make the best of it.'' She spoke with energy and with a

``And you understood his allusion to what I had been called upon to say in the House of Lords on behalf of

``I do think Mr Greystock should have abstained from attacking Frederic,'' said Augusta.

``Of course I don't know about that,'' said Lucy. ``I think the prince is being used very illthat he is being

deprived of his own propertythat he is kept out of his rights, just because he is weak, and I am very glad

``My dear Lucy,'' said Lady Fawn, ``if you discuss politics with Lord Fawn, you'll get the worst of it.''

``I don't at all object to Miss Morris's views about the Sawab,'' said the UnderSecretary generously. ``There

is a great deal to be said on both sides. I know of old that Miss Morris is a great friend of the Sawab.''

``I felt for himand do feel for him. All that is very well. I ask no one to agree with me on the question

``I think it was the very best speech I ever read in my life,'' said Lucy, with headlong energy and heightened

``Then, Miss Morris, you and I have very different opinions about speeches,'' said Lord Fawn, with severity.

``That is another question,'' said Lord Fawn; and his tone and manner were very severe indeed.

``We are talking about speeches in Parliament,'' said Lucy. Poor Lucy! She knew quite as well as did Lord

Fawn that Burke had been a House of Commons orator; but in her impatience, and from absence of the habit

of argument, she omitted to explain that she was talking about the speeches of the day.

Lord Fawn held up his hands, and put his head a little on one side. ``My dear Lucy,'' said Lady Fawn, ``you

are showing your ignorance. Where do you suppose that Mr Burke's speeches were made?''

``If Miss Morris means that Burke's greatest efforts were not made in Parliamentthat his speech to the

electors of Bristol, for instance, and his opening address on the trial of Warren Hastings, were, upon the

``I don't want to be helped,'' said Lucy. ``I only mean that I thought Mr Greystock's speech as good as it could

possibly be. There wasn't a word in it that didn't seem to me to be just what it ought to be. I do think that they

are illtreating that poor Indian prince, and I am very glad that somebody has had the courage to get up and

No doubt it would have been better that Lucy should have held her tongue. Had she simply been upholding

against an opponent a political speaker whose speech she had read with pleasure, she might have held her

own in the argument against the whole Fawn family. She was a favourite with them all, and even the

UnderSecretary would not have been hard upon her. But there had been more than this for poor Lucy to do.

Her heart was so truly concerned in the matter, that she could not refrain herself from resenting an attack on

the man she loved. She had allowed herself to be carried into superlatives, and had almost been uncourteous

to Lord Fawn. ``My dear,'' said Lady Fawn, ``we won't say anything more upon the subject.'' Lord Fawn took

up a book. Lady Fawn busied herself in her knitting. Lydia assumed a look of unhappiness, as though

something very sad had occurred. Augusta addressed a question to her brother in a tone which plainly

indicated a feeling on her part that her brother had been illused and was entitled to special consideration.

Lucy sat silent and still, and then left the room with a hurried step. Lydia at once rose to follow her, but was

stopped by her mother. ``You had better leave her alone just at present, my dear,'' said Lady Fawn.

``I did not know that Miss Morris was so particularly interested in Mr Greystock,'' said Lord Fawn.

About an hour afterwards Lady Fawn went upstairs and found Lucy sitting all alone in the still socalled

schoolroom. She had no candle, and had made no pretence to do anything since she had left the room

downstairs. In the interval family prayers had been read, and Lucy's absence was unusual and contrary to

``I don't know. I would rather you didn't ask me. I suppose I behaved badly downstairs.''

``Nocertainly not. I can beg your pardon, Lady Fawn, but not his. Of course I had no right to talk about

``But it is so. Dear Lady Fawn, don't look like that. I know how good you are to me. I know you let me do

things which other governesses mayn't doand say things; but still I am a governess, and I know I

Lady Fawn, in whose bosom there was no stony corner or morsel of hard iron, was softened at once. ``My

``But it makes me unhappy when I see your mind engaged about Mr Greystock. There is the truth, Lucy. You

should not think of Mr Greystock. Mr Greystock is a man who has his way to make in the world, and could

not marry you, even if, under other circumstances, he would wish to do so. You know how frank I am with

you, giving you credit for honest, sound good sense. To me and to my girls, who know you as a lady, you are

as dear a friend as though you werewere anything you may please to think. Lucy Morris is to us our own

dear, dear little friend Lucy. But Mr Greystock, who is a Member of Parliament, could not marry a

``But I love him so dearly,'' said Lucy, getting up from her chair, ``that his slightest word is to me more than

all the words of all the world beside! It is no use, Lady Fawn. I do love him, and I don't mean to try to give it

up!'' Lady Fawn stood silent for a moment, and then suggested that it would be better for them both to go to

bed. During that minute she had been unable to decide what she had better say or do in the present

The reader will perhaps remember that when Lizzie Eustace was told that her aunt was downstairs Frank

Greystock was with her, and that he promised to return on the following day to hear the result of the

interview. Had Lady Linlithgow not come at that very moment Frank would probably have asked his rich

cousin to be his wife. She had told him that she was solitary and unhappy; and after that what else could he

have done but ask her to be his wife? The old countess, however, arrived, and interrupted him. He went away

abruptly, promising to come on the morrowbut on the morrow he never came. It was a Friday, and Lizzie

remained at home for him the whole morning. When four o'clock was passed she know that he would be at

the House. But still she did not stir. And she contrived that Miss Macnulty should be absent the entire day.

Miss Macnulty was even made to go to the play by herself in the evening. But her absence was of no service.

Frank Greystock came not; and at eleven at night Lizzie swore to herself that should he ever come again, he

should come in vain. Nevertheless, through the whole of Saturday she expected him with more or less of

confidence, and on the Sunday morning she was still wellinclined towards him. It might be that he would

come on that day. She could understand that a man with his hands so full of business, as were those of her

cousin Frank, should find himself unable to keep an appointment. Nor would there be fair ground for

permanent anger with such a one, even should he forget an appointment. But surely he would come on the

Sunday! She had been quite sure that the offer was about to be made when that odious old harridan had come

in and disturbed everything. Indeed, the offer had been all but made. She had felt the flutter, had asked herself

the important questionand had answered it. She had told herself that the thing would do. Frank was not the

exact hero that her fancy had paintedbut he was sufficiently heroic. Everybody said that he would work his

way up to the top of the tree, and become a rich man. At any rate she had resolvedand then Lady

He did not come on the Sunday, but Lord Fawn did come. Immediately after morning church Lord Fawn

declared his intention of returning at once from Fawn Court to town. He was very silent at breakfast, and his

sisters surmised that he was still angry with poor Lucy. Lucy, too, was unlike herselfwas silent, sad, and

oppressed. Lady Fawn was serious, and almost solemnso that there was little even of holy mirth at Fawn

Court on that Sunday morning. The whole family, however, went to church, and immediately on their return

Lord Fawn expressed his intention of returning to town. All the sisters felt that an injury had been done to

them by Lucy. It was only on Sundays that their dinnertable was graced by the male member of the family,

and now he was driven away. ``I am sorry that you are going to desert us, Frederic,'' said Lady Fawn. Lord

Fawn muttered something as to absolute necessity, and went. The afternoon was very dreary at Fawn Court.

Nothing was said on the subject; but there was still the feeling that Lucy had offended. At four o'clock on that

The ``closeting'' consisted simply in the fact that Miss Macnulty was not present. Lizzie fully appreciated the

pleasure, and utility, and general convenience of having a companion, but she had no scruple whatever in

obtaining absolute freedom for herself when she desired it. ``My dear,'' she would say, ``the best friends in

the world shouldn't always be together; should they? Wouldn't you like to go to the Horticultural?'' Then Miss

Macnulty would go to the Horticulturalor else up into her own bedroom. When Lizzie was beginning to

wax wrathful again because Frank Greystock did not come Lord Fawn made his appearance. ``How kind this

``I have just come up from my mother's,'' said Lord Fawn, twiddling his hat. Then Lizzie, with a pretty

eagerness, asked after Lady Fawn and the girls, and her dear little friend Lucy Morris. Lizzie could be very

prettily eager when she pleased. She leaned forward her face as she asked her questions, and threw back her

loose lustrous lock of hair, with her long lithe fingers covered with diamondsthe diamonds, these, which

Sir Florian had really given her, or which she had procured from Mr Benjamin in the clever manner described

in the opening chapter. ``They are all quite well, thank you,'' said Lord Fawn. ``I believe Miss Morris is quite

``She is not ill, I hope,'' said Lizzie, bringing the lustrous lock forward again.

``Indeed! I hope Miss Lucy is not forgetting herself. That would be very sad, after the great kindness she has

received.'' Lord Fawn said that it would be very sad, and then put his hat down upon the floor. It came upon

Lizzie at that moment, as by a flash of lightningby an electric message delivered to her intellect by that

movement of the hatthat she might be sure of Lord Fawn if she chose to take him. On Friday she might

have been sure of Frankonly that Lady Linlithgow came in the way. But now she did not feel at all sure of

Frank. Lord Fawn was at any rate a peer. She had heard that he was a poor peerbut a peer, she thought,

can't be altogether poor. And though he was a stupid owlshe did not hesitate to acknowledge to herself that

he was as stupid as an owlhe had a position. He was one of the Government, and his wife would, no doubt,

be able to go anywhere. It was becoming essential to her that she should marry. Even though her husband

should give up the diamonds, she would not in such case incur the disgrace of surrendering them herself. She

would have kept them till she had ceased to be a Eustace. Frank had certainly meant it on that Thursday

afternoonbut surely he would have been in Mount Street before this if he had not changed his mind. We all

know that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. ``I have been at Fawn Court once or twice,'' said Lizzie,

with her sweetest grace, ``and I always think it a model of real family happiness.''

There could hardly be a better opening than this for him had he chosen to accept it. But it was not thus that he

had arranged itfor he had made his arrangements. ``There would be no feeling of that kind, I am sure,'' he

said. And then he was silent. How was he to deploy himself on the ground before him so as to make the

strategy which he had prepared answer the occasion of the day? ``Lady Eustace,'' he said, ``I don't know what

``He will inherit a very large fortune, Lord Fawntoo large, I fear, to be of service to a youth of

oneandtwenty; and I must endeavour to fit him for the possession of it. That isand always must be the

chief object of my existence.'' Then she felt that she had said too much. He was just the man who would be

fool enough to believe her. ``Not but what it is hard to do it. A mother can of course devote herself to her

childbut when a portion of the devotion must be given to the preservation of material interests there is less

``No doubt,'' said Lord Fawn``no doubt.'' But he had not followed her, and was still thinking of his own

strategy. ``It's a comfort, of course, to know that one's child is provided for.''

``Oh, yesbut they tell me the poor little dear will have forty thousand a year when he's of age; and when I

look at him in his little bed, and press him in my arms, and think of all that money, I almost wish that his

father had been a poor plain gentleman.'' Then the handkerchief was put to her eyes, and Lord Fawn had a

``A man with your position, Lord Fawn, and your talents and genius for business, can never be poor.''

``An Irish peer, was he?'' Lizzie understood nothing of this, but presumed that an Irish peer was a peer who

had not sufficient money to live upon. Lord Fawn, however, was endeavouring to describe his own history in

``He was then made Lord Fawn of Richmond, in the peerage of the United Kingdom. Fawn Court, you know,

belonged to my mother's father before my mother's marriage. The property in Ireland is still mine, but there's

``There was a house, but my father allowed it to tumble down. It's in Tipperarynot at all a desirable

``It's about five thousand a year, and out of that my mother has half for her life.''

``What an excellent family arrangement,'' said Lizzie. There was so long a pause made between each

``I'm sure it's for everybody's good that it should go on for ever so many years,'' said Lizzie.

``Thank you,'' said Lord Fawn. ``I'm afraid, however, there are a great many people who don't think so. Your

``Luckily, my cousin Frank has not much power,'' said Lizzie. And in saying it she threw into her tone, and

into her countenance, a certain amount of contempt for Frank as a man and as a politician, which was

``Now,'' said he, ``I have told you everything about myself which I was bound, as a man of honour, to tell

``I have told you everything. I owe no money, but I could not afford to marry a wife without an income. I

admire you more than any woman I ever saw. I love you with all my heart.'' He was now standing upright

before her, with the fingers of his right hand touching his left breast, and there was something almost of

dignity in his gesture and demeanour. ``It may be that you are determined never to marry again. I can only

say that if you will trust yourself to meyourself and your childI will do my duty truly by you both, and

will make your happiness the chief object of my existence.'' When she had listened to him thus far, of course

she must accept him; but he was by no means aware of that. She sat silent, with her hands folded on her

breast, looking down upon the ground; but he did not as yet attempt to seat himself by her. ``Lady Eustace,''

``May I not have an hour to think of it?'' said Lizzie, just venturing to turn a glance of her eye upon his face.

Now she was silent for two or three minutes, during which he still stood over her. But he had dropped his

hand from his breast, and had stooped, and picked up his hat ready for his departure. Was he to come again

on Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday? Let her tell him that and he would go. He doubtless reflected that

Wednesday would suit him best, because there would be no House. But Lizzie was too magnanimous for this.

``Lord Fawn,'' she said, rising, ``you have paid me the greatest compliment that a man can pay a woman.

Coming from you it is doubly precious; first, because of your character; and secondly''

``Secondly, because I can love you.'' This was said in her lowest whisper, and then she moved towards him

gently, and almost laid her head upon his breast. Of course he put his arm round her waistbut it was first

necessary that he should once more disembarrass himself of his hatand then her head was upon his breast.

``I will receive her and love her as a mother,'' said Lizzie, with all her energy. Then he kissed her againher

forehead and her lipsand took his leave, promising to be with her at any rate on Wednesday.

``Lady Fawn!'' she said to herself. The name did not sound so well as that of Lady Eustace. But it is much to

In the way of duty Lord Fawn was a Herculesnot, indeed, ``climbing trees in the Hesperides,'' but

achieving enterprises which, to other men, if not impossible, would have been so unpalatable as to have been

put aside as impracticable. On the Monday morning, after he was accepted by Lady Eustace, he was with his

He had at least been very honest in the description he had given of his own circumstances to the lady whom

he intended to marry. He had told her the exact truth; and though she, with all her cleverness, had not been

able to realise the facts when related to her so suddenly, still enough had been said to make it quite clear that,

when details of business should hereafter be discussed in a less hurried manner, he would be able to say that

he had explained all his circumstances before he had made his offer. And he had been careful, too, as to her

affairs. He had ascertained that her late husband had certainly settled upon her for life an estate worth four

thousand a year. He knew, also, that eight thousand pounds had been left her, but of that he took no account.

It might be probable that she had spent it. If any of it were left, it would be a godsend. Lord Fawn thought a

great deal about money. Being a poor man, filling a place fit only for rich men, he had been driven to think of

money, and had become selfdenying and parsimoniousperhaps we may say hungry and closefisted.

Such a condition of character is the natural consequence of such a position. There is, probably, no man who

becomes naturally so hard in regard to money as he who is bound to live among rich men, who is not rich

himself, and who is yet honest. The weight of the work of life in these circumstances is so crushing, requires

such continued thought, and makes itself so continually felt, that the mind of the sufferer is never free from

the contamination of sixpences. Of such a one it is not fair to judge as of other men with similar incomes.

Lord Fawn had declared to his future bride that he had half five thousand a year to spendor the half, rather,

of such actual income as might be got in from an estate presumed to give five thousand a yearand it may

be said that an unmarried gentleman ought not to be poor with such an income. But Lord Fawn unfortunately

was a lord, unfortunately was a landlord, unfortunately was an Irish landlord. Let him be as careful as he

might with his sixpences, his pounds would fly from him, or, as might perhaps be better said, could not be

made to fly to him. He was very careful with his sixpences, and was always thinking, not exactly how he

might make two ends meet, but how to reconcile the strictest personal economy with the proper bearing of an

Such a man almost naturally looks to marriage as an assistance in the dreary fight. It soon becomes clear to

him that he cannot marry without money, and he learns to think that heiresses have been invented exactly to

suit his case. He is conscious of having been subjected to hardship by Fortune, and regards female wealth as

his legitimate mode of escape from it. He has got himself, his position, and, perhaps, his title to dispose of,

and they are surely worth so much per annum. As for giving anything away, that is out of the question. He

has not been so placed as to be able to give. But, being an honest man, he will, if possible, make a fair

bargain. Lord Fawn was certainly an honest man, and he had been endeavouring for the last six or seven

years to make a fair bargain. But then it is so hard to decide what is fair. Who is to tell a Lord Fawn how

much per annum he ought to regard himself as worth? He had, on one or two occasions, asked a high price,

but no previous bargain had been made. No doubt he had come down a little in his demand in suggesting a

matrimonial arrangement to a widow with a child, and with only four thousand a year. Whether or no that

income was hers in perpetuity, or only for life, he had not positively known when he made his offer. The will

made by Sir Florian Eustace did not refer to the property at all. In the natural course of things, the widow

would only have a lifeinterest in the income. Why should Sir Florian make away, in perpetuity, with his

family property? Nevertheless, there had been a rumour abroad that Sir Florian had been very generous; that

the Scotch estate was to go to a second son in the event of there being a second sonbut that otherwise it

was to be at the widow's own disposal. No doubt, had Lord Fawn been persistent, he might have found out

the exact truth. He had however, calculated that he could afford to accept even the lifeincome. If more

should come of it, so much the better for him. He might, at any rate, so arrange the family matters, that his

heir, should he have one, should not at his death be called upon to pay something more than half the proceeds

Lord Fawn breakfasted at Fawn Court on the Monday, and his mother sat at the table with him, pouring out

``Just sovery important indeed. I should like you to call and see her either today or tomorrow.''

``Certainly,'' said Lord Fawn, as he put a spoonful of egg into his mouth; ``certainly.''

``No; I don't see that at all. I'm not going to marry Miss Macnulty. The child, of course, must be one of us.''

``Four thousand a year. Something more, nominally, but four thousand to spend.''

``A very great difference indeed. I think it is her own. But, at any rate, she is much younger than I am, and

there need be no settlement out of my property. That is the great thing. Don't you think she'snice?''

``If she is, we must try and balance it,'' said Lord Fawn, with a little smile. But, in truth, he had thought

nothing about any such quality as that to which his mother now referred. The lady had an income. That was

the first and most indispensable consideration. She was fairly wellborn, was a lady, and was beautiful. In

doing Lord Fawn justice, we must allow that, in all his attempted matrimonial speculations, some amount of

feminine loveliness had been combined with feminine wealth. He had for two years been a suitor of Violet

Effingham, who was the acknowledged beauty of the dayof Violet Effingham who, at the present time,

was the wife of Lord Chiltern; and he had offered himself thrice to Madame Max Goesler, who was reputed

to be as rich as she was beautiful. In either case, the fortune would have been greater than that which he

would now win, and the money would certainly have been for ever. But in these attempts he had failed; and

Lord Fawn was not a man to think himself illused because he did not get the first good thing for which he

``Yeswhen I am gone. I must be off now, only I could not bear not to come and see you.''

``Go up in the carriage, you know, and take one of the girls with you. I would not take more than one.

Augusta will be the best. You'll see Clara, I suppose.'' Clara was the married sister, Mrs Hittaway.

``She had better call toosay on Thursday. It's quite as well that it should be known. I sha'n't choose to have

``I don't see why she shouldn't. Goodbye, mother. Tell the girls I will see them next Saturday.'' He didn't see

why this woman he was about to marry should not be a good wife to him! And yet he knew nothing about

her, and had not taken the slightest trouble to make inquiry. That she was pretty he could see; that she was

clever he could understand; that she lived in Mount Street was a fact; her parentage was known to himthat

she was the undoubted mistress of a large income was beyond dispute. But, for aught he knew, she might be

afflicted by every vice to which a woman can be subject. In truth, she was afflicted by so many, that the

addition of all the others could hardly have made her worse than she was. She had never sacrificed her beauty

to a lovershe had never sacrificed anything to anybodynor did she drink. It would be difficult, perhaps,

to say anything else in her favour; and yet Lord Fawn was quite content to marry her, not having seen any

reason why she should not make a good wife! Nor had Sir Florian seen any reasonbut she had broken Sir

When the girls heard the news, they were half frightened and half delighted. Lady Fawn and her daughters

lived very much out of the world. They also were poor rich peopleif such a term may be usedand did

not go much into society. There was a butler kept at Fawn Court, and a boy in buttons, and two gardeners,

and a man to look after the cows, and a carriage and horses, and a fat coachman. There was a cook and a

scullery maid, and two lady's maidswho had to make the dressesand two housemaids and a dairymaid.

There was a large old brick house to be kept in order, and handsome grounds with old trees. There was, as we

know, a governess, and there were seven unmarried daughters. With such encumbrances, and an income

altogether not exceeding three thousand pounds per annum, Lady Fawn could not be rich. And yet who would

say that an old lady and her daughters could be poor with three thousand pounds a year to spend? It may be

taken almost as a rule by the unennobled ones of this country, that the sudden possession of a title would at

once raise the price of every article consumed twenty per cent. Mutton that before cost ninepence would cost

tenpence a pound, and the mouths to be fed would demand more meat. The chest of tea would run out

quicker. The labourer's work, which for the farmer is ten hours a day, for the squire nine, is for the peer only

eight. Miss Jones, when she becomes Lady de Jongh, does not pay less than threepence apiece for each ``my

lady'' with which her ear is tickled. Even the baronet when he becomes a lord has to curtail his purchases,

because of increased price, unless he be very wide awake to the affairs of the world. Old Lady Fawn, who

would not on any account have owed a shilling which she could not pay, and who, in the midst of her

economies, was not closefisted, knew very well what she could do and what she could not. The old family

carriage and the two lady's maids were thereas necessaries of life; but London society was not within her

reach. It was, therefore, the case that they had not heard very much about Lizzie Eustace. But they had heard

something. ``I hope she won't be too fond of going out,'' said Amelia, the second girl.

``There was some story of her being terribly in debt when she married Sir Florian Eustace,'' said Diana, the

``Beauty and cleverness won't make a good wife,'' said Amelia, who was the wise one of the family.

``Frederic will be sure to see that she doesn't go wrong,'' said Augusta, who was not wise.

Then Lucy Morris entered the room with Nina, the cadette of the family. ``Oh, Nina, what do you think?''

``My dear!'' said Lady Fawn, putting up her hand and stopping further indiscreet speech.

``Well, yes; Lucy may be told certainly. There can be no reason why Lucy should not know all that concerns

our familyand the more so as she has been for many years intimate with the lady. My dear, my son is

``Lord Fawn going to marry Lizzie!'' said Lucy Morris, in a tone which certainly did not express unmingled

``Oh noonly it seems so odd. I didn't know that they knew each othernot well, that is. And then''

``It seems oddthat's all. It's all very nice, I daresay, and I'm sure I hope they will be happy.'' Lady Fawn,

however, was displeased, and did not speak to Lucy again before she started with Augusta on the journey to

The carriage first stopped at the door of the married daughter in Warwick Square. Now, Mrs Hittaway, whose

husband was chairman of the Board of Civil Appeals and who was very well known at all Boards and among

official men generally, heard much more about things that were going on than did her mother. And, having

been emancipated from maternal control for the last ten or twelve years, she could express herself before her

mother with more confidence than would have become the other girls. ``Mamma,'' she said, ``you don't mean

There came a look of pain across Lady Fawn's face, for Lady Fawn believed in her eldest daughter. But yet

she intended to fight her ground on a matter so important to her as was this. ``There is no word in the English

language'', she said, ``which conveys to me so little of defined meaning as that word vixen. If you can, tell me

``If she is a friend of Lucy Morris, mamma, Lucy Morris shall never come here.''

``But what has she done? I have never heard that she has behaved improperly. What does it all mean? She

goes out everywhere. I don't think she has had any lovers. Frederic would be the last man in the world to

``Frederic can see just as far as some other men, and not a bit farther. Of course she has an incomefor her

``She says so, I don't doubt. I believe she is the greatest liar about London. You find out about her jewels

before she married poor Sir Florian, and how much he had to pay for her; or rather, I'll find out. If you want

``It's my belief that she is over head and ears in debt again. But I'll learn. And when I have found out, I shall

not scruple to tell Frederic. Orlando will find out all about it.'' Orlando was the Christian name of Mrs

Hittaway's husband. ``Mr Camperdown, I have no doubt, knows all the ins and outs of her story. The long

and the short of it is this, mamma, that I've heard quite enough about Lady Eustace to feel certain that

Her daughter's violence of speech had a most depressing effect upon poor Lady Fawn. As has been said, she

did believe in Mrs Hittaway. She knew that Mrs Hittaway was conversant with the things of the world, and

heard tidings daily which never found their way down to Fawn Court. And yet her son went about quite as

much as did her daughter. If Lady Eustace was such a reprobate as was now represented, why had not Lord

Fawn heard the truth? And then she had already given in her own adhesion, and had promised to call. ``Do

``As Lady Eustacecertainly not. If Frederic does marry her, of course I must know her. That's a different

thing. One has to make the best one can of a bad bargain. I don't doubt they'd be separated before two years

Lady Fawn, after much consideration, was of opinion that she must carry out her intention of calling upon her

son's intended bride in spite of all the evil things that had been said. Lord Fawn had undertaken to send a

message to Mount Street, informing the lady of the honour intended for her. And in truth Lady Fawn was

somewhat curious now to see the household of the woman, who might perhaps do her the irreparable injury

of ruining the happiness of her only son. Perhaps she might learn something by looking at the woman in her

own drawingroom. At any rate she would go. But Mrs Hittaway's words had the effect of inducing her to

leave Augusta where she was. If there were contamination, why should Augusta be contaminated? Poor

Augusta! She had looked forward to the delight of embracing her future sisterinlawand would not have

enjoyed it the less, perhaps, because she had been told that the lady was false, profligate, and a vixen. As,

however, her position was that of a girl, she was bound to be obedientthough over thirty years oldand

Lizzie was of course at home, and Miss Macnulty was of course visiting the Horticultural Gardens or

otherwise engaged. On such an occasion Lizzie would certainly be alone. She had taken great pains with her

dress, studying not so much her own appearance as the character of her visitor. She was very anxious, at any

rate for the present, to win golden opinions from Lady Fawn. She was dressed richly, but very simply.

Everything about her room betokened wealth; but she had put away the French novels, and had placed a Bible

on a little table, not quite hidden, behind her own seat. The long lustrous lock was tucked up, but the

diamonds were still upon her fingers. She fully intended to make a conquest of her future motherinlaw and

sisterinlawfor the note which had come up to her from the India Office had told her that Augusta would

accompany Lady Fawn. ``Augusta is my favourite sister,'' said the enamoured lover, ``and I hope that you

two will always be friends.'' Lizzie, when she had read this, had declared to herself that of all the female oafs

she had ever seen, Augusta Fawn was the greatest oaf. When she found that Lady Fawn was alone, she did

not betray herself, or ask for the beloved friend of the future. ``Dear, dear Lady Fawn!'' she said, throwing

herself into the arms and nestling herself against the bosom of the old lady, ``this makes my happiness

perfect.'' Then she retreated a little, still holding the hand she had grasped between her own, and looking up

into the face of her future motherinlaw. ``When he asked me to be his wife, the first thing I thought of was

whether you would come to me at once.'' Her voice as she thus spoke was perfect. Her manner was almost

perfect. Perhaps there was a little too much of gesture, too much gliding motion, too violent an appeal with

the eyes, too close a pressure of the hand. No suspicion, however, of all this would have touched Lady Fawn

had she come to Mount Street without calling in Warwick Square on the way. But those horrible words of her

Poor Lady Fawn! There was enough of maternity about her to have enabled her to undertake the duty for a

dozen sons' wivesif the wives were women with whom she could feel sympathy. And she could feel

sympathy very easily; and was a woman not at all prone to inquire too curiously as to the merits of a son's

wife. But what was she to do after the caution she had received from Mrs Hittaway? How was she to promise

maternal tenderness to a vixen and a liar? By nature she was not a deceitful woman. ``My dear,'' she said, ``I

It was not very encouraging, but Lizzie made the best of it. It was her desire to cheat Lady Fawn into a good

opinion, and she was not disappointed when no good opinion was expressed at once. It is seldom that a bad

person expects to be accounted good. It is the general desire of such a one to conquer the existing evil

impression; but it is generally presumed that the evil impression is there. ``Oh, Lady Fawn!'' she said, ``I will

so strive to make him happy. What is it that he likes? What would he wish me to do and to be? You know his

Lady Fawn was embarrassed. She had now seated herself on the sofa, and Lizzie was close to her, almost

enveloped within her mantle. ``My dear,'' said Lady Fawn, ``if you will endeavour to do your duty by him, I

``I know it. I am sure of it. And I will; I will. You will let me love you, and call you mother?'' A peculiar

perfume came up from Lizzie's hair which Lady Fawn did not like. Her own girls, perhaps, were not given to

the use of much perfumery. She shifted her seat a little, and Lizzie was compelled to sit upright, and without

support. Hitherto Lady Fawn had said very little, and Lizzie's part was one difficult to play. She had heard of

that sermon read every Sunday evening at Fawn Court, and she believed that Lady Fawn was peculiarly

religious. ``There,'' she said, stretching out her hand backwards and clasping the book which lay upon the

small table``there; that shall be my guide. That will teach me how to do my duty by my noble husband.''

Lady Fawn in some surprise took the book from Lizzie's hand, and found that it was the Bible. ``You

certainly can't do better, my dear, than read your Bible,'' said Lady Fawnbut there was more of censure

than of eulogy in the tone of her voice. She put the Bible down very quietly, and asked Lady Eustace when it

would suit her to come down to Fawn Court. Lady Fawn had promised her son to give the invitation, and

``Oh, I should like it so much!'' said Lizzie. ``Whenever it will suit you, I will be there at a minute's notice.'' It

was then arranged that she should be at Fawn Court on that day week, and stay for a fortnight. ``Of all things

that which I most desire now'', said Lizzie, ``is to know you and the dear girlsand to be loved by you all.''

Lady Eustace, as soon as she was alone in the room, stood in the middle of it, scowlingfor she could scowl.

``I'll not go near them,'' she said to herself``nasty, stupid, dull, puritanical drones. If he don't like it, he may

lump it. After all it's no such great catch.'' Then she sat down to reflect whether it was or was not a catch. As

soon as ever Lord Fawn had left her after the engagement was made, she had begun to tell herself that he was

a poor creature, and that she had done wrong. ``Only five thousand a year!'' she said to herselffor she had

not perfectly understood that little explanation which he had given respecting his income. ``It's nothing for a

lord.'' And now again she murmured to herself, ``It's my money he's after. He'll find out that I know how to

keep what I've got in my own hands.'' Now that Lady Fawn had been cold to her, she thought still less of the

proposed marriage. But there was this inducement for her to go on with it. If they, the Fawn women, thought

that they could break it off, she would let them know that they had no such power.

``Yes, my dear; I've seen her. I had seen her two or three times before, you know.''

``She is to come down to Fawn Court next week, and stay a fortnight with us. Then we shall find out what

``Mind, mamma; you understand me. I shall tell Frederic plainly just what I think. Of course he will be

offended, and if the marriage goes on, the offence will remaintill he finds out the truth.''

``I hope he'll find out no such truth,'' said Lady Fawn. She was, however, quite unable to say a word in behalf

of her future daughterinlaw. She said nothing as to that little scene with the Bible, but she never forgot it.

During the remainder of that Monday and all the Tuesday, Lizzie's mind was, upon the whole, averse to

matrimony. She had told Miss Macnulty of her prospects, with some amount of exultation; and the poor

dependant, though she knew that she must be turned out into the street, had congratulated her patroness.

``The Vulturess will take you in again, when she knows you've nowhere else to go,'' Lizzie had

saiddisplaying, indeed, some accurate discernment of her aunt's character. But after Lady Fawn's visit she

spoke of the marriage in a different tone. ``Of course, my dear, I shall have to look very close after the

``Yeslawyers! That's all very well. I know what lawyers are. I'm not going to trust any lawyer to give away

my property. Of course we shall live at Portray, because his place is in Irelandand nothing shall take me to

Ireland. I told him that from the very first. But I don't mean to give up my own income. I don't suppose he'll

venture to suggest such a thing.'' And then again she grumbled. ``It's all very well being in the Cabinet!''

``Is Lord Fawn in the Cabinet?'' asked Miss Macnulty, who in such matters was not altogether ignorant.

``Of course he is,'' said Lizzie, with an angry gesture. It may seem unjust to accuse her of being stupidly

unacquainted with circumstances, and a liar at the same time; but she was both. She said that Lord Fawn was

in the Cabinet because she had heard someone speak of him as not being a Cabinet Minister, and in so

speaking appear to slight his political position. Lizzie did not know how much her companion knew, and

Miss Macnulty did not comprehend the depth of the ignorance of her patroness. Thus the lies which Lizzie

told were amazing to Miss Macnulty. To say that Lord Fawn was in the Cabinet, when all the world knew

that he was an UnderSecretary! What good could a woman get from an assertion so plainly, so manifestly

false? But Lizzie knew nothing of UnderSecretaries. Lord Fawn was a lord, and even Commoners were in

the Cabinet. ``Of course he is,'' said Lizzie; ``but I sha'n't have my drawingroom made a Cabinet. They

sha'n't come here.'' And then again on the Tuesday evening she displayed her independence. ``As for those

women down at Richmond, I don't mean to be overrun by them, I can tell you. I said I would go there, and of

``Of course, I shall go. I don't want anybody to tell me where I'm to go, my dear, and where I'm not. But it'll

be about the first and the last visit. And as for bringing those dowdy girls out in London, it's the last thing I

shall think of doing. Indeed, I doubt whether they can afford to dress themselves.'' As she went up to bed on

the Tuesday evening, Miss Macnulty doubted whether the match would go on. She never believed her friend's

statements; but if spoken words might be supposed to mean anything, Lady Eustace's words on that Tuesday

betokened a strong dislike to everything appertaining to the Fawn family. She had even ridiculed Lord Fawn

And, in truth, Lizzie almost had made up her mind to break it off. All that she would gain did not seem to

weigh down with sufficient preponderance all that she would lose. Such were her feelings on the Tuesday

night. But on the Wednesday morning she received a note which threw her back violently upon the Fawn

interest. The note was as follows: ``Messrs Camperdown and Son present their compliments to Lady Eustace.

They have received instructions to proceed by law for the recovery of the Eustace diamonds, now in Lady

Eustace's hands, and will feel obliged to Lady Eustace if she will communicate to them the name and address

of her attorney. 62, New Square, May 30, 186.'' The effect of this note was to drive Lizzie back upon the

Fawn interest. She was frightened about the diamonds, and was, nevertheless, almost determined not to

surrender them. At any rate, in such a strait she would want assistance, either in keeping them or in giving

them up. The lawyer's letter afflicted her with a sense of weakness, and there was strength in the Fawn

connexion. As Lord Fawn was so poor, perhaps he would adhere to the jewels. She knew that she could not

fight Mr Camperdown with no other assistance than what Messrs Mowbray and Mopus might give her, and

therefore her heart softened towards her betrothed. ``I suppose Frederic will be here today,'' she said to Miss

Macnulty, as they sat at breakfast together about noon. Miss Macnulty nodded. ``You can have a cab, you

know, if you like to go anywhere.'' Miss Macnulty said she thought she would go to the National Gallery.

``And you can walk back, you know,'' said Lizzie. ``I can walk there and back too,'' said Miss Macnultyin

regard to whom it may be said that the last ounce would sometimes almost break the horse's back.

``Frederic'' came and was received very graciously. Lizzie had placed Mr Camperdown's note on the little

table behind her, beneath the Bible, so that she might put her hand upon it at once, if she could make an

opportunity of showing it to her future husband. ``Frederic'' sat himself beside her, and the intercourse for

awhile was such as might be looked for between two lovers of whom one was a widow, and the other an

UnderSecretary of State from the India Office. They were loving, but discreetly amatory, talking chiefly of

things material, each flattering the other, and each hinting now and again at certain little circumstances of

which a more accurate knowledge seemed to be desirable. The one was conversant with things in general, but

was slow; the other was quick as a lizard in turning hither and thither, but knew almost nothing. When she

told Lord Fawn that the Ayrshire estate was ``her own, to do what she liked with'', she did not know that he

would certainly find out the truth from other sources before he married her. Indeed, she was not quite sure

herself whether the statement was true or false, though she would not have made it so frequently had her idea

of the truth been a fixed idea. It had all been explained to herbut there had been something about a second

son, and there was no second son. Perhaps she might have a second son yeta future little Lord Fawn, and

he might inherit it. In regard to honesty, the man was superior to the woman, because his purpose was

declared, and he told no liesbut the one was as mercenary as the other. It was not love that had brought

``The townland where the house used to be, is called Killeagent. The old demesne is called Killaud.''

``What pretty names! andanddoes it go a great many miles?'' Lord Fawn explained that it did run a good

many miles up into the mountains. ``How beautifully romantic!'' said Lizzie. ``But the people live on the

Lord Fawn asked no such inept questions respecting the Ayrshire property, but he did inquire who was

Lizzie's solicitor. ``Of course there will be things to be settled,'' he said, ``and my lawyer had better see yours.

``Mr Camperdown!'' almost shrieked Lizzie. Lord Fawn then explained, with some amazement, that Mr

Camperdown was his lawyer. As far as his belief went, there was not a more respectable gentleman in the

profession. Then he inquired whether Lizzie had any objection to Mr Camperdown. ``Mr Camperdown was

``I don't know how that may be,'' said Lizzie, trying to bring her mind to work upon the subject steadily. ``Mr

Camperdown has been very uncourteous to meI must say that; and, as I think, unfair. He wishes to rob me

``A very valuable thing. I'll tell you all about it, Frederic. Of course I'll tell you everything now. I never could

keep back anything from one that I loved. It's not my nature. There; you might as well read that note.'' Then

she put her hand back and brought Mr Camperdown's letter from under the Bible. Lord Fawn read it very

attentively, and as he read it there came upon him a great doubt. What sort of woman was this to whom he

had engaged himself because she was possessed of an income? That Mr Camperdown should be in the wrong

in such a matter was an idea which never occurred to Lord Fawn. There is no form of belief stronger than that

which the ordinary English gentleman has in the discretion and honesty of his own family lawyer. What his

lawyer tells him to do, he does. What his lawyer tells him to sign, he signs. He buys and sells in obedience to

the same direction, and feels perfectly comfortable in the possession of a guide who is responsible and all but

``They are my ownaltogether my own. Sir Florian gave them to me. When he put them into my hands, he

said that they were to be my own for ever and ever. `There,' said he`those are yours to do what you choose

with them.' After that they oughtn't to ask me to give them backought they? If you had been married

before, and your wife has given you a keepsaketo keep for ever and ever, would you give it up to a

lawyer? You would not like itwould you, Frederic?'' She had put her hand on his, and was looking up into

his face as she asked the question. Again, perhaps, the acting was a little overdone; but there were the tears in

``Mr Camperdown calls them Eustace diamondsfamily diamonds,'' said Lord Fawn. ``What do they consist

``I'll show them to you,'' said Lizzie, jumping up and hurrying out of the room. Lord Fawn, when he was

alone, rubbed his hands over his eyes and thought about it all. It would be a very harsh measure, on the part

of the Eustace family and of Mr Camperdown, to demand from her the surrender of any trinket which her late

husband might have given her in the manner she had described. But it was, to his thinking, most improbable

that the Eustace people or the lawyer should be harsh to a widow bearing the Eustace name. The Eustaces

were by disposition lavish, and old Mr Camperdown was not one who would be strict in claiming little things

for rich clients. And yet here was his letter, threatening the widow of the late baronet with legal proceedings

for the recovery of jewels which had been given by Sir Florian himself to his wife as a keepsake! Perhaps Sir

Florian had made some mistake, and had caused to be set in a ring or brooch for his bride some jewel which

he had thought to be his own, but which had, in truth, been an heirloom. If so, the jewel should, of course, be

surrenderedor replaced by one of equal value. He was making out some such solution, when Lizzie

returned with the morocco case in her hand. ``It was the manner in which he gave it to me,'' said Lizzie, as

Lord Fawn knew nothing about jewels, but even he knew that if the circle of stones which he saw, with a

Maltese cross appended to it, was constituted of real diamonds, the thing must be of great value. And it

occurred to him at once that such a necklace is not given by a husband even to a bride in the manner

described by Lizzie. A ring, or brooch, or perhaps a bracelet, a lover or a loving lord may bring in his pocket.

But such an ornament as this on which Lord Fawn was now looking, is given in another sort of way. He felt

sure that it was so, even though he was entirely ignorant of the value of the stones. ``Do you know what it is

Lizzie hesitated a moment, and then remembered that ``Frederic,'' in his present position in regard to herself,

might be glad to assist her in maintaining the possession of a substantial property, ``I think they say its value

``A man had to come and see themabout some repairsor something of that kind. Poor Sir Florian wished

``I forget his name,'' said Lizzie, who was not quite sure whether her acquaintance with Mr Benjamin would

Lizzie hesitated for a moment. ``Yes,'' said she. ``That isno. But he ordered it to be made; and then it

``Oh, dear, yes. Though he never named any sum. He told me, however, that they were veryvery valuable.''

Lord Fawn did not immediately recognise the falseness of every word that the woman said to him, because he

was slow and could not think and hear at the same time. But he was at once involved in a painful maze of

doubt and almost of dismay. An action for the recovery of jewels brought against the lady whom he was

engaged to marry, on behalf of the family of her late husband, would not suit him at all. To have his hands

quite clean, to be above all evil report, to be respectable, as it were, all round, was Lord Fawn's special

ambition. He was a poor man, and a greedy man, but he would have abandoned his official salary at a

moment's notice, rather than there should have fallen on him a breath of public opinion hinting that it ought to

be abandoned. He was especially timid, and lived in a perpetual fear lest the newspapers should say

something hard of him. In that matter of the Sawab he had been very wretched, because Frank Greystock had

accused him of being an administrator of tyranny. He would have liked his wife to have ten thousand pounds'

worth of diamonds very well; but he would rather go without a wife for everand without a wife's

fortunethan marry a woman subject to an action for claiming diamonds not her own. ``I think,'' said he, at

``No, dearestthat means not going to law. The diamonds would lie entrusted to Mr Camperdown. And then

``My dearest girl, there can't be a more respectable man than Mr Camperdown. You must do something of the

``I sha'n't do anything of the kind,'' said Lizzie. ``Sir Florian Eustace gave them to me, and I shall keep them.''

She did not look at her lover as she spoke; but he looked at her, and did not like the change which he saw on

her countenance. And he did not like the circumstances in which he found himself placed. ``Why should Mr

Camperdown interfere?'' continued Lizzie. ``If they don't belong to me, they belong to my sonand who has

``They should not be kept in a private house like this at all, if they are worth all that money.''

``If I were to let them go, Mr Camperdown would get them. There's nothing he wouldn't do to get them. Oh,

Frederic, I hope you'll stand to me, and not see me injured. Of course I only want them for my darling child.''

``Frederic's'' face had become very long, and he was much disturbed in his mind. He could only suggest that

he himself would go and see Mr Camperdown, and ascertain what ought to be done. To the last, he adhered to

his assurance that Mr Camperdown could do no eviltill Lizzie, in her wrath, asked him whether he

believed Mr Camperdown's word before hers. ``I think he would understand a matter of business better than

When Lord Fawn took his leavewhich he did not do till he had counselled her again and again to leave the

matter in Mr Camperdown's handsthe two were not in good accord together. It was his fixed purpose, as he

declared to her, to see Mr Camperdown; and it was her fixed purposeso, at least, she declared to himto

keep the diamonds, in spite of Mr Camperdown. ``But, my dear, if it's decided against you'' said Lord

``I can do nothing,'' said Lord Fawn, in a tremor. Then Lizzie looked at himand her look, which was very

eloquent, called him a poltroon as plain as a look could speak. Then they parted, and the signs of affection

The door was hardly closed behind him before Lizzie began to declare to herself that he shouldn't escape her.

It was not yet twentyfour hours since she had been telling herself that she did not like the engagement and

would break it off; and now she was stamping her little feet, and clenching her little hands, and swearing to

herself by all her gods, that this wretched, timid lordling should not get out of her net. She did, in truth,

despise him because he would not clutch the jewels. She looked upon him as mean and paltry because he was

willing to submit to Mr Camperdown. But still she was prompted to demand all that could be demanded from

her engagementbecause she thought that she perceived a something in him which might produce in him a

desire to be relieved from it. No! he should not be relieved. He should marry her. And she would keep the

key of that iron box with the diamonds, and he should find what sort of a noise she would make, if he

attempted to take it from her. She closed the morocco case, ascended with it to her bedroom, locked it up in

the iron safe, deposited the little patent key in its usual place round her neck, and then seated herself at her

desk, and wrote letters to her various friends, making known to them her engagement. Hitherto she had told

no one but Miss Macnultyand, in her doubts, had gone so far as to desire Miss Macnulty not to mention it.

The first ``friend'' to whom she wrote was Lady Linlithgow. The reader shall see two or three of her letters,

When you came to see me the other day, I cannot say that you were very kind to me, and I don't suppose you

care very much what becomes of me. But I think it right to let you know that I am going to be married. I am

engaged to Lord Fawn, who, as you know, is a peer, and a member of Her Majesty's Government, and a

nobleman of great influence. I do not suppose that even you can say anything against such an alliance.

Then she wrote to Mrs Eustace, the wife of the Bishop of Bobsborough. Mrs Eustace had been very kind to

her in the first days of her widowhood, and had fully recognised her as the widow of the head of her

husband's family. Lizzie had liked none of the Bobsborough people. They were, according to her ideas, slow,

respectable, and dull. But they had not found much open fault with her, and she was aware that it was for her

interest to remain on good terms with them. Her letter, therefore, to Mrs Eustace was somewhat less acrid

I hope you will be glad to hear from me, and will not be sorry to hear my news. I am going to be married

again. Of course I am not about to take a step which is in every way so very important without thinking about

it a great deal. But I am sure it will be better for my darling little Florian in every way; and as for myself, I

have felt for the last two years how unfitted I have been to manage everything myself. I have therefore

accepted an offer made to me by Lord Fawn, who is, as you know, a peer of Parliament, and a most

distinguished member of Her Majesty's Government; and he is, too, a nobleman of very great influence in

every respect, and has a property in Ireland, extending over ever so many miles, and running up into the

mountains. His mansion there is called Killmage, but I am not sure that I remember the name quite rightly. I

hope I may see you there some day, and the dear bishop. I look forward with delight to doing something to

make those dear Irish happier. The idea of rambling up into our own mountains charms me, for nothing suits

Of course Lord Fawn is not so rich a man as Sir Florian, but I have never looked to riches for my happiness.

Not but what Lord Fawn has a good income from his Irish estates; and then, of course, he is paid for doing

Her Majesty's Governmentso there is no fear that he will have to live upon my jointure, which, of course,

would not be right. Pray tell the dear bishop and dear Margaretta all this, with my love. You will be happy, I

know, to hear that my little Flo is quite well. He is already so fond of his new papa!'Lizzie's turn for lying

was exemplified in this last statement, for, as it happened, Lord Fawn had never yet seen the child.

There were two other lettersone to her uncle, the dean, and the other to her cousin Frank. There was great

doubt in her mind as to the expediency of writing to Frank Greystock; but at last she decided that she would

do it. The letter to the dean need not be given in full, as it was very similar to that written to the bishop's wife.

The same mention was made of her intended husband's peerage, and the same allusion to Her Majesty's

Governmenta phrase which she had heard from Lord Fawn himself. She spoke of the Irish property, but in

terms less glowing than she had used in writing to the lady, and ended by asking for her uncle's

congratulationand blessing. Her letter to Frank was as follows, and, doubtless, as she wrote it, there was

present to her mind a remembrance of the fact that he himself might have offered to her, and have had her if

As I would rather that you should hear my news from myself than from anyone else, I write to tell you that I

am going to be married to Lord Fawn. Of course I know that there are certain matters as to which you and

Lord Fawn do not agreein politics, I mean; but still I do not doubt but you will think that he is quite able to

take care of your poor little cousin. It was only settled a day or two since, but it has been coming on ever so

long. You understand all about thatdon't you? Of course you must come to my wedding, and be very good

to mea kind of brother, you know; for we have always been friendshaven't we? And if the dean doesn't

come up to town, you must give me away. And you must come and see me ever so often; for I have a sort of

feeling that I have no one else belonging to me that I call really my own, except you. And you must be great

friends with Lord Fawn, and must give up saying that he doesn't do his work properly. Of course he does

I am going down next week to Richmond. Lady Fawn has insisted on my staying there for a fortnight. Oh,

dear, what shall I do all the time? You must positively come down and see meand see somebody else too!

Somebody, in speaking on Lady Eustace's behalf, and making the best of her virtues, had declared that she

did not have lovers. Hitherto that had been true of herbut her mind had not the less dwelt on the delight of

a lover. She still thought of a possible Corsair who would be willing to give up all but his vices for her love,

and for whose sake she would be willing to share even them. It was but a dream, but nevertheless it pervaded

her fancy constantly. Lord Fawnpeer of Parliament, and member of Her Majesty's Government, as he

wascould not have been such a lover to her. Might it not be possible that there should exist something of

romance between her and her cousin Frank? She was the last woman in the world to run away with a man, or

to endanger her position by a serious indiscretion; but there might, perhaps, be a something between her and

her cousina liaison quite correct in its facts, a secret understanding, if nothing morea mutual sympathy,

which should be chiefly shown in the abuse of all their friendsand in this she could indulge her passion for

The news was soon all about Londonas Lizzie had intended. She had made a sudden resolve that Lord

Fawn should not escape her, and she had gone to work after the fashion we have seen. Frank Greystock had

told John Eustace, and John Eustace had told Mr Camperdown before Lord Fawn himself, in the slow

prosecution of his purpose, had consulted the lawyer about the necklace. ``God bless my soulLord Fawn!''

the old lawyer had said when the news was communicated to him. ``Wellyeshe wants money. I don't

envy him; that's all. We shall get the diamonds now, John. Lord Fawn isn't the man to let his wife keep what

doesn't belong to her.'' Then, after a day or two, Lord Fawn had himself gone to Mr Camperdown's chambers.

``I believe I am to congratulate you, my lord,'' said the lawyer. ``I'm told you are going to marry well, I

mustn't really say another of my clients, but the widow of one of them. Lady Eustace is a very beautiful

woman, and she has a very pretty income too. She has the whole of the Scotch property for her life.''

``Oh, no, noof course not. There's been some mistake on her partat least, so I've been told. Women

never understand. It's all as clear as daylight. Had there been a second son, the second son would have had it.

As it is, it goes with the rest of the propertyjust as it ought to do, you know. Four thousand a year isn't so

bad, you know, considering that she isn't more than a girl yet, and that she hadn't sixpence of her own. When

``Not sixpence. It's all Eustace money. She had six or eight thousand pounds, or something like that, besides.

``By the by, Lord Fawn, as you have done me the honour of callingthere's a stupid mistake about some

``It is in respect to them that I've come,'' said Lord Fawn. Then Mr Camperdown, in his easy, offhand way,

imputing no blame to the lady in the hearing of her future husband, and declaring his opinion that she was

doubtless unaware of its value, explained the matter of the necklace. Lord Fawn listened, but said very little.

He especially did not say that Lady Eustace had had the stones valued. ``They're real, I suppose?'' he asked.

Mr Camperdown assured him that no diamonds more real had ever come from Golconda, or passed through

Mr Garnett's hands. ``They are as well known as any family diamonds in England,'' said Mr Camperdown.

``She has got into bad hands,''continued Mr Camperdown. ``Mowbray and Mopushorrible people;

sharks, that make one blush for one's profession; and I was really afraid there would have been trouble. But,

of course, it'll be all right nowand if she'll only come to me, tell her I'll do everything I can to make things

straight and comfortable for her. If she likes to have another lawyer, of course, that's all right. Only make her

understand who Mowbray and Mopus are. It's quite out of the question, Lord Fawn, that your wife should

have anything to do with Mowbray and Mopus.'' Every word that Mr Camperdown said was gospel to Lord

And yet, as the reader will understand, Mr Camperdown had by no means expressed his real opinion in this

interview. He had spoken of the widow in friendly termsdeclaring that she was simply mistaken in her

ideas as to the duration of her interest in the Scotch property, and mistaken again about the

diamondswhereas in truth he regarded her as a dishonest, lying, evilminded harpy. Had Lord Fawn

consulted him simply as a client, and not have come to him an engaged lover, he would have expressed his

opinion quite frankly; but it is not the business of a lawyer to tell his client evil things of the lady whom that

client is engaged to marry. In regard to the property he spoke the truth, and he spoke what he believed to be

the truth when he said that the whole thing would no doubt now be easily arranged. When Lord Fawn took

his leave, Mr Camperdown again declared to himself that as regarded money the match was very well for his

lordship; but that, as regarded the woman, Lizzie was dear at the price. ``Perhaps he doesn't mind it,'' said Mr

Camperdown to himself, ``but I wouldn't marry such a woman myself, though she owned all Scotland.''

There had been much in the interview to make Lord Fawn unhappy. In the first place, that golden hope as to

the perpetuity of the property was at an end. He had never believed that it was so; but a man may hope

without believing. And he was quite sure that Lizzie was bound to give up the diamondsand would

ultimately be made to give them up. Of any property in them, as possibly accruing to himself, he had not

thought muchbut he could not abstain from thinking of the woman's grasp upon them. Mr Camperdown's

plain statement, which was gospel to him, was directly at variance with Lizzie's story. Sir Florian certainly

would not have given such diamonds in such a way. Sir Florian would not have ordered a separate iron safe

for them, with a view that they might be secure in his wife's bedroom. And then she had had them valued,

and manifestly was always thinking of her treasure. It was very well for a poor, careful peer to be always

thinking of his money, but Lord Fawn was well aware that a young woman such as Lady Eustace should have

her thoughts elsewhere. As he sat signing letters at the India Board, relieving himself when he was left alone

between each batch by standing up with his back to the fireplace, his mind was full of all this. He could not

unravel truth quickly, but he could grasp it when it came to him. She was certainly greedy, false, and

dishonest. Andworse than all thisshe had dared to tell him to his face that he was a poor creature

because he would not support her in her greed, and falsehoods, and dishonesty! Nevertheless, he was engaged

to marry her! Then he thought of one Violet Effingham whom he had loved, and then came over him some

suspicion of a fear that he himself was hard and selfish. And yet what was such a one as he to do? It was of

course necessary for the maintenance of the very constitution of his country that there should be future Lord

Fawns. There could be no future Lord Fawns unless he marriedand how could he marry without money?

``A peasant can marry whom he pleases,'' said Lord Fawn, pressing his hand to his brow, and dropping one

flap of his coat, as he thought of his own high and perilous destiny, standing with his back to the fireplace,

It was a Saturday evening, and as there was no House there was nothing to hurry him away from the office.

He was the occupier for the time of a large, wellfurnished official room, looking out into St James's Park,

and as he glanced round it he told himself that his own happiness must be there, and not in the domesticity of

a quiet home. The House of Lords, out of which nobody could turn him, and official lifeas long as he

could hold to itmust be all in all to him. He had engaged himself to this woman, and he mustmarry her.

He did not think that he could now see any way of avoiding that event. Her income would supply the needs of

her home, and then there might probably be a continuation of Lord Fawns. The world might have done better

for himhad he been able to find favour in Violet Effingham's sight. He was a man capable of loveand

very capable of constancy to a woman true to him. Then he wiped away a tear as he sat down to sign the huge

batch of letters. As he read some special letter in which instructions were conveyed as to the insufficiency of

the Sawab's claims, he thought of Frank Greystock's attack upon him, and of Frank Greystock's cousin. There

had been a time in which he had feared that the two cousins would become man and wife. At this moment he

uttered a malediction against the member for Bobsborough, which might perhaps have been spared had the

member been now willing to take the lady off his hands. Then the door was opened, and the messenger told

him that Mrs Hittaway was in the waitingroom. Mrs Hittaway was, of course, at once made welcome to the

Mrs Hittaway was a strongminded womanthe strongestminded probably of the Fawn familybut she

had now come upon a task which tasked all her strength to the utmost. She had told her mother that she

would tell ``Frederic'' what she thought about his proposed bride, and she had now come to carry out her

threat. She had asked her brother to come and dine with her, but he had declined. His engagements hardly

admitted of his dining with his relatives. She had called upon him at the rooms he occupied in Victoria

Streetbut of course she had not found him. She could not very well go to his clubso now she had hunted

him down at his office. From the very commencement of the interview Mrs Hittaway was strongminded.

She began the subject of the marriage, and did so without a word of congratulation. ``Dear Frederic,'' she

``It means thisthat you must bear with me, if I am more anxious as to your future career than another sister

The UnderSecretary sat silent for awhile in his great armchair. ``What sort of evil things do you mean,

Clara?'' he asked at last. ``Evil things are said of a great many peopleas you know. I am sure you would not

Mrs Hittaway was not to be silenced after this fashion. ``Not slanders, certainly, Frederic. But when I hear

that you intend to raise this lady to the rank and position of your wife, then of course the truth or falsehood of

these reports becomes a matter of great moment to us all. Don't you think you had better see Mr

``What should he say? Lady Eustace has, I believe, made some mistake about the condition of her property,

and people who have heard it have been goodnatured enough to say that the error has been wilful. That is

``And have you heard about her jewels?'' Mrs Hittaway was alluding here to the report which had reached her

as to Lizzie's debt to Harter and Benjamin when she married Sir Florian; but Lord Fawn of course thought of

``I have known it ever so long. Sir Florian never got over it.'' Lord Fawn was again in the dark, but he did not

choose to commit himself by asking further questions. ``And then her treatment of Lady Linlithgow, who was

her only friend before she married, was something quite unnatural. Ask the dean's people what they think of

``Yesfor her money, perhapsbecause he has not got a farthing in the world. Dear Frederic, I only wish to

put you on your guard. of course this is very unpleasant, and I shouldn't do it if I didn't think it my duty. I

believe she is artful and very false. She certainly deceived Sir Florian Eustace about her debtsand he never

held up his head after he found out what she was. If she has told you falsehoods, of course you can break it

``NoI know it is not pleasant,'' said Mrs Hittaway rising, and taking her departure with an offer of

It was very unpleasant. That very morning Lord Fawn had received letters from the Dean and the Bishop of

Bobsborough congratulating him on his intended marriageboth those worthy dignitaries of the Church

having thought it expedient to verify Lizzie's statements. Lord Fawn was, therefore, well aware that Lady

Eustace had published the engagement. It was known to everybody, and could not be broken off without

There was great perturbation down at Fawn Court. On the day fixed, Monday, June 5, Lizzie arrived. Nothing

further had been said by Lady Fawn to urge the invitation; but, in accordance with the arrangement already

made, Lady Eustace, with her child, her nurse, and her own maid, was at Fawn Court by four o'clock. A very

long letter had been received from Mrs Hittaway that morningthe writing of which must have seriously

interfered with the tranquillity of her Sunday afternoon. Lord Fawn did not make his appearance at Richmond

on the Saturday eveningnor was he seen on the Sunday. That Sunday was, we may presume, chiefly

devoted to reflection. He certainly did not call upon his future wife. His omission to do so no doubt increased

Lizzie's urgency in the matter of her visit to Richmond. Frank Greystock had written to congratulate her.

``Dear Frank,'' she had said in reply, ``a woman situated as I am has so many things to think of. Lord Fawn's

position will be of service to my child. Mind you come and see me at Fawn Court. I count so much on your

Of course she was expected at Richmondalthough throughout the morning Lady Fawn had entertained

almost a hope that she wouldn't come. ``He was only lukewarm in defending her,'' Mrs Hittaway had said in

her letter, ``and I still think that there may be an escape.'' Not even a note had come from Lord Fawn,

himselfnor from Lady Eustace. Possibly something violent might have been done, and Lady Eustace

would not appear. But Lady Eustace did appearand, after a fashion, was made welcome at Fawn Court.

The Fawn ladies were not good hypocrites. Lady Fawn had said almost nothing to her daughters of her visit

to Mount Street, but Augusta had heard the discussion in Mrs Hittaway's drawingroom as to the character of

the future bride. The coming visit had been spoken of almost with awe, and there was a general conviction in

the dovecote that an evil thing had fallen upon them. Consequently, their affection to the newcomer, though

spoken in words, was not made evident by signs and manners. Lizzie herself took care that the position in

which she was received should be sufficiently declared. ``It seems so odd that I am to come among you as a

sister,'' she said. The girls were forced to assent to the claim, but they assented coldly. ``He has told me to

attach myself especially to you,'' she whispered to Augusta. The unfortunate chosen one, who had but little

strength of her own, accepted the position, and then, as the only means of escaping the embraces of her

newlyfound sister, pleaded the violence of a headache. ``My mother!'' said Lizzie to Lady Fawn. ``Yes, my

dear,'' said Lady Fawn. ``One of the girls had perhaps better go up and show you your room.'' ``I am very

much afraid about it,'' said Lady Fawn to her daughter Amelia. Amelia replied only by shaking her head.

On the Tuesday morning there came a note from Lord Fawn to his ladylove. Of course the letter was not

shown, but Lizzie received it at the breakfast table, and read it with many little smiles and signs of

satisfaction. And then she gave out various little statements as having been made in that letter. He says this,

and he says that, and he is coming here, and going there, and he will do one thing, and he won't do the other.

We have often seen young ladies crowing over their lovers' letters, and it was pleasant to see Lizzie crowing

over hers. And yet there was but very little in the letter. Lord Fawn told her that what with the House and

what with the Office, he could not get down to Richmond before Saturday; but that on Saturday he would

come. Then he signed himself ``yours affectionately, Fawn.'' Lizzie did her crowing very prettily. The

outward show of it was there to perfectionso that the Fawn girls really believed that their brother had

written an affectionate lover's letter. Inwardly, Lizzie swore to herself, as she read the cold words with

The days went by very tediously. On the Wednesday and the Friday Lady Eustace made an excuse of going

up to town, and insisted on taking the unfortunate Augusta with her. There was no real reason for these

journeys to Londonunless that glance which on each occasion was given to the contents of the iron case

was a real reason. The diamonds were safe, and Miss Macnulty was enjoying herself. On the Friday Lizzie

proposed to Augusta that they should jointly make a raid upon the Member of Her Majesty's Government at

his office; but Augusta positively refused to take such a step. ``I know he would be angry,'' pleaded Augusta.

On the Saturdaythe Saturday which was to bring Lord Fawn down to dinneranother most unexpected

visitor made his appearance. At about three o'clock Frank Greystock was at Fawn Court. Now it was certainly

understood that Mr Greystock had been told not to come to Fawn Court as long as Lucy Morris was there.

``Dear Mr Greystock, I'm sure you will take what I say as I mean it,'' Lady Fawn had whispered to him.

``You know how attached we all are to our dear little Lucy. Perhaps you know.'' There had been more of

it; but the meaning of it all was undoubtedly thisthat Frank was not to pay visits to Lucy Morris at Fawn

On this occasion Lady Fawn, with Amelia and two of the other girls, were out in the carriage. The

unfortunate Augusta had been left at home with her bosom friendwhile Cecilia and Nina were supposed to

be talking French with Lucy Morris. They were all out in the grounds, sitting upon the benches, and rambling

among the shrubberies, when of a sudden Frank Greystock was in the midst of them. Lizzie's expression of

joy at seeing her cousin was almost as great as though he had been in fact a brother. She ran up to him and

grasped his hand, and hung on his arm, and looked up into his face, and then burst into tears. But the tears

were not violent tears. There were just three sobs, and two bright eyes full of water, and a lace

handkerchiefand then a smile. ``Oh, Frank,'' she said, ``it does make one think so of old times!'' Augusta

had by this time been almost persuaded to believe in herthough the belief by no means made the poor

young woman happy. Frank thought that his cousin looked very well, and said something as to Lord Fawn

being ``the happiest fellow going.'' ``I hope I shall make him happy,'' said Lizzie, clasping her hands together.

Lucy meanwhile was standing in the circle with the others. It never occurred to her that it was her duty to run

away from the man she loved. She had shaken hands with him, and felt something of affection in his

pressure. She did believe that his visit was made entirely to his cousin, and had no idea at the moment of

disobeying Lady Fawn. During the last few days she had been thrown very much with her old friend Lizzie,

and had been treated by the future peeress with many signs of almost sisterly affection. ``Dear Lucy,'' Lizzie

had said, ``you can understand me. These peopleoh, they are so good, but they can't understand me.'' Lucy

had expressed a hope that Lord Fawn understood her. ``Oh, Lord Fawnwell; yes; perhapsI don't know.

``Frank Greystock will understand you,'' said Lizzie. It was indeed true that Lucy did understand something

of her wealthy friend's character, and was almost ashamed of the friendship. With Lizzie Greystock she had

never sympathised, and Lizzie Eustace had always been distasteful to her. She already felt that the less she

Before an hour was over, Frank Greystock was walking round the shrubberies with Lucyand was walking

with Lucy alone. It was undoubtedly the fact that Lady Eustace had contrived that it should be so. The

unfitness of the thing recommended it to her. Frank could hardly marry a wife without a shilling. Lucy would

certainly not think at all of shillings. Frankas Lizzie knewhad been almost at her feet within the last

fortnight, and might, in some possible emergency, be there again. In the midst of such circumstances nothing

could be better than that Frank and Lucy should be thrown together. Lizzie regarded all this as romance. Poor

Lady Fawn, had she known it all, would have called it diabolical wickedness and inhuman cruelty.

``How should I be able to think? I have never seen them together. I suppose Lord Fawn isn't very rich. She is

``Everybody says soand I am sure it is the fact. Do you knowbut perhaps you'll think I'm envious.''

``If I thought you envious of Lizzie, I should have to think you very foolish at the same time.''

``I don't know what that means;''she did know well enough what it meant``but sometimes to me she is

``Oh, I can't tell you. She looks like a beautiful animal that you are afraid to caress for fear it should bite you;

an animal that would be beautiful if its eyes were not so restless, and its teeth so sharp and so white.''

``Because I feel exactly in the same way about her. I am not in the least afraid that she'll bite me; and as for

caressing the animalthat kind of caressing which you meanit seems to me to be just what she's made for.

``Nevertheless she is very lovelyand very clever. Sometimes I think her the most beautiful woman I ever

``She will be immensely run after as Lady Fawn. When she pleases she can make her own house quite

charming. I never knew a woman who could say pretty things to so many people at once.''

``And when you add to all the rest that she has four thousand a year, you must admit that Lord Fawn is a

Lucy for a while said nothing. She was making up her mind that she would say nothingthat she would

make no reply indicative of any feeling on her part. But she was not sufficiently strong to keep her resolution.

``I wonder, Mr Greystock,'' she said, ``that you did not attempt to win the great prize yourself. Cousins do

He had thought of attempting it, and at this moment he would not lie to her. ``The cousinship had nothing to

``I did, Lucy. Yes, I did. Thank God, I only thought of it.'' She could not refrain herself from looking up into

his face and clasping her hands together. A woman never so dearly loves a man as when he confesses that he

has been on the brink of a great crimebut has refrained, and has not committed it. ``I did think of it. I am

not telling you that she would have taken me. I have no reason whatever for thinking so.''

``I am sure she would,'' said Lucy, who did not in the least know what words she was uttering.

``It would have been simply for her moneyher money and her beauty. It would not have been because I

``Then there is only one that I can ever ask,'' said he. There was nothing of course that she could say to this. If

he did not choose to go further, she was not bound to understand him. But would he go further? She felt at the

moment that an open declaration of his love to herself would make her happy for ever, even though it should

be accompanied by an assurance that he could not marry her. If they only knew each otherthat it was so

between themthat, she thought, would be enough for her. And as for himif a woman could bear such a

``I love you so well, Lucy, that I never can love another. I have thought of many women, but could never

even think of one, as a woman to love, except you. I have sometimes fancied I could marry for money and

positionto help myself on in the world by means of a wifebut when my mind has run away with me, to

revel amidst ideas of feminine sweetness, you have alwaysalways been the heroine of the tale, as the

``Alwaysalways. As regards this,''and he struck himself on the breast``no man was ever more

constant. Though I don't think much of myself as a man, I know a woman when I see her.'' But he did not ask

her to be his wifenor did he wait at Fawn Court till Lady Fawn had come back with the carriage.

Frank Greystock escaped from the dovecote before Lady Fawn had returned. He had not made his visit to

Richmond with any purpose of seeing Lucy Morris, or of saying to her when he did see her anything

specialof saying anything that should, or anything that should not, have been said. He had gone there, in

truth, simply because his cousin had asked him, and because it was almost a duty on his part to see his cousin

on the momentous occasion of this new engagement. But he had declared to himself that old Lady Fawn was

a fool, and that to see Lucy again would be very pleasant. ``See herof course I'll see her,'' he had said.

``Why should I be prevented from seeing her?'' Now he had seen her, and as he returned by the train to

London, he acknowledged to himself that it was no longer in his power to promote his fortune by marriage.

He had at last said that to Lucy which made it impossible for him to offer his hand to any other woman. He

had not, in truth, asked her to be his wife; but he had told her that he loved her, and could never love any

other woman. He had asked for no answer to this assurance, and then he had left her.

In the course of that afternoon he did question himself as to his conduct to this girl, and subjected himself to

some of the rigours of a crossexamination. He was not a man who could think of a girl as the one human

being whom he loved above all others, and yet look forward with equanimity to the idea of doing her an

injury. He could understand that a man unable to marry should be reticent as to his feelingssupposing him

to have been weak enough to have succumbed to a passion which could only mar his own prospects. He was

frank enough in owning to himself that he had been thus weak. The weakness had come upon himself early in

lifeand was there, an established fact. The girl was to him unlike any other girlor any man. There was to

him a sweetness in her companionship which he could not analyse. She was not beautiful. She had none of

the charms of fashion. He had never seen her welldressedaccording to the ideas of dress which he found

to be prevailingof the charms She was a little thing, who, as a man's wife, could attract no attention by figure,

form, or outward mannerone who had quietly submitted herself to the position of a governess, and who did

not seem to think that in doing so she obtained less than her due. But yet he knew her to be better than all the

rest. For him, at any rate, she was better than all the rest. Her little hand was cool and sweet to him.

Sometimes when he was heated and hard at work, he would fancy how it would be with him if she were by

him, and would lay it on his brow. There was a sparkle in her eye that had to him more of sympathy in it than

could be conveyed by all the other eyes in the world. There was an expression in her mouth when she smiled,

which was more eloquent to him than any sound. There were a reality and a truth about her which came home

to him, and made themselves known to him as firm rocks which could not be shaken. He had never declared

to himself that deceit or hypocrisy in a woman was especially abominable. As a rule he looked for it in

women, and would say that some amount of affectation was necessary to a woman's character. He knew that

his cousin Lizzie was a little liarthat she was, as Lucy had said, a pretty animal that would turn and

biteand yet he liked his cousin Lizzie. He did not want women to be perfectso he would say. But Lucy

Morris, in his eyes, was perfect; and when he told her that she was ever the queen who reigned in those

castles in the air which he builtas others build them, he told her no more than the truth.

He had fallen into these feelings and could not now avoid them, or be quit of thembut he could have been

silent respecting them. He knew that in former days, down at Bobsborough, he had not been altogether silent.

When he had first seen her at Fawn Court he had not been altogether silent. But he had been warned away

from Fawn Court, and in that very warning there was conveyed, as it were, an absolution from the effect of

words hitherto spoken. Though he had called Lady Fawn an old fool, he had known that it was sohad, after

a fashion, perceived her wisdomand had regarded himself as a man free to decide, without disgrace, that he

might abandon ideas of ecstatic love and look out for a rich wife. Presuming himself to be reticent for the

future in reference to his darling Lucy, he might do as he pleased with himself. Thus there had come a

moment in which he had determined that he would ask his rich cousin to marry him. In that little project he

had been interrupted, and the reader knows what had come of it. Lord Fawn's success had not in the least

annoyed him. He had only half resolved in regard to his cousin. She was very beautiful no doubt, and there

was her incomebut he also knew that those teeth would bite and that those claws would scratch. But Lord

Fawn's success had given a turn to his thoughts, and had made him think, for a moment, that if a man loved,

he should be true to his love. The reader also knows what had come of thathow at last he had not been

reticent. He had not asked Lucy to be his wife; but he had said that which made it impossible that he should

As he thought of what he had done himself, he tried to remember whether Lucy had said a word expressive of

affection for himself. She had in truth spoken very few words, and he could remember almost everyone of

them. ``Have I?'she had asked, when he told her that she had ever been the princess reigning in his castles.

And there had been a joy in the question which she had not attempted to conceal. She had hesitated not at all.

She had not told him that she loved him. But there had been something sweeter than such protestation in the

question she had asked him. ``Is it indeed true'', she had said, ``that I have been placed there where all my joy

and all my glory lies?'' It was not in her to tell a lie to him, even by a tone. She had intended to say nothing of

her love, but he knew that it had all been told. ``Have I?'he repeated the words to himself a dozen times,

and as he did so, he could hear her voice. Certainly there never was a voice that brought home to the hearer

Why should he not at once make up his mind to marry her? He could do it. There was no doubt of that. It was

possible for him to alter the whole manner of his life, to give up his clubsto give up even Parliament, if the

need to do so was thereand to live as a married man on the earnings of his profession. There was no need

why he should regard himself as a poor man. Two things, no doubt, were against his regarding himself as a

rich man. Ever since he had commenced life in London he had been more or less in debt; and then,

unfortunately, he had acquired a seat in Parliament at a period of his career in which the dangers of such a

position were greater than the advantages. Nevertheless he could earn an income on which he and his wife,

were he to marry, could live in all comfort; and as to his debts, if he would set his shoulder to the work they

might be paid off in a twelvemonth. There was nothing in the prospect which would frighten Lucy, though

there might be a question whether he possessed the courage needed for so violent a change.

He had chambers in the Temple; he lived in rooms which he hired from month to month in one of the big

hotels at the West End; and he dined at his club, or at the House, when he was not dining with a friend. It was

an expensive and a luxurious mode of lifeand one from the effects of which a man is prone to drift very

quickly into selfishness. He was by no means given to drinkingbut he was already learning to like good

wine. Small economies in reference to cabhire, gloves, umbrellas, and railway fares were unknown to him.

Sixpences and shillings were things with which, in his mind, it was grievous to have to burden the thoughts.

The Greystocks had all lived after that fashion. Even the dean himself was not free from the charge of

extravagance. All this Frank knew, and he did not hesitate to tell himself, that he must make a great change if

he meant to marry Lucy Morris. And he was wise enough to know that the change would become more

difficult every day that it was postponed. Hitherto the question had been an open question with him. Could it

now be an open question any longer? As a man of honour, was he not bound to share his lot with Lucy

That eveningthat Saturday eveningit so happened that he met John Eustace at a club to which they both

belonged, and they dined together. They had long known each other, and had been thrown into closer

intimacy by the marriage between Sir Florian and Lizzie. John Eustace had never been fond of Lizzie, and

now, in truth, liked her less than ever; but he did like Lizzie's cousin, and felt that possibly Frank might be of

use to him in the growing difficulty of managing the heir's property and looking after the heir's interests.

``You've let the widow slip through your fingers,'' he said to Frank, as they sat together at the table.

``I know you did. I hadn't seen it. I can only say I wish it had been the other way.''

``Nonot exactly a bad fellow. He isn't, you know, what I call a good fellow. In the first place, he is

``I thought you really liked her. And then Fawn will be always afraid of herand won't be in the least afraid

of us. We shall have to fight him, and he won't fight her. He's a cantankerous fellowis Fawnwhen he's

Eustace paused a minute, and rubbed his face and considered the matter before he answered. ``She is

``Yesand I begin to be afraid she'll give us as much as we know how to do. I was with Camperdown today.

I'm blessed if she hasn't begun to cut down a whole side of a forest at Portray. She has no more right to touch

``Yesby consent. Of course the regular cutting for the year is done, year by year. That's as regular as the

rents, and the produce is sold by the acre. But she is marking the old oaks. What the deuce can she want

``He'll have to do it,'' said Eustace. ``Since she has been down with the old Lady Fawn, she has written a note

to Camperdownafter leaving all his letters unanswered for the last twelvemonthto tell him that Lord

Fawn is to have nothing to do with her property, and that certain people, called Mowbray and Mopus, are her

``Camperdown is afraid that he won't. They've met twice since the engagement was made, and Camperdown

says that, at the last meeting, Fawn gave himself airs, or was at any rate unpleasant. There were words about

``You don't mean to say that Lord Fawn wants to keep your brother's family jewels?''

``Camperdown didn't say that exactlybut Fawn made no offer of giving them up. I wasn't there, and only

``I know there'll be trouble,'' continued Eustace, ``and Fawn won't be able to help us through it. She's a

strongwilled cunning, obstinate, clever little creature. Camperdown swears he'll be too many for her, but I

``Yes, I do. You might manage her. The money comes from the Eustace property, and I'd sooner it should go

``As bargains go, it wouldn't be a bad one,'' said Eustace. ``She's very young, has a noble jointure, and is as

handsome as she can stand. It's too good a thing for Fawntoo good for any Whig.''

When Eustace left him, Greystock lit his cigar and walked with it in his mouth from Pall Mall to the Temple.

He often worked there at night when he was not bound to be in the House, or when the House was not

sittingand he was now intent on mastering the mysteries of some muchcomplicated legal case which had

been confided to him, in order that he might present it to a jury enveloped in increased mystery. But, as he

went, he thought rather of matrimony than of lawand he thought especially of matrimony as it was about to

affect Lord Fawn. Could a man be justified in marrying for money, or have rational ground for expecting that

he might make himself happy by doing so? He kept muttering to himself as he went, the Quaker's advice to

the old farmer, ``Doan't thou marry for munny, but goa where munny is!'' But he muttered it as condemning

He could look out and see two altogether different kinds of life before him, both of which had their

allurements. There was the BelgravecumPimlico life, the scene of which might extend itself to South

Kensington, enveloping the parks and coming round over Park Lane, and through Grosvenor Square and

Berkeley Square back to Piccadilly. Within this he might live with lords and countesses and rich folk

generally, going out to the very best dinnerparties, avoiding stupid people, having everything the world

could give, except a wife and family and home of his own. All this he could achieve by the work which

would certainly fall in his way, and by means of that position in the world which he had already attained by

his wits. And the wife, with the family and house of his own, might be forthcoming, should it ever come in

his way to form an attachment with a wealthy woman. He knew how dangerous were the charms of such a

life as this to a man growing old among the fleshpots, without anyone to depend upon him. He had seen

what becomes of the man who is always dining out at sixty. But he might avoid that. ``Doan't thou marry for

munny, but goa where munny is.'' And then there was that other outlook, the scene of which was laid

somewhere north of Oxford Street, and the glory of which consisted in Lucy's smile, and Lucy's hand, and

There are many men, and some women, who pass their lives without knowing what it is to be or to have been

in love. They not improbably marrythe men do, at leastand make good average husbands. Their wives

are useful to them, and they learn to feel that a woman, being a wife, is entitled to all the respect, protection,

and honour which a man can give, or procure for her. Such men, no doubt, often live honest lives, are good

Christians, and depart hence with hopes as justifiable as though they had loved as well as Romeo. But yet, as

men, they have lacked a something, the want of which has made them small and poor and dry. It has never

been felt by such a one that there would be triumph in giving away everything belonging to him for one little

whispered, yielding word, in which there should be acknowledgment that he had succeeded in making

himself master of a human heart. And there are other menvery many menwho have felt this love, and

have resisted it, feeling it to be unfit that Love should be Lord of all. Frank Greystock had told himself, a

score of times, that it would be unbecoming in him to allow a passion to obtain such mastery of him as to

interfere with his ambition. Could it be right that he who, as a young man, had already done so much, who

might possibly have before him so high and great a career, should miss that, because he could not resist a

feeling which a little chit of a girl had created in his bosoma girl without money, without position, without

even beauty; a girl as to whom, were he to marry her, the world would say, ``Oh, heaven!there has Frank

Greystock gone and married a little governess out of old Lady Fawn's nursery!'' And yet he loved her with all

The complicated legal case received neither much ravelling or unravelling from his brains that night; but

Midnight, Saturday, All among my books and papers, 2, Bolt Court, Middle Temple.

I told you today that you had ever been the Queen who reigned in those palaces which I have built in Spain.

You did not make me much of an answer; but such as it wasonly just one muttered doubtfulsounding

wordit has made me hope that I may be justified in asking you to share with me a home which will not be

palatial. If I am wrong? But noI will not think I am wrong, or that I can be wrong. No sound coming

from you is really doubtful. You are truth itself, and the muttered word would have been other than it was, if

You will feel, perhaps, that I ought to have said all this to you then, and that a letter in such a matter is but a

poor substitute for a spoken assurance of affection. You shall have the whole truth. Though I have long loved

you, I did not go down to Fawn Court with the purpose of declaring to you my love. What I said to you was

God's truth; but it was spoken without thought at the moment. I have thought of it much sinceand now I

write to ask you to be my wife. I have lived for the last year or two with this hope before me; and

nowDear, dear Lucy, I will not write in too great confidence; but I will tell you that all my happiness is in

If your answer is what I hope it may be, tell Lady Fawn at once. I shall immediately write to Bobsborough, as

I hate secrets in such matters. And if it is to be sothen I shall claim the privilege of going to Fawn Court as

He sat for an hour at his desk, with his letter lying on the table, before he left his chamberslooking at it. If

he should decide on posting it, then would that life in BelgraviacumPimlicoof which in truth he was

very fondbe almost closed for him. The lords and countesses, and rich county members, and leading

politicians, who were delighted to welcome him, would not care for his wife; nor could he very well take his

wife among them. To live with them as a married man, he must live as they livedand must have his own

house in their precincts. Later in life, he might possibly work up to thisbut for the present he must retire

into dim domestic security and the neighbourhood of Regent's Park. He sat looking at the letter, telling

himself that he was now, at this moment, deciding his own fate in life. And he again muttered the Quaker's

advice, ``Doan't thou marry for munny, but goa where munny is!'' It may be said, however, that no man ever

writes such a letter, and then omits to send it. He walked out of the Temple with it in his hand, and dropped it

into a pillar letterbox just outside the gate. As the envelope slipped through his fingers, he felt that he had

As that Saturday afternoon wore itself away, there was much excitement at Fawn Court. When Lady Fawn

returned with the carriage, she heard that Frank Greystock had been at Fawn Court; and she heard also, from

Augusta, that he had been rambling about the grounds alone with Lucy Morris. At any exhibition of old

ladies, held before a competent jury, Lady Fawn would have taken a prize on the score of good humour. No

mother of daughters was ever less addicted to scold and to be fretful. But just now she was a little unhappy.

Lizzie's visit had not been a success, and she looked forward to her son's marriage with almost unmixed

dismay. Mrs Hittaway had written daily, and in all Mrs Hittaway's letters some addition was made to the evil

things already known. In her last letter Mrs Hittaway had expressed her opinion that even yet ``Frederic''

would escape. All this Lady Fawn had, of course, not told to her daughters generally. To the eldest, Augusta,

it was thought expedient to say nothing, because Augusta had been selected as the companion of the, alas! too

probable future Lady Fawn. But to Amelia something did leak out, and it became apparent that the household

was uneasy. Nowas an evil added to thisFrank Greystock had been there in Lady Fawn's absence,

walking about the grounds alone with Lucy Morris. Lady Fawn could hardly restrain herself. ``How could

Lizzie Eustace did not hear this; but knowing very well that a governess should not receive a lover in the

absence of the lady of the house, she made her little speech about it. ``Dear Lady Fawn,'' she said, ``my

``Frank and I are more like brother and sister than anything else. I had so much to say to himso much to

ask him to do! I have no one else, you know, and I had especially told him to come here.''

``Only I was afraid you might think that there was some little lover's trickon dear Lucy's part, you know.''

``I never suspect anything of that kind,'' said Lady Fawn, bridling up. ``Lucy Morris is above any sort of

trick. We don't have any tricks here, Lady Eustace.'' Lady Fawn herself might say that Lucy was ``wrong'',

but no one else in that house should even suggest evil of Lucy. Lizzie retreated smiling. To have ``put Lady

But the great excitement of the evening consisted in the expected coming of Lord Fawn. Of what nature

would be the meeting between Lord Fawn and his promised bride? Was there anything of truth in the opinion

expressed by Mrs Hittaway that her brother was beginning to become tired of his bargain? That Lady Fawn

was tired of it herselfthat she disliked Lizzie, and was afraid of her, and averse to the idea of regarding her

as a daughterinlawshe did not now attempt to hide from herself. But there was the engagement, known

to all the world, and how could its fulfilment now be avoided? The poor dear old woman began to repeat to

Lord Fawn was to come down only in time for a late dinner. An ardent lover, one would have thought, might

have left his work somewhat earlier on a Saturday, so as to have enjoyed with his sweetheart something of

the sweetness of the Saturday summer afternoonbut it was seven before he reached Fawn Court, and the

ladies were at that time in their rooms dressing. Lizzie had affected to understand all his reasons for being so

late, and had expressed herself as perfectly satisfied. ``He has more to do than any of the others,'' she had said

to Augusta. ``Indeed, the whole of our vast Indian empire may be said to hang upon him, just at

present:''which was not complimentary to Lord Fawn's chief, the Right Honourable Legge Wilson, who at

the present time represented the interests of India in the Cabinet. ``He is terribly overworked, and it is a

``But I don't like itnot so much of it; and so I shall make him understand, my dear. But I don't complain.

As long as he tells me everything, I will never really complain.'' Perhaps it might some day be as she desired;

perhaps as a husband he would be thoroughly confidential and communicative; perhaps when they two were

one flesh he would tell her everything about Indiabut as yet he certainly had not told her much.

``OhI don't knowanyhow; just as they like. We can't arrange anything for her. If she had chosen to dress

herself early, she might have seen him as he came in; but it was impossible to tell her so.'' No arrangement

was therefore made, and as all the other ladies were in the drawingroom before Lizzie came down, she had

to give him his welcome in the midst of the family circle. She did it very well. Perhaps she had thought of it,

and made her arrangements. When he came forward to greet her, she put her cheek up, just a little, so that he

might see that he was expected to kiss itbut so little, that should he omit to do so, there might be no visible

awkwardness. It must be acknowledged on Lizzie's behalf, that she could always avoid awkwardness. He did

touch her cheek with his lips, blushing as he did so. She had her ungloved hand in his, and, still holding him,

returned into the circle. She said not a word; and what he said was of no momentbut they had met as

lovers, and any of the family who had allowed themselves to imagine that even yet the match might be

broken, now unconsciously abandoned that hope. ``Was he always such a truant, Lady Fawn?'Lizzie

``I don't know that there is much difference,'' said Lady Fawn. ``Here is dinner. Frederic, will you

giveLady Eustace your arm?'' Poor Lady Fawn! It often came to pass that she was awkward.

There were no less than ten females sitting round the board, at the bottom of which Lord Fawn took his place.

Lady Fawn had especially asked Lucy to come in to dinner, and with Lucy had come the two younger girls.

At Lord Fawn's right hand sat Lizzie, and Augusta at his left. Lady Fawn had Amelia on one side and Lucy

on the other. ``So Mr Greystock was here today,'' Lady Fawn whispered into Lucy's ear.

``I am sure of that, my dearbutbut'' Then there was no more to be said on that subject on that

During the whole of the dinner the conversation was kept up at the other end of the table by Lizzie talking to

Augusta across her lover. This was done in such a manner as to seem to include Lord Fawn in every topic

discussed. Parliament, India, the Sawab, Ireland, the special privileges of the House of Lords, the ease of a

bachelor life, and the delight of having at his elbow just such a rural retreat as Fawn Courtthese were the

fruitful themes of Lizzie's eloquence. Augusta did her part at any rate with patience; and as for Lizzie herself,

she worked with that superhuman energy which women can so often display in making conversation under

unfavourable circumstances. The circumstances were unfavourable, for Lord Fawn himself would hardly

open his mouth; but Lizzie persevered, and the hour of dinner passed over without any show of ill humour, or

of sullen silence. When the hour was over, Lord Fawn left the room with the ladies, and was soon closeted

with his mother, while the girls strolled out upon the lawn. Would Lizzie play croquet? No; Lizzie would not

play croquet. She thought it probable that she might catch her lover and force him to walk with her through

the shrubberies; but Lord Fawn was not seen upon the lawn that evening, and Lizzie was forced to content

herself with Augusta as a companion. In the course of the evening, however, her lover did say a word to her

in private. ``Give me ten minutes between breakfast and church, Lizzie.'' Lizzie promised that she would do

so, smiling sweetly. Then there was a little music, and then Lord Fawn retired to his studies.

``What is he going to say to me?'' Lizzie asked Augusta the next morning. There existed in her bosom a sort

of craving after confidential friendshipbut with it there existed something that was altogether incompatible

with confidence. She thoroughly despised Augusta Fawn, and yet would have been willingin want of a

better friendto press Augusta to her bosom, and swear that there should ever be between them the tenderest

friendship. She desired to be the possessor of the outward shows of all those things of which the inward facts

are valued, by the good and steadfast ones of the earth. She knew what were the aspirationswhat the

ambition, of an honest woman; and she knew, too, how rich were the probable rewards of such honesty. True

love, true friendship, true benevolence, true tenderness, were beautiful to herqualities on which she could

descant almost with eloquence; and therefore she was always shamming love and friendship and benevolence

and tenderness. She could tell you, with words most appropriate to the subject, how horrible were all shams,

and in saying so would be not altogether insincereyet she knew that she herself was ever shamming, and

she satisfied herself with shams. ``What is he going to say to me?'' she asked Augusta, with her hands

``If I thought so, I would endeavour to please him. But it isn't that. I know his manner so well! I am sure it is

not that. Perhaps it is something about my boy. He will not wish to separate a mother from her child.''

``In anything else I will obey him,'' said Lizzie, again clasping her hands. ``But I must not keep him

waitingmust I? I fear my future lord is somewhat impatient.'' Now, if among Lord Fawn's merits one merit

was more conspicuous than another, it was that of patience. When Lizzie descended he was waiting for her in

the hall without a thought that he was being kept too long. ``Now, Frederic! I should have been with you two

whole minutes since, if I had not had just a word to say to Augusta, I do so love Augusta.''

``So true and genuineand so full of spirit I will come on the other side because of my parasol and the sun.

There, that will do. We have an hour nearly before going to churchhaven't we? I suppose you will go to

``It is so nice to go to church,'' said Lizzie. Since her widowhood had commenced, she had compromised

matters with the world. One Sunday she would go to church, and the next she would have a headache and a

French novel and stay in bed. But she was prepared for stricter conduct during at least the first months of her

``My dear Lizzie,'' began Lord Fawn, ``since I last saw you I have been twice with Mr Camperdown.''

``Wellyes. I could not do so last night, and I shall be back in London either tonight or before you are up

``I am sorry for that, because I am sure you could not find an honester lawyer to manage your affairs for you.

``Very well. I am not going to say a word about that. I may regret it, but I am, just at present, the last person

in the world to urge you upon that subject. What I want to say is this. You must restore those diamonds.''

``To Mr Garnett, the silversmith, if you pleaseor to Mr Camperdownor, if you like it better, to your

Lord Fawn paused for some seconds before he replied. ``To satisfy my honour,'' he then said. As she made

him no immediate answer, he continued``It would not suit my views that my wife should be seen wearing

``Because they are my own. Because I do not choose to be put upon. Because I will not allow such a cunning

old snake as Mr Camperdown to rob me of my property. They are my own, and you should defend my right

``Then I must declare'' and now Lord Fawn spoke very slowly``then I must declare that under these

circumstances, let the consequences be what they may, I must retreat from the enviable position which your

favour has given me.'' The words were cold and solemn, and were illspoken; but they were deliberate, and

``I mean what I sayexactly. But perhaps it may be well that I should explain my motives more clearly.''

``I don't know anything about motives, and I don't care anything about motives. Do you mean to tell me that

``I don't choose to hear a word more after what you have saidunless it be in the way of an apology, or

``Then I will not hear another word from you. I have friends, and you shall see them.''

Lord Fawn, who had thought a great deal upon the subject, and had well understood that this interview would

be for him one of great difficulty, was very anxious to induce her to listen to a few further words of

``I will not be addressed, sir, in that way by a man who is treating me as you are doing,'' she said.

``Understand you! You understand nothing yourself that a man ought to understand. I wonder that you have

the courage to be so insolent. If you knew what you were doing, you would not have the spirit to do it.''

Her words did not quite come home to him, and much of her scorn was lost upon him. He was now chiefly

anxious to explain to her that though he must abide by the threat he had made, he was quite willing to go on

with his engagement if she would oblige him in the matter of the diamonds. ``It was necessary that I should

explain to you that I could not allow that necklace to be brought into my house.''

``Keep it in my own,'' said Lizzie stoutly. They were still walking together, and were now altogether out of

sight of the house. Lizzie in her excitement had forgotten church, had forgotten the Fawn womenhad

forgotten everything except the battle which it was necessary that she should fight for herself. She did not

mean to allow the marriage to be broken offbut she meant to retain the necklace. The manner in which

Lord Fawn had demanded its restitutionin which there had been none of that mock tenderness by which

she might have permitted herself to be persuadedhad made her, at any rate for the moment, as firm as steel

on this point. It was inconceivable to her that he should think himself at liberty to go back from his promise,

because she would not render up property which was in her possession, and which no one could prove not to

be legally her own! She walked on full of fierce couragedespising him, but determined that she would

``But they are not yours, Lady Eustace, unless you will submit that question to an arbitrator.''

``I will submit nothing to anybody. You have no right to speak on such a subject till after we are married.''

``Then, Lord Fawn, you won't have it settled first. Or rather it is settled already. I shall keep my own

necklace, and Mr Camperdown may do anything he pleases. As for youif you illtreat me, I shall know

where to go to.'' They had now come out from the shrubbery upon the lawn, and there was the carriage at the

door, ready to take the elders of the family to church. Of course in such a condition of affairs it would be

understood that Lizzie was one of the elders. ``I shall not go to church now,'' she said, as she advanced across

the lawn towards the hall door. ``You will be pleased, Lord Fawn, to let your mother know that I am

detained. I do not suppose that you will dare to tell her why.'' Then she sailed round at the back of the

carriage and entered the hall, in which several of the girls were standing. Among them was Augusta, waiting

to take her seat among the eldersbut Lizzie passed on through them all, without a word, and marched up to

``Oh, Frederic, what is the matter?'' asked Augusta, as soon as her brother entered the house.

``Never mind. Nothing is the matter. You had better go to church. Where is my mother?''

At this moment Lady Fawn appeared at the bottom of the stairs, having passed Lizzie as she was coming

down. Not a syllable had then been spoken, but Lady Fawn at once knew that much was wrong. Her son went

up to her and whispered a word in her ear. ``Oh, certainly,'' she said, desisting from the operation of pulling

``She will not go to church either,'' said Lady Fawn. ``I have just been with her.''

``Nobody is going to church,'' said Nina. ``All the same, I shall go by myself.''

``Augusta, my dear, you and the girls had better go. You can take the carriage of course.'' But Augusta and

``There's a rumpus already between my lord and the young missus,'' said the coachman to the groomfor the

coachman had seen the way in which Lady Eustace had returned to the house. And there certainly was a

rumpus. During the whole morning Lord Fawn was closeted with his mother, and then he went away to

London without saying a word to anyone of the family. But he left this note for Lady Eustace.

Think well of what I have said to you. It is not that I desire to break off our engagement; but that I cannot

allow my wife to keep the diamonds which belong of right to her late husband's family. You may be sure that

I should not be thus urgent had I not taken steps to ascertain that I am right in my judgment. In the meantime

There had been another ``affair'' in the house that morning, though of a nature very different to the ``rumpus''

which had occurred between Lord Fawn and Lady Eustace. Lady Fawn had been closeted with Lucy, and had

expressed her opinion of the impropriety of Frank Greystock's visit. ``I suppose he came to see his cousin,''

``I cannot tell,'' said Lucy. ``Perhaps he did. I think he said so. I think he cared more to see me.'' Then Lady

Fawn was obliged to express her opinion, and she did so, uttering many words of wisdom. Frank Greystock,

had he intended to sacrifice his prospects by a disinterested marriage, would have spoken out before now. He

was old enough to have made up his mind on such a subject, and he had not spoken out. He did not mean

marriage. That was quite evident to Lady Fawnand her dear Lucy was revelling in hopes which would

make her miserable. If Lucy could only have known of the letter, which was already her own property though

lying in the pillar letterbox in Fleet Street, and which had not already been sent down and delivered simply

because it was Sunday morning! But she was very brave. ``He does love me,'' she said. ``He told me so.''

``Oh, Lucythat is worse and worse. A man to tell you that he loves you, and yet not ask you to be his

``I am contented,'' said Lucy. That assertion, however, could hardly have been true.

``He knew it without my telling him,'' said Lucy. It was so hard upon her that she should be so interrogated

``Dear Lucy, this must not be,'' said Lady Fawn. ``You are preparing for yourself inexpressible misery.''

``No, my dearno. I do not say you have been wrong. But I think he is wrongso wrong! I call it wicked. I

``I will never forget him!'' said Lucy. ``To think of him is everything to me. He told me I was his Queen, and

he shall be my King. I will be loyal to him always.'' To poor Lady Fawn this was very dreadful. The girl

persisted in declaring her love for the man, and yet did not even pretend to think that the man meant to marry

her! And this, too, was Lucy Morrisof whom Lady Fawn was accustomed to say to her intimate friends

that she had altogether ceased to look upon her as a governess. ``Just one of ourselves, Mrs Winslowand

almost as dear as one of my own girls!'' Thus, in the warmth of her heart, she had described Lucy to a

neighbour within the last week. Many more words of wisdom she spoke, and then she left poor Lucy in no

mood for church. Would she have been in a better mood for the morning service had she known of the letter

Then Lady Fawn had put on her bonnet and gone down into the hall, and the ``rumpus'' had come. After that,

everybody in the house knew that all things were astray. When the girls came home from church, their

brother was gone. Half an hour before dinner Lady Fawn sent the note up to Lizzie, with a message to say

that they would dine at threeit being Sunday. Lizzie sent down word that as she was unwell, she would ask

to have just a cup of tea and ``something'' sent to her own room. If Lady Fawn would allow her, she would

remain upstairs with her child. She always made use of her child when troubles came.

The afternoon was very sad and dreary. Lady Fawn had an interview with Lady Eustace, but Lizzie altogether

refused to listen to any advice on the subject of the necklace. ``It is an affair'', she said haughtily, ``in which I

must judge for myselfor with the advice of my own particular friends. Had Lord Fawn waited until we

``He is at any rate premature now in laying his commands upon me,'' said Lizzie. Lady Fawn, who was

perhaps more anxious that the marriage should be broken off than that the jewels should be restored, then

withdrew; and as she left the room Lizzie clasped her boy to her bosom. ``He, at any rate, is left to me,'' she

said. Lucy and the Fawn girls went to evening church, and afterwards Lizzie came down among them when

they were at tea. Before she went to bed Lizzie declared her intention of returning to her own house in Mount

On the next morning there came an event which robbed Lizzie's departure of some of the importance which

might otherwise have been attached to it. The post office, with that accuracy in the performance of its duties

for which it is conspicuous among all offices, caused Lucy's letter to be delivered to her while the members

of the family were sitting round the breakfast table. Lizzie, indeed, was not there. She had expressed her

intention of breakfasting in her own room, and had requested that a conveyance might be ready to take her to

the 11.30 train. Augusta had been with her, asking whether anything could be done for her. ``I care for

nothing now, except my child,'' Lizzie had replied. As the nurse and the lady's maid were both in the room,

Augusta, of course, could say nothing further. That occurred after prayers, and while the tea was being made.

When Augusta reached the breakfastroom, Lucy was cutting up the loaf of bread, and at the same moment

the old butler was placing a letter immediately under her eyes. She saw the handwriting and recognised it, but

yet she finished cutting the bread. ``Lucy, do give me that hunchy bit,'' said Nina.

Lucy did as she was asked, but her hand trembled as she gave the hunch, and Lady Fawn saw that her face

was crimson. She took the letter and broke the envelope, and as she drew out the sheet of paper, she looked

up at Lady Fawn. The fate of her whole life was in her hands, and there she was standing with all their eyes

fixed upon her. She did not even know how to sit down, but, still standing, she read the first words, and at the

last, ``Dear, dear Lucy,''``Yours ever and always, if you will have me, F.G.'' She did not want to read any

more of it then. She sat down slowly, put the precious paper back into its envelope, looked round upon them

all, and knew that she was crimson to the roots of her hair, blushing like a guilty thing.

``Lucy, my dear,'' said Lady Fawnand Lucy at once turned her face full upon her old friend``you have

``Go into the bookroom. You can come back to breakfast when you have read it, you know.'' Thereupon

Lucy rose from her seat, and retired with her treasure into the bookroom. But even when she was there she

could not at once read her letter. When the door was closed and she knew that she was alone she looked at it,

and then clasped it tight between her hands. She was almost afraid to read it lest the letter itself should

contradict the promise which the last words of it had seemed to convey to her. She went up to the window

and stood there gazing out upon the gravel road, with her hand containing the letter pressed upon her heart.

Lady Fawn had told her that she was preparing for herself inexpressible miseryand now there had come to

her joy so absolutely inexpressible! ``A man to tell you that he loves you, and yet not ask you to be his wife!''

She repeated to herself Lady Fawn's wordsand then those other words, ``Yours ever and always, if you

will have me!'' Have him, indeed! She threw from her, at once, as vain and wicked and false, all idea of

coying her love. She would leap at his neck if he were there, and tell him that for years he had been, almost,

her god. And of course he knew it. ``If I will have him! Traitor!'' she said to herself, smiling through her

tears. Then she reflected that after all it would be well that she should read the letter. There might be

conditionsthough what conditions could he propose with which she would not comply? However, she

seated herself in a corner of the room and did read the letter. As she read it, she hardly understood it allbut

she understood what she wanted to understand. He asked her to share with him his home. He had spoken to

her that day without forethoughtbut mustn't such speech be the truest and the sweetest of all speeches?

``And now I write to you to ask you to be my wife.'' Oh, how wrong some people can be in their judgments!

How wrong Lady Fawn had been in hers about Frank Greystock! ``For the last year or two I have lived with

this hope before me.'' ``And so have I,'' said Lucy. ``And so have Iwith that and no other.'' ``Too great

confidence! Traitor,'' she said again, smiling and weeping, ``yes, traitor; when of course you knew it.'' ``Is his

happiness in my hands? Ohthen he shall he happy.'' ``Of course I will tell Lady Fawn at onceinstantly.

Dear Lady Fawn! But yet she has been so wrong. I suppose she will let him come here. But what does it

matter, now that I know it? `Yours ever and alwaysif you will have me.F.G.' Traitor, traitor, traitor!''

Then she got up and walked about the room, not knowing what she did, holding the letter now between her

She was still walking about the room when there came a low tap at the door, and Lady Fawn entered. ``There

is nothing the matter, Lucy?'' Lucy stood stock still, with her treasure still clasped, smiling, almost laughing,

while the tears ran down her cheeks. ``Won't you eat your breakfast, my dear?'' said Lady Fawn.

``YesMr Greystock. He has asked me. He has asked me to be his wife. I thought he loved me. I hoped he

``Yes, Lady Fawn. I told you what he said to me. And then he went and wrote this. Is he not noble and

``Certainly I'll give it you back. You don't think I'd rob you of your lover's letter?''

``It couldn't be more of an offer if he had sat writing it for ever,'' said Lucy as she gave up her letter with

confidence. Lady Fawn read it with leisurely attention, and smiled as she put the paper back into the

envelope. ``All the men in the world couldn't say it more plainly,'' said Lucy, nodding her head forward.

``I don't think they could,'' said Lady Fawn. ``I never read anything plainer in my life. I wish you joy with all

``What I mean is, that when I objected to his coming here I was only afraid that he couldn't affordor would

think, you know, that in his position he couldn't afford to marry a wife without a fortune.''

``Wellyes; I think so. I shall be glad just to say a word to him. Of course you are in my hands, and I do

love you so dearly, Lucy! I could not bear that anything but good should happen to you.''

``It won't be good, and Mr Greystock won't think you good, if you don't come and eat your breakfast.'' So

Lucy was led back into the parlour, and sipped her tea and crunched her toast, while Lydia came and stood

``Of course it is from him?'' whispered Lydia. Lucy again nodded her head while she was crunching her toast.

The fact that Mr Greystock had proposed in form to Lucy Morris was soon known to all the family, and the

news certainly did take away something from the importance which would otherwise have been attached to

Lizzie's departure. There was not the same awe of the ceremony, the same dread of some scene, which but for

Frank Greystock's letter would have existed. Of course, Lord Fawn's future matrimonial prospects were to

them all an affair of more moment than those of Lucy; but Lord Fawn himself had gone, and had already

quarrelled with the lady before he went. There was at present nothing more to be done by them in regard to

Lizzie, than just to get rid of her. But Lucy's good fortune, so unexpected, and by her so frankly owned as the

very best fortune in the world that could have befallen her, gave an excitement to them all. There could be no

lessons that morning for Nina, and the usual studies of the family were altogether interrupted. Lady Fawn

purred, and congratulated, and gave good advice, and declared that any other home for Lucy before her

marriage would now be quite out of the question. ``Of course it wouldn't do for you to go even to Clara,'' said

Lady Fawnwho seemed to think that there still might be some delay before Frank Greystock would be

ready for his wife. ``You know, my dear, that he isn't richnot for a member of Parliament. I suppose he

makes a good income, but I have always heard that he was a little backward when he began. Of course, you

know, nobody need be in a hurry.'' Then Lucy began to think that if Frank should wish to postpone his

marriagesay for three or four yearsshe might even yet become a burden on her friend. ``But don't you be

frightened,'' continued Lady Fawn; ``you shall never want a home as long as I have one to give you. We shall

soon find out what are Mr Greystock's ideas; and unless he is very unreasonable we'll make things fit.''

Then there came a message to Lucy from Lady Eustace. ``If you please, miss, Lady Eustace will be glad to

see you for a minute up in her room before she starts.'' So Lucy was torn away from the thoughts of her own

happiness, and taken upstairs to Lady Eustace. ``You have heard that I am going?'' said Lizzie.

``And you have heard why? I'm sure you will not deceive me, Lucy. Where am I to look for truth, if not to an

``Why, indeed? only that all people do. The world is so false, so material, so worldly! One gives out one's

heart and gets in return nothing but dust and ashesnothing but ashes and dust. Oh, I have been so

``Psha! I know that you have worked for her like a slave, and that she gives you but a bare pittance.''

``She has been more like a mother to me than anything else,'' said Lucy angrily.

``Because you have been tame. It does not suit me to be tame. It is not my plan to be tame. Have you heard

``How dare you tell me to tell the truth? Of course, I tell the truth. I believe it is something about some

property which he wants you to give back to somebody; but I don't know any more.''

``Yes, my dear husband, Sir Florian, who understood mewhom I idolisedwho seemed to have been

made for megave me a present. Lord Fawn is pleased to say that he does not approve of my keeping any

gift from my late lord. Considering that he intends to live upon the wealth which Sir Florian was generous

enough to bestow upon me, this does seem to be strange! Of course, I resented such interference. Would not

``I don't know,'' said Lucy, who thought that she could bring herself to comply with any request made to her

``Any woman who had a spark of spirit would resent it, and I have resented it. I have told Lord Fawn that I

will, on no account, part with the rich presents which my adored Florian showered upon me in his generosity.

It is not for their richness that I keep them, but because they are, for his sake, so inexpressibly dear to me. If

Lord Fawn chooses to be jealous of a necklace, he must be jealous.'' Lucy, who had, in truth, heard but a

small fragment of the storyjust so much of it as Lydia had learned from the discreet Amelia, who herself

had but a very hazy idea of the factsdid not quite know how much of the tale, as it was now told to her,

might be true and how much false. After a certain fashion she and Lizzie Eustace called themselves friends.

But she did not believe her friend to be honest, and was aware that in some matters her friend would

condescendto fib. Lizzie's poetry, and romance, and high feelings, had never had the ring of true soundness

in Lucy's ears. But her imagination was not strong enough to soar to the altitude of the lies which Lizzie was

now telling. She did believe that the property which Lizzie was called upon to restore was held to be

objectionable by Lord Fawn simply because it had reached Lizzie from the hands of her late husband. ``What

``I don't understand about such things,'' said Lucy, determined not to impute any blame to one of the Fawn

``It is tyranny, sheer tyranny,'' continued the other, ``and he will find that I am not the woman to yield to it.

No. For love I could give up everythingbut nothing from fear. He has told me in so many words that he

``But I intend that he shall. If he thinks that I am going to be thrown over because he takes ideas of that kind

into his head, he's mistaken. He shall know that I'm not to be made a plaything of like that. I'll tell you what

``There is no one in the world I trust more thoroughly than I do you,'' said Lizzie``and hardly anyone that I

love so well. Think how long we have known each other! And you may be sure of thisI always have been

``Nobody has so much influence with Frank as I. Just do you write to me tomorrow, and the next dayand

``Yes, there will; ever so much. They will be talking about me every hour. If you'll be true to me, Lucy, in

this business, I'll make you the handsomest present you ever saw in your life. I'll give you a hundred guinea

``You mean thing!'' said Lucy. ``I didn't think there was a woman so mean as that in the world. I'm not

surprised now at Lord Fawn. Pick up what I hear, and send it you in lettersand then be paid money for it!''

``How can you have thought to ask me to do such a thing? How can you bring yourself to think so badly of

people? I'd sooner cut my hand off; and as for you, LizzieI think you are mean and wicked to conceive

such a thing. And now goodbye.'' So saying, she left the room, giving her dear friend no time for further

Lady Eustace got away that morning, not in time, indeed, for the 11.30 train, but at such an hour as to make it

unnecessary that she should appear at the early dinner. The saying of farewell was very cold and

ceremonious. Of course, there was no word as to any future visitno word as to any future events whatever.

They all shook hands with her, and special injunctions were given to the coachman to drive her safely to the

station. At this ceremony Lucy was not present. Lydia had asked her to come down and say goodbye; but

``Wellno; it was not affectionate at all.'' This was all that Lucy said, and thus Lady Eustace completed her

The letters were taken away for the post at eight o'clock in the evening, and before that time it was necessary

that Lucy should write to her lover. ``Lady Fawn,'' she said in a whisper, ``may I tell him to come here?''

``Certainly, my dear. You had better tell him to call on me. Of course he'll see you, too, when he comes.''

``I think he'd want to see me,'' said Lucy, ``and I'm sure I should want to see him!'' Then she wrote her answer

to Frank's letter. She allowed herself an hour for the happy task; but though the letter, when written, was

DEAR MR GREYSTOCK[there was matter for her of great consideration before she could get even so far

as this; but, after biting her pen for ten minutes, during which she pictured to herself how pleasant it would be

to call him Frank when he should have told her to do so, and had found, upon repeated whispered trials, that

of all names it was the pleasantest to pronounce, she decided upon refraining from writing it now] Lady Fawn

has seen your letter to methe dearest letter that ever was written, and she says that you may call upon her.

But you mustn't go away without seeing me too. [Then there was great difficulty as to the words to be used

by her for the actual rendering herself up to him as his future wife. At last the somewhat too Spartan

simplicity of his nature prevailed, and the words were written, very plain and very short.] I love you better

than all the world, and I will be your wife. It shall be the happiness of my life to try to deserve you.

When it was written it did not content her. But the hour was over, and the letters must go. ``I suppose it'll do,''

The burden of his position was so heavy on Lord Fawn's mind that, on the Monday morning after leaving

Fawn Court, he was hardly as true to the affairs of India as he himself would have wished. He was resolved to

do what was rightif only he could find out what would be the right thing in his present difficulty. Not to

break his word, not to be unjust, not to deviate by a hair's breadth from that line of conduct which would be

described as ``honourable'' in the circle to which he belonged, not to give his political enemies an opportunity

for calumnythis was all in all to him. The young widow was very lovely and very rich, and it would have

suited him well to marry her. It would still suit him well to do so, if she would make herself amenable to

reason and the laws. He had assured himself that he was very much in love with her, and had already, in his

imagination, received the distinguished heads of his party at Portray Castle. But he would give all this

uplove, income, beauty, and castle, without a doubt, rather than find himself in the mess of having married

a wife who had stolen a necklace, and who would not make restitution. He might marry her, and insist on

giving it up afterwards; but he foresaw terrible difficulties in the way of such an arrangement. Lady Eustace

was selfwilled, and had already told him that she did not intend to keep the jewels in his housebut in her

own! What should he do, so that no human beingnot the most bigoted Tory that ever expressed scorn for a

Whig lordshould be able to say that he had done wrong? He was engaged to the lady, and could not simply

change his mind and give no reason. He believed in Mr Camperdown; but he could hardly plead that belief,

should he hereafter be accused of heartless misconduct. For aught he knew, Lady Eustace might bring an

action against him for breach of promise, and obtain a verdict and damages, and annihilate him as an

Frank Greystock was, as far as he knew, Lizzie's nearest relative in London. The dean was her uncle, but then

the dean was down at Bobsborough. It might be necessary for him to go down to Bobsboroughbut in the

meantime he would see Frank Greystock. Greystock was as bitter a Tory as any in England. Greystock was

the very man who had attacked him, Lord Fawn, in the House of Commons respecting the Sawabmaking

the attack quite personaland that without a shadow of a cause! Within the short straight grooves of Lord

Fawn's intellect the remembrance of this supposed wrong was always running up and down, renewing its own

soreness. He regarded Greystock as an enemy who would lose no opportunity of injuring him. In his

weakness and littleness he was quite unable to judge of other men by himself. He would not go a hair's

breadth astray, if he knew it; but because Greystock had, in debate, called him timid and tyrannical, he

believed that GreystocK would stop short of nothing that might injure him. And yet he must appeal to

Greystock? He did appeal, and in answer to his appeal Frank came to him at the India House. But Frank,

Nothing was decided at this interview, Lord Fawn became more than ever convinced that the member of

Bobsborough was his determined enemy, and Frank was more convinced than ever that Lord Fawn was an

Greystock, of course, took his cousin's part. He was there to do so; and he himself really did not know

whether Lizzie was or was not entitled to the diamonds. The lie which she had first fabricated for the benefit

of Mr Benjamin when she had the jewels valued, and which she had since told with different degrees of

precision to various peopleto Lady Linlithgow, to Mr Camperdown, to Lucy, and to Lord Fawnshe now

repeated with increased precision to her cousin. Sir Florian, in putting the trinket into her hands, had

explained to her that it was very valuable, and that she was to regard it as her own peculiar property. ``If it

was an heirloom he couldn't do it,'' Frank had said, with all the confidence of a practising barrister.

``He made it over as an heirloom to me,'' said Lizzie, with plaintive tenderness.

``That's nonsense, dear Lizzie.'' Then she smiled sweetly on him, and patted the back of his hand with hers.

She was very gentle with him, and bore his assumed superiority with pretty meekness. ``He could not make it

``That is just what I cannot tell as yet, and what must be found out. If the diamonds formed part of an

heirloom, and there is evidence that it is soyou must give them up. Sir Florian could only give away what

``Certainly not,'' said Frank; and then he made a promise, which he knew to be rash, that he would stand by

his pretty cousin in this affair. ``I don't see why you should assume that Lady Eustace is keeping property that

``Mr Camperdown is a very excellent attorney, and a most respectable man,'' said Greystock. ``I have nothing

on earth to say against Mr Camperdown. But Mr Camperdown isn't the law and the prophets, nor yet can we

``You don't understand me, Lord Fawn. If any claim be really made for these jewels by Mr John Eustace on

the part of the heir, or on behalf of the estate, a statement had better be submitted to counsel. The family

deeds must be inspected, and no doubt counsel would agree in telling my cousin, Lady Eustace, what she

should, or what she should not do. In the meantime, I understand that you are engaged to marry her?''

``You can hardly mean to assert, my lord, that you intend to be untrue to your promise, and to throw over

your own engagement because my cousin has expressed her wish to retain property which she believes to be

her own!'' This was said in a tone which made Lord Fawn surer than ever that Greystock was his enemy to

the knife. Personally, he was not a coward; and he knew enough of the world to be quite sure that Greystock

would not attempt any personal encounter. But, morally, Lord Fawn was a coward, and he did fear that the

man before him could work him some bitter injury. ``You cannot mean that,'' continued Frank, ``and you will

probably allow me to assure my cousin that she misunderstood you in the matter.''

``I cannot understand, Lord Fawn, that a gentleman should require an attorney to tell him what to do in such a

case as this.'' They were standing now, and Lord Fawn's countenance was heavy, troubled, and full of doubt.

He said nothing, and was probably altogether unaware how eloquent was his face. ``My cousin, Lady

Eustace,'' continued Frank, ``must not be kept in this suspense. I agree on her behalf that her title to these

trinkets must be made the subject of inquiry by persons adequate to form a judgment. Of course, I, as her

relative, shall take no part in that inquiry. But, as her relative, I must demand from you an admission that

your engagement with her cannot in anyway be allowed to depend on the fate of those jewels. She has chosen

to accept you as her future husband, and I am bound to see that she is treated with good faith, honour, and fair

Frank made his demand very well, while Lord Fawn was looking like a whipped dog. ``Of course,'' said his

``The right thing will be done. My cousin wishes to keep nothing that is not her own. I may tell her, then, that

she will receive from you an assurance that you have had no intention of departing from your word?'' After

this, Lord Fawn made some attempt at a stipulation that this assurance to Lizzie was to be founded on the

counterassurance given to him that the matter of the diamonds should be decided by proper legal authority;

but Frank would not submit to this, and at last the UnderSecretary yielded. The engagement was to remain

in force. Counsel were to be employed. The two lovers were not to see each other just at present. And when

the matter had been decided by the lawyers, Lord Fawn was to express his regret for having suspected his

ladylove! That was the verbal agreement, according to Frank Greystock's view of it. Lord Fawn, no doubt,

About a week after this there was a meeting at Mr Camperdown's chambers, Greystock, as his cousin's friend,

attended to hear what Mr Camperdown had to say in the presence of Lord Fawn and John Eustace. He, Frank,

had, in the meantime, been down to Richmond, had taken Lucy to his arms as his future bride, and had been

closeted with Lady Fawn. As a man who was doing his duty by Lucy Morris, he was welcomed and made

much of by her ladyship; but it had been impossible to leave Lizzie's name altogether unmentioned, and

Frank had spoken as the champion of his cousin. Of course, there had arisen something of illfeeling between

the two. Lady Fawn had taught herself to hate Lizzie, and was desirous that the match should be over,

diamonds or no diamonds. She could not quite say this to her visitor, but she showed her feeling very plainly.

Frank was courteous, cold, and resolute in presuming, or pretending to presume, that as a matter of course the

marriage would take place. Lady Fawn intended to be civil, but she could not restrain her feeling; and though

she did not dare to say that her son would have nothing more to do with Lizzie Eustace, she showed very

plainly that she intended to work with that object. Of course, the two did not part as cordial friends, and of

Before the meeting took place, Mr Camperdown had been at work, looking over old deeds. It is undoubtedly

the case that things often become complicated which, from the greatness of their importance, should have

been kept clear as running water. The diamonds in question had been bought, with other jewels, by Sir

Florian's grandfather, on the occasion of his marriage with the daughter of a certain dukeon which

occasion old family jewels, which were said to have been heirlooms, were sold or given in exchange as part

value for those then purchased. This grandfather, who had also been Sir Florian in his time, had expressly

stated in his will that these jewels were to be regarded as an heirloom in the family, and had as such left them

to his eldest son, and to that son's eldest son, should such a child be born. His eldest son had possessed them,

but not that son's son. There was such an Eustace born, but he had died before his father. The younger son of

that old Sir Florian had then succeeded, as Sir Thomas, and he was the father of that Florian who had married

Lizzie Eustace. That last Sir Florian had therefore been the fourth in succession from the old Sir Florian by

whom the will had been made, and who had directed that these jewels should be regarded as heirlooms in the

family. The two intermediate baronets had made no allusion to the diamonds in any deeds executed by them.

Indeed, Sir Florian's father had died without a will. There were other jewels, larger but much less valuable

than the diamonds, still in the hands of Messrs Garnett, as to which no question was raised. The late Sir

Florian had, by his will, left all the property in his house at Portray to his widow, but all property elsewhere

to his heir. This was what Mr Camperdown had at last learned, but he had been forced to admit to himself,

He was confident enough, however, that there was no difficulty in the matter. The Messrs Garnett were able

to say that the necklace had been in their keeping, with various other jewels still in their possession, from the

time of the death of the late Lady Eustace, up to the marriage of the late Sir Florian, her son. They stated the

date on which the jewels were given up, to be the 24th of September, which was the day after Sir Florian's

return from Scotland with his bride. Lizzie's first statement had coincided with this entry in the Messrs

Garnett's books; but latterly she had asserted that the necklace had been given to her in Scotland. When Mr

Camperdown examined the entry himself in the jewellers' book, he found the figures to be so blotted that they

might represent either the 4th or 24th September. Now, the 4th September had been the day preceding Sir

Florian's marriage. John Eustace only knew that he had seen the necklace worn in Scotland by his mother.

The bishop only knew that he had often seen them on the neck of his sisterinlaw when, as was very often

the case, she appeared in fullblown society. Mr Camperdown believed that he had traced two stories to

Lizzieone, repeated more than once, that the diamonds had been given to her in London, and a second,

made to himself, that they had been given to her at Portray. He himself believed that they had never been in

Scotland since the death of the former Lady Eustace; but he was quite confident that he could trust altogether

to the disposition made of them by the old Sir Florian. There could be no doubt as to these being the

diamonds there described, although the setting had been altered. Old Mr Garnett stated that he would swear to

``You cannot suppose that Lady Eustace wishes to keep anything that is not her own,'' said Frank Greystock.

``Nobody imagines it,'' said Mr Camperdown. Lord Fawn, who felt that he ought not to be there, and who did

not know whether he might with a better grace take Lizzie's part or a part against her, said nothing. ``But,''

continued Mr Camperdown, ``there is luckily no doubt as to the facts. The diamonds in question formed a

part of a set of most valuable ornaments settled in the family by Sir Florian Eustace in 1799. The deed was

drawn up by my grandfather, and is now here. I do not know how we are to have further proof. Will you look

at the deed, Mr Greystock, and at the will?'' Frank suggested that, as it might probably be expedient to take

advice on the subject professionally, he had rather not look at the deed. Anything which he might say, on

looking at the document now, could have no weight. ``But why should any advice be necessary,'' said Mr

``My dear sir,'' said Frank, ``my cousin, Lady Eustace, is strong in her confidence that her late husband

intended to give them to her as her own, and that he would not have done this without the power of doing so.''

Now, Mr Camperdown was quite sure that Lizzie was lying in this, and could therefore make no adequate

answer. ``Your experience must probably have told you,'' continued Frank, ``that there is considerable

``The late Sir Florian does not appear to have understood it very clearly,'' said Frank.

``Let her put them into the hands of any indifferent person or firm till the matter is decided,'' said Mr

And this was all that took place at that meeting. As Mr Camperdown said to John Eustace, it was manifest

enough that she meant ``to hang on to them''. ``I only hope Lord Fawn will not be fool enough to marry her,''

said Mr Camperdown. Lord Fawn himself was of the same way of thinkingbut then how was he to clear

his character of the charge which would be brought against him; and how was he to stand his ground before

Let it not be supposed that Lady Eustace, during these summer weeks, was living the life of a recluse. The

London season was in its full splendour, and she was by no means a recluse. During the first year of her

widowhood she had been every inch a widowas far as crape would go, and a quiet life either at

Bobsborough or Portray Castle. During this year her child was bornand she was in every way thrown upon

her good behaviour, living with bishops' wives and deans' daughters. Two years of retreat from the world is

generally thought to be the proper thing for a widow. Lizzie had not quite accomplished her two years before

she reopened the campaign in Mount Street with very small remnants of weeds, and with her crape brought

down to a minimumbut she was young and rich, and the world is aware that a woman of twentytwo can

hardly afford to sacrifice two whole years. In the matter of her widowhood Lizzie did not encounter very

much reproach. She was not shunned, or so ill spoken of as to have a widelyspread bad name among the

streets and squares in which her carriage wheels rolled. People called her a flirt, held up their hands in

surprise at Sir Florian's foolish generosityfor the accounts of Lizzie's wealth were greatly

The general belief which often seizes upon the world in regard to some special falsehood is very surprising.

Everybody on a sudden adopts an idea that some particular man is over head and ears in debt, so that he can

hardly leave his house for fear of the bailiffsor that some illfated woman is cruelly illused by her

husbandor that some eldest son has ruined his father; whereas the man doesn't owe a shilling, the woman

never hears a harsh word from her lord, and the eldest son in question has never succeeded in obtaining a

shilling beyond his allowance. One of the lies about London this season was founded on the extent of Lady

Eustace's jointure. Indeed, the lie went on to state that the jointure was more than a jointure. It was believed

that the property in Ayrshire was her own, to do what she pleased with it. That the property in Ayrshire was

taken at double its value was a matter of course. It had been declared, at the time of his marriage, that Sir

Florian had been especially generous to his penniless wife, and the generosity was magnified in the ordinary

way. No doubt Lizzie's own diligence had done much to propagate the story as to her positive ownership of

Portray. Mr Camperdown had been very busy denying this. John Eustace had denied it whenever occasion

offered. The bishop in his quiet way had denied it. Lady Linlithgow had denied it. But the lie had been set on

foot and had thriven, and there was hardly a man about town who didn't know that Lady Eustace had eight or

nine thousand a year, altogether at her own disposal, down in Scotland. Of course a woman so endowed, so

rich, so beautiful, so clever, so young, would marry again, and would marry well. No doubt, added to this

there was a feeling that ``Lizzie'', as she was not uncommonly called by people who had hardly ever seen

herhad something amiss with it all. ``I don't know where it is she's lame,'' said that very clever man,

Captain Boodle, who had lately reappeared among his military friends at his club, ``but she don't go flat all

``No mouth, I should say,'' said Boodle. It was thus that Lizzie was talked about at the clubs; but she was

asked to dinners and balls, and gave little dinners herself, and to a certain extent was the fashion. Everybody

had declared that of course she would marry again, and now it was known everywhere that she was engaged

``Poor dear Lord Fawn!'' said Lady Glencora Palliser to her dear friend Madame Max Goesler; ``do you

``Two years is a long time, Lady Glencora; and Violet Effingham has chosen another husband.''

``But isn't this a fall for him? Violet was the sweetest girl out, and at one time I really thought she meant to

``I thought she meant to take another man whom she did not take,'' said Madame Goesler, who had her own

recollections, who was a widow herself, and who, at the period to which Lady Glencora was referring, had

thought that perhaps she might cease to be a widow. Not that she had ever suggested to herself that Lord

``Poor Lord Fawn!'' continued Lady Glencora. ``I suppose he is terribly in want of money.''

``Yesshe is very pretty; nay more, she is quite lovely to look at. And she is cleververy. And she is

``Who ever explains a `but'? You're a great deal too clever, Madame Goesler, to want any explanation. And I

couldn't explain it. I can only say I'm sorry for poor Lord Fawnwho is a gentleman, but will never set the

``No, indeed. All the same, I like Lord Fawn extremely'', said Madame Goesler, ``and I think he's just the

``A man may be a great deal at his office, and a great deal more at the House than Lord Fawn,'' said Lady

Glencora laughing, ``and yet think about his wife, my dear.'' For of all men known, no man spent more hours

at the House or in his office than did Lady Glencora's husband, Mr Palliser, who at this time, as he had now

This conversation took place in Madame Goesler's little drawingroom in Park Lane; but, three days after

this, the same two ladies met again at the house then occupied by Lady Chiltern in Portman SquareLady

Chiltern, with whom, as Violet Effingham, poor Lord Fawn had been much in love. ``I think it is the nicest

``What diamonds?'' ``Whose diamonds?'' Neither of the others had heard of the diamonds, and Lady Glencora

was able to tell her story. Lady Eustace had found all the family jewels belonging to the Eustace family in the

strong plate room at Portray Castle, and had taken possession of them as property found in her own house.

John Eustace and the bishop had combined in demanding them on behalf of the heir, and a lawsuit had then

commenced! The diamonds were the most costly belonging to any commoner in England, and had been

valued at twentyfour thousand pounds! Lord Fawn had retreated from his engagement the moment he heard

that any doubt was thrown on Lady Eustace's right to their possession! Lady Eustace had declared her

intention of bringing an action against Lord Fawnand had also secreted the diamonds! The reader will be

aware that this statement was by no means an accurate history of the difficulty as far as it had as yet

progressed. It was, indeed, absolutely false in every detail; but it sufficed to show that the matter was

becoming public. ``You don't mean to say that Lord Fawn is off?'' asked Madame Goesler.

``Poor Lord Fawn!'' exclaimed Lady Chiltern. ``It really seems as though he never would be settled.''

``I don't think he has courage enough for such conduct as that,'' said Madame Goesler.

``And besides, Lady Eustace's income is quite certain,'' said Lady Chiltern, ``and poor dear Lord Fawn does

``But it is very disagreeable,'' said Lady Glencora, ``to believe that your wife has got the finest diamonds in

England, and then to find that she has onlystolen them. I think Lord Fawn is right. If a man does marry for

money he should have the money. I wonder she ever took him. There is no doubt about her beauty, and she

``Done better!'' said Madame Goesler. ``How could she have done better? He is a peer, and her son would he

a peer. I don't think she could have done better.'' Lady Glencora in her time had wished to marry a man who

had sought her for her money. Lady Chiltern in her time had refused to be Lady Fawn. Madame Goesler in

her time had declined to marry an English peer. There was, therefore, something more of interest in the

conversation to each of them than was quite expressed in the words spoken. ``Is she to be at your party on

``She has said she would comeand so has Lord Fawn, for that matter. Lord Fawn dines with us. She'll find

``Not she,'' said Lady Chiltern. ``She'll come for the sake of the bravado. She's not the woman to show the

``And wear the very diamonds in dispute,'' said Lady Chiltern. It was thus that the matter was discussed

``Is Fawn's marriage going on?'' This question was asked of Mr Legge Wilson by Barrington Erle. Mr Legge

Wilson was the Secretary of State for India, and Barrington Erle was in the Government.

``Upon my word I don't know,'' said Mr Wilson. ``The work goes on at the officethat's all I know about

Fawn. He hasn't told me of his marriage, and therefore I haven't spoken to him about it.''

``When they do they'll be very awkward papers, as far as I hear,'' said Barrington Erle. ``There is no doubt

they were engaged, and I believe there is no doubt that he has declared off, and refused to give any reason.''

``There's a queer story going about as to some diamonds. No one knows whom they belong to, and they say

that Fawn has accused her of stealing them. He wants to get hold of them, and she won't give them up. I

believe the lawyers are to have a shy at it. I'm sorry for Fawn. It'll do him a deal of mischief.''

``You'll find he won't come out much amiss,'' said Mr Legge Wilson. ``He's as cautious a man as there is in

``And you'll find also that she'll contrive that all the blame shall lie upon him. She's clever enough for

``A clergyman, I supposeof the safe sort. I don't know that anything else is necessary.'' From which it will

be seen that Mr Wilson had his own opinion about church matters, and also that people very high up in the

Lady Eustace did go to Lady Glencora's evening party, in spite of Mr Camperdown and all her difficulties.

Lady Chiltern had been quite right in saying that Lizzie was not the woman to show the white feather. She

went, knowing that she would meet Lord Fawn, and she did wear the diamonds. It was the first time that they

had been round her neck since the occasion in respect to which Sir Florian had placed them in her hands, and

it had not been without much screwing up of her courage that she had resolved to appear on this occasion

with the muchtalkedof ornament upon her person. It was now something over a fortnight since she had

parted with Lord Fawn at Fawn Court; and, although they were still presumed to be engaged to marry each

other, and were both living in London, she had not seen him since. A sort of message had reached her,

through Frank Greystock, to the effect that Lord Fawn thought it as well that they should not meet till the

matter was settled. Stipulations had been made by Frank on her behalf, and this had been inserted among

them. She had received the message with scornwith a mixture of scorn and gratitudeof scorn in regard

to the man who had promised to marry her, and of affectionate gratitude to the cousin who had made the

arrangement. ``Of course I shall not wish to see him while he chooses to entertain such an idea,'' she had said,

``but I shall not keep out of his way. You would not wish me to keep out of his way, Frank?'' When she

received a card for Lady Glencora's party very soon after this, she was careful to answer it in such a manner

as to impress Lady Glencora with a remembrance of her assent. Lord Fawn would probably be thereunless

he remained away in order to avoid her. Then she had ten days in which to make up her mind as to wearing

the diamonds. Her courage was good, but then her ignorance was so great! She did not know whether Mr

Camperdown might not contrive to have them taken by violence from her neck, even on Lady Glencora's

stairs. Her best securityso she thoughtwould be in the fact that Mr Camperdown would not know of her

purpose. She told no onenot even Miss Macnulty; but she appeared before that lady, arrayed in all her

glory, just as she was about to descend to her carriage. ``You've got the necklace on!'' said Miss Macnulty.

Lady Glencora's rooms were already very full when Lizzie entered them, but she was without a gentleman,

and room was made for her to pass quickly up the stairs. The diamonds had been recognised by many before

she had reached the drawingroomnot that these very diamonds were known, or that there was a special

memory for that necklacebut the subject had been so generally discussed, that the blaze of the stones

immediately brought it to the minds of men and women. ``There she is, with poor Eustace's twenty thousand

pounds round her neck,'' said Laurence Fitzgibbon to his friend Barrington Erle. ``And there is Lord Fawn

Lord Fawn thought it right, at any rate, to look after his bride. Lady Glencora had whispered into his ear

before they went down to dinner that Lady Eustace would be there in the evening, so that he might have the

option of escaping or remaining. Could he have escaped without anyone knowing that he had escaped, he

would not have gone upstairs after dinner; but he knew that he was observed; he knew that people were

talking about him; and he did not like it to be said that he had run away. He went up, thinking much of it all,

and, as soon as he saw Lady Eustace, he made his way to her and accosted her. Many eyes were upon them,

but no ear probably heard how infinitely unimportant were the words which they spoke to each other. Her

manner was excellent. She smiled and gave him her handjust her hand without the slightest pressureand

spoke a halfwhispered word, looking into his face, but betraying nothing by her look. Then he asked her

whether she would dance. Yesshe would stand up for a quadrille; and they did stand up for a quadrille. As

she danced with no one else, it was clear that she treated Lord Fawn as her lover. As soon as the dance was

done she took his arm and moved for a few minutes about the room with him. She was very conscious of the

diamonds, but she did not show the feeling in her face. He also was conscious of them, and he did show it. He

did not recognise the necklace, but he knew well that this was the very bone of contention. They were very

beautiful, and seemed to him to outshine all other jewellery in the room. And Lady Eustace was a woman of

whom it might almost be said that she ought to wear diamonds. She was made to sparkle, to be bright with

outside garnitureto shine and glitter, and be rich in apparel. The only doubt might be whether paste

diamonds might not better suit her character. But these were not paste, and she did shine and glitter and was

very rich. It must not be brought as an accusation against Lady Glencora's guests that they pressed round to

look at the necklace. Lady Glencora's guests knew better than to do that. But there was some slight

fermentslight, but still felt both by Lord Fawn and by Lady Eustace. Eyes were turned upon the diamonds,

and there were whispers here and there. Lizzie bore it very well; but Lord Fawn was uncomfortable.

``Yesif she means to keep them. I don't pretend, however, to know anything about it. You see the match

``I suppose not. What do you think I did? He dined here, you know, and, before going downstairs, I told him

``I took care that he shouldn't have to say anything; but, to tell the truth, I didn't expect him to come up.''

Lady Eustace made the most of her opportunity. Soon after the quadrille was over she asked Lord Fawn to

get her carriage for her. Of course he got it, and of course he put her into it, passing up and downstairs twice

in his efforts on her behalf. And of course all the world saw what he was doing. Up to the last moment not a

word had been spoken between them that might not have passed between the most ordinary acquaintance,

but, as she took her seat, she put her face forward and did say a word. ``You had better come to me soon,'' she

``Yes; you had better come soon. All this is wearing meperhaps more than you think.''

``I will come soon,'' said Lord Fawn, and then he returned among Lady Glencora's guests, very

uncomfortable. Lizzie got home in safety and locked up her diamonds in the iron box.

It was now the end of June, and Frank Greystock had been as yet but once at Fawn Court since he had written

to Lucy Morris asking her to be his wife. That was three weeks since, and as the barrier against him at Fawn

Court had been removed by Lady Fawn herself, the Fawn girls thought that as a lover he was very slack; but

Lucy was not in the least annoyed. Lucy knew that it was all right; for Frank, as he took his last walk round

the shrubbery with her during that visit, had given her to understand that there was a little difference between

him and Lady Fawn in regard to Lizzie Eustace. ``I am her only relative in London,'' Frank had said.

``They have quarrelled, and the old woman is as bitter as gall. There is no one else to stand up for her, and I

must see that she isn't illused. Women do hate each other so virulently, and Lady Fawn hates her future

daughterinlaw.'' Lucy did not in the least grudge her lover's assistance to his cousin. There was nothing of

jealousy in her feeling. She thought that Lizzie was unworthy of Frank's goodness, but on such an occasion as

this she would not say so. She told him nothing of the bribe that had been offered her, nor on that subject had

she said a word to any of the Fawns. She understood, too, that as Frank had declared his purpose of

supporting Lizzie, it might be as well that he should see just at present as little of Lady Fawn as possible. Not

a word, however, had Lady Fawn said to Lucy disparaging her lover for his conduct. It was quite understood

now at Fawn Court, by all the girls, and no doubt by the whole establishment, that Lizzie Eustace was to be

regarded as an enemy. It was believed by them all that Lord Fawn had broken off the matchor, at least, that

he was resolved to break it; but various stratagems were to be used, and terrible engines of war were to be

brought up, if necessary, to prevent an alliance which was now thought to be disreputable. Mrs Hittaway had

been hard at work, and had found out something very like truth in regard to the whole transaction with Mr

Benjamin. Perhaps Mrs Hittaway had found out more than was quite true as to poor Lizzie's former sins; but

what she did find out she used with all her skill, communicating her facts to her mother, to Mr Camperdown,

and to her brother. Her brother had almost quarrelled with her, but still she continued to communicate her

At this period Frank Greystock was certainly somewhat unreasonable in regard to his cousin. At one time as

the reader will remember, he had thought of asking her to be his wifebecause she was rich; but even then

he had not thought well of her, had hardly believed her to be honest, and had rejoiced when he found that

circumstances rather than his own judgment had rescued him from that evil. He had professed to be delighted

when Lord Fawn was acceptedas being happy to think that his somewhat dangerous cousin was provided

with so safe a husband; and, when he had first heard of the necklace, he had expressed an opinion that of

course it would be given up. In all this then he had shown no strong loyalty to his cousin, no very dear

friendship, nothing to make those who knew him feel that he would buckle on armour in her cause. But of

lateand that, too, since his engagement with Lucyhe had stood up very stoutly as her friend, and the

armour was being buckled on. He had not scrupled to say that he meant to see her through this business with

Lord Fawn, and had somewhat astonished Mr Camperdown by raising a doubt on the question of the

necklace. ``He can't but know that she has no more right to it than I have,'' Mr Camperdown had said to his

son with indignation. Mr Camperdown was becoming unhappy about the necklace, not quite knowing how to

In the meantime Frank had obeyed his better instincts, and had asked Lucy Morris to be his wife. He had

gone to Fawn Court in compliance with a promise to Lizzie Eustace, that he would call upon her there. He

had walked with Lucy because he was at Fawn Court. And he had written to Lucy because of the words he

had spoken during the walk. In all this the matter had arranged itself as such matters do, and there was

nothing, in truth, to be regretted. He really did love the girl with all his heart. It may, perhaps, be said that he

had never in truth loved any other woman. In the best humours of his mind he would tell himselfhad from

old times told himself oftenthat unless he married Lucy Morris he could never marry at all. When his

mother, knowing that poor Lucy was penniless, had, as mothers will do, begged him to beware, he had

spoken up for his love honestly, declaring to her that in his eyes there was no woman living equal to Lucy

Morris. The reader has seen him with the words almost on his tongue with which to offer his hand to his

cousin, Lizzie Eustace, knowing as he did so that his heart had been given to Lucyknowing also that

Lucy's heart had been given to him! But he had not done it, and the better humour had prevailed.

Within the figure and frame and clothes and cuticle, within the bones and flesh of many of us, there is but one

persona man or woman, with a preponderance either of good or evil, whose conduct in any emergency

may be predicted with some assurance of accuracy by anyone knowing the man or woman. Such persons are

simple, single, and, perhaps, generally, safe. They walk along lines in accordance with certain fixed instincts

or principles, and are today as they were yesterday, and will be tomorrow as they are today. Lady Eustace

was such a person, and so was Lucy Morris. Opposite in their characters as two poles, they were, each of

them, a simple entity; and any doubt or error in judging of the future conduct of either of them would come

from insufficient knowledge of the woman. But there are human beings who, though of necessity single in

body, are dual in characterin whose breasts not only is evil always fighting against goodbut to whom

evil is sometimes horribly, hideously evil, but is sometimes also not hideous at all. Of such men it may be

said that Satan obtains an intermittent grasp, from which, when it is released, the rebound carries them high

amidst virtuous resolutions and a thorough love of things good and noble. Such menor womenmay

hardly, perhaps, debase themselves with the more vulgar vices. They will not be rogues, or thieves, or

drunkardsor, perhaps, liars; but ambition, luxury, selfindulgence, pride, and covetousness will get a hold

of them, and in various moods will be to them virtues in lieu of vices. Such a man was Frank Greystock, who

could walk along the banks of the quiet, troutgiving Bob, at Bobsborough, whipping the river with his rod,

telling himself that the world lost for love would be a bad thing well lost for a fine purpose; and who could

also stand, with his hands in his trousers pockets, looking down upon the pavement, in the purlieus of the

courts at Westminster, and swear to himself that he would win the game, let the cost to his heart be what it

might. What must a man be who would allow some undefined feelingsome inward ache which he calls a

passion and cannot analyse, some desire which has come of instinct and not of judgmentto interfere with

all the projects of his intellect, with all the work which he has laid out for his accomplishment?

Circumstances had thrown him into a path of life for which, indeed, his means were insufficient, but which he

regarded as, of all paths, the noblest and the manliest. If he could be true to himselfwith such truth as at

these moments would seem to him to be the truest truththere was nothing in rank, nothing in ambition,

which might not be within his reach. He might live with the highest, the besteducated, and the most

beautiful; he might assist in directing national councils by his intelligence; and might make a name for

himself which should be remembered in his country, and of which men would read the records in the histories

written in after ages. But to do this, he must walk warily. He, an embarrassed man, a man already in debt, a

man with no realised property coming to him in reversion, was called upon to live, and to live as though at

his ease, among those who had been born to wealth. And, indeed, he had so cleverly learned the ways of the

But had he walked warily when he went down to Richmond, and afterwards, sitting alone in the obscurity of

his chamber, wrote the letter which had made Lucy Morris so happy? It must be acknowledged that he did, in

truth, love the girlthat he was capable of a strong feeling. She was not beautifulhardly even pretty,

small, in appearance almost insignificant, quite penniless, a governess! He had often asked himself what it

was that had so vanquished him. She always wore a pale grey frockwith, perhaps, a grey ribbonnever

running into any bright form of clothing. She was educated, very welleducated; but she owned no great

accomplishment. She had not sung his heart away, or ravished him with the harp. Even of her words she was

sparing, seeming to care more to listen than to speak; a humble little thing to look atone of whom you

might say that she regarded herself as wellplaced if left in the background. Yet he had found her out, and

knew her. He had recognised the treasure, and had greatly desired to possess it. He had confessed to himself

that, could splendour and ambition be laid aside, that little thing would be all the world to him. As he sat in

court, or in the House, patient from practice as he halflistened to the ponderous speeches of advocates or

politicians, he would think of the sparkle in her eye, of the dimple in her chin, of the lines of the mouth which

could plead so eloquently, though with few words. To sit on some high seat among his countrymen, and also

to marry Lucy Morristhat would be a high ambition. He had chosen his way now, and she was engaged to

As he thought of it after he had done it, it was not all happiness, all contentment, with him. He did feel that he

had crippled himselfimpeded himself in running the race, as it were, with a log round his leg. He had

offered to marry her, and he must do so at once, or almost at once, because she could now find no other home

but his. He knew, as well as did Lady Fawn, that she could not go into another family as governess; and he

knew also that she ought not to remain in Lady Fawn's house an hour longer than she would be wanted there.

He must alter his plan of living at once, give up the luxury of his rooms at the Grosvenor, take a small house

somewhere, probably near the Swiss Cottage, come up and down to his chambers by the underground

railway, and, in all probability, abandon Parliament altogether. He was not sure whether, in good faith, he

should not at once give notice of his intended acceptance of the Chiltern Hundreds to the electors of

Bobsborough. Thus meditating, under the influence of that intermittent evil grasp, almost angry with himself

for the open truth which he had spokenor rather written, and perhaps thinking more of Lizzie and her

beauty than he should have done, in the course of three weeks he had paid but one visit to Fawn Court. Then,

of a sudden, finding himself one afternoon relieved from work, he resolved to go there. The days were still

almost at their longest, and he did not scruple to present himself before Lady Fawn between eight and nine in

the evening. They were all at tea, and he was welcomed kindly. Lucy, when he was announced, at once got

up, and met him almost at the doorway, sparkling, with just a tear of joy in her eye, with a look in her face,

and a loving manner, which for the moment made him sure that the little house near the Swiss Cottage would,

after all, be the only Elysium upon earth. If she spoke a word he hardly heard it, but her hand was in his, so

cool and soft, almost trembling in its grasp, with no attempt to withdraw itself, frank, loving, and honest.

There was a perfect satisfaction in her greeting which at once told him that she had no discontented

thoughtshad had no such thoughtbecause he had been so long without coming. To see him was a great

joy. But every hour of her life was a joy to her, knowing, as she did know, that he loved her.

Lady Fawn was gracious, the girls were hospitable, and he found himself made very welcome amidst all the

women at the teatable. Not a word was said about Lizzie Eustace. Lady Fawn talked about Parliament, and

professed to pity a poor lover who was so bound to his country that he could not see his mistress above once

a fortnight. ``But there'll be a good time coming next month,'' she saidfor it was now July. ``Though the

``It isn't the House altogether that rules me with a rod of iron, Lady Fawn,'' said Frank, ``but the necessity of

earning daily bread by the sweat of my brow. A man who has to sit in court all day must take the nightor,

``But the grouse put a stop to all work,'' said Lady Fawn. ``My gardener told me just now that he wanted a

day or two in August. I don't doubt but that he is going to the moors. Are you going to the moors, Mr

As it happened, Frank Greystock did not quite know whether he was going to the moors or not. The Ayrshire

grouseshooting is not the best in Scotlandbut there is grouseshooting in Ayrshire; and the shooting on

the Portray mountains is not the worst shooting in the county. The castle at Portray overhangs the sea, but

there is a wild district attached to it stretching far back inland, in regard to which Lizzie Eustace was very

proud of talking of ``her shooting''. Early in the spring of the present year she had asked her cousin Frank to

accept the shooting for the coming seasonand he had accepted it. ``I shall probably be abroad,'' she said,

``but there is the old castle.'' She had offered it as though he had been her brother, and he had said that he

would go down for a couple of weeksnot to the castle, but to a little lodge some miles up from the sea, of

which she told him when he declined the castle. When this invitation was given there was no engagement

between her and Lord Fawn. Since that date, within the last day or two, she had reminded him of it. ``Won't

his lordship be there?'' he had said laughingly. ``Certainly not,'' she had answered with serious earnestness.

Then she had explained that her plan of going abroad had been set aside by circumstances. She did mean to

go down to Portray. ``I couldn't have you at the castle,'' she said smiling; ``but even an Othello couldn't object

to a first cousin at a little cottage ever so many miles off.'' It wasn't for him to suggest what objections might

rise to the brain of a modern Othello; but after some hesitation he said that he would be there. He had

promised the trip to a friend, and would like to keep his promise. But, nevertheless, he almost thought that he

ought to avoid Portray. He intended to support his cousin as far as he might do so honestly; but he was not

quite minded to stand by her through good report and evil report. He did not desire to be specially known as

her champion, and yet he felt that that position would be almost forced upon him. He foresaw dangerand

``I hardly know whether I am or not,'' said Frankand he almost felt that he was blushing.

``I hope you are,'' said Lucy. ``When a man has to work all day and nearly all night he should go where he

``There's very good air without going to Scotland for it,'' said Lady Fawn, who kept up an excellent house at

Richmond, but who, with all her daughters, could not afford autumn trips. The Fawns lived at Fawn Court all

the year round, and consequently Lady Fawn thought that air was to be found in England sufficiently good

After that she was allowed to escape into the grounds with her lover, and was made happy with half an hour

of unalloyed bliss. To be alone with the girl to whom he is not engaged is a man's delightto be alone with

the man to whom she is engaged is the woman's. When the thing is settled there is always present to the man

something of a feeling of clipped wings; whereas the woman is conscious of a new power of expanding her

pinions. The certainty of the thing is to him repressive. He has done his work, and gained his victoryand by

conquering has become a slave. To her the certainty of the thing is the removal of a restraint which has

hitherto always been on her. She can tell him everything, and be told everythingwhereas her previous

confidences, made with those of her own sex, have been tame, and by comparison valueless. He has no new

confidence to makeunless when he comes to tell her he likes his meat well done, and wants his breakfast to

be punctual. Lucy now not only promised herself, but did actually realise a great joy. He seemed to her all

that her heart desired. He was a man whose manner was naturally caressing and demonstrative, and she was

to him, of all women, the sweetest, the dearest, the most perfectand all his own. ``But, Frank,''she had

already been taught to call him Frank when they were alone together``what will come of all this about

``What Lady Fawn thinks on such a matter cannot be helped. When a man asks a woman to marry him, and

she accepts, the natural consequence is that they will be married. Don't you think so?''

``I hope sosometimes,'' said Lucy, with her two hands joined upon his arm, and hanging to it with all her

``Then why shouldn't she?'' He asked his question with a quick, sharp voice, and then turned upon her for an

``I don't know,'' she said, very softly, and still clinging to him. ``I sometimes think there is a difference in

``There is a difference; but, still, we hardly judge of people sufficiently by our own feelings. As she accepted

him, you may be sure that she wishes to marry him. She has more to give than he has.''

``If I thought so, I'd go back even now,'' he answered. ``It is because you have so much to giveso much

more than most othersthat I have thought of you, dreamed of you as my wife, almost ever since I first

``I have nothing left to give,'' she said. ``What I ever had is all given. People call it the heart. I think it is

heart, and brain, and mind, and bodyand almost soul. But, Frank, though Lizzie Eustace is your cousin, I

don't want to be likened to her. She is very clever, and beautifuland has a way with her that I know is

``I don't think she cares so much as some people. I daresay she likes Lord Fawn very well, but I do not

``They're engaged,'' said Frank, ``and the best thing they can do is to marry each other. I can tell you this, at

any rate,''and his manner again became serious``if Lord Fawn behaves ill to her, I, as her cousin, shall

``No, my darling. Men don't fight each other nowadaysnot often, at least, and Fawn and I are not of the

fighting sort. I can make him understand what I mean and what others will mean without fighting him. He is

``Because he is afraid. People have got hold of him and told him lies, and he thinks there will be a scrape

about this necklace, and he hates a scrape. He'll marry her at last, without a doubt, and Lady Fawn is only

``Oh noI can't do anything. When she was here it became at last quite disagreeable. She hardly spoke to

them, and I'm sure that even the servants understood that there was a quarrel.'' She did not say a word of

Lizzie's offer of the brooch to herself, nor of the stories which by degrees were reaching her ears as to the old

debts, and the diamonds, and the young bride's conduct to Lady Linlithgow as soon as she married her grand

husband, Sir Florian. She did think badly of Lizzie, and could not but regret that her own noble, generous

Frank should have to expend his time and labour on a friend unworthy of his friendship; but there was no

shade of jealousy in her feeling, and she uttered no word against Lizzie more bitter than that in which she

And then there was something said as to their own prospects in life. Lucy at once and with vehemence

declared that she did not look for or expect an immediate marriage. She did not scruple to tell him that she

knew well how difficult was the task before him, and that it might be essential for his interest that he should

remain as he was for a year or two. He was astonished to find how completely she understood his position,

and how thoroughly she sympathised with his interests. ``There is only one thing I couldn't do for you,'' she

``I couldn't give you up. I almost thought that I ought to refuse you because I can do nothingnothing to

help you. But there will always come a limit to selfdenial. I couldn't do that! Could I?''

The reader will know how this question was answered, and will not want to be told of the long, close,

clinging, praiseworthy kiss with which the young barrister assured her that would have been on her part an

act of selfdenial which would to him have been absolutely ruinous. It was agreed, however, between them,

that Lady Fawn should be told that they did not propose to marry till some time in the following year, and

that she should be formally asked to allow Lucy to have a home at Fawn Court in the interval.

Lord Fawn had promised, as he put Lizzie into her carriage, that he would come to her soonbut he did not

come soon. A fortnight passed and he did not show himself. Nothing further had been done in the matter of

the diamonds, except that Mr Camperdown had written to Frank Greystock, explaining how impossible it was

that the question of their possession should be referred to arbitration. According to him they belonged to the

heir, as did the estate; and no one would have the power of accepting an arbitration respecting theman

arbitration which might separate them from the estate of which an infant was the owner for his lifeany

more than such arbitration could be accepted as to the property of the estate itself. ``Possession is nine points

of the law,'' said Frank to himself, as he put the letter asidethinking at the same time that possession in the

hands of Lizzie Eustace included certainly every one of those nine points. Lizzie wore her diamonds again

and then again. There may be a question whether the possession of the necklace and the publicity of their

historywhich, however, like many other histories, was most inaccurately tolddid not add something to

her reputation as a lady of fashion. In the meantime, Lord Fawn did not come to see her. So she wrote to him.

``My dear Frederic, had you not better come to me? Yours affectionatelyL. I go to the North at the end of

But Frank Greystock did visit hermore than once. On the day after the above letter was written he came to

her. It was on Sunday afternoon, when July was more than half over, and he found her alone. Miss Macnulty

had gone to church, and Lizzie was lying listlessly on a sofa with a volume of poetry in her hand. She had in

truth been reading the book, and in her way enjoying it. It told her the story of certain knights of old, who had

gone forth in quest of a sign from heaven, which sign, if verily seen by them, might be taken to signify that

they themselves were esteemed holy, and fit for heavenly joy. One would have thought that no theme could

have been less palatable to such a one as Lizzie Eustace; but the melody of the lines had pleased her ear, and

she was always able to arouse for herself a false enthusiasm on things which were utterly outside herself in

life. She thought she too could have travelled in search of that holy sign, and have borne all things, and

abandoned all things, and have perseveredand of a certainty have been rewarded. But as for giving up a

``I wonder whether men ever were like that,'' she said, as she allowed her cousin to take the book from her

``They were, no doubt, as fanatic and foolish as you please. If you will read to the end''

``Then you know that Arthur did not go on the search, because he had a job of work to do, by the doing of

``Your useful, practical man, who attends vestries, and sits at Boards, and measures out his gifts to others by

``I don't know what heart means. I sometimes fancy that it is a talent for getting into debt, and running away

``You say that on purpose to make me quarrel with you. You don't run away with other men's wives, and you

``But I get into debt, unfortunately; and as for other men's wives, I am not sure that I may not do even that

some day. Has Lord Fawn been here?'' She shook her head. ``Or written?'' Again she shook her head. As she

did so the long curl waved and was very near to him, for he was sitting close to the sofa, and she had raised

herself so that she might look into his face and speak to him almost in a whisper. ``Something should be

``I wrote to him, yesterdayone line, and desired him to come. I expected him here today, but you have

``Oh, Frank, how vain you men are! You want me to swear to you that I would sooner have you with me than

him. You are not content withthinking it, unless I tell you that it is so. You know that it is so. Though he is

to be my husbandI suppose he will be my husbandhis spirit is not congenial to mine as is yours.''

``What was I to do, Frank? What am I to do? Think how desolate I am, how unfriended, how much in want of

someone whom I can call a protector! I cannot have you always with me. You care more for the little finger

of that prim piece of propriety down at the old dowager's than you do for me and all my sorrows.'' This was

true, but Frank did not say that it was true. ``Lord Fawn is at any rate respectable. At least, I thought he was

``Just thatisn't it?and nothing more. You do not blame me for saying that I would be his wife? If you do,

I will unsay it, let it cost me what it may. He is treating me so badly that I need not go far for an excuse.''

Then she looked into his face with all the eagerness of her gaze, clearly implying that she expected a serious

``What am I to say? He is a timid, cautious man. They have frightened him about this trumpery necklace, and

he is behaving badly. But he will make a good husband. He is not a spendthrift. He has rank. All his people

are respectable. As Lady Fawn, any house in England will be open to you. He is not rich, but together you

``Ah, yesas he would a horse or a picture. Is there anything of the rapture of love in that? Is that your idea

``I shall say what I please of her. You and I are to be friends, and I may not speak? NoI will have no such

friendship! She is demure. If you like it, what harm is there in my saying it? I am not demure. I know that. I

do not, at least, pretend to be other than I am. When she becomes your wife, I wonder whether you will like

her ways?'' He had not yet told her that she was to be his wife, nor did he so tell her now. He thought for a

moment that he had better tell her, but he did not do so. It would, he said to himself, add an embarrassment to

his present position. And as the marriage was to be postponed for a year, it might be better, perhaps, for Lucy

that it should not be declared openly. It was thus he argued with himself, but yet, no doubt, he knew well that

he did not declare the truth because it would take away something of its sweetness from this friendship with

``Of course you will not tell me anything. I do not expect confidence from you. I do not think a man is ever

able to work himself up to the mark of true confidence with his friend. Men together, when they like each

other, talk of politics, or perhaps of money; but I doubt whether they ever really tell their thoughts and

``Yescertainly. What is there that I would not tell you if you cared to hear it? Every thought I have is open

to you if you chose to read it. I have that feeling regarding you that I would keep nothing back from you. Oh,

Frank, if you understood me, you could save meI was going to say from all unhappiness.''

She did it so well that he would have been more than man had he not believed some of it. She was sitting

almost upright now, though her feet were still on the sofa, and was leaning over towards him, as though

imploring him for his aid, and her eyes were full of tears, and her lips were apart as though still eager with the

energy of expression, and her hands were clasped together. She was very lovely, very attractive, almost

invincible. For such a one as Frank Greystock opposition to her in her present mood was impossible. There

are men by whom a woman, if she have wit, beauty, and no conscience, cannot be withstood. Arms may be

used against them, and a sort of battle waged, against which they can raise no shieldfrom which they can

retire into no fortressin which they can parry no blow. A man so weak and so attacked may sometimes run;

but even the poor chance of running is often cut off from him. How unlike she was to Lucy! He believed

herin part; and yet that was the idea that occurred to him. When Lucy was much in earnest, in her eye, too,

a tear would sparkle, the smallest drop, a bright liquid diamond that never fell; and all her face would be

bright and eloquent with feelingbut how unlike were the two! He knew that the difference was that

between truth and falsehoodand yet he partly believed the falsehood! ``If I knew how to save you from an

``Would I not? You do not know me then.'' He had nothing further to say, and it suited her to remain silent for

the moment, while she dried her eyes, and recovered her composure, and prepared herself to carry on the

battle with a smile. She would carry on the battle, using every wile she knew, straining every nerve to be

victorious, encountering any and all dangers, and yet she had no definite aim before her. She herself did not

know what she would be at. At this period of her career she did not want to marry her cousinhaving

resolved that she would be Lady Fawn. Nor did she intend that her cousin should be her loverin the

ordinary sense of love. She was far too wary in the pursuit of the world's goods to sacrifice herself to any

such wish as that. She did want him to help her about the diamondsbut such help as that she might have, as

she knew well, on much easier terms. There was probably an anxiety in her bosom to cause him to be untrue

to Lucy Morris; but the guiding motive of her conduct was the desire to make things seem to be other than

they were. To be always acting a part rather than living her own life was to her everything. ``After all we

must come to facts,'' he said, after a while. ``I suppose it will be better that you should marry Lord Fawn.''

``NayI cannot have that said. In this matter you must rule yourself by your own judgment. If you are

averse to it'' She shook her head. ``Then you will own that it had better be so.'' Again she shook her head.

``Lizzie, for your sake and my own I must declare, that if you have no opinion in this matter, neither will I

have any. You shall never have to say that I pressed you into this marriage or debarred you from marrying. I

``Think how young I am, andby comparisonhow old you are. You are eight years older than I am.

Rememberafter all that I have gone through, I am but twentytwo. At my age other girls have their friends

She paused, and again shook her head. ``Indeed, I do not know. If you mean, do I love him, as I could love

some man whose heart was quite congenial to my own, certainly I do not.'' She continued to shake her head

``So be it, Frank. I will. But, Frank, I will not give up my property. You do not wish me to do that. It would

``No; of course not; that is just what I mean. He can have no right to interfere. When he asked me to be his

wife, he said nothing about that. But if he does not come to me, what shall I do?''

``Will you? That will be so good of you. I feel that I can leave it all so safely in your hands. I shall go out of

town, you know, on the thirtieth. I feel that I shall be better away, and I am sick of all the noise, and glitter,

``So that I may have someone to guide me that I can trust. I have no brother, Frank; do you ever think of

that?'' She put out her hand to him, and he clasped it, and held it tight in his own; and then, after a while, he

pulled her towards him. In a moment she was on the ground, kneeling at his feet, and his arm was round her

shoulder, and his hand was on her back, and he was embracing her. Her face was turned up to him, and he

pressed his lips upon her forehead. ``As my brother,'' she said, stretching back her head and looking up into

They were sitting, or rather acting their little play together, in the back drawingroom, and the ordinary

entrance to the two rooms was from the landingplace into the larger apartmentof which fact Lizzie was

probably aware, when she permitted herself to fall into a position as to which a moment or two might be

wanted for recovery. When, therefore, the servant in livery opened the door, which he did, as Frank thought

somewhat suddenly, she was able to be standing on her legs before she was caught. The quickness with

which she sprung from her position, and the facility with which she composed not her face only, but the loose

lock of her hair and all her person, for the reception of the coming visitor, was quite marvellous. About her

there was none of the look of having been found out which is so very disagreeable to the wearer of it;

whereas Frank, when Lord Fawn was announced, was aware that his manner was awkward, and his general

appearance flurried. Lizzie was no more flurried than if she had stepped that moment from out of the hands of

her tirewoman. She greeted Lord Fawn very prettily, holding him by the hand long enough to show that she

had more claim to do so than could any other woman, and then she just murmured her cousin's name. The

two men shook handsand looked at each other as men do who know that they are not friends, and think

that they may live to be enemies. Lord Fawn, who rarely forgot anything, had certainly not forgotten the

Sawab; and Frank was aware that he might soon be called on to address his lordship in anything but friendly

terms. They said, however, a few words about Parliament and the weather, and the desirability of escaping

``Frank,'' said Lady Eustace, ``is coming down in August to shoot my three annual grouse at Portray. He

``I cannot visit Portray this August, I'm afraid,'' said his lordship, ``much as I might wish to do so. One of us

``I almost think you official men are worse off than we barristers,'' said Frank. ``Well, Lizzie, goodbye. I

``Of course you will,'' said Lizzie. And then the two lovers were left together. They had met once, at Lady

Glencora's ball, since the quarrel at Fawn Court, and there, as though by mutual forbearance, had not alluded

to their troubles. Now he had come, especially to speak of the matter that concerned them both so deeply. As

long as Frank Greystock was in the room, his work was comparatively easy, but he had known beforehand

that he would not find it at all easy should he be left alone with her. Lizzie began. ``My lord,'' she said,

``With me, my lord, a fault admitted is a fault forgiven.'' Then she took her old seat on the sofa, and he placed

himself on the chair which Frank Greystock had occupied. He had not intended to own a fault, and certainly

not to accept forgiveness; but she had been too quick for him; and now he could not find words by which to

express himself. ``In truth,'' she continued, ``I would always rather remember one kindness than a dozen

``So be it. I will not give you the slightest excuse for saying that you have heard a reproach from me. You

He had much to say to her about the diamonds, and, when he was entering the room, he had not a word to say

to her about anything else. Since that, another subject had sprung up before him. Whether he was, or was not,

to regard himself as being at this moment engaged to marry Lady Eustace was a matter to him of much

doubtbut of this he was sure, that if she were engaged to him as his wife, she ought not to be entertaining

her cousin Frank Greystock down at Portray Castle, unless she had some old lady, not only respectable in life,

but high in rank also, to see that everything was right. It was almost an insult to him that such a visit should

have been arranged without his sanction or cognizance. Of course, if he were bound by no engagementand

he had been persuaded by his mother and sister to wish that he were not boundthen the matter would be no

affair of his. If, however, the diamonds were abandoned, then the engagement was to be continuedand in

that case it was out of the question that his elected bride should entertain another young maneven though

she was a widow and the young man was her cousin. Of course, he should have spoken of the diamonds first;

but the other matter had obtruded itself upon him, and he was puzzled. ``Is Mr Greystock to accompany you

``Oh dear no. I go on the thirtieth of this month. I hardly know when he means to be there.''

``Yeshe follows me, of course. `The king himself has followed her, When she has gone before.''' Lord

Fawn did not remember the quotation, and was more puzzled than ever. ``Frank will follow me, just as the

``Neither directly nor indirectly. Just at present, Lord Fawn, I am in no mood to entertain guestsnot even

one that I love so well as my cousin Frank. The Portray mountains are somewhat extensive, and at the back of

``Oh, indeed,'' said Lord Fawn, feeling that he had better dash at once at the diamonds.

``If you, my lord, could manage to join us for a day, my cousin and his friend would, I am sure, come over to

the castle, so that you should not suffer from being left alone with me and Miss Macnulty.''

``At present it is impossible,'' said Lord Fawnand then he paused. ``Lady Eustace, the position in which

``You cannot say that it is of my making,'' she said, with a smile. ``You once askedwhat men think a

``I know how greatly I am indebted to your goodness, Lady Eustace'' And then again he paused.

``I trust you will believe that nothing can be further from me than that you should be harassed by any conduct

``And so am I. I have learned that you are in possession of certain jewels which I cannot allow to be held by

``I am not your wife, Lord Fawn.'' As she said this, she rose from her reclining posture and sat erect.

``It was the pride of my life to think that I had attained to so much happiness. Then came this matter of the

``If you, my lord, intend to take an attorney's word against mine, and that on a matter as to which no one but

myself can know the truth, then you are not fit to be my husband. The diamonds are my own, and should you

and I become man and wife, they must remain so by special settlement. While I choose to keep them they

will be mineto do with them as I please. It will be my pleasure, when my boy marries, to hang them round

``What I have got to say is this,'' began Lord Fawn``I must consider our engagement as at an end unless

``And I make bold to tell you, Lord Fawn, that you are not behaving to me like a man of honour. I shall now

leave the matter in the hands of my cousin, Mr Greystock.'' Then she sailed out of the room, and Lord Fawn

was driven to escape from the house as he might. He stood about the room for five minutes with his hat in his

The thirtieth of July came round, and Lizzie was prepared for her journey down to Scotland. She was to be

accompanied by Miss Macnulty and her own maid and her own servants, and to travel, of course, like a grand

lady. She had not seen Lord Fawn since the meeting recorded in the last chapter, but had seen her cousin

Frank nearly every other day. He, after much consideration, had written a long letter to Lord Fawn, in which

he had given that nobleman to understand that some explanation was required as to conduct which Frank

described as being to him ``at present unintelligible.'' He then went, at considerable length, into the matter of

the diamonds, with the object of proving that Lord Fawn could have no possible right to interfere in the

matter. And though he had from the first wished that Lizzie would give up the trinket, he made various points

in her favour. Not only had they been given to his cousin by her late husbandeven had they not been so

given, they would have been hers by will. Sir Florian had left her everything that was within the walls of

Portray Castle, and the diamonds had been at Portray at the time of Sir Florian's death. Such was Frank's

statementuntrue indeed, but believed by him to be true. This was one of Lizzie's lies, forged as soon as she

understood that some subsidiary claim might be made upon them on the ground that they formed a portion of

property left by will away from hersome claim subsidiary to the grand claim, that the necklace was a

family heirloom. Lord Fawn was not in the least shaken in his conviction that Lizzie had behaved, and was

behaving, badly, and that, therefore, he had better get rid of her, but he knew that he must be very wary in the

reasons he would give for jilting her. He wrote, therefore, a very short note to Greystock, promising that any

explanation needed should be given as soon as circumstances should admit of his forming a decision. In the

There is, or there was, a train leaving London for Carlisle at 11 a.m., by which Lizzie proposed to travel, so

that she might sleep in that city and go on through Dumfries to Portray the next morning. This was her

scheme; but there was another part of her scheme as to which she had felt much doubt. Should she leave the

diamonds, or should she take them with her? The iron box in which they were kept was small, and so far

portable that a strong man might carry it without much trouble. Indeed, Lizzie could move it from one part of

the room to the other, and she had often done so. But it was so heavy that it could not be taken with her

without attracting attention. The servant would know what it was, and the porter would know, and Miss

Macnulty would know. That her own maid should know was a matter of course; but even to her own maid the

journey of the jewels would be remarkable because of the weight of the box, whereas if they went with her

other jewels in her dressingcase, there would be nothing remarkable. She might even have taken them in her

pockethad she dared. But she did not dare. Though she was intelligent and courageous, she was

wonderfully ignorant as to what might and what might not be done for the recovery of the necklace by Mr

Camperdown. She did not dare to take them without the iron box, and at last she decided that the box should

go. At a little after ten, her own carriagethe jobcarriage, which was now about to perform its last journey

in her servicewas at the door, and a cab was there for the servants. The luggage was brought down, and

with the larger boxes was brought the iron case with the necklace. The servant, certainly making more of the

weight than he need have done, deposited it as a footstool for Lizzie, who then seated herself, and was

followed by Miss Macnulty. She would have it placed in the same way beneath her feet in the railway

carriage, and again brought into her room at the Carlisle hotel. What though the porter did know! There was

nothing illegal in travelling about with a heavy iron box full of diamonds, and the risk would be less this way,

she thought, than were she to leave them behind her in London. The house in Mount Street, which she had

taken for the season, was to be given up; and whom could she trust in London? Her very bankers, she feared,

would have betrayed her, and given up her treasure to Mr Camperdown. As for Messrs Harter and Benjamin,

she felt sure that they would be bribed by Mr Camperdown. She once thought of asking her cousin to take the

charge of them, but she could not bring herself to let them out of her own hands. Ten thousand pounds! If she

could only sell them and get the money, from what a world of trouble would she be relieved. And the sale, for

another reason, would have been convenient; for Lady Eustace was already a little in debt. But she could not

sell them, and therefore when she got into the carriage there was the box under her feet.

At that very moment who should appear on the pavement, standing between the carriage and the housedoor,

but Mr Camperdown! And with Mr Camperdown there was another mana very suspiciouslooking

manwhom Lizzie at once took to be a detective officer of police. ``Lady Eustace!'' said Mr Camperdown,

taking off his hat. Lizzie bowed across Miss Macnulty, and endeavoured to restrain the telltale blood from

flying to her cheeks. ``I believe'', said Mr Camperdown ``that you are now starting for Scotland.''

``Oh dear no. We are late, I tell you. What a time you have chosen for coming, Mr Camperdown!''

``It is an awkward hour, Lady Eustace. I only heard this morning that you were going so soon, and it is

``III really cannot see you now. William, the coachman must drive on. We cannot allow ourselves to

lose the train. I am really very sorry, Mr Camperdown; but we must not lose the train.''

``Lady Eustace,'' said Mr Camperdown, putting his hand on the carriagedoor, and so demeaning himself that

the coachman did not dare to drive on, ``I must ask you a question.'' He spoke in a low voice, but he was

speaking across Miss Macnulty. That lady, therefore, heard him, and so did William, the servant, who was

standing close to the door. ``I must insist on knowing where are the Eustace diamonds.'' Lizzie felt the box

beneath her feet, and, without showing that she did so, somewhat widened her drapery.

``If you will not answer me, I must tell you that I shall be driven in the execution of my duty to obtain a

searchwarrant, in order that they may be placed in proper custody. They are not your property, and must be

Lizzie looked at the suspicious man with a frightened gaze. The suspicious man was, in fact, a very

respectable clerk in Mr Camperdown's employment, but Lizzie for a moment felt that the search was about to

begin at once. She had hardly understood the threat, and thought that the attorney was already armed with the

powers of which he spoke. She glanced for a moment at Miss Macnulty, and then at the servant. Would they

betray her? If they chose to use force to her, the box certainly might be taken from her. ``I know I shall lose

the train,'' she said. ``I know I shall. I must insist that you let my servant drive on.'' There was now a little

crowd of a dozen persons on the pavement, and there was nothing to cover her diamonds but the skirt of her

``Why doesn't he go on?'' shouted Lizzie. ``You have no right, sir, to stop me. I won't be stopped.''

``Then I shall be forced, on behalf of the family, to obtain a searchwarrant, both here and in Ayrshire, and

proceedings will be taken also against your ladyship personally.'' So saying, Mr Camperdown withdrew, and

As it happened, there was time enough for catching the trainand to spare. The whole affair in Mount Street

had taken less than ten minutes. But the effect upon Lizzie was very severe. For a while she could not speak,

and at last she burst out into hysteric tearsnot a sham fitbut a true convulsive agony of sobbing. All the

world of Mount Street, including her own servants, had heard the accusation against her. During the whole

morning she had been wishing that she had never seen the diamonds; but now it was almost impossible that

she should part with them. And yet they were like a load upon her chest, a load as heavy as though she were

compelled to sit with the iron box on her lap day and night. In her sobbing she felt the thing under her feet,

and knew that she could not get rid of it. She hated the box, and yet she must cling to it now. She was

thoroughly ashamed of the box, and yet she must seem to take a pride in it. She was horribly afraid of the

box, and yet she must keep it in her own very bedroom. And what should she say about the box now to Miss

Macnulty, who sat by her side, stiff and scornful, offering her smellingbottles, but not offering her

sympathy? ``My dear,'' she said at last, ``that horrid man has quite upset me.''

``And so unjust, tooso falsesososo. They are my own as much as that umbrella is yours, Miss

``There is no doubt,'' said Lizzie``how dare you say there is a doubt? My cousin, Mr Greystock, says that

there is not the slightest doubt. He is a barrister, and must know better than an attorney like that Mr

Camperdown.'' By this time they were at the Euston Square station, and then there was more trouble with the

box. The footman struggled with it into the waitingroom, and the porter struggled with it from the

waitingroom to the carriage. Lizzie could not but look at the porter as he carried it, and she felt sure that the

man had been told of its contents and was struggling with the express view of adding to her annoyance. The

same thing happened at Carlisle, where the box was carried up into Lizzie's bedroom by the footman, and

where she was convinced that her treasure had become the subject of conversation for the whole house. In the

morning people looked at her as she walked down the long platform with the box still struggling before her.

She almost wished that she had undertaken its carriage herself, as she thought that even she could have

managed with less outward show of effort. Her own servants seemed to be in league against her, and Miss

Macnulty had never before been so generally unpleasant. Poor Miss Macnulty, who had a conscientious idea

of doing her duty, and who always attempted to give an adequate return for the bread she ate, could not so far

overcome the effect of Mr Camperdown's visit, as to speak on any subject without being stiff and hard. And

she suffered, too, from the boxto such a degree that she turned over in her mind the thought of leaving

Lizzie, if any other possible home might be found for her. Who would willingly live with a woman who

always travelled about with a diamond necklace worth ten thousand pounds, locked up in an iron safeand

But at last Lady Eustace, and Miss Macnulty, and the servantsand the iron boxreached Portray Castle in

Lady Eustace had been rather cross on the journey down to Scotland, and had almost driven the unfortunate

Macnulty to think that Lady Linlithgow or the workhouse would be better than this young tyrant; but on her

arrival at her own house she was for awhile all smiles and kindness. During the journey she had been angry

without thought, but was almost entitled to be excused for her anger. Could Miss Macnulty have realised the

amount of oppression inflicted on her patroness by the box of diamonds she would have forgiven anything.

Hitherto there had been some secrecy, or at any rate some privacy attached to the matter; but now that odious

lawyer had discussed the matter aloud, in the very streets, in the presence of the servants, and Lady Eustace

had felt that it was discussed also by every porter on the railway from London down to Troon, the station in

Scotland at which her own carriage met her to take her to her own castle. The night at Carlisle had been

terrible to her, and the diamonds had never been for a moment off her mind. Perhaps the worst of it all was

that her own man servant and maid servant had heard the claim which had been so violently made by Mr

Camperdown. There are people, in that respect very fortunately circumstanced, whose servants, as a matter of

course, know all their affairs, have an interest in their concerns, sympathise with their demands, feel their

wants, and are absolutely at one with them. But in such cases the servants are really known, and are almost as

completely a part of the family as the sons and daughters. There may be disruptions and quarrels; causes may

arise for ending the existing condition of things; but while this condition lasts, the servants in such

households are, for the most part, only too well inclined to fight the battles of their employers. Mr Binns, the

butler, would almost foam at the mouth if it were suggested to him that the plate at Silvercup Hall was not the

undoubted property of the old squire; and Mrs Pouncebox could not be made to believe, by any amount of

human evidence, that the jewels which her lady has worn for the last fifteen years are not her ladyship's very

own. Binns would fight for the plate, and so would Pouncebox for the jewels, almost till they were cut to

pieces. The preservation of these treasures on behalf of those who paid them their wages, and fed them, who

occasionally scolded them but always succoured them, would be their point of honour. No torture would get

the key of the cellar from Binns; no threats extract from Pouncebox a secret of the toilet. But poor Lizzie

Eustace had no Binns and no Pouncebox. They are plants that grow slowly. There was still too much of the

mushroom about Lady Eustace to permit of her possessing such treasures. Her footman was six feet high, was

not bad looking, and was called Thomas. She knew no more about him, and was far too wise to expect

sympathy from him, or other aid than the work for which she paid him. Her own maid was somewhat nearer

to her; but not much nearer. The girl's name was Patience Crabstick, and she could do hair well. Lizzie knew

Lizzie considered herself still to be engaged to be married to Lord Fawnbut there was no sympathy to be

had in that quarter. Frank Greystock might be induced to sympathise with herbut hardly after the fashion

which Lizzie desired. And then sympathy in that direction would be so dangerous, should she decide upon

going on with the Fawn marriage. For the present she had quarrelled with Lord Fawnbut the very

bitterness of that quarrel, and the decision with which her betrothed had declared his intention of breaking off

the match, made her the more resolute that she would marry him. During her journey to Portray she had again

determined that he should be her husbandand, if so, advanced sympathysympathy that would be

pleasantly tender with her cousin Frank, would be dangerous. She would be quite willing to accept even Miss

Macnulty's sympathy, if that humble lady would give it to her of the kind she wanted. She declared to herself

that she could pour herself out on Miss Macnulty's bosom, and mingle her tears even with Miss Macnulty's, if

only Miss Macnulty would believe in her. If Miss Macnulty would be enthusiastic about the jewels,

enthusiastic as to the wickedness of Lord Fawn, enthusiastic in praising Lizzie herself, Lizzieso she told

herselfwould have showered all the sweets of female friendship even on Miss Macnulty's head. But Miss

Macnulty was as hard as a deal board. She did as she was bidden, thereby earning her bread. But there was no

tenderness in herno delicacyno feelingno comprehension. It was thus that Lady Eustace judged her

humble companion; and in one respect she judged her rightly. Miss Macnulty did not believe in Lady

Eustace, and was not sufficiently gifted to act up to a belief which she did not entertain.

Poor Lizzie! The world, in judging of people who are false and bad and selfish and prosperous to outward

appearances, is apt to be hard upon them, and to forget the punishments which generally accompany such

faults. Lizzie Eustace was very false and bad and selfishand, we may say, very prosperous also; but in the

midst of all she was thoroughly uncomfortable. She was never at ease. There was no green spot in her life

with which she could be contented. And though, after a fashion, she knew herself to be false and bad, she was

thoroughly convinced that she was illused by everybody about her. She was being very badly treated by

Lord Fawnbut she flattered herself that she would be able to make Lord Fawn know more of her character

Portray Castle was really a castlenot simply a country mansion so called, but a stone edifice with

battlements and a round tower at one corner, and a gate which looked as if it might have had a portcullis, and

narrow windows in a portion of it, and a cannon mounted up on a low roof, and an excavation called the

moatbut which was now a fantastic and somewhat picturesque gardenrunning round two sides of it. In

very truth, though a portion of the castle was undoubtedly old, and had been built when strength was needed

for defence and probably for the custody of bootythe battlements, and the round tower, and the

aweinspiring gateway had all been added by one of the late Sir Florians. But the castle looked like a castle,

and was interesting. As a house it was not particularly eligible, the castle form of domestic architecture being

exigeant in its nature, and demanding that space, which in less ambitious houses can be applied to comfort,

shall be surrendered to magnificence. There was a great hall, and a fine diningroom with plateglass

windows looking out upon the sea; but the other sittingrooms were insignificant, and the bedrooms were

here and there, and were for the most part small and dark. That, however, which Lizzie had appropriated to

The castle stood upon a bluff of land, with a fine prospect of the Firth of Clyde, and with a distant view of the

Isle of Arran. When the air was clear, as it often is clear there, the Arran hills could be seen from Lizzie's

window, and she was proud of talking of the prospect. In other respects, perhaps, the castle was somewhat

desolate. There were a few stunted trees around it, but timber had not prospered there. There was a grand

kitchen gardenor rather a kitchen garden which had been intended to be grandbut since Lizzie's reign

had been commenced, the grandeur had been neglected. Grand kitchen gardens are expensive, and Lizzie had

at once been firm in reducing the undergardeners from five men to one and a boy. The head gardener had of

course left her at once; but that had not broken her heart, and she had hired a modest man at a guinea a week

instead of a scientific artist, who was by no means modest, with a hundred and twenty pounds a year and

coals, house, milk, and all other horticultural luxuries. Though Lizzie was prosperous and had a fine income,

she was already aware that she could not keep up a town and country establishment and be a rich woman on

four thousand a year. There was a flower garden and small shrubbery within the socalled moat; but,

otherwise, the grounds of Portray Castle were not alluring. The place was sombre, exposed, and, in winter,

very cold; and, except that the expanse of sea beneath the hill on which stood the castle was fine and open, it

had no great claim to praise on the score of scenery. Behind the castle, and away from the sea, the low

mountains belonging to the estate stretched for some eight or ten miles; and towards the further end of them,

where stood a shootinglodge, called always The Cottage, the landscape became rough and grand. It was in

this cottage that Frank Greystock was to be sheltered with his friend, when he came down to shoot what Lady

She ought to have been happy and comfortable. There will, of course, be some to say that a young widow

should not be happy and comfortablethat she should be weeping her lost lord, and subject to the desolation

of bereavement. But as the world goes now, young widows are not miserable; and there is, perhaps, a

growing tendency in society to claim from them year by year still less of any misery that may be avoidable.

Suttee propensities of all sorts, from burning alive down to bombazine and hideous forms of clothing, are

becoming less and less popular among the nations, and women are beginning to learn that, let what

misfortunes will come upon them, it is well for them to be as happy as their nature will allow them to be. A

woman may thoroughly respect her husband, and mourn him truly, honestly, with her whole heart, and yet

enjoy thoroughly the good things which he has left behind for her use. It was not, at any rate, sorrow for the

lost Sir Florian that made Lady Eustace uncomfortable. She had her child. She had her income. She had her

youth and beauty. She had Portray Castle. She had a new loverand, if she chose to be quit of him, not

liking him well enough for the purpose, she might undoubtedly have another whom she would like better.

She had hitherto been thoroughly successful in her life. And yet she was unhappy. What was it that she

She had been a very clever childa clever, crafty child; and now she was becoming a clever woman. Her

craft remained with her; but so keen was her outlook upon the world, that she was beginning to perceive that

craft, let it be never so crafty, will in the long run miss its own object. She actually envied the simplicity of

Lucy Morris, for whom she delighted to find evil names, calling her demure, a prig, a sly puss, and so on. But

she could seeor half seethat Lucy with her simplicity was stronger than was she with her craft. She had

nearly captivated Frank Greystock with her wiles, but without any wiles Lucy had captivated him altogether.

And a man captivated by wiles was only captivated for a time, whereas a man won by simplicity would be

won for everif he himself were worth the winning. And this, too, she feltthat let her success be what it

might, she could not be happy unless she could win a man's heart. She had won Sir Florian's, but that had

been but for an hourfor a month or two. And then Sir Florian had never really won hers. Could not she be

simple? Could not she act simplicity so well that the thing acted could be as powerful as the thing

itselfperhaps even more powerful? Poor Lizzie Eustace! In thinking over all this, she saw a great deal. It

was wonderful that she should see so much and tell herself so many home truths. But there was one truth she

could not see, and therefore could not tell it to herself. She had not a heart to give. It had become petrified

during those lessons of early craft in which she had taught herself how to get the better of Messrs Harter and

Her ladyship had now come down to her country house, leaving London and all its charms before the end of

the season, actuated by various motives. In the first place, the house in Mount Street was taken, furnished, by

the month, and the servants were hired after the same fashion, and the horses jobbed. Lady Eustace was

already sufficiently intimate with her accounts to know that she would save two hundred pounds by not

remaining another month or three weeks in London, and sufficiently observant of her own affairs to have

perceived that such saving was needed. And then it appeared to her that her battle with Lord Fawn could be

better fought from a distance than at close quarters. London, too, was becoming absolutely distasteful to her.

There were many things there that tended to make her unhappy, and so few that she could enjoy! She was

afraid of Mr Camperdown, and ever on the rack lest some dreadful thing should come upon her in respect of

the necklacesome horrible paper served upon her from a magistrate, ordering her appearance at Newgate,

or perhaps before the Lord Chancellor, or a visit from policemen, who would be empowered to search for and

carry off the iron box. And then there was so little in her London life to gratify her! It is pleasant to win in a

fightbut to be always fighting is not pleasant. Except in those moments, few and far between, in which she

was alone with her cousin Frankand perhaps in those other moments in which she wore her

diamondsshe had but little in London that she enjoyed. She still thought that a time would come when it

would be otherwise. Under these influences she had actually made herself believe that she was sighing for the

country, and for solitude; for the wide expanse of her own bright wavesas she had called themand for

the rocks of dear Portray. She had told Miss Macnulty and Augusta Fawn that she thirsted for the breezes of

Ayrshire, so that she might return to her books and her thoughts. Amidst the whirl of London it was

impossible either to read or to think. And she believed it, tooherself. She so believed it, that on the first

morning of her arrival she took a little volume in her pocket, containing Shelley's Queen Mab, and essayed to

go down upon the rocks. She had actually breakfasted at nine, and was out in the sloping grounds below the

castle before ten, having made some boast to Miss Macnulty about the morning air.

She scrambled downnot very far down, but a little way beneath the garden gate, to a spot on which a knob

of rock cropped out from the scanty herbage of the incipient cliff. Fifty yards lower, the real rocks began;

and, though the real rocks were not very rocky, not precipitous or even bold, and were partially covered with

saltfed mosses, down almost to the sea, nevertheless they justified her in talking about her rockbound

shore. The shore was hersfor her life, and it was rockbound. This knob she had espied from her

windowsand, indeed, had been thinking of it for the last week, as a place appropriate to solitude and

Shelley. She had stood on it before, and had stretched her arms with enthusiasm towards the justvisible

mountains of Arran. On that occasion the weather, perhaps, had been cool; but now a blazing sun was

overhead, and when she had been seated half a minute, and ``Queen Mab'' had been withdrawn from her

pocket, she found that it would not do. It would not do, even with the canopy she could make for herself with

her parasol. So she stood up and looked about herself for shadefor shade in some spot in which she could

still look out upon ``her dear wide ocean, with its glittering smile''. For it was thus that she would talk about

the mouth of the Clyde. Shelter near her there was none. The scrubby trees lay nearly half a mile to the

rightand up the hill, too. She had once clambered down to the actual shore, and might do so again. But she

doubted that there would be shelter even there; and the clambering up on that former occasion had been a

nuisance and would be a worse nuisance now. Thinking of all this, and feeling the sun keenly, she gradually

retraced her steps to the garden within the moat, and seated herself, Shelley in hand, within the

summerhouse. The bench was narrow, hard, and broken; and there were some snails which discomposed

herbut, nevertheless, she would make the best of it. Her darling Queen Mab must be read without the

coarse, inappropriate, everyday surroundings of a drawingroom; and it was now manifest to her that, unless

she could get up much earlier in the morning, or come out to her reading after sunset, the knob of rock would

She began her reading, resolved that she would enjoy her poetry in spite of the narrow seat. She had often

talked of Queen Mab, and perhaps she thought she had read it. This, however, was in truth her first attempt at

that work. ``How wonderful is Death! Death and his brother, Sleep!'' Then she halfclosed the volume, and

thought that she enjoyed the idea. Deathand his brother Sleep! She did not know why they should be more

wonderful than Action, or Life, or Thoughtbut the words were of a nature which would enable her to

remember them, and they would be good for quoting. ``Sudden arose Ianthe's soul; it stood allbeautiful in

naked purity.'' The name of Ianthe suited her exactly. And the antithesis conveyed to her mind by naked

purity struck her strongly, and she determined to learn the passage by heart. Eight or nine lines were printed

separately, like a stanza, and the labour would not be great, and the task, when done, would be complete.

``Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace, Each stain of earthliness Had passed away, it reassumed Its

native dignity, and stood Immortal amid ruin.'' Which was instinct with beautythe stain or the soul, she did

not stop to inquire, and may be excused for not understanding. ``Ah,''she exclaimed to herself, ``how true

it is; how one feels it; how it comes home to one!`Sudden arose Ianthe's soul!''' And then she walked about

the garden, repeating the words to herself, and almost forgetting the heat. ```Each stain of earthliness had

passed away.' Hayes. They will pass away, and become instinct with beauty and grace.'' A dim idea came

upon her that when this happy time should arrive, no one would claim her necklace from her, and that the

man at the stables would not be so disagreeably punctual in sending in his bill. ```Allbeautiful in naked

purity!''' What a tawdry world was this, in which clothes and food and houses are necessary! How perfectly

that boypoet had understood it all! ```Immortal amid ruin!''' She liked the idea of the ruin almost as well as

that of the immortality, and the stains quite as well as the purity. As immortality must come, and as stains

were instinct with grace, why be afraid of ruin? But then, if people go wrongat least womenthey are not

asked out any where! ```Sudden arose Ianthe's soul; it stood allbeautiful''' And so the piece was learned,

and Lizzie felt that she had devoted her hour to poetry in a quite rapturous manner. At any rate she had a bit

to quote; and though in truth she did not understand the exact bearing of the image, she had so studied her

gestures, and so modulated her voice, that she knew that she could be effective. She did not then care to carry

her reading further, but returned with the volume into the house. Though the passage about Ianthe's soul

comes very early in the work, she was now quite familiar with the poem, and when, in after days, she spoke

of it as a thing of beauty that she had made her own by long study, she actually did not know that she was

lying. As she grew older, however, she quickly became wiser, and was aware that in learning one passage of

a poem, it is expedient to select one in the middle, or at the end. The world is so cruelly observant

nowadays, that even men and women who have not themselves read their Queen Mab, will know from

what part of the poem a morsel is extracted, and will not give you credit for a page beyond that from which

After lunch Lizzie invited Miss Macnulty to sit at the open window of the drawingroom and look out upon

the ``glittering waves''. In giving Miss Macnulty her due, we must acknowledge that, though she owned no

actual cleverness herself, had no cultivated tastes, read but little, and that little of a colourless kind, and

thought nothing of her hours but that she might get rid of them and liveyet she had a certain power of

insight, and could see a thing. Lizzie Eustace was utterly powerless to impose upon her. Such as Lizzie was,

Miss Macnulty was willing to put up with her and accept her bread. The people whom she had known had

been either worthlessas had been her own father, or cruellike Lady Linlithgow, or falseas was Lady

Eustace. Miss Macnulty knew that worthlessness, cruelty, and falseness had to be endured by such as she.

And she could bear them without caring much about themnot condemning them, even within her own

heart, very heavily. But she was strangely deficient in thisthat she could not call these qualities by other

names, even to the owners of them. She was unable to pretend to believe Lizzie's rhapsodies. It was hardly

conscience or a grand spirit of truth that actuated her, as much as a want of the courage needed for lying. She

had not had the face to call old Lady Linlithgow kind, and therefore old Lady Linlithgow had turned her out

of the house. When Lady Eustace called on her for sympathy, she had not courage enough to dare to attempt

the bit of acting which would be necessary for sympathetic expression. She was like a dog or a child, and was

unable not to be true. Lizzie was longing for a little mock sympathywas longing to show off her Shelley,

and was very kind to Miss Macnulty when she got the poor old lady into the recess of the window. ``This is

niceis it not?'' she said, as she spread her hand out through the open space towards the ``wide expanse of

``Ah, I love the full warmth of the real summer. With me it always seems that the sun is needed to bring to

true ripeness the fruit of the heart.'' Nevertheless she had been much troubled both by the heat and by the

midges when she tried to sit on the stone, ``I always think of those few glorious days which I passed with my

darling Florian at Naplesdays too glorious because they were so few.'' Now Miss Macnulty knew some of

the history of those days and of their gloryand knew also how the widow had borne her loss.

``It is not only the bay. There are scenes there which ravish you, only it is necessary that there should be

someone with you that can understand you. `Soul of Ianthe!''' she said, meaning to apostrophise that of the

``Ahyou should read it. I know nothing in the English language that brings home to one so often one's own

best feelings and aspirations. `It stands all beautiful in naked purity,''' she continued, still alluding to poor Sir

Florian's soul, ```Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace, Each stain of earthliness had passed away.' I

can see him now in all his manly beauty, as we used to sit together by the hour, looking over the waters. Oh,

Julia, the thing itself has gonethe earthly reality; but the memory of it will live for ever!''

``He was a very handsome man, certainly,'' said Miss Macnulty, finding herself forced to say something.

``I see him now,'' she went on, still gazing out upon the shining water, ```It reassumed its native dignity, and

stood Primeval amid ruin.' Is not that a glorious idea, gloriously worded?'' She had forgotten one word and

used a wrong epithet; but it sounded just as well. Primeval seemed to her to be a very poetical word.

``To tell the truth,'' said Miss Macnulty, ``I never understand poetry when it is quoted unless I happen to

know the passage beforehand. I think I'll go away from this, for the light is too much for my poor old eyes.''

Certainly Miss Macnulty had fallen into a profession for which she was not suited.

Lady Eustace could make nothing of Miss Macnulty in the way of sympathy, and could not bear her

disappointment with patience. It was hardly to be expected that she should do so. She paid a great deal for

Miss Macnulty. In a moment of rash generosity, and at a time when she hardly knew what money meant, she

had promised Miss Macnulty seventy pounds for the first year, and seventy for the second, should the

arrangement last longer than a twelvemonth. The second year had been now commenced, and Lady Eustace

was beginning to think that seventy pounds was a great deal of money, when so very little was given in

return. Lady Linlithgow had paid her dependant no fixed salary. And then there was the lady's ``keep'', and

firstclass travelling when they went up and down to Scotland, and cabfares in London when it was

desirable that Miss Macnulty should absent herself. Lizzie, reckoning all up, and thinking that for so much

her friend ought to be ready to discuss Ianthe's soul, or any other kindred subject, at a moment's warning,

would become angry, and would tell herself that she was being swindled out of her money. She knew how

necessary it was that she should have some companion at the present emergency of her life, and therefore

could not at once send Miss Macnulty away; but she would sometimes become very cross, and would tell

poor Macnulty that she wasa fool. Upon the whole, however, to be called a fool was less objectionable to

Miss Macnulty than were demands for sympathy which she did not know how to give.

Those first ten days of August went very slowly with Lady Eustace. Queen Mab got itself poked away, and

was heard of no more. But there were other books. A huge box full of novels had come down, and Miss

Macnulty was a great devourer of novels. If Lady Eustace would talk to her about the sorrows of the poorest

heroine that ever saw her lover murdered before her eyes, and then come to life again with ten thousand

pounds a yearfor a period of three weeks, or till another heroine, who had herself been murdered,

obliterated the former horrors from her plastic mindMiss Macnulty could discuss the catastrophe with the

keenest interest. And Lizzie, finding herself to be, as she told herself, unstrung, fell also into novelreading.

She had intended during this vacant time to master the Fairy Queen; but the Fairy Queen fared even worse

than Queen Maband the studies of Portray Castle were confined to novels. For poor Macnulty, if she could

only be left alone, this was well enough. To have her meals, and her daily walk, and her fill of novels, and to

be left alone, was all that she asked of the gods. But it was not so with Lady Eustace. She asked much more

than that, and was now thoroughly discontented with her own idleness. She was sure that she could have read

Spenser from sunrise to sundown, with no other break than an hour or two given to Shelleyif only there

had been someone to sympathise with her in her readings. But there was no one, and she was very cross.

Then there came a letter to her from her cousinwhich for that morning brought some life back to the castle.

``I have seen Lord Fawn'', said the letter, ``and I have also seen Mr Camperdown. As it would be very hard to

explain what took place at these interviews by letter, and as I shall be at Portray Castle on the 20thI will

not make the attempt. We shall go down by the night train, and I will get over to you as soon as I have

dressed and had my breakfast. I suppose I can find some kind of a pony for the journey. The `we' consists of

myself and my friend, Mr Herriota man whom I think you will like, if you will condescend to see him,

though he is a barrister like myself. You need express no immediate condescension in his favour, as I shall of

course come over alone on Wednesday morning. Yours always affectionately, F.G.''

The letter she received on the Sunday morning, and as the Wednesday named for Frank's coming was the

next Wednesday, and was close at hand, she was in rather a better humour than she had displayed since the

poets had failed her. ``What a blessing it will be'', she said, ``to have somebody to speak to!''

This was not complimentary, but Miss Macnulty did not want compliments. ``Yes, indeed,'' she said. ``Of

``I shall be glad to see anything in the shape of a man. I declare that I have felt almost inclined to ask the

``Yes, poor man, and a wife, and not more than enough to live upon. I daresay he would have come. By the

``A pony!'' Miss Macnulty of course supposed that it was needed for the purpose of the suggested elopement.

``YesI suppose you know what a pony is? Of course there ought to be a shooting pony at the cottage for

these men. My poor head has so many things to work upon that I had forgotten it; and you're never any good

``No, I sha'n't. You don't suppose that men always go riding about. But I want one. What had I better do?''

Miss Macnulty suggested that Gowran should be consulted. Now, Gowran was the steward and bailiff and

manager and factotum about the place, who bought a cow or sold one if occasion required, and saw that

nobody stole anything, and who knew the boundaries of the farms, and all about the tenants, and looked after

the pipes when frost came, and was an honest, domineering, hardworking, intelligent Scotchman, who had

been brought up to love the Eustaces, and who hated his present mistress with all his heart. He did not leave

her service, having an idea in his mind that it was now the great duty of his life to save Portray from her

ravages. Lizzie fully returned the compliment of the hatred, and was determined to rid herself of Andy

Gowran's services as soon as possible. He had been called Andy by the late Sir Florian, and, though everyone

else about the place called him Mr Gowran, Lady Eustace thought it became her, as the man's mistress, to

treat him as he had been treated by the late master. So she called him Andy. But she was resolved to get rid of

himas soon as she should dare. There were things which it was essential that somebody about the place

should know, and no one knew them but Mr Gowran. Every servant in the castle might rob her, were it not

for the protection afforded by Mr Gowran. In that affair of the garden it was Mr Gowran who had enabled her

to conquer the horticultural Leviathian who had oppressed her, and who, in point of wages, had been a much

bigger man than Mr Gowran himself. She trusted Mr Gowran, and hated himwhereas Mr Gowran hated

her, and did not trust her. ``I believe you think that nothing can be done at Portray except by that man,'' said

``Yesand get some brute not fit for my cousin to ride, on purpose, perhaps, to break his neck.''

``Then I should ask Mr Macallum, the postmaster of Troon, for I have seen three or four very quietlooking

``Macnulty, if there ever was an idiot you are one!'' said Lady Eustace, throwing up her hands. ``To think that

Lady Eustace was, of course, obliged to have recourse to Gowran, to whom she applied on the Monday

morning. Not even Lizzie Eustace, on behalf of her cousin Frank, would have dared to disturb Mr Gowran

with considerations respecting a pony on the Sabbath. On the Monday morning she found Mr Gowran

superintending four boys and three old women, who were making a bit of her ladyship's hay on the ground

above the castle. The ground about the castle was poor and exposed, and her ladyship's hay was apt to be late.

``Andy,'' she said, ``I shall want to get a pony for the gentlemen who are coming to the Cottage. It must be

``Yesa pony. I suppose a pony may be purchased in Ayrshirethough of all places in the world it seems

``Never mind. You will have the kindness to have a pony purchased and put into the stables of the Cottage on

``Oh, aythere's shelter, na doubt, for mair pownies than they'll ride. When the Cottage was biggit, my

leddie, there was nae cause for sparing nowt.'' Andy Gowran was continually throwing her comparative

poverty in poor Lizzie's teeth, and there was nothing he could do which displeased her more.

``And I needn't spare my cousin the use of a pony,'' she said grandiloquently, but feeling as she did so that she

was exposing herself before the man. ``You'll have the goodness to procure one for him on Tuesday.''

``But there ain't aits nor yet fother, nor nowt for bedding down. And wha's to tent the pownie? There's mair in

keeping a pownie than your leddyship thinks. It'll be a matter of auchteen and saxpence a weekwill a

pownie.'' Mr Gowran, as he expressed his prudential scruples, put a very strong emphasis indeed on the

``And there'll be the beastie to buy, me leddie. He'll bea lump of money, my leddie. Pownies ain't to be had

``Or may betwal; just as likely.'' And Mr Gowran shook his head at his mistress in a most uncomfortable

``There ain't no proper prices for powniesas there is for jew'ls and sich like.'' If this was intended for

sarcasm upon Lady Eustace in regard to her diamonds, Mr Gowran ought to have been dismissed on the spot.

In such a case no English jury would have given him his current wages. ``and he'll be to sell again, my

``Ye'll never let him eat his head off there a' the winter! He'll be to sell. And the gentles'll ride him, may be,

ance across the hillside, out and back. As to the grouse, they can't cotch them with the pownie, for there ain't

none to cotch.'' There had been two keepers on the mountainsmen who were paid five or six shillings a

week to look after the game in addition to their other callings, and one of these had been sent away, actually

in obedience to Gowran's adviceso that this blow was cruel and unmanly. He made it, too, as severe as he

``Do you mean to tell me that my cousin cannot be supplied with an animal to ride upon?''

``My leddie, I've said nowt o' the kind. There ain't no useful animal as I kens the name and nature of as he

can't have in Ayrshirefor paying for it, my leddiehorse, pownie, or ass, just whichever you please, my

There can be no doubt that Gowran purposely slurred the word so that his mistress should not understand

``A seddle, my leddie,''said he, shouting the word at her at the top of his voice``and a briddle. I suppose

``Of course there must be the necessary horsefurniture,'' said Lady Eustace, retiring to the castle. Andy

Gowran had certainly illused her, and she swore that she would have revenge. Nor when she was informed

on the Tuesday that an adequate pony had been hired for eighteen pence a day, saddle, bridle, groom, and all

Had Frank Greystock known all that his cousin endured for his comfort, would he have been grateful?

Women, when they are fond of men, do think much of men's comfort in small matters, and men are apt to

take the good things provided almost as a matter of course. When Frank Greystock and Herriot reached the

cottage about nine o'clock in the morning, having left London over night by the limited mail train, the pony at

once presented itself to them. It was a little shaggy, black beast, with a boy almost as shaggy as itself, but

they were both good of their kind. ``Oh, you're the laddie with the pownie, are you?'' said Frank, in answer to

an announcement made to him by the boy. He did at once perceive that Lizzie had taken notice of the word in

his note, in which he had suggested that some means of getting over to Portray would be needed, and he

His friend was a man a couple of years younger than himself, who had hitherto achieved no success at the

Bar, but who was nevertheless a clever, diligent, wellinstructed man. He was what the world calls penniless,

having an income from his father just sufficient to keep him like a gentleman. He was not much known as a

sportsman, his opportunities for shooting not having been great; but he dearly loved the hills and fresh air,

and the few grouse which wereor were noton Lady Eustace's mountains would go as far with him as

they would with any man. Before he had consented to come with Frank, he had especially inquired whether

there was a gamekeeper, and it was not till he had been assured that there was no officer attached to the estate

worthy of such a name, that he had consented to come upon his present expedition. ``I don't clearly know

what a gillie is,'' he said, in answer to one of Frank's explanations. ``If a gillie means a lad without any

breeches on, I don't mind; but I couldn't stand a severe man got up in wellmade velveteens, who would see

through my ignorance in a moment, and make known by comment the fact that he had done so.'' Greystock

had promised that there should be no severity, and Herriot had come. Greystock brought with him two guns,

two fishing rods, a man servant, and a huge hamper from Fortnum and Mason's. Arthur Herriot, whom the

attorneys had not yet loved, brought some very thick boots, a pair of knickerbockers, together with Stone and

Toddy's Digest of the Common Law. The best of the legal profession consists in thisthat when you get

fairly at work you may give over working. An aspirant must learn everything; but a man may make his

fortune at it, and know almost nothing. He may examine a witness with judgment, see through a case with

precision, address a jury with eloquenceand yet be altogether ignorant of law. But he must be believed to

be a very pundit before he will get a chance of exercising his judgment, his precision, or his eloquence. The

men whose names are always in the newspapers never look at their Stone and Toddycare for it not at

allhave their Stone and Toddy got up for them by their juniors when cases require that reference shall be

made to precedents. But till that blessed time has come, a barrister who means success should carry his Stone

and Toddy with him everywhere. Greystock never thought of the law now, unless he had some special case in

hand; but Herriot could not afford to go out on his holiday without two volumes of Stone and Toddy's Digest

``You won't mind being left alone for the first morning?'' said Frank, as soon as they had finished the contents

``I'd go on the mountain if I were you, and get into a habit of steady loading.''

``Perhaps I will take a turnjust to find out how I feel in the knickerbockers. At what time shall I dine if you

``I shall certainly be here to dinner,'' said Frank, ``unless the pony fails me or I get lost on the mountain.''

Then he started, and Herriot at once went to work on Stone and Toddy, with a pipe in his mouth. He had

travelled all night, and it is hardly necessary to say that in five minutes he was fast asleep.

So also had Frank travelled all night, but the pony and the fresh air kept him awake. The boy had offered to

go with him, but that he had altogether refusedand, therefore, to his other cares was added that of finding

his way. The sweep of the valleys, however, is long and not abrupt, and he could hardly miss his road if he

would only make one judicious turn through a gap in a certain wall which lay half way between the cottage

and the castle. He was thinking of the work in hand, and he found the gap without difficulty. When through

that he ascended the hill for two miles, and then the sea was before him, and Portray Castle, lying, as it

seemed to him at that distance, close upon the seashore. ``Upon my word, Lizzie has not done badly for

herself,'' he said almost aloud, as he looked down upon the fair sight beneath him, and round upon the

mountains, and remembered that, for her life at least, it was all hers, and after her death would belong to her

He rode down to the great doorwaythe mountain track which fell on to the road about half a mile from the

castle having been plain enough, and there he gave up the pony into the hands of no less a man than Mr

Gowran himself. Gowran had watched the pony coming down the mountainside, and had desired to see of

what like was ``her leddyship's'' cousin. In telling the whole truth of Mr Gowran, it must be acknowledged

that he thought that his late master had made a very great mistake in the matter of his marriage. He could not

imagine bad things enough of Lady Eustace, and almost believed that she was not now, and hadn't been

before her marriage, any better than she should be. The name of Admiral Greystock, as having been the father

of his mistress, had indeed reached his ears; but Andy Gowran was a suspicious man, and felt no confidence

even in an admiralin regard to whom he heard nothing of his having, or having had, a wife. ``It's my

ferrm opeenion she's jist naebodyand waur,'' he had said more than once to his own wife, nodding his

head with great emphasis at the last word. He was very anxious, therefore, to see ``her leddyship's'' cousin.

Mr Gowran thought that he knew a gentleman when he saw one. He thought, also, that he knew a lady, and

that he didn't see one when he was engaged with his mistress. Cousin, indeed! ``For the matter o' that, ony

man that comes the way may be ca'ed a coosin.'' So Mr Gowran was on the grand sweep before the garden

gate, and took the pony from Frank's hand. ``Is Lady Eustace at home?'' Frank asked. Mr Gowran perceived

that Frank was a gentleman, and was disappointed. And Frank didn't come as a man comes who calls himself

by a false name, and pretends to be an honest cousin when in fact he is somethingoh, ever so wicked! Mr

Gowran, who was a stern moralist, was certainly disappointed at Frank's appearance.

Lizzie was in a little sittingroom, reached by a long passage with steps in the middle, at some corner of the

castle which seemed a long way from the great door. It was a cheerful little room, with chintz curtains, and a

few shelves laden with brightlybound books, which had been prepared for Lizzie immediately on her

marriage. It looked out upon the sea, and she had almost taught herself to think that here she had sat with her

adored Florian, gazing in mutual ecstasy upon the ``wide expanse of glittering waves''. She was lying back in

a low armchair as her cousin entered, and she did not rise to receive him. Of course she was alone, Miss

Macnulty having received a suggestion that it would be well that she should do a little gardening in the moat.

``Well, Frank?'' she said, with her sweetest smile, as she gave him her hand. She felt and understood the

extreme intimacy which would be implied by her not rising to receive him. As she could not rush into his

arms there was no device by which she could more clearly show to him how close she regarded his

``Yesat the dullest, dreariest, deadliest spot in all Christendom, I thinkif Ayrshire be Christendom. But

never mind about that now. Perhaps, as you are at the other side of the mountain at the Cottage, we shall find

``Sit down and we'll talk it all over by degrees. What will you havebreakfast or lunch?''

``No, indeed. I've a man there at the Cottage with me who would cut his throat in his solitude.''

``Let him cut his throatbut never mind now. As for being happy, women are never happy without men. I

needn't tell any lies to you, you know. What makes me sure that this fuss about making men and women all

the same must be wrong, is just the fact that men can get along without women, and women can't without

men. My life has been a burthen to me. But never mind. Tell me about my lordmy lord and master.''

``Who else? What other lord and master? My bosom's own; my heart's best hope; my spot of terra firma; my

cool running brook of fresh water; my rock; my love; my lord; my all! Is he always thinking of his absent

Lizzie? Does he still toil at Downing Street? Oh, dear; do you remember, Frank, when he told us that`one

``And I have seen a very obstinate, pigheaded, but nevertheless honest and truthspeaking gentleman.''

``Frank, I don't care twopence for his honesty and truth. If he illtreats me'' Then she paused; looking into

his face she had seen at once by the manner in which he had taken her badinage, without a smile, that it was

necessary that she should be serious as to her matrimonial prospects. ``I suppose I had better let you tell your

``You had better listen, as you promised, Lizzie. He declares that the marriage must be off at once unless you

``And by what law or rule does he justify himself in a decision so monstrous? Is he prepared to prove that the

``If you ask me my opinion as a lawyer, I doubt whether any such proof can be shown. But as a man and a

``You must, of course, judge for yourselfbut that is my advice. You had better, however, hear my whole

``Certainly,'' said Lizzie. Her whole manner was now changed. She had extricated herself from the crouching

position in which her feet, her curl, her arms, her whole body had been so arranged as to combine the charm

of her beauty with the charm of proffered intimacy. Her dress was such as a woman would wear to receive

her brother, and yet it had been studied. She had no gems about her but what she might well wear in her

ordinary life, and yet the very rings on her fingers had not been put on without reference to her cousin Frank.

Her position had been one of lounging ease, such as a woman might adopt when all alone, giving herself all

the luxuries of solitudebut she had adopted it in special reference to cousin Frank. Now she was in earnest,

with business before her; and though it may be said of her that she could never forget her appearance in

presence of a man she desired to please, her curl, and rings, and attitude were for the moment in the

background. She had seated herself on a common chair, with her hands upon the table, and was looking into

Frank's face with eager, eloquent, and combative eyes. She would take his law, because she believed in it;

but, as far as she could see as yet, she would not take his advice unless it were backed by his law.

``Mr Camperdown'', continued Greystock, ``has consented to prepare a case for opinion, though he will not

``We shall at least know, all of us, what is the opinion of some lawyer qualified to understand the

``I couldn't give an opinionnot otherwise than as a private friend to you, which is worth nothing, unless for

``Oh, certainlyand you mustn't be angry with me, Frank. The matter is so much to me; isn't it?''

``I daresay he may bewhat you call right. But I don't care about Mr Camperdown a bit.''

``He has no power, nor has John Eustace any power to decide that the property which may belong to a third

person shall be jeopardised by any arbitration. The third person could not be made to lose his legal right by

``Camperdown and John Eustace say that it belongs to him at present. It is a point that, no doubt, should be

``I have refused to look at a single paper on the subject, and my opinion is worth nothing. From what I have

heard in conversation with Mr Camperdown and John Eustace, I cannot find that they make their case good.''

``Mr Dove is a barrister, and no doubt a very clever fellow. If his opinion be such as Mr Camperdown

expects, he will at once proceed against you at law for the immediate recovery of the necklace.''

``I shall be ready for him,'' said Lizzie, and as she spoke all her little feminine softnesses were for the moment

``In that case Mr Camperdown, acting on behalf of John Eustace and young Florian''

``How dreadful it is to hear of my bitterest enemy acting on behalf of my own child!'' said Lizzie, holding up

``In that case Mr Camperdown will serve you with some notice that the jewels are not yoursto part with

``He says notbut in such case he will content himself with taking steps which may prevent you from

``That is everything. I care nothing for Mr Camperdown; nor yet for Mr Doveif that is his absurd name.

Lord Fawn is of more moment to methough, indeed, he has given me but little cause to say so.''

``He is pulled this way and that, and is half distraught; but he has stated with as much positive assurance as

such a man can assume, that the match must be regarded as broken off unless you will at once restore the

``He has commissioned me to give you that messageand it is my duty, Lizzie, as your friend, to tell you

She now rose from her chair and began to walk about the room. ``He shall not go back from it. He shall learn

that I am not a creature at his own disposal in that way. He shall find that I have some strengthif you have

``Taking by the throat in these days seldom forwards any objectunless the taken one be known to the

police. I think Lord Fawn is behaving very badly, and I have told him so. No doubt he is under the influence

``He himself is somewhat afraid of meis much afraid of youis afraid of what people will say of him;

andto give him his dueis afraid also of doing what is wrong. He is timid, weak, conscientious, and

``Or your mindyou can have him by simply sending the diamonds to the jewellers. Whatever may be his

``Not for him or all that belongs to him! It wouldn't be much. He's just a pauper with a name.''

``But what right has he to treat me so? Did you ever before hear of such a thing? Why is he to be allowed to

``That he should be beaten within an inch of his lifeand if the inch were not there I should not complain.''

``I think I could almost do it myself.'' And Lizzie raised her hand as though there were some weapon in it.

``But, Frank, there must be something. You wouldn't have me sit down and bear it. All the world has been

``I would wish to do whatever would hurt him mostwithout hurting myself,'' said Lizzie.

``Certainly not,'' said Lizzie. ``Give it up for his sakea man that I have always despised.''

``I will not let him go. Whatto be pointed at as the woman that Lord Fawn had jilted? Never! My necklace

should be nothing more to him than this ring.'' And she drew from her finger a little circlet of gold with a

stone, for which she had owed Messrs Harter and Benjamin fiveandthirty pounds till Sir Florian had

``Let us understand each other, Lizzie. I will not fight himthat is, with pistols; nor will I attempt to thrash

him. It would be useless to argue whether public opinion is right or wrong; but public opinion is now so

much opposed to that kind of thing, that it is out of the question. I should injure your position and destroy my

Perhaps at that moment he almost wished that she would quarrel with him, but she was otherwise disposed.

``And there is to be no punishment?'' she asked, with that strong indignation at injustice which the unjust

``If you carry yourself wellquietly and with dignitythe world will punish him.''

``I don't believe a bit of it. I am not a Patient Grizel, who can content myself with heaping benefits on those

who injure me, and then thinking that they are coals of fire. Lucy Morris is one of that sort.'' Frank ought to

have resented the attack, but he did not. ``I have no such tame virtues. I'll tell him to his face what he is. I'll

``I will. What, not ask a man to keep his promise when you are engaged to him? I am not going to be such a

``Not for worlds, Frank. No, Because you advised me, I thought that I would do so. Yes, you did, Frank. But

for you I would never have dreamed of taking him. You know, Frank, how it waswhen you told me of him

and wouldn't come to me yourself.'' Now again she was sitting close to him and had her hand upon his arm.

``No, Frank; even to please you I could not marry him now. But I'll tell you what I'll do. He shall ask me

again. In spite of those idiots at Richmond he shall kneel at my feetnecklace or no necklace; and

thenthen I'll tell him what I think of him. Marry him! I would not touch him with a pair of tongs.'' As she

It had not been much after noon when Frank Greystock reached Portray Castle, and it was very nearly five

when he left it. Of course he had lunched with the two ladies, and as the conversation before lunch had been

long and interesting, they did not sit down till near three. Then Lizzie had taken him out to show him the

grounds and garden, and they had clambered together down to the seabeach. ``Leave me here,'' she had said,

when he insisted on going because of his friend at the Cottage. When he suggested that she would want help

to climb back up the rocks to the castle, she shook her head, as though her heart was too full to admit of a

consideration so trifling. ``My thoughts flow more freely here with the surge of the water in my ears, than

they will with that old woman droning to me. I come here often, and know every rock and every stone.'' That

was not exactly true, as she had never been down but once before. ``You mean to come again?'' He told her

that of course he should come again. ``I will name neither day nor hour. I have nothing to take me away. If I

am not at the castle I shall be at this spot. Goodbye, Frank.'' He took her in his arms and kissed herof

course as a brother; and then he clambered up, got on his pony, and rode away. ``I dinna ken just what to

mak' o' him,'' said Gowran to his wife. ``Maybe he is her coosin; but coosins are nae that sib that a weedow is

to be hailed aboot jist ane as though she were ony quean at a fair.'' From which it may be inferred that Mr

Frank had so much to think of, ridi that Mr GowranCottage, that when he came to the gap, instead of turning

round along the wall down the valley, he took the track right on across the mountain and lost his way. He had

meant to be back at the Cottage by three or four, and yet had made his visit to the castle so long, that without

any losing of his way he could not have been there before seven. As it was, when that hour arrived, he was up

on the top of a hill, and could again see Portray Castle clustering down close upon the sea, and the thin belt of

trees, and the shining water beyondbut of the road to the Cottage he knew nothing. For a moment he

thought of returning to Portray, till he had taught himself to perceive that the distance was much greater than

it had been from the spot at which he had first seen the castle in the morningand then he turned his pony

His mind was very full of Lizzie Eustace, and full also of Lucy Morris. If it were to be asserted here that a

young man may be perfectly true to a first young woman while he is falling in love with a second, the readers

of this story would probably be offended. But undoubtedly many men believe themselves to be quite true

while undergoing this process, and many young women expect nothing else from their lovers. If only he will

come right at last, they are contented. And if he don't come right at allit is the way of the world, and the

game has to be played over again. Lucy Morris, no doubt, had lived a life too retired for the learning of such

useful forbearance, but Frank Greystock was quite a proficient. He still considered himself to be true to Lucy

Morris, with a truth seldom found in this degenerate agewith a truth to which he intended to sacrifice some

of the brightest hopes of his lifewith a truth which, after much thought, he had generously preferred to his

ambition. Perhaps there was found some shade of regret to tinge the merit which he assumed on this head, in

respect of the bright things which it would be necessary that he should abandon; but, if so, the feeling only

assisted him in defending his present conduct from any aspersions his conscience might bring against it. He

intended to marry Lucy Morriswithout a shilling, without position, a girl who had earned her bread as a

governess, simply because he loved her. It was a wonder to himself that he, a lawyer, a man of the world, a

member of Parliament, one who had been steeped up to his shoulders in the ways of the world, should still be

so pure as to be capable of such a sacrifice. But it was so; and the sacrifice would undoubtedly be

madesome day. It would be absurd in one conscious of such high merit to be afraid of the ordinary social

incidents of life. It is the debauched broken drunkard who should become a teetotaller, and not the healthy

hardworking father of a family who never drinks a drop of wine till dinnertime. He need not be afraid of a

glass of champagne when, on a chance occasion, he goes to a picnic. Frank Greystock was now going to his

picnic; and, though he meant to be true to Lucy Morris, he had enjoyed his glass of champagne with Lizzie

Eustace under the rocks. He was thinking a good deal of his champagne when he lost his way.

What a wonderful woman was his cousin Lizzieand so unlike any other girl he had ever seen! How full she

was of energy, how courageous, and, then, how beautiful! No doubt her special treatment of him was sheer

flattery. He told himself that it was so. But, after all, flattery is agreeable. That she did like him better than

anybody else was probable. He could have no feeling of the injustice he might do to the heart of a woman

who at the very moment that she was expressing her partiality for him, was also expressing her anger that

another man would not consent to marry her. And then women who have had one husband already are not

like young girls in respect to their hearts. So at least thought Frank Greystock. Then he remembered the time

at which he had intended to ask Lizzie to be his wifethe very day on which he would have done so had he

been able to get away from that early division at the Houseand he asked himself whether he felt any regret

on that score. It would have been very nice to come down to Portray Castle as to his own mansion after the

work of the courts and of the session. Had Lizzie become his wife, her fortune would have helped him to the

very highest steps beneath the throne. At present he was almost nobodybecause he was so poor, and in

debt. It was so, undoubtedly; but what did all that matter in comparison with the love of Lucy Morris? A man

is bound to be true. And he would be true. Only, as a matter of course, Lucy must wait.

When he had first kissed his cousin up in London, she suggested that the kiss was given as by a brother, and

asserted that it was accepted as by a sister. He had not demurred, having been allowed the kiss. Nothing of

the kind had been said under the rocks todaybut then that fraternal arrangement, when once made and

accepted, remains, no doubt, in force for a long time. He did like his cousin Lizzie. He liked to feel that he

could be her friend, with the power of domineering over her. She, also, was fond of her own way, and loved

to domineer herself; but the moment that he suggested to her that there might be a quarrel, she was reduced to

a prayer that he would not desert her. Such a friendship has charms for a young man, especially if the lady be

pretty. As to Lizzie's prettiness, no man or woman could entertain a doubt. And she had a way of making the

most of herself, which it was very hard to resist. Some young women, when they clamber over rocks, are

awkward, heavy, unattractive, and troublesome. But Lizzie had at one moment touched him as a fairy might

have done; had sprung at another from stone to stone, requiring no help; and then, on a sudden, had become

so powerless that he had been forced almost to carry her in his arms. That, probably, must have been the

But, undoubtedly, there might be trouble. Frank was sufficiently experienced in the ways of the world to

know that trouble would sometimes come from young ladies who treat young men like their brothers, when

those young men are engaged to other young ladies. The other young ladies are apt to disapprove of brothers

who are not brothers by absolute right of birth. He knew also that all the circumstances of his cousin's

position would make it expedient that she should marry a second husband. As he could not be that second

husbandthat matter was settled, whether for good or badwas he not creating trouble, both for her and for

himself? Then there arose in his mind a feeling, very strange, but by no means uncommon, that prudence on

his part would be mean, because by such prudence he would be securing safety for himself as well as for her.

What he was doing was not only imprudentbut wrong also. He knew that it was so. But Lizzie Eustace was

a pretty young woman; and, when a pretty young woman was in the case, a man is bound to think neither of

what is prudent, nor of what is right. Such wasperhaps his instinct rather than his theory. For her sake, if

not for his own, he should have abstained. She was his cousin; and was so placed in the world as specially to

require some strong hand to help her. He knew her to be, in truth, heartless, false, and greedy; but she had so

lived that even yet her future life might be successful. He had called himself her friend as well as cousin, and

was bound to protect her from evil, if protection were possible. But he was adding to all her difficulties,

because she pretended to be in love with him. He knew that it was pretence; and yet, because she was pretty,

and because he was a man, he could not save her from herself. ``It doesn't do to be wiser than other men,'' he

said to himself as he looked round about on the bare hillside. In the meantime he had altogether lost his way.

It was between nine and ten when he reached the Cottage. ``Of course you have dined?'' said Herriot.

``Not a bit of it. I left before five, being sure that I could get here in an hour and a half. I have been riding up

``There was a neck of mutton and a chicken. She said the neck of mutton would keep hot best, so I took the

``I'm hungry enough to eat anythingnot but what I had a firstrate luncheon. What have you done all day?''

``Stick to that. If anything can pull you through, Stone and Toddy will. I lived upon them for two years.''

``Stone and Toddywith a little tobacco, have been all my comfort. I began, however, by sleeping for a few

``I took it out of the case, but it didn't come right, and so I left it. A man came to me and said he was the

``I was too bashful for that. I persuaded him that I wanted to go out alone and see what birds there were, and

at last I induced him to stay here with the old woman. He's to be at the Cottage at nine tomorrow. I hope that

In the evening, as they smoked and drank whisky and waterprobably supposing that to be correct in

Ayrshirethey were led on by the combined warmth of the spirit, the tobacco, and their friendship, to talk

about women. Frank, some month or six weeks since, in a moment of soft confidence, had told his friend of

his engagement with Lucy Morris. Of Lizzie Eustace he had spoken only as of a cousin whose interests were

dear to him. Her engagement with Lord Fawn was known to all London, and was, therefore, known to Arthur

Herriot. Some distant rumour, however, had reached him that the course of true love was not running quite

smooth, and therefore on that subject he would not speak, at any rate till Greystock should first mention it.

``How odd it is to find two women living all alone in a great house like that,'' Frank had said.

``Because so few women have the means to live in large houses, unless they live with fathers or husbands.''

``The truth is'', said Frank, ``that women don't do well alone. There is always a savour of misfortuneor, at

least, of melancholyabout a household which has no man to look after it. With us, generally, old maids

don't keep houses, and widows marry again. No doubt it was an unconscious appreciation of this feeling

which brought about the burning of Indian widows. There is an unfitness in women for solitude. A female

Prometheus, even without a vulture, would indicate cruelty worse even than Jove's. A woman should

Frank Greystock filled his pipe as he went on with his lecture. ``That idea as to the greater number of women

is all nonsense. Of course we are speaking of our own kind of men and women, and the disproportion of the

numbers in so small a division of the population amounts to nothing. We have no statistics to tell us whether

there be any such disproportion in classes where men do not die early from overwork.''

``That's more than I know. As one of the legislators of the country I am prepared to state that statistics are

always false. What we have to do is to induce men to marry. We can't do it by statute.''

``It can be only done by education and conscience. Take men of forty all roundmen of our own classyou

believe that the married men are happier than the unmarried? I want an answer, you know, just for the sake of

``I think the married men are the happier. But you speak as the fox who had lost his tailor, at any rate, as a

``Never mind my tail. If morality in life and enlarged affections are conducive to happiness it must be so.''

``Short commons and unpaid bills are conducive to misery. That's what I should say if I wanted to oppose

``I never came across a man willing to speak the truth who did not admit that, in the long run, married men

are the happier. As regards women, there isn't even ground for an argument. And yet men don't marry.''

``The man fears that he won't get enough of what there is for his wife and family.''

``The labourer with twelve shillings a week has no such fear. And if he did marry the food would come. It

isn't that. The, man is unconscious and ignorant as to the sources of true happiness, and won't submit himself

to cold mutton and three clean shirts a weeknot because he dislikes mutton and dirty linen himselfbut

because the world says they are vulgar. That's the feeling that keeps you from marrying, Herriot.''

``As for me,'' said Herriot, ``I regard myself as so placed that I do not dare to think of a young woman of my

own rank except as a creature that must be foreign to me. I cannot make such a one my friend as I would a

man, because I should be in love with her at once. And I do not dare to be in love because I would not see a

wife and children starve. I regard my position as one of enforced monasticism, and myself as a monk under

the cruellest compulsion. I often wish that I had been brought up as a journeyman hatter.''

``I'm told it's an active sort of life. You're fast asleep, and I was just now, when you were preaching. We'd

Mr Thomas Dove, familiarly known among clubmen, attorneys' clerks, and, perhaps, even among judges

when very far from their seats of judgment, as Turtle Dove, was a counsel learned in the law. He was a

counsel so learned in the law, that there was no question within the limits of an attorney's capability of

putting to him, that he could not answer with the aid of his books. And when he had once given an opinion,

all Westminster could not move him from itnor could Chancery Lane and Lincoln's Inn and the Temple

added to Westminster. When Mr Dove had once been positive, no man on earth was more positive. It

behoved him, therefore, to be right when he was positive; and though, whether wrong or right, he was equally

stubborn, it must be acknowledged that he was seldom proved to be wrong. Consequently the attorneys

believed in him, and he prospered. He was a thin man, over fifty years of age, very full of scorn and wrath,

impatient of a fool, and thinking most men to be fools; afraid of nothing on earthand, so his enemies said,

of nothing elsewhere; eaten up by conceit; fond of law, but fonder, perhaps, of dominion; soft as milk to

those who acknowledged his power, but a tyrant to all who contested it; conscientious, thoughtful, sarcastic,

brightwitted, and laborious. He was a man who never spared himself. If he had a case in hand, though the

interest to himself in it was almost nothing, he would rob himself of rest for a week should a point arise

which required such labour. It was the theory of Mr Dove's life that he would never be beaten. Perhaps it was

some fear in this respect that had kept him from Parliament and confined him to the courts and the company

of attorneys. He was, in truth, a married man with a family; but they who knew him as the terror of opponents

and as the divulger of legal opinion, heard nothing of his wife and children. He kept all such matters quite to

himself, and was not given to much social intercourse with those among whom his work lay. Out at

Streatham, where he lived, Mrs Dove probably had her circle of acquaintancebut Mr Dove's domestic life

At the present moment Mr Dove is interesting to us solely as being the learned counsel in whom Mr

Camperdown trustedto whom Mr Camperdown was willing to trust for an opinion in so grave a matter as

that of the Eustace diamonds. A case was made out and submitted to Mr Dove immediately after that scene

on the pavement in Mount Street, at which Mr Camperdown had endeavoured to induce Lizzie to give up the

There is much error about heirlooms. Many think that any chattel may be made an heirloom by any owner of

it. This is not the case. The law, however, does recognise heirloomsas to which the Exors. or Admors. are

excluded in favour of the Successor; and when there are such heirlooms they go to the heir by special custom.

Any devise of an heirloom is necessarily void, for the will takes place after death; and the heirloom is already

vested in the heir by custom. We have it from Littleton, that law prefers custom to devise.

Brooke says, that the best thing of every sort may be an heirloomsuch as the best bed, the best table, the

Spelman says, in defining an heirloom, that it may be ``Omne utensil robustius;'' which would exclude a

We are told in ``Coke upon Littleton,'' that Crown jewels are heirlooms, which decisionas far as it

Certain chattels may undoubtedly be held and claimed as being in the nature of heirloomsas swords,

pennons of honour, garter and collar of SS. See case of the Earl of Northumberland; and that of the Pusey

hornPusey v. Pusey. The journals of the House of Lords, delivered officially to peers, may be so claimed.

A devisor may clearly devise or limit the possession of chattels, making them inalienable by devisees in

succession. But in such cases they will become the absolute possession of the first person seized in

taileven though an infant, and in case of death without will, would go to the Exors. Such arrangement,

therefore, can only hold good for lives in existence and for 21 years afterwards. Chattels so secured would

Lord Eldon remarks, that such chattels held in families are ``rather favourites of the court''. This was in the

Ormonde case. Executors, therefore, even when setting aside any claim as for heirlooms, ought not to apply

The law allows of claims for paraphernalia for widows, and, having adjusted such claims, seems to show that

If a man deliver cloth to his wife, and die, she shall have it, though she had not fashioned it into the garment

Pearls and jewels, even though only worn on state occasions, may go to the widow as paraphernaliabut

with a limit. In the case of Lady Douglas, she being the daughter of an Irish Earl and widow of the King's

Sergeant (temp. Car. 1.), it was held that 370 was not too much, and she was allowed a diamond and a pearl

In 1674, Lord Keeper Finch declared that he would never allow paraphernalia, except to the widow of a

But in 1721 Lord Macclesfield gave Mistress Tipping paraphernalia to the value of 200whether so

Lord Hardwicke went much further, and decided that Mrs Northey was entitled to wear jewels to the value of

3000saying that value made no difference; but seems to have limited the nature of her possession in the

It is, I think, clear that the Eustace estate cannot claim the jewels as an heirloom. They are last mentioned,

and, as far as I know, only mentioned as an heirloom, in the will of the greatgrandfather of the present

baronetif these be the diamonds then named by him. As such, he could not have devised them to the

present claimant, as he died in 1820, and the present claimant is not yet two years old.

Whether the widow could claim them as paraphernalia is more doubtful. I do not know that Lord Hardwicke's

ruling would decide the case; but, if so, she would, I think, be debarred from selling, as he limits the use of

jewels of lesser value than these, to the wearing of them when fulldressed. The use being limited, possession

The lady's claim to them as a gift from her husband amounts to nothing. If they are not hers by willand it

seems that they are not soshe can only hold them as paraphernalia belonging to her station.

I presume it to be capable of proof that the diamonds were not in Scotland when Sir Florian made his will or

when he died. The former fact might be used as tending to show his intention when the will was made. I

understand that he did leave to his widow by will all the chattels in Portray Castle.

When Mr Camperdown had thrice read this opinion, he sat in his chair an unhappy old man. It was

undoubtedly the case that he had been a lawyer for upwards of forty years, and had always believed that any

gentleman could make any article of value an heirloom in his family. The titledeeds of vast estates had been

confided to his keeping, and he had had much to do with property of every kind; and now he was told that, in

reference to property of a certain descriptionproperty which, by its nature, could only belong to such as

they who were his clientshe had been long without any knowledge whatsoever. He had called this necklace

an heirloom to John Eustace above a score of times; and now he was told by Mr Dove, not only that the

necklace was not an heirloom, but that it couldn't have been an heirloom. He was a man who trusted much in

a barristeras was natural with an attorney; but he was now almost inclined to doubt Mr Dove. And he was

hardly more at ease in regard to the other clauses of the opinion. Not only could not the estate claim the

necklace as an heirloom, but that greedy siren, that heartless snake, that harpy of a widowfor it was thus

that Mr Camperdown in his solitude spoke to himself of poor Lizzie, perhaps throwing in a harder word or

There was a crumb of comfort for him in the thought that he could force her to claim that privilege from a

decision of the Court of Queen's Bench, and that her greed would be exposed should she do so. And she

could be prevented from selling the diamonds. Mr Dove seemed to make that quite clear. But then there came

that other question, as to the inheritance of the property under the husband's will. That Sir Florian had not

intended that she should inherit the necklace, Mr Camperdown was quite certain. On that point he suffered no

doubt. But would he be able to prove that the diamonds had never been in Scotland since Sir Florian's

marriage? He had traced their history from that date with all the diligence he could use, and he thought that

he knew it. But it might be doubtful whether he could prove it. Lady Eustace had first statedhad so stated

before she had learned the importance of any other statementthat Sir Florian had given her the diamonds in

London, as they passed through London from Scotland to Italy, and that she had carried them thence to

Naples where Sir Florian had died. If this were so they could not have been at Portray Castle till she took

them there as a widow, and they would undoubtedly be regarded as a portion of that property which Sir

Florian habitually kept in London. That this was so Mr Camperdown entertained no doubt. But now the

widow alleged that Sir Florian had given the necklace to her in Scotland, whither they had gone immediately

after their marriage, and that she herself had brought them up to London. They had been married on the 5th of

September; and by the jewellers' books it was hard to tell whether the trinket had been given up to Sir Florian

on the 4th or 24th of September. On the 24th Sir Florian and his young bride had undoubtedly been in

London. Mr Camperdown anathematised the carelessness of everybody connected with Messrs Garnett's

establishment. ``Those sort of people have no more idea of accuracy thanthan'' than he had had of

Nevertheless he thought he could prove that the necklace was first put into Lizzie's hands in London. The

middleaged and very discreet man at Messrs Garnett's, who had given up the jewelcase to Sir Florian, was

sure that he had known Sir Florian to be a married man when he did so. The lady's maid who had been in

Scotland with Lady Eustace, and who was now living in Turin, having married a courier, had given evidence

before an Italian man of law, stating that she had never seen the necklace till she came to London. There

were, moreover, the probabilities of the case. Was it likely that Sir Florian should take such a thing down in

his pocket to Scotland? And there was the statement as first made by Lady Eustace herself to her cousin

Frank, repeated by him to John Eustace, and not to be denied by anyone. It was all very well for her now to

say that she had forgotten; but would anyone believe that on such a subject she could forget?

But still the whole thing was very uncomfortable. Mr Dove's opinion, if seen by Lady Eustace and her

friends, would rather fortify them than frighten them. Were she once to get hold of that word, paraphernalia,

it would be as a tower of strength to her. Mr Camperdown specially felt thisthat whereas he had hitherto

believed that no respectable attorney would take up such a case as that of Lady Eustace, he could not now but

confess to himself that any lawyer seeing Mr Dove's opinion, would be justified in taking it up. And yet he

was as certain as ever that the woman was robbing the estate which it was his duty to guard, and that should

he cease to be active in the matter, the necklace would be broken up and the property sold and scattered

before a year was out, and then the woman would have got the better of him! ``She shall find that we have not

But John Eustace was out of town, as a matter of courseand on the next day Mr Camperdown himself went

down and joined his wife and family at a little cottage which he had at Dawlish. The necklace, however,

Frank Greystock certainly went over to Portray too oftenso often that the pony was proved to be quite

necessary. Miss Macnulty held her tongue and was gloomybelieving that Lady Eustace was still engaged

to Lord Fawn, and feeling that in that case there should not be so many visits to the rocks. Mr Gowran was

very attentive, and could tell on any day, to five minutes, how long the two cousins were sitting together on

the seashore. Arthur Herriot, who cared nothing for Lady Eustace, but who knew that his friend had

promised to marry Lucy Morris, was inclined to be serious on the subject; butas is always the case with

Once, and once only, the two men dined together at the castlefor the doing of which it was necessary that a

gig should be hired all the way from Prestwick. Herriot had not been anxious to go over, alleging various

excusesthe absence of dress clothes, the calls of Stone and Toddy, his bashfulness, and the absurdity of

paying fifteen shillings for a gig. But he went at last, constrained by his friend, and a very dull evening he

passed. Lizzie was quite unlike her usual selfwas silent, grave, and solemnly courteous; Miss Macnulty

had not a word to say for herself; and even Frank was dull. Arthur Herriot had not tried to exert himself, and

``You don't think much of my cousin, I daresay,'' said Frank, as they were driving back.

``Why on earth wouldn't you speak to her? I went on making speeches to Miss Macnulty on purpose to give

you a chance. Lizzie generally talks about as well as any young woman I know; but you had not a word to say

``That's nonsense,'' said Frank; ``Lizzie and I are more like brother and sister than anything else. She has no

one else belonging to her, and she has to come to me for advice, and all that sort of thing. I wanted you to like

``I never like people, and people never like me. There is an old saying that you should know a man seven

years before you poke his fire. I want to know a person seven years before I can ask them how they do. To

``That's different. There's a certain routine of conversation going, and one falls into it. At such affairs as that

this evening one has to be intimate, or it is a bore. I don't mean to say anything against Lady Eustace. Her

``I hope she is not becoming too clever for you. You've got to remember that you're due elsewhereeh, old

fellow?'' This was the first word that Herriot had said on the subject, and to that word Frank Greystock made

no answer. But it had its effect, as also did the gloomy looks of Miss Macnulty, and the not unobserved

Between them they shot more grouseso the keeper sworethan had ever been shot on these mountains

before. Herriot absolutely killed one or two himself, to his own great delight, and Frank, who was fairly

skilful, would get four or five in a day. There were excursions to be made, and the air of the hills was in itself

a treat to both of them. Though Greystock was so often away at the castle, Herriot did not find the time hang

heavy on his hands, and was sorry when his fortnight was over. ``I think I shall stay a couple of days longer,''

Frank said, when Herriot spoke of their return. ``The truth is I must see Lizzie again. She is bothered by

business, and I have to see her about a letter that came this morning. You needn't pull such a long face.

``I thought so much of what you once said to me about another girl that I hope she at any rate may never be in

``I hope she never mayon my account,'' said Frank. ``And what troubles she may haveas life will be

On that evening Herriot went, and on the next morning Frank Greystock again rode over to Portray Castle;

but when he was alone after Herriot's departure, he wrote a letter to Lucy Morris. He had expressed a hope

that he might never be a cause of trouble to Lucy Morris, and he knew that his silence would trouble her.

There could be no human being less inclined to be suspicious than Lucy Morris. Of that Frank was sure. But

there had been an express stipulation with Lady Fawn that she should be allowed to receive letters from him,

We have been here for a fortnight, shooting grouse, wandering about the mountains, and going to sleep on the

hillsides. You will say that there never was a time so fit for the writing of letters, but that will be because you

have not learned yet that the idler people are, the more inclined they are to be idle. We hear of Lord

Chancellors writing letters to their mothers every day of their lives; but men who have nothing on earth to do

cannot bring themselves to face a sheet of paper. I would promise that when I am Lord Chancellor I would

write to you every day, were it not that when that time comes I shall hope to be always with you.

And, in truth, I have had to pay constant visits to my cousin, who lives in a big castle on the seaside, ten

miles from here, over the mountains, and who is in a peck of troublesin spite of her prosperity, one of the

unhappiest women I should say that you could meet anywhere. You know so much of her affairs that, without

breach of trust, I may say so much. I wish she had a father or a brother to manage her matters for her; but she

has none, and I cannot desert her. Your Lord Fawn is behaving badly to her; and so, as far as I can see, are

the people who manage the Eustace property. Lizzie, as you know, is not the most tractable of women, and

altogether I have more to do in the matter than I like. Riding ten miles backwards and forwards so often over

the same route on a little pony is not good fun, but I am almost glad the distance is not less. Otherwise I

might have been always there. I know you don't quite like Lizzie, but she is to be pitied.

I go up to London on Friday, but shall only be there for one or two daysthat is, for one night. I go almost

entirely on her business, and must, I fear, be here again, or at the castle, before I can settle myself either for

work or happiness. On Sunday night I go down to Bobsboroughwhere, indeed, I ought to have been

earlier. I fear I cannot go to Richmond on the Saturday, and on the Sunday Lady Fawn would hardly make

me welcome. I shall be at Bobsborough for about three weeks, and there, if you have commands to give, I

I may, however, tell you the truth at oncethough it is a truth you must keep very much to yourself. In the

position in which I now stand as to Lord Fawnbeing absolutely forced to quarrel with him on Lizzie's

behalfLady Fawn could hardly receive me with comfort to herself. She is the best of women; and, as she is

your dear friend, nothing is further from me than any idea of quarrelling with her; but of course she takes her

This, however, dearest, need ruffle no feather between you and me, who love each other better than we love

either the Fawns or the Lizzies. Let me find a line at my chambers to say that it is so, and always shall be so.

On the following day he rode over to the castle. He had received a letter from John Eustace, who had found

himself forced to run up to London to meet Mr Camperdown. The lawyer had thought to postpone further

consideration of the whole matter till he and everybody else would be naturally in Londontill November

that might be, or, perhaps, even till after Christmas. But his mind was ill at ease; and he knew that so much

might be done with the diamonds in four months! They might even now be in the hands of some Benjamin or

of some Harter, and it might soon be beyond the power either of lawyers or of policemen to trace them. He

therefore went up from Dawlish, and persuaded John Eustace to come from Yorkshire. It was a great

nuisance, and Eustace freely anathematised the necklace. ``If only someone would steal it, so that we might

hear no more of the thing!'' he said. But, as Mr Camperdown had frequently remarked, the value was too

great for trifling, and Eustace went up to London. Mr Camperdown put into his hands the Turtle Dove's

opinion, explaining that it was by no means expedient that it should be shown to the other party. Eustace

thought that the opinion should be common to them all. ``We pay for it'', said Mr Camperdown, ``and they

can get their opinion from any other barrister if they please.'' But what was to be done? Eustace declared that

as to the present whereabouts of the necklace, he did not in the least doubt that he could get the truth from

Frank Greystock. He therefore wrote to Greystock, and with that letter in his pocket, Frank rode over to the

He, too, was heartily sick of the necklacebut unfortunately he was not equally sick of her who held it in

possession. And he was, too, better alive to the importance of the value of the trinket than John Eustace,

though not so keenly as was Mr Camperdown. Lady Eustace was out somewhere among the cliffs, the servant

said. He regretted this as he followed her, but he was obliged to follow her. Halfway down to the seashore,

much below the knob on which she had attempted to sit with her Shelley, but yet not below the need of

assistance, he found her seated in a little ravine. ``I knew you would come,'' she said. Of course she had

known that he would come. She did not rise, or even give him her hand, but there was a spot close beside her

on which it was to be presumed that he would seat himself. She had a volume of Byron in her handthe

Corsair, Lara, and the Giaoura kind of poetry which was in truth more intelligible to her than Queen Mab.

``Lubin has gone. Though why Lubin, I cannot guess. The normal Lubin to me is a stupid fellow always in

``Nevertheless, he is Lubin if I choose to call him so. Why did he twiddle his thumbs instead of talking? Have

``John the Just, which is a better name for the man than the other, has been called up to London, much against

``And now wants to know where this terrible necklace is at this present moment.'' He paused a moment, but

Lizzie did not answer him. ``I suppose you have no objection to telling me where it is.''

``None in the least: or to giving it you to keep for me, only that I would not so far trouble you. But I have an

``You are wrong, Lizzie. You do not want, or at any rate, should not want, to have any secret in the matter.''

``They are herein the castle; in the very place in which Sir Florian kept them when he gave them to me.

Where should my own jewels be, but in my own house? What does that Mr Dove say, who was to be asked

``And do not people think too hardly of me? Does not all this amount to an accusation against me that I am a

thief? Am I not persecuted among them? Did not this impudent attorney stop me in the public street and

accuse me of theft before my very servants? Have they not so far succeeded in misrepresenting me, that the

very man who is engaged to be my husband betrays me? And now you are turning against me? Can you

``Yes; you are. You take their part, and not mine, in everything. I tell you what, FrankI would go out in

that boat that you see yonder, and drop the bauble into the sea, did I not know that they'd drag it up again

with their devilish ingenuity. If the stones would burn, I would burn them. But the worst of it all is, that you

are becoming my enemy!'' Then she burst into violent and almost hysterical tears.

``It will be better that you should give them into the keeping of someone whom you can both trust, till the law

``I have not seen what Mr Dove says. It is clear that the necklace is not an heirloom.''

``I am a lawyer, and I did not know what is or what is not an heirloom. But Mr Dove is clearly of opinion that

such a property could not have been given away, simply by word of mouth.'' John Eustace in his letter had

``But it was,'' said Lizzie. ``Who can know but I myself, when no one else was present?''

``Not in my pocket. I do not carry them about with me. They are in the castle.''

``Was ever lady so interrogated? I do not know yet that I shall go back to London. Why am I asked such

questions? As to you, FrankI would tell you everythingmy whole heart, if only you cared to know it.

But why is John Eustace to make inquiry as to personal ornaments which are my own property? If I go to

London, I will take them there, and wear them at every house I enter. I will do so in defiance of Mr

Camperdown and Lord Fawn. I think, Frank, that no woman was ever so illtreated as I am.''

He himself thought that she was illtreated. She had so pleaded her case, and had been so lovely in her tears

and her indignation, that he began to feel something like true sympathy for her cause. What right had he, or

had Mr Camperdown, or anyone, to say that the jewels did not belong to her? And if her claim to them was

just, why should she be persuaded to give up the possession of them? He knew well that were she to

surrender them with the idea that they should be restored to her if her claim were found to be just, she would

not get them back very soon. If once the jewels were safe, locked up in Mr Garnett's strong box, Mr

Camperdown would not care how long it might be before a jury or a judge should have decided on the case.

The burthen of proof would then be thrown upon Lady Eustace. In order that she might recover her own

property she would have to thrust herself forward as a witness, and appear before the world a claimant,

greedy for rich ornaments. Why should he advise her to give them up? ``I am only thinking'', said he, ``what

``Peace!'she exclaimed. ``How am I to have peace? Remember the condition in which I find myself!

Remember the manner in which that man is treating me, when all the world has been told of my engagement

to him! When I think of it my heart is so bitter that I am inclined to throw, not the diamonds, but myself from

off the rocks. All that remains to me is the triumph of getting the better of my enemies. Mr Camperdown

shall never have the diamonds. Even if they could prove that they did not belong to me, they should find

``I'll flaunt them in the eyes of all of them till they do; and thenthey shall be gone. And I'll have such

revenge on Lord Fawn before I have done with him, that he shall know that it may be worse to have to fight a

woman than a man. Oh, Frank, I do not think that I am hard by nature, but these things make a woman hard.''

As she spoke she took his hand in hers, and looked up into his eyes through her tears. ``I know that you do

``Nothat little thing at Richmond is everything to you. She is tame and quieta cat that will sleep on the

rug before the fire, and you think that she will never scratch. Do not suppose that I mean to abuse her. She

was my dear friend before you had ever seen her. And men, I know, have tastes which we women do not

``We seldom know what we want, I fancy. We take what the gods send us.'' Frank's words were perhaps more

true than wise. At the present moment the gods had clearly sent Lizzie Eustace to him, and unless he could

call up some increased strength of his own, quite independent of the godsor of what we may perhaps call

Lizzie had declared that she would not touch Lord Fawn with a pair of tongs, and in saying so had resolved

that she could not and would not now marry his lordship even were his lordship in her power. It had been

decided by her as quickly as thoughts flash, but it was decided. She would torture the unfortunate lord, but

not torture him by becoming his wife. And, so much being fixed as the stars in heaven, might it be possible

that she should even yet induce her cousin to take the place that had been intended for Lord Fawn? After all

that had passed between them she need hardly hesitate to tell him of her love. And with the same flashing

thoughts she declared to herself that she did love him, and that therefore this arrangement would be so much

better than that other one which she had proposed to herself. The reader, perhaps, by this time, has not a high

opinion of Lady Eustace, and may believe that among other drawbacks on her character there is especially

thisthat she was heartless. But that was by no means her own opinion of herself. She would have described

herselfand would have meant to do so with truthas being all heart. She probably thought that an

overamount of heart was the malady under which she specially suffered. Her heart was overflowing now

towards the man who was sitting by her side. And then it would be so pleasant to punish that little chit who

had spurned her gift and had dared to call her mean! This man, too, was needy, and she was wealthy. Surely,

were she to offer herself to him, the generosity of the thing would make it noble. She was still dissolved in

tears and was still hysterical. ``Oh, Frank!'' she said, and threw herself upon his breast.

Frank Greystock felt his position to be one of intense difficulty, but whether his difficulty was increased or

diminished by the appearance of Mr Andy Gowran's head over a rock at the entrance of the little cave in

which they were sitting, it might be difficult to determine. But there was the head. And it was not a head that

just popped itself up and then retreated, as a head would do that was discovered doing that which made it

ashamed of itself. The head, with its eyes wide open, held its own, and seemed to say``AyI've caught

you, have I?'' And the head did speak, though not exactly in those words. ``Coosins!'' said the head; and then

the head was wagged. In the meantime Lizzie Eustace, whose back was turned to the head, raised her own,

and looked up into Greystock's eyes for love. She perceived at once that something was amiss, and, starting

to her feet, turned quickly round. ``How dare you intrude here?'' she said to the head. ``Coosins!'' replied the

It was clearly necessary that Greystock should take some steps, if only with the object of proving to the

impudent factotum that he was not altogether overcome by the awkwardness of his position. That he was a

good deal annoyed, and that he felt not altogether quite equal to the occasion, must be acknowledged. ``What

is it that the man wants?'' he said, glaring at the head. ``Coosins!'' said the head, wagging itself again. ``If you

don't take yourself off, I shall have to thrash you,'' said Frank. ``Coosins!'' said Andy Gowran, stepping from

behind the rock and showing his full figure. Andy was a man on the wrong side of fifty, and therefore, on the

score of age, hardly fit for thrashing. And he was compact, short, broad, and as hard as flinta man bad to

thrash, look at it from what side you would. ``Coosins!'' he said yet again. ``Ye're mair couthie than coosinly,

``Andy Gowran, I dismiss you my service for your impertinence,'' said Lady Eustace.

``It's ae ane to Andy Gowran for that, my leddie. There's timber and a warld o' things aboot the place as wants

proteection on behalf o' the heir. If your leddieship is minded to be quit o' my sarvices, I'll find a maister in

``Walk off from this!'' said Frank Greystock, coming forward and putting his hand upon the man's breast. Mr

Frank Greystock immediately felt how very bad for him was his position. For the lady, if only she could

succeed in her object, the annoyance of the interruption would not matter much after its first absurdity had

been endured. When she had become the wife of Frank Greystock there would be nothing remarkable in the

fact that she had been found sitting with him in a cavern by the seashore. But for Frank the difficulty of

extricating himself from his dilemma was great, not in regard to Mr Gowran, but in reference to his cousin

Lizzie. He might, it was true, tell her that he was engaged to Lucy Morrisbut then why had he not told her

so before? He had not told her sonor did he tell her on this occasion. When he attempted to lead her away

up the cliff, she insisted on being left where she was. ``I can find my way alone,'' she said, endeavouring to

smile through her tears. ``The man has annoyed me by his impudencethat is all. Goif you are going.''

Of course he was going; but he could not go without a word of tenderness. ``Dear, dear Lizzie,'' he said,

``Then go now,'' she said. And he went his way up the cliff, and got his pony, and rode back to the cottage,

Lucy Morris got her letter and was contented. She wanted some demonstration of love from her lover, but

very little sufficed for her comfort. With her it was almost impossible that a man should be loved and

suspected at the same time. She could not have loved the man, or at any rate confessed her love, without

thinking well of him; and she could not think good and evil at the same time. She had longed for some word

from him since she last saw him; and now she had got a word. She had known that he was close to his fair

cousinthe cousin whom she despised, and whom, with womanly instinct, she had almost regarded as a

rival. But to her the man had spoken out; and though he was far away from her, living close to the fair cousin,

she would not allow a thought of trouble on that score to annoy her. He was her own, and let Lizzie Eustace

do her worst, he would remain her own. But she had longed to be told that he was thinking of her, and at last

the letter had come. She answered it that same night with the sweetest, prettiest little letter, very short, full of

love and full of confidence. Lady Fawn, she said, was the dearest of womenbut what was Lady Fawn to

her, or all the Fawns, compared with her lover? If he could come to Richmond without disturbance to

himself, let him come; but if he felt that, in the present unhappy condition of affairs between him and Lord

Fawn, it was better that he should stay away, she had not a word to say in the way of urging him. To see him

would be a great delight. But had she not the greater delight of knowing that he loved her? That was quite

enough to make her happy. Then there was a little prayer that God might bless him, and an assurance that she

was in all things his own, own Lucy. When she was writing her letter she was in all respects a happy girl.

But on the very next day there came a cloud upon her happinessnot in the least, however, affecting her full

confidence in her lover. It was a Saturday, and Lord Fawn came down to Richmond. Lord Fawn had seen Mr

Greystock in London on that day, and the interview had been by no means pleasant to him. The

UnderSecretary of State for India was as dark as a November day when he reached his mother's house, and

there fell upon everyone the unintermittent cold drizzling shower of his displeasure from the moment in

which he entered the house. There was never much reticence among the ladies at Richmond in Lucy's

presence, and since the completion of Lizzie's unfortunate visit to Fawn Court, they had not hesitated to

express open opinions adverse to the prospects of the proposed bride. Lucy herself could say but little in

defence of her old friend, who had lost all claim upon that friendship since the offer of the bribe had been

madeso that it was understood among them all that Lizzie was to be regarded as a black sheepbut

hitherto Lord Fawn himself had concealed his feelings before Lucy. Now unfortunately he spoke out, and in

speaking was especially bitter against Frank. ``Mr Greystock has been most insolent,'' he said, as they were

all sitting together in the library after dinner. Lady Fawn made a sign to him and shook her head. Lucy felt

the hot blood fly into both her cheeks, but at the moment she did not speak. Lydia Fawn put out her hand

beneath the table and took hold of Lucy's. ``We must all remember that he is her cousin,'' said Augusta.

``His relationship to Lady Eustace cannot justify ungentlemanlike impertinence to me,'' said Lord Fawn. ``He

has dared to use words to me which would make it necessary that I should call him out, only''

``Frederic, you shall do nothing of the kind!'' said Lady Fawn, jumping up from her chair.

``Oh, Frederic, pray, pray don't!'' said Augusta, springing on to her brother's shoulder.

``Only that nobody does call anybody out now,'' added the pacific lord. ``But nothing on earth shall ever

induce me to speak again to a man who is so little like a gentleman.'' Lydia now held Lucy's hand still tighter,

as though to prevent her rising. ``He has never forgiven me'', continued Lord Fawn, ``because he was so

``And I shall hold mine,'' said Lucy bravely. ``The Sawab of Mygawb had nothing to do with what Mr

``How can I hear such things said and not notice them?'' demanded Lucy. ``Why does Lord Fawn say them

Lord Fawn had now condescended to be full of wrath against his mother's governess. ``I suppose I may

``And I shall express mine,'' said Lucy. ``Mr Greystock is a gentleman. If you say that he is not a gentleman,

it is not true.'' Upon hearing these terrible words spoken, Lord Fawn rose from his seat and slowly left the

room. Augusta followed him with both her arms stretched out. Lady Fawn covered her face with her hands,

``I won't hold my tongue!'' said Lucy, bursting out into tears. ``He is a gentleman.''

Then there was great commotion at Fawn Court. After a few moments Lady Fawn followed her son without

having said a word to Lucy, and Amelia went with her. Poor Lucy was left with the younger girls, and was no

doubt very unhappy. But she was still indignant, and would yield nothing. When Georgina, the fourth

daughter, pointed out to her that, in accordance with all rules of good breeding, she should have abstained

from asserting that her brother had spoken an untruth, she blazed up again. ``It was untrue,'' she said.

``But, Lucy, people never accuse each other of untruth. No lady should use such a word to a gentleman.''

``He should not have said so. He knows that Mr Greystock is more to me than all the world.''

``If I had a lover,'' said Nina, ``and anybody were to say a word against him, I know I'd fly at them. I don't

``And I won't bear it!'' exclaimed Lucy. ``To think that Mr Greystock should be so mean as to bear malice

about a thing like that wild Indian because he takes his own cousin's part! Of course I'd better go away. You

all think that Mr Greystock is an enemy now; but he never can be an enemy to me.''

``We think that Lady Eustace is an enemy,'' said Cecilia, ``and a very nasty enemy, too.''

``I did not say a word about Lady Eustace,'' said Lucy. ``But Mr Greystock is a gentleman.''

About an hour after this Lady Fawn sent for Lucy, and the two were closeted together for a long time. Lord

Fawn was very angry, and had hitherto altogether declined to overlook the insult offered. ``I am bound to tell

you'', declared Lady Fawn, with much emphasis, ``that nothing can justify you in having accused Lord Fawn

of telling an untruth. Of course, I was sorry that Mr Greystock's name should have been mentioned in your

presence; but as it was mentioned, you should have borne what was said with patience.''

``That is what wicked people say when they commit murder, and then they are hung for it.''

``That is ungrateful, my dear. You know that I don't wish you to go away. But if you behave badly, of course

``I'd sooner go away. Everybody here thinks ill of Mr Greystock. But I don't think ill of Mr Greystock, and I

It was suggested to her that she should be downstairs early the next morning, and apologise to Lord Fawn for

her rudeness; but she would not, on that night, undertake to do any such thing. Let Lady Fawn say what she

might, Lucy thought that the injury had been done to her, and not to his lordship. And so they parted hardly

friends. Lady Fawn gave her no kiss as she went, and Lucy, with obstinate pride, altogether refused to own

her fault. She would only say that she had better go, and when Lady Fawn over and over again pointed out to

her that the last thing that such a one as Lord Fawn could bear was to be accused of an untruth, she would

continue to say that in that case he should be careful to say nothing that was untrue. All this was very

dreadful, and created great confusion and unhappiness at Fawn Court. Lydia came into her room that night,

and the two girls talked the matter over for hours. In the morning Lucy was up early, and found Lord Fawn

walking in the grounds. She had been told that he would probably be found walking in the grounds, if she

Her mind had been very full of the subjectnot only in reference to her lover, but as it regarded her own

conduct. One of the elder Fawn girls had assured her that under no circumstances could a lady be justified in

telling a gentleman that he had spoken an untruth, and she was not quite sure but that the law so laid down

was right. And then she could not but remember that the gentleman in question was Lord Fawn, and that she

was Lady Fawn's governess. But Mr Greystock was her affianced lover, and her first duty was to him. And

then, granting that she herself had been wrong in accusing Lord Fawn of untruth, she could not refrain from

asking herself whether he had not been much more wrong in saying in her hearing that Mr Greystock was not

a gentleman? And his offence had preceded her offence, and had caused it! She hardly knew whether she did

or did not owe an apology to Lord Fawn, but she was quite sure that Lord Fawn owed an apology to her.

She walked straight up to Lord Fawn, and met him beneath the trees. He was still black and solemn, and was

evidently brooding over his grievance; but he bowed to her, and stood still as she approached him. ``My

``When you think that he must be dearer to me than all the world, you will acknowledge that I couldn't hear

hard things said of him without speaking.'' His face became blacker than ever, but he made no reply. He

wanted an abject begging of unconditional pardon from the little girl who loved his enemy. If that were done,

he would vouchsafe his forgiveness; but he was too small by nature to grant it on other terms. ``Of course,

continued Lucy, ``I am bound to treat you with special respect in Lady Fawn's house.'' She looked almost

``Miss Morris, I must be allowed, in discussing matters with my mother, to express my own opinions in such

language as I may think fit to use. Mr Greystock's conduct to me waswaswas altogether most

``His conduct was most offensive, and mostmost ungentlemanlike. Mr Greystock disgraced himself.''

``It isn't true!'' said Lucy. Lord Fawn gave one start, and then walked off to the house as quick as his legs

The scene between Lord Fawn and Greystock had taken place in Mr Camperdown's chambers, and John

Eustace had also been present. The lawyer had suffered considerable annoyance, before the arrival of the two

firstnamed gentlemen, from reiterated assertions made by Eustace that he would take no further trouble

whatsoever about the jewels. Mr Camperdown had in vain pointed out to him that a plain duty lay upon him

as executor and guardian to protect the property on behalf of his nephew, but Eustace had asserted that,

though he himself was comparatively a poor man, he would sooner replace the necklace out of his own

property, than be subject to the nuisance of such a continued quarrel. ``My dear John; ten thousand pounds!''

``The boy is only two years old, and will have time enough to make fortunes for his own younger sons, if he

does not squander everything. If he does, the ten thousand pounds will make no difference.''

``Such a harpy as she is, too!'' pleaded the lawyer. Then Lord Fawn had come in, and Greystock had followed

``I may as well say at once'', said Greystock, ``that Lady Eustace is determined to maintain her right to the

property; and that she will not give up the diamonds till some adequate court of law shall have decided that

she is mistaken in her views. Stop one moment, Mr Camperdown. I feel myself bound to go further than that,

``I can hardly understand such an opinion as coming from you,'' said Mr Camperdown.

``Not so, Eustace. Mr Camperdown, you'll be good enough to understand that my opinion expressed here is

that of a friend, and not that of a lawyer. And you must understand, Eustace,'' continued Greystock, ``that I

am speaking now of my cousin's right to the property. Though the value be great, I have advised her to give

up the custody of it for a while, till the matter shall be clearly decided. That has still been my advice to her,

and I have in no respect changed my mind. But she feels that she is being cruelly used, and with a woman's

spirit will not, in such circumstances, yield anything. Mr Camperdown actually stopped her carriage in the

``And I may say plainlyfor all here know the circumstancesthat Lady Eustace feels the strongest

possible indignation at the manner in which she is being treated by Lord Fawn.''

``I have only asked her to give up the diamonds till the question should be settled,'' said Lord Fawn.

``And you backed your request, my lord, by a threat! My cousin is naturally most indignant; and, my lord,

``The quarrel is ready made,'' replied Greystock. ``I am here to tell Lord Fawn in your presence, and in the

presence of Mr Camperdown, that he is behaving to a lady with illusage which he would not dare to

exercise did he not know that her position saves him from legal punishment, as do the present usages of

``That is a simple assertion,'' said the other. ``I have made one assertion, and you have made another. The

world will have to judge between us. What right have you to take upon yourself to decide whether this thing

``When the thing was talked about I was obliged to have an opinion,'' said Lord Fawn, who was still thinking

of words in which to reply to the insult offered him by Greystock without injury to his dignity as an

``Your conduct, sir, has been altogether inexcusable.'' Then Frank turned to the attorney. ``I have been given

to understand that you are desirous of knowing where this diamond necklace is at present. It is at Lady

Eustace's house in Scotlandat Portray Castle.'' Then he shook hands with John Eustace, bowed to Mr

Camperdown, and succeeded in leaving the room before Lord Fawn had so far collected his senses as to be

``I will never willingly speak to that man again,'' said Lord Fawn. But as it was not probable that Greystock

would greatly desire any further conversation with Lord Fawn, this threat did not carry with it any powerful

Mr Camperdown groaned over the matter with thorough vexation of spirit. It seemed to him as though the

harpy, as he called her, would really make good her case against himat any rate, would make it seem to be

good for so long a time that all the triumph of success would be hers. He knew that she was already in debt,

and gave her credit for a propensity to fast living which almost did her an injustice. Of course, the jewels

would be sold for half their value, and the harpy would triumph. Of what use to him or to the estate would be

a decision of the courts in his favour, when the diamonds should have been broken up and scattered to the

winds of heaven? Ten thousand pounds! It was, to Mr Camperdown's mind, a thing quite terrible that, in a

country which boasts of its laws and of the execution of its laws, such an impostor as was this widow should

be able to lay her dirty, grasping fingers on so great an amount of property, and that there should be no means

of punishing her. That Lizzie Eustace had stolen the diamonds, as a pickpocket steals a watch, was a fact as to

which Mr Camperdown had in his mind no shadow of a doubt. And, as the reader knows, he was right. She

had stolen them. Mr Camperdown knew that she had stolen them, and was a wretched man. From the first

moment of the late Sir Florian's infatuation about this woman, she had worked woe for Mr Camperdown. Mr

Camperdown had striven hardto the great and almost permanent offence of Sir Florianto save Portray

from its present condition of degradation; but he had striven in vain. Portray belonged to the harpy for her

life; and moreover he himself had been forced to be instrumental in paying over to the harpy a large sum of

Eustace money almost immediately on her becoming a widow. Then had come the affair of the

diamondsan affair of ten thousand pounds!as Mr Camperdown would exclaim to himself, throwing his

eyes up to the ceiling. And now it seemed that she was to get the better of him even in that, although there

could not be a shadow of doubt as to her falsehood and fraudulent dishonesty! His luck in the matter was so

bad! John Eustace had no backbone, no spirit, no proper feeling as to his own family. Lord Fawn was as weak

as water, and almost disgraced the cause by the accident of his adherence to it. Greystock, who would have

been a tower of strength, had turned against him, and was now prepared to maintain that the harpy was right.

Mr Camperdown knew that the harpy was wrongthat she was a harpy, and he would not abandon the

cause; but the difficulties in his way were great, and the annoyance to which he was subjected was excessive.

His wife and daughters were still at Dawlish, and he was up in town in September, simply because the harpy

Mr Camperdown was a man turned sixty, handsome, greyhaired, healthy, somewhat florid, and carrying in

his face and person external signs of prosperity and that kind of selfassertion which prosperity always

produces. But they who knew him best were aware that he did not bear trouble well. In any trouble, such as

was this about the necklace, there would come over his face a look of weakness which betrayed the want of

real inner strength. How many faces one sees which, in ordinary circumstances, are comfortable,

selfasserting, sufficient, and even bold; the lines of which, under difficulties, collapse and become mean,

spiritless, and insignificant. There are faces which, in their usual form, seem to bluster with prosperity, but

which the loss of a dozen points at whist will reduce to that currish aspect which reminds one of a dogwhip.

Mr Camperdown's countenance, when Lord Fawn and Mr Eustace left him, had fallen away into this

meanness of appearance. He no longer carried himself as a man owning a dogwhip, but rather as the hound

A better attorney, for the purposes to which his life was devoted, did not exist in London than Mr

Camperdown. To say that he was honest is nothing. To describe him simply as zealous would be to fall very

short of his merits. The interests of his clients were his own interests, and the legal rights of the properties of

which he had the legal charge, were as dear to him as his own blood. But it could not be said of him that he

was a learned lawyer. Perhaps in that branch of a solicitor's profession in which he had been called upon to

work, experience goes further than learning. It may be doubted, indeed, whether it is not so in every branch of

every profession. But it might, perhaps, have been better for Mr Camperdown had he devoted more hours of

his youth to reading books on conveyancing. He was now too old for such studies, and could trust only to the

reading of other people. The reading, however, of other people was always at his command, and his clients

were rich men who did not mind paying for an opinion. To have an opinion from Mr Dove, or some other

learned gentleman, was the everyday practice of his life; and when he obtained, as he often did, little coigns

of legal vantage and subtle definitions as to property which were comfortable to him, he would rejoice to

think that he could always have a Dove at his hand to tell him exactly how far he was justified in going in

defence of his clients' interests. But now there had come to him no comfort from his corner of legal

knowledge. Mr Dove had taken extraordinary pains in the matter, and had simply succeeded in throwing over

his employer. ``A necklace can't be an heirloom!'' said Mr Camperdown to himself, telling off on his fingers

halfadozen instances in which he had either known or had heard that the head of a family had so arranged

the future possession of the family jewels. Then he again read Mr Dove's opinion; and actually took a

lawbook off his shelves with the view of testing the correctness of the barrister in reference to some special

assertion. A pot or a pan might be an heirloom, but not a necklace! Mr Camperdown could hardly bring

himself to believe that this was law. And then as to paraphernalia! Up to this moment, though he had been

called upon to arrange great dealings in reference to widows, he had never as yet heard of a claim made by a

widow for paraphernalia. But then the widows with whom he had been called upon to deal, had been ladies

quite content to accept the good things settled upon them by the liberal prudence of their friends and

husbandsnot greedy, bloodsucking harpies such as this Lady Eustace. It was quite terrible to Mr

Camperdown that one of his clients should have fallen into such a pit. Mors omnibus est communis. But to

``John,'' he said, opening his door. John was his son and partner, and John came to him, having been

summoned by a clerk from another room. ``Just shut the door. I've had such a scene hereLord Fawn and

``The Upper House would have got the worst of it, as it usually does,'' said the younger attorney.

``And there is John Eustace, cares no more what becomes of the property than if he had nothing to do with

itabsolutely talks of replacing the diamonds out of his own pocket; a man whose personal interest in the

``He wouldn't do it, you know,'' said Camperdown Junior, who did not know the family.

``It's just what he would do,'' said the father, who did. ``There's nothing they wouldn't give away, when once

the idea takes them. Think of that woman having the whole Portray estate, perhaps for the next sixty

yearsnearly the feesimple of the propertyjust because she made eyes to Sir Florian!''

``And here's Dove tells us that a necklace can't be an heirloom, unless it belongs to the Crown.''

``I'm not so sure of that. It can't be. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go over and see him. We can file a bill in

Chancery, I don't doubt, and prove that the property belongs to the family and must go by the will. But she'll

``Greystock says they are at Portray, and I believe they are. She was wearing them in London only in Julya

day or two before I saw her as she was leaving town. If anybody like a jeweller had been down at the castle, I

``No, John. I think not. We could have acted much more quickly, and have frightened her.''

``If I were you, father, I'd drop the matter altogether, and let John Eustace replace them if he pleases. We all

know that he would never be called on to do anything of the kind. It isn't our sort of business.''

``Not ten thousand pounds!'' said Camperdown Senior, to whom the magnitude of the larceny almost

ennobled the otherwise mean duty of catching the thief. Then Mr Camperdown rose, and slowly walked

across the New Square, Lincoln's Inn, under the low archway, by the entrance to the old court in which Lord

Eldon used to sit, to the Old Square, in which the Turtle Dove had built his legal nest on a first floor, close to

Mr Dove was a gentleman who spent a very great portion of his life in this somewhat gloomy abode of

learning. It was not now termtime, and most of his brethren were absent from London, recruiting their

strength among the Alps, or drinking in vigours for fresh campaigns with the salt sea breezes of Kent and

Sussex, or perhaps shooting deer in Scotland, or catching fish in Connemara. But Mr Dove was a man of iron,

who wanted no such recreation. To be absent from his lawbooks and the black, littered, inkstained old

table on which he was wont to write his opinions, was, to him, to be wretched. The only exercise necessary to

him was that of putting on his wig and going into one of the courts that were close to his chambersbut even

that was almost distasteful to him. He preferred sitting in his old armchair, turning over his old books in

search of old cases, and producing opinions which he would be prepared to back against all the world of

Lincoln's Inn. He and Mr Camperdown had known each other intimately for many years, and though the rank

of the two men in their profession differed much, they were able to discuss questions of law without any

appreciation of that difference among themselves. The one man knew much, and the other little; the one was

not only learned, but possessed also of great gifts, while the other was simply an ordinary clearheaded man

of business; but they had sympathies in common which made them friends; they were both honest and

unwilling to sell their services to dishonest customers; and they equally entertained a deeprooted contempt

for that portion of mankind who thought that property could be managed and protected without the

intervention of lawyers. The outside world to them was a world of pretty, laughing, ignorant children; and

lawyers were the parents, guardians, pastors and masters by whom the children should be protected from the

``Yes, sir; he's here,'' said the Turtle Dove's clerk. ``He is talking of going away, but he won't go. He's told me

I can have a week, but I don't know that I like to leave him. Mrs Dove and the children are down at

Ramsgate, and he's here all night. He hadn't been out so long that when he wanted to go as far as the Temple

yesterday, we couldn't find his hat.'' Then the clerk opened the door, and ushered Mr Camperdown into the

room. Mr Dove was the younger man by five or six years, and his hair was still black. Mr Camperdown's was

nearer white than grey; but, nevertheless, Mr Camperdown looked as though he were the younger man. Mr

Dove was a long, thin man, with a stoop in his shoulders, with deepset, hollow eyes, and lanthorn cheeks,

and sallow complexion, with long, thin hands, who seemed to acknowledge by every movement of his body

and every tone of his voice that old age was creeping on himwhereas the attorney's step was still elastic,

and his speech brisk. Mr Camperdown wore a blue frockcoat, and a coloured cravat, and a light waistcoat.

With Mr Dove every visible article of his raiment was black, except his shirt, and he had that peculiar

blackness which a man achieves when he wears a dresscoat over a high black waistcoat in the morning.

``You didn't make much, I fear, of what I sent you about heirlooms,'' said Mr Dove, divining the purport of

``Very common, indeed, I should say. God bless my soul! when one knows how often the word occurs in

``I don't think I said quite so much as that. Indeed, I was careful to point out that the law does acknowledge

``I don't think I ever debarred all other diamonds. A diamond in a star of honour might form a part of an

``If in a star of honour, why not in a necklace?'' argued Mr Camperdown almost triumphantly.

``Because a star of honour, unless tampered with by fraud, would naturally be maintained in its original form.

The setting of a necklace will probably be altered from generation to generation. The one, like a picture or a

``Pots and pans may be precious, too,'' replied Mr Dove. ``Such things can be traced, and can be held as

heirlooms without imposing too great difficulties on their guardians. The Law is generally very wise and

prudent, Mr Camperdownmuch more so often than are they who attempt to improve it.''

``Would the Law do a service, do you think, if it lent its authority to the special preservation in special hands

of trinkets only to be used for vanity and ornament? Is that a kind of property over which an owner should

have a power of disposition more lasting, more autocratic, than is given him even in regard to land? The land,

at any rate, can be traced. It is a thing fixed and known. A string of pearls is not only alterable, but constantly

``Property of such enormous value should, at any rate, be protected,'' said Mr Camperdown indignantly.

``All property is protected, Mr Camperdownalthough, as we know too well, such protection can never be

perfect. But the system of heirlooms, if there can be said to be such a system, was not devised for what you

``I think not. It was devised with the more picturesque idea of maintaining chivalric associations. Heirlooms

have become so, not that the future owners of them may be assured of so much wealth, whatever the value of

the thing so settled may bebut that the son or grandson or descendant may enjoy the satisfaction which is

derived from saying, my father or my grandfather or my ancestor sat in that chair, or looked as he now looks

in that picture, or was graced by wearing on his breast that very ornament which you now see lying beneath

the glass. Crown jewels are heirlooms in the same way, as representing not the possession of the sovereign,

but the timehonoured dignity of the Crown. The Law, which, in general, concerns itself with our property or

lives and our liberties, has in this matter bowed gracefully to the spirit of chivalry and has lent its aid to

romancebut it certainly did not do so to enable the discordant heirs of a rich man to settle a simple dirty

question of money, which, with ordinary prudence, the rich man should himself have settled before he died.''

The Turtle Dove had spoken with emphasis and had spoken well, and Mr Camperdown had not ventured to

interrupt him while he was speaking. He was sitting far back on his chair, but with his neck bent and with his

head forward, rubbing his long thin hands slowly over each other, and with his deep bright eyes firmly fixed

on his companion's face. Mr Camperdown had not unfrequently heard him speak in the same fashion before,

and was accustomed to his manner of unravelling the mysteries and searching into the causes of Law with a

spirit which almost lent poetry to the subject. When Mr Dove would do so, Mr Camperdown would not quite

understand the words spoken, but he would listen to them with an undoubting reverence. And he did

understand them in part, and was conscious of an infusion of a certain amount of poetic spirit into his own

bosom. He would think of these speeches afterwards, and would entertain high but somewhat cloudy ideas of

the beauty and the majesty of Law. Mr Dove's speeches did Mr Camperdown good, and helped to preserve

``That question has hardly been put to methough I allowed myself to wander into it. But for my intimacy

``I need hardly say how much obliged we are. But we will submit one or two other cases to you.''

``I am inclined to think the court would not allow them to her as paraphernalia, seeing that their value is

excessive as compared with her income and degree; but if it did, it would do so in a fashion that would guard

``Then she would be guilty of stealing themwhich she would hardly attempt, even if not restrained by

honesty, knowing, as she would know, that the greatness of the value would almost assuredly lead to

``But I should be disposed to think that in equity no allegation by the receiver of such a gift, unsubstantiated

either by evidence or by deed, would be allowed to stand. The gentleman left behind him a will, and regular

settlements. I should think that the possession of these diamondsnot, I presume touched on in the

``I should think, then, that, subject to any claim for paraphernalia, the possession of the diamonds would be

ruled by the will.'' Mr Camperdown was rushing into the further difficulty of the chattels in Scotland and

those in England, when the Turtle Dove stopped him, declaring that he could not venture to discuss matters as

``Of course notof course not,'' said Mr Camperdown. ``We'll have cases prepared. I'd apologise for coming

``I'm always delighted to see you, Mr Camperdown,'' said the Turtle Dove, bowing.

When Lord Fawn gave a sudden jump and stalked away towards the house on that Sunday morning before

breakfast, Lucy Morris was a very unhappy girl. She had a second time accused Lord Fawn of speaking an

untruth. She did not quite understand the usages of the world in the matter; but she did know that the one

offence which a gentleman is supposed never to commit is that of speaking an untruth. The offence may be

one committed oftener than any other by gentlemenas also by all other people; but, nevertheless, it is

regarded by the usages of society as being the one thing which a gentleman never does. Of all this Lucy

understood something. The word ``lie'' she knew to be utterly abominable. That Lizzie Eustace was a little

liar had been acknowledged between herself and the Fawn girls very oftenbut to have told Lady Eustace

that any word spoken by her was a lie, would have been a worse crime than the lie itself. To have brought

such an accusation, in that term, against Lord Fawn, would have been to degrade herself for ever. Was there

any difference between a lie and an untruth? That one must be, and that the other need not be, intentional, she

did feel; but she felt also that the less offensive word had come to mean a liethe world having been driven

so to use it because the world did not dare to talk about lies; and this word, bearing such a meaning in

common parlance, she had twice applied to Lord Fawn. And yet, as she was well aware, Lord Fawn had told

no lie. He had himself believed every word that he had spoken against Frank Greystock. That he had been

guilty of unmanly cruelty in so speaking of her lover in her presence, Lucy still thought, but she should not

therefore have accused him of falsehood. ``It was untrue all the same,'' she said to herself, as she stood still on

the gravel walk, watching the rapid disappearance of Lord Fawn, and endeavouring to think what she had

better now do with herself. Of course Lord Fawn, like a great child, would at once go and tell his mother

In the hall she met her friend Lydia. ``Oh, Lucy, what is the matter with Frederic?'' she asked.

``Yeswith me. He is so angry that I am sure he would not sit down to breakfast with me. So I won't come

down. Will you tell your mamma? If she likes to send to me, of course I'll go to her at once.''

``BecauseOh, how can I say why? Why does any person do everything that she ought not to do? It's the

``You can have no conception how unhappy I am about it. Of course, Lady Fawn will tell me to go away. I

went out on purpose to beg his pardon for what I said last night, and I just said the very same thing again.''

``And I should say it again and again and again, if he were to go on telling me that Mr Greystock isn't a

gentleman. I don't think he ought to have done it. Of course, I have been very wrong; I know that. But I think

he has been wrong too. But I must own it, and he needn't. I'll go up now and stay in my own room till your

Lord Fawn did tell his mother, and Lady Fawn was perplexed in the extreme. She was divided in her

judgment and feelings between the privilege due to Lucy as a girl possessed of an authorised lovera

privilege which no doubt existed, but which was not extensiveand the very much greater privilege which

attached to Lord Fawn as a man, as a peer as an UnderSecretary of Statebut which attached to him

especially as the head and only man belonging to the Fawn family. Such a one, when, moved by filial duty,

he condescends to come once a week to his mother's house, is entitled to say whatever he pleases, and should

on no account be contradicted by anyone. Lucy no doubt had a loveran authorised lover; but perhaps that

fact could not be taken as more than a balancing weight against the inferiority of her position as a governess.

Lady Fawn was of course obliged to take her son's part, and would scold Lucy. Lucy must be scolded very

seriously. But it would be a thing so desirable if Lucy could be induced to accept her scolding and have done

with it, and not to make matters worse by talking of going away! ``You don't mean that she came out into the

shrubbery, having made up her mind to be rude to you?'' said Lady Fawn to her son.

``NoI do not think that. But her temper is so ungovernable, and she has, if I may say so, been so spoilt

among you hereI mean by the girls, of coursethat she does not know how to restrain herself.''

``She is as good as gold, you know, Frederic.'' He shrugged his shoulders, and declared that he had not a word

more to say about it. He could, of course, remain in London till it should suit Mr Greystock to take his bride.

``You'll break my heart if you say that!'' exclaimed the unhappy mother. ``Of course, she shall leave the

``I wish nothing,'' said Lord Fawn. ``But I peculiarly object to be told that I am aliar.'' Then he stalked

Lady Fawn and Lucy sat opposite to each other in church, but they did not speak till the afternoon. Lady

Fawn went to church in the carriage and Lucy walked, and as Lucy retired to her room immediately on her

return to the house, there had not been an opportunity even for a word. After lunch Amelia came up to her,

and sat down for a long discussion. ``Now, Lucy, something must be done, you know,'' said Amelia.

``Of course, mamma must see you. She can't allow things to go on in this way. Mamma is very unhappy, and

didn't eat a morsel of breakfast.'' By this latter assertion Amelia simply intended to imply that her mother had

``Of course, I shall go to her the moment she sends for me. OhI am so unhappy!''

``I don't wonder at that, Lucy. So is my brother unhappy. These things make people unhappy. It is what the

``Why did he tell me that Mr Greystock isn't a gentleman? Mr Greystock is a gentleman. I meant to say

``When he said that Mr Greystock wasn't a gentleman, I told him it wasn't true. Why did he say it? He knows

all about it. Everybody knows. Would you think it wise to come and abuse him to me, when you know what

he is to me? I can't bear it, and I won't. I'll go away tomorrow, if your mamma wishes it.'' But that going away

``I think, you know, Lucy, you should express your deep sorrow at what has passed.''

``Then he would abuse Mr Greystock again, and it would all be as bad as ever. I'll beg Lord Fawn's pardon if

``I suppose not. I daresay I'm very wicked, and I must be left wicked. I'm too wicked to stay here. That's the

``I suppose I am. If it wasn't for all that I owe to everybody here, and that I love you all so much, I should be

proud of being proudbecause of Mr Greystock. Only it kills me to make Lady Fawn unhappy.''

Amelia left the culprit, feeling that no good had been done, and Lady Fawn did not see the delinquent till late

in the afternoon. Lord Fawn had, in the meantime, wandered out along the river all alone to brood over the

condition of his affairs. It had been an evil day for him in which he had first seen Lady Eustace. From the

first moment of his engagement to her he had been an unhappy man. Her treatment of him, the stories which

reached his ears from Mrs Hittaway and others, Mr Camperdown's threats of law in regard to the diamonds,

and Frank Greystock's insults, altogether made him aware that he could not possibly marry Lady Eustace. But

yet he had no proper and becoming way of escaping from the bonds of his engagement. He was a man with a

conscience, and was made miserable by the idea of behaving badly to a woman. Perhaps it might have been

difficult to analyse his misery, and to decide how much arose from the feeling that he was behaving badly,

and how much from the conviction that the world would accuse him of doing so; but, between the two, he

was wretched enough. The punishment of the offence had been commenced by Greystock's unavenged

insultsand it now seemed to him that this girl's conduct was a continuation of it. The world was already

beginning to treat him with that want of respect which he so greatly dreaded. He knew that he was too weak

to stand up against a widelyspread expression of opinion that he had behaved badly. There are men who can

walk about the streets with composed countenances, take their seats in Parliament if they happen to have

seats, work in their offices, or their chambers, or their countinghouses with diligence, and go about the

world serenely, even though everybody be saying evil of them behind their backs. Such men can live down

temporary calumny, and almost take a delight in the isolation which it will produce. Lord Fawn knew well

that he was not such a man. He would have described his own weakness as caused, perhaps, by a too

thinskinned sensitiveness. Those who knew him were inclined to say that he lacked strength of character,

He had certainly engaged himself to marry this widow, and he was most desirous to do what was right. He

had said that he would not marry her unless she would give up the necklace, and he was most desirous to be

true to his word. He had been twice insulted, and he was anxious to support these injuries with dignity. Poor

Lucy's little offence against him rankled in his mind with the other great offences. That this humble friend of

his mother's should have been insolent was a terrible thing to him. He was not sure even whether his own

sisters did not treat him with scantier reverence than of yore. And yet he was so anxious to do right, and do

his duty in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call him! As to much he was in doubt; but of two

things he was quite surethat Frank Greystock was a scoundrel, and that Lucy Morris was the most

``What would you wish to have done, Frederic?'' his mother said to him on his return.

``About Lucy Morris? I have not seen her yet. I have thought it better that she should be left to herself for a

while before I did so. I suppose she must come down to dinner. She always does.''

``Nobut about meeting her? If there is to be no talking it will be so very unpleasant. It will be unpleasant to

``I do not wish anybody to be disturbed for my comfort.'' A young woman coming down to dinner as though

in disgrace, and not being spoken to by anyone, would, in truth, have had rather a soothing effect upon Lord

Fawn, who would have felt that the general silence and dullness had been produced as a sacrifice in his

honour. ``I can, of course, insist that she should apologise; but if she refuses, what shall I do then?''

``Miss Morris's idea of an apology is a repetition of her offence with increased rudeness. It is not for me to

``No doubt that will make her quite independent of you, and I can understand that her presence here in such

circumstances must be very uncomfortable to you all. No doubt she feels her power.''

``I can hardly say that I desire to know her better. You cannot suppose that I can be anxious for further

intimacy with a young lady who has twice given me the lie in your house. Such conduct is, at least, very

unusual; and as no absolute punishment can be inflicted, the offender can only be avoided. It is thus and thus

only that such offences can be punished. I shall be satisfied if you will give her to understand that I should

Poor Lady Fawn was beginning to think that Lucy was right in saying that there was no remedy for all these

evils but that she should go away. But whither was she to go? She had no home but such home as she could

earn for herself by her services as a governess, and in her present position it was almost out of the question

that she should seek another place. Lady Fawn, too, felt that she had pledged herself to Mr Greystock that till

next year Lucy should have a home at Fawn Court. Mr Greystock, indeed, was now an enemy to the family;

but Lucy was not an enemy, and it was out of the question that she should be treated with real enmity. She

might be scolded, and scowled at, and put into a kind of drawingroom Coventry for a timeso that all

kindly intercourse with her should be confined to schoolroom work and bedroom conferences. She could be

generally ``sat upon'', as Nina would call it. But as for quarrelling with hermaking a real enemy of one

whom they all loved, one whom Lady Fawn knew to be ``as good as gold'', one who had become so dear to

the old lady that actual extrusion from their family affections would be like the cutting off of a limbthat

was simply impossible. ``I suppose I had better go and see her,'' said Lady Fawn``and I have got such a

``Do not see her on my account,'' said Lord Fawn. The duty, however, was obligatory, and Lady Fawn with

Lucy came up to her and knelt at her feet. ``If you knew how unhappy I am, because I have vexed you!''

``I am unhappy, my dear, because I think you have been betrayed by warm temper into misbehaviour.''

``If anybody were to come to you, Lady Fawn, and make horrible accusations against Lord Fawn, or against

Lady Fawn was not clearheaded; she was not clever; nor was she even always rational. But she was

essentially honest, She knew that she would fly at anybody who should in her presence say such bitter things

of any of her children as Lord Fawn had said of Mr Greystock in Lucy's hearingand she knew also that

Lucy was entitled to hold Mr Greystock as dearly as she held her own sons and daughters. Lord Fawn, at

Fawn Court, could not do wrong. That was a tenet by which she was obliged to hold fast. And yet Lucy had

been subjected to great cruelty. She thought awhile for a valid argument. ``My dear,'' she said, ``your youth

``And though to me and to the girls you are as dear as any friend can be, and may say just what you

pleaseIndeed, we all live here in such a way that we all do say just what we pleaseyoung and old

``We are, of course, very sorry that there should be any quarrel. It is all the fault of thatnasty, false young

``So it is, Lady Fawn. Lady Fawn, I have been thinking about it all the day, and I am quite sure that I had

better not stay here while you and the girls think badly of Mr Greystock. It is not only about Lord Fawn, but

because of the whole thing. I am always wanting to say something good about Mr Greystock, and you are

always thinking something bad about him. You have been to meoh, the very best friend that a girl ever

``But when a girl has got a man whom she loves, and has promised to marry, he must be her best friend of all.

Is it not so, Lady Fawn?'' The old woman stooped down and kissed the girl who had got the man. ``It is not

``But what can he do, Lucy? It will only be a trouble to him. He can't find a home for you.''

``Perhaps they would have me at the deanery,'' said Lucy slowly. She had evidently been thinking much of it

all. ``And, Lady Fawn, I will not go downstairs while Lord Fawn is here; and when he comesif he does

come again while I am herehe shall not be troubled by seeing me. He may be sure of that. And you may

tell him that I don't defend myself, only I shall always think that he ought not to have said that Mr Greystock

wasn't a gentleman before me.'' When Lady Fawn left Lucy the matter was so far settled that Lucy had

neither been asked to come down to dinner, nor had she been forbidden to seek another home.

Frank Greystock stayed the Sunday in London and went down to Bobsborough on the Monday. His father

and mother and sister all knew of his engagement to Lucy, and they had heard also that Lady Eustace was to

become Lady Fawn. Of the necklace they had hitherto heard very little, and of the quarrel between the two

lovers they had heard nothing. There had been many misgivings at the deanery, and some regrets about these

marriages. Mrs Greystock, Frank's mother, was, as we are so wont to say of many women, the best woman in

the world. She was unselfish, affectionate, charitable, and thoroughly feminine. But she did think that her son

Frank, with all his advantagesgood looks, cleverness, general popularity, and seat in Parliamentmight

just as well marry an heiress as a little girl without twopence in the world. As for herself, who had been born

a Jackson, she could do with very little; but the Greystocks were all people who wanted money. For them

there was never more than ninepence in a shilling, if so much. They were a race who could not pay their way

with moderate incomes. Even the dear dean, who really had a conscience about money, and who hardly ever

left Bobsborough, could not be kept quite clear of debt, let her do what she would. As for the admiral, the

dean's elder brother, he had been notorious for insolvency; and Frank was a Greystock all over. He was the

And his pretty cousin, the widow, who was devoted to him, and would have married him at a word, had ever

so many thousands a year! Of course, Lizzie Eustace was not just all that she should bebut then who is? In

one respect, at any rate, her conduct had always been proper. There was no rumour against her as to lovers or

flirtations. She was very young, and Frank might have moulded her as he pleased. Of course there were

regrets. Poor dear little Lucy Morris was as good as gold. Mrs Greystock was quite willing to admit that. She

was not goodlookingso at least Mrs Greystock said. She never would allow that Lucy was goodlooking.

And she didn't see much in Lucy, who, according to her idea, was a little chit of a thing. Her position was

simply that of a governess. Mrs Greystock declared to her daughter that no one in the whole world had a

higher respect for governesses than had she. But a governess is a governessand for a man in Frank's

``But I do say it, my dear. Things sometimes are fixed which must be unfixed. You know your brother.''

``You're a Jackson. Frank is Greystock to the very backbone. If he marries Lucy Morris he must give up

The dean himself was more reticent, and less given to interference than his wife; but he felt it also. He would

not for the world have hinted to his son that it might be well to marry money; but he thought that it was a

good thing that his son should go where money was. He knew that Frank was apt to spend his guineas faster

than he got them. All his life long the dean had seen what came of such spending. Frank had gone out into the

world and had prosperedbut he could hardly continue to prosper unless he married money. Of course, there

had been regrets when the news came of that fatal engagement with Lucy Morris. ``It can't be for the next ten

``I thought at one time that he would have made a match with his cousin,'' said the dean.

Then Frank came among them. He had intended staying some weeksperhaps for a month, and great

preparations were made for him; but immediately on his arrival he announced the necessity that was

incumbent on him of going down again to Scotland in ten days. ``You've heard about Lizzie, of course?'' he

said. They had heard that Lizzie was to become Lady Fawn, but beyond that they had heard nothing. ``You

know about the necklace?'' asked Frank. Something of a tale of a necklace had made its way even down to

quiet Bobsborough. They had been informed that there was a dispute between the widow and the executors of

the late Sir Florian about some diamonds. ``Lord Fawn is behaving about it in the most atrocious manner,''

continued Frank, ``and the long and the short of it is that there will be no marriage!''

``Ahit will give the lawyers a job before they decide that. They're very valuableworth about ten

thousand pounds, I'm told; but the most of it will go among some of my friends at the Chancery bar. It's a pity

``But why should you be out?'' asked his mother with tender regretsnot thinking of the matter as her son

was thinking of it, but feeling that when there was so much wealth so very near him, he ought not to let it all

``As far as I can see,'' continued Frank, ``she has a fair claim to them. I suppose they'll file a bill in Chancery,

and then it will be out of my line altogether. She says her husband gave them to herabsolutely put them on

her neck himself, and told her that they were hers. As to their being an heirloom, that turns out to be

impossible. I didn't know it, but it seems you can't make diamonds an heirloom. What astonishes me is, that

Fawn should object to the necklace. However, he has objected, and has simply told her that he won't marry

``Storms and ravesas of course any woman would. I don't think she is behaving badly. What she wants is,

to reduce him to obedience, and then to dismiss him. I think that is no more than fair. Nothing on earth would

``I don't think she ever did. She found her position to be troublesome, and she thought she had better marry.

``I am sorry you should have so much trouble,'' said Mrs Greystock. But in truth the mother was not sorry.

She did not declare to herself that it would be a good thing that her son should be false to Lucy Morris, in

order that he might marry his rich cousin; but she did feel it to be an advantage that he should be on terms of

intimacy with so large an income as that belonging to Lady Eustace. ``Doan't thou marry for munny, but goa

where munny is.'' Mrs Greystock would have repudiated the idea of mercenary marriages in any ordinary

conversation, and would have been severe on any gentleman who was false to a young lady. But it is so hard

to bring one's general principles to bear on one's own conduct or in one's own familyand then the

Greystocks were so peculiar a people! When her son told her that he must go down to Scotland again very

shortly, she reconciled herself to his loss. Had he left Bobsborough for the sake of being near Lucy at

Days passed by, and nothing was said about poor Lucy. Mrs Greystock had made up her mind that she would

say nothing on the subject. Lucy had behaved badly in allowing herself to be loved by a man who ought to

have loved money, and Mrs Greystock had resolved that she would show her feelings by silence. The dean

had formed no fixed determination, but he had thought that it might be, perhaps, as well to drop the subject.

Frank himself was unhappy about it; but from morning to evening, and from day to day, he allowed it to pass

by without a word. He knew that it should not be so, that such silence was in truth treachery to Lucybut he

did. What had he meant when, as he left Lizzie Eustace among the rocks at Portrayin that last

momenthe had assured her that he would be true to her? And what had been Lizzie's meaning? He was

more sure of Lizzie's meaning than he was of his own. ``It's a very rough world to live in,'' he said to himself

But when he had been nearly a week at the deanery, and when the day of his going was so near as to be a

matter of concern, his sister did at last venture to say a word about Lucy. ``I suppose there is nothing settled

``Nor will befor some while.'' This he said in a tone which he himself felt to be illhumoured and almost

petulant. And he felt also that such illhumour on such a subject was unkind, not to his sister, but to Lucy. It

seemed to imply that the matter of his marriage was distasteful to him. ``The truth is'', he said, ``that nothing

can be fixed. Lucy understands that as well as I do. I am not in a position at once to marry a girl who has

nothing. It's a pity, perhaps, that one can't train oneself to like some girl best that has got money; but as I

haven't, there must be some delay. She is to stay where she isat any rate, for a twelvemonth.''

``Well; yes; I hardly know how I can see her, as I have quarrelled to the knife with Lord Fawn; and Lord

Fawn is recognised by his mother and sisters as the one living Jupiter upon earth.''

``Only it prevents my going to Richmondand poor Fawn himself is such an indifferent Jupiter.''

That was all that was said about Lucy at Bobsborough, till there came a letter from Lucy to her lover

acquainting him with the circumstances of her unfortunate position at Richmond. She did not tell him quite

all the circumstances. She did not repeat the strong expressions which Lord Fawn had used, nor did she

clearly explain how wrathful she had been herself. ``Lord Fawn has been here'', she said, ``and there has been

ever so much unpleasantness. He is very angry with you about Lady Eustace, and, of course, Lady Fawn

takes his part. I need not tell you whose part I take. And so there have been what the servants calljust a few

words. It is very dreadful, isn't it? And, after all, Lady Fawn has been as kind as possible. But the upshot of it

is, that I am not to stay here. You mustn't suppose that I'm to be turned out at twelve hours' notice. I am to

stay till arrangements have been made, and everybody will be kind to me. But what had I better do? I'll try

and get another situation at once if you think it best, only I suppose I should have to explain how long I could

stay. Lady Fawn knows that I am writing to you to ask you what you think best.''

On receipt of this, Greystock was very much puzzled. What a little fool Lucy had been, and yet what a dear

little fool! Who cared for Lord Fawn and his hard words? Of course, Lord Fawn would say all manner of evil

things of him, and would crow valiantly in his own farmyard; but it would have been so much wiser on

Lucy's part to have put up with the crowing, and to have disregarded altogether the words of a man so weak

and insignificant! But the evil was done, and he must make some arrangement for poor Lucy's comfort. Had

he known exactly how matters stood, that the proposition as to Lucy's departure had come wholly from

herself, and that at the present time all the ladies at Fawn Courtof course, in the absence of Lord

Fawnwere quite disposed to forgive Lucy if Lucy would only be forgiven, and hide herself when Lord

Fawn should comehad Frank known all this, he might, perhaps, have counselled her to remain at

Richmond. But he believed that Lady Fawn had insisted on Lucy's departure; and of course, in such a case,

Lucy must depart. He showed the letter to his sister, and asked for advice. ``How very unfortunate!'' said

``I suppose she has spoken out plainly, or otherwise they would never have told her to go away. It seems so

``Lucy can be very headstrong if she pleases,'' said Lucy's lover. ``What on earth had I better do for her? I

``If she is to be your wife, I don't think she should go into another place. If it is quite fixed'' she said, and

``Then she had better come here. As for her going out as a governess, and telling the people that she is to be

your wife in a few months, that is out of the question. And it would, I think, be equally so that she should go

into any house and not tell the truth. Of course, this would be the place for her.'' It was at last decided that

When the whole matter was unfolded to Mrs Greystock, that lady was more troubled than ever. If Lucy were

to come to the deanery, she must come as Frank's affianced bride, and must be treated as such by all

Bobsborough. The dean would be giving his express sanction to the marriage, and so would Mrs Greystock

herself. She knew well that she had no power of refusing her sanction. Frank must do as he pleased about

marrying. Were Lucy once his wife, of course she would be made welcome to the best the deanery could give

her. There was no doubt about Lucy being as good as goldonly that real gold, vile as it is, was the one

thing that Frank so much needed. The mother thought that she had discovered in her son something which

seemed to indicate a possibility that this very imprudent match might at last be abandoned; and if there were

such possibility, sure Lucy ought not now to be brought to the deanery. Nevertheless, if Frank were to insist

But Mrs Greystock had a plan. ``Oh, mamma,'' said Ellinor, when the plan was proposed to her, ``do not you

``You think that because Lizzie Eustace has said so. I don't know that she's a virago at all. I believe her to be

``The admiral, my dear, tried to borrow her money, as he did everybody's, and when she wouldn't give him

any, then he said severe things. The poor admiral was never to be trusted in such matters.''

``I don't think Frank would like it,'' said Ellinor. The plan was this. Lady Linlithgow, who, through her

brotherinlaw, the late Admiral Greystock, was connected with the dean's family, had made known her

desire to have a new companion for six months. The lady was to be treated like a lady, but was to have no

salary. Her travelling expenses were to be paid for her, and no duties were to be expected from her, except

``I really think it's the very thing for her,'' said Mrs Greystock. ``It's not like being a governess. She's not to

``It would just be a visit to Lady Linlithgow. It is that which makes the difference, my dear.''

Ellinor felt sure that her brother would not hear of such an engagementbut he did hear of it, and, after

various objections, gave a sort of sanction to it. It was not to be pressed upon Lucy if Lucy disliked it. Lady

Linlithgow was to be made to understand that Lucy might leave whenever she pleased. It was to be an

invitation, which Lucy might accept if she were so minded. Lucy's position as an honourable guest was to be

assured to her. It was thought better that Lady Linlithgow should not be told of Lucy's engagement unless she

asked questionsor unless Lucy should choose to tell her. Every precaution was to be taken, and then Frank

gave his sanction. He could understand, he said, that it might be inexpedient that Lucy should come at once to

the deanery, aswere she to do soshe must remain there till her marriage, let the time be ever so long. ``It

might be two years,'' said the mother. ``Hardly so long as that,'' said the son. ``I don't think it would

bequite fairto papa,'' said the mother. It was well that the argument was used behind the dean's back, as,

had it been made in his hearing, the dean would have upset it at once. The dean was so shortsighted and

imprudent, that he would have professed delight at the idea of having Lucy Morris as a resident at the

deanery. Frank acceded to the argumentand was ashamed of himself for acceding. Ellinor did not accede,

nor did her sisters, but it was necessary that they should yield. Mrs Greystock at once wrote to Lady

Linlithgow, and Frank wrote by the same post to Lucy Morris. ``As there must be a year's delay,'' he wrote,

``we all here think it best that your visit to us should be postponed for a while. But if you object to the

Linlithgow plan, say so at once. You shall be asked to do nothing disagreeable.'' He found the letter very

difficult to write. He knew that she ought to have been welcomed at once to Bobsborough. And he knew, too,

the reason on which his mother's objection was founded. But it might be two years before he could possibly

marry Lucy Morrisor it might be three. Would it be proper that she should be desired to make the deanery

her home for so long and so indefinite a time? And when an engagement was for so long, could it be well that

everybody should know itas everybody would, if Lucy were to take up her residence permanently at the

And, moreover, it was absolutely necessary that he and Lizzie Eustace should understand each other as to that

After what passed in our chambers the other day, we think it best to let you know that we have been

instructed by the executor of the late Sir Florian Eustace to file a bill in Chancery against the widow, Lady

Eustace, for the recovery of valuable diamonds. You will oblige us by making the necessary communication

to her ladyship, and will perhaps tell us the names of her ladyship's solicitors.

On this occasion Frank Greystock went down to Portray Castle with the intention of staying at the house

during the very short time that he would remain in Scotland. He was going there solely on his cousin's

businesswith no view to grouseshooting or other pleasure, and he purposed remaining but a very short

timeperhaps only one night. His cousin, moreover, had spoken of having guests with her, in which case

there could be no tinge of impropriety in his doing so. And whether she had guests, or whether she had not,

what difference could it really make? Mr Andrew Gowran had already seen what there was to see, and could

do all the evil that could be done. He could, if he were so minded, spread reports in the neighbourhood, and

might, perhaps, have the power of communicating what he had discovered to the Eustace factionJohn

Eustace, Mr Camperdown, and Lord Fawn. That evil, if it were an evil, must be encountered with absolute

indifference. So he went direct to the castle, and was received quietly, but very graciously, by his cousin

There were no guests then staying at Portray; but that very distinguished lady, Mrs Carbuncle, with her niece,

Miss Roanoke, had been there; as had also that very wellknown nobleman, Lord George de Bruce

Carruthers. Lord George and Mrs Carbuncle were in the habit of seeing a good deal of each other, though, as

all the world knew, there was nothing between them but the simplest friendship. And Sir Griffin Tewett had

also been there, a young baronet who was supposed to be enamoured of that most gorgeous of beauties,

Lucinda Roanoke. Of all these grand friendsfriends with whom Lizzie had become acquainted in

Londonnothing further need be said here, as they were not at the castle when Frank arrived. When he

came, whether by premeditated plan or by the chance of circumstances, Lizzie had no one with her at

``I thought to have found you with all the world here,'' said Frankthe faithful Macnulty being then present.

``Wellwe have had people, but only for a couple of days. They are all coming again, but not till November.

``I'm going to hunt. It's a long way to goten or twelve miles generally; but almost everybody hunts here.

Mrs Carbuncle is coming again, and she is about the best lady in England after houndsso they tell me. And

``Whatthe tall man with the hollow eyes and the big whiskers, whose life is a mystery to everyone. Is he

``I like him, just because he isn't a ditto to every man one meets. And Sir Griffin Tewett is coming.''

``Wellyes; poor Sir Griffin! The truth is, he is awfully smitten with Mrs Carbuncle's niece.''

``Don't you go matchmaking, Lizzie,'' said Frank. ``That Sir Griffin is a fool, we will all allow; but it's my

belief he has wit enough to make himself pass off as a man of fortune, with very little to back it. He's at law

with his mother, at law with his sisters, and at law with his younger brother.''

``If he were at law with his greatgrandmother, it would be nothing to me, Frank. She has her aunt to take

``Well, not all. Lord George and Sir Griffin are to keep theirs at Troon, or Kilmarnock, or somewhere. The

``I've been living here, not spending one shilling for the last two months,'' said Lizzie, ``and all for the sake of

economy; yet people think that no woman was ever left so rich. Surely I can afford to see a few friends for

one month in the year. If I find I can't afford so much as that, I shall let the place, and go and live abroad

somewhere. It's too much to suppose that a woman should shut herself up here for six or eight months and see

On that, the day of Frank's arrival, not a word was said about the necklace, nor of Lord Fawn, nor of that

mutual pledge which had been taken and given down among the rocks. Frank, before dinner, went out about

the place, that he might see how things were going on, and observe whether the widow was being illtreated

and unfairly eaten up by her dependants. He was, too, a little curious as to a matter as to which his curiosity

was soon relieved. He had hardly reached the outbuildings which lay behind the kitchen gardens on his way

to the Portray woods, before he encountered Andy Gowran. That faithful adherent of the family raised his

hand to his cap and bobbed his head, and then silently, and with renewed diligence, applied himself to the job

which he had in hand. The gate of the little yard in which the cowshed stood was off its hinges, and Andy

was resetting the post and making the fence tight and tidy. Frank stood a moment watching him, and then

asked after his health. ``'Deed am I nae that to boost about in the way of bodily heelth, Muster Greystock. I've

just o'er mony things to tent to, to tent to my ain sell as a prudent mon ought. It's airly an' late wi' me, Muster

Greystock; and the lumbagy just a' o'er a mon, isn't the pleasantest freend in the warld.'' Frank said that he

was sorry to hear so bad an account of Mr Gowran's health, and passed on. It was not for him to refer to the

little scene in which Mr Gowran had behaved so badly and had shaken his head. If the misbehaviour had been

condoned by Lady Eustace, the less that he said about it the better. Then he went on through the woods, and

was well aware that Mr Gowran's fostering care had not been abated by his disapproval of his mistress. The

fences had been repaired since Frank was there, and stones had been laid on the road or track over which was

to be carried away the underwood which it would be Lady Eustace's privilege to cut during the coming

Frank was not alone for one moment with his cousin during that evening, but in the presence of Miss

Macnulty all the circumstances of the necklace were discussed. ``Of course it is my own,'' said Lady Eustace,

standing up``my own to do just what I please with. If they go on like this with me, they will almost tempt

me to sell it for what it will fetchjust to prove to them that I can do so. I have half a mind to sell it, and

then send them the money, and tell them to put it by for my little Flory. Would not that serve them right

``That is because I am so wise and prudent. If you were to attempt to sell the diamonds they would stop you,

``They wouldn't stop you if you sold the ring you wear.'' The ring had been given to him by Lucy, after their

engagement, and was the only present she had ever made him. It had been purchased out of her own earnings,

and had been put on his finger by her own hand. Either from accident or craft he had not worn it when he had

been before at Portray, and Lizzie had at once observed it as a thing she had never seen before. She knew

well that he would not buy such a ring. Who had given him the ring? Frank almost blushed as he looked

down at the trinket, and Lizzie was sure that it had been given by that sly little creeping thing, Lucy. ``Let me

look at the ring,'' she said. ``Nobody could stop you if you chose to sell this to me.''

``It is not in the market, Lizzie. Nor should your diamonds be there. You must be content to let them take

what legal steps they may think fit, and defend your property. After that you can do as you please; but keep

them safe till the thing is settled. If I were you I would have them at the bankers.''

``Yesand then when I asked for them be told that they couldn't be given up to me, because of Mr

Camperdown or the Lord Chancellor. And what's the good of a thing locked up? You wear your ringwhy

``All ladies like them, I suppose,'' said that stupidest and most stubborn of all humble friends, Miss Macnulty.

``I don't like them at all, and you know I don't, I hate them. They have been the misery of my life. Oh, how

they have tormented me! Even when I am asleep I dream about them, and think that people steal them. They

have never given me one moment's happiness. When I have them on I am always fearing that Camperdown

and Son are behind me and are going to clutch them. And I think too well of myself to believe that anybody

will care more for me because of a necklace. The only good they have ever done me has been to save me

from a man who I now know never cared for me. But they are mineand therefore I choose to keep them.

Though I am only a woman I have an idea of my own rights, and will defend them as far as they go. If you

say I ought not to sell them, Frank, I'll keep them; but I'll wear them as commonly as you do that gage

d'amour which you carry on your finger. Nobody shall ever see me without them. I won't go to any old

dowager's teaparty without them. Mr John Eustace has chosen to accuse me of stealing them.''

``Mr Camperdown thenthe people who choose to call themselves the guardians and protectors of my boy

as if I were not his best guardian and protector! I'll show them at any rate that I'm not ashamed of my booty. I

don't see why I should lock them up in a musty old bank. Why don't you send your ring to the bank?'' Frank

could not but feel that she did it all very well. In the first place she was very pretty in the display of her

halfmock indignation. Though she used some strong words she used them with an air that carried them off

and left no impression that she had been either vulgar or violent. And then, though the indignation was half

mock, it was also half real, and her courage and spirit were attractive. Greystock had at last taught himself to

think that Mr Camperdown was not justified in the claim which he made, and that in consequence of that

unjust claim Lizzie Eustace had been subjected to illusage. ``Did you ever see this bone of contention,'' she

``Heaven and earth! To suppose that I should ever keep them under less than seven keys, and that there

should be any of the locks that anybody should be able to open except myself !''

``Next to my heart,'' said Lizzie, putting her hand on her left side. ``And when I sleep they are always tied

round my neck in a bag, and the bag never escapes from my grasp. And I have such a knife under my pillow,

ready for Mr Camperdown, should he come to seize them!'' Then she ran out of the room, and in a couple of

minutes returned with the necklace, hanging loose in her hand. It was part of her little play to show by her

speed that the close locking of the jewels was a joke, and that the ornament, precious as it was, received at

her hands no other treatment than might any indifferent feminine bauble. Nevertheless within those two

minutes she had contrived to unlock the heavy iron case which always stood beneath the foot of her bed.

``There,'' she said, chucking the necklace across the table to Frank, so that he was barely able to catch it.

``There is ten thousand pounds' worth, as they tell me. Perhaps you will not believe me when I say that I

should have the greatest satisfaction in the world in throwing them out among those blue waves yonder, did I

Frank spread the necklace on the table, and stood up to look at it, while Miss Macnulty came and gazed at the

``And your husband gave it you just as another man gives a trinket that costs ten shillings!''

He smiled, but took no other notice of the accusation. ``I am so poor a man'', said he, ``that this string of

stones, which you throw about the room like a child's toy, would be the making of me.''

``It seems an awful thing to me to have so much value in my hands,'' said Miss Macnulty, who had lifted the

``It would buy the honourable estate of matrimony if it belonged to many women,'' said Lizzie``but it

``Will you have it, Frank?'' she said. ``Take it with all its encumbrances, and weight of cares. Take it with all

the burthen of Messrs Camperdown's lawsuits upon it. You shall be as welcome to it as flowers were ever

``I don't doubt but you're right,'' said Lizzie. ``Who fears to rise will hardly get a fall. But there they are for

you to look at, and there they shall remain for the rest of the evening.'' So saying, she clasped the string round

Miss Macnulty's throat. ``How do you feel, Julia, with an estate upon your neck? Five hundred acres at

twenty pounds an acre. Let us call it five hundred pounds a year. That's about it.'' Miss Macnulty looked as

though she did not like it, but she stood for a time bearing the precious burthen, while Frank explained to his

cousin that she could hardly buy land to pay her five per cent. They were then taken off and left lying on the

table till Lady Eustace took them with her as she went to bed. ``I do feel so like some naughty person in the

Arabian Nights'', she said, ``who has got some great treasure that always brings him into trouble; but he can't

get rid of it, because some spirit has given it to him. At last, some morning it turns into slate stones, and then

he has to be a watercarrier, and is happy ever afterwards, and marries the king's daughter. What sort of a

king's son will there be for me when this turns into slate stones? Goodnight, Frank.'' Then she went off with

On the following day Frank suggested that there should be a business conversation. ``That means that I am to

sit silent and obedient while you lecture me,'' she said. But she submitted, and they went together into the

little sittingroom which looked out over the seathe room where she kept her Shelley and her Byron, and

practised her music and did watercolours, and sat, sometimes, dreaming of a Corsair. ``And now, my gravest

of Mentors, what must a poor ignorant female Telemachus do, so that the world may not trample on her too

heavily?'' He began by telling her what had happened between himself and Lord Fawn, and recommended her

to write to that unhappy nobleman, returning any present that she might have received from him, and

expressing, with some mild but intelligible sarcasm, her regret that their paths should have crossed each

``Of course you do. Men have become so soft themselves, that they no longer dare to think even of punishing

those who behave badly, and they expect women to be softer and more fain ant than themselves. I have been

``And I will be revenged. Look here, Frank; if your view of these things is altogether different from mine, let

us drop the subject. Of all living human beings you are the one that is most to me now. Perhaps you are more

than any other ever was. But, even for you, I cannot alter my nature. Even for you I would not alter it if I

could. That man has injured me, and all the world knows it. I will have my revenge, and all the world shall

``I told a man whom I never loved that I would marry him. God knows that I have been punished.''

``A great deal better. I will tell you now that I could never induce myself to go into church with that man as

his bride. With a man I didn't love I might have done so, but not with a man I despised.''

``Yesbut not the less is his injury to me. It is not because he despises me that he rejects menor is it

``Because he was afraid the world would say that I had done so. Poor shallow creature! But he shall be

``Leave that to me. I have another thing to do much more difficult.'' She paused, looking for a moment up

into his face, and then turning her eyes upon the ground. As he said nothing she went on. ``I have to excuse

``Not in words. How should you? But if you have not blamed me in your heart, I despise you. I know you

have. I have seen it in your eyes when you have counselled me, either to take the poor creature or to leave

``Loved him! Is there anything in him or about him that a woman could love? Is he not a poor social sticka

bit of halfdead wood, good to make a post of, if one wants a post? I did want a post so sorely then!''

``Natural that I should be inclined to marry again! And is that all? It is hard sometimes to see whether men

are thickwitted, or hypocrites so perfect that they seem to be so. I cannot bring myself to think you

``You believe I accepted Lord Fawn because it was natural that I should wish to marry again! Frank, you

believed nothing of the kind. I accepted him in my anger, in my misery, in my despair, because I had

expected you to come to meand you had not come!'She had thrown herself now into a chair, and sat

looking at him. ``You had told me that you would come, and you had stayed away. It was you, Frank, that I

wanted to punish thenbut there was no punishment in it for you. When is it to be, Frank?''

``When is what to be?'' he asked, in a low voice, all but dumbfounded. How was he to put an end to this

``Your marriage with that little wizened thing who gave you the ringthat prim morsel of feminine propriety

who has been clever enough to make you believe that her morality would suffice to make you happy.''

``Is that abuse? Is it abuse to say that she is moral and proper? But, sir, I shall abuse her. I know her for what

she is, while your eyes are sealed. She is wise and moral, and decorous and prim; but she is a hypocrite; and

has no touch of real heart in her composition. Not abuse her when she has robbed me of allallall that I

have in the world! Go to her. You had better go at once. I did not mean to say all this, but it has been said,

and you must leave me. I, at any rate, cannot play the hypocriteI wish I could.'' He rose and came to her,

and attempted to take her hand, but she flung away from him. ``No!'' she said``never again; never, unless

you will tell me that the promise you made me when we were down on the seashore was a true promise.

``I cannot stand picking my words when the whole world is going round with me, and my very brain is on

fire. What is it to me what my words are? Say one syllable to me, and every word I utter again while breath is

mine shall be spoken to do you pleasure. If you cannot say it, it is nothing to me what you or anyone may

think of my words. You know my secret, and I care not who else knows it. At any rate, I can die!'' Then she

That afternoon Frank took a long walk by himself over the mountains, nearly to the Cottage and back again;

and on his return was informed that Lady Eustace was ill, and had gone to bed. At any rate, she was too

unwell to come down to dinner. He, therefore, and Miss Macnulty sat down to dine, and passed the evening

together without other companionship. Frank had resolved during his walk that he would leave Portray the

next day; but had hardly resolved upon anything else. One thing, however, seemed certain to him. He was

engaged to marry Lucy Morris, and to that engagement he must be true. His cousin was very charmingand

had never looked so lovely in his eyes as when she had been confessing her love for him. And he had

wondered at and admired her courage, her power of language, and her force. He could not quite forget how

useful would be her income to him. And, added to this, there was present to him an unwholesome

feelingideas absolutely at variance with those better ideas which had prompted him when he was writing

his offer to Lucy Morris in his chambersthat a woman such as was his cousin Lizzie was fitter to be the

wife of a man thrown, as he must be, into the world, than a dear, quiet, domestic little girl such as Lucy

Morris. But to Lucy Morris he was engaged, and therefore there was an end of it.

The next morning he sent his love to his cousin, asking whether he should see her before he went. It was still

necessary that he should know what attorneys to employ on her behalf if the threatened bill were filed by

Messrs Camperdown. Then he suggested a firm in his note. Might he put the case into the hands of Mr

Townsend, who was a friend of his own? There came back to him a scrap of paper, an old envelope, on which

were written the names of Mowbray and MopusMowbray and Mopus in a large scrawling hand, and with

pencil. He put the scrap of paper into his pocket, feeling that he could not remonstrate with her at this

moment, and was prepared to depart; when there came a message to him. Lady Eustace was still unwell, but

had risen; and if it were not giving him too much trouble, would see him before he went. He followed the

messenger to the same little room, looking out upon the sea, and then found her, dressed indeed, but with a

white morning wrapper on, and with hair loose over her shoulders. Her eyes were red with weeping, and her

face was pale, and thin, and woebegone. ``I am so sorry that you are ill, Lizzie,'' he said.

``Yes; I am illsometimes very ill; but what does it matter? I did not send for you, Frank, to speak of aught

``There has been fault. Say that you forgive me.'' And she stamped her foot as she demanded his pardon.

``And now, one farewell.'' She then threw herself upon his breast and kissed him. ``Now, go,'' she said; ``Go,

and come no more to me, unless you would see me mad. May God Almighty bless you, and make you

happy!'' As she uttered this prayer she held the door in her hand, and there was nothing for him but to leave

A great many people go to Scotland in the autumn. When you have your autumn holiday in hand to dispose

of it, there is nothing more aristocratic that you can do than go to Scotland. Dukes are more plentiful there

than in Pall Mall, and you will meet an earl or at least a lord on every mountain. Of course, if you merely

travel about from inn to inn, and neither have a moor of your own or stay with any great friend, you don't

quite enjoy the cream of it; but to go to Scotland in August and stay there, perhaps, till the end of September,

is about the most certain step you can take towards autumnal fashion. Switzerland and the Tyrol, and even

Italy, are all redolent of Mr Cook, and in those beautiful lands you become subject at least to suspicion.

By no persons was the duty of adhering to the best side of society more clearly appreciated than by Mr and

Mrs Hittaway of Warwick Square. Mr Hittaway was Chairman of the Board of Civil Appeals, and was a man

who quite understood that there are chairmenand chairmen. He could name to you three or four men

holding responsible permanent official positions quite as good as that he filled in regard to salarywhich, as

he often said of his own, was a mere nothing, just a poor two thousand pounds a year, not as much as a grocer

would make in a decent businessbut they were simply head clerks and nothing more. Nobody knew

anything of them. They had no names. You did not meet them anywhere. Cabinet ministers never heard of

them; and nobody out of their own offices ever consulted them. But there are others, and Mr Hittaway felt

greatly conscious that he was one of them, who moved altogether in a different sphere. One minister of State

would ask another whether Hittaway had been consulted on this or on that measureso at least the

Hittawayites were in the habit of reporting. The names of Mr and Mrs Hittaway were constantly in the

papers. They were invited to evening gatherings at the houses of both the alternate Prime Ministers. They

were to be seen at fashionable gatherings up the river. They attended concerts at Buckingham Palace. Once a

year they gave a dinnerparty which was inserted in the Morning Post. On such occasions at least one

Cabinet Minister always graced the board. In fact, Mr Hittaway, as Chairman of the Board of Civil Appeals,

was somebody; and Mrs Hittaway, as his wife and as sister to a peer, was somebody also. The reader will

There is this drawback upon the happy condition which Mr Hittaway had achievedthat it demands a certain

expenditure. Let nobody dream that he can be somebody without having to pay for that honourunless,

indeed, he be a clergyman. When you go to a concert at Buckingham Palace you pay nothing, it is true, for

your ticket; and a Cabinet Minister dining with you does not eat or drink more than your old friend Jones the

attorney. But in some insidious unforeseen mannerin a way that can only be understood after much

experiencethese luxuries of fashion do make a heavy pull on a modest income. Mrs Hittaway knew this

thoroughly, having much experience, and did make her fight bravely. For Mr Hittaway's income was no more

than modest. A few thousand pounds he had of his own when he married, and his Clara had brought to him

the unpretending sum of fifteen hundred. But, beyond that, the poor official salarywhich was less than

what a decent grocer would makewas their all. The house in Warwick Square they had prudently

purchased on their marriagewhen houses in Warwick Square were cheaper than they are nowand there

they carried on their battle, certainly with success. But two thousand a year does not go very far in Warwick

Square, even though you sit rent free, if you have a family and absolutely must keep a carriage. It therefore

resulted that when Mr and Mrs Hittaway went to Scotland, which they would endeavour to do every year, it

was very important that they should accomplish their aristocratic holiday as visitors at the house of some

aristocratic friend. So well had they played their cards in this respect, that they seldom failed altogether. In

one year they had been the guests of a great marquis quite in the north, and that had been a very glorious

year. To talk of Stackallan was, indeed, a thing of beauty. But in that year Mr Hittaway had made himself

very useful in London. Since that they had been at delicious shooting lodges in Ross and Invernessshire, had

visited a millionaire at his palace amidst the Argyle mountains, had been f ted in a western island, had been

bored by a Dundee dowager, and put up with a Lothian laird. But the thing had been almost always done, and

the Hittaways were known as people that went to Scotland. He could handle a gun, and was clever enough

never to shoot a keeper. She could read aloud, could act a little, could talk or hold her tongue; and let her

hosts be who they would and as mighty as you please, never caused them trouble by seeming to be out of

On this occasion Mr and Mrs Hittaway were the guests of old Lady Pierrepoint, in Dumfries. There was

nothing special to recommend Lady Pierrepoint except that she had a large house and a good income, and that

she liked to have people with her of whom everybody knew something. So far was Lady Pierrepoint from

being high in the Hittaway world, that Mrs Hittaway felt herself called upon to explain to her friends that she

was forced to go to Dumdum House by the duties of old friendship. Dear old Lady Pierrepoint had been

insisting on it for the last ten years. And there was this advantage, that Dumfriesshire is next to Ayrshire, that

Dumdum was not very farsome twenty or thirty milesfrom Portray, and that she might learn something

It was nearly the end of August when the Hittaways left London to stay an entire month with Lady

Pierrepoint. Mr Hittaway had very frequently explained his defalcation as to fashionin that he was

remaining in London for three weeks after Parliament had broken upby the peculiar exigencies of the

Board of Appeals in that year. To one or two very intimate friends Mrs Hittaway had hinted that everything

must be made to give way to this horrid business of Fawn's marriage. ``Whatever happens, and at whatever

cost, that must be stopped,'' she had ventured to say to Lady Glencora Palliserwho, however, could hardly

be called one of her very intimate friends. ``I don't see it at all,'' said Lady Glencora. ``I think Lady Eustace is

very nice. And why shouldn't she marry Lord Fawn if she's engaged to him?'' ``But you have heard of the

necklace, Lady Glencora?'' ``Yes, I've heard of it. I wish anybody would come to me and try and get my

diamonds! They should hear what I would say.'' Mrs Hittaway greatly admired Lady Glencora, but not the

Had Lord Fawn been altogether candid and open with his family at this time, some trouble might have been

saved; for he had almost altogether resolved that, let the consequences be what they might, he would not

marry Lizzie Eustace. But he was afraid to say this even to his own sister. He had promised to marry the

woman, and he must walk very warily, or the objurgations of the world would be too many for him. ``It must

depend altogether on her conduct, Clara,'' he had said when last his sister had persecuted him on the subject.

She was not, however, sorry to have an opportunity of learning something of the lady's doings. Mr Hittaway

had more than once called on Mr Camperdown. ``Yes,'' Mr Camperdown had said in answer to a question

from Lord Fawn's brotherinlaw; ``she would play old gooseberry with the property, if we hadn't someone

to look after it. There's a fellow named Gowran who has lived there all his life, and we depend very much

It is certainly true, that as to many points of conduct, women are less nice than men. Mr Hittaway would not

probably have condescended himself to employ espionage, but Mrs, Hittaway was less scrupulous. She

actually went down to Troon and had an interview with Mr Gowran, using freely the names of Mr

Camperdown and of Lord Fawn; and some ten days afterwards Mr Gowran travelled as far as Dumfries, and

Dumdum, and had an interview with Mrs Hittaway. The result of all this, and of further inquiries, will be

Here we are, and here we have to remain to the end of the month. Of course it suits, and all that; but it is

awfully dull. Richmond for this time of the year is a paradise to it; and as for coming to Scotland every

autumn, I am sick of it. Only what is one to do if one lives in London? If it wasn't for Orlando and the

children, I'd brazen it out, and let people say what they pleased. As for health, I'm never so well as at home,

and I do like having my own things about me. Orlando has literally nothing to do here. There is no shooting,

But I'm very glad I've come as to Frederic, and the more so, as I have learned the truth as to that Mr

Greystock. She, Lady Eustace, is a bad creature in every way. She still pretends that she is engaged to

Frederic, and tells everybody that the marriage is not broken off, and yet she has her cousin with her, making

love to him in the most indecent way. People used to say in her favour that at any rate she never flirted. I

never quite know what people mean when they talk of flirting. But you may take my word for it that she

allows her cousin to embrace her, and embraces him. I would not say it if I could not prove it. It is horrible to

think of it, when one remembers that she is almost justified in saying that Frederic is engaged to her.

No doubt he was engaged to her. It was a great misfortune, but, thank God, is not yet past remedy. He has

some foolish feeling of what he calls honour; as if a man can be bound in honour to marry a woman who has

deceived him in every point? She still sticks to the diamondsif she has not sold them, as I believe she has;

and Mr Camperdown is going to bring an action against her in the High Court of Chancery. But still Frederic

will not absolutely declare the thing off. I feel, therefore, that it is my duty to let him know what I have

learned. I should be the last to stir in such a matter unless I was sure I could prove it. But I don't quite like to

write to Frederic. Will mamma see him, and tell him what I say? Of course you will show this letter to

mamma. If not, I must postpone it till I am in townbut I think it would come better from mamma. Mamma

And now what do you think of your Mr Greystock? As sure as I am here he was seen with his arm round his

cousin's waist, sitting out of doors kissing her! I was never taken in by that story of his marrying Lucy

Morris. He is the last man in the world to marry a governess. He is over head and ears in debt, and if he

marries at all, he must marry someone with money. I really think that mamma, and you, and all of you have

been soft about that girl. I believe she has been a good governessthat is, good after mamma's easy fashion;

and I don't for a moment suppose that she is doing anything underhand. But a governess with a lover never

does suit, and I'm sure it won't suit in this case. If I were you I would tell her. I think it would be the best

charity. Whether they mean to marry I can't tellMr Greystock, that is, and this woman; but they ought to

Let me know at once whether mamma will see Frederic, and speak to him openly. She is quite at liberty to

In writing to Amelia instead of to her mother, Mrs Hittaway was sure that she was communicating her ideas

to at least two persons at Fawn Court, and that therefore there would be discussion. Had she written to her

Mrs Greystock, in making her proposition respecting Lady Linlithgow, wrote to Lady Fawn, and by the same

post Frank wrote to Lady Fawn, and by the same post Frank wrote to Lucy. But before those letters reached

Fawn Court there had come that other dreadful letter from Mrs Hittaway. The consternation caused at Fawn

Court in respect to Mr Greystock's treachery almost robbed of its importance the suggestion made as to Lord

Fawn. Could it be possible that this man, who had so openly and in so manly a manner engaged himself to

Lucy Morris, should now be proposing to himself a marriage with his rich cousin? Lady Fawn did not believe

that it was possible. Clara had not seen those horrid things with her own eyes, and other people might be

liars. But Amelia shook her head. Amelia evidently believed that all manner of iniquities were possible to

man. ``You see, mamma, the sacrifice he was making was so very great!'' ``But he made it!'' pleaded Lady

Fawn. ``No, mamma, he said he would make it. Men do these things. It is very horrid, but I think they do

them more now than they used to. It seems to me that nobody cares now what he does, if he's not to be put

into prison.'' It was resolved between these two wise ones that nothing at the present should be said to Lucy

or to anyone of the family. They would wait awhile, and in the meantime they attemptedas far as it was

possible to make the attempt without express wordsto let Lucy understand that she might remain at Fawn

Court if she pleased. While this was going on, Lord Fawn did come down once again, and on that occasion

Lucy simply absented herself from the dinnertable and from the family circle for that evening. ``He's

coming in, and you've got to go to prison again,'' Nina said to her, with a kiss.

The matter to which Mrs Hittaway's letter more specially alluded was debated between the mother and

daughter at great length. They, indeed, were less brave and less energetic than was the married daughter of

the family; but as they saw Lord Fawn more frequently, they knew better than Mrs Hittaway the real state of

the case. They felt sure that he was already sufficiently embittered against Lady Eustace, and thought that

therefore the peculiarly unpleasant task assigned to Lady Fawn need not be performed. Lady Fawn had not

the advantage of living so much in the world as her daughter, and was oppressed by, perhaps, a squeamish

delicacy. ``I really could not tell him about her sitting andand kissing the man. Could I, my dear?'' ``I

``And to tell the truth,'' continued Lady Fawn, ``I shouldn't care a bit about it if it was not for poor Lucy.

``Nothing on earth would make her believe it, unless it came from himself,'' said Ameliawho really did

know something of Lucy's character. ``Till he tells her, or till she knows that he's married, she'll never believe

Then, after a few days, there came those other letters from Bobsboroughone from the dean's wife and the

other from Frank. The matter there proposed it was necessary that they should discuss with Lucy, as the

suggestion had reached Lucy as well as themselves. She at once came to Lady Fawn with her lover's letter,

and with a gentle merry laughing face declared that the thing would do very well. ``I am sure I should get on

``Oh, but I must,'' said Lucy in her sharp, decided tone. ``I must go. I was bound to wait till I heard from Mr

Greystock, because it is my first duty to obey him. But of course I cannot stay here after what has passed. As

``She is the dearest little friend in all the world'', said Lucy, ``and always tells the exact truth. I do go to

prison, and when he comes I feel that I ought to go to prison. Of course, I must go away. What does it matter?

Lady Linlithgow won't be exactly like you,''and she put her little hand upon Lady Fawn's fat arm

caressingly, ``and I shan't have you all to spoil me; but I shall be simply waiting till he comes. Everything

If it was to be that the ``he'' would never come, this was very dreadful. Amelia clearly thought that ``he''

would never come, and Lady Fawn was apt to think her daughter wiser than herself. And if Mr Greystock

were such as Mrs Hittaway had described him to beif there were to be no such coming as that for which

Lucy fondly waitedthen there would be reason tenfold strong why she should not leave Fawn Court and go

to Lady Linlithgow. In such casewhen that blow should fallLucy would require very different treatment

than might be expected for her from the hands of Lady Linlithgow. She would fade and fall to the earth like a

flower with an insect at its root. She would be like a wounded branch, into which no sap would run. With

such misfortune and wretchedness possibly before her, Lady Fawn could not endure the idea that Lucy should

be turned out to encounter it all beneath the cold shade of Lady Linlithgow's indifference. ``My dear,'' she

said, ``let bygones be bygones. Come down and meet Lord Fawn. Nobody will say anything. After all, you

This, from Lady Fawn, was almost miraculousfrom Lady Fawn, to whom her son had ever been the

highest of human beings! But Lucy had told the tale to her lover, and her lover approved of her going.

Perhaps there was acting upon her mind some feeling, of which she was hardly conscious, that as long as she

remained at Fawn Court she would not see her lover. She had told him that she could make herself supremely

happy in the simple knowledge that he loved her. But we all know how far such declarations should be taken

as true. Of course, she was longing to see him. ``If he would only pass by the road,'' she would say to herself,

``so that I might peep at him through the gate!'' She had no formed idea in her own mind that she would be

able to see him should she go to Lady Linlithgow, but still, there would be the chances of her altered life! She

would tell Lady Linlithgow the truth, and why should Lady Linlithgow refuse her so rational a pleasure?

There was, of course, a reason why Frank should not come to Fawn Court; but the house in Brook Street need

not be closed to him. ``I hardly know how to love you enough,'' she said to Lady Fawn, ``but indeed I must

go, I do so hope the time may come when you and Mr Greystock may be friends. Of course, it will come.

``Of course, if he is your husband, we shall love him,'' said the less wise Lady Fawn.

``He is to be my husband,'' said Lucy, springing up. ``What do you mean? Do you mean anything?'' Lady

What were they to do? On that special day they merely stipulated that there should be a day's delay before

Lady Fawn answered Mrs Greystock's letterso that she might sleep upon it. The sleeping on it meant that

further discussion which was to take place between Lady Fawn and her second daughter in her ladyship's

bedroom that night. During all this period the general discomfort of Fawn Court was increased by a certain

sullenness on the part of Augusta, the elder daughter, who knew that letters had come and that consultations

were being heldbut who was not admitted to those consultations. Since the day on which poor Augusta had

been handed over to Lizzie Eustace as her peculiar friend in the family, there had always existed a feeling

that she, by her position, was debarred from sympathising in the general desire to be quit of Lizzie; and then,

too, poor Augusta was never thoroughly trusted by that great guide of the family, Mrs Hittaway. ``She

couldn't keep it to herself if you'd give her gold to do it,'' Mrs Hittaway would say. Consequently Augusta

was sullen and conscious of illusage. ``Have you fixed upon anything?'' she said to Lucy that evening.

``I don't see why you should go away at all. Frederic doesn't come here so very often, and when he does come

``Nobody wants me to go, only I feel that I ought. Mr Greystock thinks it best.''

``No, dear. I don't think he wants to quarrel with anyonebut above all he must not quarrel with me. Lord

``Nothing has been settled yet; but we are talking of Lady Linlithgowif she will take me.''

``They say she is the most dreadful old woman in London. Lady Eustace told such stories about her.''

But things were very different with Lucy the next morning. That discussion in Lady Fawn's room was

protracted till midnight, and then it was decided that just a word should be said to Lucy, so that, if possible,

she might be induced to remain at Fawn Court. Lady Fawn was to say the word, and on the following

morning she was closeted with Lucy. ``My dear,'' she began, ``we all want you to do us a particular favour.''

As she said this, she held Lucy by the hand, and no one looking at them would have thought that Lucy was a

``I couldn't do that, because then this chance of a home would be gone. Of course, we can't wait a month

``And then, you see, Mr Greystock wishes it.'' Lady Fawn knew that Lucy could be very firm, and had hardly

hoped that anything could be done by simple persuasion. They had long been accustomed among themselves

to call her obstinate, and knew that even in her acts of obedience she had a way of obeying after her own

fashion. It was as well, therefore, that the thing to be said should be said at once.

``My dear Lucy, has it ever occurred to you that there may be a slip between the cup and the lip?''

``That sometimes engagements take place which never become more than engagements. Look at Lord Fawn

``I have so strong a reliance on your good sense, that I will tell you just what I do mean. A rumour has

reached me that Mr Greystock ispaying more attention than he ought to do to Lady Eustace.''

``To whom he has always been just like a brother! I do think that is the cruellest thing. Because he sacrifices

his time and his money and all his holidays to go and look after her affairs, this is to be said of him! She

hasn't another human being to look after her, and, therefore, he is obliged to do it. Of course he has told me

all about it. I do think, Lady FawnI do think that is the greatest shame I ever heard!''

``Surely I may speak to you as your friend, Lucy. You needn't be so abrupt with me. Will you listen to me,

``Of course I will listenonly nothing that anybody on earth could say about that would make me believe a

``Don't be foolish, Lucy. I will say what I've got to say. IfifLet me see. Where was I? I mean just this.

You had better remain here till things are a little more settled. Even if it be only a rumourand I'm sure I

don't believe it's anything moreyou had better hear about it with uswith friends round you, than with a

perfect stranger like Lady Linlithgow. If anything were to go wrong there, you wouldn't know where to go for

comfort. If anything were wrong with you here, you could come to me as though I were your

``Indeed, indeed I could! And I willI always will. Lady Fawn, I love you and the dear darling girls better

than all the worldexcept Mr Greystock. If anything like that were to happen, I think I should creep here

and ask to die in your house. But it won't. And just now it will be better that I should go away.''

It was found at last that Lucy must have her way, and letters were written both to Mrs Greystock and to

Frank, requesting that the suggested overtures might at once be made to Lady Linlithgow. Lucy, in her letter

to her lover, was more than ordinarily cheerful and jocose. She had a good deal to say about Lady Linlithgow

that was really droll, and not a word to say indicative of the slightest fear in the direction of Lady Eustace.

She spoke of poor Lizzie, and declared her conviction that that marriage never could come off now. ``You

mustn't be angry when I say that I can't break my heart for them, for I never did think that they were very

much in love. As for Lord Fawn, of course he is myENEMY!'' And she wrote the word in big letters.

``And as for Lizzieshe's your cousin, and all that. And she's ever so pretty, and all that. And she's as rich as

Croesus, and all that. But I don't think she'll break her own heart. I would break mine;

onlyonlyonlyYou will understand the rest. If it should come to pass, I wonder whether `the duchess'

would ever let a poor creature see a friend of hers in Brook Street?'' Frank had once called Lady Linlithgow

the duchess, after a certain popular picture in a certain popular book, and Lucy never forgot anything that

It did come to pass. Mrs Greystock at once corresponded with Lady Linlithgow, and Lady Linlithgow, who

was at Ramsgate for her autumn vacation, requested that Lucy Morris might be brought to see her at her

house in London on the 2nd of October. Lady Linlithgow's autumn holiday always ended on the last day of

September. On the 2nd of October Lady Fawn herself took Lucy up to Brook Street, and Lady Linlithgow

appeared. ``Miss Morris'', said Lady Fawn, ``thinks it right that you should be told that she's engaged to be

married.'' ``Who to?'' demanded the countess, Lucy was as red as fire, although she had especially made up

her mind that she would not blush when the communication was made. ``I don't know that she wishes me to

mention the gentleman's name, just at present; but I can assure you that he is all that he ought to be.'' ``I hate

mysteries,'' said the countess. ``If Lady Linlithgow'' began Lucy. ``Oh, it's nothing to me,'' continued the

old woman. ``It won't come off for six months I suppose?'' Lucy gave a mute assurance that there would be

no such difficulty as that. ``And he can't come here, Miss Morris.'' To this Lucy said nothing. Perhaps she

might win over even the countess, and if not, she must bear her six months of prolonged exclusion from the

light of day. And so the matter was settled. Lucy was to be taken back to Richmond, and to come again on the

following Monday. ``I don't like this parting at all, Lucy,'' Lady Fawn said on her way home.

``There was no reason why you should go. Frederic was getting not to care for it at all. What's Nina to do

now? I can't get another governess after you. I hate all these sudden breaks up. And all for such a trumpery

``I suppose it is because of Mr Greystock. I suppose when a girl has engaged herself to marry a man she must

``Becausebecause things have been unfortunate. He isn't your friendnot as yet. Can't you understand,

Lady Fawn, that, dear as you all must be to me, I must live in his friendships, and take his part when there is a

``Then I suppose that you mean to hate all of us?'' Lucy could only cry at hearing thiswhereupon Lady

On the Sunday before Lucy took her departure, Lord Fawn was again at Richmond. ``Of course, you'll come

downjust as if nothing had happened,'' said Lydia. ``We'll see,'' said Lucy. ``Mamma will be very angry if

But Lucy had a little plot in her head, and her appearance at the dinnertable on that Sunday must depend on

the manner in which her plot was executed. After church, Lord Fawn would always hang about the grounds

for awhile before going into the house and on this morning Lucy also remained outside. She soon found her

opportunity, and walked straight up to him, following him on the path. ``Lord Fawn,'' she said, ``I have come

He had turned round hearing footsteps behind him, but still was startled and unready. ``It does not matter at

``Even if it was it would make no matter. I don't mean to think of that now. I beg your pardon because I said

``If I had said it to Juniper, I would have begged his pardon.'' Now Juniper was the gardener, and Lord Fawn

did not quite like the way in which the thing was put to him. The cloud came across his brow, and he began

to fear that she would again insult him. ``I oughtn't to accuse anybody of an untruthnot in that way; and I

am very sorry for what I did, and I beg your pardon.'' Then she turned as though she were going back to the

But he stopped her. ``Miss Morris, if it will suit you to stay with my mother, I will never say a word against

``It is quite settled that I am to go tomorrow, Lord Fawn. Only for that I would not have troubled you again.''

Then she did turn towards the house, but he recalled her. ``We will shake hands, at any rate,'' he said, ``and

not part as enemies.'' So they shook hands, and Lucy came down and sat in his company at the dinnertable.

Lucy, in her letter to her lover, had distinctly asked whether she might tell Lady Linlithgow the name of her

future husband, but had received no reply when she was taken to Brook Street. The parting at Richmond was

very painful, and Lady Fawn had declared herself quite unable to make another journey up to London with

the ungrateful runagate. Though there was no diminution of affection among the Fawns, there was a general

feeling that Lucy was behaving badly. That obstinacy of hers was getting the better of her. Why should she

have gone? Even Lord Fawn had expressed his desire that she should remain. And then, in the breasts of the

wise ones, all faith in the Greystock engagement had nearly vanished. Another letter had come from Mrs

Hittaway, who now declared that it was already understood about Portray that Lady Eustace intended to

marry her cousin. This was described as a terrible crime on the part of Lizzie, though the antagonistic crime

of a remaining desire to marry Lord Fawn was still imputed to her. And, of course, the one crime heightened

the other. So that words from the eloquent pen of Mrs Hittaway failed to make dark enough the blackness of

poor Lizzie's character, As for Mr Greystock, he was simply a heartless man of the world, wishing to feather

his nest. Mrs Hittaway did not, for a moment, believe that he had ever dreamed of marrying Lucy Morris.

Men always have three or four little excitements of that kind going on for the amusement of their leisure

hoursso, at least, said Mrs Hittaway. ``The girl had better be told at once.'' Such was her decision about

poor Lucy. ``I can't do more than I have done,'' said Lady Fawn to Augusta. ``She'll never get over it,

Nothing more was said, and Lucy was sent off in the family carriage. Lydia and Nina were sent with her, and

though there was some weeping on the journey, there was also much laughing. The character of the

``duchess'' was discussed very much at large, and many promises were made as to long letters. Lucy, in truth,

was not unhappy. She would be nearer to Frank; and then it had been almost promised her that she should go

to the deanery, after a residence of six months with Lady Linlithgow. At the deanery of course she would see

Frank; and she also understood that a long visit to the deanery would be the surest prelude to that home of her

``Dear mesent you up in the carriage, has she? Why shouldn't you have come by the railway?''

``It's what I call twaddle, you know. I hope you ain't afraid of going in a cab.''

``You can't have the carriage to go about here. Indeed, I never have a pair of horses till after Christmas. I

``I am, then. You'll get nothing beyond wholesome food with me. And I'm not sure it is wholesome always.

The butchers are scoundrels, and the bakers are worse. What used you to do at Lady Fawn's?''

``You won't have any lessons to do here, unless you do 'em with me. You had a salary there?''

``I had downright love and affection. They were just so many dear friends. I don't suppose any governess was

ever so treated before. It was just like being at home. The more I laughed, the better everyone liked it.''

``You won't find anything to laugh at here; at least, I don't. If you want to laugh, you can laugh upstairs, or

``That's lucky, Miss Morris. If they were all so good to you, what made you come away? They sent you

``WellI don't know that I can explain it just all. There were a great many things together. Nothey didn't

``It was something to do with your having a lover, I suppose.'' To this Lucy thought it best to make no

Lucy had arrived at about halfpast three, and Lady Linlithgow was then sitting in the drawingroom. After

the first series of questions and answers, Lucy was allowed to go up to her room, and on her return to the

drawingroom, found the countess still sitting upright in her chair. She was now busy with accounts, and at

first took no notice of Lucy's return. What were to be the companion's duties? What tasks in the house were

to be assigned to her? What hours were to be her own; and what was to be done in those of which the

countess would demand the use? Up to the present moment nothing had been said of all this. She had simply

been told that she was to be Lady Linlithgow's companionwithout salary, indeedbut receiving shelter,

guardianship, and bread and meat in return for her services. She took up a book from the table and sat with it

for ten minutes. It was Tupper's great poem, and she attempted to read it. Lady Linlithgow sat, totting up her

figures, but said nothing. She had not spoken a word since Lucy's return to the room; and as the great poem

did not at first fascinate the new companionwhose mind not unnaturally was somewhat disturbedLucy

ventured upon a question. ``Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Linlithgow?''

``Can you make two and two come to five on one side of the sheet, and only come to three on the other?''

``Then you ain't worth anything to me.'' Having so declared, Lady Linlithgow went on with her accounts, and

``No, my dear,'' said the countess, when she had completed her work. ``There isn't anything for you to do. I

hope you haven't come here with that mistaken idea. There won't be any sort of work of any kind expected

from you. I poke my own fires, and I carve my own bit of mutton. And I haven't got a nasty little dog to be

washed. And I don't care twopence about worsted work. I have a maid to darn my stockings, and because she

has to work, I pay her wages. I don't like being alone, so I get you to come and live with me. I breakfast at

``There's lunch at twojust bread and butter and cheese, and perhaps a bit of cold meat. There's dinner at

sevenand very bad it is, because they don't have any good meat in London. Down in Fifeshire the meat's a

deal better than it is here, only I never go there now. At halfpast ten I go to bed. It's a pity you're so young,

because I don't know what you'll do about going out. Perhaps, as you ain't pretty, it won't signify.''

``Perhaps you consider yourself pretty. It's all altered now since I was young. Girls make monsters of

themselves, and I'm told the men like itgoing about with unclean, frowzy structures on their head, enough

to make a dog sick. They used to be clean and sweet and nicewhat one would like to kiss. How a man can

like to kiss a face with a dirty horse's tail all whizzing about it, is what I can't at all understand. I don't think

``I hate beauties. My niece, Lizzie Eustace, is a beauty; and I think that, of all the heartless creatures in the

``Of course you do. She was a Greystock, and you know the Greystocks. And she was down staying with old

Lady Fawn at Richmond. I should think old Lady Fawn had a time with herhadn't she?''

``Lizzie would be too much for the Fawns, I should think. She was too much for me, I know. She's about as

bad as anybody ever was. She's false, dishonest, heartless, cruel, irreligious, ungrateful, mean, ignorant,

``She's all that, and a great deal worse. But she is handsome. I don't know that I ever saw a prettier woman. I

generally go out in a cab at three o'clock, but I shan't want you to go with me. I don't know what you can do.

Macnulty used to walk round Grosvenor Square and think that people mistook her for a lady of quality. You

musn't go and walk round Grosvenor Square by yourself, you know. Not that I care.''

``Now you know all about it. There isn't anything for you to do. There are Miss Edgeworth's novels

downstairs, and Pride and Prejudice in my bedroom. I don't subscribe to Mudie's, because when I asked for

Adam Bede, they always sent me the Bandit Chief. Perhaps you can borrow books from your friends at

``Then Lady Fawn has told youor somebody. When the wind is east, or northeast, or even north, I am

cross, for I have the lumbago. It's all very well talking about being goodhumoured. You can't be

goodhumoured with the lumbago. And I have the gout sometimes in my knee. I'm cross enough then, and so

you'd be. And, among 'em all, I don't get much above half what I ought to have out of my jointure. That

makes me very cross. My teeth are bad, and I like to have the meat tender. But it's always tough, and that

makes me cross. And when people go against the grain with me, as Lizzie Eustace always did, then I'm very

Lucy had a few books of her own, and she determined to ask Frank to send her some. Books are cheap things,

and she would not mind asking him for magazines, and numbers, and perhaps for the loan of a few volumes.

In the meantime she did read Tupper's poem, and Pride and Prejudice, and one of Miss Edgeworth's

novelsprobably for the third time. During the first week in Brook Street she would have been comfortable

enough, only that she had not received a line from Frank. That Frank was not specially good at writing letters

she had already taught herself to understand. She was inclined to believe that but few men of business do

write letters willingly, and that, of all men, lawyers are the least willing to do so. How reasonable it was that a

man who had to perform a great part of his daily work with a pen in his hand, should loathe a pen when not at

work. To her the writing of letters was perhaps the most delightful occupation of her life, and the writing of

letters to her lover was a foretaste of heaven; but then men, as she knew, are very different from women. And

she knew this alsothat of all her immediate duties, no duty could be clearer than that of abstaining from all

jealousy, petulance, and impatient expectation of little attentions. He loved her, and had told her so, and had

promised her that she should be his wife, and that ought to be enough for her. She was longing for a letter,

because she was very anxious to know whether she might mention his name to Lady Linlithgowbut she

On various occasions the countess showed some little curiosity about the lover; and at last, after about ten

days, when she found herself beginning to be intimate with her new companion, she put the question

pointblank. ``I hate mysteries,'' she said. ``Who is the young man you are to marry?''

``Why shouldn't you tell his name, unless it's something improper. Is he a gentleman?''

``I don't like these kind of secrets, Miss Morris. If you won't say who he is, what was the good of telling me

``I told you my own part of the affair, because I thought you ought to know it as I was coming into your

house. But I don't see that you ought to know his part of it. As for not believing, I suppose you believed Lady

``Not a bit better than I believe you. People don't always tell truth because they have titles, nor yet because

``Ohoh; a barrister is he. They're always making a heap of money, or else none at all. Which is it with

``As much as you could put in your eye and see none the worse.'' To see the old lady, as she made this

suggestion, turn sharp round upon Lucy, was as good as a play. ``My sister's nephew, the dean's son, is one of

the best of the rising ones, I'm told.'' Lucy blushed up to her hair, but the dowager's back was turned, and she

did not see the blushes. ``But he's in Parliament, and they tell me he spends his money faster than he makes it.

``It's my belief that after all this fuss about Lord Fawn, he'll marry his cousin, Lizzie Eustace. If he's a lawyer,

``She'll be sure to get somebody, and why shouldn't he have her money as well as another. There never was a

``What I mean is that Mr Greystock isat least, I should think so from what I hearthe very last man in the

``Bother!'' said the countess. ``They were very near it in town last year before Lord Fawn came up at all. I

Then a sudden light flashed across the astute mind of the countess. She turned round in her chair, and sat for

awhile silent, looking at Lucy. Then she slowly asked another question. ``He isn't your young manis he?''

To this Lucy made no reply. ``So that's it; is it,'' said the dowager. ``You've done me the honour of making

``And Dame Greystock, from Bobsborough, has sent you here to keep you out of her son's way. I see it all.

And that old frump at Richmond has passed you over to me because she did not choose to have such goings

``He is not thinking of coming here. I don't know what you mean. Nobody has done anything wrong to you. I

``I don't know anything about it. Perhaps we must wait ever so longfive years. That's nobody's business

``I'm thinking of that sly old Dame Greystock at Bobsboroughsending you here!'' Neither on that nor on

the two following days did Lady Linlithgow say a word further to Lucy about her engagement.

When Frank Greystock left Bobsborough to go to Scotland, he had not said that he would return, nor had he

at that time made up his mind whether he would do so or no. He had promised to go and shoot in Norfolk,

and had half undertaken to be up in London with Herriot working. Though it was holiday time, still there was

plenty of work for him to dovarious heavy cases to get up, and papers to be read, if only he could settle

himself down to the doing of it. But the scenes down in Scotland had been of a nature to make him unfit for

steady labour. How was he to sail his bark through the rocks by which his present voyage was rendered so

dangerous? Of course, to the reader, the way to do so seems to be clear enough. To work hard at his

profession; to explain to his cousin that she had altogether mistaken his feelings; and to be true to Lucy

Morris was so manifestly his duty, that to no reader will it appear possible that to any gentleman there could

be a doubt. Instead of the existence of a difficulty, there was a flood of light upon his pathso the reader

will thinka flood so clear that not to see his way was impossible. A man carried away by abnormal

appetites, and wickedness, and the devil, may of course commit murder, or forge bills, or become a

fraudulent director of a bankrupt company. And so may a man be untrue to his trothand leave true love in

pursuit of tinsel, and beauty, and false words, and a large income. But why should one tell the story of

creatures so base? One does not willingly grovel in gutters, or breathe fetid atmospheres, or live upon

garbage. If we are to deal with heroes and heroines, let us, at any rate, have heroes and heroines who are

above such meanness as falsehood in love. This Frank Greystock must be little better than a mean villain, if

he allows himself to be turned from his allegiance to Lucy Morris for an hour by the seductions and money of

``It is good to be merry and wise, It is good to be honest and true, It is good to be off with the old love Before

There was never better truth spoken than this, and if all men and women could follow the advice here given

there would be very little sorrow in the world. But men and women do not follow it. They are no more able to

do so than they are to use a spear, the staff of which is like a weaver's beam, or to fight with the sword

Excalibur. The more they exercise their arms the nearer will they get to using the giant's weaponor even

the weapon that is divine. But as things are at present their limbs are limp and their muscles soft, and

overfeeding impedes their breath. They attempt to be merry without being wise, and have theories about

truth and honesty with which they desire to shackle others, thinking that freedom from such trammels may be

good for themselves. And in that matter of lovethough love is very potenttreachery will sometimes

seem to be prudence, and a hankering after new delights will often interfere with real devotion.

It is very easy to depict a heroa man absolutely stainless, perfect as an Arthura man honest in all his

dealings, equal to all trials, true in all his speech, indifferent to his own prosperity, struggling for the general

good, and, above all, faithful in love. At any rate, it is as easy to do that as to tell of the man who is one hour

good and the next bad, who aspires greatly, but fails in practice, who sees the higher, but too often follows

the lower course. There arose at one time a school of art, which delighted to paint the human face as perfect

in beauty; and from that time to this we are discontented unless every woman is drawn for us as a Venus, or,

at least, a Madonna. I do not know that we have gained much by this untrue portraiture, either in beauty or in

art. There may be made for us a pretty thing to look at, no doubtbut we know that that pretty thing is not

really visaged as the mistress whom we serve, and whose lineaments we desire to perpetuate on the canvas.

The winds of heaven, or the fleshpots of Egypt, or the midnight gaspassions, pains, and, perhaps, rouge

and powder, have made her something different. But there still is the fire of her eye, and the eager eloquence

of her mouth, and something, too, perhaps, left of the departing innocence of youth, which the painter might

give us without the Venus or the Madonna touches. But the painter does not dare to do it. Indeed, he has

painted so long after the other fashion that he would hate the canvas before him, were he to give way to the

rougebegotten roughness or to the fleshpotsor even to the winds. And how, my lord, would you, who

are giving hundreds, more than hundreds, for this portrait of your dear one, like to see it in print from the art

critic of the day, that she is a brazenfaced hoyden who seems to have had a glass of wine too much, or to

And so also has the reading world taught itself to like best the characters of all but divine men and women.

Let the man who paints with pen and ink give the gaslight, and the fleshpots, the passions and pains, the

prurient prudence and the rougepots and pounceboxes of the world as it is, and he will be told that no one

can care a straw for his creations. With whom are we to sympathise? says the reader, who not unnaturally

imagines that a hero should be heroic. Oh, thou, my reader, whose sympathies are in truth the great and only

aim of my work, when you have called the dearest of your friends round you to your hospitable table, how

many heroes are there sitting at the board? Your bosom friendeven if he be a knight without fear, is he a

knight without reproach? The Ivanhoe that you know, did he not press Rebecca's hand? Your Lord

Evandaledid he not bring his coronet into play when he strove to win his Edith Bellenden? Was your

Tresilian still true and still forbearing when truth and forbearance could avail him nothing? And those sweet

girls whom you know, do they never doubt between the poor man they think they love, and the rich man

Go into the market, either to buy or sell, and name the thing you desire to part with or to get, as it is, and the

market is closed against you. Middling oats are the sweepings of the granaries. A useful horse is a jade gone

at every point. Good sound port is sloe juice. No assurance short of A 1. betokens even a pretence to merit.

And yet in real life we are content with oats that are really middling, are very glad to have a useful horse, and

know that if we drink port at all we must drink some that is neither good nor sound. In those delineations of

life and character which we call novels a similarly superlative vein is desired. Our own friends around us are

not always merry and wise, nor, alas! always honest and true. They are often cross and foolish, and

sometimes treacherous and false. They are so, and we are angry. Then we forgive them, not without a

consciousness of imperfection on our own part. And we knowor, at least, believethat though they be

sometimes treacherous and false, there is a balance of good. We cannot have heroes to dine with us. There are

none. And were these heroes to be had, we should not like them. But neither are our friends villainswhose

every aspiration is for evil, and whose every moment is a struggle for some achievement worthy of the devil.

The persons whom you cannot care for in a novel, because they are so bad, are the very same that you so

dearly love in your life, because they are so good. To make them and ourselves somewhat betternot by one

spring heavenwards to perfection, because we cannot so use our legsbut by slow climbing, is, we may

presume, the object of all teachers, leaders, legislators, spiritual pastors, and masters. He who writes tales

such as this, probably also has, very humbly, some such object distantly before him. A picture of surpassing

godlike noblenessa picture of a King Arthur among men, may perhaps do much. But such pictures cannot

do all. When such a picture is painted, as intending to show what a man should be, it is true. If painted to

show what men are, it is false. The true picture of life as it is, if it could be adequately painted, would show

men what they are, and how they might rise, not, indeed, to perfection, but one step first, and then another on

Our hero, Frank Greystock, falling lamentably short in his heroism, was not in a happy state of mind when he

reached Bobsborough. It may be that he returned to his own borough and to his mother's arms because he felt,

that were he to determine to be false to Lucy, he would there receive sympathy in his treachery. His mother

would, at any rate, think that it was well, and his father would acknowledge that the fault committed was in

the original engagement with poor Lucy, and not in the treachery. He had written that letter to her in his

chambers one night in a fit of ecstasy; and could it be right that the ruin of a whole life should be the

It can hardly be too strongly asserted that Lizzie Greystock did not appear to Frank as she has been made to

appear to the reader. In all this affair of the necklace he was beginning to believe that she was really an

illused woman; and as to other traits in Lizzie's charactertraits which he had seen, and which were not of

a nature to attractit must be remembered that beauty reclining in a man's arms does go far towards washing

white the lovely blackamoor. Lady Linlithgow, upon whom Lizzie's beauty could have no effect of that kind,

had nevertheless declared her to be very beautiful. And this loveliness was of a nature that was altogether

pleasing, if once the beholder of it could get over the idea of falseness which certainly Lizzie's eye was apt to

convey to the beholder. There was no unclean horse's tail. There was no get up of flounces, and padding, and

paint, and hair, with a dorsal excrescence appended with the object surely of showing in triumph how much

absurd ugliness women can force men to endure. She was little, and active, and brightand was at this

moment of her life at her best. Her growing charms had as yet hardly reached the limits of full feminine

lovelinesswhich, when reached, have been surpassed. Luxuriant beauty had with her not as yet become

comeliness; nor had age or the good things of the world added a pound to the fairy lightness of her footstep.

All this had been tendered to Frankand with it that worldly wealth which was so absolutely necessary to

his career. For though Greystock would not have said to any man or woman that nature had intended him to

be a spender of much money and a consumer of many good things, he did undoubtedly so think of himself.

He was a Greystock, and to what miseries would he not reduce his Lucy if, burthened by such propensities,

The offer of herself by a woman to a man is, to us all, a thing so distasteful that we at once declare that the

woman must be abominable. There shall be no whitewashing of Lizzie Eustace. She was abominable. But the

man to whom the offer is made hardly sees the thing in the same light. He is disposed to believe that, in his

peculiar case, there are circumstances by which the woman is, if not justified, at least excused. Frank did put

faith in his cousin's love for himself. He did credit her when she told him that she had accepted Lord Fawn's

offer in pique, because he had not come to her when he had promised that he when she told hiid seem natural

to him that she should have desired to adhere to her engagement when he would not advise her to depart from

it. And then her jealousy about Lucy's ring, and her abuse of Lucy, were proofs to him of her love. Unless she

loved him, why should she care to marry him? What was his position that she should desire to share

itunless she so desired because he was dearer to her than aught beside? He had not eyes clear enough to

perceive that his cousin was a witch whistling for a wind, and ready to take the first blast that would carry her

and her broomstick somewhere into the sky. And then, in that matter of the offer, which in ordinary

circumstances certainly should not have come from her to him, did not the fact of her wealth and of his

comparative poverty cleanse her from such stain as would, in usual circumstances, attach to a woman who is

so forward? He had not acceded to her proposition. He had not denied his engagement to Lucy. He had left

her presence without a word of encouragement, because of that engagement. But he believed that Lizzie was

sincere. He believed, now, that she was genuine; though he had previously been all but sure that falsehood

At Bobsborough he met his constituents, and made them the normal autumn speech. The men of

Bobsborough were well pleased and gave him a vote of confidence. As none but those of his own party

attended the meeting, it was not wonderful that the vote was unanimous. His father, mother, and sister all

heard his speech, and there was a strong family feeling that Frank was born to set the Greystocks once more

upon their legs. When a man can say what he likes with the certainty that every word will be reported, and

can speak to those around him as one manifestly their superior, he always looms large. When the

Conservatives should return to their proper place at the head of affairs, there could be no doubt that Frank

Greystock would be made SolicitorGeneral. There were not wanting even ardent admirers who conceived

that, with such claims and such talents as his, the ordinary steps in political promotion would not be needed,

and that he would become AttorneyGeneral at once. All men began to say all good things to the dean, and to

Mrs Greystock it seemed that the woolsack, or at least the Queen's Bench with a peerage, was hardly an

uncertainty. But thenthere must be no marriage with a penniless governess. If he would only marry his

Then came Lucy's letter; the pretty, dear, joking letter about the ``duchess,'' and broken hearts. ``I would

break my heart, onlyonly, only'' Yes, he knew very well what she meant. I shall never be called upon to

break my heart, because you are not a false scoundrel. If you were a false scoundrelinstead of being, as

you are, a pearl among menthen I should break my heart. That was what Lucy meant. She could not have

been much clearer, and he understood it perfectly. It is very nice to walk about one's own borough and be

voted unanimously worthy of confidence, and be a great man; but if you are a scoundrel, and not used to

being a scoundrel, black care is apt to sit very close behind you as you go caracolling along the streets.

Lucy's letter required an answer, and how should he answer it? He certainly did not wish her to tell Lady

Linlithgow of her engagement, but Lucy clearly wished to be allowed to tell, and on what ground could he

enjoin her to be silent? He knew, or he thought he knew, that till he answered the letter, she would not tell his

secretand therefore from day to day he put off the answer. A man does not write a loveletter easily when

Then there came a letter to ``Dame'' Greystock from Lady Linlithgow, which filled them all with amazement.

Seeing that your son is engaged to marry Miss Morrisat least she says soyou ought not to have sent her

here without telling me all about it. She says you know of the match, and she says that I can write to you if I

please. Of course, I can do that without her leave. But it seems to me that if you know all about it, and

approve the marriage, your house and not mine would be the proper place for her.

I'm told that Mr Greystock is a great man. Any lady being with me as my companion can't be a great woman.

But perhaps you wanted to break it offelse you would have told me. She shall stay here six months, but

It was considered absolutely necessary that this letter should be shown to Frank, ``You see,'' said his mother,

``I don't see why she shouldn't.'' Nevertheless Frank was annoyed. Having asked for permission, Lucy should

``Well; I don't know,'' said Mrs Greystock. ``It is generally considered that young ladies are more reticent

``I thought girls always told of their engagements,'' said Frank, ``and I can't for the life of me see that there

was any boasting in it.'' Then he was silent for a moment. ``The truth is, we are, all of us, treating Lucy very

``Had you demanded it, Frank, she should have come, of course. But neither I nor your father could have had

pleasure in receiving her as your future wife. You, yourself, say that it cannot be for two years at least.''

``I think, Frank, you said two. And we all know that such a marriage would be ruinous to you. How could we

make her welcome? Can you see your way to having a house for her to live in within twelve months?''

``Such a house as would suit you in your position? And, Frank, would it be a kindness to marry her and then

``I think'', said the dean to his son, on the next day, ``that in our class of life an imprudent marriage is the one

thing that should be avoided. My marriage has been very happy, God knows; but I have always been a poor

man, and feel it now when I am quite unable to help you. And yet your mother had some fortune. Nobody, I

think, cares less for wealth than I do. I am content almost with nothing.''The nothing with which the dean

had hitherto been contented had always included every comfort of life, a wellkept table, good wine, new

books, and canonical habiliments with the gloss still on; but as the Bobsborough tradesmen had, through the

agency of Mrs Greystock, always supplied him with these things as though they came from the clouds, he

really did believe that he had never asked for anything.`` I am content almost with nothing. But I do feel

that marriage cannot be adopted as the ordinary form of life by men in our class as it can be by the rich or by

the poor. You, for instance, are called upon to live with the rich, but are not rich. That can only be done by

``After a certain ageor else they marry ladies with money. You see, Frank, there are not many men who go

into Parliament with means so moderate as yours; and they who do perhaps have stricter ideas of economy.''

The dean did not say a word about Lucy Morris, and dealt entirely with generalities.

In compliance with her son's adviceor almost commandMrs Greystock did not answer Lady

Linlithgow's letter. He was going back to London, and would give personally, or by letter written there, what

``I shall certainly see Lucy. Something must be settled.'' There was a tone in his voice as he said this which

True to their words, at the end of October, Mrs Carbuncle and Miss Roanoke, and Lord George de Bruce

Carruthers, and Sir Griffin Tewett, arrived at Portray Castle. And for a couple of days there was a visitor

whom Lizzie was very glad to welcome, but of whose good nature on the occasion Mr Camperdown thought

very ill indeed. This was John Eustace. His sisterinlaw wrote to him in very pressing language; and asso

he said to Mr Camperdownhe did not wish to seem to quarrel with his brother's widow as long as such

seeming might be avoided, he accepted the invitation. If there was to be a lawsuit about the diamonds, that

must be Mr Camperdown's affair. Lizzie had never entertained her friends in style before. She had had a few

people to dine with her in London, and once or twice had received company on an evening. But in all her

London doings there had been the trepidation of fearto be accounted for by her youth and widowhood; and

it was at Portrayher own house at Portraythat it would best become her to exercise hospitality. She had

bided her time even there, but now she meant to show her friends that she had got a house of her own.

She wrote even to her husband's uncle, the bishop, asking him down to Portray. He could not come, but sent

an affectionate answer, and thanked her for thinking of him. Many people she asked who, she felt sure, would

not comeand one or two of them accepted her invitation. John Eustace promised to be with her for two

days. When Frank had left her, going out of her presence in the manner that has been described, she actually

``Come to me, just for a week'', she said, ``when my people are here, so that I may not seem to be deserted.

Sit at the bottom of my table, and be to me as a brother might. I shall expect you to do so much for me.'' To

And she got a clergyman down from London, the Rev. Joseph Emilius, of whom it was said that he was born

a Jew in Hungary, and that his name in his own country had been Mealyus. At the present time he was among

the most eloquent of London preachers, and was reputed by some to have reached such a standard of

pulpitoratory, as to have had no equal within the memory of living hearers. In regard to his reading it was

acknowledged that no one since Mrs Siddons had touched him. But he did not get on very well with any

particular bishop, and there was doubt in the minds of some people whether there was or was not anyMrs

Emilius. He had come up quite suddenly within the last season, and had made churchgoing quite a pleasant

On the last day of October, Mr Emilius and Mr John Eustace came each alone. Mrs Carbuncle and Miss

Roanoke came over with posthorses from Ayras also did Lord George and Sir Griffin about an hour after

them. Frank was not yet expected. He had promised to name a day and had not yet named it.

``Varra weel; varra weel,'' Gowran had said when he was told of what was about to occur, and was desired to

make preparations necessary in regard to the outside plenishing of the house; ``nae doobt she'll do with her

ain, what pleases her ainself. The mair ye poor out, the less there'll be left in. Mr Joohn coming? I'll be glad

then to see Mr Joohn. Oo, ay; aitsthere'll be aits eneuch. And anither coo? You'll want twa ither coos. I'll

see to the coos.'' And Andy Gowran, in spite of the internecine warfare which existed between him and his

mistress, did see to the hay, and the cows, and the oats, and the extra servants that were wanted both inside

and outside the house. There was enmity between him and Lady Eustace, and he didn't care who knew

Mrs Carbuncle was a wonderful woman. She was the wife of a man with whom she was very rarely seen,

whom nobody knew, who was something in the City, but somebody who never succeeded in making money;

and yet she went everywhere. She had at least the reputation of going everywhere, and did go to a great many

places. Carbuncle had no moneyso it was said; and she had none. She was the daughter of a man who had

gone to New York and had failed there. Of her own parentage no more was known. She had a small house in

one of the very small Mayfair streets, to which she was wont to invite her friends for five o'clock tea. Other

receptions she never attempted. During the London seasons she always kept a carriage, and during the

winters she always had hunters. Who paid for them no one knew or cared. Her dress was always perfectas

far as fit and performance went. As to approving Mrs Carbuncle's manner of dressthat was a question of

taste. Audacity may, perhaps, be said to have been the ruling principle of her toiletnot the audacity of

indecency, which, let the satirists say what they may, is not efficacious in England, but audacity in colour,

audacity in design, and audacity in construction. She would ride in the park in a black and yellow habit, and

appear at the opera in white velvet without a speck of colour. Though certainly turned thirty, and probably

nearer to forty, she would wear her jetblack hair streaming down her back, and when June came would drive

about London in a straw hat. But yet it was always admitted that she was well dressed. And then would arise

Mrs Carbuncle was certainly a handsome woman. She was fullfacedwith bold eyes, rather far apart,

perfect black eyebrows, a wellformed broad nose, thick lips, and regular teeth. Her chin was round and

short, with, perhaps, a little bearing towards a double chin. But though her face was plump and round, there

was a power in it, and a look of command of which it was, perhaps, difficult to say in what features was the

seat. But in truth the mind will lend a tone to every feature, and it was the desire of Mrs Carbuncle's heart to

command. But perhaps the wonder of her face was its complexion. People saidbefore they knew her, that,

as a matter of course, she had been made beautiful for ever. But, though that too brilliant colour was almost

always there, covering the cheeks but never touching the forehead or the neck, it would at certain moments

shift, change, and even depart. When she was angry, it would vanish for a moment and then return

intensified. There was no chemistry on Mrs Carbuncle's cheek; and yet it was a tint so brilliant and so little

transparent, as almost to justify a conviction that it could not be genuine. There were those who declared that

nothing in the way of complexion so beautiful as that of Mrs Carbuncle's had been seen on the face of any

other woman in this age, and there were others who called her an exaggerated milkmaid. She was tall, too,

Her niece, Miss Roanoke, was a lady of the same stamp, and of similar beauty, with those additions and also

with those drawbacks which belong to youth. She looked as though she were fourandtwenty, but in truth

she was no more than eighteen. When seen beside her aunt, she seemed to be no more than half the elder

lady's size; and yet her proportions were not insignificant. She, too, was tall, and was as one used to

command, and walked as though she were a young Juno. Her hair was very darkalmost blackand very

plentiful. Her eyes were large and bright, though too bold for a girl so young. Her nose and mouth were

exactly as her aunt's, but her chin was somewhat longer, so as to divest her face of that plump roundness,

which, perhaps, took something from the majesty of Mrs Carbuncle's appearance. Miss Roanoke's

complexion was certainly marvellous. No one thought that she had been made beautiful for ever, for the

colour would go and come and shift and change with every word and every thoughtbut still it was there, as

deep on her cheeks as on her aunt's, though somewhat more transparent, and with more delicacy of tint as the

bright hues faded away and became merged in the almost marble whiteness of her skin. With Mrs Carbuncle

there was no merging and fading. The red and white bordered one another on her cheek without any merging,

Lucinda Roanoke was undoubtedly a very handsome woman. It probably never occurred to man or woman to

say that she was lovely. She had sat for her portrait during the last winter, and her picture had caused much

remark in the Exhibition. Some said that she might be a Brinvilliers, others a Cleopatra, and others again a

Queen of Sheba. In her eyes as they were limned there had been nothing certainly of love, but they who

likened her to the Egyptian queen believed that Cleopatra's love had always been used simply to assist her

ambition. They who took the Brinvilliers side of the controversy were men so used to softness and flattery

from women as to have learned to think that a woman silent, arrogant, and hard of approach, must be always

meditating murder. The disciples of the Queen of Sheba school, who formed, perhaps, the more numerous

party, were led to their opinion by the majesty of Lucinda's demeanour rather than by any clear idea in their

own minds of the lady who visited Solomon. All men, however, agreed in this, that Lucinda Roanoke was

very handsome, but that she was not the sort of girl with whom a man would wish to stray away through the

In truth she was silent, grave, and, if not really haughty, subject to all the signs of haughtiness. She went

everywhere with her aunt, and allowed herself to be walked out at dances, and to be accosted when on

horseback, and to be spoken to at parties; but she seemed hardly to trouble herself to talkand as for

laughing, flirting, or giggling, one might as well expect such levity from a marble Minerva. During the last

winter she had taken to hunting with her aunt, and already could ride well to hounds. If assistance were

wanted at a gate, or in the management of a fence, and the servant who attended the two ladies were not near

enough to give it, she would accept it as her due from the man nearest to her; but she rarely did more than

bow her thanks, and, even by young lords, or hardriding handsome colonels, or squires of undoubted

thousands, she could hardly ever be brought to what might be called a proper huntingfield conversation. All

of which things were noted, and spoken of, and admired. It must be presumed that Lucinda Roanoke was in

want of a husband, and yet no girl seemed to take less pains to get one. A girl ought not to be always busying

herself to bring down a man, but a girl ought to give herself some charm. A girl so handsome as Lucinda

Roanoke, with pluck enough to ride like a bird, dignity enough for a duchess, and who was undoubtedly

clever, ought to put herself in the way of taking such good things as her charms and merits would bring

herbut Lucinda Roanoke stood aloof and despised everybody. So it was that Lucinda was spoken of when

her name was mentioned;, and her name was mentioned a good deal after the opening of the exhibition of

There was some difficulty about heras to who she was. That she was an American was the received

opinion. Her mother, as well as Mrs Carbuncle, had certainly been in New York. Carbuncle was a London

man; but it was supposed that Mr Roanoke was, or had been, an American. The received opinion was correct.

Lucinda had been born in New York, had been educated there till she was sixteen, had then been taken to

Paris for nine months, and from Paris had been brought to London by her aunt. Mrs Carbuncle always spoke

of Lucinda's education as having been thoroughly Parisian. Of her own education and antecedents, Lucinda

never spoke at all. ``I'll tell you what it is,'' said a young scamp from Eton to his elder sister, when her

character and position were once being discussed. ``She's a heroine, and would shoot a fellow as soon as look

at him.'' In that scamp's family, Lucinda was ever afterwards called the heroine.

The manner in which Lord George de Bruce Carruthers had attached himself to these ladies was a

mysterybut then Lord George was always mysterious. He was a young manso consideredabout

fortyfive years of age, who had never done anything in the manner of other people. He hunted a great deal,

but he did not fraternise with hunting men, and would appear now in this county and now in that, with an

utmost disregard of grass, fences, friendships, or foxes. Leicester, Essex, Ayrshire, or the Baron had equal

delights for him; and in all counties he was quite at home. He had never owned a fortune, and had never been

known to earn a shilling. It was said that early in life he had been apprenticed to an attorney at Aberdeen as

George Carruthers. His third cousin, the Marquis of Killiecrankie, had been killed out hunting; the second

scion of the noble family had fallen at Balaclava; a third had perished in the Indian Mutiny; and a fourth, who

did reign for a few months, died suddenly, leaving a large family of daughters. Within three years the four

brothers vanished, leaving among them no male heir, and George's elder brother, who was then in a West

India Regiment, was called home from Demerara to be Marquis of Killiecrankie. By a usual exercise of the

courtesy of the Crown, all the brothers were made lords, and some twelve years before the date of our story

George Carruthers, who had long since left the attorney's office at Aberdeen, became Lord George de Bruce

Carruthers. How he lived no one knew. That his brother did much for him was presumed to be impossible, as

the property entailed on the Killiecrankie title certainly was not large. He sometimes went into the City, and

was supposed to know something about shares. Perhaps he played a little, and made a few bets. He generally

lived with men of meansor perhaps with one man of means at a time; but they, who knew him well,

declared that he never borrowed a shilling from a friend, and never owed a guinea to a tradesman. He always

had horses, but never had a home. When in London he lodged in a single room, and dined at his club. He was

a Colonel of Volunteers, having got up the regiment known as the Long Shore Riflementhe roughest

regiment of Volunteers in all Englandand was reputed to be a bitter Radical. He was suspected even of

republican sentiments, and ignorant young men about London hinted that he was the grand centre of the

British Fenians. He had been invited to stand for the Tower Hamlets, but had told the deputation which

waited upon him that he knew a thing worth two of that. Would they guarantee his expenses, and then give

him a salary? The deputation doubted its ability to promise so much. ``I more than doubt it,'' said Lord

In person he was a longlegged, longbodied, longfaced man, with rough whiskers and a rough beard on his

upper lip, but with a shorn chin. His eyes were very deep set in his head, and his cheeks were hollow and

sallow, and yet he looked to be and was a powerful, healthy man. He had large hands, which seemed to be all

bone, and long arms, and a neck which looked to be long; because he so wore his shirt that much of his throat

was always bare. It was manifest enough that he liked to have goodlooking women about him, and yet

nobody presumed it probable that he would marry. For the last two or three years there had been friendship

between him and Mrs Carbuncle; and during the last season he had become almost intimate with our Lizzie.

Lizzie thought that perhaps he might be the Corsair whom, sooner or later in her life, she must certainly

Sir Griffin Tewett, who at the present period of his existence was being led about by Lord George, was not

exactly an amiable young baronet. Nor were his circumstances such as make a man amiable. He was

nominally, not only the heir to, but actually the possessor of, a large propertybut he could not touch the

principal, and of the income only so much as certain legal curmudgeons would allow him. As Greystock had

said, everybody was at law with himso successful had been his father, in mismanaging, and

miscontrolling, and misappropriating the property. Tewett Hall had gone to rack and ruin for four years, and

was now let almost for nothing. He was a fair, frail young man, with a bad eye, and a weak mouth, and a thin

hand, who was fond of liqueurs, and hated to the death any acquaintance who won a fivepound note of him,

or any tradesman who wished to have his bill paid. But he had this redeeming qualitythat having found

Lucinda Roanoke to be the handsomest woman he had ever seen, he did desire to make her his wife.

Such were the friends whom Lizzie Eustace received at Portray Castle on the first day of her grand

hospitalitytogether with John Eustace and Mr Joseph Emilius, the fashionable preacher from Mayfair.

The coming of John Eustace was certainly a great thing for Lizzie, though it was only for two days. It saved

her from that feeling of desertion before her friendsdesertion by those who might naturally belong to

herwhich would otherwise have afflicted her. His presence there for two days gave her a start. She could

call him John, and bring down her boy to him, and remind him, with the sweetest smilewith almost a tear

in her eyethat he was the boy's guardian. ``Little fellow! So much depends on that little lifedoes it not,

``Lucky little dog!'' said John, patting the boy's head. ``Let me see; of course he'll go to Eton.''

``Well; no; hardlywhen he's twelve.'' And then the boy was done with and was carried away. She had

played that card and had turned her trick. John Eustace was a thoroughly goodnatured man of the world,

who could forgive many faults, not expecting people to be perfect. He did not like Mrs Carbunclewas

indifferent to Lucinda's beautywas afraid of that Tartar, Lord Georgeand thoroughly despised Sir

Griffin. In his heart he believed Mr Emilius to be an impostor, who might, for aught he knew, pick his

pocket; and Miss Macnulty had no attraction for him. But he smiled, and was gay, and called Lady Eustace

by her Christian name, and was content to be of use to her in showing her friends that she had not been

altogether dropped by the Eustace people. ``I got such a nice affectionate letter from the dear bishop,'' said

``It's a long way'', said John, ``and he's not so young as he was onceand then there are the Bobsborough

``I don't suppose anything of that kind stops him,'' said Lizzie, who did not think it possible that a bishop's

bliss should be alloyed by work. John was so very nice that she almost made up her mind to talk to him about

the necklace; but she was cautious, and thought of it, and found that it would be better that she should

abstain. John Eustace was certainly very goodnatured, but perhaps he might say an ugly word to her if she

were rash. She refrained, therefore, and after breakfast on the second day he took his departure without an

``I call my brotherinlaw a perfect gentleman,'' said Lizzie with enthusiasm, when his back was turned.

``I mean as to politics. To him we are all turbulent demagogues and Bohemians. Eustace is an oldworld

Tory, if there's one left anywhere. But you're right, Lady Eustace; he is a gentleman.''

``He knows on which side his bread is buttered as well as any man,'' said Sir Griffin.

``Am I a demagogue'', said Lizzie, appealing to the Corsair, ``or a Bohemian? I didn't know it.''

``A little in that way, I think, Lady Eustacenot a demagogue, but demagoguicalnot a Bohemian, but that

``Lucinda is a democrat, but hardly a demagogue, Lord George,'' said Mrs Carbuncle.

``Those are distinctions which we hardly understand on this thickheaded side of the water. But demagogues,

democrats, demonstrations, and Demosthenic oratory are all equally odious to John Eustace. For a young man

``He is true to his colours,'' said Mr Emilius, who had been endeavouring to awake the attention of Miss

Roanoke on the subject of Shakespeare's dramatic action, ``and I like men who are true to their colours.'' Mr

Emilius spoke with the slightest possible tone of a foreign accenta tone so slight that it simply served to

While Eustace was still in the house, there had come a letter from Frank Greystock, saying that he would

reach Portray, by way of Glasgow, on Wednesday, the 5th of November. He must sleep in Glasgow on that

night, having business, or friends, or pleasure demanding his attention in that prosperous mart of commerce.

It had been impressed upon him that he should hunt, and he had consented. There was to be a meet out on the

Kilmarnock side of the county on that Wednesday, and he would bring a horse with him from Glasgow. Even

in Glasgow a hunter was to be hired, and could be sent forty or fifty miles out of the town in the morning and

brought back in the evening. Lizzie had learned all about that, and had told him. If he would call at

MacFarlane's stables in Buchanan Street, or even write to Mr MacFarlane, he would be sure to get a horse

that would carry him. MacFarlane was sending horses down into the Ayrshire country every day of his life. It

was simply an affair of money. Three guineas for the horse, and then just the expense of the railway. Frank,

who knew quite as much about it as did his cousin, and who never thought much of guineas or of railway

tickets, promised to meet the party at the meet ready equipped. His things would go on by train, and Lizzie

must send for them to Troon. He presumed a beneficent Providence would take the horse back to the bosom

of Mr MacFarlane. Such was the tenour of his letter. ``If he don't mind, he'll find himself astray,'' said Sir

Griffin. ``He'll have to go one way by rail and his horse another.'' ``We can manage better for our cousin than

But there was hunting from Portray before Frank Greystock came. It was specially a hunting party, and Lizzie

was to be introduced to the glories of the field. In giving her her due, it must be acknowledged that she was

fit for the work. She rode well, though she had not ridden to hounds, and her courage was cool. She looked

well on horseback, and had that presence of mind which should never desert a lady when she is hunting. A

couple of horses had been purchased for her, under Lord George's superintendencehis conjointly with Mrs

Carbuncle'sand had been at the castle for the last ten days``eating their varra heeds off,'' as Andy

Gowran had said in sorrow. There had been practising even while John Eustace was there, and before her

preceptors had slept three nights at the castle, she had ridden backwards and forwards, halfadozen times,

over a stone wall. ``Oh yes,'' Lucinda had said, in answer to a remark from Sir Griffin, ``It's easy

``Nothing difficult stops you,'' said Sir Griffinto which compliment Lucinda vouchsafed no reply.

On the Monday Lizzie went out hunting for the first time in her life. It must be owned that, as she put her

habit on, and afterwards breakfasted with all her guests in hunting gear around her, and then was driven with

them in her own carriage to the meet, there was something of trepidation at her heart. And her feeling of

cautious fear in regard to money had received a shock. Mrs Carbuncle had told her that a couple of horses fit

to carry her might perhaps cost her about 180. Lord George had received the commission, and the cheque

required from her had been for 320. Of course she had written the cheque without a word, but it did begin to

occur to her that hunting was an expensive amusement. Gowran had informed her that he had bought a rick of

hay from a neighbour for 75 15 s. 9 d. ``God forgie me,'' said Andy, ``but I believe I've been o'er hard on the

puir man in your leddyship's service.'' 75 15 s. 9 d. did seem a great deal of money to pay; and could it be

necessary that she should buy a whole rick? There were to be eight horses in the stable. To what friend could

she apply to learn how much of a rick of hay one horse ought to eat in a month of hunting? In such a matter

she might have trusted Andy Gowran implicitly; but how was she to know that? And then, what if at some

desperate fence she were to be thrown off and break her nose and knock out her front teeth! Was the game

worth the candle? She was by no means sure that she liked Mrs Carbuncle very much. And though she liked

Lord George very well, could it be possible that he bought the horses for 90 each and charged her 160?

Corsairs do do these sort of things. The horses themselves were two sweet dears, with stars on their

foreheads, and shining coats, and a delicious aptitude for jumping over everything at a moment's notice. Lord

George had not, in truth, made a penny by them, and they were good hunters, worth the moneybut how

was Lizzie to know that? But though she doubted, and was full of fears, she could smile and look as though

she liked it. If the worst should come she could certainly get money for the diamonds.

On that Monday, the meet was comparatively near to themdistant only twelve miles. On the following

Wednesday it would be sixteen, and they would use the railwayhaving the carriage sent to meet them in

the evening. The three ladies and Lord George filled the carriage, and Sir Griffin was perched upon the box.

The ladies' horses had gone on with two grooms, and those for Lord George and Sir Griffin were to come to

the meet. Lizzie felt somewhat proud of her establishment and her equipagebut at the same time somewhat

fearful. Hitherto she knew but very little of the county people, and was not sure how she might be

receivedand then how would it be with her, if the fox should at once start away across country, and she

should lack either the pluck or the power to follow? There was Sir Griffin to look after Miss Roanoke, and

Lord George to attend to Mrs Carbuncle. At last an idea so horrible struck her that she could not keep it

down. ``What am I to do'', she said, ``if I find myself all alone in a field, and everybody else gone away!''

``The only possible way in which you can be alone in a field is that you will have cut everybody else down,''

``I suppose it will come right,'' said Lizzie, plucking up her courage, and telling herself that a woman can die

Everything was rightas it usually is. The horses were therequite a throng of horses, as the two

gentlemen had two each; and there was, moreover, a mounted groom to look after the three ladies. Lizzie had

desired to have a groom to herself, but had been told that the expenditure in horseflesh was more than the

stable could stand. ``All I ever want of a man is to carry for me my flask, and waterproof, and luncheon,'' said

``Gentlemen can't open gates,'' said Lucinda. Now, as Sir Griffin thought that he had opened many gates

But there were eight horses, and eight horses with three servants and a carriage made quite a throng. Among

the crowd of Ayrshire hunting mena lord or two, a dozen lairds, two dozen farmers, and as many men of

business out of Ayr, Kilmarnock, and away from Glasgowit was soon told that Lady Eustace and her party

were among them. A good deal had been already heard of Lizzie, and it was at least known of her that she

had, for her life, the Portray estate in her hands. So there was an undercurrent of whispering, and that sort of

commotion which the appearance of newcomers does produce at a huntmeet. Lord George knew one or two

men, who were surprised to find him in Ayrshire, and Mrs Carbuncle was soon quite at home with a young

nobleman whom she had met in the vale with the Baron. Sir Griffin did not leave Lucinda's side, and for a

Who does not know that terrible feeling, and the all but necessity that exists for the sufferer to pretend that he

is not sufferingwhich again is aggravated by the conviction that the pretence is utterly vain? This may be

bad with a man, but with a woman, who never looks to be alone in a crowd, it is terrible. For five minutes,

during which everybody else was speaking to everybodyfor five minutes, which seemed to her to be an

hour, Lizzie spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her. Was it for such misery as this that she was spending

hundreds upon hundreds, and running herself into debt? For she was sure that there would be debt before she

had parted with Mrs Carbuncle. There are people, very many people, to whom an act of hospitality is in itself

a good thing; but there are others who are always making calculations, and endeavouring to count up the

thing purchased against the cost. Lizzie had been told that she was a rich womanas women go, very rich.

Surely she was entitled to entertain a few friends; and if Mrs Carbuncle and Miss Roanoke could hunt, it

could not be that hunting was beyond her own means. And yet she was spending a great deal of money. She

had seen a large waggon loaded with sacks of corn coming up the hill to the Portray stables, and she knew

that there would be a long bill at the cornchandler's. There had been found a supply of wine in the cellars at

Portraywhich at her request had been inspected by her cousin Frankbut it had been necessary, so he had

told her, to have much more sent down from Londonchampagne, and liqueurs, and other nice things that

cost money. ``You won't like not to have them if these people are coming?'' ``Oh, no; certainly not,'' said

Lizzie with enthusiasm. What other rich people did, she would do. But now, in her five minutes of misery,

she counted it all up, and was at a loss to find what was to be her return for her expenditure. And then, if on

this her first day she should have a fall, with no tender hand to help her, and then find that she had knocked

But the cavalcade began to move, and then Lord George was by her side. ``You mustn't be angry if I seem to

stick too close to you,'' he said. She gave him her sweetest smile as she told him that that would be

impossible. ``Because, you know, though it's the easiest thing in the world to get along out hunting, and

``I shall be so much astray,'' said Lizzie. ``I don't at all know how we are going to begin. Are we hunting a

fox now?'' At this moment they were trotting across a field or two, through a run of gates up to the first

``Not quite yet. The hounds haven't been put in yet. You see that wood there? I suppose they'll draw that.''

``What is drawing, Lord George? I want to know all about it, and I am so ignorant. Nobody else will tell me.''

Then Lord George gave his lesson, and explained the theory and system of foxhunting. ``We're to wait here,

then, till the fox runs away? But it's ever so large, and if he runs away, and nobody sees him? I hope he will,

``A great many people hope that, and a great many think it nice to go on easily. Only you must not confess to

it.'' Then he went on with his lecture, and explained the meaning of scent, was great on the difficulty of

getting away, described the iniquity of heading the fox, spoke of up wind and down wind, got as far as the

trouble of ``carrying,'' and told her that a good ear was everything in a big woodwhen there came upon

them the thricerepeated note of an old hound's voice, and the quick scampering, and low, timid, anxious,

trustful whinnying of a dozen comrade younger hounds, who recognised the sagacity of their wellknown

``And therefore you must sit just where you are, and not gallop about. There's a matter of a hundred and

twenty acres here, I should say, and a fox doesn't always choose to be evicted at the first notice. It's a chance

whether he goes at all from a wood like this. I like woods myself, because, as you say, we can take it easy;

``Why didn't he run away? What a stupid beast! I don't see so very much in that. Who killed him? That man

``Chopped him!'' Lord George was very patient, and explained to Lizzie, who was now indignant and

disappointed, the misfortune of chopping. ``And are we to go home now? Is it all over?''

``They say the country is full of foxes,'' said Lord George. ``Perhaps we shall chop halfadozen.''

``Dear me! Chop halfadozen foxes! Do they like to be chopped? I thought they always ran away.''

Lord George was constant and patient, and rode at Lizzie's side from covert to covert. A second fox they did

kill in the same fashion as the first; a third they couldn't hunt a yard; a fourth got to ground after five minutes,

and was dug out ingloriouslyduring which process a drizzling rain commenced. ``Where is the man with

my waterproof?'' demanded Mrs Carbuncle. Lord George had sent the man to see whether there was shelter to

be had in a neighbouring yard. And Mrs Carbuncle was angry. ``It's my own fault'', she said, ``for not having

``I like the wet,'' said Lucinda. All the while seven men were at work with picks and shovels, and the master

and four or five of the more ardent sportsmen were deeply engaged in what seemed to be a mining operation

on a small scale. The huntsman stood over giving his orders. One enthusiastic man, who had been lying on

his belly, grovelling in the mud for five minutes, with a long stick in his hand, was now applying the point of

it scientifically to his nose. An ordinary observer with a magnifyingglass might have seen a hair at the end

of the stick. ``He's there,'' said the enthusiastic man, covered with mud, after a longdrawn, eager sniff at the

stick. The huntsman deigned to give one glance. ``That's rabbit,'' said the huntsman. A conclave was

immediately formed over the one visible hair that stuck to the stick, and three experienced farmers decided

that it was rabbit. The muddy enthusiastic man, silenced but not convinced, retired from the crowd, leaving

``He's here, my lord,'' said the huntsman to his noble master, ``only we ain't got nigh him yet.'' He spoke

almost in a whisper, so that the ignorant crowd should not hear the words of wisdom, which they wouldn't

understand or perhaps believe. ``It's that full of rabbits that the holes is all hairs. They ain't got no terrier here,

I suppose. They never has aught that is wanted in these parts. Work round to the right, therethat's his line.''

The men did work round to the right, and in something under an hour the fox was dragged out by his brush

and hind legs, while the experienced whip who dragged him held the poor brute tight by the back of his neck.

``An old dog, my lord. There's such a many of 'em here, that they'll be a deal better for a little killing.'' Then

Lady Eustace, in the meantime, and Mrs Carbuncle, with Lord George, had found their way to the shelter of a

cattleshed. Lucinda had slowly followed, and Sir Griffin had followed her. The gentlemen smoked cigars, and

the ladies, when they had eaten their luncheons and drank their sherry, were cold and cross. ``If this is

``I suppose everything is slow after the Baron,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, who had distinguished herself with the

``Are we to go home now?'' asked Lizzie, who would have been wellpleased to have received an answer in

``I presume they'll draw again,'' exclaimed Mrs Carbuncle, with an angry frown on her brow. ``It's hardly two

``They have a great many things in Scotland that are very far from agreeable,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. ``Lucinda,

did you ever see three foxes killed without five minutes' running, before? I never did.''

``I've been out all day without finding at all,'' said Lucinda, who loved the truth.

``And so have I,'' said Sir Griffin``often. Don't you remember that day when we went down from London

to Bringher Wood, and they pretended to find at halfpast four? That's what I call a sell.''

``They're going on, Lady Eustace,'' said Lord George. ``If you're not tired, we might as well see it out.'' Lizzie

as tired, but said that she was not, and she did see it out. They found a fifth fox, but again there was no scent.

``Who theis to hunt a fox with people scurrying about like that!'' said the huntsman, very angrily, dashing

forward at a couple of riders. ``The hounds is behind you, only you ain't alooking. Some people never do

The day was one of those from which all the men and women return home cross, and which induce some

halfhearted folk to declare to themselves that they never will hunt again. When the master decided a little

after three that he would draw no more, because there wasn't a yard of scent, our party had nine or ten miles

to ride back to their carriages. Lizzie was very tired, and, when Lord George took her from her horse, could

almost have cried from fatigue. Mrs Carbuncle was never fatigued, but she had become dampsoaking wet

through, as she herself saidduring the four minutes that the man was absent with her waterproof jacket, and

could not bring herself to forget the illusage she had suffered. Lucinda had become absolutely dumb, and

any observer would have fancied that the two gentlemen had quarrelled with each other. ``You ought to go on

the box now,'' said Sir Griffin, grumbling. ``When you're my age, and I'm yours, I will,'' said Lord George,

taking his seat in the carriage. Then he appealed to Lizzie. ``You'll let me smoke, won't you?'' She simply

bowed her head. And so they went homeLord George smoking, and the ladies dumb. Lizzie, as she dressed

There was a little conversation upstairs between Mrs Carbuncle and Lucinda, when they were free from the

attendance of their joint maid. ``It seems to me'', said Mrs Carbuncle, ``that you won't make up your mind

``I think there isa great deal. Do you mean to take this man who is dangling after you?''

``Carruthers says that the property must come right, sooner or later. You might do better, perhaps, but you

``Don't let him do that, Aunt Jane. I couldn't say Yes. As for loving himoh laws!''

``And how long will it last? If you can't accept him, refuse him, and let somebody else come.''

``It seems to me,'' said Lucinda, ``that one is as bad as another. I'd a deal sooner marry a shoemaker and help

``That's downright wickedness,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. And then they went down to dinner.

During the leisure of Tuesday, our friends regained their good humour, and on the Wednesday morning they

again started for the huntingfield. Mrs Carbuncle, who probably felt that she had behaved ill about the

groom and in regard to Scotland, almost made an apology, and explained that a cold shower always did make

her cross. ``My dear Lady Eustace, I hope I wasn't very savage.'' ``My dear Mrs Carbuncle, I hope I wasn't

very stupid,'' said Lizzie with a smile. ``My dear Lady Eustace, and my dear Mrs Carbuncle, and my dear

``I am almost glad that I wasn't of the party,'' said Mr Emilius, with that musical foreign tone of his. ``Miss

But on this morning there was an attraction for Lizzie which the Monday had wanted. She was to meet her

cousin, Frank Greystock. The journey was long, and the horses had gone on over night. They went by railway

to Kilmarnock, and there a carriage from the inn had been ordered to meet them. Lizzie, as she heard the

order given, wondered whether she would have to pay for that, or whether Lord George and Sir Griffin would

take so much off her shoulders. Young women generally pay for nothing: and it was very hard that she, who

was quite a young woman, should have to pay for all. But she smiled, and accepted the proposition. ``Oh,

yes; of course a carriage at the station. It is so nice to have someone to think of things, like Lord George.''

The carriage met them, and everything went prosperously. Almost the first person they saw was Frank

Greystock, in a black coat, indeed, but riding a superb grey horse, and looking quite as though he knew what

he was about. He was introduced to Mrs Carbuncle and Miss Roanoke and Sir Griffin. With Lord George he

``Not the slightest. But I was in an awful fright this morning. I wrote to MacFarlane from London, and

absolutely hadn't a moment to go to his place yesterday or this morning. I was staying over at Glenshiels, and

had not a moment to spare in catching the train. But I found a horsebox on, and a lad from MacFarlane's just

``I believe there is a boy, and the boy'll be awfully bothered. I told him to book the horse for Kilmarnock.''

``They always do book for Kilmarnock for this meet,'' said a gentleman who had made acquaintance with

some of Lizzie's party on the previous huntingday``but Stewarton is ever so much nearer.''

``So somebody told me in the carriage,'' continued Frank, ``and I contrived to get my box off at Stewarton.

The guard was uncommon civil, and so was the porter. But I hadn't a moment to look for the boy.''

``But you see, Sir Griffin, I haven't got a fellow, and I've only hired a horse. But I shall hire a good many

``So am I. I hunt about twice in three years, and no man likes it so much. I've still got to find out whether the

``Any mortal thing alive, sir,'' said one of those horseylooking men who are to be found in all

huntingfields, who wear old brown breeches, old black coats, old hunting caps, who ride screws, and never

``I know him. I didn't know as Muster MacFarlane owned him. No more he don't,'' said the horsey man,

turning aside to one of his friends. ``That's Nappie's horse, from Jamaica Street.''

Lizzie was in truth delighted to have her cousin beside her. He had, at any rate, forgiven what she had said to

him at his last visit, or he would not have been there. And then, too, there was a feeling of reality in her

connection with him, which was sadly wanting to herunreal as she was herselfin her acquaintance with

the other people around her. And on this occasion three or four people spoke or bowed to her, who had only

stared at her before; and the huntsman took off his cap, and hoped that he would do something better for her

than on the previous Monday. And the huntsman was very courteous also to Miss Roanoke, expressing the

same hope, cap in hand, and smiling graciously. A huntsman at the beginning of any day or at the end of a

good day is so different from a huntsman at the end of a bad day! A huntsman often has a very bad time out

hunting, and it is sometimes a marvel that he does not take the advice which Job got from his wife. But now

all things were smiling, and it was soon known that his lordship intended to draw Craigattan Gorse. Now in

those parts there is no surer find, and no better chance of a run, than Craigattan Gorse affords.

``There is one thing I want to ask, Mr Greystock,'' said Lord George, in Lizzie's hearing.

``For devotion in coachmanship,'' said Frank``devotion, that is, to my cousin, I defy the world. In point of

``My pretensions are precisely the same,'' said Lord George. ``I glow with devotion; my skill is naught.''

``I quite understand the extent of the preference,'' said Lord George. Lizzie was delighted, and thought the

game was worth the candle. The noble master had told her that they were sure of a run from Craigattan, and

she wasn't in the least tired, and they were not called upon to stand still in a big wood, and it didn't rain, and,

in every respect, the day was very different from Monday. Mounted on a brightskinned, lively steed, with

her cousin on one side and Lord George de Bruce Carruthers on the other, with all the hunting world of her

own county civil around her, and a fox just found in Craigattan Gorse, what could the heart of woman desire

more? This was to live. There was, however, just enough of fear to make the blood run quickly to her heart.

``We'll be away at once now,'' said Lord George with utmost earnestness; ``follow me close, but not too

close. When the men see that I am giving you a lead, they won't come between. If you hang back, I'll not go

ahead. Just check your horse as he comes to his fences, and, if you can, see me over before you go at them.

Now then, down the hillthere's a gate at the corner, and a bridge over the water. We couldn't be better. By

George! there they arealtogether. If they don't pull him down in the first two minutes, we shall have a run.''

Lizzie understood most of itmore at least than would nine out of ten young women who had never ridden a

hunt before. She was to go wherever Lord George led her, and she was not to ride upon his heels. So much at

least she understoodand so much she was resolved to do. That dread about her front teeth which had

perplexed her on Monday was altogether gone now. She would ride as fast as Lucinda Roanoke. That was her

prevailing idea. Lucinda, with Mrs Carbuncle, Sir Griffin, and the ladies' groom, was at the other side of the

covert. Frank had been with his cousin and Lord George, but had crept down the hill while the hounds were

in the gorse. A man who likes hunting but hunts only once a year is desirous of doing the best he can with his

day. When the hounds came out and crossed the brook at the end of the gorse, perhaps he was a little too

forward. But, indeed, the state of affairs did not leave much time for waiting, or for the etiquette of the

huntingfield. Along the opposite margin of the brook there ran a low paling, which made the water a rather

nasty thing to face. A circuit of thirty or forty yards gave the easy riding of a little bridge, and to that all the

crowd hurried. But one or two men with good eyes, and hearts as good, had seen the leading hounds across

the brook turning up the hill away from the bridge, and knew that two most necessary minutes might be lost

in the crowd. Frank did as they did, having seen nothing of any hounds, but with instinctive knowledge that

they were men likely to be right in a huntingfield. ``If that ain't Nappie's horse, I'll eat him,'' said one of the

leading men to the other, as all the three were breasting the hill together. Frank only knew that he had been

carried over water and timber without a mistake, and felt a glow of gratitude towards Mr MacFarlane. Up the

hill they went, and not waiting to inquire into the circumstances of a little gate, jumped a four foot wall and

were away. ``How the mischief did he get a top of Nappie's horse?'' said the horsey man to his friend.

``We're about right for it now,'' said the huntsman, as he came up alongside of Frank. He had crossed the

bridge, but had been the first across it, and knew how to get over his ground quickly. On they went, the

horsey man leading on his thoroughbred screw, the huntsman second, and Frank third. The pace had already

When Lord George and Lizzie had mounted the hill, there was a rush of horses at the little gate. As they

topped the hill Lucinda and Mrs Carbuncle were jumping the wall. Lord George looked back and asked a

question without a word. Lizzie answered it as mutely, Jump it! She was already a little short of breath, but

she was ready to jump anything that Lucinda Roanoke had jumped. Over went Lord George, and she

followed him almost without losing the stride of her horse. Surely in all the world there was nothing equal to

this! There was a large grass field before them, and for a moment she came up alongside of Lord George.

``Just steady him before he leaps,'' said Lord George. She nodded her assent, and smiled her gratitude. She

had plenty of breath for riding, but none for speaking. They were now very near to Lucinda, and Sir Griffin,

and Mrs Carbuncle. ``The pace is too good for Mrs Carbuncle's horse,'' said Lord George. Oh, if she could

only pass them, and get up to those men whom she saw before her! She knew that one of them was her cousin

Frank. She had no wish to pass them, but she did wish that he should see her. In the next fence Lord George

spied a rail, which he thought safer than a blind hedge, and he made for it. His horse took it well, and so did

Lizzie's; but Lizzie jumped it a little too near him, as he had paused an instant to look at the ground. ``Indeed,

I won't do it again,'' she said, collecting all her breath for an apology. ``You are going admirably,'' he said,

``and your horse is worth double the money.'' She was so glad now that he had not spared for price in

mounting her. Looking to the right she could see that Mrs Carbuncle had only just floundered through the

hedge. Lucinda was still ahead, but Sir Griffin was falling behind, as though divided in duty between the

niece and the aunt. Then they passed through a gate, and Lord George stayed his horse to hold it for her. She

tried to thank him but he stopped her. ``Don't mind talking, but come along; and take it easy.'' She smiled

again, and he told himself that she was wondrous pretty. And then her pluck was so good! And then she had

four thousand a year! ``Now for the gap!don't be in a hurry. You first, and I'll follow you to keep off these

two men. Keep to the left, where the other horses have been.'' On they went, and Lizzie was in heaven. She

could not quite understand her feelings, because it had come to that with her that to save her life she could not

have spoken a word. And yet she was not only happy but comfortable. The leaping was delightful, and her

horse galloped with her as though his pleasure was as great as her own. She thought that she was getting

nearer to Lucinda. For her, in her heart, Lucinda was the quarry. If she could only pass Lucinda! That there

were any hounds she had altogether forgotten. She only knew that two or three men were leading the way, of

whom her cousin Frank was one, that Lucinda Roanoke was following them closely, and that she was gaining

upon Lucinda Roanoke. She knew she was gaining a little, because she could see now how well and squarely

Lucinda sat upon her horse. As for herself, she feared that she was rollingbut she need not have feared. She

was so small, and lithe, and light, that her body adapted itself naturally to the pace of her horse. Lucinda was

of a different build, and it behoved her to make for herself a perfect seat. ``We must have the wall,'' said Lord

George, who was again at her side for a moment. She would have ``had'' a castle wall, moat included, turrets

and all, if he would only have shown her the way. The huntsman and Frank had taken the wall. The horsey

man's bit of blood, knowing his own powers to an inch, had declinednot roughly, with a sudden stop and a

jerk, but with a swerve to the left which the horsey man at once understood. What the brute lacked in jumping

he could make up in pace, and the horsey man was along the wall and over a broken bank at the head of it,

with the loss of not more than a minute. Lucinda's horse, following the ill example, balked the jump. She

turned him round with a savage gleam in her eye which Lizzie was just near enough to see, struck him rapidly

over the shoulders with her whip, and the animal flew with her into the next field. ``Oh, if I could do it like

that!'' thought Lizzie. But in that very minute she was doing it, not only as well but better. Not following Lord

George, but close at his side, the little animal changed his pace, trotted for a yard or two, hopped up as though

the wall were nothing, knocked off a top stone with his hind feet, and dropped on to the ground so softly that

Lizzie hardly believed that she had gone over the big obstruction that had cost Lucinda such an effort.

Lucinda's horse came down on all four legs, with a grunt and a groan, and she knew that she had bustled him.

At that moment Lucinda was very full of wrath against the horsey man with the screw who had been in her

way. ``He touched it,'' gasped Lizzie, thinking that her horse had disgraced himself. ``He's worth his weight

in gold,'' said Lord George. ``Come along. There's a brook with a ford. Morgan is in it.'' Morgan was the

huntsman. ``Don't let them get before you.'' Oh, no. She would let no one get before her. She did her very

best, and just got her horse's nose on the broken track leading down into the brook before Lucinda. ``Pretty

good, isn't it?'' said Lucinda. Lizzie smiled sweetly. She could smile, though she could not speak. ``Only they

do balk one so at one's fences!'' said Lucinda. The horsey man had all but regained his place, and was

On the further side of the field, beyond the brook, there was a little spinny, and for half a minute the hounds

came to a check. ``Give 'em time, sir, give 'em time,'' said Morgan to Frank, speaking in full good humour,

with no touch of Monday's savagery. ``Wind him, Bolton; Beaver's got it. Very good thing, my lady, isn't it?

Now, Carstairs, if you're a going to 'unt the fox, you'd better 'unt him.'' Carstairs was the horsey manand

one with whom Morgan very often quarrelled. ``That's it, my hearties,'' and Morgan was across a broken wall

in a moment, after the leading hounds, ``Are we to go on?'' said Lizzie, who feared much that Lucinda would

get ahead of her. There was a matter of three dozen horsemen up now, and, as far as Lizzie saw, the whole

thing might have to be done again. In hunting, to have ridden is the pleasureand not simply to have ridden

well, but to have ridden better than others. ``I call it very awkward ground,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, coming up.

``It can't be compared to the Baron's country.'' ``Stone walls four feet and a half high, and well built, are

But the hounds were away again, and Lizzie had got across the gap before Lucinda, who, indeed, made way

for her hostess with a haughty politeness which was not lost upon Lizzie. Lizzie could not stop to beg pardon,

but she would remember to do it in her prettiest way on their journey home. They were now on a track of

open country, and the pace was quicker even than before. The same three men were still leading, Morgan,

Greystock, and Carstairs. Carstairs had slightly the best of it; and of course Morgan swore afterwards that he

was among the hounds the whole run. ``The scent was that good, there wasn't no putting of 'em offno

thanks to him,'' said Morgan. ``I 'ate to see 'em galloping, galloping, galloping, with no more eye to the 'ounds

than a pig. Any idiot can gallop, if he's got it under him.'' All which only signified that Jack Morgan didn't

like to see any of his field before him. There was need, indeed, now for galloping, and it may be doubted

whether Morgan himself was not doing his best. There were about five or six in the second flight, and among

these Lord George and Lizzie were well placed. But Lucinda had pressed again ahead. ``Miss Roanoke had

better have a care, or she'll blow her horse,'' Lord George said Lizzie didn't mind what happened to Miss

Roanoke's horse, so that it could be made to go a little slower and fall behind. But Lucinda still pressed on,

They now crossed a road, descending a hill, and were again in a close country. A few low hedges seemed as

nothing to Lizzie. She could see her cousin gallop over them ahead of her, as though they were nothing; and

her own horse, as he came to them, seemed to do exactly the same. On a sudden they found themselves

abreast with the huntsman. ``There's a biggish brook below there, my lord,'' said he. Lizzie was charmed to

hear it. Hitherto she had jumped all the big things so easily, that it was a pleasure to hear of them. ``How are

we to manage it?'' asked Lord George. ``It is rideable, my lord; but there's a place about half a mile down.

Let's see how'll they head. Drat it, my lord, they've turned up, and we must have it or go back to the road.''

Morgan hurried on, showing that he meant to ``have'' it, as did also Lucinda. ``Shall we go to the road?'' said

Lord George. ``No, no!'' said Lizzie. Lord George looked at her and at her horse, and then galloped after the

huntsman and Lucinda. The horsey man, with the wellbred screw, was first over the brook. The little animal

could take almost any amount of water, and his rider knew the spot. ``He'll do it like a bird,'' he had said to

Greystock, and Greystock had followed him. Mr MacFarlane's hired horse did it like a bird. ``I know him,

sir,'' said Carstairs. ``Mr Nappie gave 250 for him down in Northamptonshire last Februarybought him of

Mr Percival. You know Mr Percival, sir?'' Frank knew neither Mr Percival nor Mr Nappie, and at this

moment cared nothing for either of them. To him, at this moment, Mr MacFarlane, of Buchanan Street,

Morgan, knowing well the horse he rode, dropped him into the brook, floundered and half swam through the

mud and water, and scrambled out safely on the other side. ``He wouldn't have jumped it with me, if I'd asked

him ever so,'' he said afterwards. Lucinda rode at it, straight as an arrow, but her brute came to a dead balk,

and, but that she sat well, would have thrown her into the stream. Lord George let Lizzie take the leap before

he took it, knowing that, if there were misfortune, he might so best render help. To Lizzie it seemed as though

the river were the blackest, and the deepest, and the broadest that ever ran. For a moment her heart

quailedbut it was but for a moment. She shut her eyes, and gave the little horse his head. For a moment she

thought that she was in the water. Her horse was almost upright on the bank, with his hindfeet down among

the broken ground, and she was clinging to his neck. But she was light, and the beast made good his footing,

and then she knew that she had done it. In that moment of the scramble her heart had been so near her mouth

that she was almost choked. When she looked round, Lord George was already by her side. ``You hardly

gave him powder enough,'' he said, ``but still he did it beautifully. Good heavens! Miss Roanoke is in the

river.'' Lizzie looked back, and there, in truth, was Lucinda struggling with her horse in the water. They

paused a moment, and then there were three or four men assisting her. ``Come on,'' said Lord

George``there are plenty to take her out, and we couldn't get to her if we stayed.''

``You couldn't get back if you gave your eyes for it,'' said Lord George. ``She's all right.'' So instigated,

Lizzie followed her leader up the hill, and in a minute was close upon Morgan's heels.

The worst of doing a big thing out hunting is the fact that in nine cases out of ten they who don't do it are as

well off as they who do. If there were any penalty for riding round, or any mark given to those who had

ridden straightso that justice might in some sort be doneit would perhaps be better. When you have

nearly broken your neck to get to hounds, or made your horse exert himself beyond his proper power, and

then find yourself, within three minutes, overtaking the hindmost ruck of horsemen on a road because of

some iniquitous turn that the fox has taken, the feeling is not pleasant. And some man who has not ridden at

all, who never did ride at all, will ask you where you have been; and his smile will give you the lie in your

teeth if you make any attempt to explain the facts. Let it be sufficient for you at such a moment to feel that

you are not ashamed of yourself. Selfrespect will support a man even in such misery as this.

The fox on this occasion, having crossed the river, had not left its bank, but had turned from his course up the

stream, so that the leading spirits who had followed the hounds over the water came upon a crowd of riders

on the road in a space something short of a mile. Mrs Carbuncle, among others, was there, and had heard of

Lucinda's mishap. She said a word to Lord George in anger, and Lord George answered her. ``We were over

the river before it happened, and if we had given our eyes we couldn't have got to her. Don't you make a fool

of yourself!'' The last words were spoken in a whisper, but Lizzie's sharp ears caught them.

``It will be all right, dear Lady Eustace. Sir Griffin is with her. I am so glad you are going so well.''

They were off again now, and the stupid fox absolutely went back across the river. But, whether on one side

or on the other, his struggle for life was now in vain. Two years of happy, free existence amidst the wilds of

Craigattan had been allowed him. Twice previously had he been ``found'', and the kindly storm or not less

beneficent brightness of the sun had enabled him to baffle his pursuers. Now there had come one glorious

day, and the common lot of mortals must be his. A little spurt there was, back towards his own homejust

enough to give something of selectness to the few who saw him falland then he fell. Among the few were

Frank, and Lord George, and our Lizzie. Morgan was there, of course, and one of his whips. Of Ayrshire

folk, perhaps five or six, and among them our friend, Mr Carstairs. They had run him down close to the

``Like a celestial bird of Paradise. No one ever went betteror I believe so well. You've been carried rather

``Indeed I have,'' said Frank, patting his still palpitating horse, ``and he's not to say tired now.''

``You've taken it pretty well out of him, sir,'' said Carstairs. ``There was a little bit of hill that told when we

``I don't know the horse that isn't,'' said Mr Carstairs``so long as you don't stand at the figure.''

They were collected on the farm road, and now, as they were speaking, there was a commotion among the

horses. A man, driving a little buggy, was forcing his way along the road, and there was a sound of voices, as

though the man in the buggy were angry. And he was very angry. Frank, who was on foot by his horse's head,

could see that the man was dressed for hunting, with a bright red coat and a flat hat, and that he was driving

the pony with a huntingwhip. The man was talking as he approached, but what he said did not much matter

to Frank. It did not much matter to Frank till his new friend, Mr Carstairs, whispered a word in his ear. ``It's

Nappie, by gum!'' Then there crept across Frank's mind an idea that there might be trouble coming.

``There he is,'' said Nappie, bringing his pony to a dead stop with a chuck, and jumping out of the buggy. ``I

say, you sir; you've stole my 'orse!'' Frank said not a word, but stood his ground with his hand on the nag's

bridle. ``You've stole my 'orse; you've stole him off the rail. And you've been ariding him all day. Yes, you

'ave. Did ever anybody see the like of this? Why, the poor beast can't a'most stand!''

``MacFarlane be blowed! You didn't do nothing of the kind. You stole him off the rail at Stewarton. Yes, you

didand him booked to Kilmarnock. Where's a police? Who's to stand the like o' this? I say, my lordjust

look at this.'' A crowd had now been formed round poor Frank, and the master had come up. Mr Nappie was a

Huddersfield man, who had come to Glasgow in the course of the last winter, and whose popularity in the

``Mistake, my lord! Take a man's 'orse off the rail at Stewarton, and him booked to Kilmarnock, and ride him

to a standstill! It's no mistake at all. It's 'orsenobbling; that's what it is. Is there any police here, sir?'' This he

said, turning round to a farmer. The farmer didn't deign any reply. ``Perhaps you'll tell me your name, sir? if

you've got a name, No gen'leman ever took a gen'leman's 'orse off the rail like that.''

``No, we shan't,'' said Mr Nappie``nor yet in two hours. I've asked what's your name?''

``Greystockings,'' said Mr Nappie more angrily than ever. ``I don't believe in no such name. Where do you

live?'' Then somebody whispered a word to him. ``Member of Parliamentis he? I don't care aA member

of Parliament isn't to steal my 'orse off the rail, and him booked to Kilmarnock. Now, my lord, what'd you do

``I should express a hope that my horse had carried the gentleman as he liked to be carried,'' said the master.

``And he hascarried me remarkably well,'' said Frankwhereupon there was a loud laugh among the

``I wish he'd broken the infernal neck of you, you scoundrel, youthat's what I do!'' said Mr Nappie. ``There

was my man, and my 'orse, and myself all booked from Glasgow to Kilmarnockand when I got there what

did the guard say to me?why, just that a man in a black coat had taken my horse off at Stewarton; and now

I've been driving all about the country in that gig there for three hours!'' When Mr Nappie had got so far as

this in his explanation he was almost in tears. ``I'll make 'im pay, that I will. Take your hand off my horse's

bridle, sir. Is there any gentleman here as would like to give two hundred and eighty guineas for a horse, and

then have him rid to a standstill by a fellow like that down from London. If you're in Parliament, why don't

Frank had all the while been endeavouring to explain the accident; how he had ordered a horse from Mr

MacFarlane, and the rest of itas the reader will understand; but quite in vain. Mr Nappie in his wrath

would not hear a word. But now that he spoke about money, Frank thought that he saw an opening. ``Mr

The horse had now been surrendered to Mr Nappie, and Frank suggested that he might as well return to

Kilmarnock in the gig, and pay for the hire of it. But Mr Nappie would not allow him to set a foot upon the

gig. ``It's my gig for the day,'' said he, ``and you don't touch it. You shall foot it all the way back to

Kilmarnock, Mr Greystockings.'' But Mr Nappie, in making this threat, forgot that there were gentlemen there

with second horses. Frank was soon mounted on one belonging to Lord George, and Lord George's servant, at

the corner of the farmyard, got into the buggy, and was driven back to Kilmarnock by the man who had

``Upon my word, I was very sorry,'' said Frank as he rode back with his friends to Kilmarnock; ``and when I

first really understood what had happened, I would have done anything. But what could I say? It was

``I should have put my whip over his shoulder,'' said a stout farmer, meaning to be civil to Frank Greystock.

``Not he,'' said Lord George. ``His grievance is worth more to him than his money.''

No bill did come to Frank, and he got his mount for nothing. When Mr MacFarlane was applied to, he

declared that no letter ordering a horse had been delivered in his establishment. From that day to this Mr

Nappie's grey horse has had a great character in Ayrshire; but all the world there says that its owner never

We must return to the unfortunate Lucinda, whom we last saw struggling with her steed in the black waters of

the brook which she attempted to jump. A couple of men were soon in after her, and she was rescued and

brought back to the side from which she had taken off without any great difficulty. She was neither hurt nor

frightened, but she was wet through; and for a while she was very unhappy, because it was not found quite

easy to extricate her horse. During the ten minute's of her agony, while the poor brute was floundering in the

mud, she had been quite disregardful of herself, and had almost seemed to think that Sir Griffin, who was

with her, should go into the water after her steed. But there were already two men in the water, and three on

the bank, and Sir Griffin thought that duty required him to stay by the young lady's side. ``I don't care a bit

about myself,'' said Lucinda, ``but if anything can be done for poor Warrior!'' Sir Griffin assured her that

``poor Warrior'' was receiving the very best attention; and then he pressed upon her the dangerous condition

in which she herself was standingquite wet through, covered, as to her feet and legs, with mud, growing

colder and colder every minute. She touched her lips with a little brandy that somebody gave her, and then

declared again that she cared for nothing but poor Warrior. At last poor Warrior was on his legs, with the

water dripping from his black flanks, with his nose stained with mud, with one of his legs a little cutand,

alas! with the saddle wet through. Nevertheless, there was nothing to be done better than to ride into

Kilmarnock. The whole party must return to Kilmarnock, and, perhaps, if they hurried, she might be able to

get her clothes dry before they would start by the train. Sir Griffin, of course, accompanied her, and they two

rode into the town alone. Mrs Carbuncle did hear of the accident soon after the occurrence, but had not seen

If anything would make a girl talk to a man, such a ducking as Lucinda had had would do so. Such sudden

events, when they come in the shape of misfortune, or the reverse, generally have the effect of abolishing

shyness for the time. Let a girl be upset with you in a railway train, and she will talk like a Rosalind, though

before the accident she was as mute as death. But with Lucinda Roanoke the accustomed change did not seem

to take place. When Sir Griffin had placed her on her saddle, she would have trotted all the way into

Kilmarnock without a word if he would have allowed her. But he, at least, understood that such a joint

misfortune should create confidencefor he, too, had lost the run, and he did not intend to lose his

``I mean that I am glad that it was I,'' said Sir Griffin. ``It's very hard even to get a moment to speak to you.''

They were now trotting along on the road, and there were still three miles before them.

``Just so.'' And then he paused. ``But I want to find you when you're not with the other people. Perhaps,

As he paused for a reply, she felt herself bound to say something. ``Oh, yes, I do,'' she said``as well as

After that he rode on for the best part of another mile before he spoke to her again. He had made up his mind

that he would do it. He hardly knew why it was that he wanted her. He had not determined that he was

desirous of the charms or comfort of domestic life. He had not even thought where he would live were he

married. He had not suggested to himself that Lucinda was a desirable companion, that her temper would suit

his, that her ways and his were sympathetic, or that she would be a good mother to the future Sir Griffin

Tewett. He had seen that she was a very handsome girl, and therefore he had thought that he would like to

possess her. Had she fallen like a ripe plum into his mouth, or shown herself ready so to fall, he would

probably have closed his lips and backed out of the affair. But the difficulty, no doubt added something to the

desire. ``I had hoped,'' he said, ``that after knowing each other so long there might have been more than that.''

She was again driven to speak because he paused. ``I don't know that that makes much difference.''

``You can listen to me even if you will not answer me. I am sure that you know that I love you better than all

the world. Will you be mine?'' Then he moved on a little forward so that he might look back into her face.

Miss Roanoke was able to ride at a stone wall or at a river, and to ride at either the second time when her

horse balked the first. Her heart was big enough for that. But her heart was not big enough to enable her to

give Sir Griffin an answer. Perhaps it was that, in regard to the river and the stone wall, she knew what she

wanted; but that, as to Sir Griffin, she did not. ``I don't think this is a proper time to ask,'' she said.

``I didn't mean to take any unfair advantage,'' said Sir Griffin scowling``I thought we were alone''

``Oh, Sir Griffin, I am so tired!'' As they were now entering Kilmarnock, it was quite clear he could press her

no further. They clattered up, therefore, to the hotel, and he busied himself in getting a bedroom fire lighted,

and in obtaining the services of the landlady. A cup of tea was ordered and toast, and in two minutes Lucinda

Roanoke was relieved from the presence of the baronet. ``It's a kind of thing a fellow doesn't quite

understand,'' said Griffin to himself. ``Of course she means it, and why the devil can't she say so?'' He had no

idea of giving up the chase, but he thought that perhaps he would take it out of her when she became Lady

They were an hour at the inn before Mrs Carbuncle and Lady Eustace arrived, and during that hour Sir

Griffin did not see Miss Roanoke. For this there was, of course, ample reason. Under the custody of the

landlady, Miss Roanoke was being made dry and clean, and was by no means in a condition to receive a

lover's vows. The baronet sent up halfadozen messages as he sauntered about the yard of the inn, but he

got no message in return. Lucinda, as she sat drinking her tea and drying her clothes, did no doubt think about

himbut she thought about him as little as she could. Of course, he would come again, and she could make

up her mind then. It was no doubt necessary that she should do something. Her fortune, such as it was, would

soon be spent in the adventure of finding a husband. She also had her ideas about love, and had enough of

sincerity about her to love a man thoroughly; but it had seemed to her that all the men who came near her

were men whom she could not fail to dislike. She was hurried here and hurried there, and knew nothing of

real social intimacies. As she told her aunt in her wickedness, she would almost have preferred a

shoemakerif she could have become acquainted with a shoemaker in a manner that should be unforced and

genuine. There was a savageness of antipathy in her to the mode of life which her circumstances had

produced for her. It was that very savageness which made her ride so hard, and which forbade her to smile

and be pleasant to people whom she could not like. And yet she knew that something must be done. She

could not afford to wait as other girls might do. Why not Sir Griffin as well as any other fool? It may be

doubted whether she knew how obstinate, how hard, how cruel to a woman a fool can be.

Her stockings had been washed and dried, and her boots and trousers were nearly dry, when Mrs Carbuncle,

followed by Lizzie, rushed into the room. ``Oh, my darling, how are you?'' said the aunt, seizing her niece in

``Oh, Miss Roanoke, said Lizzie, I hope you don't think I behaved badly in going on.''

``I did so pray Lord George to let me try and jump back to you. We were over, you know, before it happened.

``And I was so sorry when I went through the wall at the corner of the wood before you. But I was so excited

I hardly knew what I was doing.'' Lucinda, who was quite used to these affairs in the huntingfield, simply

nodded her acceptance of this apology. ``But it was a glorious run; wasn't it?''

``Oh, it was gloriousbut then I got over the river. And oh, if you had been there afterwards. There was such

an adventure between a man in a gig and my cousin Frank.'' Then they all went to the train, and were carried

On their journey back to Portray, the ladies were almost too tired for talking; and Sir Griffin was sulky. Sir

Griffin had as yet heard nothing about Greystock's adventure, and did not care to be told. But when once they

were at the castle, and had taken warm baths, and glasses of sherry, and got themselves dressed and had come

down to dinner, they were all very happy. To Lizzie it had certainly been the most triumphant day of her life.

Her marriage with Sir Florian had been triumphant, but that was only a step to something good that was to

come after. She then had at her own disposal her little wits and her prettiness, and a world before her in

which, as it then seemed to her, there was a deal of pleasure if she could only reach it. Up to this period of her

career she had hardly reached any pleasure; but this day had been very pleasant. Lord George de Bruce

Carruthers had in truth been her Corsair, and she had found the thing which she liked to do, and would soon

know how to do. How glorious it was to jump over that black, yawning stream, and then to see Lucinda fall

into it! And she could remember every jump, and her feeling of ecstasy as she landed on the right side. And

she had by heart every kind word that Lord George had said to herand she loved the sweet, pleasant,

Corsairlike intimacy that had sprung up between them. She wondered whether Frank was at all jealous. It

wouldn't be amiss that he should be a little jealous. And then somebody had brought home in his pocket the

fox's brush which the master of the hounds had told the huntsman to give her. It was all delightfuland so

much more delightful because Mrs Carbuncle had not gone quite so well as she liked to go, and because

They did not dine till past eight, and the ladies and gentlemen all left the room together. Coffee and liqueurs

were to be brought into the drawingroom, and they were all to be intimate, comfortable, and at their

easeall except Sir Griffin Tewett, who was still very sulky. ``Did he say anything?'' Mrs Carbuncle had

asked. ``Yes.'' ``Well?'' ``He proposed; but of course I could not answer him when I was wet through.'' There

``Now I don't mean to stir again'', said Lizzie, throwing herself into a corner of a sofa, ``till somebody carries

me to bed. I never was so tired in all my life.'' She was tired, but there is a fatigue which is delightful as long

``You only killed one fox'', said Mr Emilius, pretending a delightfully clerical ignorance, ``and on Monday

``About ten, perhaps,'' said Lord George. ``It was an hour and forty minutes, and there was a good bit of slow

``Ten is always better than twenty,'' said Lord George, ``and five generally better than ten.''

``It was just whatever is best,'' said Lizzie. ``I know Frank's friend, Mr Nappie, said it was twenty. By the by,

``Of course he was,'' said Lord George``no man ever worse since hunting was invented. He was entitled to

a dozen dinners, and no end of patronage; but you see he took it out in calling your cousin Mr

``It was hard,'' continued Lord George, ``and I understood it all so well when he got into a mess in his wrath

about booking the horse to Kilmarnock. If the horse had been on the roadside, he or his men could have

protected him. He is put under the protection of a whole railway company, and the company gives him up to

``If it had happened to me, I should have been very angry,'' said Mrs Carbuncle.

``But Frank wouldn't have had a horse at all,'' said Lizzie, ``unless he had taken Mr Nappie's.''

Lord George still continued his plea for Mr Nappie. ``There's something in that, certainly; but, still, I agree

with Mrs Carbuncle. If it had happened to me, I shouldjust have committed murder and suicide. I can't

conceive anything so terrible. It's all very well for your noble master to talk of being civil, and hoping that the

horse had carried him well, and all that. There are circumstances in which a man can't be civil. And then

everybody laughed at him! It's the way of the world. The lower you fall, the more you're kicked.''

``Put him down at your club, and order thirty dozen of grey shirtings from Nappie and Co., without naming

But though Lizzie was in heaven, it behoved her to be careful. The Corsair was a very fine specimen of the

Corsair breedabout the best Corsair she had ever seen, and had been devoted to her for the day. But these

Corsairs are known to be dangerous, and it would not be wise that she should sacrifice any future prospect of

importance on behalf of a feeling, which, no doubt, was founded on poetry, but which might too probably

have no possible beneficial result. As far as she knew, the Corsair had not even an island of his own in the

Aegean Sea. And, if he had, might not the island too probably have a Medora or two of its own? In a ride

across the country the Corsair was all that a Corsair should be; but knowing, as she did, but very little of the

Corsair, she could not afford to throw over her cousin for his sake. As she was leaving the drawingroom,

she managed to say one word to her cousin. ``You were not angry with me because I got Lord George to ride

``It was a matter of course. He knows all about it, and I know nothing. I am very glad that you liked it so

``I did like itand so did you. I was so glad you got that poor man's horse. You were not angry then?'' They

``And you are not angry for what happened before?'' She did not look into his face as she asked this question,

``Good night, Lizzie.'' Then she went, and he returned to a room below which had been prepared for purposes

``Why, Griff, you're rather out of sorts tonight,'' said Lord George to his friend, before Frank had joined them.

``So would you be out of sorts if you'd lost your run and had to pick a young woman out of the water. I don't

``How would you like me to ask you questions? Do you mean to marry the widow? And, if you do, what'll

Mrs Carbuncle say? And if you don't, what do you mean to do; and all the rest of it?''

``As for marrying the widow, I should like to know the facts first. As to Mrs C., she wouldn't object in the

least. I generally have my horses so bitted that they can't very well object. And as to the other question, I

mean to stay here for the next fortnight, and I advise you to make it square with Miss Roanoke. Here's my

``I wonder if he'd take a twentypound note if I sent it to him,'' said Frank, when they broke up for the night.

``He'll bring an action against the railway, and then you can offer to pay if you like.'' Mr Nappie did bring an

action against the railway, claiming exorbitant damagesbut with what result, we need not trouble ourselves

Frank Greystock stayed till the following Monday at Portray, but could not be induced to hunt on the

Saturdayon which day the other sporting men and women went to the meet. He could not, he said, trust to

that traitor MacFarlane, and he feared that his friend Mr Nappie would not give him another mount on the

grey horse. Lizzie offered him one of her two darlingsan offer which he, of course, refused; and Lord

George also proposed to put him up. But Frank averred that he had ridden his hunt for that season, and would

not jeopardise the laurels he had gained. ``And, moreover,'' said he, ``I should not dare to meet Mr Nappie in

the field.'' So he remained at the castle and took a walk with Mr Emilius. Mr Emilius asked a good many

questions about Portray, and exhibited the warmest sympathy with Lizzie's widowed condition. He called her

a ``sweet, gay, unsophisticated, lighthearted young thing''. ``She is very young,'' replied her cousin. ``Yes,''

he continued, in answer to further questions; ``Portray is certainly very nice. I don't know what the income is.

Well; yes. I should think it is over a thousand. Eight! No, I never heard it said that it was as much as that.''

When Mr Emilius put it down in his mind as five, he was not void of acuteness, as very little information had

There was a joke throughout the castle that Mr Emilius had fallen in love with Miss Macnulty. They had been

a great deal together on those hunting days; and Miss Macnulty was unusually enthusiastic in praise of his

manner and conversation. To her, also, had been addressed questions as to Portray and its income, all of

which she had answered to the best of her abilitynot intending to betray any secret, for she had no secret to

betray; but giving ordinary information on that commonest of all subjects, our friends' incomes. Then there

had risen a question whether there was a vacancy for such promotion to Miss Macnulty. Mrs Carbuncle had

certainly heard that there was a Mrs Emilius. Lucinda was sure that there was notan assurance which might

have been derived from a certain eagerness in the reverend gentleman's demeanour to herself on a former

occasion. To Lizzie, who at present was very goodnatured, the idea of Miss Macnulty having a lover,

whether he were a married man or not, was very delightful. ``I'm sure I don't know what you mean,'' said

Miss Macnulty. ``I don't suppose Mr Emilius had any idea of the kind.'' Upon the whole, however, Miss

On the Saturday nothing especial happened. Mr Nappie was out on his grey horse, and condescended to a

little conversation with Lord George. He wouldn't have minded, he said, if Mr Greystock had come forward;

but he did think Mr Greystock hadn't come forward as he ought to have done. Lord George professed that he

had observed the same thing; but then, as he whispered into Mr Nappie's ear, Mr Greystock was particularly

known as a bashful man. ``He didn't ride my 'orse anyway bashful,'' said Mr Nappieall of which was told

at dinner in the evening, amidst a great deal of laughter. There had been nothing special in the way of sport,

and Lizzie's enthusiasm for hunting, though still high, had gone down a few degrees below fever heat. Lord

George had again coached her; but there had been no great need for coaching, no losing of her breath, no

cutting down of Lucinda, no river, no big wallnothing, in short, very fast. They had been much in a big

wood; but Lizzie, in giving an account of the day to her cousin, had acknowledged that she had not quite

understood what they were doing at any time. ``It was a blowing of horns and a galloping up and down all the

day,'' she said; ``and then Morgan got cross again and scolded all the people. But there was one nice paling,

and Dandy flew over it beautifully. Two men tumbled down, and one of them was a good deal hurt. It was

Nor had it been like Wednesday to Lucinda Roanoke, who did not fall into the water, and who did accept Sir

Griffin when he again proposed to her in Sarkie wood. A great deal had been said to Lucinda on the Thursday

and the Friday by Mrs Carbunclewhich had not been taken at all in good part by Lucinda. On those days

Lucinda kept as much as she could out of Sir Griffin's way, and almost snapped at the baronet when he spoke

to her. Sir Griffin swore to himself that he wasn't going to be treated that way. He'd have her, by George!

There are men in whose love a good deal of hatred is mixedwho love as the huntsman loves the fox,

towards the killing of which he intends to use all his energies and intellects. Mrs Carbuncle, who did not

quite understand the sort of persistency by which a Sir Griffin can be possessed, feared greatly that Lucinda

was about to lose her prize, and spoke out accordingly. ``Will you, then, just have the kindness to tell me

``Just where I am going now!'' said Lucinda. By which it may be feared that she indicated a place to which

``No I don't. I like hunting because, perhaps, some day I may break my neck. It's no use your looking like

that, Aunt Jane. I know what it all means. If I could break my neck it would be the best thing for me.''

``If you'll accept Sir Griffin, and just get a home round yourself, you'll find that everything will be happy. It

all comes from the dreadful uncertainty. Do you think I have suffered nothing? Carbuncle is always

threatening that he'll go back to New York, and as for Lord George, he treats me that way I'm sometimes

``It's all very well to say, why should I care for him. I don't care for him, only one doesn't want to quarrel

``Between it all, I don't know which way to be turning. And now, when there's this great opening for you, you

``I tell you you'll never have such another chance. Good looks isn't everything. You've never a word to say to

anybody; and when a man does come near you, you're as savage and cross as a bear.''

``What with your hatings and dislikings, one would suppose you didn't think God Almighty made men at all.''

``He made some of 'em very bad,'' said Lucinda. ``As for some others, they're only half made. What can Sir

``Then if I were a man, I should wish not to be a gentleman, that's all. I'd a deal sooner marry a man like that

huntsman, who has something to do and knows how to do it.'' Again she said, ``Don't worry any more, Aunt

Jane. It doesn't do any good. It seems to me that to make myself Sir Griffin's wife would be impossible; but

I'm sure your talking won't do it.'' Then her aunt left her, and, having met Lord George, at his bidding went

That was on the Friday afternoon. On the Saturday afternoon Sir Griffin, biding his time, found himself, in a

ride with Lucinda, sufficiently far from other horsemen for his purpose. He wasn't going to stand any more

nonsense. He was entitled to an answer, and he knew that he was entitled, by his rank and position, to a

favourable answer. Here was a girl who, as far as he knew, was without a shilling, of whose birth and

parentage nobody knew anything, who had nothing but her beauty to recommend hernothing but that and a

certain capacity for carrying herself in the world as he thought ladies should carry themselvesand she was

to give herself airs with him, and expect him to propose to her half a dozen times! By George!he had a

very good mind to go away and let her find out her mistake. And he would have done soonly that he was a

man who always liked to have all that he wanted. It was intolerable to him that anybody should refuse him

``Perhaps you will condescend to remember what I had the honour of saying to you as we rode into

``I had just been dragged out of a river, Sir Griffin, and I don't think any girl ought to be asked to remember

``ComeI will have an answer. When a man tells a lady that he admires her, and asks her to be his wife, he

has a right to an answer. Don't you think that in such circumstances a man has a right to expect an answer?''

Lucinda hesitated for a moment, and he was beginning again to remonstrate impatiently, when she altered her

tone, and replied to him seriously, ``In such circumstances a gentleman has a right to expect an answer.''

``Then give me one. I admire you above all the world, and I ask you to be my wife. I'm quite in earnest.''

``I know that you are in earnest, Sir Griffin. I would do neither you nor myself the wrong of supposing that it

Again she paused. ``You have a right to an answerof course; but it may be so difficult to give it. It seems

He now hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it might be better. Should she take him at his word there would be

no going back from it. But Lord George knew that he had proposed before. Lord George had learned this

from Mrs Carbuncle, and had shown that he knew it. And then, toohe had made up his mind about it. He

wanted her, and he meant to have her. ``It requires no more thinking with me, Lucinda. I'm not a man who

does things without thinking; and when I have thought I don't want to think again. There's my handwill

``I will,'' said Lucinda, putting her hand into his. He no sooner felt her assurance than his mind misgave him

that he had been precipitate, that he had been rash, and that she had taken advantage of him. After all, how

many things are there in the world more precious than a handsome girl. And she had never told him that she

``H'sh!here they all are.'' The hand was withdrawn, but not before both Mrs Carbuncle and Lady Eustace

Mrs Carbuncle, in her great anxiety, bided her time, keeping close to her niece. Perhaps she felt that if the

two were engaged, it might be well to keep the lovers separated for awhile, lest they should quarrel before the

engagement should have been so confirmed by the authority of friends as to be beyond the power of easy

annihilation. Lucinda rode quite demurely with the crowd. Sir Griffin remained near her, but without

speaking. Lizzie whispered to Lord George that there had been a proposal. Mrs Carbuncle sat in stately

dignity on her horse, as though there were nothing which at that moment especially engaged her attention. An

hour almost had passed before she was able to ask the important question, ``Wellwhat have you said to

``I suppose I was obliged. At any rate I did. You shall know one thing, Aunt Jane, at any rate, and I hope it

will make you comfortable. I hate a good many people; but of all the people in the world I hate Sir Griffin

``It shall be nonsense, if you please; but it's true. I shall have to lie to himbut there shall be no lying to you,

This was very grim, but Mrs Carbuncle quite understood that to persons situated in great difficulty things

might be grim. A certain amount of grimness must be endured. And she knew, too, that Lucinda was not a

girl to be driven without showing something of an intractable spirit in harness. Mrs Carbuncle had undertaken

the driving of Lucinda, and had been not altogether unsuccessful. The thing so necessary to be done was now

effected. Her niece was engaged to a man with a title, to a man reported to have a fortune, to a man of family,

and a man of the world. Now that the engagement was made, the girl could not go back from it, and it was for

Mrs Carbuncle to see that neither should Sir Griffin go back. Her first steps must be taken at once. The

engagement should be made known to all the party, and should be recognised by some word spoken between

herself and the lover. The word between herself and the lover must be the first thing. She herself, personally,

was not very fond of Sir Griffin; but on such an occasion as this she could smile and endure the bear. Sir

Griffin was a bearbut so also was Lucinda. ``The rabbits and hares All go in pairs; And likewise the bears

In couples agree.'' Mrs Carbuncle consoled herself with the song, and assured herself that it would all come

right. No doubt the shebears were not as civil to the hebears as the turtle doves are to each other. It was,

perhaps, her misfortune that her niece was not a turtle dove; but, such as she was, the best had been done for

her. ``Dear Sir Griffin,'' she said on the first available opportunity, not caring much for the crowd, and almost

desirous that her very words should be overheard, ``my darling girl has made me so happy by what she has

``Of course she would lose no time. She is the same to me as a daughter. I have no child of my own, and she

``I am sure of that. I have noticed how particular you are. I won't say a word of Lucinda's beauty. Men are

better judges of that than women: but for high, chivalrous spirit, for true principle and nobility, and what I

call downright worth, I don't think you will easily find her superior. And she is as true as steel.''

``A girl like that, Sir Griffin, does not give herself away easily. You will not like her the less for that now that

you are the possessor. She is very young, and has known my wish that she should not engage herself to

That the man was a bear was a matter of course, and bears probably do not themselves know how bearish

they are. Sir Griffin, no doubt, was unaware of the extent of his own rudeness. And his rudeness mattered but

little to Mrs Carbuncle, so long as he acknowledged the engagement. She had not expected a lover's raptures

from the one more than from the other. And was not there enough in the engagement to satisfy her? She

allowed, therefore, no cloud to cross her brow as she rode up alongside of Lord George. ``Sir Griffin has

proposed, and she has accepted him,'' she said in a whisper. She was not now desirous that anyone should

``I don't know about that, George. Sometimes I thought she would, and sometimes that she wouldn't. You

``I hope Griff will understand herthat's all. And now that the thing is settled, you'll not trouble me about it

any more. Their woes be on their own head. If they come to blows Lucinda will thrash him, I don't doubt. But

while it's simply a matter of temper and words, she won't find Tewett so easygoing as he looks.''

``Perhaps they will. There's no saying who may do well together. You and Carbuncle get on � merveille.

``Don't be too hard about settlements, or, maybe, he'll find a way of wriggling out. When a girl without a

shilling asks very much, the world supports a man for breaking his engagement. Let her pretend to be

``I haven't an idea. There never was a closer man about money. I believe he must have the bulk of the Tewett

``He owes me a little moneytwelve hundred or so, and I mean to have it. I suppose he is in debt, but not

``That's a fleabite. Let her keep it. You're in for it now, and you'd better say nothing about money. He has a

decent solicitor, and let him arrange about the settlements. And look here, Janeget it done as soon as you

On their way home Mrs Carbuncle was able to tell Lady Eustace. ``You know what has occurred?''

``Do you think I've got no eyes? Of course it was going to be. I knew that from the very moment Sir Griffin

``Oh, so useful, dear Lady Eustace! Not but what it must have come off anywhere, for there never was a man

``Not that girls ever really care about men now. They've got to be married, and they make the best of it. She's

``He will be very rich indeed. And they say he's such an excellent young man when you know him.''

``I daresay most young men are excellentwhen you come to know them. What does Lord George say?''

``He's in raptures. He is very much attached to Lucinda, you know.'' And so that affair was managed. They

hadn't been home a quarter of an hour before Frank Greystock was told. He asked Mrs Carbuncle about the

``Sir Griffin?'' suggested Frank. Mrs Carbuncle smiled and nodded her head. It was well that everybody

``So, miss, you've took him?'' said the joint abigail of the Carbuncle establishment that evening to the

younger of her two mistresses. Mrs Carbuncle had resolved that the thing should be quite public. ``Just

remember this,'' replied Lucinda, ``I don't want to have a word said to me on the subject.'' ``Only just to wish

you joy, miss.'' Lucinda turned round with a flash of anger at the girl. ``I don't want your wishing. That'll do. I

can manage by myself. I won't have you come near me if you can't hold your tongue when you're told.'' ``I

can hold my tongue as well as anybody,'' said the abigail with a toss of her head.

This happened after the party had separated for the evening. At dinner Sir Griffin had, of course, given

Lucinda his arm; but so he had always done since they had been at Portray. Lucinda hardly opened her mouth

at table, and had retreated to bed with a headache when the men, who on that day lingered a few minutes after

the ladies, went into the drawingroom. This Sir Griffin felt to be almost an affront, as there was a certain

process of farewell for the night which he had anticipated. If she was going to treat him like that, he would

cut up rough, and she should know it. ``Well, Griff, so it's all settled,'' said Lord George in the

``I'mif I ever knew such people in my life!'' said Sir Griffin. ``They don't seem to have an idea that a man's

``Such an affair as that never is private,'' said Lord George. ``The women take care of that. You don't suppose

``Of course you're game. Every man's game. Only some men are such bad game that they ain't worth

``And enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that she's about the handsomest girl out. As for me, I'd sooner have

the widow. I beg your pardon, Mr Greystock.'' Frank merely bowed. ``Simply, I mean, because she rides

``I don't mean that she shall hunt,'' said Sir Griffin. It will be seen, therefore, that the baronet made no real

On the following day, which was a Sunday, Sir Griffin having ascertained that Miss Roanoke did not intend

to go to church, stayed at home also. Mr Emilius had been engaged to preach at the nearest episcopal place of

worship, and the remainder of the party all went to hear him. Lizzie was very particular about her Bible and

Prayerbook, and Miss Macnulty wore a brighter ribbon on her bonnet than she had ever been known to

carry before. Lucinda, when she had heard of the arrangement, had protested to her aunt that she would not

go downstairs till they had all returned; but Mrs Carbuncle, fearing the anger of Sir Griffin, doubting

whether, in his anger, he might not escape them altogether, said a word or two which even Lucinda found to

be rational. ``As you have accepted him, you shouldn't avoid him, my dear. That is only making things worse

for the future. And then it's cowardly, is it not?'' No word that could have been spoken was more likely to be

As soon then as the wheels of the carriage were no longer heard grating upon the road, Lucinda, who had

been very careful in her dressso careful as to avoid all appearance of carewith slow majestic step

descended to a drawingroom which they were accustomed to use on mornings. It was probable that Sir

Griffin was smoking somewhere about the grounds, but it could not be her duty to go after him out of doors.

She would remain there, and, if he chose, he might come to her. There could be no ground of complaint on

his side if she allowed herself to be found in one of the ordinary sittingrooms of the house. In about half an

hour he sauntered upon the terrace, and flattened his nose against the window. She bowed and smiled to

himhating herself for smiling. It was perhaps the first time that she had endeavoured to put on a pleasant

face wherewithal to greet him. He said nothing then, but passed round the house, threw away the end of his

cigar, and entered the room. Whatever happened, she would not be a coward. The thing had to be done.

Seeing that she had accepted him on the previous day, had not run away in the night or taken poison, and had

come down to undergo the interview, she would undergo it at least with courage. What did it matter, even

though he should embrace her? It was her lot to undergo misery, and as she had not chosen to take poison, the

misery must be endured. She rose as he entered and gave him her hand. She had thought what she would do,

and was collected and dignified. He had not, and was very awkward. ``So you haven't gone to church, Sir

``I stayed to see you, my girl.'' A lover may call his lady love his girl, and do so very prettily. He may so use

the word that she will like it, and be grateful in her heart for the sweetness of the sound. But Sir Griffin did

``But you diddidn't you now?'' She shook her head, but there was something almost of playfulness in her

manner of doing it. ``Ah, but I know you did. And why shouldn't you speak out, now that we are to be man

and wife? I like a girl to speak out. I suppose if I want to be with you, you want as much to be with me; eh?''

``Come; do you love me? You have never said you loved me.'' Luckily perhaps for her he thought that the

best assurance of love was a kiss. She did not revolt, or attempt to struggle with him; but the hot blood flew

over her entire face, and her lips were very cold to his, and she almost trembled in his grasp. Sir Griffin was

not a man who could ever have been the adored of many women, but the instincts of his kind were strong

enough within him to make him feel that she did not return his embrace with passion. He had found her to be

very beautifulbut it seemed to him that she had never been so little beautiful as when thus pressed close to

On a sudden she made up her mind, and absolutely did kiss him. She would sooner have leaped at the

blackest, darkest, dirtiest river in the county. ``There,'' she said, ``that will do,'' gently extricating herself from

his arms. ``Some girls are different, I know; but you must take me as I am, Sir Griffinthat is if you do take

``And you do you love me?'' There was a pause, while she tried to swallow the lie. ``ComeI'm not going to

marry any girl who is ashamed to say that she loves me. I like a little flesh and blood. You do love me?''

``Yes,'' she said. The lie was told; and for the moment he had to be satisfied. But in his heart he didn't believe

her. It was all very well for her to say that she wasn't like other girls. Why shouldn't she be like other girls? It

might, no doubt, suit her to be made Lady Tewettbut he wouldn't make her Lady Tewett if she gave herself

airs with him. She should lie on his breast and swear that she loved him beyond all the worldor else she

should never be Lady Tewett. Different from other girls indeed! She should know that he was different from

other men. Then he asked her to come and take a walk about the grounds. To that she made no objection. She

But she was absent more than ten minutes. When she was alone she stood before her glass looking at herself,

and then she burst into tears. Never before had she been thus polluted. The embrace had disgusted her. It

made her odious to herself. And if this, the beginning of it, were so bad, how was she to drink the cup to the

bitter dregs? Other girls, she knew, were fond of their loverssome so fond of them that all moments of

absence were moments, if not of pain, at any rate of regret. To her as she stood there ready to tear herself

because of the vileness of her own condition, it now seemed as though no such love as that were possible to

her. For the sake of this man who was to be her husband, she hated all men. Was not everything around her

base, and mean, and sordid? She had understood thoroughly the quick divulgings of Mrs Carbuncle's tidings,

the working of her aunt's anxious mind. The man, now that he had been caught, was not to be allowed to

escape. But how great would be the boon if he would escape. How should she escape? And yet she knew that

she meant to go on and bear it all. Perhaps by study and due practice she might become as were some

othersa beast of prey, and nothing more. The feeling that had made these few minutes so inexpressibly

loathsome to her might, perhaps, be driven from her heart. She washed the tears from her eyes with savage

energy and descended to her lover with a veil fastened closely under her hat. ``I hope I haven't kept you

``It is not so with me, I can assure you. I will tell you the truth. I was agitatedand I cried.''

``Oh, ay; I daresay.'' He rather liked the idea of having reduced the haughty Lucinda to tears. ``But you

needn't have been ashamed of my seeing it. As it is I can see nothing. You must take that off presently.''

``Not now, Griffin.'' Oh, what a name it was. It seemed to blister her tongue as she used it without the usual

``I never saw you tied up in that way before. You don't do it out hunting. I've seen you when the snow has

``Upon my word I don't quite understand you,'' said Sir Griffin. ``Look here, Lucinda, if you want to back out

``If you ask me again I will.'' This was said with the old savage voice, and it at once reduced Sir Griffin to

thraldom. To be rejected now would be the death of him. And should there come a quarrel he was sure that it

``I suppose it's all right,'' he said, ``only when a man is only thinking how he can make you happy, he doesn't

like to find nothing but crying.'' After this there was but little more said between them, before they returned to

On the Monday Frank took his departure. Everybody at the castle had liked him except Sir Griffin, who,

when he had gone, remarked to Lucinda that he was an insufferable legal prig, and one of those chaps who

think themselves somebody because they are in Parliament. Lucinda had liked Frank, and said so very boldly.

``I see what it is,'' replied Sir Griffin, ``you always like the people I don't.'' When he was going, Lizzie left

her hand in his for a moment, and gave one look up into his eyes. ``When is Lucy to be made blessed?'' she

asked. ``I don't know that Lucy will ever be made blessed,'' he replied, ``but I am sure I hope she will.'' Not a

After that Mrs Carbuncle and Lucinda remained at Portray Castle till after Christmas, greatly overstaying the

original time fixed for their visit. Lord George and Sir Griffin went and returned, and went again and returned

again. There was much hunting and a great many love passages, which need not be recorded here. More than

once during these six or seven weeks there arose a quarrel, bitter, loud, and pronounced, between Sir Griffin

and Lucinda; but Lord George and Mrs Carbuncle between them managed to throw oil upon the waters, and

when Christmas came the engagement was still an engagement. The absolute suggestion that it should be

broken, and abandoned, and thrown to the winds, always came from Lucinda; and Sir Griffin, when he found

that Lucinda was in earnest, would again be moved by his old desires, and would determine that he would

have the thing he wanted. Once he behaved with such coarse brutality that nothing but an abject apology

would serve the turn. He made the abject apology, and after that became conscious that his wings were

clipped, and that he must do as he was bidden. Lord George took him away, and brought him back again, and

blew him upand at last, under pressure from Mrs Carbuncle, made him consent to the fixing of a day. The

marriage was to take place during the first week in April. When the party moved from Portray, he was to go

up to London and see his lawyer. Settlements were to be arranged, and something was to be fixed as to future

In the midst of all this Lucinda was passive as regarded the making of the arrangements, but very

troublesome to those around her as to her immediate mode of life. Even to Lady Eustace she was curt and

uncivil. To her aunt she was at times ferocious. She told Lord George more than once to his face that he was

hurrying her to perdition. ``What the d is it you want?'' Lord George said to her. ``Not to be married to this

man.'' ``But you have accepted him. I didn't ask you to take him. You don't want to go into a workhouse, I

suppose?'' Then she rode so hard that all the Ayrshire lairds were startled out of their propriety, and there was

a general fear that she would meet some terrible accident. And Lizzie, instigated by jealousy, learned to ride

as hard, and as they rode against each other every day, there was a turmoil in the hunt. Morgan, scratching his

head, declared that he had known ``drunken rampaging men'', but had never seen ladies so wicked. Lizzie did

come down rather badly at one wall, and Lucinda got herself jammed against a gatepost. But when Christmas

was come and gone, and Portray Castle had been left empty, no very bad accident had occurred.

A great friendship had sprung up between Mrs Carbuncle and Lizzie, so that both had become very

communicative. Whether both or either had been candid may, perhaps, be doubted. Mrs Carbuncle had been

quite confidential in discussing with her friend the dangerous varieties of Lucinda's humours, and the

dreadful aversion which she still seemed to entertain for Sir Griffin. But then these humours and this aversion

were so visible, that they could not well be concealedand what can be the use of confidential

communications if things are kept back which the confidante would see even if they were not told? ``She

``I suppose so,'' said Lizzie, wondering at such a phenomenon in female nature. But, with this fact understood

between them to be a factnamely, that Lucinda would be sure to hate any man whom she might

``With her good looks, it would be out of the question that she shouldn't be married.''

``And I really don't see how she's to do better. It's her nature, you know. I have had enough of it, I can tell

you. And at the pension, near Paris, they couldn't break her in at all. Nobody ever could break her in. You see

``Wellthat, or the other thing, you know.'' But there was no doubt about thiswhoever might break or be

broken, the marriage must go on. ``If you don't persevere with one like her, Lady Eustace, nothing can be

done.'' Lizzie quite concurred. What did it matter to her who should break, or who be broken, if she could

only sail her own little bark without dashing it on the rocks? Rocks there were. She didn't quite know what to

make of Lord George, who certainly was a Corsairwho had said some very pretty things to her, quite � la

Corsair. But in the meantime, from certain rumours that she heard, she believed that Frank had given up, or at

least, was intending to give up, the little chit who was living with Lady Linlithgow. There had been

something of a quarrelso, at least, she had heard through Miss Macnulty, with whom Lady Linlithgow still

occasionally corresponded in spite of their former breaches. From Frank Lizzie heard repeatedly, but Frank in

his letters never mentioned the name of Lucy Morris. Now, if there should be a division between Frank and

Lucy, then, she thought, Frank would muntioned theAnd if so, for a permanent holding rock of protection in

Lizzie and Mrs Carbuncle had quite come to understand each other comfortably about money. It suited Mrs

Carbuncle very well to remain at Portray. It was no longer necessary that she should carry Lucinda about in

search of game to be run down. The one head of game needed had been run down, such as it wasnot,

indeed, a very noble stag; but the stag had been accepted; and a home for herself and her niece, which should

have about it a sufficient air of fashion to satisfy public opinionout of Londonbetter still, in Scotland,

belonging to a person with a title, enjoying the appurtenances of wealth, and one to which Lord George and

Sir Griffin could have accesswas very desirable. But it was out of the question that Lady Eustace should

bear all the expense. Mrs Carbuncle undertook to find the stables, and did pay for that rick of hay and for the

cartload of forage which had made Lizzie's heart quake as she saw it dragged up the hill towards her own

granaries. It is very comfortable when all these things are clearly understood. Early in January they were all

to go back to London. Then for a whileup to the period of Lucinda's marriageLizzie was to be Mrs

Carbuncle's guest at the small house in Mayfairbut Lizzie was to keep the carriage. There came at last to

be some little attempt, perhaps, at a hard bargain at the hand of each lady, in which Mrs Carbuncle, as the

elder, probably got the advantage. There was a question about the liveries in London. The footman there must

appertain to Mrs Carbuncle, whereas the coachman would as necessarily be one of Lizzie's retainers. Mrs

Carbuncle assented at last to finding the double liverybut, like a prudent woman, arranged to get her quid

pro quo. ``You can add something, you know, to the present you'll have to give Lucinda. Lucinda shall

choose something up to forty pounds.'' ``We'll say thirty,'' said Lizzie, who was beginning to know the value

of money. ``Split the difference,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, with a pleasant little burst of laughterand the

difference was split. That the very neat and even dandified appearance of the groom who rode out hunting

with them should be provided at the expense of Mrs Carbuncle was quite understood; but it was equally well

understood that Lizzie was to provide the horse on which he rode on every third day. It adds greatly to the

Mr Emilius remained longer than had been anticipated, and did not go till Lord George and Sir Griffin took

their departure. It was observed that he never spoke of his wife; and yet Mrs Carbuncle was almost sure that

she had heard of such a lady. He had made himself very agreeable, and was, either by art or nature, a

courteous manone who paid compliments to ladies. It was true, however, that he sometimes startled his

hearers by things which might have been considered to border on coarseness if they had not been said by a

clergyman. Lizzie had an idea that he intended to marry Miss Macnulty. And Miss Macnulty certainly

received his attentions with pleasure. In these circumstances his prolonged stay at the castle was not

questionedbut when towards the end of November Lord George and Sir Griffin took their departure, he

On the great subject of the diamonds Lizzie had spoken her mind freely to Mrs Carbuncle early in the days of

their friendshipimmediately, that is, after the bargainings had been completed. ``Ten thousand pounds!''

ejaculated Mrs Carbuncle, opening wide her eyes. Lizzie nodded her head thrice, in token of reiterated

assurance. ``Do you mean that you really know their value?'' The ladies at this time were closeted together,

``Ah, if you had but known him!'' said Lizzie, just touching her eye with her handkerchief.

``I daresay. And now the people claim them. I'm not a bit surprised at that, my dear. I should have thought a

man couldn't give away so much as thatnot just as one makes a present that costs forty or fifty pounds.''

Mrs Carbuncle could not resist the opportunity of showing that she did not think so very much of that coming

``That's what they say. And they say ever so many other things besides. They mean to prove that it's

``But it isn't. My cousin Frank, who knows more about law than any other man in London, says that they

can't make a necklace an heirloom. If it was a brooch or a ring it would be different. I don't quite understand

``It's a pity Sir Florian didn't say something about it in his will,'' suggested Mrs Carbuncle.

``But he didat least, not just about the necklace.'' Then Lady Eustace explained the nature of her late

husband's will, as far as it regarded chattels to be found in the Castle of Portray at the time of his death; and

added the fiction, which had now become common to her, as to the necklace having been given to her in

``Because there are so many accidents. A woman should be very rich indeed before she allows herself to walk

about with ten thousand pounds upon her shoulders. Suppose somebody broke into the house and stole them.

And if they were sold, my dear, so that some got to Paris, and others to St Petersburg, and others to New

York, they'd have to give it up then.'' Before the discussion was over, Lizzie tripped upstairs and brought the

necklace down, and put it on Mrs Carbuncle's neck. ``I shouldn't like to have such property in my house, my

dear,'' continued Mrs Carbuncle. ``Of course, diamonds are very nice. Nothing is so nice. And if a person had

``But they should be at the bank, or at the jewellers, or somewhere quitequite safe. People might steal the

case and all. If I were you, I should sell them.'' It was explained to Mrs Carbuncle on that occasion that Lizzie

had brought them down with her in the train from London, and that she intended to take them back in the

same way. ``There's nothing the thieves would find easier than to steal them on the way,'' said Mrs Carbuncle.

It was some days after this that there came down to her by post some terribly frightful documents, which

were the first results, as far as she was concerned, of the filing of a bill in Chancerywhich hostile

proceeding was, in truth, effected by the unaided energy of Mr Camperdown, although Mr Camperdown put

himself forward simply as an instrument used by the trustees of the Eustace property. Within eight days she

was to enter an appearance, or go through some preliminary ceremony, towards showing why she should not

surrender her diamonds to the Lord Chancellor, or to one of those satraps of his, the ViceChancellors, or to

some other terrible myrmidon. Mr Camperdown in his letter explained that the service of this document upon

her in Scotland would amount to nothingeven were he to send it down by a messenger; but that, no doubt,

she would send it to her attorney, who would see the expedience of avoiding exposure by accepting the

service. Of all which explanation Lizzie did not understand one word. Messrs Camperdowns' letter and the

document which it contained did frighten her considerably, although the matter had been discussed so often

that she had accustomed herself to declare that no such bugbears as that should have any influence on her.

She had asked Frank whether, in the event of such missiles reaching her, she might send them to him. He had

told her that they should be at once placed in the hands of her attorneyand consequently she now sent them

to Messrs Mowbray and Mopus, with a very short note from herself. ``Lady Eustace presents her

compliments to Messrs Mowbray and Mopus, and encloses some papers she has received about her

diamonds. They are her own diamonds, given to her by her late husband. Please do what is proper, but Mr

She had, no doubt, allowed herself to hope that no further steps would be taken in the matter; and the very

name of the ViceChancellor did for a few hours chill the blood at her heart. In those few hours she almost

longed to throw the necklace into the sea, feeling sure that, if the diamonds were absolutely lost, there must

be altogether an end of the matter. But, by degrees, her courage returned to her, as she remembered that her

cousin had told her that, as far as he could see, the necklace was legally her own. Her cousin had, of course,

been deceived by the lies which she had repeated to him; but lies which had been efficacious with him might

be efficacious with others. Who could prove that Sir Florian had not taken the diamonds to Scotland, and

She told Mrs Carbuncle of the missiles which had been hurled at her from the London courts of law, and Mrs

Carbuncle evidently thought that the diamonds were as good as gone. ``Then I suppose you can't sell them?''

``Yes I couldI could sell them tomorrow. What is to hinder me? Suppose I took them to jewellers in Paris.''

``I didn't steal them,'' said Lizzie; ``they're my very own. Frank says that nobody can take them away from

me. Why shouldn't a man give his wife a diamond necklace as well as a diamond ring? That's what I can't

understand. What may he give her so that men shan't come and worry her life out of her in this way? As for

an heirloom, anybody who knows anything, knows that it can't be an heirloom. A pot or a pan may be an

heirloombut a diamond necklace cannot be an heirloom. Everybody knows that, that knows anything.''

``I daresay it will all come right,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, who did not in the least believe Lizzie's law about the

In the first week in January Lord George and Sir Griffin returned to the castle with the view of travelling up

to London with the three ladies. This arrangement was partly thrown over by circumstances, as Sir Griffin

was pleased to leave Portray two days before the others and to travel by himself. There was a bitter quarrel

between Lucinda and her lover, and it was understood afterwards by Lady Eustace that Sir Griffin had had a

few words with Lord Georgebut what those few words were, she never quite knew. There was no open

rupture between the two gentlemen, but Sir Griffin showed his displeasure to the ladies, who were more

likely to bear patiently his illhumour in the present circumstances than was Lord George. When a man has

shown himself to be so far amenable feminine authority as to have put himself in the way of matrimony,

ladies will bear a great deal from him. There was nothing which Mrs Carbuncle would not endure from Sir

Griffinjust at present; and, on behalf of Mrs Carbuncle, even Lizzie was longsuffering. It cannot,

however, be said that this Petruchio had as yet tamed his own peculiar shrew. Lucinda was as savage as ever,

and would snap and snarl, and almost bite. Sir Griffin would snarl too, and say very bearish things. But when

it came to the point of actual quarrelling, he would become sullen, and in his sullenness would yield.

``I don't see why Carruthers should have it all his own way,'' he said, one hunting morning, to Lucinda.

``I don't care twopence who have their way,'' said Lucinda, ``I mean to have minethat's all.''

``I'm not speaking about you. I call it downright interference on his part. And I do think you give way to him.

``That's a pity,'' said Sir Griffin, ``considering that I shall have to suggest so many things that you will have to

Mrs Carbuncle came up during the quarrel, meaning to throw oil upon the waters. ``What children you are!''

she said laughing. ``As if each of you won't have to do what the other suggests.''

``Mrs Carbuncle,'' began Sir Griffin, ``if you will have the great kindness not to endeavour to teach me what

my conduct should be now or at any future time, I shall take it as a kindness.''

``Lady Eustace, if Mrs Carbuncle interferes with me, I shall quarrel with her. I have borne a great deal more

of this kind of thing than I like. I'm not going to be told this and told that because Mrs Carbuncle happens to

be the aunt of the future Lady Tewettif it should come to that. I'm not going to marry a whole family; and

the less I have of this kind of thing the more likely it is that I shall come up to scratch when the time is up.''

Then Lucinda rose and spoke. ``Sir Griffin Tewett,'' she said, ``there is not the slightest necessity that you

should come up`to scratch'. I wonder that I have not as yet been able to make you understand that if it will

suit your convenience to break off our match, it will not in the least interfere with mine. And let me tell you

this, Sir Griffinthat any repetition of your unkindness to my aunt will make me utterly refuse to see you

``If I stand that I'll be'' said Sir Griffin, leaving the room. And he left the castle, sleeping that night at the

inn at Kilmarnock. The day, however, was passed in hunting; and though he said nothing to either of the three

ladies, it was understood by them as they returned to Portray that there was to be no quarrel. Lord George and

Sir Griffin had discussed the matter, and Lord George took upon himself to say that there was no quarrel. On

the morning but one following, there came a note from Sir Griffin to Lucindajust as they were leaving

home for their journey up to Londonin which Sir Griffin expressed his regret if he had said anything

Something as to the jewels had been told to Lord Georgethis was quite necessary, as Lord George intended

to travel with the ladies from Portray to London. Of course, he had heard of the diamondsas who had not?

He had heard too of Lord Fawn, and knew why it was that Lord Fawn had peremptorily refused to carry out

his engagement. But, till he was told by Mrs Carbuncle, he did not know that the diamonds were then kept

within the castle, nor did he understand that it would be part of his duty to guard them on their way back to

London. ``They are worth ever so much; ain't they?'' he said to Mrs Carbuncle, when she first gave him the

Lord George owned to himself that such a necklace was worth havingas also, no doubt, were Portray

Castle and the income arising from the estate, even though they could be held in possession only for a single

life. Hitherto in his very chequered career he had escaped the trammels of matrimony, and among his many

modes of life had hardly even suggested to himself the expediency of taking a wife with a fortune, and then

settling down for the future, if submissively, still comfortably. To say that he had never looked forward to

such a marriage as a possible future arrangement, would probably be incorrect. To men such as Lord George

it is too easy a result of a career to be altogether banished from the mind. But no attempt had ever yet been

made, nor had any special lady ever been so far honoured in his thoughts as to be connected in them with any

vague ideas which he might have formed on the subject. But now it did occur to him that Portray Castle was a

place in which he could pass two or three months annually without ennui. And that if he were to marry, little

Lizzie Eustace would do as well as any other woman with money whom he might chance to meet. He did not

say all this to anybody, and therefore cannot be accused of vanity. He was the last man in the world to speak

on such a subject to anyone. And as our Lizzie certainly bestowed upon him many of her smiles, much of her

poetry, and some of her confidence, it cannot be said that he was not justified in his views. But then she was

such an``infernal little liar''. Lord George was quite able to discover so much of her.

On the morning of their departure the box with the diamonds was brought down into the hall just as they were

about to depart. The tall London footman again brought it down, and deposited it on one of the oak

hallchairs, as though it were a thing so heavy that he could hardly stagger along with it. How Lizzie did hate

the man as she watched him, and regret that she had not attempted to carry it down herself. She had been with

her diamonds that morning, and had seen them out of the box and into it. Few days passed on which she did

not handle them and gaze at them. Mrs Carbuncle had suggested that the box, with all her diamonds in it,

might be stolen from herand as she thought of this her heart almost sank within her. When she had them

once again in London she would take some steps to relieve herself from this embarrassment of carrying about

with her so great a burthen of care. The man, with a vehement show of exertion, deposited the box on a chair,

and then groaned aloud. Lizzie knew very well that she could life the box by her own unaided exertions, and

``Supposing somebody were to steal that on the way,'' said Lord George to her, not in his pleasantest tone.

``I don't think it would make me a bit unhappy. You've heard about it all. There never was such a persecution.

I often say that I should be well pleased to take the bauble and fling it into the ocean waves.''

``And what better would you be? Such things are all vanity and vexation of spirit. I hate the shining thing.''

It had been arranged that the party should sleep at Carlisle. It consisted of Lord George, the three ladies, the

tall man servant, Lord George's own man, and the two maids. Miss Macnulty, with the heir and the nurses,

were to remain at Portray for yet a while longer. The iron box was again put into the carriage; and was used

by Lizzie as a footstool. This might have been very well, had there been no necessity for changing their train.

At Troon the porter behaved well, and did not struggle much as he carried it from the carriage on to the

platform. But at Kilmarnock, where they met the train from Glasgow, the big footman interfered again, and

the scene was performed under the eyes of a crowd of people. It seemed to Lizzie that Lord George almost

encouraged the struggling, as though he were in league with the footman to annoy her. But there was no

further change between Kilmarnock and Carlisle, and they managed to make themselves very comfortable.

Lunch had been providedfor Mrs Carbuncle was a woman who cared for such things, and Lord George

also liked a glass of champagne in the middle of the day. Lizzie professed to be perfectly indifferent on such

matters; but nevertheless she enjoyed her lunch, and allowed Lord George to press upon her a second, and

perhaps a portion of a third glass of wine. Even Lucinda was roused up from her general state of apathy, and

During this journey to Carlisle Lizzie Eustace almost made up her mind that Lord George was the very

Corsair she had been expecting ever since she had mastered Lord Byron's great poem. He had a way of doing

things and of saying things, of proclaiming himself to be master, and at the same time of making himself

thoroughly agreeable to his dependantsand especially to the one dependant whom he most honoured at the

timewhich exactly suited Lizzie's ideas of what a man should be. And then he possessed that utter

indifference to all conventions and laws, which is the great prerogative of Corsairs. He had no reverence for

aught divine or humanwhich is a great thing. The Queen and Parliament, the bench of bishops, and even

the police, were to him just so many fungi and parasites, and noxious vapours, and false hypocrites. Such

were the names by which he ventured to call these bugbears of the world. It was so delightful to live with a

man who himself had a title of his own but who could speak of dukes and marquises as being quite

despicable by reason of their absurd position. And as they became gay and free after their luncheon he

expressed almost as much contempt for honesty as for dukes, and showed clearly that he regarded matrimony

and marquises to be equally vain and useless. ``How dare you say such things in our hearing!'' exclaimed Mrs

``I assert that if men and women were really true, no vows would be neededand if no vows, then no

``Nor I,'' said the Corsair. ``Who can believe that a woman will always love her husband because she swears

``But women must marry,'' said Lizzie. The Corsair declared freely that he did not see any such necessity.

And then, though it could hardly be said that this Corsair was a handsome man, still he had fine Corsair's

eyes, full of expression and determination, eyes that could look love and bloodshed almost at the same time;

and then he had those manly propertiespower, bigness, and apparent boldnesswhich belong to a Corsair.

To be hurried about the world by such a man, treated sometimes with crushing severity, and at others with the

tenderest love, not to be spoken to for one fortnight, and then to be embraced perpetually for another, to be

cast every now and then into some abyss of despair by his rashness, and then raised to a pinnacle of human

joy by his couragethat, thought Lizzie, would be the kind of life which would suit her poetical

temperament. But then, how would it be with her, if the Corsair were to take to hurrying about the world

without carrying her with himand were to do so always at her expense! perhaps he might hurry about the

world and take somebody else with him. Medora, if Lizzie remembered rightly, had had no jointure or private

fortune. But yet a woman must risk something if the spirit of poetry is to be allowed any play at all! ``And

now these weary diamonds again,'' said Lord George, as the carriage was stopped against the Carlisle

``I wish you'd let the man put the box in yoursjust for this night,'' said Lizzie.

``Nonot if I know it,'' said Lord George. And then he explained. Such property would be quite as liable to

be stolen when in his custody as it would in hersbut if stolen while in his would entail upon him a grievous

vexation which would by no means lessen the effect of her loss. She did not understand him, but finding that

he was quite in earnest she directed that the box should be again taken to her own chamber. Lord George

suggested that it should be entrusted to the landlord; and for a moment or two Lizzie submitted to the idea.

But she stood for that moment thinking of it, and then decided that the box should go to her own room.

``There's no knowing what that Mr Camperdown mightn't do,'' she whispered to Lord George. The porter and

the tall footman, between them, staggered along under their load, and the iron box was again deposited in the

The evening at Carlisle was spent very pleasantly. The ladies agreed that they would not dressbut of course

they did so with more or less of care. Lizzie made herself to look very pretty, though the skirt of the gown in

which she came down was that which she had worn during the journey. Pointing this out with much triumph,

she accused Mrs Carbuncle and Lucinda of great treachery, in that they had not adhered to any vestige of

their travelling raiment. But the rancour was not vehement, and the evening was passed pleasantly. Lord

George was infinitely petted by the three Houris around him, and Lizzie called him a Corsair to his face.

``What a pity Sir Griffin isn't here,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, ``that we might call him the Giaour.'' Lucinda

shuddered, without an attempt at concealing her shudder. ``That's all very well, Lucinda, but I think Sir

``I wonder what Sir Griffin would say if he was to hear this!'' said Lord George.

Late in the evening Lord George strolled out, and of course the ladies discussed his character in his absence.

Mrs Carbuncle declared that he was the soul of honour. In regard to her own feeling for him, she averred that

no woman had ever had a truer friend. Any other sentiment was of course out of the questionfor was she

not a married woman? Had it not been for that accident, Mrs Carbuncle really thought that she could have

given her heart to Lord George. Lucinda declared that she always regarded him as a kind of supplementary

father. ``I suppose he is a year or two older than Sir Griffin,'' said Lizzie. ``Lady Eustace, why should you

make me unhappy?'' said Lucinda. Then Mrs Carbuncle explained, that whereas Sir Griffin was not yet thirty,

Lord George was over forty. ``All I can say is, he doesn't look it,'' urged Lady Eustace enthusiastically.

``Those sort of men never do,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. Lord George, when he returned, was greeted with an

allusion to angels' wingsand would have been a good deal spoilt among them were it in the nature of such

an article to receive injury. As soon as the clock had struck ten the ladies all went away to their beds.

Lizzie, when she was in her own room, of course found her maid waiting for her. It was necessarily part of

the religion of such a woman as Lizzie Eustace that she could not go to bed, or change her clothes, or get up

in the morning, without the assistance of her own young woman. She would not like to have it thought that

she could stick a pin into her own belongings without such assistance. Nevertheless it was often the case with

her that she was anxious to get rid of her girl's attendance. It had been so on this morning, and before dinner,

and was so now again. She was secret in her movements, and always had some recess in her boxes and bags

and dressing apparatuses to which she did not choose that Miss Patience Crabstick should have access. She

was careful about her letters, and very careful about her money. And then as to that iron box in which the

diamonds were kept! Patience Crabstick had never yet seen the inside of it. Moreover, it may be saideither

on Lizzie's behalf or to her discredit, as the reader may be pleased to take itthat she was quite able to dress

herself, to brush her own hair, to take off her own clothes; and that she was not, either by nature or education,

an incapable young woman. But that honour and glory demanded it, she would almost as lief have had no

Patience Crabstick to pry into her most private matters. All which Crabstick knew, and would often declare

her missus to be ``of all missusses the most slyest and least comeatable''. On this present night she was

very soon despatched to her own chamber. Lizzie, however, took one careful look at the iron box before the

Crabstick, on this occasion, had not far to go to seek her own couch. Alongside of Lizzie's larger chamber

there was a small rooma dressingroom with a bed in it, which, for this night, was devoted to Crabstick's

accommodation. Of course, she departed from attendance on her mistress by the door which opened from the

one room to the other; but this had no sooner been closed than Crabstick descended to complete the

amusements of the evening. Lizzie, when she was alone, bolted both the doors on the inside, and then quickly

retired to rest. Some short prayer she said, with her knees close to the iron box. Then she put certain articles

of property under her pillowher watch and chain, and the rings from her fingers, and a packet which she

had drawn from her travellingdeskand was soon in bed, thinking that, as she fell away to sleep, she would

revolve in her mind that question of the Corsairwould it be good to trust herself and all her belongings to

one who might perhaps take her belongings away, but leave herself behind? The subject was not unpleasant,

It was, perhaps, about two in the morning when a man, very efficient at the trade which he was then

following, knelt outside Lady Eustace's door, and, with a delicatelymade saw, aided, probably, by some

other equally wellfinished tools, absolutely cut out that portion of the bedroom door on which the bolt was

fastened. He must have known the spot exactly, for he did not doubt a moment as he commenced his work;

and yet there was nothing on the exterior of the door to show where the bolt was placed. The bit was cut out

without the slightest noise, and then, when the door was opened, was placed, just inside, upon the floor. The

man then with perfectly noiseless step entered the room, knelt againjust where poor Lizzie had knelt as she

said her prayersso that he might the more easily raise the iron box without a struggle, and left the room

with it in his arms without disturbing the lovely sleeper. He then descended the stairs, passed into the

coffeeroom at the bottom of them, and handed the box through an open window to a man who was

crouching on the outside in the dark. He then followed the box, pulled down the window, put on a pair of

boots which his friend had ready for him; and the two, after lingering a few moments in the shade of the dark

wall, retreated with their prize round a corner. The night itself was almost pitchdark, and very wet. It was as

nearly black with darkness as a night can be. So far, the enterprising adventurers had been successful, and we

will now leave them in their chosen retreat, engaged on the longer operation of forcing open the iron safe. For

it had been arranged between them that the iron safe should be opened then and there. Though the weight to

him who had taken it out of Lizzie's room had not been oppressive, as it had oppressed the tall servingman,

it might still have been an encumbrance to gentlemen intending to travel by railway with as little observation

as possible. They were, however, well supplied with tools, and we will leave them at their work.

On the next morning Lizzie was awakened earlier than she had expected, and found, not only Patience

Crabstick in her bedroom, but also a chambermaid, and the wife of the manager of the hotel. The story was

soon told to her. Her room had been broken open, and her treasure was gone. The party had intended to

breakfast at their leisure, and proceed to London by a train leaving Carlisle in the middle of the day; but they

were soon disturbed from their rest. Lady Eustace had hardly time to get her slippers on her feet, and to wrap

herself in her dressinggown, to get rid of her dishevelled nightcap, and make herself just fit for public view,

before the manager of the hotel, and Lord George, and the tall footman, and the boots were in her bedroom. It

was too plainly manifest to them all that the diamonds were gone. The superintendent of the Carlisle police

was there almost as soon as the othersand following him very quickly came the important gentleman who

Lizzie, when she first heard the news, was awestruck, rather than outwardly demonstrative of grief. ``There

has been a regular plot,'' said Lord George. Captain Fitzmaurice, the gallant chief, nodded his head. ``Plot

enough,'' said the superintendentwho did not mean to confide his thoughts to any man, or to exempt any

human being from his suspicion. The manager of the hotel was very angry, and at first did not restrain his

anger. Did not everybody know that if articles of value were brought into an hotel they should be handed over

to the safe keeping of the manager? He almost seemed to think that Lizzie had stolen her own box of

diamonds. ``My dear fellow,'' said Lord George, ``nobody is saying a word against you, or your house.''

``Lady Eustace is not blaming you, and do not you blame anybody else,'' said Lord George. ``Let the police

At last the men retreated, and Lizzie was left with Patience and Mrs Carbuncle. But even then she did not

give way to her grief, but sat upon the bed awe struck, and mute. ``Perhaps I had better get dressed,'' she said

``I feared how it might be,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, holding Lizzie's hand affectionately.

``Hold your tongue!'' said Lizzie angrily. ``I suppose the police will do the best they can, Mrs Carbuncle?''

``I think I'll lie down again for a little while,'' said Lizzie. ``I feel so sick I hardly know what to do. If I were

to lie down for a little I should lie better.'' With much difficulty she got them to leave her. Then, before she

again undressed herself, she bolted the door that still had a bolt, and turned the lock in the other. Having done

this, she took out from under her pillow the little parcel which had been in her deskand, untying it,

The enterprising adventurers had, indeed, stolen the iron case, but they had stolen nothing else. The reader

must not suppose that because Lizzie had preserved her jewels, she was therefore a consenting party to the

abstraction of the box. The theft had been a genuine theft, planned with great skill, carried out with much

ingenuity, one in the perpetration of which money had been spenta theft which for a while baffled the

police of England, and which was supposed to be very creditable to those who had been engaged in it. But the

Lizzie's silence when the abstraction of the box was made known to herher silence as to the fact that the

necklace was at that moment within the grasp of her own fingerswas not at first the effect of deliberate

fraud. She was ashamed to tell them that she brought the box empty from Portray, having the diamonds in her

own keeping because she had feared that the box might be stolen. And then it occurred to her, quick as

thought could flash, that it might be well that Mr Camperdown should be made to believe that they had been

stolen. And so she kept her secret. The reflections of the next halfhour told her how very great would now

be her difficulties. But, as she had not disclosed the truth at first, she could hardly disclose it now.

When we left Lady Eustace alone in her bedroom at the Carlisle hotel after the discovery of the robbery, she

had very many cares upon her mind. The necklace was, indeed, safe under her pillow in the bed; but when all

the people were around herher own friends, and the police, and they who were concerned with the

innshe had not told them that it was so, but had allowed them to leave her with the belief that the diamonds

had gone with the box. Even at this moment, as she knew well, steps were being taken to discover the thieves,

and to make public the circumstances of the robbery. Already, no doubt, the fact that her chamber had been

entered in the night, and her jewelbox withdrawn, was known to the London police officers. In such

circumstances how could she now tell the truth? But it might be that already had the thieves been taken. In

that case would not the truth be known, even though she should not tell it? Then she thought for a while that

she would get rid of the diamonds altogether, so that no one should know aught of them. If she could only

think of a place fit for such purpose she would so hide them that no human ingenuity could discover them.

Let the thieves say what they might, her word would, in such case, be better than that of the thieves. She

would declare that the jewels had been in the box when the box was taken. The thieves would swear that the

box had been empty. She would appeal to the absence of the diamonds, and the thieveswho would be

known as thieveswould be supposed, even by their own friends and associates, to have disposed of the

diamonds before they had been taken. There would be a mystery in all this, and a cunning cleverness, the idea

of which had in itself a certain charm for Lizzie Eustace. She would have all the world at a loss. Mr

Camperdown could do nothing further to harass her; and would have been, so far, overcome. She would be

saved from the feeling of public defeat in the affair of the necklace, which would be very dreadful to her.

Lord Fawn might probably be again at her feet. And in all the fuss and rumour which such an affair would

make in London, there would be nothing of which she need be ashamed. She liked the idea, and she had

But what should she do with it? It was, at this moment, between her fingers beneath the pillow. If she were

mindedand she thought she was so mindedto get rid of it altogether, the sea would be the place. Could

she make up her mind absolutely to destroy so large a property, it would be best for her to have recourse to

``her own broad waves'', as she called them even to herself. It was within the ``friendly depths of her own

rockgirt ocean'' that she should find a grave for her great trouble. But now her back was to the sea, and she

could hardly insist on returning to Portray without exciting a suspicion that might be fatal to her.

And then might it not be possible to get altogether quit of the diamonds and yet to retain the power of future

possession? She knew that she was running into debt, and that money would, some day, be much needed. Her

acquaintance with Mr Benjamin, the jeweller, was a fact often present to her mind. She might not be able to

get ten thousand pounds from Mr Benjaminbut if she could get eight, or six, or even five, how pleasant

would it be! If she could put away the diamonds for three or four yearsif she could so hide them that no

human eyes could see them till she should again produce them to the lightsurely, after so long an interval,

they might be made available! But where should be found such hidingplace? She understood well how great

was the peril while the necklace was in her own immediate keeping. Any accident might discover it, and if

the slightest suspicion were aroused, the police would come upon her with violence and discover it. But

surely there must be some such hidingplaceif only she could think of it! Then her mind reverted to all the

stories she had ever heard of mysterious villanies. There must be some way of accomplishing this thing, if

she could only bring her mind to work upon it exclusively. A hole dug deep into the groundwould not that

be the place? But then, where should the hole be dug? In what spot should she trust the earth? If anywhere, it

must be at Portray. But now she was going from Portray to London. It seemed to her to be certain that she

could dig no hole in London that would be secret to herself. Nor could she trust herself, during the hour or

What she wanted was a friendsomeone that she could trust. But she had no such friend. She could not dare

to give the jewels up to Lord George. So tempted, would not any Corsair appropriate the treasure? And if, as

might be possible, she were mistaken about him and he was no Corsair, then would he betray her to the

police? She thought of all her dearest friendsFrank Greystock, Mrs Carbuncle, Lucinda, Miss

Macnultyeven of Patience Crabstickbut there was no friend whom she could trust. Whatever she did she

must do alone! She began to fear that the load of thought required would be more than she could bear. One

thing, however, was certain to hershe could not now venture to tell them all that the necklace was in her

Thinking of all this, she went to sleepstill holding the packet tight between her fingersand in this

position was awakened at about ten by a knock at the door from her friend Mrs Carbuncle. Lizzie jumped out

of bed, and admitted her friend, admitting also Patience Crabstick. ``You had better get up now, dear,'' said

Mrs Carbuncle. ``We are all going to breakfast.'' Lizzie declared herself to be so fluttered, that she must have

her breakfast upstairs. No one was to wait for her. Crabstick would go down and fetch for her a cup of

teaand just a morsel of something to eat. ``You can't be surprised that I shouldn't be quite myself,'' said

Mrs Carbuncle's surprise did not run at all in that direction. Both Mrs Carbuncle and Lord George had been

astonished to find how well she bore her loss. Lord George gave her credit for real bravery. Mrs Carbuncle

suggested, in a whisper, that perhaps she regarded the theft as an easy way out of a lawsuit. ``I suppose you

know, George, they would have got it from her.'' Then Lord George whistled, and, in another whisper,

declared that, if the little adventure had all been arranged by Lady Eustace herself with the view of getting the

better of Mr Camperdown, his respect for that lady would be very greatly raised. ``If'', said Lord George, ``it

turns out that she has had a couple of bravos in her pay, like an old Italian marquis, I shall think very highly

of her indeed.'' This had occurred before Mrs Carbuncle came up to Lizzie's roombut neither of them for a

The box had been found, and a portion of the fragments were brought into the room while the party were still

at breakfast. Lizzie was not in the room, but the news was at once taken up to her by Crabstick, together with

a pheasant's wing and some buttered toast. In a recess beneath an archway running under the railroad, not

distant from the hotel above a hundred and fifty yards, the iron box had been found. It had been forced open,

so said the sergeant of police, with tools of the finest steel, peculiarly made for such purpose. The sergeant of

police was quite sure that the thing had been done by London men who were at the very top of their trade. It

was manifest hat nothing had been spared. Every motion of the party must have been known to them, and

probably one of the adventurers had travelled in the same train with them. And the very doors of the bedroom

in the hotel had been measured by the man who had cut out the bolt. The sergeant of police was almost lost in

admirationbut the superintendent of police, whom Lord George saw more than once, was discreet and

silent. To the superintendent of police it was by no means sure that Lord George himself might not be fond of

diamonds. Of a suspicion flying so delightfully high as this, he breathed no word to anyone; but simply

suggested that he should like to retain the companionship of one of the party. If Lady Eustace could dispense

with the services of the tall footman, the tall footman might be found useful at Carlisle. It was arranged,

therefore, that the tall footman should remainand the tall footman did remain, though not with his own

The whole party, including Lady Eustace herself and Patience Crabstick, were called upon to give their

evidence to the Carlisle magistrates before they could proceed to London. This Lizzie did, having the

necklace at that moment locked up in her desk at the inn. The diamonds were supposed to be worth ten

thousand pounds. There was to be a lawsuit about them. She did not for a moment doubt that they were her

property. She had been very careful about the diamonds because of the lawsuit. Fearing that Mr Camperdown

might wrest them from her possession, she had caused the iron box to be made. She had last seen the

diamonds on the evening before her departure from Portray. She had then herself locked them up and she

now produced the key. The lock was still so far uninjured that the key would turn it. That was her evidence.

Crabstick, with a good deal of reticence, supported her mistress. She had seen the diamonds, no doubt, but

had not seen them often. She had seen them down at Portray; but not for ever so long. Crabstick had very

little to say about them; but the clever superintendent was by no means sure that Crabstick did not know more

than she said. Mrs Carbuncle and Lord George had also seen the diamonds at Portray. There was no doubt

whatever as to the diamonds having been in the iron boxnor was there, said Lord George, any doubt but

that this special necklace had acquired so much public notice from the fact of the threatened lawsuit, as might

make its circumstances and value known to London thieves. The tall footman was not examined; but was

Much information as to what had been done oozed out in spite of the precautions of the discreet

superintendent. The wires had been put into operation in every direction, and it had been discovered that one

man whom nobody knew had left the down mailtrain at Annan, and another at Dumfries. These men had

taken tickets by the train leaving Carlisle between four and five a.m., and were supposed to have been the two

thieves. It had been nearly seven before the theft had been discovered, and by that time not only had the men

reached the towns named, but had had time to make their way back again or farther on into Scotland. At any

rate, for the present, all trace of them was lost. The sergeant of police did not doubt but that one of these men

was making his way up to London with the necklace in his pocket. This was told to Lizzie by Lord George;

and though she was awestruck by the danger of her situation, she nevertheless did feel some satisfaction in

remembering that she and she only held the key of the mystery. And then as to those poor thieves! What must

have been their consternation when they found, after all the labour and perils of the night, that the box

contained no diamondsthat the treasure was not there, and that they were nevertheless bound to save

themselves by flight and stratagem from the hands of the police! Lizzie, as she thought of this, almost pitied

the poor thieves. What a consternation there would be among the Camperdowns and Garnetts, among the

Mopuses and Benjamins, when the news was heard in London! Lizzie almost enjoyed it. As her mind went

on making fresh schemes on the subject, a morbid desire of increasing the mystery took possession of her.

She was quite sure that nobody knew her secret, and that nobody as yet could even guess it. There was great

danger, but there might be delight and even profit if she could safely dispose of the jewels before suspicion

against herself should be aroused. She could understand that a rumour should get to the police that the box

had been empty, even if the thieves were not takenbut such rumour would avail nothing if she could only

dispose of the diamonds. As she first thought of all this, the only plan hitherto suggested to herself would

require her immediate return to Portray. If she were at Portray she could find a spot in which she could bury

the necklace. But she was obliged to allow herself now to be hurried up to London. When she got into the

train the little parcel was in her desk, and the key of her desk was fastened round her neck.

They had secured a compartment for themselves from Carlisle to London, and of course filled four seats. ``As

I am alive,'' said Lord George as soon as the train had left the station, ``that head policeman thinks that I am

the thief!'' Mrs Carbuncle laughed. Lizzie protested that this was absurd. Lucinda declared that such a

suspicion would be vastly amusing. ``It's a fact,'' continued Lord George. ``I can see it in the fellow's eye, and

I feel it to be a compliment. They are so very cute that they delight in suspicions. I remember, when the

altarplate was stolen from Barchester Cathedral some years ago, a splendid idea occurred to one of the

``Oh, yesreally. I don't doubt but that there is already a belief in some of their minds that you have stolen

``If you have been so clever, Lady Eustace, I'll find a purchaser for them. One would have to go a good

distance to do itand there would be some expense. But the thing could be done. Vienna, I should think,

``Very well, then,'' said Lizzie. ``You won't be surprised if I ask you to take the journey for me.'' Then they

all laughed, and were very much amused. It was quite agreed among them that Lizzie bore her loss very well.

``I shouldn't care the least for losing them,'' said Lizzie``only that Florian gave them to me. They have

been such a vexation to me that to be without them will be a comfort.'' Her desk had been brought into the

They arrived at Mrs Carbuncle's house in Hertford Street quite late, between ten and elevenbut a note had

been sent from Lizzie to her cousin Frank's address from the Euston Square station by a commissionaire.

Indeed, two notes were sentone to the House of Commons, and the other to the Grosvenor Hotel. ``My

necklace has been stolen. Come to me early tomorrow at Mrs Carbuncle's house, No. Hertford Street.'' And

he did comebefore Lizzie was up. Crabstick brought her mistress word that Mr Greystock was in the

parlour soon after nine o'clock. Lizzie again hurried on her clothes so that she might see her cousin, taking

care as she did so that though her toilet might betray haste, it should not be other than charming. And as she

dressed she endeavoured to come to some conclusion. Would it not be best for her that she should tell

everything to her cousin, and throw herself upon his mercy, trusting to his ingenuity to extricate her from her

difficulties? She had been thinking of her position almost through the entire night, and had remembered that

at Carlisle she had committed perjury. She had sworn that the diamonds had been left by her in the box. And

should they be found with her it might be that they would put her in gaol for stealing them. Little mercy could

she expect from Mr Camperdown should she fall into that gentleman's hands! But Frank, if she would even

``What is this about the diamonds?'' he asked as soon as he saw her. She had flown almost into his arms as

though carried there by the excitement of the moment. ``You don't really mean that they have been stolen?''

``Box and all?'' Then she told him the whole storynot the true story, but the story as it was believed by all

the world. She found it to be impossible to tell him the true story. ``And the box was broken open, and left in

``I don't know what they think. Lord George says that they believe he is the thief.''

``He knew of them,'' said Frank, as though he imagined that the suggestion was not altogether absurd.

``I don't know. I've sent for you to tell me.'' Then Frank averred that information should be immediately given

to Mr Camperdown. He would himself call on Mr Camperdown, and would also see the head of the London

police. He did not doubt but that all the circumstances were already known in London at the police

officebut it might be well that he should see the officer. He was acquainted with the gentleman, and might

perhaps learn something. Lizzie at once acceded, and Frank went direct to Mr Camperdown's offices. ``If I

had lost ten thousand pounds in that way,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, ``I think I should have broken my heart.''

Lizzie felt that her heart was bursting rather than being broken, because the ten thousand pounds' worth of

Lucy Morris went to Lady Linlithgow early in October, and was still with Lady Linlithgow when Lizzie

Eustace returned to London in January. During these three months she certainly had not been happy. In the

first place, she had not once seen her lover. This had aroused no anger or suspicion in her bosom against him,

because the old countess had told her that she would have no lover come to the house, and that, above all, she

would not allow a young man with whom she herself was connected to come in that guise to her companion.

``From all I hear,'' said Lady Linlithgow, ``it's not at all likely to be a matchand at any rate it can't go on

here.'' Lucy thought that she would be doing no more than standing up properly for her lover by asserting her

conviction that it would be a matchand she did assert it bravely; but she made no petition for his presence,

and bore that trouble bravely. In the next place Frank was not a satisfactory correspondent. He did write to

her occasionallyand he wrote also to the old countess immediately on his return to town from

Bobsborough a letter which was intended as an answer to that which she had written to Mrs Greystock. What

was said in that letter Lucy never knewbut she did know that Frank's few letters to herself were not full

and heartywere not such thoroughgoing loveletters as lovers write to each other when they feel unlimited

satisfaction in the work. She excused himtelling herself that he was overworked, that with his double trade

of legislator and lawyer he could hardly be expected to write lettersthat men, in respect of letterwriting,

are not as women are, and the like; but still there grew at her heart a little weed of care, which from week to

week spread its noxious, heavyscented leaves, and robbed her of her joyousness. To be loved by her lover,

and to feel that she was histo have a lover of her own to whom she could thoroughly devote herselfto be

conscious that she was one of those happy women in the world who find a mate worthy of worship as well as

lovethis to her was so great a joy that even the sadness of her present position could not utterly depress

her. From day to day she assured herself that she did not doubt and would not doubtthat there was no cause

for doubtthat she would herself be base were she to admit any shadow of suspicion. But yet his

absenceand the shortness of those little notes, which came perhaps once a fortnight, did tell upon her in

opposition to her own convictions. Each note as it came was answeredinstantly; but she would not write

except when the notes came. She would not seem to reproach him by writing oftener than he wrote. When he

had given her so much, and she had nothing but her confidence to give in return, would she stint him in that?

There can be no love, she said, without confidence, and it was the pride of her heart to love him.

The circumstances of her present life were desperately weary to her. She could hardly understand why it was

that Lady Linlithgow should desire her presence. She was required to do nothing. She had no duties to

perform, and, as it seemed to her, was of no use to anyone. The countess would not even allow her to be of

ordinary service in the house. Lady Linlithgow, as she had said of herself, poked her own fires, carved her

own meat, lit her own candles, opened and shut the doors for herself, wrote her own lettersand did not

even like to have books read to her. She simply chose to have someone sitting with her to whom she could

speak and make little crossgrained, sarcastic, and illnatured remarks. There was no company at the house

in Brook Street, and when the countess herself went out, she went out alone. Even when she had a cab to go

shopping, or to make calls, she rarely asked Lucy to go with herand was benevolent chiefly in thisthat if

Lucy chose to walk round the square, or as far as the park, her ladyship's maid was allowed to accompany her

for protection. Poor Lucy often told herself that such a life would be unbearablewere it not for the supreme

satisfaction she had in remembering her lover. And then the arrangement had been made only for six months.

She did not feel quite assured of her fate at the end of those six months, but she believed that there would

come to her a residence in a sort of outer garden to that sweet Elysium in which she was to pass her life. The

Elysium would be Frank's house; and the outer garden was the deanery at Bobsborough.

Twice during the three months Lady Fawn, with two of the girls, came to call upon her. On the first occasion

she was unluckily out, taking advantage of the protection of her ladyship's maid in getting a little air. Lady

Linlithgow had also been away, and Lady Fawn had seen no one. Afterwards, both Lucy and her ladyship

were found at home, and Lady Fawn was full of graciousness and affection. ``I daresay you've got something

``You have been so good to me! To see you again is like the violets and primroses.'' She was crouching close

to Lady Fawn, with her hand in that of her friend Lydia. ``I haven't a word to say against Lady Linlithgow,

``There were such hundreds of things to do there,'' said Lucy. ``After all, what a comfort it is to have things to

There were a hundred things to be said about Fawn Court and the children, and a hundred more things about

Lady Linlithgow and Brook Street. Then, at last, Lady Fawn asked the one important question. ``And now,

``OhI don't knownothing particular, Lady Fawn. It's just as it was, and I amquite satisfied.''

``No, never. I have not seen him since the last time he came down to Richmond. Lady Linlithgow doesn't

allowfollowers.'' There was a pleasant little spark of laughter in Lucy's eye as she said this, which would

have told to any bystander the whole story of the affection which existed between her and Lady Fawn.

``That's just the reason why,'' said Lucy, explaining. ``Of course, Lady Linlithgow thinks that her sister's

nephew can do better than marry her companion. It's a matter of course she should think so. What I am most

No doubt the dean and Mrs Greystock would think soLady Fawn was very sure of that. Lady Fawn was

one of the best women breathingunselfish, motherly, affectionate, appreciative, and never happy unless she

was doing good to somebody. It was her nature to be soft, and kind, and beneficent. But she knew very well

that if she had had a sona second sonsituated as was Frank Greystock, she would not wish him to marry

a girl without a penny, who was forced to earn her bread by being a governess. The sacrifice on Mr

Greystock's part would, in her estimation, be so great, that she did not believe that it would be made.

Womanlike, she regarded the man as being so much more important than the woman, that she could not think

that Frank Greystock would devote himself simply to such a one as Lucy Morris. Had Lady Fawn been asked

which was the better creature of the two, her late governess or the rising barrister who had declared himself to

be that governess's lover, she would have said that no man could be better than Lucy. She knew Lucy's worth

and goodness so well that she was ready herself to do any act of friendship on behalf of one so sweet and

excellent. For herself and her girls Lucy was a companion and friend in every way satisfactory. But was it

probable that a man of the world, such as was Frank Greystock, a rising man, a member of Parliament, one

who, as everybody knew, was especially in want of moneywas it probable that such a man as this would

want her his wife just because she was good, and worthy, and sweetnatured? No doubt the man had said that

he would do soand Lady Fawn's fears betrayed on her ladyship's part a very bad opinion of men in general.

It may seem to be a paradox to assert that such bad opinion sprung from the high idea which she entertained

of the importance of men in generalbut it was so. She had but one son, and of all her children he was the

least worthy; but he was more important to her than all her daughters. Between her own girls and Lucy she

hardly made any differencebut when her son had chosen to quarrel with Lucy it had been necessary to send

Lucy to eat her meals upstairs. She could not believe that Mr Greystock should think so much of such a little

girl as to marry her. Mr Greystock would no doubt behave very badly in not doing sobut then men do so

often behave very badly! And at the bottom of her heart she almost thought that they might be excused for

doing so. According to her view of things, a man out in the world had so many things to think of, and was so

very important, that he could hardly be expected to act at all times with truth and sincerity.

Lucy had suggested that the dean and Mrs Greystock would dislike the marriage, and upon that hint Lady

Fawn spoke. ``Nothing is settled, I suppose, as to where you are to go when the six months are over?''

Lucy would have given the world not to blush as she answered, but she did blush. ``Nothing is fixed, Lady

``Something should be fixed, Lucy. It should be settled by this timeshouldn't it, dear? What will you do

without a home, if at the end of the six months Lady Linlithgow should say that she doesn't want you any

Lucy certainly did not look forward to a condition in which Lady Linlithgow should be the arbitress of her

destiny. The idea of staying with the countess was almost as bad to her as that of finding herself altogether

homeless. She was still blushing, feeling herself to be hot and embarrassed. But Lady Fawn sat, waiting for

an answer. To Lucy there was only one answer possible. ``I will ask Mr Greystock what I am to do.'' Lady

Fawn shook her head. ``You don't believe in Mr Greystock, Lady Fawn; but I do.''

``My darling girl,'' said her ladyship, making the special speech for the sake of making which she had

travelled up from Richmond``it is not exactly a question of belief, but one of common prudence. No girl

should allow herself to depend on a man before she is married to him. By doing so she will be apt to lose

``I didn't mean for money,'' said Lucy, hotter than ever, with her eyes full of tears.

``She should not be in any respect at his disposal till he has bound himself to her at the altar. You may

believe me, Lucy, when I tell you so. It is only because I love you so that I say so.''

``When your time here is over, just put up your things and come back to Richmond. You need fear nothing

with us. Frederic quite liked your way of parting with him at last, and all that little affair is forgotten. At

Fawn Court you'll be safeand you shall be happy too, if we can make you happy. It's the proper place for

``You'll be the worst little thing in the world if you don't,'' said Lydia. ``We don't know what to do without

``Lucy will please us all by coming back to her old home,'' said Lady Fawn. The tears were now streaming

down Lucy's face, so that she was hardly able to say a word in answer to all this kindness. And she did not

know what word to say. Were she to accept the offer made to her, and acknowledge that she could do nothing

better than creep back under her old friend's wingwould she not thereby be showing that she doubted her

lover? And yet she could not go to the dean's house unless the dean and his wife were pleased to take her;

and, suspecting as she did, that they would not be pleased, would it become her to throw upon her lover the

burthen of finding for her a home with people who did not want her? Had she been welcome at Bobsborough,

Mrs Greystock would surely have so told her before this. ``You needn't say a word, my dear,'' said Lady

``That's just all that you know about it,'' said Lydia. ``We do want youmore than anything.''

``I wonder whether I may come in now,'' said Lady Linlithgow, entering the room. As it was the countess's

own drawingroom, as it was now midwinter, and as the fire in the diningroom had been allowed, as was

usual, to sink almost to two hot coals, the request was not unreasonable. Lady Fawn was profuse in her

thanks, and immediately began to account for Lucy's tears, pleading their dear friendship, and their long

absence, and poor Lucy's emotional state of mind. Then she took her leave, and Lucy, as soon as she had

been kissed by her friends outside the drawingroom door, took herself to her bedroom, and finished her

``Have you heard the news?'' said Lady Linlithgow to her companion about a month after this. Lady

Linlithgow had been out, and asked the question immediately on her return. Lucy, of course, had heard no

news. ``Lizzie Eustace has just come back to London, and has had all her jewels stolen on the road.''

``Yesthe Eustace diamonds! And they didn't belong to her any more than they did to you. They've been

taken, anyway; and from what I hear I shouldn't be at all surprised if she had arranged the whole matter

``Just that, my dear. It would be the very thing for Lizzie Eustace to do. She's clever enough for anything.''

``I know all about that. Of course, it would be very wicked, and if it were found out she'd be put in the dock

and tried for her life. It is just what I expect she'll come to some of these days. She has gone and got up a

friendship with some disreputable people, and was travelling with them. There was a man who calls himself

Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. I know him, and can remember when he was errandboy to a disreputable

lawyer at Aberdeen.'' This assertion was a falsehood on the part of the countess; Lord George had never been

an errandboy, and the Aberdeen lawyeras provincial Scotch lawyers gohad been by no means

``Yesit's dreadful enough. At any rate, men got into Lizzie's room at night and took away the iron box and

diamonds and all. It may be she was asleep at the timebut she's one of those who pretty nearly always

``Perhaps not. We shall see. They had just begun a lawsuit about the diamondsto get them back. And then

all at oncethey're stolen. It looks what the men callfishy. I'm told that all the police in London are up

On the very next day who should come to Brook Street, but Lizzie Eustace herself. She and her aunt had

quarrelled, and they hated each otherbut the old woman had called upon Lizzie, advising her, as the reader

will perhaps remember, to give up the diamonds, and now Lizzie returned the visit. ``So you're here, installed

in poor Macnulty's place,'' began Lizzie to her old friend, the countess at the moment being out of the room.

``I am staying with your aunt for a few monthsas her companion. Is it true, Lizzie, that all your diamonds

have been stolen?'' Lizzie gave an account of the robbery, true in every respect, except in regard to the

contents of the box. Poor Lizzie had been wronged in that matter by the countess, for the robbery had been

quite genuine. The man had opened her room and taken her box, and she had slept through it all. And then the

broken box had been found, and was in the hands of the police, and was evidence of the fact.

``People seem to think it possible,'' said Lizzie, ``that Mr Camperdown the lawyer arranged it all.'' As this

suggestion was being made Lady Linlithgow came in, and then Lizzie repeated the whole story of the

robbery. Though the aunt and niece were open and declared enemies, the present circumstances were so

peculiar and full of interest that conversation, for a time almost amicable, took place between them. ``As the

diamonds were so valuable, I thought it right, Aunt Susanna, to come and tell you myself.''

``It's very good of you, but I'd heard it already. I was telling Miss Morris yesterday what very odd things

``You see, my child, I knew nothing about it till it was all over. The man cut the bit out of the door in the

``They say that perhaps something was put into the wine at dinner to make me sleep.''

``Ah,'' ejaculated the countess, who did not for a moment give up her own erroneous suspicion``very

``And they do say these people can do things without making the slightest tittle of noise. At any rate, the box

``Oh yesof course. And now there is such a fuss about it! The police keep on coming to me almost every

``And what do the police think?'' asked Lady Linlithgow. ``I'm told that they have their suspicions.''

``Oh yeswith Lord George de Bruce Carruthers; and with Mrs Carbunclewho is my particular friend,

and with Lucinda Roanoke, who is just going to be married to Sir Griffin Tewett. We were quite a large

``No. I left Miss Macnulty at Portray with my darling. They thought he had better remain a little longer in

``Ah yesperhaps Lord George de Bruce Carruthers does not care for babies. I can easily believe that. I

``Why do you wish that?'' said Lizzie, who already was beginning to feel that the countess intended, as usual,

``She's a stupid, dull, pigheaded creature; but one can believe what she says.''

``He's the brother of a marquis, anyway,'' said Lizzie, who thought that she might thus best answer the mother

``I remember when he was plain George Carruthers, running about the streets of Aberdeen, and it was well

with him when his shoes weren't broken at the toes and down at heel. He earned his bread then, such as it

wasnobody knows how he gets it now. Why does he call himself de Bruce, I wonder.''

``Because his godfathers and godmothers gave him that name when he was made a child of Christ, and an

``I wasn't there to see, Aunt Susanna; and therefore I can't swear to it. That's his name in all the peerages, and

Now it had come to pass that Lady Eustace herself did not feel altogether sure that Lord George had not had a

hand in this robbery. It would have been a trick worthy of a genuine Corsair to arrange and carry out such a

scheme for the appropriation of so rich a spoil. A watch or a brooch would, of course, be beneath the notice

of a good genuine Corsairof a Corsair who was written down in the peerage as a marquis's brotherbut

diamonds worth ten thousand pounds are not to be had every day. A Corsair must live, and if not by plunder

rich as thathow then? If Lord George had concocted this little scheme, he would naturally be ignorant of

the true event of the robbery till he should meet the humble executors of his design, and would, as Lizzie

thought, have remained unaware of the truth till his arrival in London. That he had been ignorant of the truth

during the journey was evident to her. But they had now been three days in London, during which she had

seen him once. At that interview, he had been sullen, and almost crossand had said next to nothing about

the robbery. He made but one remark about it. ``I have told the chief man here'', he said, ``that I shall be

ready to give any evidence in my power when called upon. Till then I shall take no further steps in the matter.

I have been asked questions that should not have been asked.'' In saying this he had used a tone which

prevented further conversation on the subject, but Lizzie, as she thought of it all, remembered his jocular

remark, made in the railway carriage, as to the suspicion which had already been expressed on the matter in

regard to himself. If he had been the perpetrator, and had then found that he had only stolen the box, how

wonderful would be the mystery! ``He hasn't got anything to say,'' replied Lizzie to the question of the

``A particular friend of mine with whom I am staying at present. You don't go about a great deal, Aunt

``I'm an ignorant old woman, no doubt. My dear, I'm not at all surprised at your losing your diamonds. The

``The loss will fall on you, no doubt, because the Eustace people will make you pay for them. You'll have to

give up half your jointure for your life. That's what it will come to. To think of your travelling about with

``They were my own, and I had a right to do what I liked with them. Nobody accuses you of taking them.''

``That's quite true. Nobody will accuse me. I suppose Lord George has left England for the benefit of his

health. It would not at all surprise me if I were to hear that Mrs Carbuncle had followed himnot in the

``You're just like yourself, Aunt Susanna,'' said Lizzie, getting up and taking her leave. ``Goodbye, LucyI

hope you're happy and comfortable here. Do you ever see a certain friend of ours now?''

``If you mean Mr Greystock, I haven't seen him since I left Fawn Court,'' said Lucy with dignity.

When Lizzie was gone, Lady Linlithgow spoke her mind freely about her niece. ``Lizzie Eustace won't come

to any good. When I heard that she was engaged to that prig, Lord Fawn, I had some hopes that she might be

kept out of harm. That's all over, of course. When he heard about the necklace he wasn't going to put his neck

into that scrape. But now she's getting among such a set that nothing can save her. She has taken to hunting,

``And she's got hold of this Lord George, and of that horrid American woman that nobody knows anything

about. They've got the diamonds between them, I don't doubt. I'll bet you sixpence that the police find out all

about it, and that there is some terrible scandal. The diamonds were no more hers than they were mine, and

The necklace, the meanwhile, was still lockedup in Lizzie's deskwith a patent Bramah keyin Mrs

Before the end of January everybody in London had heard of the great robbery at Carlisleand most people

had heard also that there was something very peculiar in the mattersomething more than a robbery.

Various rumours were afloat. It had become widely known that the diamonds were to be the subject of

litigation between the young widow and the trustees of the Eustace estate; and it was known also that Lord

Fawn had engaged himself to marry the widow, and had then retreated from his engagement simply on

account of this litigation. There were strong parties formed in the matterwhom we may call Lizzieites and

antiLizzieites. The Lizzieites were of opinion that poor Lady Eustace was being very illtreatedthat the

diamonds did probably belong to her, and that Lord Fawn, at any rate, clearly ought to be her own. It was

worthy of remark that these Lizzieites were all of them Conservatives. Frank Greystock had probably set the

party on footand it was natural that political opponents should believe that a noble young UnderSecretary

of State on the liberal sidesuch as Lord Fawnhad misbehaved himself. When the matter at last became

of such importance as to demand leading articles in the newspapers, those journals which had devoted

themselves to upholding the conservative politicians of the day were very heavy indeed upon Lord Fawn. The

whole force of the Government, however, was antiLizzieite; and as the controversy advanced, every good

Liberal became aware that there was nothing so wicked, so rapacious, so bold, or so cunning but that Lady

Eustace might have done it, or caused it to be done, without delay, without difficulty, and without scruple.

Lady Glencora Palliser for a while endeavoured to defend Lizzie in liberal circlesfrom generosity rather

than from any real belief, and instigated, perhaps, by a feeling that any woman in society who was capable of

doing anything extraordinary ought to be defended. But even Lady Glencora was forced to abandon her

generosity, and to confess, on behalf of her party, that Lizzie Eustace wasa very wicked young woman,

indeed. All this, no doubt, grew out of the diamonds, and chiefly arose from the robbery; but there had been

enough of notoriety attached to Lizzie before the affair at Carlisle to make people fancy that they had

The party assembled at Matching Priory, a country house belonging to Mr Palliser in which Lady Glencora

took much delight, was not large, because Mr Palliser's uncle, the Duke of Omnium, who was with them, was

now a very old man, and one who did not like very large gatherings of people. Lord and Lady Chiltern were

therethat Lord Chiltern who had been known so long and so well in the huntingcounties of England, and

that Lady Chiltern who had been so popular in London as the beautiful Violet Effingham; and Mr and Mrs

Grey were there, very particular friends of Mr Palliser's. Mr Grey was now sitting for the borough of

Silverbridge, in which the Duke of Omnium was still presumed to have a controlling influence, in spite of all

Reform bills, and Mrs Grey was in some distant way connected with Lady Glencora. And Madame Max

Goesler was therea lady whose society was still much affected by the old duke; and Mr and Mrs

Bonteenwho had been brought there, not, perhaps altogether because they were greatly loved, but in order

that the gentleman's services might be made available by Mr Palliser in reference to some great reform about

to be introduced in monetary matters. Mr Palliser, who was now Chancellor of the Exchequer, was intending

to alter the value of the penny. Unless the work should be too much for him, and he should die before he had

accomplished the selfimposed task, the future penny was to be made, under his auspices, to contain five

farthings, and the shilling ten pennies. It was thought that if this could be accomplished, the arithmetic of the

whole world would be so simplified that henceforward the name of Palliser would be blessed by all

schoolboys, clerks, shopkeepers, and financiers. But the difficulties were so great that Mr Palliser's hair was

already grey from toil, and his shoulders bent by the burthen imposed upon them. Mr Bonteen, with two

private secretaries from the Treasury, was now at Matching to assist Mr Palliserand it was thought that

both Mr and Mrs Bonteen were near to madness under the pressure of the fivefarthing penny. Mr Bonteen

had remarked to many of his political friends that those two extra farthings that could not be made to go into

the shilling would put him into his cold grave before the world would know what he had doneor had

rewarded him for it with a handle to his name, and a pension. Lord Fawn was also at Matchinga suggestion

having been made to Lady Glencora by some leading Liberals that he should be supported in his difficulties

The mind of Mr Palliser himself was too deeply engaged to admit of its being interested in the great necklace

affair; but, of all the others assembled, there was not one who did not listen anxiously for news on the subject.

As regarded the old duke, it had been found to be quite a godsend; and from post to post as the facts reached

Matching they were communicated to him. And, indeed, there were some there who would not wait for the

post, but had the news about poor Lizzie's diamonds down by the wires. The matter was of the greatest

moment to Lord Fawn, and Lady Glencora was, perhaps, justified, on his behalf, in demanding a preference

for her affairs over the messages which were continually passing between Matching and the Treasury

``Duke,'' she said, entering rather abruptly the small warm luxurious room in which her husband's uncle was

passing his morning, ``Duke, they say now that after all the diamonds were not in the box when it was taken

out of the room at Carlisle.'' The duke was reclining in an easy chair, with his head leaning forward on his

breast, and Madame Goesler was reading to him. It was now three o'clock, and the old man had been brought

down to this room after his breakfast. Madame Goesler was reading the last famous new novel, and the duke

was dozing. That, probably, was the fault neither of the reader nor of the novelist; as the duke was wont to

doze in these days. But Lady Glencora's tidings awakened him completely. She had the telegram in her

``The diamonds not in the box!'' he saidpushing his head a little more forward in his eagerness, and sitting

``Barrington Erle says that Major Mackintosh is almost sure the diamonds were not there.'' Major Mackintosh

was an officer very high in the police force, whom everybody trusted implicitly, and as to whom the outward

world believed that he could discover the perpetrators of any iniquity, if he would only take the trouble to

look into it. Such was the pressing nature of his duties that he found himself compelled in one way or another

to give up about sixteen hours a day to thembut the outer world accused him of idleness. There was

nothing he couldn't find outonly he would not give himself the trouble to find out all the things that

happened. Two or three newspapers had already been very hard upon him in regard to the Eustace diamonds.

Such a mystery as that, they said, he ought to have unravelled long ago. That he had not unravelled it yet was

``But why shouldn't the diamonds have been in the box?'' asked the duke. As this was the first intimation

given to Lady Glencora of any suspicion that the diamonds had not been taken with the box, and as this had

been received by telegraph, she could not answer the duke's question with any clear exposition of her own.

She put up her hands and shook her head. ``What does Plantagenet think about it?'' asked the duke.

Plantagenet Palliser was the full name of the duke's nephew and heir. The duke's mind was evidently much

``He doesn't think that either the box or the diamonds were ever worth five farthings,'' said Lady Glencora.

``The diamonds not in the box!'' repeated the duke. ``Madame Max, do you believe that the diamonds were

not in the box?'' Madame Goesler shrugged her shoulders and made no answer; but the shrugging of her

shoulders was quite satisfactory to the duke, who always thought that Madame Goesler did everything better

than anybody else. Lady Glencora stayed with her uncle for the best part of an hour, and every word spoken

was devoted to Lizzie and her necklace; but as this new idea had been broached, and as they had no other

information than that conveyed in the telegram, very little light could be thrown upon it. But on the next

morning there came a letter from Barrington Erle to Lady Glencora, which told so much, and hinted so much

I hope you got my telegram yesterday. I had just seen Mackintoshon whose behalf, however, I must say

that he told me as little as he possibly could. It is leaking out, however, on every side, that the police believe

that when the box was taken out of the room at Carlisle, the diamonds were not in it. As far as I can learn,

they ground this suspicion on the fact that they cannot trace the stones. They say that, if such a lot of

diamonds had been through the thieves' market in London, they would have left some track behind them. As

far as I can judge, Mackintosh thinks that Lord George has them, but that her ladyship gave them to him; and

that this little game of the robbery at Carlisle was planned to put John Eustace and the lawyers off the scent.

If it should turn out that the box was opened before it left Portray, that the door of her ladyship's room was

cut by her ladyship's self, or by his lordship with her ladyship's aid, and that the fragments of the box were

carried out of the hotel by his lordship in person, it will altogether have been so delightful a plot, that all

concerned in it ought to be canonisedor, at least, allowed to keep their plunder. One of the old detectives

told me that the opening of the box under the arch of the railway, in an exposed place, could hardly have been

executed so neatly as was donethat no thief so situated would have given the time necessary to it; and that,

if there had been thieves at all at work, they would have been traced. Against this, there is the certain

factas I have heard from various men engaged in the inquirythat certain persons among the community

of thieves are very much at loggerheads with each otherthe higher, or creative department in thiefdom,

accusing the lower or mechanical department of gross treachery in having appropriated to its own sole profit

plunder, for the taking of which it had undertaken to receive a certain stipulated price. But then it may be the

case that his lordship and her ladyship have set such a rumour abroad for the sake of putting the police off the

scent. Upon the whole, the little mystery is quite delightful; and has put the ballot, and poor Mr Palliser's

fivefarthinged penny, quite out of joint. Nobody now cares for anything except the Eustace diamonds. Lord

George, I am told, has offered to fight everybody or anybody, beginning with Lord Fawn, and ending with

Major Mackintosh. Should he be innocent, which, of course, is possible, the thing must be annoying. I should

not at all wonder myself, if it should turn out that her ladyship left them in Scotland. The place there,

however, has been searched, in compliance with an order from the police and by her ladyship's consent.

Don't let Mr Palliser quite kill himself. I hope the Bonteen plan answers. I never knew a man who could find

more farthings in a shilling than Mr Bonteen. Remember me very kindly to the duke, and pray enable poor

Fawn to keep up his spirits. If he likes to arrange a meeting with Lord George, I shall be only too happy to be

his friend. You remember our last duel. Chiltern is with you, and can put Fawn up to the proper way of

``Of course, I'll keep you posted in everything respecting the necklace till you come to town yourself.''

The whole of this letter Lady Glencora read to the duke, to Lady Chiltern, and to Madame Goeslerand the

principal contents of it she repeated to the entire company. It was certainly the general belief at Matching that

Lord George had the diamonds in his possessioneither with or without the assistance of their late fair

The duke was struck with awe when he thought of all the circumstances. ``The brother of a marquis!'' he said

``As for that, duke,'' said Lady Glencora, ``the peerage is used to it by this time.

``I don't see why the brother of a marquis shouldn't turn thief as well as anybody else. They say he hasn't got

anything of his ownand I suppose that is what makes men steal other people's property. Peers go into trade,

and peeresses gamble on the Stock Exchange. Peers become bankrupt, and the sons of peers run awayjust

like other men. I don't see why all enterprises should not be open to them. But to think of that little purring

All this took place in the morningthat is, about two o'clock; but after dinner the subject became general.

There might be some little reticence in regard to Lord Fawn's feelingsbut it was not sufficient to banish a

subject so interesting from the minds and lips of the company. ``The Tewett marriage is to come off, after

all,'' said Mrs Bonteen. ``I've a letter from dear Mrs Rutter, telling me so as a fact.''

``I wonder whether Miss Roanoke will be allowed to wear one or two of the diamonds at the wedding,''

``Nobody will dare to wear a diamond at all next season,'' said Lady Glencora. ``As for my own, I shan't think

``I hope they won't do that,'' said Lady Glencora. ``The play is too good to come to an end so soon. If we hear

that Lord George is engaged to Lady Eustace, nothing, I suppose, can be done to stop the marriage.''

``I've not the slightest objection to her being married. I hope she will, with all my heart. I certainly think she

should have her husband after buying him at such a price. I suppose Lord Fawn won't forbid the banns.''

These last words were only whispered to her next neighbour, Lord Chiltern; but poor Lord Fawn saw the

On the next morning there came further news. The police had asked permission from their occupants to

search the rooms in which lived Lady Eustace and Lord George, and in each case the permission had been

refused. So said Barrington Erle in his letter to Lady Glencora. Lord George had told the applicant, very

roughly, that nobody should touch any article belonging to him without a searchwarrant. If any magistrate

would dare to give such a warrant, let him do it. ``I'm told that Lord George acts the indignant madman

uncommonly well,'' said Barrington Erle in his letter. As for poor Lizzie, she had fainted when the

proposition was made to her. The request was renewed as soon as she had been brought to herself; and then

she refusedon the advice, as she said, of her cousin, Mr Greystock. Barrington Erle went on to say that the

police were very much blamed. It was believed that no information could be laid before a magistrate

sufficient to justify a searchwarrantand, in such circumstances, no search should have been attempted.

Such was the public verdict, as declared in Barrington Erle's last letter to Lady Glencora.

Mr Palliser was of opinion that the attempt to search the lady's house was iniquitous. Mr Bonteen shook his

head, and rather thought that, if he were Home Secretary, he would have had the search made. Lady Chiltern

said that, if policemen came to her, they might search everything she had in the world. Mrs Grey reminded

them that all they really knew of the unfortunate woman was that her jewelbox had been stolen out of her

bedroom at her hotel. Madame Goesler was of opinion that a lady who could carry such a box about the

country with her deserved to have it stolen. Lord Fawn felt himself obliged to confess that he agreed

altogether with Madame Goesler. Unfortunately, he had been acquainted with the lady, and now was

constrained to say that her conduct had been such as to justify the suspicions of the police. ``Of course, we all

suspect her,'' said Lady Glencora; ``and, of course, we suspect Lord George too, and Mrs Carbuncle and Miss

Roanoke. But then, you know, if I were to lose my diamonds, people would suspect me just the sameor

perhaps Plantagenet. It is so delightful to think that a woman has stolen her own property, and put all the

police into a state of ferment.'' Lord Chiltern declared himself to be heartily sick of the whole subject; and Mr

Grey, who was a very just man, suggested that the evidence, as yet, against anybody, was very slight. ``Of

course, it's slight,'' said Lady Glencora. ``If it were more than slight, it would be just like any other robbery,

and there would be nothing in it.'' On the same morning Mrs Bonteen received a second letter from her friend

Mrs Rutter. The Tewett marriage had been certainly broken off. Sir Griffin had been very violent,

misbehaving himself grossly in Mrs Carbuncle's house, and Miss Roanoke had declared that, under no

circumstances, would she ever speak to him again. It was Mrs Rutter's opinion, however, that this violence

had been ``put on'' by Sir Griffin, who as desirous of escaping from the marriage because of the affair of the

diamonds. ``He's very much bound up with Lord George'', said Mrs Rutter, ``and is afraid that he may be

All these matters were told to the duke by Lady Glencora and Madame Goesler in the recesses of his grace's

private room; for the duke was now infirm, and did not dine in company unless the day was very auspicious

to him. But in the evening he would creep into the drawingroom, and on this occasion he had a word to say

about the Eustace diamonds to everyone in the room. It was admitted by them all that the robbery had been a

godsend in the way of amusing the duke. ``Wouldn't have her boxes searched, you know,'' said the duke;

``that looks uncommonly suspicious. Perhaps, Lady Chiltern, we shall hear tomorrow morning something

When such a man as Barrington Erle undertakes to send information to such a correspondent as Lady

Glencora in reference to such a matter as Lady Eustace's diamonds, he is bound to be full rather than

accurate. We may say, indeed, that perfect accuracy would be detrimental rather than otherwise, and would

tend to disperse that feeling of mystery which is so gratifying. No suggestion had in truth been made to Lord

George de Bruce Carruthers as to the searching of his lordship's boxes and desks. That very eminent detective

officer, Mr Bunfit, had, however, called upon Lord George more than once, and Lord George had declared

very plainly that he did not like it. ``If you'll have the kindness to explain to me what it is you want, I'll be

``A man in my situation, my lord, never believes anything. We has to suspect, but we never believes.''

``No, my lordI didn't say that. But things are very queer; aren't they?'' The immediate object of Mr Bunfit's

visit on this morning had been to ascertain from Lord George whether it was true that his lordship had been

with Messrs Harter and Benjamin, the jewellers, on the morning after his arrival in town. No one from the

police had as yet seen either Harter or Benjamin in connection with this robbery; but it may not be too much

to say that the argus eyes of Major Mackintosh were upon Messrs Harter and Benjamin's whole

establishment, and it was believed that, if the jewels were in London, they were locked up in some box within

that house. It was thought more than probable by Major Mackintosh and his myrmidons that the jewels were

already at Hamburg; and by this time, as the major had explained to Mr Camperdown, everyone of them

might have been resetor even recut. But it was known that Lord George had been at the house of Messrs

Harter and Benjamin early on the morning after his return to town, and the ingenuous Mr Bunfit, who, by

reason of his situation, never believed anything and only suspected, had expressed a very strong opinion to

Major Mackintosh that the necklace had in truth been transferred to the Jews on that morning. That there was

nothing ``too hot or too heavy'' for Messrs Harter and Benjamin was quite a creed with the police of the West

End of London. Might it not be well to ask Lord George what he had to say about the visit? Should Lord

George deny the visit, such denial would go far to confirm Mr Bunfit. The question was asked, and Lord

George did not deny the visit. ``Unfortunately, they hold acceptances of mine'', said Lord George, ``and I am

often there.'' ``We know as they have your lordship's name to paper,'' said Mr Bunfitthanking Lord George,

however, for his courtesy. It may be understood that all this would be unpleasant to Lord George, and that he

But Mr Erle's information, though certainly defective in regard to Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, had been

more correct when he spoke of the lady. An interview that was very terrible to poor Lizzie did take place

between her and Mr Bunfit in Mrs Carbuncle's house on Tuesday, the 30th of January. There had been many

interviews between Lizzie and various members of the police force in reference to the diamonds, but the

questions put to her had always been asked on the supposition that she might have mislaid the necklace. Was

it not possible that she might have thought that she locked it up, but have omitted to place it in the box? As

long as these questions had reference to a possible oversight in Scotlandto some carelessness which she

might have committed on the night before she left her homeLizzie upon the whole seemed rather to like

the idea. It certainly was possible. She believed thoroughly that the diamonds had been locked by her in the

boxbut she acknowledged that it might be the case that they had been left on one side. This had happened

when the police first began to suspect that the necklace had not been in the box when it was carried out of the

Carlisle hotel, but before it had occurred to them that Lord George had been concerned in the robbery, and

possibly Lady Eustace herself. Men had been sent down from London, of course at considerable expense, and

Portray Castle had been searched, with the consent of its owner, from the weathercock to the

foundationstonemuch to the consternation of Miss Macnulty, and to the delight of Andy Gowran. No

trace of the diamonds was found, and Lizzie had so far fraternised with the police. But when Mr Bunfit called

upon her, perhaps for the fifth or sixth time, and suggested that he should be allowed, with the assistance of

the female whom he had left behind him in the hall, to search all her ladyship's boxes, drawers, presses, and

receptacles in London, the thing took a very different aspect. ``You see, my lady,'' said Mr Bunfit, excusing

the peculiar nature of his request, ``it may have got anywhere among your ladyship's things, unbeknownst.''

Lady Eustace and Mrs Carbuncle were at the time sitting together, and Mrs Carbuncle was the first to protest.

If Mr Bunfit thought that he was going to search her things, Mr Bunfit was very much mistaken. What she

had suffered about this necklace no man or woman knewand she meant that there should be an end of it. It

was her opinion that the police should have discovered every stone of it days and days ago. At any rate, her

house was her own, and she gave Mr Bunfit to understand that his repeated visits were not agreeable to her.

But when Mr Bunfit, without showing the slightest displeasure at the evil things said of him, suggested that

the search should be confined to the rooms used exclusively by Lady Eustace, Mrs Carbuncle absolutely

At that moment the condition of poor Lizzie Eustace was very sad. He who recounts these details has scorned

to have a secret between himself and his readers. The diamonds were at this moment locked up within

Lizzie's desk. For the last three weeks they had been thereif it may not be more truly said that they were

lying heavily on her heart. For three weeks had her mind with constant stretch been working on that

pointwhither should she take the diamonds, and what should she do with them? A certain very wonderful

strength she did possess, or she could not have endured the weight of so terrible an anxiety; but from day to

day the thing became worse and worse with her, as gradually she perceived that suspicion was attached to

herself. Should she confide the secret to Lord George, or to Mrs Carbuncle, or to Frank Greystock? She

thought she could have borne it all, if only someone would have borne it with her. But when the moments

came in which such confidence might be made, her courage failed her. Lord George she saw frequently; but

he was unsympathetic and almost rough with her. She knew that he also was suspected, and she was almost

disposed to think that he had planned the robbery. If it were so, if the robbery had been his handiwork, it was

not singular that he should be unsympathetic with the owner and probable holder of the prey which he had

missed. Nevertheless Lizzie thought that if he would have been soft with her, like a dear, good, genuine

Corsair, for half an hour, she would have told him all, and placed the necklace in his hands. And there were

moments in which she almost resolved to tell her secret to Mrs Carbuncle. She had stolen nothingso she

averred to herself. She had intended only to defend and save her own property. Even the lie that she had told,

and the telling of which was continued from day to day, had in a measure been forced upon her by

circumstances. She thought that Mrs Carbuncle would sympathise with her in that feeling which had

prevented her from speaking the truth when first the fact of the robbery was made known to herself in her

own bedroom. Mrs Carbuncle was a lady who told many lies, as Lizzie knew welland surely could not be

horrified at a lie told in such circumstances. But it was not in Lizzie's nature to trust a woman. Mrs Carbuncle

would tell Lord Georgeand that would destroy everything. When she thought of confiding everything to

her cousin, it was always in his absence. The idea became dreadful to her as soon as he was present. She

could not dare to own to him that she had sworn falsely to the magistrate at Carlisle. And so the burthen had

to be borne, increasing every hour in weight, and the poor creature's back was not broad enough to bear it.

She thought of the necklace every waking minute, and dreamed of it when she slept. She could not keep

herself from unlocking her desk and looking at it twenty times a day, although she knew the peril of such

nervous solicitude. If she could only rid herself of it altogether, she was sure now that she would do so. She

would throw it into the ocean fathoms deep, if only she could find herself alone upon the ocean. But she felt

that, let her go where she might, she would be watched. She might declare tomorrow her intention of going to

Irelandor, for that matter, to America. But, were she to do so, some horrid policeman would be on her

track. The iron box had been a terrible nuisance to herbut the iron box had been as nothing compared to

the necklace locked up in her desk. From day to day she meditated a plan of taking the thing out into the

streets, and dropping it in the dark; but she was sure that, were she to do so, someone would have watched

her while she dropped it. She was unwilling to trust her old friend Mr Benjamin; but in these days her

favourite scheme was to offer the diamonds for sale to him at some very low price. If he would help her they

might surely be got out of their present hidingplace into his hands. Any man would be powerful to help, if

there were any man whom she could trust. In furtherance of this scheme she went so far as to break a

broocha favourite brooch of her ownin order that she might have an excuse for calling at the jewellers'.

But even this she postponed from day to day. Circumstances, as they had occurred, had taught her to believe

that the police could not insist on breaking open her desk unless some evidence could be brought against her.

There was no evidence, and her desk was so far safe. But the same circumstances had made her understand

that she was already suspected of some intrigue with reference to the diamondsthough of what she was

suspected she did not clearly perceive. As far as she could divine the thoughts of her enemies, they did not

seem to suppose that the diamonds were in her possession. It seemed to be believed by those enemies that

they had passed into the hands of Lord George. As long as her enemies were on a scent so false, might it not

But all the ingenuity, the concentrated force, and trained experience of the police of London would surely be

too great and powerful for her in the long run. She could not hope to keep her secret and the diamonds till

they should acknowledge themselves to be baffled. And then she was aware of a morbid desire on her own

part to tell the secret of a desire that amounted almost to a disease. It would soon burst her bosom open,

unless she could share her knowledge with someone. And yet, as she thought of it all, she told herself that she

had no friend so fast and true as to justify such confidence. She was ill with anxiety, andworse than

thatMrs Carbuncle knew that she was ill. It was acknowledged between them that this affair of the

necklace was so terrible as to make a woman ill. Mrs Carbuncle at present had been gracious enough to admit

so much as that. But might it not be probable that Mrs Carbuncle would come to suspect that she did not

know the whole secret? Mrs Carbuncle had already, on more than one occasion, said a little word or two

Such was Lizzie's condition when Mr Bunfit came, with his authoritative request to be allowed to inspect

Lizzie's boxesand when Mrs Carbuncle, having secured her own privacy, expressed her opinion that Mr

As soon as the words were out of Mrs Carbuncle's mouththose illnatured words in which she expressed

her assent to Mr Bunfit's proposition that a search should be made after the diamonds among all the

possessions of Lady Eustace which were now lodged in her own housepoor Lizzie's courage deserted her

entirely. She had been very courageous; for, though her powers of endurance had sometimes nearly deserted

her, though her heart had often failed her, still she had gone on and had endured and been silent. To endure

and to be silent in her position did require great courage. She was all alone in her misery, and could see no

way out of it. The diamonds were heavy as a load of lead within her bosom. And yet she had persevered.

Now, as she heard Mrs Carbuncle's words, her courage failed her. There came some obstruction in her throat,

so that she could not speak. She felt as though her heart were breaking. She put out both her hands and could

not draw them back again. She knew that she was betraying herself by her weakness. She could just hear the

man explaining that the search was merely a thing of ceremony, just to satisfy everybody that there was no

mistakeand then she fainted. So far, Barrington Erle was correct in the information given by him to Lady

Glencora. She pressed one hand against her heart, gasped for breath, and then fell back upon the sofa.

Perhaps she could have done nothing better. Had the fainting been counterfeit, the measure would have

shown ability. But the fainting was altogether true. Mrs Carbuncle first, and then Mr Bunfit, hurried from

their seats to help her. To neither of them did it occur for a moment that the fit was false.

``The whole thing has been too much for her,'' said Mrs Carbuncle severely, ringing the bell at the same time

``No doubtmum; no doubt. We has to see a deal of this sort of thing. Just a little air if you please,

``If you'll have the kindness to stand on one side'' said Mrs Carbuncle, as she stretched Lizzie on the sofa.

``Certainly, mum,'' said Bunfit, standing erect by the wall, but not showing the slightest disposition to leave

``I'll just stay and see her come to, mum. I won't do her a morsel of harm, mum. Sometimes they faints at the

very furst sight of such as we; but we has to bear it. A little more air, if you could, mumand just dash the

water on in drops like. They feels a drop more than they would a bucketfuland then when they comes to

Bunfit's advice, founded on much experience, was good, as Lizzie gradually came to herself and opened her

eyes. She immediately clutched at her breast, feeling for her key. She found it unmoved, but before her finger

had recognised the touch, her quick mind had told her how wrong the movement had been. It had been lost

upon Mrs Carbuncle, but not on Mr Bunfit. He did not at once think that she had the diamonds in her desk;

but he felt almost sure that there was something in her possessionprobably some documentwhich, if

found, would place him on the track of the diamonds. But he could not compel a search. ``Your ladyship'll

soon be better,'' said Bunfit graciously. Lizzie endeavoured to smile as she expressed her assent to this

``Saying to who, sir?'' exclaimed Mrs Carbuncle, rising up in wrath. ``Elder, indeed!''

``As I was a venturing to explain, these fits of fainting come often in our way. Thieves, mumthat is, the

regularsdon't mind us a bit, and the women is more hardeneder than the men; but when we has to speak to

a lady, it is so often that she goes off like that! I've known 'em do it just at being looked at.''

``We won't disturb your ladyship the least in life,'' said Mr Bunfit, ``if you'll only just let us have your keys.

Your servant can be with us, and we won't move one tittle of anything.'' But Lizzie, though she was still

suffering that ineffable sickness which always accompanies and follows a real faintingfit, would not

surrender her keys. Already had an excuse for not doing so occurred to her. But for a while she seemed to

hesitate. ``I don't demand it, Lady Eustace,'' said Mr Bunfit, ``but if you'll allow me to say so, I do think it

``I can take no step without consulting my cousin, Mr Greystock,'' said Lizzie; and having thought of this she

adhered to it. The detective supplied her with many reasons for giving up her keys, alleging that it would do

no harm, and that her refusal would create infinite suspicions. But Lizzie had formed her answer and stuck to

it. She always consulted her cousin, and always acted upon his advice. He had already cautioned her not to

take any steps without his sanction. She would do nothing till he consented. If Mr Bunfit would see Mr

Greystock, and if Mr Greystock would come to her and tell her to submitshe would submit. Ill as she was,

she could be obstinate, and Bunfit left the house without having been able to finger that key which he felt

As he walked back to his own quarters in Scotland Yard, Bunfit was by no means dissatisfied with his

morning's work. He had not expected to find anything with Lady Eustace, and, when she had fainted, had not

hoped to be allowed to search. But he was now sure that her ladyship was possessed, at any rate, of some

guilty knowledge. Bunfit was one of those who, almost from the first, had believed that the box was empty

when taken out of the hotel. ``Stones like them must turn up more or less'', was Bunfit's great argument. That

the police should already have found the stones themselves was not perhaps probable; but had any ordinary

thieves had them in their hands, they could not have been passed on without leaving a trace behind them. It

was his opinion that the box had been opened and the door cut by the instrumentality and concurrence of

Lord George de Bruce Carrutherswith the assistance of some wellskilled mechanical thief. Nothing could

be made out of the tall footmanindeed, the tall footman had already been set at liberty, although he was

known to have evil associates, and the tall footman was now loud in demanding compensation for the injury

done to him. Many believed that the tall footman had been concerned in the mattermany, that is, among

the experienced craftsmen of the police force. Bunfit thought otherwise. Bunfit believed that the diamonds

were now either in the possession of Lord George or of Harter and Benjamin, that they had been handed over

to Lord George to save them from Messrs Camperdown and the lawsuit, and that Lord George and the lady

were lovers. The lady's conduct at their last interview, her fit of fainting, and her clutching for the key, all

confirmed Bunfit in his opinion. But unfortunately for Bunfit he was almost alone in his opinion. There were

men in the forcehigh in their profession as detectiveswho avowed that certainly two very experienced

and wellknown thieves had been concerned in the business. That a certain Mr Smiler had been therea

gentleman for whom the whole police of London entertained a feeling which approached to veneration, and

that most diminutive of fullgrown thieves, Billy Cannmost diminutive but at the same time most

expertwas not doubted by some minds which were apt to doubt till conviction had become certainty. The

traveller who had left the Scotch train at Dumfries had been a very small man, and it was a known fact that

Mr Smiler had left London, by train, from the Euston Square station, on the day before that on which Lizzie

and her party had reached Carlisle. If it were so, if Mr Smiler and Billy Cann had both been at work at the

hotel, thenso argued they who opposed the Bunfit theoryit was hardly conceivable that the robbery

should have been arranged by Lord George. According to the Bunfit theory, the only thing needed by the

conspirators had been that the diamonds should be handed over by Lady Eustace to Lord George in such a

way as to escape suspicion that such transfer had been made. This might have been done with very little

troubleby simply leaving the box empty, with the key in it. The door of the bedroom had been opened by

skilful professional men, and the box had been forced by the use of tools which none but professional

gentlemen would possess. Was it probable that Lord George would have committed himself with such men,

and incurred the very heavy expense of paying for their services, when he wasaccording to the Bunfit

theoryable to get at the diamonds without any such trouble, danger, and expenditure? There was a young

detective in the force, very cleveralmost too clever, and certainly a little too fastGager by name, who

declared that the Bunfit theory ``warn't on the cards.'' According to Gager's information, Smiler was at this

moment a brokenhearted manranging between mad indignation and suicidal despondency, because he

had been treated with treachery in some direction. Mr Gager was as fully convinced as Bunfit that the

diamonds had not been in the box. There was bitter, raging, heartbreaking disappointment about the

diamonds in more quarters than one. That there had been a double robbery Gager was quite sureor rather a

robbery in which two sets of thieves had been concerned, and in which one set had been duped by the other

set. In this affair Mr Smiler and poor little Billy Cann had been the dupes. So far Gager's mind had arrived at

certainty. But then how had they been duped, and who had duped them? And who had employed them? Such

a robbery would hardly have been arranged and executed except on commission. Even Mr Smiler would not

have burthened himself with such diamonds without knowing what to do with them, and what he should get

for them. That they were intended ultimately for the hands of Messrs Harter and Benjamin, Gager almost

believed. And Gager was inclined to think that Messrs Harter and Benjaminor rather Mr Benjamin, for Mr

Harter himself was almost too old for work requiring so very great mental activitythat Mr Benjamin,

fearing the honesty of his executive officer Mr Smiler, had been splendidly treacherous to his subordinate.

Gager had not quite completed his theory; but he was very firm on one great pointthat the thieves at

Carlisle had been genuine thieves thinking that they were stealing the diamonds, and finding their mistake out

when the box had been opened by them under the bridge. ``Who have 'em, then?'' asked Bunfit of his younger

``Well; yes; who 'ave 'em? It's easy to say, who 'ave 'em? Suppose 'e 'ave 'em.'' The ``he'' alluded to by Gager

was Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. ``But, laws, Bunfit, they're goneweeks ago. You know that,

Bunfit.'' This had occurred before the intended search among poor Lizzie's boxes, but Bunfit's theory had not

been shaken. Bunfit could see all round his own theory. It was whole, and the motives as well as the

operations of the persons concerned were explained by it. But the Gager theory only went to show what had

not been done, and offered no explanation of the accomplished scheme. Then Bunfit went a little further in

his theory, not disdaining to accept something from Gager. Perhaps Lord George had engaged these men, and

had afterwards found it practicable to get the diamonds without their assistance. On one great point all

concerned in the inquiry were in unisonthat the diamonds had not been in the box when it was carried out

of the bedroom at Carlisle. The great point of difference consisted in this, that whereas Gager was sure that

the robbery when committed had been genuine, Bunfit was of opinion that the box had been first opened, and

then taken out of the hotel in order that the police might be put on a wrong track.

The matter was becoming very important. Two or three of the leading newspapers had first hinted at and then

openly condemned the incompetence and slowness of the police. Such censure, as we all know, is very

common, and in nine cases out of ten it is unjust. They who write it probably know but little of the

circumstancesand, in speaking of a failure here and a failure there, make no reference to the numerous

successes, which are so customary as to partake of the nature of routine. It is the same in regard to all public

mattersarmy matters, navy matters, poorlaw matters, and post office matters. Day after day, and almost

every day, one meets censure which is felt to be unjustbut the general result of all this injustice is increased

efficiency. The coach does go the faster because of the whip in the coachman's hand, though the horses

driven may never have deserved the thong. In this matter of the Eustace diamonds the police had been very

active; but they had been unsuccessful, and had consequently been abused. The robbery was now more than

three weeks old, property to the amount of ten thousand pounds had been abstracted, and as yet the police had

not even formed an assured opinion on the subject! Had the same thing occurred in New York or Paris every

diamond would by this time have been traced. Such were the assertions made, and the police were instigated

to new exertions. Bunfit would have jeopardised his right hand, and Gager his life, to get at the secret. Even

The facts of the claim made by Mr Camperdown, and of the bill which had been filed in Chancery for the

recovery of the diamonds, were of course widely known, and added much to the general interest and

complexity. It was averred that Mr Camperdown's determination to get the diamonds had been very

energetic, and Lady Eustace's determination to keep them equally so. Wonderful stories were told of Lizzie's

courage, energy, and resolution. There was hardly a lawyer of repute but took up the question, and had an

opinion as to Lizzie's right to the necklace. The Attorney and SolicitorGeneral were dead against her,

asserting that the diamonds certainly did not pass to her under the will, and could not have become hers by

gift. But they were members of a liberal government, and of course antiLizzieite. Gentlemen who were

equal to them in learning, who had held offices equally high, were distinctly of a different opinion. Lady

Eustace might probably claim the jewels as paraphernalia properly appertaining to her rankin which claim

the bestowal of them by her husband would no doubt assist her. And to these gentlemenwho were

Lizzieites and of course conservatives in politicsit was by no means clear that the diamonds did not pass to

her by will. If it could be shown that the diamonds had been lately kept in Scotland, the exAttorneyGeneral

thought that they would so pass. All which questions, now that the jewels had been lost, were discussed

openly, and added greatly to the anxiety of the police. Both Lizzieites and antiLizzieites were disposed to

Frank Greystock in these days took up his cousin's part altogether in good faith. He entertained not the

slightest suspicion that she was deceiving him in regard to the diamonds. That the robbery had been a bona

fide robbery, and that Lizzie had lost her treasure, was to him beyond doubt. He had gradually convinced

himself that Mr Camperdown was wrong in his claim, and was strongly of opinion that Lord Fawn had

disgraced himself by his conduct to the lady. When he now heard, as he did hear, that some undefined

suspicion was attached to his cousinand when he heard also, as unfortunately he did hearthat Lord Fawn

had encouraged that suspicion, he was very irate, and said grievous things of Lord Fawn. It seemed to him to

be the extremity of cruelty that suspicion should be attached to his cousin because she had been robbed of her

jewels. He was among those who were most severe in their denunciation of the policeand was the more so,

because he had heard it asserted that the necklace had not in truth been stolen. He busied himself very much

in the matter, and even interrogated John Eustace as to his intentions. ``My dear fellow,'' said Eustace, ``if

you hated those diamonds as much as I do, you would never mention them again.'' Greystock declared that

this expression of aversion to the subject might be all very well for Mr Eustace, but that he found himself

bound to defend his cousin. ``You cannot defend her against me'', said Eustace, ``for I do not attack her. I

have never said a word against her. I went down to Portray when she asked me. As far as I am concerned she

is perfectly welcome to wear the necklace, if she can get it back again. I will not make or meddle in the

matter one way or the other.'' Frank, after that, went to Mr Camperdown, but he could get no satisfaction

from the attorney. Mr Camperdown would only say that he had a duty to do, and that he must do it. On the

matter of the robbery he refused to give an opinion. That was in the hands of the police. Should the diamonds

be recovered, he would, of course, claim them on behalf of the estate. In his opinion, whether the diamonds

were recovered or not, Lady Eustace was responsible to the estate for their value. In opposition first to the

entreaties and then to the demands of her late husband's family, she had insisted on absurdly carrying about

with her an enormous amount of property which did not belong to her. Mr Camperdown opined that she must

pay for the lost diamonds out of her jointure. Frank, in a huff, declared that, as far as he could see, the

diamonds belonged to his cousinin answer to which Mr Camperdown suggested that the question was one

for the decision of the ViceChancellor. Frank Greystock found that he could do nothing with Mr

Bunfit, when he returned from Mrs Carbuncle's house to Scotland Yard, had an interview with Major

``No, sirno search. She wouldn't have it, unless her cousin, Mr Greystock, permitted.''

``Nor yet didn't I, sir. But I'll tell you what it is, Major. She knows all about it.''

``She does, sir; and she's got something locked up somewhere in that house as'd elucidate the whole of this

``I ain't noways sure as she ain't got them very diamonds themselves locked up, or, perhaps, tied round her

``The robbery at Carlisle was no robbery,'' continued Bunfit. ``It was a gotup plant, and about the best as I

ever knowed. It's my mind that it was a gotup plant between her ladyship and his lordship; and either the

one or the other is just keeping the diamonds till it's safe to take 'em into the market.''

During all this time Lucinda Roanoke was engaged to marry Sir Griffin Tewett, and the lover was an

occasional visitor in Hertford Street. Mrs Carbuncle was as anxious as ever that the marriage should be

celebrated on the appointed day, and though there had been repeated quarrels, nothing had as yet taken place

to make her despond. Sir Griffin would make some offensive speech; Lucinda would tell him that she had no

desire ever to see him again; and then the baronet, usually under the instigation of Lord George, would make

some awkward apology. Mrs Carbunclewhose life at this period was not a pleasant onewould behave on

such occasions with great patience, and sometimes with great courage. Lizzie, who in her present emergency

could not bear the idea of losing the assistance of any friend, was soft and graceful, and even gracious, to the

bear. The bear himself certainly seemed to desire the marriage, though he would so often give offence which

made any prospect of a marriage almost impossible. But with Sir Griffin, when the prize seemed to be lost, it

again became valuable. He would talk about his passionate love to Mrs Carbuncle, and to Lizzieand then,

when things had been made straight for him, he would insult them and neglect Lucinda. To Lucinda herself,

however, he would rarely dare to say such words as he used daily to the other two ladies in the house. What

could have been the man's own idea of his future married life, how can any reader be made to understand, or

any writer adequately describe! He must have known that the woman despised him, and hated him. In the

very bottom of his heart he feared her. He had no idea of other pleasure from her society than what might

arise to him from the pride of having married a beautiful woman. Had she shown the slightest fondness for

him, the slightest fear that she might lose him, the slightest feeling that she had won a valuable prize in

getting him, he would have scorned her, and jilted her without the slightest remorse. But the scorn came from

her, and it beat him down. ``Yesyou hate me, and would fain be rid of me; but you have said that you will

be my wife, and you cannot now escape me.'' Sir Griffin did not exactly speak such words as these, but he

acted them. Lucinda would bear his presencesitting apart from him, silent, imperious, but very beautiful.

People said that she became more handsome from day to day, and she did so, in spite of her agony. Hers was

a face which could stand such condition of the heart without fading or sinking under it. She did not weep, or

lose her colour, or become thin. The pretty softness of a girldelicate feminine weakness, or laughing eyes

and pouting lips, no one expected from her. Sir Griffin, in the early days of their acquaintance, had found her

to be a woman with a character for beautyand she was now more beautiful than ever. He probably thought

He had expressed himself more than once as very angry about this affair of the jewels. He had told Mrs

Carbuncle that her inmate, Lady Eustace, was suspected by the police, and that it might be well that Lady

Eustace should bebe made to go, in fact. But it did not suit Mrs Carbuncle that Lady Eustace should be

made to gonor did it suit Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. Lord George, at Mrs Carbuncle's instance, had

snubbed Sir Griffin more than once, and then it came to pass that he was snubbed yet again more violently

than before. He was at the house in Hertford Street on the day of Mr Bunfit's visit, some hours after Mr

Bunfit was gone, when Lizzie was still lying on her bed upstairs, nearly beaten by the great danger which had

oppressed her. He was told of Mr Bunfit's visit, and then again said that he thought that the continued

residence of Lady Eustace beneath that roof was a misfortune. ``Would you wish us to turn her out because

``So they do, Sir Griffin,'' continued Mrs Carbuncle. ``They say such queer things that I can hardly

understand that they should be allowed to say them. I am told that the police absolutely suggest that Lord

``No doubt, Sir Griffin. And so is the other nonsense. Do you mean to tell us that you believe that Lady

``I don't see the use of having her here. Situated as I am, I have a right to object to it.''

``Wellyes, of course; if we are to be married, I cannot but think a good deal of the persons you stay with.''

``You were very glad to stay yourself with Lady Eustace at Portray,'' said Lucinda.

``I wish with all my heart you had stayed away,'' said Lucinda. At that moment Lord George was shown into

the room, and Miss Roanoke continued speaking, determined that Lord George should know how the bear

was conducting himself. ``Sir Griffin is saying that my aunt ought to turn Lady Eustace out of the house.''

``Quite that,'' said Lucinda. ``I don't suppose that he suspects poor Lady Eustace, but he thinks that my aunt's

``If you would mind your own business, Tewett,'' said George, ``it would be a deal better for us all. I wonder

Mrs Carbuncle does not turn you out of the room for making such a proposition here. If it were my room, I

``I suppose I can say what I please to Mrs Carbuncle? Miss Roanoke is not going to be your wife.''

``It is my belief that Miss Roanoke will be nobody's wifeat any rate, for the present,'' said that young

ladyupon which Sir Griffin left the room, muttering some words which might have been, perhaps, intended

for an adieu. Immediately after this, Lizzie came in, moving slowly, but without a sound, like a ghost, with

pale cheeks, and dishevelled hair, and that weary, worn look of illness which was become customary with

her. She greeted Lord George with a faint attempt at a smile, and seated herself in a corner of a sofa. She

asked whether he had been told the story of the proposed search, and then bade her friend Mrs Carbuncle

``By heavens, I don't know!'' said Lord George. ``In this matter your weakness is stronger than any strength

of mine. I never was so cut up in my life. It was a good joke when we talked of the suspicions of that fellow

at Carlisle as we came up by the railwaybut it is no joke now. I've had men with me, almost asking to

``Youyes. But there's some reason in that. These infernal diamonds did belong to you, or, at any rate, you

had them. You are the last person known to have seen them. Even if you had them still, you'd only have what

you call your own.'' Lizzie looked at him with all her eyes and listened to him with all her ears. ``But what the

``That a pigheaded provincial fool should have taken me for a midnight thief did not disturb me much. I

don't think I am very easily annoyed by what other people think of me. But these fellows, I suppose, were

sent here by the head of the metropolitan police; and everybody knows that they have been sent. Because I

was civil enough to you women to look after you coming up to town, and because one of you was careless

enough to lose her jewels, II am to be talked about all over London as the man who took them!'' This was

not spoken with much courtesy to the ladies present. Lord George had dropped that customary chivalry of

manner which, in ordinary life, makes it to be quite out of the question that a man shall be uncivil to a

woman. He had escaped from conventional usage into rough, truthful speech, under stress from the extremity

of the hardship to which he had been subjected. And the women understood it and appreciated it and liked it

rather than otherwise. To Lizzie it seemed fitting that a Corsair so circumstanced should be as uncivil as he

``Somebody thinks it. I am told that your particular friend, Lord Fawn,''this he said, specially addressing

Lizzie``has expressed a strong opinion that I carry about the necklace always in my pocket. I trust to have

``I shall not lose a chance if I can get it. Before all this occurred I should have said of myself that nothing of

the kind could put me out. I don't think there is a man in the world cares less what people say of him than I

do. I am as indifferent to ordinary tittletattle as a rhinoceros. But, by Georgewhen it comes to stealing ten

thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, and the delicate attentions of all the metropolitan police, one begins to

feel that one is vulnerable. When I get up in the morning, I half feel that I shall be locked up before night, and

I can see in the eyes of every man I meet that he takes me for the prince of burglars!''

``I don't know what to think. I'm at a dead loss. You know that man, Mr Benjamin, Lady Eustace?'' Lizzie,

with a little start, answered that she didthat she had had dealings with him before her marriage, and had

once owed him two or three hundred pounds. As the man's name had been mentioned, she thought it better to

own as much. ``So he tells me. Now, in all London, I don't suppose there is a greater rascal than Benjamin.''

``But I did; and with that rascal I have had money dealings for the last six or seven years. He has cashed bills

for me, and has my name to bills nowand Sir Griffin's too. I'm half inclined to think that he has got the

``He either thinks that I've got 'em, or he wants to make me believe that he thinks so. He hasn't dared to say

itbut that's his intention. Such an opinion from such a man on such a subject, would be quite a compliment.

And I feel it. But yet it troubles me. You know that greasy, Israelitish smile of his, Lady Eustace.'' Lizzie

nodded her head and tried to smile. ``When I asked him yesterday about the diamonds, he leered at me and

rubbed his hands. `It's a pretty little gameain't it, Lord George?' he said. I told him that I thought it a very

bad game, and that I hoped the police would have the thief and the necklace soon. `It's been managed a deal

too well for that, Lord Georgedon't you think so?''' Lord George mimicked the Jew as he repeated the

words, and the ladies, of course, laughed. But poor Lizzie's attempt at laughter was very sorry. ``I told him to

his face that I thought he had them among his treasures. `No, no, no; Lord George,' he said, and seemed quite

to enjoy the joke. If he's got them himself, he can't think that I have thembut if he has not, I don't doubt but

``I don't know how that may be. Sir Griffin, Lucinda, isn't at all sure but what I have them in my pocket.''

``And it seems he can believe anything of me. I shall begin to think soon that I did take them, myselfor, at

any rate, that I ought to have done so. I wonder what you three women think of it. If you do think I've got

'em, don't scruple to say so. I'm quite used to it, and it won't hurt me any further.'' The ladies again laughed.

``How can the police know?'' asked Lucinda. ``They weren't there to see. Of course, the thieves would say

``Or the Lord Chancellor,'' said Lord George. ``One is just as likely as the other. I wish I could get at what

you really think. The whole thing would be so complete if all you three suspected me. I can't get out of it all

by going to Paris or Kamschatka, as I should have half a dozen detectives on my heels wherever I went. I

must brazen it out here; and the worst of it is, that I feel that a look of guilt is creeping over me. I have a sort

of conviction growing upon me that I shall be taken up and tried, and that a jury will find me guilty. I dream

about it; and ifas is probableit drives me mad, I'm sure that I shall accuse myself in my madness.

There's a fascination about it that I can't explain or escape. I go on thinking how I would have done it if I did

do it. I spend hours calculating how much I would have realised, and where I would have found my market. I

couldn't keep myself from asking Benjamin the other day how much they would be worth to him.''

``What did he say?'' asked Lizzie, who sat gazing upon the Corsair, and who was now herself fascinated.

Lord George was walking about the room, then sitting for a moment in one chair and again in another, and

after a while leaning on the mantelpiece. In his speaking he addressed himself almost exclusively to Lizzie,

``He grinned greasily'', said the Corsair, ``and told me they had already been offered to him once before by

``Very likely. And then he said that no doubt they'd fall into his hands some day. `Wouldn't it be a game,

Lord George,' he said, `if, after all, they should be no more than paste?' That made me think he had got them,

and that he'd get paste diamonds put into the same settingand then give them up with some story of his

own making. `You'd know whether they were paste or not, wouldn't you, Lord George?' he asked.'' The

Corsair, as he repeated Mr Benjamin's words, imitated the Jew's manner so well, that he made Lizzie shudder.

``I think not. He seemed to be quite intimate with Mr Benjamin, and went on at once about the diamonds.

Benjamin said that they'd made their way over to Paris, and that he'd heard of them. I found myself getting

quite intimate with Mr Gager, who seemed hardly to scruple at showing that he thought that Benjamin and I

were confederates. Mr Camperdown has offered four hundred pounds reward for the jewelsto be paid on

their surrender to the hands of Mr Garnett, the jeweller. Gager declared that, if any ordinary thief had them,

``How would the ordinary thief get his money without being detected? Who would dare to walk into Garnett's

shop with the diamonds in his hands and ask for the four hundred pounds? Besides, they have been sold to

someoneand, as I believe, to my dear friend, Mr Benjamin. `I suppose you ain't agoing anywhere just at

present, Lord George?' said that fellow Gager. `What the devil's that to you?' I asked him. He just laughed

and shook his head. I don't doubt but that there's a policeman about waiting till I leave this houseor looking

at me now with a magnifying glass from the windows at the other side. They've photographed me while I'm

going about, and published a list of every hair on my face in the `Hue and Cry'. I dined at the club yesterday,

and found a strange waiter. I feel certain that he was a policeman done up in livery all for my sake. I turned

sharp round in the street yesterday, and found a man at a corner. I am sure that man was watching me, and

was looking at my pockets to see whether the jewel case was there. As for myself, I can think of nothing else.

I wish I had got them. I should have something then to pay me for all this nuisance.''

``What I should do with them I cannot even imagine. I am always thinking of that, toomaking plans for

getting rid of them, supposing I had stolen them. My belief is, that I should be so sick of them that I should

chuck them over the bridge into the riveronly that I should fear that some policeman's eye would be on me

as I did it. My present position is not comfortablebut if I had got them, I think that the weight of them

would crush me altogether. Having a handle to my name and being a lord, or, at least, called a lord, makes it

all the worse. People are so pleased to think that a lord should have stolen a necklace.''

Lizzie listened to it all with a strange fascination. If this strong man were so much upset by the bare

suspicion, what must be her condition? The jewels were in her desk upstairs, and the police had been with her

alsowere even now probably looking after her and watching her. How much more difficult must it be for

her to deal with the diamonds than it would have been for this man. Presently Mrs Carbuncle left the room,

and Lucinda followed her. Lizzie saw them go, and did not dare to go with them. She felt as though her limbs

would not have carried her to the door. She was now alone with her Corsair; and she looked up timidly into

his deepset eyes, as he came and stood over her. ``Tell me all that you know about it,'' he said, in that deep

low voice which, from her first acquaintance with him, had filled her with interest, and almost with awe.

Lizzie Eustace was speechless as she continued to look up into the Corsair's face. She ought to have answered

him briskly, either with indignation or with a touch of humour. But she could not answer him at all. She was

desired to tell him all that she knew about the robbery, and she was unable to declare that she knew nothing.

How much did he suspect? What did he believe? Had she been watched by Mrs Carbuncle, and had

something of the truth been told to him? And then would it not be better for her that he should know it all?

Unsupported and alone she could not bear the trouble which was on her. If she were driven to tell her secret

to anyone, had she not better tell it to him? She knew that if she did so, she would be a creature in his hands

to be deal with as he pleasedbut would there not be a certain charm in being so mastered? He was but a

pinchbeck lord. She had wit enough to know that; but then she had wit enough also to feel that she herself

was but a pinchbeck lady. He would be fit for her, and she for himif only he would take her. Since her

daydreams first began, she had been longing for a Corsair; and here he was, not kneeling at her feet, but

standing over heras became a Corsair. At any rate he had mastered her now, and she could not speak to

He waited perhaps a minute, looking at her, before he renewed his question; and the minute seemed to her to

be an age. During every second her power beneath his gaze sank lower and lower. There gradually came a

grim smile over his face, and she was sure that he could read her very heart. Then he called her by her

Christian nameas he had never called her before. ``Come, Lizzie,'' he said, ``you might as well tell me all

``Know what?'' The words were audible to him, though they were uttered in the lowest whisper.

``About this d necklace. What is it all? Where are they? And how did you manage it?''

``But you know where they are?'' He paused again, still gazing at her. Gradually there came across his face,

or she fancied that it was so, a look of ferocity which thoroughly frightened her. If he should turn against her,

and be leagued with the police against her, what chance would she have? ``You know where they are,'' he

said, repeating his words. Then at last she nodded her head, assenting to his assertion. ``And where are they?

Comeout with it! If you won't tell me, you must tell someone else. There has been a deal too much of this

``I will; indeed I will. And it was all an accident. When I took them out of the box, I only did it for safety.''

``You did take them out of the box then?'' Again she nodded her head. ``And have got them now?'' There was

another nod. ``And where are they? Come; with such a spirit of enterprise as yours you ought to be able to

``The Lord be good to us!'' ejaculated Lord George. ``All the police in London, from the chief downwards,

are agog about this necklace. Every wellknown thief in the town is envied by every other thief because he is

thought to have had a finger in the pie. I am suspected, and Mr Benjamin is suspected; Sir Griffin is

suspected, and half the jewellers in London and Paris are supposed to have the stones in their keeping. Every

man and woman is talking about it, and people are quarrelling about it till they almost cut each other's throats;

and all the while you have got them locked up in your desk! How on earth did you get the box broken open

Then Lizzie in a frightened whisper, with her eyes often turned on the floor, told the whole story. ``If I'd had

a minute to think of it,'' she said, ``I would have confessed the truth at Carlisle. Why should I want to steal

what was my own? But they came to me all so quickly, and I didn't like to say that I had them under my

``And then I couldn't tell anybody afterwards. I always meant to tell youfrom the very first; because I

knew you would be good to me. They are my own. Surely I might do what I liked with my own?''

``Wellyes; in one way. But you see there was a lawsuit in Chancery going on about them; and then you

committed perjury at Carlisle. And altogetherit's not quite straight sailing, you know.''

``Hardly. Major Mackintosh, and the magistrates, and Messrs Bunfit and Gager won't settle down, peaceable

and satisfied, when they hear the end of the story. And I think Messrs Camperdown will have a bill against

``They're worth ever so muchten thousand pounds! And they are my own, to do just what I please with

``Who'd buy them? And before a week was over I should be in prison, and in a couple of months should be

``What will you do for me? You are my friendain't you?'' The diamond necklace was not a desirable

possession in the eyes of Lord George de Bruce Carruthersbut Portray Castle, with its income, and the fact

that Lizzie Eustace was still a very young woman, was desirable. Her prettiness too was not altogether thrown

away on Lord Georgethough, as he was wont to say to himself, he was too old now to sacrifice much for

such a toy as that. Something he must doif only because of the knowledge which had come to him. He

could not go away and leave her, and neither say nor do anything in the matter. And he could not betray her

to the police. ``You will not desert me!'' she said, taking hold of his hand, and kissing it as a suppliant.

He passed his arm round her waist, but more as though she were a child than a woman, as he stood thinking.

Of all the affairs in which he had ever been engaged it was the most difficult. She submitted to his embrace,

and leaned upon his shoulder, and looked up into his face. If he would only tell her that he loved her, then he

would be bound to herthen must he share with her the burthen of the diamondsthen must he be true to

her. ``George!'' she said, and burst into a low suppressed wailing, with her face hidden upon his arm.

``That's all very well,'' said he, still holding herfor she was pleasant to hold``but what the d is a

fellow to do? I don't see my way out of it. I think you'd better go to Camperdown, and give them up to him,

and tell him the truth.'' Then she sobbed more violently than before, till her quick ear caught the sound of a

footstep on the stairs, and in a moment she was out of his arms and seated on the sofa, with hardly a trace of

tears in her eyes. It was the footman, who desired to know whether Lady Eustace would want the carriage

that afternoon. Lady Eustace, with her cheeriest voice, sent her love to Mrs Carbuncle, and her assurance that

she would not want the carriage before the evening. ``I don't know that you can do anything else,'' continued

Lord George, ``except just give them up and brazen it out. I don't suppose they'd prosecute you.''

``I'll never give them up to Mr Camperdown. They are minemy very own. My cousin, Mr Greystock, who

is much more of a lawyer than Mr Camperdown, says so. Oh, George, do think of something! Don't tell me

``Yesfor half nothing; and then go and tell the whole story and get money from the other side. You can't

``But I can trust you.'' She clung to him and implored him, and did get from him a renewed promise that he

would not reveal her secret. She wanted him to take the terrible packet from her there and then, and use his

own judgment in disposing of it. But this he positively refused to do. He protested that they were safer with

her than they could be with him. He explained to her that if they were found in his hands, his offence in

having them in his possession would be much greater than hers. They were her ownas she was ever so

ready to assert; or if not her own, the ownership was so doubtful that she could not be accused of having

stolen them. And then he needed to consider it allto sleep upon itbefore he could make up his mind

But there was one other trouble on her mind as to which he was called upon to give her counsel before he was

allowed to leave her. She had told the detective officer that she would submit her boxes and desks to be

searched if her cousin Frank should advise it. If the policeman were to return with her cousin while the

diamonds were still in her desk, what should she do? He might come at any time; and then she would be

bound to obey him. ``And he thinks that they were stolen at Carlisle?'' asked Lord George. ``Of course he

thinks so,'' said Lizzie, almost indignantly. ``They would never ask to search your person,'' suggested Lord

George. Lizzie could not say. She had simply declared that she would be guided by her cousin. ``Have them

about you when he comes. Don't take them out with you; but keep them in your pocket while you are in the

``Then you must refuse in spite of your cousin. Show yourself angry with him and with everybody. Swear

that you did not intend to submit yourself to such indignity as that. They can't do it without a magistrate's

order, unless you permit it. I don't suppose they will come at all; and if they do they will only look at your

clothes and your boxes. If they ask to do more, be stout with them and refuse. Of course they'll suspect you,

but they do that already. And your cousin will suspect youbut you must put up with that. It will be very

``Oh no,'' said Lizzie, promising to be obedient to him. And then he took his leave of her. ``You will be true

to mewill you not?'' she said, still clinging to his arm. He promised her that he would. ``Oh, George,'' she

said, ``I have no friend now but you. You will care for me?'' He took her in his arms and kissed her, and

promised her that he would care for her. How was he to save himself from doing so? When he was gone,

Lizzie sat down to think of it all, and felt sure that at last she had found her Corsair.

Mrs Carbuncle and Lizzie Eustace did not, in these days, shut themselves up because there was trouble in the

household. It would not have suited the creed of Mrs Carbuncle on social matters to be shut up from the

amusements of life. She had sacrificed too much in seeking them for that, and was too conscious of the price

she paid for them. It was still midwinter, but nevertheless there was generally some amusement arranged for

every evening. Mrs Carbuncle was very fond of the play, and made herself acquainted with every new piece

as it came out. Every actor and actress of note on the stage was known to her, and she dealt freely in

criticisms on their respective merits. The three ladies had a box at the Haymarket taken for this very evening,

at which a new piece, The Noble Jilt from the hand of a very eminent author, was to be produced. Mrs

Carbuncle had talked a great deal about The Noble Jilt and could boast that she had discussed the merits of

the two chief characters with the actor and actress who were to undertake them. Miss Talbot had assured her

that the Margaret was altogether impracticable, and Mrs Carbuncle was quite of the same opinion. And as for

the hero, Steinmarkit was a part that no man could play so as to obtain the sympathy of an audience. There

was a second heroa Flemish Counttame as rainwater, Mrs Carbuncle said. She was very anxious for

the success of the piece, which, as she said, had its merits; but she was sure that it wouldn't do. She had talked

about it a great deal, and now, when the evening came, she was not going to be deterred from seeing it by any

trouble in reference to a diamond necklace. Lizzie, when she was left by Lord George, had many doubts on

the subjectwhether she would go or stay at home. If he would have come to her, or her cousin Frank, or if,

had it been possible, Lord Fawn would have come, she would have given up the play very willingly. But to

be alonewith her necklace in the desk upstairs, or in her pocket, was terrible to her. And then, they could

not search her or her boxes while she was at the theatre. She must not take the necklace with her there. He

Lucinda, also, was quite determined that she would see the new piece. She declared to her aunt, in Lizzie's

presence, without a vestige of a smile, that it might be well to see how a jilt could behave herself, so as to do

her work of jilting in any noble fashion. ``My dear,'' said her aunt, ``you let things weigh upon your heart a

great deal too much.'' ``Not upon my heart, Aunt Jane,'' the young lady had answered. She also intended to

go, and when she had made up her mind to anything, nothing would deter her. She had no desire to stay at

home in order that she might see Sir Griffin. ``I daresay the play may be very bad,'' she said, ``but it can

Lizzie, when Lord George had left her, crept upstairs, and sat for awhile thinking of her condition, with the

key of her desk in her hand. Should there come a knock at the door, the case of diamonds would be in her

pocket in a moment. Her own room door was bolted on the inside, so that she might have an instant for her

preparation. She was quite resolved that she would carry out Lord George's recommendation, and that no

policeman or woman should examine her person, unless it were done by violence. There she sat, almost

expecting that at every moment her cousin would be there with Bunfit and the woman. But nobody came, and

at six she went down to dinner. After much consideration she then left the diamonds in the desk. Surely no

one would come to search at such an hour as that. No one had come when the carriage was announced, and

During the whole way Mrs Carbuncle talked of the terrible situation in which poor Lord George was placed

by the robbery, and of all that Lizzie owed him on account of his trouble. ``My dear,'' said Mrs Carbuncle,

``the least you can do for him is to give him all that you've got to give.'' ``I don't know that he wants me to

give him anything,'' said Lizzie. ``I think that's quite plain,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, ``and I'm sure I wish it may

be so. He and I have been dear friendsvery dear friends, and there is nothing I wish so much as to see him

properly settled. Illnatured people like to say all manner of things because everybody does not choose to

live in their own heartless, conventional form. But I can assure you there is nothing between me and Lord

George which need prevent him from giving his whole heart to you.'' ``I don't suppose there is,'' said Lizzie,

The play, as a play, was a failure; at least so said Mrs Carbuncle. The critics, on the next morning, were

somewhat dividednot only in judgment, but as to facts. To say how a play has been received is of more

moment than to speak of its own merits or of the merits of the actors. Three or four of the papers declared that

the audience was not only eulogistic, but enthusiastic. One or two others averred that the piece fell very flatly.

As it was not acted above four or five dozen times consecutively, it must be regarded as a failure. On their

way home Mrs Carbuncle declared that Minnie Talbot had done her very best with such a part as Margaret,

but that the character afforded no scope for sympathy. ``A noble jilt, my dears,'' said Mrs Carbuncle

eloquently, ``is a contradiction in terms. There can be no such thing. A woman, when she has once said the

word, is bound to stick to it. The delicacy of the female character should not admit of hesitation between two

``But may not one have an idea of no man at all?'asked Lucinda. ``Must that be revolting also?''

``Of course a young woman may entertain such an idea; though for my part I look upon it as unnatural. But

when she has once given herself there can be no taking back without the loss of that aroma which should be

``If she finds that she has made a mistake?'' said Lucinda fiercely. ``Why shouldn't a young woman make a

mistake as well as an old woman? Her aroma won't prevent her from having been wrong and finding it out.''

``My dear, such mistakes, as you call them, always arise from fantastic notions. Look at this piece. Why does

the lady jilt her lover? Not because she doesn't like him. She's just as fond of him as ever.''

``He's a stupid sort of a fellow, and I think she was quite right,'' said Lizzie. ``I'd never marry a man merely

because I said I would. If I found I didn't like him, I'd leave him at the altar. If I found I didn't like him, I'd

leave him even after the altar. I'd leave him any time I found I didn't like him. It's all very well to talk of

``My dear, those whom God has joined together shouldn't be separatedfor any mere likings or dislikings.''

This Mrs Carbuncle said in a high tone of moral feeling, just as the carriage stopped at the door in Hertford

Street. They at once perceived that the hall door was open, and Mrs Carbuncle, as she crossed the pavement,

saw that there were two policemen in the hall. The footman had been with them to the theatre, but the cook

and housemaid, and Mrs Carbuncle's own maid, were with the policemen in the passage. She gave a little

scream, and then Lizzie, who had followed her, seized her by the arm. She turned round and saw by the

gaslight that Lizzie's face was white as a sheet, and that all the lines of her countenance were rigid and almost

distorted. ``Then she does know all about it!'' said Mrs Carbuncle to herself. Lizzie didn't speak, but still hung

on to Mrs Carbuncle's arm, and Lucinda, having seen how it was, was also supporting her. A policeman

stepped forward and touched his hat. He was not Bunfitneither was he Gager. Indeed, though the ladies

had not perceived the difference, he was not at all like Bunfit or Gager. This man was dressed in a

policeman's uniform, whereas Bunfit and Gager always wore plain clothes. ``My lady,'' said the policeman,

``Yes, my lady. The servants all outall to one; and she's off. They've taken jewels, and, no doubt, money, if

With a horrid spasm across her heart, which seemed ready to kill her, so sharp was the pain, Lizzie recovered

the use of her legs and followed Mrs Carbuncle into the diningroom. She had been hardly conscious of

hearing; but she had heard, and it had seemed to her that the robbery spoken of was something distinct from

her own affair. The policemen did not speak of having found the diamonds. It was of something lost that they

spoke. She seated herself in a chair against the wall, but did not utter a word. ``We've been upstairs, my lady,

and they've been in most of the rooms. There's a desk broke open,''Lizzie gave an involuntary little

scream``Yes, mum, a desk,'' continued the policeman turning to Lizzie, ``and a bureau, and a

dressingcase. What's gone your ladyship can tell when you sees. And one of the young women is off. It's

she as done it.'' Then the cook explained. She and the housemaid, and Mrs Carbuncle's lady's maid, had just

stepped out, only round the corner, to get a little air, leaving Patience Crabstick in charge of the house, and

when they came back, the area gate was locked against them, the front door was locked, and finding

themselves unable to get in after many knockings, they had at last obtained the assistance of a policeman. He

had got into the place over the area gate, had opened the front door from within, and then the robbery had

been discovered. It was afterwards found that the servants had all gone out to what they called a teaparty, at

a public house in the neighbourhood, and that by previous agreement Patience Crabstick had remained in

charge. When they came back Patience Crabstick was gone, and the desk, and bureau, and dressingcase,

were found to have been opened. ``She had a reg'lar thief along with her, my lady,'' said the policeman, still

``I always knew that young woman was downright bad,'' said Mrs Carbuncle in her first expression of wrath.

But Lizzie sat in her chair without saying a word, still pale, with that almost awful look of agony in her face.

Within ten minutes of their entering the house, Mrs Carbuncle was making her way upstairs, with the two

policemen following her. That her bureau and her dressingcase should have been opened was dreadful to

her, though the value that she could thus lose was very small. She also possessed diamondsbut her

diamonds were paste; and whatever jewellery she had of any valuea few rings, and a brooch, and

suchlikehad been on her person in the theatre. What little money she had by her was in the drawingroom,

and the drawingroom, as it seemed, had not been entered. In truth, all Mrs Carbuncle's possessions in the

house were not sufficient to have tempted a wellbred, wellinstructed thief. But it behoved her to be

indignant; and she could be indignant with grace, as the thief was discovered to be, not her maid, but Patience

Crabstick. The policemen followed Mrs Carbuncle, and the maids followed the policemen; but Lizzie Eustace

kept her seat in the chair by the wall. ``Do you think they have taken much of yours?'' said Lucinda, coming

up to her and speaking very gently. Lizzie made a motion with her two hands upon her heart, and struggled,

and gaspedas though she wished to speak but could not. ``I suppose it is that girl who has done it all,'' said

Lucinda. Lizzie nodded her head, and tried to smile. The attempt was so ghastly that Lucinda, though not

timid by nature, was frightened. She sat down and took Lizzie's hand, and tried to comfort her. ``It is very

hard upon you'', she said, ``to be twice robbed.'' Lizzie again nodded her head. ``I hope it is not much now.

Shall we go up and see?'' The poor creature did get upon her legs, but she gasped so terribly that Lucinda

feared that she was dying. ``Shall I send for someone?'' she said. Lizzie made an effort to speak, was shaken

convulsively while the other supported her, and then burst into a flood of tears.

When that had come she was relieved, and could again act her part. ``Yes,'' she said, ``we will go with them.

``Very dreadfulbut how much better that we weren't at home! Shall we go now?'' Then together they

followed the others, and on the stairs Lizzie explained that in her desk, of which she always carried the key

round her neck, there was what money she had by hertwo tenpound notes, and four fivepound notes,

and three sovereignsin all, fortythree pounds. Her other jewelsthe jewetwo tenpound nd possessed

over and above the fatal diamond necklacewere in her dressingcase. Patience, she did not doubt, had

known that the money was there, and certainly knew of her jewels. So they went upstairs. The desk was open

and the money gone. Five or six rings and a bracelet had been taken also from Lizzie's dressingcase, which

she had left open. Of Mrs Carbuncle's property sufficient had been stolen to make a long list in that lady's

handwriting. Lucinda Roanoke's room had not been enteredas far as they could judge. The girl had taken

the best of her own clothes, and a pair of strong boots belonging to the cook. A superintendent of police was

there before they went to bed, and a list was made out. The superintendent was of opinion that the thing had

been done very cleverly, but was of opinion that the thieves had expected to find more plunder. ``They don't

care so much about banknotes, my lady, because they fetches such a low price with them as they deal with.

The three sovereigns is more to them than all the forty pounds in notes.'' The superintendent had heard of the

diamond necklace, and expressed an opinion that poor Lady Eustace was especially marked out for

misfortune. ``It all comes of having such a girl as that about her,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. The superintendent,

who intended to be consolatory to Lizzie, expressed his opinion that it was very hard to know what a young

woman was. ``They looks as soft as butter, and they're as sly as foxes, and as quick, as quickas quick as

greased lightning, my lady.'' Such a piece of business as this which had just occurred, will make people

And so the diamond necklace, known to be worth ten thousand pounds, had at last been stolen in earnest!

Lizzie, when the policemen were gone, and the noise was over, and the house was closed, slunk away to her

bedroom, refusing any aid in lieu of that of the wicked Patience. She herself had examined the desk beneath

the eyes of her two friends and of the policemen, and had seen at once that the case was gone. The money

was gone too, as she was rejoiced to find. She perceived at once that had the money been leftthe very

leaving of it would have gone to prove that other prize had been there. But the money was gonemoney of

which she had given a correct accountand she could now honestly allege that she had been robbed. But she

had at last really lost her great treasureand if the treasure should be found, then would she infallibly be

exposed. She had talked twice of giving away her necklace, and had seriously thought of getting rid of it by

burying it deep in the sea. But now that it was in very truth gone from her, the loss of it was horrible to her.

Ten thousand pounds, for which she had struggled so much and borne so many things, which had come to be

the prevailing fact of her life, gone from her for ever! Nevertheless it was not that sorrow, that regret which

had so nearly overpowered her in the diningparlour. At that moment she hardly knew, had hardly thought,

whether the diamonds had or had not been taken. But the feeling came upon her at once that her own disgrace

was every hour being brought nearer to her. Her secret was no longer quite her own. One man knew it, and he

had talked to her of perjury and of five years' imprisonment. Patience must have known it, too; and now

someone else also knew it. The police, of course, would find it out, and then horrid words would be used

against her. She hardly knew what perjury was. It sounded like forgery and burglary. To stand up before a

judge and be triedand then to be locked up for five years in prison! What an end would this be to all her

glorious success? And what evil had she done to merit all this terrible punishment? When they came to her in

her bedroom at Carlisle she had simply been too much frightened to tell them all that the necklace was at that

She tried to think of it all, and to form some idea in her mind of what might be the truth. Of course, Patience

Crabstick had known her secret, but how long had the girl known it? And how had the girl discovered it? She

was almost certain, from certain circumstances, from words which the girl had spoken, and from signs which

she had observed, that Patience had not even suspected that the necklace had been brought with them from

Carlisle to London. Of course, the coming of Bunfit and the woman would have set the girl's mind to work in

that direction; but then Bunfit and the woman had only been there on that morning. The Corsair knew the

facts, and no one but the Corsair. That the Corsair was a Corsair, the suspicions of the police had proved to

her. She had offered the necklace to the Corsair; but when so offered, he had refused to take it. She could

understand that he should see the danger of accepting the diamonds from her hand, and yet should be desirous

of having them. And might not he have thought that he could best relieve her from the burthen of their

custody in this manner? She felt no anger against the Corsair as she weighed the probability of his having

taken them in this fashion. A Corsair must be a Corsair. Were he to come to her and confess the deed, she

would almost like him the better for itadmiring his skill and enterprise. But how very clever he must have

been, and how brave! He had known, no doubt, that the three ladies were all going to the theatre; but in how

short a time had he got rid of the other women and availed himself of the services of Patience Crabstick!

But in what way would she conduct herself when the police should come to her on the following

morningthe police and all the other people who would crowd to the house? How should she receive her

cousin Frank? How should she look when the coincidence of the double robbery should be spoken of in her

hearing? How should she bear herself when, as of course would be the case, she should again be taken before

the magistrates, and made to swear as to the loss of her property? Must she commit more perjury, with the

certainty that various people must know that her oath was false? All the world would suspect her. All the

world would soon know the truth. Might it not be possible that the diamonds were at this moment in the

hands of Messrs Camperdown, and that they would be produced before her eyes, as soon as her second false

oath had been registered against her? And yet how could she tell the truth? And what would the Corsair think

of herthe Corsair, who would know everything? She made one resolution during the night. She would not

be taken into court. The magistrates and the people might come to her, but she would not go before them.

When the morning came she said that she was ill, and refused to leave her bed. Policemen, she knew, were in

the house early. At about nine Mrs Carbuncle and Lucinda were up and in her room. The excitement of the

affair had taken them from their bedsbut she would not stir. If it were absolutely necessary, she said, the

men must come into her room. She had been so overset by what had occurred on the previous night, that she

could not leave her room. She appealed to Lucinda as to the fact of her illness. The trouble of these robberies

was so great upon her that her heart was almost broken. If her deposition must be taken, she would make it in

bed. In the course of the day the magistrate did come into her room and the deposition was taken. Fortythree

pounds had been taken from her desk, and certain jewels, which she described, from her dressingcase. As

far as she was aware, no other property of hers was missing. This she said in answer to a direct question from

the magistrate, which, as she thought, was asked with a stern voice and searching eye. And so, a second time,

she had sworn falsely. But this at least was gainedthat Lord George de Bruce Carruthers was not looking at

Lord George was in the house for a great part of the day, but he did not ask to be admitted to Lizzie's

roomnor did she ask to see him. Frank Greystock was there late in the afternoon, and went up at once to

his cousin. The moment that she saw him she stretched out her arms to him, and burst into tears. ``My poor

``I don't know. I think they will kill me. They want to kill me. How can I bear it all? The robbers were here

last night, and magistrates and policemen and people have been here all day.'' Then she fell into a fit of

sobbing and wailing, which was, in truth, hysterical. Forif the readers think of itthe poor woman had a

Frank, into whose mind no glimmer of suspicion against his cousin had yet entered, and who firmly believed

that she had been made a victim because of the value of her diamondsand who had a theory of his own

about the robbery at Carlisle, to the circumstances of which he was now at some pains to make these latter

circumstances adherewas very tender with his cousin, and remained in the house for more than an hour.

``I fear nothingnothing but being where these policemen can come to me. Oh!'and then she shuddered

and was again hysterical. Nor was she acting the condition. As she remembered the magistrates, and the

detectives, and the policemen in their uniformsand reflected that she might probably see much more of

them before the game was played out, the thoughts that crowded on her were almost more than she could

``Your child is there, and it is your own house. Go there till all this passes by.'' Whereupon she promised him

In the meantime, the Eustace diamonds were locked up in a small safe fixed into the wall at the back of a

small cellar beneath the establishment of Messrs Harter and Benjamin, in Minto Lane, in the City. Messrs

Harter and Benjamin always kept a second place of business. Their great shop was at the West End; but they

The chronicler states this at once, as he scorns to keep from his reader any secret that is known to himself.

When the Hertford Street robbery was three days old, and was still the talk of all the town, Lizzie Eustace

was really ill. She had promised to go down to Scotland in compliance with the advice given to her by her

cousin Frank, and at the moment of promising would have been willing enough to be transported at once to

Portray, had that been possibleso as to be beyond the visits of policemen and the authority of lawyers and

magistrates; but as the hours passed over her head, and as her presence of mind returned to her, she

remembered that even at Portray she would not be out of danger, and that she could do nothing in furtherance

of her plans if once immured there. Lord George was in London, Frank Greystock was in London, and Lord

Fawn was in London. It was more than ever necessary to her that she should find a husband among thema

husband who would not be less her husband when the truth of that business at Carlisle should be known to all

the world. She had, in fact, stolen nothing. She endeavoured to comfort herself by repeating to herself over

and over again that assurance. She had stolen nothing; and she still thought that if she could obtain the

support of some strong arm on which to lean, she might escape punishment for those false oaths which she

had sworn. Her husband might take her abroad, and the whole thing would die away. If she should succeed

with Lord George, of course he would take her abroad, and there would be no need for any speedy return.

They might roam among islands in pleasant warm suns, and the dreams of her youth might be realised. Her

income was still her own. They could not touch that. So she thought, at leastoppressed by some slight want

of assurance in that respect. Were she to go at once to Scotland, she must for the present give up that game

altogether. If Frank would pledge himself to become her husband in three or four, or even in six months, she

would go at once. She had more confidence in Frank than even in Lord George. As for loveshe would

sometimes tell herself that she was violently in love; but she hardly knew with which. Lord George was

certainly the best representative of that perfect Corsair which her dreams had represented to her; but, in

regard to working life, she thought that she liked her cousin Frank better than she had ever yet liked any other

human being. But, in truth, she was now in that condition, as she acknowledged to herself, that she was

hardly entitled to choose. Lord Fawn had promised to marry her, and to him as a husband she conceived that

she still had a right. Nothing had as yet been proved against her which could justify him in repudiating his

engagement. She had, no doubt, asserted with all vehemence to her cousin that no consideration would now

induce her to give her hand to Lord Fawnand when making that assurance she had been, after her nature,

sincere. But circumstances were changed since that. She had not much hope that Lord Fawn might be made

to succumbthough evidence had reached her before the last robbery which induced her to believe that he

did not consider himself to be quite secure. In these circumstances she was unwilling to leave London though

she had promised, and was hardly sorry to find an excuse in her recognised illness.

And she was ill. Though her mind was again at work with schemes on which she would not have busied

herself without hope, yet she had not recovered from the actual bodily prostration to which she had been

compelled to give way when first told of the robbery on her return from the theatre. There had been moments,

then, in which she thought that her heart would have brokenmoments in which, but that the power of

speech was wanting, she would have told everything to Lucinda Roanoke. When Mrs Carbuncle was

marching upstairs with the policemen at her heels she would have willingly sold all her hopes, Portray Castle,

her lovers, her necklace, her income, her beauty, for any assurance of the humblest security. With that

quickness of intellect, which was her peculiar gift, she had soon understood, in the midst of her sufferings,

that her necklace had been taken by thieves whose robbery might assist her for a while in keeping her secret,

rather than lead to the immediate divulging of it. Neither Camperdown nor Bunfit had been at work among

the boxes. Her secret had been discovered, no doubt, by Patience Crabstick, and the diamonds were gone. But

money also was taken, and the world need not know that the diamonds had been there. But Lord George

knew. And then there arose to her that question. Had the diamonds been taken in consequence of that

revelation to Lord George? It was not surprising that in the midst of all this Lizzie should be really ill.

She was most anxious to see Lord George; but, if what Mrs Carbuncle said to her was true, Lord George

refuse see her. She did not believe Mrs Carbuncle, and was, therefore, quite in the dark about her Corsair. As

she could only communicate with him through Mrs Carbuncle, it might well be the case that he should have

been told that he could not have access to her. Of course there were difficulties. That her cousin Frank should

see her in her bedroomher cousin Frank, with whom it was essentially necessary that she should hold

counsel as to her present great difficulties, was a matter of course. There was no hesitation about that. A fresh

nightcap, and a clean pockethandkerchief with a bit of lace round it, and, perhaps, some pretty covering to

her shoulders if she were to be required to sit up in bed, and the thing was arranged. He might have spent the

best part of his days in her bedroom if he could have spared the time. But the Corsair was not a cousinnor

as yet an acknowledged lover. There was difficulty, even, in framing a reason for her request, when she made

it to Mrs Carbuncle; and the very reason which she gave was handed back to her as the Corsair's reason for

not coming to her. She desired to see him because he had been so much mixed up in the matter of these

terrible robberies. But Mrs Carbuncle declared to her that Lord George would not come to her because his

name had been so frequently mentioned in connection with the diamonds. ``You see, my dear,'' said Mrs

Carbuncle, ``there can be no real reason for his seeing you up in your bedroom. If there had been anything

between you, as I once thought there would'' There was something in the tone of Mrs Carbuncle's voice

which grated on Lizzie's earsomething which seemed to imply that all that prospect was over.

``Of course,'' said Lizzie querulously, ``I am very anxious to know what he thinks. I care more about his

opinion than anybody else's. As to his name being mixed up in itthat is all a joke.''

``It has been no joke to him, I can assure you,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. Lizzie could not press her request. Of

course, she knew more about it than did Mrs Carbuncle. The secret was in her own bosomthe secret as to

the midnight robbery at Carlisle, and that secret she had told to Lord George. As to the robbery in London she

knew nothingexcept that it had been perpetrated through the treachery of Patience Crabstick. Did Lord

George know more about it than she knew?and if so, was he now deterred by that knowledge from visiting

her? ``You see, my dear,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, ``that a gentleman visiting a lady with whom he has no

connection in her bedroom, is in itself something very peculiar.'' Lizzie made a motion of impatience under

the bedclothes. Any such argument was trash to her, and she knew that it was trash to Mrs Carbuncle also.

What was one man in her bedroom more than another? She could see a dozen doctors if she pleased, and if

so, why not this man, whose real powers of doctoring her would be so much more efficacious? ``You would

want to see him alone, too,'' continued Mrs Carbuncle, ``and, of course, the police would hear of it. I am not

at all surprised that he should stay away.'' Lizzie's condition did not admit of much argument on her side, and

Frank Greystock came to her with great constancy almost every day, and from him she did hear about the

robbery all that he knew or heard. When three days had passedwhen six days, and even when ten days

were gone, nobody had been as yet arrested. The police, according to Frank, were much on the alert, but were

very secret. They either would not, or could not, tell anything. To him the two robberies, that at Carlisle and

the last affair in Hertford Street, were of course distinct. There were those who believed that the Hertford

Street thieves and the Carlisle thieves were not only the same, but that they had been in quest of the same

plunderand had at last succeeded. But Frank was not one of these. He never for a moment doubted that the

diamonds had been taken at Carlisle, and explained the second robbery by the supposition that Patience

Crabstick had been emboldened by success. The iron box had no doubt been taken by her assistance, and her

familiarity with the thieves, then established, had led to the second robbery. Lizzie's loss in that second

robbery had amounted to some hundred pounds. This was Frank Greystock's theory, and of course it was one

``They all seem to think that the diamonds are at Paris,'' he said to her one day.

``If you only knew how little I care about them. It seems as though I had almost forgotten them in these after

``Mr Camperdown cares about them. I'm told he says that he can make you pay for them out of your

``That would be very terrible, of course,'' said Lizzie, to whose mind there was something consolatory in the

idea that the whole affair of the robbery might perhaps remain so mysterious as to remove her from the

``I feel sure that he couldn't do it,'' said Frank, ``and I don't think he'll try it. John Eustace would not let him.

``I can understand that he shouldn't like the loss of the diamonds. I don't think, Lizzie, you ever realised their

``I suppose not. After all, a necklace is only a necklace. I cared nothing for it, except that I could not bear the

idea that that man should dictate to me. I would have given it up at once, at the slightest word from you.'' He

did not care to remind her then, as she lay in bed, that he had been very urgent in his advice to her to abandon

the diamondsand not the less urgent because he had thought that the demand for them was unjust. ``I told

you often'', she continued, ``that I was tempted to throw them among the waves. It was truequite true. I

offered to give them to you, and should have been delighted to have been relieved from them.''

``I know it wasimpossible on your part; but I would have been delighted. Of what use were they to me? I

wore them twice because that man'meaning Lord Fawn``disputed my right to them. Before that I never

even looked at them. Do you think I had pleasure in wearing them, or pleasure in looking at them? Never.

They were only a trouble to me. It was a point of honour with me to keep them, because I was attacked. But I

am glad they are gonethoroughly glad.'' This was all very well, and was not without its effect on Frank

Greystock. It is hardly expected of a woman in such a condition, with so many troubles on her mind, who had

been so persecuted, that every word uttered by her should be strictly true. Lizzie, with her fresh nightcap, and

her lace handkerchief, pale, and with her eyes just glittering with tears, was very pretty. ``Didn't somebody

once give someone a garment which scorched him up when he wore itsome woman who sent it because

``The shirt, you mean, which Dejanira sent to Hercules. YesHercules was a good deal scorched.''

``And that necklace, which my husband gave me because he loved me so well, has scorched me horribly. It

has nearly killed me. It has been like the white elephant which the Eastern king gives to his subject when he

means to ruin him. Only poor Florian didn't mean to hurt me. He gave it all in love. If these people bring a

``I wonder who will really get the diamonds after all, Frank? They were very valuable. Only think that the ten

thousand pounds should disappear in such a way!'' The subject was a very dangerous one, but there was a

``A dishonest dealer in diamonds will probably realise the plunderafter some years. There would be

something very alluring in the theft of articles of great value, were it not that when got, they at once become

almost valueless by the difficulty of dealing with them. Supposing I had the necklace!''

``I could do nothing with it. Ten sovereigns would go further with meor ten shillings. The burthen of

possessing it would in itself be almost more than I could bear. The knowledge that I had the thing, and might

be discovered in having it, would drive me mad. By my own weakness I should be compelled to tell my

secret to someone. And then I should never sleep for fear my partner in the matter should turn against me.''

How well she understood it all! How probable it was that Lord George should turn against her! How exact

was Frank's description of that burthen of a secret so heavy that it cannot be borne alone! ``A little

reflection'', continued Frank, ``soon convinces a man that rough downright stealing is an awkward, foolish

trade; and it therefore falls into the hands of those who want education for the higher efforts of dishonesty. To

get into a bank at midnight and steal what little there may be in the till, or even an armful of banknotes, with

the probability of a policeman catching you as you creep out of the chimney and through a hole, is clumsy

work; but to walk in amidst the smiles and bows of admiring managers and draw out money over the counter

by thousands and tens of thousands, which you have never put in and which you can never repay; and which,

``The courage, the ingenuity, and the selfconfidence needed are certainly admirable. And then there is a

cringing and almost contemptible littleness about honesty, which hardly allows it to assert itself. The really

honest man can never say a word to make those who don't know of his honesty believe that it is there. He has

one foot in the grave before his neighbours have learned that he is possessed of an article for the use of which

they would so willingly have paid, could they have been made to see that it was there. The dishonest man

almost doubts whether in him dishonesty is dishonest, let it be practised ever so widely. The honest man

almost doubts whether his honesty be honest, unless it be kept hidden. Let two unknown men be competitors

for any place, with nothing to guide the judges but their own words and their own looks, and who can doubt

but the dishonest man would be chosen rather than the honest? Honesty goes about with a hangdog look

about him, as though knowing that he cannot be trusted till he be proved. Dishonesty carries his eyes high,

and assumes that any question respecting him must be considered to be unnecessary.''

``Well, yes; meditating about your diamonds has brought my philosophy out. When do you think you will go

``You would not find it cold there by the seaside. To tell you the truth, Lizzie, I want to get you out of this

house. I don't mean to say a word against Mrs Carbuncle; but after all that has occurred, it would be better

``By going awaythat is, if I may presume one thing. I don't want to pry into your secrets.''

``Unless there be truth in the assertion that you are engaged marry Lord George Carruthers.''

``And you do not wish to stay here in order that there may be an engagement? I am obliged to ask you home

``Frank, you are false to me!'' As she said this she rose in her bed, and sat with her eyes fixed upon his, and

her thin hands stretched out upon the bedclothes. ``You know that I cannot wish to be engaged to him or to

any other man. You know, better almost than I can know myself, how my heart stands. There has, at any rate,

been no hypocrisy with me in regard to you. Everything has been told to youat what cost I will not now

say. The honest woman, I fear, fares worse even than the honest man of whom you spoke. I think you

admitted that he would be appreciated at last. She to her dying day must pay the penalty of her transgressions.

Honesty in a woman the world never forgives.'' When she had done speaking, he sat silent by her bedside,

but, almost unconsciously, he stretched out his left hand and took her right hand in his. For a few seconds she

admitted this, and she lay there with their hands clasped. Then with a start she drew back her arm, and

retreated as it were from his touch. ``How dare you,'' she said, ``press my hand, when you know that such

``Yesdamnable. I will not pick my words for you. Coming from you, what does such pressure mean?''

``Yesand of what sort? You are wicked enough to feed my love by such tokens, when you know that you

do not mean to return it. O Frank, Frank, will you give me back my heart? What was it that you promised me

It is inexpressibly difficult for a man to refuse the tender of a woman's love. We may almost say that a man

should do so as a matter of coursethat the thing so offered becomes absolutely valueless by the offerthat

the woman who can make it has put herself out of court by her own abandonment of the privileges due to her

as a womanthat stern rebuke and even expressed contempt are justified by such conductand that the

fairest beauty and most alluring charms of feminine grace should lose their attraction when thus tendered

openly in the market. No doubt such is our theory as to love and lovemaking. But the action to be taken by

us in matters as to which the plainest theory prevails for the guidance of our practice, depends so frequently

on accompanying circumstances and correlative issues, that the theory, as often as not, falls to the ground.

Frank could not despise this woman, and could not be stern to her. He could not bring himself to tell her

boldly that he would have nothing to say to her in the way of love. He made excuses for her, and persuaded

himself that there were peculiar circumstances in her position justifying unwomanly conduct, although, had

he examined himself on the subject, he would have found it difficult to say what those circumstances were.

She was rich, beautiful, cleverand he was flattered. Nevertheless he knew that he could not marry

herand he knew also that much as he liked her he did not love her. ``Lizzie,'' he said, ``I think you hardly

``Yes, I would, if you think she is not fit to be your wife. Is a man, such as you are, to be tied by the leg for

life, have all his ambition clipped, and his high hopes shipwrecked, because a girl has been clever enough to

``That is so like a man's pride! Do we not all know that in such a career as you have marked out for yourself,

wealth, or at any rate an easy income, is necessary? Do you think that I cannot put two and two together? Do

you believe so meanly of me as to imagine that I should have said to you what I have said, if I did not know

that I could help you? A man, I believe, cannot understand that love which induces a woman to sacrifice her

pride simply for his advantage. I want to see you prosper. I want to see you a great man and a lord, and I

know that you cannot become so without an income. Ah, I wish I could give you all that I have got, and save

It might be that he would then have told her of his engagement to Lucy, and of his resolution to adhere to that

promise, had not Mrs Carbuncle at the moment entered the room. Frank had been there for above an hour,

and as Lizzie was still an invalid, and to some extent under the care of Mrs Carbuncle, it was natural that that

lady should interfere. ``You know, my dear, you should not exhaust yourself altogether. Mr Emilius is to

``Yesthe clergyman. Don't you remember him at Portray? A dark man with eyes close together! You used

to be very wicked, and say that he was once a Jewboy in the streets.'' Lizzie, as she spoke of her spiritual

``I remember him well enough. He made sheep's eyes at Miss Macnulty, and drank a great deal of wine at

``Poor Macnulty! I don't believe a word about the wine; and as for Macnulty, I don't see why she should not

be converted as well as another. He is coming here to read to me. I hope you don't object.''

``Oh, yes. Well or ill, one does have solemn thoughtsghosts, as it were, which will appear. But is Mr,

``He is a clergyman, Mr Greystock,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, with something of rebuke in her voice.

``So they tell me. I was not present at his ordination, but I daresay it was done according to rule. When one

reflects what a deal of harm a bishop may do, one wishes that there was some surer way of getting bishops.''

``Nothing at all but his looks, and manners, and voiceunless it be that he preaches popular sermons, and

drinks too much wine, and makes sheep's eyes at Miss Macnulty. Look after your silver spoons, Mrs

Carbuncleif the last thieves have left you any. You were asking after the fate of your diamonds, Lizzie.

Mr Emilius did come and read to Lady Eustace that afternoon. A clergyman is as privileged to enter the

bedroom of a sick lady as is a doctor or a cousin. There was another clean cap, and another lace handkerchief,

and on this occasion a little shawl over Lizzie's shoulders. Mr Emilius first said a prayer, kneeling at Lizzie's

bedside; then he read a chapter in the Bibleand after that he read the first half of the fourth canto of Childe

Harold so well, that Lizzie felt for the moment that after all, poetry was life and life was poetry.

The second robbery to which Lady Eustace had been subjected by no means decreased the interest which was

attached to her and her concerns in the fashionable world. Parliament had now met, and the party at Matching

PrioryLady Glencora Palliser's party in the countryhad been to some extent broken up. All those

gentlemen who were engaged in the service of Her Majesty's Government had necessarily gone to London,

and they who had wives at Matching had taken their wives with them. Mr and Mrs Bonteen had seen the last

of their holiday; Mr Palliser himself was, of course, at his post; and all the private secretaries were with the

public secretaries on the scene of action. On the 13th of February Mr Palliser made his first great statement in

Parliament on the matter of the fivefarthinged penny, and pledged himself to do his very best to carry that

stupendous measure through Parliament in the present session. The City men who were in the House that

nightand all the Directors of the Bank of England were in the gallery, and every chairman of a great

banking company, and every Baring and every Rothschild, if there be Barings and Rothschilds who have not

been returned by constituencies, and have not seats in the House by rightagreed in declaring that the job in

hand was too much for any one member or any one session. Some said that such a measure never could be

passed, because the unfinished work of one session could not be used in lessening the labours of the next.

Everything must be recommenced; and thereforeso said these hopeless onesthe penny with five

farthings, the penny of which a hundred would make ten shillings, the halcyon penny, which would make all

future pecuniary calculations easy to the meanest British capacity, could never become the law of the land.

Others, more hopeful, were willing to believe that gradually the thing would so sink into the minds of

members of Parliament, of writers of leading articles, and of the active public generally, as to admit of certain

established axioms being taken as established, and placed, as it were, beyond the procrastinating power of

debate. It might, for instance, at last be taken for granted that a decimal system was desirableso that a

month or two of the spring need not be consumed on that preliminary question. But this period had not as yet

been reached, and it was thought by the entire City that Mr Palliser was much too sanguine. It was so

probable, many said, that he might kill himself by labour which would be herculean in all but success, and

that no financier after him would venture to face the task. It behoved Lady Glencora to see that her Hercules

In this state of affairs Lady Glencorainto whose hands the custody of Mr Palliser's uncle, the duke, had

now altogether fallenhad a divided duty between Matching and London. When the members of Parliament

went up to London, she went there also, leaving some halfdozen friends whom she could trust to amuse the

duke; but she soon returned, knowing that there might be danger in a long absence. The duke, though old,

was his own master; he much affected the company of Madame Goesler, and that lady's kindness to him was

considerate and incessant; but there might still be danger, and Lady Glencora felt that she was responsible

that the old nobleman should do nothing, in the feebleness of age, to derogate from the splendour of his past

life. What, if some day his grace should be off to Paris and insist on making Madame Goesler a duchess in

the chapel of the Embassy! Madame Goesler had hitherto behaved very wellwould probably continue to

behave well. Lady Glencora really loved Madame Goesler. But then the interests at stake were very great! So

circumstanced, Lady Glencora found herself compelled to be often on the road between Matching and

But though she was burthened with great care, Lady Glencora by no means dropped her interest in the

Eustace diamonds; and when she learned that on the top of the great Carlisle robbery a second robbery had

been superadded, and that this had been achieved while all the London police were yet astray about the

former operation, her solicitude was of course enhanced. The duke himself, too, took the matter up so

strongly, that he almost wanted to be carried up to London, with some view, as it was supposed by the ladies

who were so good to him, of seeing lady Eustace personally. ``It's out of the question, my dear,'' Lady

Glencora said to Madame Goesler, when the duke's fancy was first mentioned to her by that lady. ``I told him

that the trouble would be too much for him.'' ``Of course it would be too much,'' said Lady Glencora. ``It is

quite out of the question.'' Then, after a moment, she added in a whisper, ``Who knows but what he'd insist on

marrying her! It isn't every woman that can resist temptation.'' Madame Goesler smiled, and shook her head,

but made no answer to Lady Glencora's suggestion. Lady Glencora assured her uncle that everything should

be told to him. She would write about it daily, and send him the latest news by the wires if the post should be

too slow. ``Ahyes,'' said the duke; ``I like telegrams best. I think, you know, that that Lord George

Carruthers has had something to do with it. Don't you, Madame Goesler?'' It had long been evident that the

duke was anxious that one of his own order should be proved to have been the thief, as the plunder taken was

In regard to Lizzie herself, Lady Glencora, on her return to London, took it into her head to make a diversion

in our heroine's favour. It had hitherto been a matter of faith with all the liberal party that Lady Eustace had

had something to do with stealing her own diamonds. That esprit de corps, which is the glorious

characteristic of English statesmen, had caused the whole Government to support Lord Fawn, and Lord Fawn

could only be supported on the supposition that Lizzie Eustace had been a wicked culprit. But Lady Glencora,

though very true as a politician, was apt to have opinions of her own, and to take certain flights in which she

chose that others of the party should follow her. She now expressed an opinion that Lady Eustace was a

victim, and all the Mrs Bonteens, with some even of the Mr Bonteens, found themselves compelled to agree

with her. She stood too high among her set to be subject to that obedience which restrained otherstoo high,

also, for others to resist her leading. As a member of a party she was erratic and dangerous, but from her

position and peculiar temperament she was powerful. When she declared that poor Lady Eustace was a

victim, others were obliged to say so too. This was particularly hard upon Lord Fawn, and the more so as

Lady Glencora took upon her to assert that Lord Fawn had no right to jilt the young woman. And Lady

Glencora had this to support her viewsthat, for the last week past, indeed ever since the depositions which

had been taken after the robbery in Hertford Street, the police had expressed no fresh suspicions in regard to

Lizzie Eustace. She heard daily from Barrington Erle that Major Mackintosh and Bunfit and Gager were as

active as ever in their inquiries, that all Scotland Yard was determined to unravel the mystery, and that there

were emissaries at work tracking the diamonds at Hamburg, Paris, Vienna, and New York. It had been

whispered to Mr Erle that the whereabouts of Patience Crabstick had been discovered, and that many of the

leading thieves in London were assisting the policebut nothing more was done in the way of fixing any

guilt upon Lizzie Eustace. ``Upon my word, I am beginning to think that she has been more sinned against

than sinning.'' This was said to Lady Glencora on the morning after Mr Palliser's great speech about the five

farthings, by Barrington Erle, who, as it seemed, had been specially told off by the party to watch this

``I am sure she has had nothing to do with it. I have thought so ever since the last robbery. Sir Simon Slope

told me yesterday afternoon that Mr Camperdown has given it up altogether.'' Sir Simon Slope was the

``It would be absurd for him to go on with his bill in Chancery now that the diamonds are goneunless he

``That would be rank persecution. Indeed she has been persecuted. I shall call upon her.'' Then she wrote the

Plantagenet was on his legs last night for three hours and three quarters, and I sat through it all. As far as I

could observe through the bars I was the only person in the House who listened to him. I'm sure Mr Gresham

was fast asleep. It was quite piteous to see some of them yawning. Plantagenet did it very well, and I almost

think I understood him. They seem to say that nobody on the other side will take trouble enough to make a

regular opposition, but that there are men in the City who will write letters to the newspapers, and get up a

sort of Bank clamour. Plantagenet says nothing about it, but there is a doordie manner with him which is

quite tragical. The House was up at eleven, when he came home and eat three oysters, drank a glass of beer,

and slept well. They say the real work will come when it's in Committeethat is, if it gets there. The bill is

As to the robberies, I believe there is no doubt that the police have got hold of the young woman. They don't

arrest her, but deal with her in a friendly sort of way. Barrington Erle says that a sergeant is to marry her in

order to make quite sure of her. I suppose they know their business; but that wouldn't strike me as being the

safest way. They seem to think the diamonds went to Paris but have since been sent on to New York.

As to the little widow, I do believe she has been made a victim. She first lost her diamonds, and now her

other jewels and her money have gone. I cannot see what she was to gain by treachery, and I think she has

been illused. She is staying at the house of that Mrs Carbuncle, but all the same I shall go and call on her. I

wish you could see her, because she is such a little beautyjust what you would like; not so much colour as

our friend, but perfect features, with infinite playnot perhaps always in the very best taste; but then we

As to the real thiefof course you must burn this at once, and keep it strictly private as coming from meI

fancy that delightful Scotch lord managed it entirely. The idea is, that he did it on commission for the Jew

jewellers. I don't suppose he had money enough to carry it out himself. As to the second robbery, whether he

had or had not a hand in that, I can't make up my mind. I don't see why he shouldn't. If a man does go into a

business, he ought to make the best of it. Of course, it was a poor thing after the diamonds; but still it was

worth having. There is some story about a Sir Griffin Tewett. He's a real Sir Griffin, as you'll find by the

peerage. He was to marry a young woman, and our Lord George insists that he shall marry her. I don't

understand all about it, but the girl lives in the same house with Lady Eustace, and if I call I shall find out.

They say that Sir Griffin knows all about the necklace, and threatens to tell unless he is let off marrying. I

rather think the girl is Lord George's daughter, so that there is a thorough complication.

I shall go down to Matching on Saturday. If anything turns up before that, I'll write again, or send a message.

I don't know whether Plantagenet will be able to leave London. He says he must be back on Monday, and that

he loses too much time on the road. Kiss my little darlings for me, [the darlings were Lady Glencora's

children, and the duke's playthings] and give my love to Madame Max. I suppose you don't see much of the

On the next day Lady Glencora actually did call in Hertford Street, and saw our friend Lizzie. She was told

by the servant that Lady Eustace was in bed; but, with her usual persistence, she asked questions, and when

she found that Lizzie did receive visitors in her room, she sent up her card. The compliment was one much

too great to be refused. Lady Glencora stood so high in the world, that her countenance would be almost as

valuable as another lover. If Lord George would keep her secret, and Lady Glencora would be her friend,

might she not still be a successful woman? So Lady Glencora Palliser was shown up to Lizzie's chamber.

Lizzie was found with her nicest nightcap, and prettiest handkerchief, with a volume of Tennyson's poetry,

and a scentbottle. She knew that it behoved her to be very clever at this interview. Her instinct told her that

her first greeting should show more of surprise than of gratification. Accordingly, in a pretty, feminine,

almost childish way, she was very much surprised. ``I'm doing the strangest thing in the world, I know, Lady

``Wellyes, I do. I think we have not met since you were at my house near the end of last season.''

``No, indeed. I have been in London six weeks, but have not been out much. For the last fortnight I have been

``So I have heard, Lady Eustace, and I have just come to offer you my sympathy. When I was told that you

``The loss has been as nothing to the vexation that has accompanied it. I don't know how to speak of it.

Ladies have lost their jewels before now, but I don't know that any lady before me has ever been accused of

``I haven't t any lady befot in prison, Lady Glencora, but I have had policemen here wanting to search my

``Oh, yes; I do. Only for that, to tell you plainly, I should hardly have been here now.'' Then Lady Glencora

poured out her sympathyperhaps with more eloquence and grace than discretion. She was, at any rate, both

graceful and eloquent. ``As for the loss of the diamonds, I think you bear it wonderfully,'' said Lady

``If you could imagine how little I care about it!'' said Lizzie with enthusiasm. ``They had lost the delight

which I used to feel in them as a present from my husband. People had talked about them, and I had been

threatened because I chose to keep what I knew to be my own. Of course, I would not give them up. Would

``Nor would I. But when once all that had begun, they became an irrepressible burthen to me. I often used to

``A husband that wants to put five farthings into a penny! All is not gold that glistens, Lady Eustace.''

``You can never have known trials such as mine,'' continued Lizzie, not understanding in the least her new

friend's allusion to the great currency question. ``Perhaps you may have heard that in the course of last

summer I became engaged to marry a nobleman, with whom I am aware that you are acquainted.'' This she

``Oh, yesLord Fawn. I know him very well. Of course I heard of it. We all heard of it.''

``I will say nothing about himto you, Lady Glencora. It would not be proper that I should do so. But all

that came of this wretched necklace. After that, can you wonder that I should say that I wish these stones had

``I'm sure I do not in the least know what are his lordship's views'', said Lizzie in scorn, ``and, to tell the truth,

``His objection is gone too. Why don't you write to him, and make him come and see you? That's what I

Lizzie, of course, repudiated vehemently any idea of forcing Lord Fawn into a marriage which had become

distasteful to himlet the reason be what it might. ``His lordship is perfectly free, as far as I am concerned,''

said Lizzie with a little show of anger. But all this Lady Glencora took at its worth. Lizzie Eustace had been a

good deal knocked about, and Lady Glencora did not doubt but that she would be very glad to get back her

betrothed husband. The little woman had suffered hardshipsso thought Lady Glencoraand a good thing

would be done by bringing her into fashion, and setting the marriage up again. As to Lord Fawnthe fortune

was there, as good now as it had been when he first sought it; and the lady was very pretty, a baronet's widow

too!and in all respects good enough for Lord Fawn. A very pretty little baronet's widow she was, with four

thousand a year, and a house in Scotland, and a history. Lady Glencora determined that she would remake the

``I think, you know, friends who have been friends, should be brought together. I suppose I may say a word

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before she answered, and then remembered that revenge, at least, would be

sweet to her. She had sworn that she would be revenged upon Lord Fawn. After all, might it not suit her best

to carry out her oath by marrying him? But whether so or otherwise, it would not but be well for her that he

should be again at her feet. ``Yesif you think good will come of it.'' The acquiescence was given with

much hesitationbut the circumstances required that it should be so, and Lady Glencora fully understood the

circumstances. When she took her leave, Lizzie was profuse in her gratitude. ``Oh, Lady Glencora, it has

been so good of you to come. Pray come again, if you can spare me another moment.'' Lady Glencora said

During the visit she had asked some question concerning Lucinda and Sir Griffin, and had been informed that

that marriage was to go on. A hint had been thrown out as to Lucinda's parentagebut Lizzie had not

The task which Lady Glencora had taken upon herself was not a very easy one. No doubt Lord Fawn was a

man subservient to the leaders of his party, much afraid of the hard judgment of those with whom he was

concerned, painfully open to impression from what he would have called public opinion, to a certain extent a

coward, most anxious to do right so that he might not be accused of being in the wrong, and at the same time

gifted with but little of that insight into things which teaches men to know what is right and what is wrong.

Lady Glencora, having perceived all this, felt that he was a man upon whom a few words from her might

have an effect. But even Lady Glencora might hesitate to tell a gentleman that he ought to marry a lady, when

the gentleman had already declared his intention of not marrying, and had attempted to justify his decision

almost publicly by a reference to the lady's conduct. Lady Glencora almost felt that she had undertaken too

much as she turned over in her mind the means she had of performing her promise to Lady Eustace.

The fivefarthing bill had been laid upon the table on a Tuesday, and was to be read the first time on the

following Monday week. On the Wednesday Lady Glencora had written to the duke, and had called in

Hertford Street. On the following Sunday she was at Matching, looking after the dukebut she returned to

London on the Tuesday, and on the Wednesday there was a little dinner at Mr Palliser's house, given

avowedly with the object of further friendly discussion respecting the new Palliser penny. The prime minister

was to be there, and Mr Bonteen, and Barrington Erle, and those special members of the government who

would be available for giving special help to the financial Hercules of the day. A question, perhaps of no

great practical importance, had occurred to Mr Palliserbut one which, if overlooked, might be fatal to the

ultimate success of the measure. There is so much in a nameand then an ounce of ridicule is often more

potent than a hundredweight of argument. By what denomination should the fifth part of a penny be hereafter

known? Someone had, illnaturedly, whispered to Mr Palliser that a farthing meant a fourth, and at once

there arose a new trouble, which for a time bore very heavy on him. Should he boldly disregard the original

meaning of the useful old word; or should he venture on the dangers of new nomenclature? October, as he

said to himself, is still the tenth month of the year, November the eleventh, and so on, though by these names

they are so plainly called the eighth and ninth. All France tried to rid itself of this absurdity, and failed.

Should he stick by the farthing; or should he call it a fifthing, a quint, or a semitenth. ``There's the

Fortnightly Review comes out but once a month,'' he said to his friend Mr Bonteen, ``and I'm told that it does

very well.'' Mr Bonteen, who was a rational man, thought the Review would do better if it were called by a

more rational name, and was very much in favour of ``a quint''. Mr Gresham had expressed an opinion,

somewhat offhand, that English people would never be got to talk about quints, and so there was a difficulty.

A little dinner was therefore arranged, and Mr Palliser, as was his custom in such matters, put the affair of the

dinner into his wife's hands. When he was told that she had included Lord Fawn among the guests he opened

his eyes Lord Fawn, who might be good enough at the India Office, knew literally nothing about the penny.

``He'll take it as the greatest compliment in the world,'' said Lady Glencora, ``I won't want to pay Lord Fawn

a compliment'' said Mr Palliser, ``But I do,'' said Lady Glencora. And so the matter was arranged.

It was a very nice little dinner. Mrs Gresham and Mrs Bonteen were there, and the great question of the day

was settled in two minutes, before the guests went out of the drawingroom. ``Stick to your farthing,'' said

``But squint is an easier,'' said Mr Gresham, with all a prime minister's jocose authority.

``Stick to the old word,'' said Mr Gresham. And so the matter was decided, while Lady Glencora was

flattering Lord Fawn as to the manner in which he had finally arranged the affair of the Sawab of Mygawb.

Then they went down to dinner, and not a word more was said that evening about the new penny by Mr

Before dinner Lady Glencora had exacted a promise from Lord Fawn that he would return to the

drawingroom. Lady Glencora was very clever at such work, and said nothing then of her purpose. She did

not want her guests to run away, and therefore Lord FawnLord Fawn especiallymust stay. If he were to

go there would be nothing spoken of all the evening, but that weary new penny. To oblige her he must

remainand, of course, he did remain. ``Whom do you think I saw the other day?'' said Lady Glencora,

when she got her victim into a corner. Of course, Lord Fawn had no idea whom she might have seen. Up to

that moment no suspicion of what was coming upon him had crossed his mind. ``I called upon poor Lady

Eustace, and found her in bed.'' Then did Lord Fawn blush up to the roots of his hair, and for a moment he

was stricken dumb, ``I do feel for her so much! I think she has been so hardly used!''

He was obliged to say something. ``My name has, of course, been much mixed up with hers.''

``Yes, Lord Fawn, I know it has. And it is because I am so sure of your highminded generosity andand

thorough devotion, that I have ventured to speak to you. I am sure there is nothing you would wish so much

``All manner of stories have been told about her, and, as I believe, without the slightest foundation. They tell

me now that she had an undoubted right to keep the diamondsthat even if Sir Florian did not give them to

her, they were hers under his will. Those lawyers have given up all idea of proceeding against her.''

``Altogether independently of that. Do you see Mr Eustace, and ask him if what I say is not true. If it had not

been her own she would have been responsible for the value, even though it were stolen; and with such a

fortune as hers they would never have allowed her to escape. They were as bitter against her as they could

``Oh yesthat's the man's name; a horrid man. I am told that he was really most cruel to her. And then,

because a lot of thieves had got about herafter the diamonds, you know, like flies round a honeypotand

took first her necklace and then her money, they were impudent enough to say that she had stolen her own

``Something very much like it, Lord Fawn. I have no doubt in my own mind who did steal all the things.

``Ohone musn't mention names in such an affair without evidence. At any rate, she has been very badly

treated, and I shall take her up. If I were you I would go and call upon herI would indeed. I think you owe

it to her. Well, Duke, what do you think of Plantagenet's penny now? Will it ever be worth two ha' pence?''

This question was asked of the Duke of St Bungay, a great nobleman whom all Liberals loved, and a member

of the Cabinet. He had come in since dinner, and had been asking a question or two as to what had been

``Well, yes; if properly invested I think it will. I'm glad that it is not to contain five semitenths. A

semitenth would never have been a popular form of money in England. We hate new names so much that

``There's a great deal in a nameisn't there? You don't think they'll call them Pallisers, or Palls, or anything

of that sortdo you? I shouldn't like to hear that under the new regime two lollipops were to cost three Palls.

But they say it never can be carried this sessionand we shan't be in, in the next year.''

``Who says so? Don't be such a prophetess of evil, Lady Glencora. I mean to be in for the next three sessions,

and I mean to see Palliser's measure carried through the House of Lords next session. I shall be paying for my

mutton chops at the club at so many quints a chop yet. Don't you think so, Fawn?''

``I don't know what to think,'' said Lord Fawn, whose mind was intent on other matters. After that he left the

room as quickly as he could, and escaped out into the street. His mind was very much disturbed. If Lady

Glencora was determined to take up the cudgels for the woman he had rejected, the comfort and peace of his

Mrs Carbuncle and Lady Eustace; had now been up in town between six and seven weeks, and the record of

their doings has necessarily dealt chiefly with robberies and the rumours of robberies. But at intervals the

minds of the two ladies had been intent on other things. The former was still intent on marrying her niece,

Lucinda Roanoke, to Sir Griffin, and the latter had never for a moment forgotten the imperative duty which

lay upon her of revenging herself upon Lord Fawn. The match between Sir Griffin and Lucinda was still to be

a match. Mrs Carbuncle persevered in the teeth both of the gentleman and of the lady, and still promised

herself success. And our Lizzie, In the midst of all her troubles, had not been idle. In doing her justice we

must acknowledge that she had almost abandoned the hope of becoming Lady Fawn. Other hopes and other

ambitions had come upon her. Latterly the Corsair had been all in all to herwith exceptional moments in

which she told herself that her heart belonged exclusively to her cousin Frank. But Lord Fawn's offences

were not to be forgotten, and she continually urged upon her cousin the depth of the wrongs which she had

On the part of Frank Greystock there was certainly no desire to let the UnderSecretary escape. It is hoped

that the reader, to whom every tittle of this story has been told without reserve, and every secret unfolded,

will remember that others were not treated with so much open candour. The reader knows much more of

Lizzie Eustace than did her cousin Frank. He, indeed, was not quite in love with Lizzie; but to him she was a

pretty, graceful young woman, to whom he was bound by many ties, and who had been cruelly injured.

Dangerous she was doubtless, and perhaps a little artificial. To have had her married to Lord Fawn would

have been a good thingand would still be a good thing. According to all the rules known in such matters

Lord Fawn was bound to marry her. He had become engaged to her, and Lizzie had done nothing to forfeit

her engagement. As to the necklacethe plea made for jilting her on that ground was a disgraceful pretext.

Everybody was beginning to perceive that Mr Camperdown would never have succeeded in getting the

diamonds from her, even if they had not been stolen. It was ``preposterous'', as Frank said over and over

again to his friend Herriot, that a man when he was engaged to a lady, should take upon himself to judge her

conduct as Lord Fawn had doneand then ride out of his engagement on a verdict found by himself. Frank

had therefore willingly displayed alacrity in persecuting his lordship, and had not been altogether without

hope that he might drive the two into a marriage yetin spite of the protestations made by Lizzie at Portray.

Lord Fawn had certainly not spent a happy winter. Between Mrs Hittaway on one side and Frank Greystock

on the other, his life had been a burthen to him. It had been suggested to him by various people that he was

behaving badly to the ladywho was represented as having been cruelly misused by fortune and by himself.

On the other hand it had been hinted to him, that nothing was too bad to believe of Lizzie Eustace, and that

no calamity could be so great as that by which he would be overwhelmed were he still to allow himself to be

forced into that marriage. ``It would be better'', Mrs Hittaway had said, ``to retire to Ireland at once, and

cultivate your demesne in Tipperary.'' This was a grievous sentence, and one which had greatly excited the

brother's wrathbut it had shown how very strong was his sister's opinion against the lady to whom he had

unfortunately offered his hand. Then there came to him a letter from Mr Greystock, in which he was asked

for his ``written explanation''. If there be a proceeding which an official man dislikes worse than another, it is

a demand for a written explanation. ``It is impossible'', Frank had said, ``that your conduct to my cousin

should be allowed to drop without further notice. Hers has been without reproach. Your engagement with her

has been made publicchiefly by you, and it is out of the question that she should be treated as you are

treating her, and that your lordship should escape without punishment.'' What the punishment was to be he

did not say; but there did come a punishment on Lord Fawn from the eyes of every man whose eyes met his

own, and in the tones of every voice that addressed him. The looks of the very clerks in the India Office

accused him of behaving badly to a young woman, and the doorkeeper at the House of Lords seemed to

glance askance at him. And now Lady Glencora, who was the social leader of his own party, the feminine

polestar of the liberal heavens, the most popular and the most daring woman in London, had attacked him

Let it not for a moment be supposed that Lord Fawn was without conscience in the matter, or indifferent to

moral obligations. There was not a man in London less willing to behave badly to a young woman than Lord

Fawn; or one who would more diligently struggle to get back to the right path, if convinced that he was

astray. But he was one who detested interference in his private matters, and who was nearly driven mad

between his sister and Frank Greystock. When he left Lady Glencora's house he walked towards his own

abode with a dark cloud upon his brow. He was at first very angry with Lady Glencora. Even her position

gave her no right to meddle with his most private affairs as she had done. He would resent it, and would

quarrel with Lady Glencora. What right could she have to advise him to call upon any woman? But by

degrees this wrath died away, and gave place to fears, and qualms, and inward questions. He, too, had found a

change in general opinion about the diamonds. When he had taken upon himself with a high hand to dissolve

his own engagement, everybody had, as he thought, acknowledged that Lizzie Eustace was keeping property

which did not belong to her. Now people talked of her losses as though the diamonds had been undoubtedly

her own. On the next morning Lord Fawn took an opportunity of seeing Mr Camperdown.

``My dear lord,'' said Mr Camperdown, ``I shall wash my hands of the matter altogether. The diamonds are

gone, and the questions now are who stole them, and where are they? In our business we can't meddle with

``What good can the bill do us when the diamonds are gone? If Lady Eustace had anything to do with the

``No, my lord; no. I cannot say that. I have no right to say that. Indeed it is not Lady Eustace that I suspect.

``Wellyesif she had, it would not be for us to take steps against her in the matter. In fact, the trustees

have decided that they will do nothing more, and my hands are tied. If the minor, when he comes of age,

claims the property from them, they will prefer to replace it. It isn't very likely; but that's what they say.''

``That's exploded,'' said Mr, Camperdown. ``Mr Dove was quite clear about that.''

This was the end of the filing of that bill in Chancery as to which Mr Camperdown had been so very

enthusiastic! Now it certainly was the case that poor Lord Fawn in his conduct towards Lizzie had trusted

greatly to the support of Mr Camperdown's legal proceeding. The world could hardly have expected him to

marry a woman against whom a bill in Chancery was being carried on for the recovery of diamonds which

did not belong to her. But that support was now altogether withdrawn from him. It was acknowledged that the

necklace was not an heirloomclearly acknowledged by Mr Camperdown! And even Mr Camperdown

How would it go with him, if after all, he were to marry her? The bone of contention between them had at

any rate been made to vanish. The income was still there, and Lady Glencora Palliser had all but promised

her friendship. As he entered the India Office on his return from Mr Camberdown's chambers, he almost

thought that that would be the best way out of his difficulty. In his room he found his brotherinlaw, Mr

Hittaway, waiting for him. It is always necessary that a man should have some friend whom he can trust in

delicate affairs, and Mr Hittaway was selected as Lord Fawn's friend. He was not at all points the man whom

Lord Fawn would have chosen, but for their close connection. Mr Hittaway was talkative, perhaps a little

loud, and too apt to make capital every incident of his life. But confidential friends are not easily found, and

one does not wish to increase the circle to whom one's family secrets must become known. Mr Hittaway was

at any rate zealous for the Fawn family, and then his character as an official man stood high. He had been

asked on the previous evening to step across from the Civil Appeal Office to give his opinion respecting that

letter from Frank Greystock demanding a written explanation. The letter had been sent to him; and Mr

Hittaway had carried it home and shown it to his wife. ``He's a cantankerous Tory, and determined to make

himself disagreeable,'' said Mr Hittaway, taking the letter from his pocket and beginning the conversation.

Lord Fawn seated himself in his great armchair, and buried his face in his hands. ``I am disposed, after much

consideration, to advise you to take no notice of the letter,'' said Mr Hittaway, giving his counsel in

accordance with instructions received from his wife. Lord Fawn still buried his face. ``Of course the thing is

painfulvery painful. But out of two evils one should choose the least. The writer of this letter is altogether

unable to carry out his threat.'' ``What can the man do to him?'' Mrs Hittaway had asked, almost snapping at

her husband as she did so. ``And then,'' continued Mr Hittaway, ``we all know that public opinion is with you

``Yesthey are. The bill in Chancery has been withdrawn, and it's my belief that if the necklace were found

``No, it wasn't. The lawyers were all wrong about it. As far as I can see, lawyers always are wrong. About

those nine lacs of rupees for the Sawab, Finlay was all wrong. Camperdown owns that he was wrong. If, after

all, the diamonds were hers, I'm sure I don't know what I am to do. Thank you, Hittaway, for coming over.

That'll do for the present. Just leave that ruffian's letter, and I'll think about it.''

This was considered by Mrs Hittaway to be a very bad state of things, and there was great consternation in

Warwick Square when Mr Hittaway told his wife this new story of her brother's weakness. She was not going

to be weak. She did not intend to withdraw her opposition to the marriage. She has not going to be frightened

my Lizzie Eustace and Frank Greystockknowing as she did that they were lovers, and very improper

lovers, too. ``Of course she stole them herself,'' said Mrs Hittaway; ``and I don't doubt but she stole her own

money afterwards. There's nothing she wouldn't do. I'd sooner see Frederic in his grave than married to such

a woman as that. Men don't know how sly women can bethat's the truth. And Frederic has been so spoilt

among them down at Richmond, that he has no real judgment left. I don't suppose he means to marry her.''

``Upon my word I don't know``,'' said Mr Hittaway. ``Then Mrs Hittaway made up her mind that she would

There was an old lord about London in those daysor, rather, one who was an old Liberal but a young

lordone Lord Mount Thistle, who had sat in the Cabinet, and had lately been made a peer when his place in

the Cabinet was wanted. He was a pompous, wouldbe important, silly oldman, well acquainted with all

the traditions of his party, and perhaps, on that account, usefulbut a bore, and very apt to meddle when he

was not wanted. Lady Glencora, on the day after her dinnerparty, whispered into his ear that Lord Fawn was

getting himself into trouble, and that a few words of caution, coming to him from one whom he respected so

much as he did Lord Mount Thistle, would be of service to him. Lord Mount Thistle had known Lord Fawn's

father, and declared himself at once to be quite entitled to interfere. ``He is really behaving badly to Lady

Eustace,'' said Lady Glencora, ``and I don't think that he knows it.'' Lord Mount Thistle, proud of a

commission from the hands of Lady Glencora, went almost at once to his old friend's son. He found him at

the House that night, and whispered his few words of caution in one of the lobbies.

``I know you will excuse me, Fawn,'' Lord Mount Thistle said, ``but people seem to think that you are not

``My dear fellow, that is a question that cannot be answered. You know that I am the last man to interfere if I

didn't think it my duty as a friend. You were engaged to her?'Lord Fawn only frowned. ``If so,'' continued

the late cabinet minister, ``and if you have broken it off, you ought to give your reasons. She has a right to

On the next morning, Friday, there came to him the note which Lady Glencora had recommended Lizzie to

write. It was very short. ``Had you not better come and see me? You can hardly think that things should be

left as they are now. L.E.Hertford Street, Thursday.'' He had hopedhe had ventured to hopethat things

might be left, and that they would arrange themselves; that he could throw aside his engagement without

further trouble, and that the subject would drop. But it was not so. His enemy, Frank Greystock, had

demanded from him a ``written explanation'' of his conduct. Mr Camperdown had deserted him. Lady

Glencora Palliser, with whom he had not the honour of any intimate acquaintance, had taken upon herself to

give him advice. Lord Mount Thistle had found fault with him. And now there had come a note from Lizzie

Eustace herself, which he could hardly venture to leave altogether unnoticed. On that Friday he dined at his

club, and then went to his sister's house in Warwick Square. If assistance might be had anywhere, it would be

from his sistershe, at any rate, would not want courage in carrying on the battle on his behalf.

``Illused! she said, as soon as they were closeted together. ``Who dares to say so?''

``I hope, Frederic, you don't mind what such a man as that says. He has probably been prompted by some

``Camperdown turns round now and says that they don't mean to do anything more about the necklace. Lady

Glencora Palliser told me the other day that all the world believes that the thing was her own.''

``What does Lady Glencora Palliser know about it? If Lady Glencora Palliser would mind her own affairs it

would be much better for her. I remember when she had troubles enough of her own, without meddling with

``And now I've got this note.'' Lord Fawn had already shown Lizzie's few scrawled words to his sister. ``I

``If you go there, that woman will be your wife, and you'll never have a happy day again as long as you live.

The match is broken off, and she knows it. I shouldn't take the slightest notice of her, or of her cousin, or of

any of them. If she chooses to bring an action against you, that is another thing.''

Lord Fawn paused for a few moments before he answered. ``I think I ought to go,'' he said.

``And I am sure that you ought not. It is not only about the diamondsthough that was quite enough to break

off any engagement. Have you forgotten what I told you that the man saw at Portray?

``And I hate that kind of espionage. It is so very likely that mistakes should be made.''

``When she was sitting in his armsand kissing him! If you choose to do it, Frederic, of course you must.

``What do you suppose she wants you to go there for? As for political life, I am quite sure it would be the

death of you. If I were you I wouldn't go near her. You have got out of the scrape, and I would remain out.''

On the next day, Saturday, he did nothing in the matter. He went down, as was his custom, to Richmond, and

did not once mention Lizzie's name. Lady Fawn and her daughters never spoke of her nowneither of her,

nor, in his presence, of poor Lucy Morris. But on his return to London on the Sunday evening he found

another note from Lizzie. ``You will hardly have the hardihood to leave my note unanswered. Pray let me

know when you will come to me.'' Some answer must, as he felt, be made to her. For a moment he thought of

asking his mother to callbut he at once saw that by doing so he might lay himself open to terrible ridicule.

Could he induce Lord Mount Thistle to be his Mercury? It would, he felt, be quite impossible to make Lord

Mount Thistle understand all the facts of his position. His sister, Mrs Hittaway, might have gone, were it not

that she herself was violently opposed to any visit. The more he thought of it the more convinced he became

that, should it be known that he had received two such notes from a lady and that he had not answered or

noticed them, the world would judge him to have behaved badly. So, at last, he wroteon that Sunday

eveningfixing a somewhat distant day for his visit to Hertford Street. His note was as follows:

Lord Fawn presents his compliments to Lady Eustace. In accordance with the wish expressed in Lady

Eustace's two notes of the 23rd instant and this date, Lord Fawn will do himself the favour of waiting upon

Lady Eustace on Saturday next, March 3rd, at 12, noon. Lord Fawn had thought that under circumstances as

they now exist, no further personal interview could lead to the happiness of either party; but as Lady Eustace

``I am going to see her in the course of this week,'' he said, in answer to a further question from Lady

Glencora, who, chancing to meet him in society, had again addressed him on the subject. He lacked the

courage to tell Lady Glencora to mind her own business and to allow him to do the same. Had she been a

little less great than she waseither as regarded herself or her husbandhe would have done so. But Lady

Glencora was the social queen of the party to which he belonged, and Mr Palliser was Chancellor of the

``As you are great, be merciful, Lord Fawn,'' said Lady Glencora. ``You men, I believe, never realise what it

is that women feel when they love. It is my belief that she will die unless you are reunited to her. And then

``I daresay not. And I'm sure I am the last person to wish to give you pain. But you seeif the poor lady has

done nothing to merit your anger, it does seem rather a strong measure to throw her off and give her no

reason whatever. How would you defend yourself, suppose she published it all?'' Lady Glencora's courage

was very greatand perhaps we may say her impudence also. This last question Lord Fawn left unanswered,

In the course of the week he told his sister of the interview which he had promised, and she endeavoured to

induce him to postpone it till a certain man should arrive from Scotland. She had written for Mr Andrew

Gowransending down funds for Mr Gowran's journeyso that her brother might hear Mr Gowran's

Would not Frederic postpone the interview till he should have seen Mr Gowran? But to this request Frederic

declined to acceded a day and an hour. He had made an appointment; of course he must keep it.

The robbery at the house in Hertford Street took place on the 30th of January, and on the morning of the 28th

of February Bunfit and Gager were sitting together in a melancholy, dark little room in Scotland Yard,

discussing the circumstances of that nefarious act. A month had gone by, and nobody was yet in custody. A

month had passed since that second robbery; but nearly eight weeks had passed since the robbery at Carlisle,

and even that was still a mystery. The newspapers had been loud in their condemnation of the police. It had

been asserted over and over again that in no other civilised country in the world could so great an amount of

property have passed through the hands of thieves without leaving some clue by which the police would have

made their way to the truth. Major Mackintosh had been declared to be altogether incompetent, and all the

Bunfits and Gagers of the force had been spoken of as drones and moles and ostriches. They were idle and

blind, and so stupid as to think that, when they saw nothing, others saw less. The major, who was a

broadshouldered, philosophical man, bore all this as though it were, of necessity, a part of the burden of his

professionbut the Bunfits and Gagers were very angry, and at their wits' ends. It did not occur to them to

feel animosity against the newspapers which abused them. The thieves who would not be caught were their

great enemies; and there was common to them a conviction that men so obstinate as these thievesmen to

whom a large amount of grace and liberty for indulgence had accruedshould be treated with uncommon

severity when they were caught. There was this excuse always on their lipsthat had it been an affair simply

of thieves, such as thieves ordinarily are, everything would have been discovered long sincebut when lords

and ladies with titles come to be mixed up with such an affairfolk in whose house a policeman can't have

Bunfit and Gager had both been driven to recast their theories as to the great Carlisle affair by the

circumstances of the later affair in Hertford Street. They both thought that Lord George had been concerned

in the robberythat, indeed, had now become the general opinion of the world at large. He was a man of

doubtful character, with large expenses, and with no recognised means of living. He had formed a great

intimacy with Lady Eustace at a period in which she was known to be carrying these diamonds about with

her, had been staying with her at Portray Castle when the diamonds were there, and had been her companion

on the journey during which the diamonds were stolen. The only men in London supposed to be capable of

dealing advantageously with such a property, were Harter and Benjaminas to whom it was known that they

were conversant with the existence of the diamonds, and known, also, that they were in the habit of having

dealings with Lord George. It was, moreover, known that Lord George had been closeted with Mr Benjamin

on the morning after his arrival in London. These things put together made it almost a certainty that Lord

George had been concerned in the matter. Bunfit had always been sure of it. Gager, though differing much

from Bunfit as to details, had never been unwilling to suspect Lord George. But the facts known could not be

got to dovetail themselves pleasantly. If Lord George had possessed himself of the diamonds at Carlisleor

with Lizzie's connivance before they reached Carlislethen, why had there been a second robbery? Bunfit,

who was very profound in his theory, suggested that the second robbery was an additional plant, got up with

the view of throwing more dust into the eyes of the police, Patience Crabstick had, of course, been one of the

gang throughout, and she had now been allowed to go off with her mistress's money and lesser trinketsso

that the world of Scotland Yard might be thrown more and more into the mire of ignorance and darkness of

doubt. To this view Gager was altogether opposed. He was inclined to think that Lord George had taken the

diamonds at Carlisle with Lizzie's connivancethat he had restored them in London to her keeping, finding

the suspicion against him too heavy to admit of his dealing with themand that now he had stolen them a

second time, again with Lizzie's connivance; but in this latter point, Gager did not pretend to the assurance of

But Gager at the present moment had achieved a triumph in the matter which he was not at all disposed to

share with his elder officer. Perhaps, on the whole, more power is lost than gained by habits of secrecy. To be

discreet is a fine thingespecially for a policeman; but when discretion is carried to such a length in the

direction of selfconfidence as to produce a belief that no aid is wanted for the achievement of great results,

it will often militate against all achievement. Had Scotland Yard been less discreet and more confidential, the

mystery might, perhaps, have been sooner unravelled. Gager at this very moment had reason to believe that a

man whom he knew couldand would, if operated upon dulycommunicate to him, Gager, the secret of

the present whereabouts of Patience Crabstick! That belief was a great possession, and much too important,

as Gager thought, to be shared lightly with such an one as Mr Bunfita thickheaded sort of man, in Gager's

opinion, although, no doubt, he had by means of industry been successful in some difficult cases.

``What should he move out of London for? What could he get by cutting? There ain't nothing so bad when

anything's up against one as letting on that one wants to bolt. He knows all that. He'll stand his ground. He

``I don't suppose as he will, Gager. It's a rum go; ain't it?the rummiest as never see.'' This remark had been

``Ohrum; rum be b What's the use of all that? From what the governor told me this morning, there isn't

``They never went to paris. They were taken from here to Hamburg in a commercial man's kita fellow as

travels in knives and scissors. Then they was recut. They say the cutting was the quickest bit of work ever

done by one man in Hamburg. And now they're in New York. That's what has come of the diamonds.''

``Benjamin, in course,'' said Bunfit, in a low whisper, just taking the pipe from between his lips.

``Wellthat's where it is; isn't it?'' Then there was a pause, during which Bunfit continued to smoke. ``As

``Yesjust that. And an uncommon good face they did put on it between 'emthe best as I ever see.''

``All right,'' said Gager. ``So far, so good. I don't agree with you, Mr Bunfit; because the thing, when it was

done, wouldn't be worth the money. Lord love you, what would all that have cost? And what was to prevent

the lady and Lord George together taking the diamonds to Benjamin and getting their price. It never does to

be too clever, Mr Bunfit. And when that was all done, why did the lady go and get herself robbed again?

NoI don't say but what you're a clever man, in your way, Mr Bunfit; but you've not got a hold of the thing

here. Why was Smiler going about like a mad dogonly that he found himself took in?''

``Maybe he expected something else in the boxmore than the necklaceas was to come to him,''

``It is gammonrunning away with ideas like them, just as if you was one of the public. When they two

opened that box at Carlisle, which they did as certain as you sit there, they believed as the diamonds were

``Very wellwhere were they? Just walk up to it, Mr Bunfit, making your ground good as you go. They two

men cut the door, and took the box, and opened itand when they'd opened it, they didn't get the swag.

``Very wellLord George. Like enough. But it comes to this. Benjamin, and they two men of his, had laid

themselves out for the robbery. Now Mr Bunfit, whether Lord George and Benjamin were together in that

first affair, or whether they weren't, I can't see my way just at present, and I don't know as you can see

yoursnot saying but what you're as quick as most men, Mr Bunfit. If he wasand I rayther think that's

about itthen he and Benjamin must have had a few words, and he must have got the jewels from the Lady

``There you are, all back again, Mr Bunfit, not making your ground good as you go. Smiler and Cann did

their job according to orderand precious sore hearts they had when they'd got the box open. Those fellows

at Carlislejust like all the provincialswent to work openmouthed, and before the party had left Carlisle

``Wellwhat happens next? Lord George, he goes to Benjamin, but he isn't goin' to take the diamonds with

him. He has had words with Benjamin or he has not. Anyways he isn't goin' to take the necklace with him on

that morning. He hasn't been goin' to keep the diamonds about him, not since what was up at Carlisle. So he

``There was something as she had to conceal, Gager. I've said that all through. I knew it in a moment when I

``She's had a deal to conceal, I don't doubt. Well, there they arewith her stilland the box is gone, and the

people as is bringing the lawsuit, Mr Camperdown and the rest of 'em, is off their tack. What's she to do with

``That's all very well, Mr Bunfit. But there's a quarrel up already with Benjamin. Benjamin was to have had

'em before. Benjamin has spent a goodish bit of money, and has been thrown over rather. I daresay Benjamin

was as bad as Smiler, or worse. No doubt Benjamin let on to Smiler, and thought as Smiler was too many for

him. I daresay there was a few words between him and Smiler. I wouldn't wonder if Smiler didn't threaten to

punch Benjamin's headwhich well he could do itand if there wasn't a few playful remarks between 'em

about penal servitude for life. You see, Mr Bunfit, it couldn't have been pleasant for any of them.''

``But they didn'tnot downright. Wellthere we are. The diamonds is with the lady. Lord George has done

it all, Lord George and Lady Eustacethey're keeping company, no doubt, after their own fashion. He's

arobbing of her, and she has to do pretty much as she's bid. The diamonds is with the lady, and Lord George

is pretty well afraid to look at 'em. After all that's being done, there isn't much to wonder at in that. Then

``I don't pretend to say I know, but just put it this way, Mr Bunfit. Of course the thieves were let in by the

``She was always about the ladya doing for her in every thing. Say she goes to Benjamin and tells him as

how her lady still has the necklaceand then he puts up the second robbery. Then you'd have it all round.''

``And Lord George would have lost 'em. It can't be. Lord George and he are thick as thieves up to this day.''

``Very well. I don't say anything against that. Lord George knows as she has 'emindeed he'd given 'em

``Very well. What does Lord George do then? He can't make money of 'em. They're too hot for his fingers,

and so he finds when he thinks of taking 'em into the market. So he puts Benjamin up to the second robbery.''

``Mr Bunfit, I'm not saying as I've got the truth beyond thisthat Benjamin and his two men were clean

done at Carlisle, that Lord George and his lady brought the jewels up to town between 'em, and that the party

who didn't get 'em at Carlisle tried their hand again and did get 'em in Hertford Street.'' In all of which the

ingenious Gager would have been right, if he could have kept his mind clear from the alluring conviction that

``I mean to try it on all the same. There's Smiler about town as bold as brass, and dressed to the nines. He had

the cheek to tell me he was going down to the Newmarket Spring to look after a horse he's got a share in.''

``I was talking to Billy only yesterday,'' added Bunfit. ``I've got it on my mind that they didn't treat Billy

quite on the square. He didn't let on anything about Benjamin; but he told me out plain as how he was very

much disgusted. `Mr Bunfit,' said he, `there's that roguery about that a plain man like me can't touch it.

There's them as'd pick my eyes out while I was sleeping, and then swear it against my very self.' Them were

``WellI just reminded him as how there was five hundred pounds going abegging from Mr

``Well he said a good deal. He's a sharp little fellow, is Billy, as has read a deal. You've heard of 'Umpty

``WellBilly says to me: `Mr Camperdown don't want no hinformation; he wants the diamonds. Them

diamonds is like 'Umpty Dumpty, Mr Bunfit. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put 'Umpty

Late on the afternoon of the same day, when London had already been given over to the gaslights, Mr Gager,

having dressed himself especially for the occasion of the friendly visit which he intended to make, sauntered

into a small public house at the corner of Meek Street and Pineapple Court, which localityas all men well

versed with London are awarelies within one minute's walk of the top of Gray's Inn Lane. Gager, during

his conference with his colleague Bunfit, had been dressed in plain black clothes; but in spite of his plain

clothes he looked every inch a policeman. There was a stiffness about his limbs, and, at the same time, a

sharpness in his eyes which, in the conjunction with the locality in which he was placed, declared his

profession beyond the possibility of mistake. Nor, in that locality, would he have desired to be taken for

anything else. But as he entered the ``Rising Sun'' in Meek Street, there was nothing of the policeman about

him. He might probably have been taken for a betting man, with whom the world had latterly gone well

enough to enable him to maintain that sleek, easy, greasy appearance, which seems to be the beau ideal of a

betting man's personal ambition. ``Well, Mr Howard,'' said the lady at the bar, ``a sight of you is good for

``Six penn'orth of brandywarm, if you please, my dear,'' said the pseudoHoward, as he strolled easily into

an inner room, with which he seemed to be quite familiar. He seated himself in an oldfashioned wooden

armchair, gazed up at the gas lamp, and stirred his liquor slowly. Occasionally he raised the glass to his lips,

but he did not seem to be at all intent upon his drinking. When he entered the room, there had been a

gentleman and a lady there, whose festive moments seemed to be disturbed by some slight disagreement; but

Howard, as he gazed at the lamp, paid no attention to them whatever. They soon left the room, their quarrel

and their drink finished together, and others dropped in and out. Mr Howard's ``warm'' must almost have

become cold, so long did he sit there, gazing at the gas lamps, rather than attending to his brandy and water.

Not a word did he speak to anyone for more than an hour, and not a sign did he show of impatience. At last

he was alonebut had not been so for above a minute when in stepped a jaunty little man, certainly not more

than five feet high, about three or four and twenty years of age, dressed with great care, with his trousers

sticking to his legs, with a French chimneypot hat on his head, very much peeked fore and aft and closely

turned up at the sides. He had a brightcoloured silk handkerchief round his neck, and a white shirt, of which

the collar and wristbands were rather larger and longer than suited the small dimensions of the man. He wore

a white greatcoat tight buttoned round his waist, but so arranged as to show the glories of the coloured

handkerchief; and in his hand he carried a diminutive cane with a little silver knob. He stepped airily into the

room, and as he did so he addressed our friend the policeman with much cordiality, ``My dear Mr 'Oward,''

``Wellay, what? Shall I say a little port wine negus, with the nutmeg in it rayther strong?'' This suggestion

he made to a young lady from the bar, who had followed him into the room. The negus was brought and paid

for by Gager, who then requested that they might be left there undisturbed for five minutes. The young lady

promised to do her best, and then closed the door. ``And now, Mr 'Oward, what can I do for you?'' said Mr

Gager, before he answered, took a pipecase out of his pocket, and lit the pipe. ``Will you smoke, Billy?''

``Wellno, I don't know that I will smoke. A very little tobacco goes a long way with me, Mr 'Oward. One

cigar before I turn inthat's about the outside of it. You see, Mr 'Oward, pleasures should never be made

necessities, when the circumstances of a gentleman's life may perhaps require that they shall be abandoned

for prolonged periods. In your line of life, Mr 'Owardwhich has its objectionssmoking may be pretty

well a certainty.'' Mr Cann, as he made these remarks, skipped about the room, and gave point to his

``I haven't set eyes on her these six weeks, Mr 'Oward. I never see her but once in my life, Mr 'Owardor,

maybe, twice, for one's memory is deceitful; and I don't know that I ever wish to see her again. She ain't one

of my sort, Mr 'Oward. I likes 'em soft, and sweet, and coming. This oneshe has her good p'ints about

heras clean a foot and ankle as I'd wish to seebut, laws, what a nose, Mr 'Oward! And then for

``What's the good, then, of your coming here?'asked Gager, with no little severity in his voice.

``I don't know as it is good. I'aven't said nothing about any good, Mr 'Oward. What you wants to find is them

``Wellyou won't find 'em. I knows nothing about 'em, in course, except just what I'm told. You know my

``And I know yours. I'm in the way of hearing about these thingsand for the matter of that, so are you too.

It may be, my ears are the longer. I 'ave 'eard. You don't expect me to tell you more than just that. I 'ave 'eard.

It was a pretty thing, wasn't it? But I wasn't in it myself, more's the pity. You can't expect fairer than that Mr

``Them diamonds is gone where none of you can get at 'em. That five hundred pounds as the lawyers 'ave

offered is just nowhere. If you want information, Mr 'Oward, you should say information.''

``Nono'' He uttered these two negatives in a low voice, and with much deliberation. ``I couldn't give it.

``What an ass you are, Mr 'Oward. Don't I know that you don't knowor you wouldn't come to me. You

guess. You're always aguessing. And because you know how to guess, they pays you for guessing. But

guessing ain't knowing. You don't knownor yet don't I. What is it to be, if I find out where that young

``She's agoing to be married to Smiler next Sunday as ever is down at Ramsgateand at Ramsgate she is

now. You'll find her, Mr 'Oward, if you'll keep your eyes open, somewhere about the `Fiddle with One

This information was so far recognised by Mr Howard as correct, that he paid Mr Cann five sovereigns down

Mr Gager reached Ramsgate by the earliest train on the following morning, and was not long in finding out

the ``Fiddle with One String''. The ``Fiddle with One String'' was a public house, very humble in appearance,

in the outskirts of the town, on the road leading to Pegwell Bay. On this occasion Mr Gager was dress in his

ordinary plain clothes, and though the policeman's calling might not be so manifestly declared by his

appearance at Ramsgate as it was in Scotland Yardstill, let a hint in that direction have ever been given,

and the ordinary citizens of Ramsgate would at once be convinced that the man was what he was. Gager had

doubtless considered all the circumstances of his day's work carefully, and had determined that success would

more probably attend him with this than with any other line of action. He walked at once into the house, and

asked whether a young woman was not lodging there. The man of the house was behind the bar, with his

wife, and to him Gager whispered a few words. The man stood dumb for a moment, and then his wife spoke.

``What's up now?'' said she. ``There's no young women here. We don't have no young women.'' Then the man

whispered a word to his wife, during which Gager stood among the customers before the bar with an easy,

unembarrassed air. ``Well, what's the odds?'' said the wife. ``There ain't anything wrong with us.''

``Never though there was, ma'am,'' said Gager. ``And there's nothing wrong as I know of with the young

woman.'' Then the husband and wife consulted together, and Mr Gager was asked to take a seat in a little

parlour, while the woman ran upstairs for half an instant. Gager looked about him quickly, and took in at a

glance the system of the construction of the ``Fiddle with One String.'' He did sit down in the little parlour,

with the door open, and remained there for perhaps a couple of minutes. Then he went to the front door, and

glanced up at the roof. ``It's all right,'' said the keeper of the house, following him. ``She ain't agoing to get

``You tell her, with my regards,'' said Gager, ``that she needn't be a bit the worse because of me.'' The man

looked at him suspiciously. ``You tell her what I say. And tell her, too, the quicker the better. She has a

gentleman alooking after her, I daresay. Perhaps I'd better be off before he comes.'' The message was taken

We are often told that all is fair in love and war, and, perhaps, the operation on which Mr Gager was now

intent may be regarded as warlike. But he now took advantage of a certain softness in the character of the

lady whom he wished to meet, which hardly seems to be justifiable even in a policeman. When Lizzie's tall

footman had been in trouble about the necklace, a photograph had been taken from him which had not been

restored to him. This was a portrait of Patience Crabstick, which she, poor girl, in a tender moment, had given

to him, who, had not things gone roughly with them, was to have been her lover. The little picture had fallen

into Gager's hands, and he now pulled it from his pocket. He, himself, had never visited the house in Hertford

Street till after the second robbery, and, in the fresh, had not as yet seen Miss Crabstick; but he had studied

her face carefully, expecting, or, at any rate, hoping, that he might some day enjoy the pleasure of personal

acquaintance. That pleasure was now about to come to him, and he prepared himself for it by making himself

intimate with the lines of the lady's face as the sun had portrayed them. There was even yet some delay, and

Mr Gager more than once testified uneasiness. ``She ain't agoing to get away,'' said the mistress of the

house, ``but a lady as is going to see a gentleman can't jump into her things as a man does.'' Gager intimated

``The sooner she comes the less trouble for her,'' said Gager to the woman; ``if you'll only make her believe

that.'' At last, when he had been somewhat over an hour in the house, he was asked to walk upstairs, and then,

in a little sittingroom over the bar, he had the opportunity, so much desired, of making personal

It may be imagined that the poor waitingwoman had not been in a happy state of mind since she had been

told that a gentleman was waiting to see her downstairs, who had declared himself to be a policeman

immediately on entering the shop. To escape was of course her first idea, but she was soon made to

understand that this was impracticable. In the first place there was but one staircase, at the bottom of which

was the open door of the room in which the policeman was sitting; and then, the woman of the house was

very firm in declaring that she would connive at nothing which might cost her and her husband their licence.

``You've got to face it,'' said the woman. ``I suppose they can't make me get out of bed unless I pleases,'' said

Patience firmly. But she knew that even that resource would fail her, and that a policeman, when aggravated,

can take upon him all the duties of a lady's maid. She had to face itand she did face it. ``I've just got to

``I suppose, then, we'd better be alone,'' said Patience; whereupon the woman of the house discreetly left the

The interview was so long that the reader would be fatigued were he asked to study a record of all that was

said on the occasion. The gentleman and lady were closeted together for more than an hour, and so amicably

was the conversation carried on that when the time was half over Gager stepped downstairs and interested

himself in procuring Miss Crabstick's breakfast. He even condescended himself to pick a few shrimps and

drink a glass of beer in her company. A great deal was said, and something was even settled, as may be

learned from a few concluding words of that very memorable conversation. ``Just don't you say anything

about it, my dear, but leave word for him that you've gone up to town on business.

``Let him know. Of course he'll knowif he comes down. It's my belief he'll never show himself at

``Whatabout making you my wife? That I ain't I'm upright, and always was. There's no mistake about me,

when you've got my word. As soon as this work is off my mind, you shall be Mrs Gager, my dear. And you'll

``I didn't getnot nothing out of the necklace; and as for the other things, they've frighted me so, that I let

'em all go for just what I tell you. And as for Mr SmilerI never didn't care for him; that I didn't. He ain't the

man to touch my heartnot at all; and it was not likely either. A plain fellowvery, Mr Gager.''

``But I've been that worrited among 'em, Mr Gager, since first they made their wicked prepositions, that I've

been jestI don't know how I've been. And though my lady was not a lady as any girl could like, and did

deserve to have her things took if anybody's things ever should be took, still, Mr Gager, I knows I did wrong.

I do know itand I'm arepenting of it in sackcloth and ashesso I am. But you'll be as good as your word,

It must be acknowledged that Mr Gager had bidden high for success, and had allowed himself to be carried

away by his zeal almost to the verge of imprudence. It was essential to him that he should take Patience

Crabstick back with him to Londonand that he should take her as a witness and not as a criminal. Mr

Benjamin was the game at which he was flyingMr Benjamin, and, if possible, Lord George; and he

conceived that his net might be big enough to hold Smiler as well as the other two greater fishes, if he could

induce Patience Crabstick and Billy Cann to cooperate with him cordially in his fishing.

But his mind was still disturbed on one point. Let him press his beloved Patience as closely as he might with

questions, there was one point on which he could not get from her what he believed to be the truth. She

persisted that Lord George de Bruce Carruthers had had no hand in either robbery, and Gager had so firmly

committed himself to a belief on this matter, that he could not throw the idea away from him, even on the

On that evening he returned triumphant to Scotland Yard with Patience Crabstick under his wing; and that

lady was housed there with every comfort she could desire, except that of personal liberty.

In the meantime Mrs Hittaway was diligently spreading a report that Lizzie Eustace either was engaged to

marry her cousin Frankor ought to be so engaged. This she did, no doubt, with the sole object of saving her

brother; but she did it with a zeal that dealt as freely with Frank's name as with Lizzie's. They, with all their

friends, were her enemies, and she was quite sure that they were, altogether, a wicked, degraded set of

people. Of Lord George and Mrs Carbuncle, of Miss Roanoke and Sir Griffin Tewett, she believed all manner

of evil. She had theories of her own about the jewels, storiesprobably of her own manufacture in part,

although no doubt she believed them to be trueas to the manner of living at Portray, little histories of

Lizzie's debts, and the great fact of the scene which Mr Gowran had seen with his own eyes. Lizzie Eustace

was an abomination to her, and this abominable woman her brother was again in danger of marrying! She

was very loud in her denunciations, and took care that they should reach even Lady Linlithgow, so that poor

Lucy Morris might know of what sort was the lover in whom she trusted. Andy Gowran had been sent for to

town, and was on his journey while Mr Gager was engaged at Ramsgate. It was at present the great object of

Mrs Hittaway's life to induce her brother to see Mr Gowran before he kept his appointment with Lady

Poor Lucy received the wound which was intended for her. The enemy's weapons had repeatedly struck her,

but hitherto they had alighted on the strong shield of her faith. But let a shield be never so strong, it may at

last be battered out of all form and service. On Lucy's shield there had been much of such batterings, and the

blows which had come from him in whom she most trusted had not been the lightest. She had not seen him

for months, and his letters were short, unsatisfactory, and rare. She had declared to herself and to her friend

Lady Fawn, that no concurrence of circumstances, no absence, however long, no rumours that might reach

her ears, would make her doubt the man she loved. She was still steadfast in the same resolution; but, in spite

of her resolution, her heart began to fail her. She became weary, unhappy, and ill at ease, and though she

``So, after all, your Mr Greystock is to marry my niece, Lizzie Greystock.'' This goodnatured speech was

``I rather think not,'' said Lucy plucking up her spirits and smiling as she spoke.

``Everybody says so. As for Lizzie, she has become quite a heroine. What with her necklace, and her two

robberies, and her hunting, and her various loverstwo lords and a member of Parliament, my dearthere

is nothing to equal her. Lady Glencora Palliser has been calling on her. She took care to let me know that.

``According to your own showing, Lady Linlithgow, she has got two other lovers. Couldn't you oblige me by

``I'm afraid, my dear, that Mr Greystock is to be the chosen one.'' Then after a pause the old woman became

serious. ``What is the use, Miss Morris, of not looking the truth in the face? Mr Greystock is neglecting you.''

``Certainly notbut if he were not neglecting you, you would not be here. And there he is with Lizzie

Eustace every day of his life. He can't afford to marry you, and he can afford to marry her. It's a deal better

``Very likely not, Lady Linlithgow. It may be that I shall have to pay dear for learning. Of course, I may be

When this little scene took place, only a month remained of the time for which Lucy's services were engaged

to Lady Linlithgow, and no definite arrangement had been made as to her future residence. Lady Fawn was

prepared to give her a home, and to Lady Fawn, as it seemed, she must go. Lady Linlithgow had declared

herself unwilling to continue the existing arrangement because, as she said, it did not suit her that her

companion should be engaged to marry her late sister's nephew. Not a word had been said about the deanery

for the last month or two, and Lucy, though her hopes in that direction had once been good, was far too

highspirited to make any suggestion herself as to her reception by her lover's family. In the ordinary course

of things she would have to look out for another situation, like any other governess in want of a place; but she

could do this only by consulting Lady Fawn; and Lady Fawn when consulted would always settle the whole

There must be some end of her living at Fawn Court. So much Lucy told herself over and over again. It could

be but a temporary measure. Ifif it was to be her fate to be taken away from Fawn Court a happy, glorious,

triumphant bride, then the additional obligation put upon her by her dear friends would not be more than she

could bear. But to go to Fawn Court, and, by degrees, to have it acknowledged that another place must be

found for her, would be very bad. She would infinitely prefer any intermediate hardship. How, then, should

she know? As soon as she was able to escape from the countess, she went up to her own room, and wrote the

following letter. She studied the words with great care as she wrote themsitting and thinking before she

It is a long time since we metis it not? I do not write this as a reproach; but because friends tell me that I

should not continue to think myself engaged to you. They say that, situated as you are, you cannot afford to

marry a penniless girl, and that I ought not to wish you to sacrifice yourself. I do understand enough of your

affairs to know that an imprudent marriage may ruin you, and I certainly do not wish to be the cause of injury

to you. All I ask is that you should tell me the truth. It is not that I am impatient; but that I must decide what

She read this letter over and over again, thinking of all that it said and of all that it omitted to say. She was at

first half disposed to make protestations of forgivenessto assure him that not even within her own heart

would she reproach him, should he feel himself bound to retract the promise she had made him. She longed to

break out into love, but so to express her love that her lover should know that it was strong enough even to

sacrifice itself for his sake. But though her heart longed to speak freely, her judgment told her that it would be

better that she should be reticent and tranquil in her language. Any warmth on her part would be in itself a

reproach to him. If she really wished to assist him in extricating himself from a difficulty into which he had

fallen in her behalf, she would best do so by offering him his freedom in the fewest and plainest words which

But even when the letter was written she doubted as to the wisdom of sending it. She kept it that she might

sleep upon it. She did sleep upon itand when the morning came she would not send it. Had not absolute

faith in her lover been the rock on which she had declared to herself that she would build the house of her

future hopes? Had not she protested again and again that no caution from others should induce her to waver

in her belief? Was it not her great doctrine to trustto trust implicitly, even though all should be lost if her

trust should be misplaced? And was it well that she should depart from all this, merely because it might be

convenient for her to make arrangements as to the coming months? If it were to be her fate to be rejected,

thrown over, and deceived, of what use to her could be any future arrangements? All to her would be ruin,

and it would matter to her nothing whither she should be taken. And then, why should she lie to him as she

would lie in sending such a letter? If he did throw her over he would be a traitor, and her heart would be full

of reproaches. Whatever might be his future lot in life, he owed it to her to share it with her, and if he evaded

his debt he would be a traitor and a miscreant. She would never tell him so. She would be far too proud to

condescend to spoken or written reproaches. But she would know that it would be so, and why should she lie

to him by saying that it would not be so? Thinking of all this, when the morning came, she left the letter lying

Lord Fawn was to call upon Lady Eustace on the Saturday, and on Friday afternoon Mr Andrew Gowran was

in Mrs Hittaway's back parlour in Warwick Square. After many efforts, and with much persuasion, the

brother had agreed to see his sister's great witness. Lord Fawn had felt that he would lower himself by any

intercourse with such a one as Andy Gowran in regard to the conduct of the woman whom he had proposed

to make his wife, and had endeavoured to avoid the meeting. He had been angry, piteous, haughty, and sullen

by turns; but Mrs Hittaway had overcome him by dogged perseverance; and poor Lord Fawn had at last

consented. He was to come to Warwick Square as soon as the House was up on Friday evening, and dine

there. Before dinner he was to be introduced to Mr Gowran. Andy arrived at the house at halfpast five, and

after some conversation with Mrs Hittaway, was left there all alone to await the coming of Lord Fawn. He

was in appearance and manners very different from the Andy Gowran familiarly known among the braes and

crofts of Portray. He had a heavy stiff hat, which he carried in his hand. He wore a black swallowtail coat

and black trousers, and a heavy red waistcoat buttoned up nearly to his throat, round which was tightly tied a

dingy black silk handkerchief. At Portray no man was more voluble, no man more selfconfident, no man

more equal to his daily occupations than Andy Gowran; but the unaccustomed clothes, and the journey to

London, and the town houses overcame him, and for a while almost silenced him. Mrs Hittaway found him

silent, cautious, and timid. Not knowing what to do with him, fearing to ask him to go and eat in the kitchen,

and not liking to have meat and unlimited drink brought for him into the parlour, she directed the servant to

supply him with a glass of sherry and a couple of biscuits. He had come an hour before the time named, and

there, with nothing to cheer him beyond these slight creaturecomforts, he was left to wait all alone till Lord

Andy had seen lords before. Lords are not rarer in Ayrshire than in other Scotch counties; and then, had not

Lord George de Bruce Carruthers been staying at Portray half the winter? But Lord George was not to Andy a

real lordand then a lord down in his own county was so much less to him than a lord up in London. And

this lord was a lord of Parliament, and a government lord, and might probably have the power of hanging

such a one as Andy Gowran were he to commit perjury, or say anything which the lord might choose to call

perjury. What it was that Lord Fawn wished him to say, he could not make himself sure. That the lord's sister

wished him to prove Lady Eustace to be all that was bad, he knew very well. But he thought that he was able

to perceive that the brother and sister were not at one, and more than once during his journey up to London he

had almost made up his mind that he would turn tail and go back to Portray. No doubt there was enmity

between him and his mistress; but then his mistress did not attempt to hurt him even though he had insulted

her grossly; and were she to tell him to leave her service, it would be from Mr John Eustace, and not from

Mrs Hittaway, that he must look for the continuation of his employment. Nevertheless he had taken Mrs

At halfpast seven Lord Fawn was brought into the room by his sister, and Andy Gowran, rising from his

chair, three times ducked his head. ``Mr Gowran,'' said Mrs Hittaway, ``my brother is desirous that you

should tell him exactly what you have seen of Lady Eustace's conduct down at Portray. You may speak quite

freely, and I know you will speak truly.'' Andy again ducked his head. ``Frederic,'' continued the lady, ``I am

sure that you may implicitly believe all that Mr Gowran will say to you.'' Then Mrs Hittaway left the

Lord Fawn was quite at a loss how to begin, and Andy was by no means prepared to help him. ``If I am

rightly informed,'' said the lord, ``you have been for many years employed on the Portray property?''

``Just sojust so. And, of course, interested in the welfare of the Eustace family?''

``And being an honest man, have felt sorrow that the Portray property shouldshouldshouldthat

anything bad should happen to it.'' Andy nodded his head, and Lord Fawn perceived that he was nowhere

``Just in a fawshion, my lairdas a mon may say. That is she isand she is nae. There's a mony things at

``Then she's your mistress.'' Andy again nodded his head, and Lord Fawn again struggled to find some way in

which he might approach his subject. ``Her cousin, Mr Greystock, has been staying at Portray lately?''

It was dreadful to Lord Fawn that the man should wink his eye at him. He did not quite understand what

Andy had last said, but he did understand that some accusation as to indecent familiarity with her cousin was

intended to be brought by this Scotch steward against the woman to whom he had engaged himself. Every

feeling of his nature revolted against the task before him, and he found that on trial it became absolutely

impracticable. He could not bring himself to inquire minutely as to poor Lizzie's flirting down among the

rocks. He was weak, and foolish, and, in many respects, ignorantbut he was a gentleman. As he got nearer

to the point which it had been intended that he should reach, the more he hated Andy Gowranand the more

he hated himself for having submitted to such contact. He paused a moment, and then he declared that the

conversation was at an end. ``I think that will do, Mr Gowran,'' he said. ``I don't know that you can tell me

anything I want to hear. I think you had better go back to Scotland.'' So saying, he left Andy alone and stalked

up to the drawingroom. When he entered it, both Mr Hittaway and his sister were there. ``Clara,'' he said

very sternly, ``you had better send someone to dismiss that man. I shall not speak to him again.''

Lord Fawn did not speak to Andy Gowran again, but Mrs Hittaway did. After a faint and futile endeavour

made by her to ascertain what had taken place in the parlour downstairs, she descended and found Andy

seated in his chair, still holding his hat in his hand, as stiff as a wax figure. He had been afraid of the lord, but

as soon as the lord had left him he was very angry with the lord. He had been brought up all that way to tell

his story to the lord, and the lord had gone away without hearing a word of ithad gone away and had

absolutely insulted him, had asked him who paid him his wages, and had then told him that Lady Eustace was

his mistress. Andy Gowran felt strongly that this was not that kind of confidential usage which he had had a

right to expect. And after his experience of the last hour and a half, he did not at all relish his renewed

solitude in that room. ``A drap of puir thin liquorpoored out, too, in a weeny glass nae deeper than an

eggshelland two cookies; that's what she ca'edrafrashment!'' It was thus that Andy afterwards spoke to

his wife of the hospitalities offered to him in Warwick Square, regarding which his anger was especially hot,

in that he had been treated like a child or a common labourer, instead of having the decanter left with him to

be used at his own discretion. When, therefore, Mrs Hittaway returned to him, the awe with which new

circumstances and the lord had filled him was fast vanishing, and giving place to that stubborn indignation

against people in general which was his normal condition. ``I suppose I'm jist to gang bock again to Portrae,

Mrs Heetaway, and that'll be a' you'll want o' me?'' This he said the moment the lady entered the room.

But Mrs Hittaway did not want to lose his services quite so soon. She expressed regret that her brother should

have found himself unable to discuss a subject that was naturally so very distasteful to him, and begged Mr

Gowran to come to her again the next morning. ``What I saw wi' my ain twa e'es, Mrs Heetaway, I sawand

nane the less because his lairdship may nae find it jist tastefu', as your leddyship was saying. There were

them twa, a' colloguing, and a seetting ilk in ither's laps a' o'er, and a keessingyes, my leddy, a keessing as

females, not to say males, ought nae to keess, unless they be mon and wifeand then not amang the rocks,

my leddy; and if his lairdship does nae care to hear tell o' it, and finds it nae tastefu', as your leddyship was

saying, he should nae ha' sent for Andie Gowran a' the way from Portray, jist to tell him what he wanna hear,

All this was said with so much unction that even Mrs Hittaway herself found it to be not ``tasteful''. She

shrunk and shivered under Mr Gowran's eloquence, and almost repented of her zeal. But women, perhaps,

feel less repugnance than do men at using ignoble assistance in the achievement of good purposes. Though

Mrs Hittaway shrunk and shivered under the strong action with which Mr Gowran garnished his strong

words, still she was sure of the excellence of her purpose; and, believing that useful aid might still be

obtained from Andy Gowran, and, perhaps, prudently anxious to get value in return for the cost of the journey

up from Ayrshire, she made the man promise to return to her on the following morning.

Between her son, and her married daughter, and Lucy Morris, poor Lady Fawn's life had become a burthen to

her. Everything was astray, and there was no happiness or tranquillity at Fawn Court. Of all simply human

creeds the strongest existing creed for the present in the minds of the Fawn ladies was that which had

reference to the general iniquity of Lizzie Eustace. She had been the cause of all these sorrows, and she was

hated so much the more because she had not been proved to be iniquitous before all the world. There had

been a time when it seemed to be admitted that she was so wicked in keeping the diamonds in opposition to

the continued demands made for them by Mr Camperdown, that all people would be justified in dropping her,

and Lord Fawn among the number. But, since the two robberies, public opinion had veered round three or

four points in Lizzie's favour, and people were beginning to say that she had been illused. Then had come

Mrs Hittaway's evidence as to Lizzie's wicked doings down in Scotlandthe wicked doings which Andy

Gowran had described with a vehemence so terribly moral; and that which had been at first, as it were, added

to the diamonds, as a supplementary weight thrown into the scale, so that Lizzie's iniquities might bring her

absolutely to the ground, had gradually assumed the position of being the first charge against her. Lady Fawn

had felt no aversion to discussing the diamonds. When Lizzie was called a ``thief'', and a ``robber', and a

``swindler'' by one or another of the ladies of the familywho, in using those strong terms, whispered the

words as ladies are wont to do when they desire to lessen the impropriety of the strength of their language by

the gentleness of the tone in which the words are spokenwhen Lizzie was thus described in Lady Fawn's

hearing in her own house, she had felt no repugnance to it. It was well that the fact should be known, so that

everybody might be aware that her son was doing right in refusing to marry so wicked a lady. But when the

other thing was added to it; when the story was told of what Mr Gowran had seen among the rocks, and when

gradually that became the special crime which was to justify her son in dropping the lady's acquaintance, then

Lady Fawn became very unhappy, and found the subject to be, as Mrs Hittaway had described it, very

And this trouble hit Lucy Morris as hard as it did Lord Fawn. If Lizzie Eustace was unfit to marry Lord Fawn

because of these things, then was Frank Greystock not only unfit to marry Lucy, but most unlikely to do so,

whether fit or unfit. For a week or two Lady Fawn had allowed herself to share Lucy's joy, and to believe that

Mr Greystock would prove himself true to the girl whose heart he had made all his ownbut she had soon

learned to distrust the young member of Parliament who was always behaving insolently to her son, who

spent his holidays down with Lizzie Eustace, who never visited and rarely wrote to the girl he had promised

to marry, and as to whom all the world agreed in saying that he was far too much in debt to marry any woman

who had not means to help him. It was all sorrow and vexation together; and yet when her married daughter

would press the subject upon her, and demand her cooperation, she had no power of escaping. ``Mamma,''

Mrs Hittaway had said, ``Lady Glencora Palliser has been with her, and everybody is taking her up, and if her

conduct down in Scotland isn't proved, Frederic will be made to marry her.'' ``But what can I do, my dear?''

Lady Fawn had asked, almost in tears. ``Insist that Frederic shall know the whole truth,'' replied Mrs

Hittaway with energy. ``Of course, it is very disagreeable. Nobody can feel it more than I do. It is horrible to

have to talk about such thingsand to think of them.'' ``Indeed it is, Claravery horrible.'' ``But anything,

mamma, is better than that Frederic should be allowed to marry such a woman as that. It must be proved to

himhow unfit she is to be his wife.'' With the view of carrying out this intention, Mrs Hittaway had, as we

have seen, received Andy Gowran at her own house; and with the same view she took Andy Gowran the

Mrs Hittaway, and her mother, and Andy were closeted together for half an hour, and Lady Fawn suffered

grievously. Lord Fawn had found that he couldn't hear the story, and he had not heard it. He had been strong

enough to escape, and had, upon the whole, got the best of it in the slight skirmish which had taken place

between him and the Scotchman; but poor old Lady Fawn could not escape. Andy was allowed to be

eloquent, and the whole story was told to her, though she would almost sooner have been flogged at a cart's

tail than have heard it. Then ``rafrashments'' were administered to Andy of a nature which wade him prefer

Fawn Court to Warwick Square, and he was told that he might go back to Portray as soon as he pleased.

When he was gone, Mrs Hittaway opened her mind to her mother altogether. ``The truth is, mamma, that

``But why? I thought that he had declared that he would give it up. I thought that he had said so to herself.''

``What of thatif he retracts what he said? He is so weak. Lady Glencora Palliser has made him promise to

go and see her; and he is to go today. He is there now, probablyat this very moment. If he had been firm,

the thing was done. After all that has taken place, nobody would ever have supposed that his engagement

need go for anything. But what can he say to her now that he is with her, except just do the mischief all over

again? I call it quite wicked in that woman's interfering. I do, indeed! She's a nasty, insolent, impertinent

creaturethat's what she is! After all the trouble I've taken, she comes and undoes it, all with one word.''

``WellI do believe that if Frederic could be made to act as he ought to do, just for a while, she would marry

her cousin, Mr Greystock, and then there would be an end of it altogether. I really think that she likes him

best, and from all that I can hear, she would take him now, if Frederic would only keep out of the way. As for

him, of course he is doing his very best to get her. He has not one shilling to rub against another, and is over

``Wellyes; but really that is a matter of course. I always thought, mamma, that you and Amelia were a little

``But, my dear, the man proposed for her in the plainest possible manner. I saw his letter.''

``No doubtmen do propose. We all know that. I'm sure I don't know what they get by it, but I suppose it

amuses them. There used to be a sort of feeling that if a man behaved badly something would be done to him;

but that's all over now. A man may propose to whom he likes, and if he chooses to say afterwards that it

``That's very hard,'' said the elder lady, of whom everybody said that she did not understand the world as well

``The girlsthey all know that it is so, and I suppose it comes to the same thing in the long run. The men

``Girls ain't killed so easy, mammanot nowadays. Saying that it will kill her won't change the man's

nature. It wasn't to be expected that such a man as Frank Greystock, in debt, and in Parliament, and going to

all the best houses, should marry your governess. What was he to get by it? That's what I want to know.''

``Laws, mamma, how antediluvian you are! No doubt he did like herafter his fashion; though what he saw

in her, I never could tell. I think Miss Morris would make a very nice wife for a country clergyman who

didn't care how poor things were. But she has no styleand as far as I can see, she has no beauty. Why

should such a man as Frank Greystock tie himself by the leg for ever to such a girl as that? But, mamma, he

doesn't mean to marry Lucy Morris. Would he have been going on in that way with his cousin down in

Scotland had he meant it? He means nothing of the kind. He means to marry Lady Eustace's income if he can

get itand she would marry him before the summer if only we could keep Frederic away from her.''

Mrs Hittaway demanded from her mother that in season and out of season she should be urgent with Lord

Fawn, impressing upon him the necessity of waiting, in order that he might see how false Lady Eustace was

to him; and also that she should teach Lucy Morris how vain were all her hopes. If Lucy Morris would

withdraw her claims altogether the thing might probably be more quickly and more surely managed. If Lucy

could be induced to tell Frank that she withdrew her claim, and that she saw how impossible it was that they

should ever be man and wife, thenso argued Mrs HittawayFrank would at once throw himself at his

cousin's feet, and all the difficulty would be over. The abominable, unjustifiable, and insolent interference of

Lady Glencora just at the present moment would be the means of undoing all the good that had been done,

unless it could be neutralised by some such activity as this. The necklace had absolutely faded away into

nothing. The sly creature was almost becoming a heroine on the strength of the necklace. The very mystery

with which the robberies were pervaded was acting in her favour. Lord Fawn would absolutely be made to

marry herforced into it by Lady Glencora and that setunless the love affair between her and her cousin,

of which Andy Gowran was able to give such sufficient testimony, could in some way be made available to

The theory of life and system on which social matters should be managed, as displayed by her married

daughter, was very painful to poor old Lady Fawn. When she was told that under the new order of things

promises from gentlemen were not to be looked upon as binding, that love was to go for nothing, that girls

were to be made contented by being told that when one lover was lost another could be found, she was very

unhappy. She could not disbelieve it all, and throw herself back upon her faith in virtue, constancy, and

honesty. She rather thought that things had changed for the worse since she was young, and that promises

were not now as binding as they used to be. She herself had married into a liberal family, had a liberal son,

and would have called herself a liberal; but she could not fail to hear from others, her neighbours, that the

English manners, and English principles, and English society were all going to destruction in consequence of

the socalled liberality of the age. Gentlemen, she thought, certainly did do things which gentlemen would

not have done forty years ago; and as for ladiesthey, doubtless, were changed altogether. Most assuredly

she could not have brought an Andy Gowran to her mother to tell such tales in their joint presence as this man

Mrs Hittaway had ridiculed her for saying that poor Lucy would die when forced to give up her lover. Mrs

Hittaway had spoken of the necessity of breaking up that engagement without a word of anger against Frank

Greystock. According to Mrs Hittaway's views Frank Greystock had amused himself in the most natural way

in the world when he asked Lucy to be his wife. A governess like Lucy had been quite foolish to expect that

such a man as Greystock was in earnest. Of course she must give up her lover; and if there must be blame,

she must blame herself for her folly! Nevertheless, Lady Fawn was so softhearted that she believed that the

But not the less was it her duty to tell Lucy what she thought to be the truth. The story of what had occurred

among the rocks at Portray was very disagreeable, but she believed it to be true. The man had been making

love to his cousin after his engagement to Lucy. And then, was it not quite manifest that he was neglecting

poor Lucy in every way? He had not seen her for nearly six months. Had he intended to marry her, would he

not have found a home for her at the deanery? Did he in any respect treat her as he would treat the girl whom

he intended to marry? Putting all these things together, Lady Fawn thought that she saw that Lucy's case was

I have so much to say to you that I did think of getting Lady Linlithgow to let you come to us here for a day,

but I believe it will perhaps be better that I should write. I think you leave Lady Linlithgow after the first

week in April, and it is quite necessary that you should come to some fixed arrangement as to the future. If

that were all, there need not be any trouble, as you will come here, of course. Indeed, this is your natural

home, as we all feel; and I must say that we have missed you most terribly since you wentnot only for

Cecilia and Nina, but for all of us. And I don't know that I should write at all if it wasn't for something else,

that must be said, sooner or laterbecause, as to your coming here in April, that is so much a matter of

course. The only mistake was, that you should ever have gone away. So we shall expect you here on

whatever day you may arrange with Lady Linlithgow as to leaving her. [The poor, dear lady went on

repeating her affectionate invitation, because of the difficulty she encountered in finding words with which to

And now, dearest Lucy, I must say what I believe to be the truth about Mr Greystock. I think that you should

teach yourself to forget himor, at any rate, that you should teach yourself to forget the offer which he made

to you last autumn. Whether he was or was not in earnest then, I think that he has now determined to forget it.

I fear there is no doubt that he has been making love to his cousin, Lady Eustace. You well know that I

should not mention such a thing, if I had not the strongest possible grounds to convince me that I ought to do

so. But, independent of this, his conduct to you during the last six months has been such as to make us all feel

sure that the engagement is distasteful to him. He has, probably, found himself so placed that he cannot marry

without money, and has wanted the firmness, or perhaps you will say the hardness of heart, to say so openly.

I am sure of this, and so is Amelia, that it will be better for you to give the matter up altogether, and to come

here and recover the blow among friends who will be as kind to you as possible. I know all that you will feel,

and you have my fullest sympathy; but even such sorrows as that are cured by time, and by the mercy of God,

Lady Fawn, when she had written her letter, discussed it with Amelia, and the two together agreed that Lucy

would never surmount the ill effects of the blow which was thus prophesied. ``As to saying it will kill her,

mamma,'' said Amelia, ``I don't believe in that. If I were to break my leg, the accident might shorten my life,

and this may shorten hers. It won't kill her in any other way. But it will alter her altogether. Nobody ever used

to make herself happy so easily as Lucy Morris; but all that will be gone now.''

When Lucy received the letter, the immediate effect upon her, the effect which came from the first reading of

it, was not very great. She succeeded for some halfhour in putting it aside, as referring to a subject on which

she had quite made up her mind in a direction contrary to that indicated by her correspondent's advice. Lady

Fawn told her that her lover intended to be false to her. She had thought the matter over very carefully within

the last day or two, and had altogether made up her mind that she would continue to trust her lover. She had

abstained from sending to him the letter which she had written, and had abstained on that resolution. Lady

Fawn, of course, was as kind and friendly as a friend could be. She loved Lady Fawn dearly. But she was not

bound to think Lady Fawn right, and in this instance she did not think Lady Fawn right. So she folded up the

But by putting the letter into her pocket she could not put it out of her mind. Though she had resolved, of

what use to her was a resolution in which she could not trust? Day had passed by after day, week after week,

and month after month, and her very soul within her had become sad for want of seeing this man, who was

living almost in the next street to her. She was ashamed to own to herself how many hours she had sat at the

window, thinking that, perhaps, he might walk before the house in which he knew that she was immured.

And, even had it been impossible that he should come to her, the post was open to him. She had scorned to

write to him oftener than he would write to her, and now their correspondence had dwindled almost to

nothing. He knew as well as did Lady Fawn when the period of her incarceration in Lady Linlithgow's

dungeon would come to an end; and he knew, too, how great had been her hope that she might be accepted as

a guest at the deanery, when that period should arrive. He knew that she must look for a new home, unless he

would tell her where she should live. Was it likelywas it possible, that he should be silent so long if he still

intended to make her his wife? No doubt he had come to remember his debts, to remember his ambition, to

think of his cousin's wealthand to think also of his cousin's beauty. What right had she ever had to hope for

such a position as that of his wifeshe who had neither money nor beautyshe who had nothing to give

him in return for his name and the shelter of his house beyond her mind and her heart? As she thought of it

all, she looked down upon her faded grey frock, and stood up that she might glance at her features in the

glass; and she saw how small she was and insignificant, and reminded herself that all she had in the world

was a few pounds which she had saved and was still saving in order that she might go to him with decent

But why had he come to her and made her thus wretched? She could acknowledge to herself that she had

been foolish, vain, utterly ignorant of her own value in venturing to hope; perhaps unmaidenly in allowing it

to be seen that she had hopedbut what was he in having first exalted her before all her friends, and then

abasing her so terribly and bringing her to such utter shipwreck? From spoken or written reproaches she

could, of course, abstain. She would neither write nor speak anybut from unuttered reproaches how could

she abstain? She had called him a traitor once in playful, loving irony, during those few hours in which her

love had been to her a luxury that she could enjoy. But now he was a traitor indeed. Had he left her alone she

would have loved him in silence, and not have been wretched in her love. She would, she knew, in that case,

have had vigour enough and sufficient strength of character to bear her burthen without outward signs of

suffering, without any inward suffering that would have disturbed the current of her life. But now everything

was over with her. She had no thought of dying, but her future life was a blank to her.

She came downstairs to sit at lunch with Lady Linlithgow, and the old woman did not perceive that anything

was amiss with her companion. Further news had been heard of Lizzie Eustace, and of Lord Fawn, and of the

robberies, and the countess declared how she had read in the newspaper that one man was already in custody

for the burglary at the house in Hertford Street. From that subject she went on to tidings which had reached

her from her old friend Lady Clantantram that the Fawn marriage was on again. ``Not that I believe it, my

dear; because I think that Mr Greystock has made it quite safe in that quarter.'' All this Lucy heard, and never

showed by a single sign, or by a motion of a muscle, that she was in pain. Then Lady Linlithgow asked her

what she meant to do after the 5th of April. ``I don't see at all why you shouldn't stay here, if you like it, Miss

Morristhat is, if you have abandoned the stupid idea of an engagement with Frank Greystock.'' Lucy

smiled, and even thanked the countess, and said that she had made up her mind to go back to Richmond for a

month or two, till she could get another engagement as a governess. The she returned to her room and sat

What did it matter now where she went? And yet she must go somewhere, and do something. There remained

to her the wearisome possession of herself, and while she lived she must eat, and have clothes, and require

shelter. She could not dawdle out a bitter existence under Lady Fawn's roof, eating the bread of charity,

hanging about the rooms and shrubberies useless and idle. How bitter to her was that possession of herself, as

she felt that there was nothing good to be done with the thing so possessed! She doubted even whether ever

again she could become serviceable as a governess, and whether the energy would be left to her of earning

her bread by teaching adequately the few things that she knew. But she must make the attemptand must go

And yet but a few months since life had been so sweet to her! As she felt this she was not thinking of those

short days of excited, feverish bliss in which she had believed that all the good things of the world were to be

showered into her lap; but of previous years in which everything had been with her as it was nowwith the

one exception that she had not then been deceived. She had been full of smiles, and humour, and mirth,

absolutely happy among her friends, though conscious of the necessity of earning her bread by the exercise of

a most precarious professionwhile elated by no hope. Though she had loved the man and had been

hopeless, she was happy. But now, surely, of all maidens and of all women, she was the most forlorn.

Having once acceded to the truth of Lady Fawn's views, she abandoned all hope. Everybody said so, and it

was so. There was no word from any side to encourage her. The thing was done and over, and she would

never mention his name again. She would simply beg of all the Fawns that no allusion might be made to him

in her presence. She would never blame him, and certainly she would never praise him. As far as she could

She thought for a time that she would send the letter which she had already written. Any other letter she could

not bring herself to write. Even to think of him was an agony to her; but to communicate her thoughts to him

was worse than agony. It would be almost madness. What need was there for any letter? If the thing was

done, it was done. Perhaps there remained with herstaying by her without her own knowledge, some faint

spark of hope, that even yet he might return to her. At last she resolved that there should be no letter, and she

But she did write a note to Lady Fawn, in which she gratefully accepted her old friend's kindness, till such

time as she could ``find a place.'' ``As to that other subject,'' she said, ``I know that you are right. Please let it

The Saturday morning came at last for which Lord Fawn had made his appointment with Lizzie, and a very

important day it was in Hertford Streetchiefly on account of his lordship's visit, but also in respect to other

events which crowded themselves into the day. In the telling of our tale, we have gone a little in advance of

this, as it was not till the subsequent Monday that Lady Linlithgow read in the newspaper, and told Lucy,

how a man had been arrested on account of the robbery. Early on the Saturday morning Sir Griffin Tewett

was in Hertford Street, and, as Lizzie afterwards understood, there was a terrible scene between both him and

Lucinda and him and Mrs Carbuncle. She saw nothing of it herself, but Mrs Carbuncle brought her the

tidings. For the last few days Mrs Carbuncle had been very affectionate in her manner to Lizzie, thereby

showing a great change; for during nearly the whole of February the lady who in fact owned the house, had

hardly been courteous to her renumerative guest, expressing more than once a hint that the arrangement

which had brought them together had better come to an end. ``You see, Lady Eustace,'' Mrs Carbuncle had

once said, ``the trouble about these robberies is almost too much for me.'' Lizzie, who was ill at the time, and

still trembling with constant fear on account of the lost diamonds, had taken advantage of her sick condition,

and declined to argue the question of her removal. Now she was supposed to be convalescent, but Mrs

Carbuncle had returned to her former ways of affection. No doubt there was cause for thiscause that was

patent to Lizzie herself. Lady Glencora Palliser had calledwhich thing alone was felt by Lizzie to alter her

position altogether. And then, though her diamonds were gone, and though the thieves who had stolen them

were undoubtedly aware of her secret as to the first robbery, though she had herself told that secret to Lord

George, whom she had not seen since she had done soin spite of all these causes for trouble, she had of

late gradually found herself to be emerging from the state of despondency into which she had fallen while the

diamonds were in her own custody. She knew that she was regaining her ascendancy; and, therefore, when

Mrs Carbuncle came to tell her of the grievous things which had been said downstairs between Sir Griffin

and his mistress, and to consult her as to the future, Lizzie was not surprised. ``I suppose the meaning of it is

``Oh dear nopray don't say anything so horrid after all that I have gone through. Don't suggest anything of

``Oh yes, he will. There's no danger about his coming back. It's only a sort of a way he has.''

``No doubt, Lady Eustace. But then you know you can't have it all sweet. There must be some things

disagreeable. As far as I can learn, the property will be all right after a few years and it is absolutely

indispensable that Lucinda should do something. She has accepted him, and she must go on with it.''

``That was always her way. She was never gay and cheery like other girls. I have never known her once to be

``Yesbecause she can gallop away out of herself. I have done all I can for her, and she must go on with the

marriage now. As for going back, it is out of the question. The truth is, we couldn't afford it.''

``I am not so much afraid about him; but, dear Lady Eustace, we want you to help us a little.''

``You can, certainly. Could you lend me two hundred and fifty pounds, just for six weeks?'' Lizzie's face fell

and her eyes became very serious in their aspect. Two hundred and fifty pounds! ``You know you would have

ample security. You need not give Lucinda her present till I've paid you, and that will be fortyfive pounds.''

``I thought we agreed upon fortyfive when we settled about the servants' liveriesand then you can let the

man at the stables know that I am to pay for the carriage and horses. You wouldn't be out of the money hardly

``Ask Lord George! He hasn't got it. It's much more likely that he should ask me. I don't know what's come to

Lord George this last month past. I did believe that you and he were to come together. I think these two

robberies have upset him altogether. But, dear Lizzieyou can let me have it, can't you?''

Lizzie did not at all like the idea of lending money, and by no means appreciated the security now offered to

her. It might be very well for her to tell the man at the stables that Mrs Carbuncle would pay him her bill, but

how would it be with her, if Mrs Carbuncle did not pay the bill? And as for her present to Lucindawhich

was to have been a present, and regarded by the future Lady Tewett as a voluntary offering of goodwill and

affectionshe was altogether averse to having it disposed of in this fashion. And yet she did not like to make

an enemy of Mrs Carbuncle. ``I never was so poor in my life beforenot since I was married,'' said Lizzie.

``Fortythree pounds,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, who was, of course, well instructed in all the details of the

``And I don't suppose you can guess what the autumn cost me at Portray. The bills are only coming in now,

and really they sometimes so frighten me that I don't know what I shall do. Indeed, I haven't got the money to

``You'll have every penny of it back in six weeks,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, upon whose face a glow of anger was

settling down. She quite intended to make herself very disagreeable to her ``dear Lady Eustace'' or her ``dear

Lizzie'' if she did not get what she wanted; and she knew very well how to do it. It must be owned that Lizzie

was afraid of the woman. It was almost impossible for her not to be afraid of the people with whom she lived.

There were so many things against herso many sources of fear! ``I am quite sure you won't refuse me such

a trifling favour as this,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, with the glow of anger reddening more and more upon her

``They'll let you overdrawjust as much as you please. If the cheque comes back that will be my lookout.''

Lizzie had tried that game before, and knew that the bankers would allow her to overdraw. ``Come, be a good

``Perhaps I can manage a hundred and fifty,'' said Lizzie, trembling. Mrs Carbuncle fought hard for the

greater sum; but at last consented to take the less, and the cheque was written.

``This, of course, won't interfere with Lucinda's present,'' said Mrs Carbuncle``as we can make all this

right by the horse and carriage account.'' To this proposition, however, Lady Eustace made no answer.

Soon after lunch, at which meal Miss Roanoke did not show herself, Lady Glencora Palliser was announced,

and sat for about ten minutes in the drawingroom. She had come, she said, especially to give the Duke of

Omnium's compliments to Lady Eustace and to express a wish on the part of the duke that the lost diamonds

might be recovered. ``I doubt'', said Lady Glencora, ``whether there is anyone in England except professed

``I don't know about that. I suppose there are family diamonds, though I have never seen them. But he

sympathises with you completely, Lady Eustace. I suppose there is hardly hope now of recovering them.''

Lizzie smiled and shook her head. ``Isn't it odd that they never should have discovered the thieves? I'm told

they haven't at all given it uponly, unfortunately, they'll never get back the necklace.'' She sat there for

about a quarter of an hour, and then, as she took her leave, she whispered a few words to Lizzie. ``He is to

come and see youisn't he?'' Lizzie assented with a smile, but without a word. ``I hope it will be all right,''

Lizzie liked this friendship from Lady Glencora amazingly. Perhaps, after all, nothing more would ever be

known about the diamonds, and they would simply be remembered as having added a peculiar and not

injurious mystery to her life. Lord George knewbut then she trusted that a benevolent, truehearted

Corsair, such as was Lord George, would never tell the story against her. The thieves knewbut surely they,

if not detected, would never tell. And if the story were told by thieves, or even by a Corsair, at any rate half

the world would not believe it. What she had fearedhad feared till the dread had nearly overcome

herwas public exposure at the hands of the police. If she could escape that, the world might still be bright

before her. And the interest taken in her by such persons as the Duke of Omnium and Lady Glencora, was

evidence not only that she had escaped it hitherto, but also that she was in a fair way to escape it altogether.

Three weeks ago she would have given up half her income to have been able to steal out of London without

leaving a trace behind her. Three weeks ago Mrs Carbuncle was treating her with discourtesy, and she was

left alone nearly the whole day in her sickbedroom. Things were going better with her now. She was

recovering her position. Mr Camperdown, who had been the first to attack her, was, so to say, ``nowhere''. He

had acknowledged himself beaten. Lord Fawn, whose treatment to her had been so great an injury, was

coming to see her that very day. Her cousin Frank, though he had never offered to marry her, was more

affectionate to her than ever. Mrs Carbuncle had been at her feet that morning borrowing money. And Lady

Glencora Palliserthe very leading star of fashionhad called upon her twice! Why should she succumb?

She had an income of four thousand pounds a year, and she thought that she could remember that her aunt,

Lady Linlithgow, had but seven hundred pounds. Lady Fawn with all her daughters had not near so much as

she had. And she was beautiful, too, and young, and perfectly free to do what she pleased. No doubt the last

eighteen months of her life had been made wretched by those horrid diamondsbut they were gone, and she

In this condition, would it be expedient for her to accept Lord Fawn when he came? She could not, of course,

be sure that any renewed offer would be the result of his visitbut she thought it probable that with care she

might bring him to that. Why should he come to her if he himself had no such intention? Her mind was quite

made up on this pointthat he should be made to renew his offer; but whether she would renew her

acceptance was quite another question. She had sworn to her cousin Frank, that she would never do so, and

she had sworn also that she would be revenged on this wretched lord. Now would be her opportunity of

accomplishing her revenge, and of proving to Frank that she had been in earnest. And she positively disliked

the man. That, probably, did not go for much, but it went for something, even with Lizzie Eustace. Her cousin

she did likeand Lord George. She hardly knew which was her real lovethough, no doubt, she gave the

preference greatly to her cousin, because she could trust him. And then Lord Fawn was very poor. The other

two men were poor also; but their poverty was not so objectionable in Lizzie's eyes as were the respectable,

closefisted economies of Lord Fawn. Lord Fawn, no doubt, had an assured income and a real peerage, and

could make her a peeress. As she thought of it all, she acknowledged that there was a great deal to be said on

each side, and that the necessity of making up her mind then and there was a heavy burthen upon her.

Exactly at the hour named Lord Fawn came, and Lizzie was, of course, found alone. That had been carefully

provided. He was shown up, and she received him very gracefully. She was sitting, and she rose from her

chair, and put out her hand for him to take. She spoke no word of greeting, but looked at him with a pleasant

smile, and stood for a few seconds with her hand in his. He was awkward, and much embarrassed, and she

certainly had no intention of lessening his embarrassment. ``I hope you are better than you have been,'' he

``I am getting better, Lord Fawn. Will you not sit down?'' He then seated himself, placing his hat beside him

on the floor, but at the moment could not find words to speak. ``I have been very ill.''

``About many things. The robbery has been by no means the worst, though, no doubt, it frightened me much.

``And it was very terrible. And then, I had been threatened with a lawsuit. You have heard that, too?''

``I believe they have given that up now. I understand from my cousin, Mr Greystock, who has been my truest

friend in all my troubles, that the stupid people have found out at last that they had not a leg to stand on. I

Lord Fawn certainly had heard, in a doubtful way, the gist of Mr Dove's opinion, namely, that the necklace

could not be claimed from the holder of it as an heirloom attached to the Eustace family. But he had heard at

the same time that Mr Camperdown was as confident as ever that he could recover the property by claiming it

after another fashion. Whether or no that claim had been altogether abandoned, or had been allowed to fall

into abeyance because of the absence of the diamonds, he did not know, nor did anyone knowMr

Camperdown himself having come to no decision on the subject. But Lord Fawn had been aware that his

sister had of late shifted the ground of her inveterate enmity to Lizzie Eustace, making use of the scene which

Mr Gowran had witnessed, in lieu of the lady's rapacity in regard to the necklace. It might therefore be

assumed, Lord Fawn thought and feared, that his strong ground in regard to the necklace had been cut from

under his feet. But still, it did not behove him to confess that the cause which he had always alleged as the

ground for his retreat from the engagement was no cause at all. It might go hard with him should an attempt

be made to force him to name another cause. He knew that he would lack the courage to tell the lady that he

had heard from his sister that one Andy Gowran had witnessed a terrible scene down among the rocks at

Portray. So he sat silent, and made no answer to Lizzie's first assertion respecting the diamonds.

But the necklace was her strong point, and she did not intend that he should escape the subject. ``If I

remember right, Lord Fawn, you yourself saw that wretched old attorney once or twice on the subject?''

``You were kind enough to interest yourself about the diamondswere you not?'' She asked him this as a

``They were of great value, and it was natural,'' continued Lizzie. ``Of course you interested yourself. Mr

Camperdown was full of awful threats against mewas he not? I don't know what he was not going to do.

He stopped me in the street as I was driving to the station in my own carriage, when the diamonds were with

mewhich was a very strong measure, I think. And he wrote me ever so manyoh, such horrid letters. And

he went about telling everybody that it was an heirloomdidn't he? You know all that, Lord Fawn?''

``And did he tell you that he went to a real lawyersomebody who really knew about it, Mr Turbot, or

Turtle, or some such name as that, and the real lawyer told him that he was all wrong, and that the necklace

couldn't be an heirloom at all, because it belonged to me, and that he had better drop his lawsuit altogether?

``Ah, Lord Fawn, you dropped your inquiries just at the wrong place. No doubt you had too many things to

do in Parliament and the Government to go on with them; but if you had gone on, you would have learned

that Mr Camperdown had just to give it upbecause he had been wrong from beginning to end.'' Lizzie's

words fell from her with extreme rapidity, and she had become almost out of breath from the effects of her

Lord Fawn felt strongly the necessity of clinging to the diamonds as his one great and sufficient justification.

``I thought'', said he, ``that Mr Camperdown had abandoned his action for the present because the jewels had

``Not a bit of it,'' said Lizzie, rising suddenly to her legs. ``Who says so? Who dares to say so? Whoever says

so isis a storyteller. I understand all about that. The action could go on just the same, and I could be made

to pay for the necklace out of my own income if it hadn't been my own. I am sure, Lord Fawn, such a clever

man as you, and one who has always been in the Government and in Parliament, can see that. And will

anybody believe that such an enemy as Mr Camperdown has been to me, persecuting me in every possible

way, telling lies about me to everybodywho tried to prevent my dear, darling husband from marrying

``Respectable! Talk to me of respectable after all that he has made me suffer! As you were so fond of making

inquiries, Lord Fawn, you ought to have gone on with them. You never would believe what my cousin said.''

``My cousin, who is a brother rather than a cousin, has known how to protect me from the injuries done to

meor, rather, has known how to take my part when I have been injured. My lord, as you have been

unwilling to believe him, why have you not gone to that gentleman who, as I say, is a real lawyer? I don't

know, my lord, that it need have concerned you at all, but as you began, you surely should have gone on with

it. Don't you think so?'' She was still standing up, and, small as was her stature, was almost menacing the

unfortunate UnderSecretary of State, who was still seated in his chair. ``My lord,'' continued Lizzie, ``I have

``I do not think that I have done wrong to anyone. I was obliged to say that I could not recognise those

``But what right had you to say so? I had the diamonds when you asked me to be your wife.''

``Nor did you know that I had this little ring upon my finger. Is it fit that you, or that any man should turn

round upon a lady and say to her that your word is to be broken, and that she is to be exposed before all her

friends, because you have taken a fancy to dislike her ring or her brooch? I say, Lord Fawn, it was no

business of yours, even after you were engaged to me. What jewels I might have, or not have, was no concern

of yours till after I had become your wife. Go and ask all the world if it is not so? You say that my cousin

affronts you because he takes my partlike a brother. Ask anyone else. Ask any lady you may know. Let us

name someone to decide between us which of us has been wrong. Lady Glencora Palliser is a friend of yours,

and her husband is in the Government. Shall we name her? It is true, indeed, that her uncle, the Duke of

Omnium, the grandest and greatest of English noblemen, is specially interested on my behalf.'' This was very

fine in Lizzie. The Duke of Omnium she had never seen; but his name had been mentioned to her by Lady

``And I thenwhat am I to do? I am to be thrown over simply because your lordshipchooses to throw me

over. Your lordship will admit no reference to anyone! Your lordship makes inquiries as long as an attorney

tells you stories against me, but drops them at once when the attorney is made to understand that he is wrong.

Unfortunately for Lord Fawn, he was not sure that he could justify himself. The diamonds were gone, and the

action was laid aside, and the general opinion which had prevailed a month or two since, that Lizzie had been

disreputably concerned in stealing her own necklace, seemed to have been laid aside. Lady Glencora and the

duke went for almost as much with Lord Fawn as they did with Lizzie. No doubt the misbehaviour down

among the rocks was left to him; but he had that only on the evidence of Andy Gowranand even Andy

Gowran's evidence he had declined to receive otherwise than secondhand. Lizzie, too, was prepared with an

answer to this chargean answer which she had already made more than once, though the charge was not

positively brought against her, and which consisted in an assertion that Frank Greystock was her brother

rather than her cousin. Such brotherhood was not altogether satisfactory to Lord Fawn, when he came once

more to regard Lizzie Eustace as his possible future wife; but still the assertion was an answer, and one that

It certainly was the case that he had again begun to think what would be the result of a marriage with Lady

Eustace. He must sever himself altogether from Mrs Hittaway, and must relax the closeness of his relations

with Fawn Court. He would have a wife respecting whom he himself had spread evil tidings, and the man

whom he most hated in the world would be his wife's favourite cousin, or, so to saybrother. He would,

after a fashion, be connected with Mrs Carbuncle, Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, and Sir Griffin Tewett,

all of whom he regarded as thoroughly disreputable. And, moreover, at his own country house at Portray, as

in such case it would be, his own bailiff or steward would be the man who had seenwhat he had seen.

These were great objections; but how was he to avoid marrying her? He was engaged to her. How, at any

rate, was he to escape from the renewal of his engagement at this moment? He had more than once positively

stated that he was deterred from marrying her, only by her possession of the diamonds. The diamonds were

Lizzie was still standing, waiting for an answer to her questionCan you justify yourself in your own heart?

Having paused for some seconds, she repeated her question in a stronger and more personal form. ``Had I

been your sister, Lord Fawn, and had another man behaved to me as you have now done, would you say that

he had behaved well, and that she had no ground for complaint? Can you bring yourself to answer that

``Answer it then. No; you cannot answer it, because you would condemn yourself. Now, Lord Fawn, what do

``I had thought, Lady Eustace, that any regard which you might ever have entertained for me''

``Attentionswhat attentions? I have received plenty of attentionsmost flattering attentions. I was

honoured even this morning by a most gratifying attention on the part of his grace the Duke of Omnium.''

``What do you mean, then? I am not going to marry the Duke of Omnium because of his attentionnor

anyone else. If you mean, sir, after the other inquiries you have done me the honour to make, to throw it in

my face now, that I havehave in anyway rendered myself unworthy of the position of your wife because

people have been civil and kind to me in my sorrow, you are a greater dastard than I took you to be. Tell me

It is hardly too much to say that the man quailed before her. And it certainly is not too much to say that, had

Lizzie Eustace been trained as an actress, she would have become a favourite with the town. When there

came to her any fair scope for acting, she was perfect. In the ordinary scenes of ordinary life, such as befell

her during her visit to Fawn Court, she could not acquit herself well. There was no reality about her, and the

want of it was strangely plain to most unobservant eyes. But give her a part to play that required exaggerated

strong action, and she hardly ever failed. Even in that terrible moment, when, on her return from the theatre,

she thought that the police had discovered her secret about the diamonds, though she nearly sank through

fear, she still carried on her acting in the presence of Lucinda Roanoke; and when she had found herself

constrained to tell the truth to Lord George Carruthers, the power to personify a poor, weak, injured creature

was not wanting to her. The reader will not think that her position in society at the present moment was very

well establishedwill feel, probably, that she must still have known herself to be on the brink of social ruin.

But she had now fully worked herself up to the necessities of the occasion, and was as able to play her part as

any actress that ever walked the boards. She had called him a dastard, and now stood looking him in the face.

``Then what right can you have to ask me whether I have received attentions? Had it not been for the

affectionate attention of my cousin, Mr Greystock, I should have died beneath the load of sorrow you have

heaped upon me!'' This she said quite boldly, and yet the man she named was he of whom Andy Gowran told

his horrid story, and whose lovemaking to Lizzie had, in Mrs Hittaway's opinion, been sufficient to atone

``A rumour reached me,'' said Lord Fawn, plucking up his courage, ``that you were engaged to marry your

``Then rumour lied, my lord. And he or she who repeated the rumour to you, lied also. And any he or she

who repeats it again will go on with the lie.'' Lord Fawn's brow became very black. The word ``lie'' itself, was

offensive to himoffensive, even though it might not be applied directly to himself; but he still quailed, and

was unable to express his indignationas he had done to poor Lucy Morris, his mother's governess. ``And

now let me ask, Lord Fawn, on what ground you and I stand together. When my friend, Lady Glencora, asked

me, only this morning, whether my engagement with you was still an existing fact, and brought me the

kindest possible message on the same subject from her uncle, the duke, I hardly knew what answer to make to

her.'' It was not surprising that Lizzie in her difficulties should use her new friend, but perhaps she overdid

the friendship a little. ``I told her that we were engaged, but that your lordship's conduct to me had been so

Lord Fawn was certain that Greystock had understood it well; and Greystock had in return insulted

himbecause the engagement was broken off. But it is impossible to argue on facts with a woman who has

been illused. ``After all that has passed, perhaps we had better part,'' said Lord Fawn.

``Then I shall put the matter into the hands of the Duke of Omnium,'' said Lizzie boldly. ``I will not have my

``On what plea, tt have my wholeared to take upon yourself to put an end to an engagement which was made

at your own pressing requestwhich was, of course, made at your own request? On what ground do you

justify such conduct? You are a Liberal, Lord Fawn; and everybody regards the Duke of Omnium as the head

of the liberal nobility in England. He is my friend, and I shall put the matter into his hands.'' It was, probably,

from her cousin Frank that Lizzie had learned that Lord Fawn was more afraid of the leaders of his own party

Lord Fawn felt the absurdity of the threat, and yet it had effect upon him. He knew that the Duke of Omnium

was a wornout old debauchee, with one foot in the grave, who was looked after by two or three women who

were only anxious that he should not disgrace himself by some absurdity before he died. Nevertheless, the

Duke of Omnium, or the duke's name, was a power in the nation. Lady Glencora was certainly very powerful,

and Lady Glencora's husband was Chancellor of the Exchequer. He did not suppose that the duke cared in the

least whether Lizzie Eustace was or was not married;but Lady Glencora had certainly interested herself

about Lizzie, and might make London almost too hot to hold him if she chose to go about everywhere saying

that he ought to marry the lady. And in addition to all this prospective grief, there was the trouble of the

present moment. He was in Lizzie's own roomfool that he had been to come thereand he must get out as

best he could. ``Lady Eustace,'' he said, ``I am most anxious not to behave badly in this matter.''

``With your leave I will tell you what I would suggest. I will submit to you in writing my opinion on this

matter;''Lord Fawn had been all his life submitting his opinion in writing, and thought that he was rather a

good hand at the work. ``I will then endeavour to explain to you the reasons which make me think that it will

be better for us both that our engagement should be at an end. If, after reading it, you shall disagree with me,

and still insist on the right which I gave you when I asked you to become my wifeI will then perform the

promise which I certainly made.'' To this most foolish proposal on his part, Lizzie, of course, acquiesced. She

acquiesced, and bade him farewell with her sweetest smile. It was now manifest to her that she could have her

This had been a day of triumph to her, and she was talking of it in the evening triumphantly to Mrs

Carbuncle, when she was told that a policeman wanted to see her downstairs! Oh, those wretched police!

Again all the blood rushed to her head, and nearly killed her. She descended slowly; and was then informed

by a man, not dressed, like Bunfit, in plain clothes, but with all the paraphernalia of a policeman's uniform,

that her late servant, Patience Crabstick, had given herself up as Queen's evidence, and was now in custody in

Scotland Yard. It had been thought right that she should be so far informed; but the man was able to tell her

On the Sunday following Frank, as usual, was in Hertford Street. He had become almost a favourite with Mrs

Carbuncle; and had so far ingratiated himself even with Lucinda Roanoke that, according to Lizzie's report,

he might, if so inclined, rob Sir Griffin of his prize without much difficulty. On this occasion he was unhappy

and in low spirits; and when questioned on the subject made no secret of the fact that he was harassed for

money. ``The truth is I have overdrawn my bankers by five hundred pounds, and they have, as they say,

ventured to remind me of it. I wish they were not venturesome quite so often; for they reminded me of the

``What do you do with your money, Mr Greystock?'' asked Mrs Carbuncle, laughing.

``Muddle it away, paying my bills with itaccording to the very, very old story. The fact is, I live in that

detestable no man's land, between respectability and insolvency, which has none of the pleasure of either. I

am fair game for every creditor, as I am supposed to pay my wayand yet I never can pay my way.''

``Not exactly, Lizzie. He managed much better, and never paid anybody. If I could only land on terra

firmaone side or the otherI shouldn't much care which. As it is I have all the recklessness, but none of

the carelessness of the hopelessly insolvent man. And it is so hard with us. Attorneys owe us large sums of

money, and we can't dun them very well. I have a lot of money due to me from rich men, who don't pay me

simply because they don't think that it matters. I talk to them grandly, and look big, as though money was the

last thing I thought of, when I am longing to touch my hat and ask them as a great favour to settle my little

bill.'' All this time Lizzie was full of matter which she must impart to her cousin, and could impart to him

It was absolutely necessary that she should tell him what she had heard of Patience Crabstick. In her heart of

hearts she wished that Patience Crabstick had gone off safely with her plunder to the Antipodes. She had no

wish to get back what had been lost, either in the matter of the diamonds or of the smaller things taken. She

had sincerely wished that the police might fail in all their endeavours, and that the thieves might enjoy perfect

security with their booty. She did not even begrudge Mr Benjamin the diamondsor Lord George, if in truth

Lord George had been the last thief. The robbery had enabled her to get the better of Mr Camperdown, and

apparently of Lord Fawn; and had freed her from the custody of property which she had learned to hate. It

had been a very good robbery. But now these wretched police had found Patience Crabstick, and would

Of course she must tell her cousin. He must hear the news, and it would be better that he should hear it from

her than from others. This was Sunday, and she thought he would be sure to know the truth on the following

Monday. In this she was right; for on the Monday old Lady Linlithgow saw it stated in the newspapers that an

arrest had been made. ``I have something to tell you,'' she said, as soon as she had succeeded in finding

``Well, no; not exactly about the diamondsthough perhaps it is. But first, Frank, I want to say something

``Oh nonot at all. It is this. You must let me lend you that five hundred pounds you want.''

``Indeed you shall do no such thing. I should not have mentioned it to you if I had not thought that you were

one of the insolvent yourself. You were in debt yourself when we last talked about money.''

``So I amand that horrid woman, Mrs Carbuncle, has made me lend her one hundred and fifty pounds. But

``What is she to me?while you are everything! Things can't be so bad with me but what I can raise five

hundred pounds. After all, I am not really in debt, for a person with my income; but if I were, still my first

``Be generous first, and just afterwards. That's itisn't it, Lizzie? But indeed under no circumstances could I

take a penny of your money. There are some persons from whom a man can borrow, and some from whom he

``Ahone can't explain these things. It simply is so. Mrs Carbuncle was quite the natural person to borrow

your money and it seems that she has complied with nature. Some Jew, who wants thirty per cent, is the

natural person for me. All these things are arranged, and it is of no use disturbing the arrangements and

getting out of course. I shall pull through. And now let me know your own news.''

``They havehave they? Then at last we shall know all about the diamonds.'' This was gall to poor Lizzie.

``A policeman came here last night and said so. She is going to turn against the thieves, and tell all that she

``Thieves are nasty, mean creatures generally. We shall get it all out nowas to what happened at Carlisle

and what happened here. Do you know that everybody believes, up to this moment, that your dear friend Lord

Lizzie could only shrug her shoulders. She herself, among many doubts, was upon the whole disposed to

think as everybody thought. She did believeas far as she believed anything in the matter, that the Corsair

had determined to become possessed of the prize from the moment that he saw it in Scotland, that the Corsair

arranged the robbery in Carlisle, and that again he arranged the robbery in the London house as soon as he

learned from Lizzie where the diamonds were placed. To her mind this had been the most ready solution of

the mystery, and when she found that other people almost regarded him as the thief, her doubts became a

belief. And she did not in the least despise or dislike him or condemn him for what he had done. Were he to

come to her and confess it all, telling his story in such a manner as to make her seem to be safe for the future,

she would congratulate him and accept him at once as her own dear, expected Corsair. But, if so, he should

not have bungled the thing. He should have managed his subordinates better than to have one of them turn

evidence against him. He should have been able to get rid of a poor weak female like Patience Crabstick.

Why had he not sent her to New York, ororor anywhere? If Lizzie were to hear that Lord George had

taken Patience out to sea in a yachtsomewhere among the bright islands of which she thought so

muchand dropped the girl overboard, tied up in a bag, she would regard it as a proper Corsair arrangement.

Now she was angry with Lord George, because her trouble was coming back upon her. Frank had suggested

that Lord George was the robber in chief, and Lizzie merely shrugged her shoulders. ``We shall know all

``I don't know that I want to know any more about it. I have been so tortured about these wretched diamonds,

that I never wish to hear them mentioned again. I don't care who has got them. My enemies used to think that

I loved them so well that I could not bear to part with them. I hated them always, and never took any pleasure

in them. I used to think that I would throw them into the sea, and when they were gone I was glad of it.''

``I don't care for the community. What has the community ever done for me? And now I have something else

to tell you. Ever so many people came yesterday as well as that wretched policeman. Dear Lady Glencora

``I don't care a bit about that. I'd just as soon be a Radical as a stupid old Conservative. Lady Glencora has

been most kind, and she brought me the dearest message from the Duke of Omnium. The duke had heard how

``It is so easy to say that when a man is old. I don't think you know him, Frank.''

``It is something to have the sympathy of men high placed in the world. And as to Lady Glencora, I do love

her dearly. She just comes up to my beau ideal of what a woman should bedisinterested, full of spirit,

``And a determination to be something in the world. Lady Glencora Palliser is something.''

``I suppose so. At any rate, that is no disgrace. And then, Frank, somebody else came.''

``Ahthat will be so difficult to explain. I wish you had been behind the curtain to hear it all. It is so

necessary that you should know, and yet it is so hard to tell. I spoke up to him, and was quite highspirited.''

``I told him out, bravely, of all the wrong he had done me. I did not sit and whimper, I can assure you. Then

Frank Greystock, of course, remembered the scene among the rocks, and Mr Gowran's wagging head and

watchful eyes. At the time he had felt certain that some use would be made of Andy's vigilance, though he

had not traced the connection between the man and Mrs Hittaway. If Lord Fawn had heard of the little scene,

there might, doubtless, be cause for him to talk of ``attentions''. ``What did it matter to him?'' asked Frank.

``He is an insolent assas I have told him once, and shall have to tell him again.''

``But I had not accepted his resignationas they say in the newspapersnor have I now.''

``I don't say that, Frank. This is an important business, and let us go through it steadily. I would certainly like

to have him again at my feet. Whether I would deign to lift him up again is another thing. Is not that natural,

``And I am a woman. Yes, Frank. I would have him again at my disposaland he is so. He is to write me a

long letterso like a Governmentman, isn't it? And he has told me already what he is to put into the letter.

``When he said that he would come, I made up my mind that he should not go out of the house till he had

promised that. He couldn't get out of it. What had I done?'' Frank thought of the scene among the rocks. He

did not, of course, allude to it, but Lizzie was not so reticent. ``As to what that old rogue saw down in

Scotland, I don't care a bit about it, Frank. He has been up in London, and telling them all, no doubt. Nasty,

dirty eavesdropper! But what does it come to? Psha! When he mentioned your name I silenced him at once.

What could I have done, unless I had had some friend? At any rate, he is to ask me again in writingand

``A woman can marry without consulting her heart. Women do so every day. This man is a lord, and has a

position. No doubt I despise him thoroughlyutterly. I don't hate him, because he is not worth being hated.''

``I have not said so. I will tell you this truth, though, perhaps, you will say it is not feminine. I would fain

marry someone. To be as I have been for the last two years is not a happy condition.''

``Nor would Iwillingly. He is honest and respectable; and in spite of all that has come and gone would, I

think, behave well to a woman when she was once his wife. Of course, I would prefer to marry a man that I

``I thought that you had determined that you would have nothing to do with this lord.''

``I thought so too. Frank, you have known all that I have thought, and all that I have wished. You talk to me

of marrying where my heart has been given. Is it possible that I should do so?''

``Come, Frank, be true with me. I am forcing myself to speak truth to you. I think that between you and me,

at any rate, there should be no words spoken that are not true. Frank, you know where my heart is.'' As she

said this, she stood over him, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. ``Will you answer me one question?''

``And you intend to marry her?'' To this question he made no immediate answer. ``We are old enough now,

Frank, to know that something more than what you call heart is wanted to make us happy when we marry. I

``We will let that pass, though it is hardly kind of you, just at the present moment. Let her be perfect. Can you

marry this perfection without a sixpenceyou that are in debt, and who never could save a sixpence in your

life? Would it be for her goodor for yours? You have done a foolish thing, sir, and you know that you must

``You cannot marry Lucy Morris. That is the truth. My present need makes me bold. Frank, shall I be your

wife? Such a marriage will not be without love, at any rate, on one sidethough there be utter indifference

``Now, at any rate,'' she continued, ``you must understand what must be my answer to Lord Fawn. It is you

that must answer Lord Fawn. If my heart is to be broken, I may as well break it under his roof as another.''

``But I have one for you,'' she said, throwing her arm round his neck. He bore her embrace for a minute,

returning it with the pressure of his arm; and then, escaping from it, seized his hat and left her standing in the

On the following morningMonday morningthere appeared in one of the daily newspapers the paragraph

of which Lady Linlithgow had spoken to Lucy Morris. ``We are given to understand'newspapers are very

frequently given to understand``that a man wellknown to the London police as an accomplished

housebreaker, has been arrested in reference to the robbery which was effected on the 30th of January last at

Lady Eustace's house in Hertford Street. No doubt the same person was concerned in the robbery of her

ladyship's jewels at Carlisle on the night of the 8th of January. The mystery which has so long enveloped

these two affairs, and which has been so discreditable to the metropolitan police, will now probably be

cleared up.'' There was not a word about Patience Crabstick in this; and, as Lizzie observed, the news brought

by the policeman on Saturday night referred only to Patience, and said nothing of the arrest of any burglar.

The ladies in Hertford Street scanned the sentence with the greatest care, and Mrs Carbuncle was very angry

because the house was said to be Lizzie's house. ``It wasn't my doing,'' said Lizzie.

``It ought to be found out,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. ``But the police should be more careful in what they say. I

Poor Lizzie felt that fresh trouble was certainly coming upon her. She had learned now that the crime for

which she might be prosecuted and punished was that of perjurythat even if everything was known, she

could not be accused of stealing, and that if she could only get out of the way till the wrath of the magistrate

and policemen should have evaporated, she might, possibly, escape altogether. At any rate, they could not

take her income away from her. But how could she get out of the way, and how could she endure to be

crossexamined, and looked at, and inquired into, by all those who would be concerned in the matter? She

thought that, if only she could have arranged her matrimonial affairs before the bad day came upon her, she

could have endured it better. If she might be allowed to see Lord George, she could ask for advicecould

ask for advice, not as she was always forced to do from her cousin, on a false statement of facts, but with

On that very day Lord George came to Hertford Street. He had been there more than once, perhaps half a

dozen times, since the robbery; but on all these occasions Lizzie had been in bed, and he had declined to visit

her in her chamber. In fact, even Lord George had become somewhat afraid of her since he had been told the

true story as to the necklace at Carlisle. That story he had heard from herself, and he had also heard from Mr

Benjamin some other little details as to her former life. Mr Benjamin, whose very close attention had been

drawn to the Eustace diamonds, had told Lord George how he had valued them at her ladyship's request, and

had caused an iron case to be made for them, and how her ladyship had, on one occasion, endeavoured to sell

the necklace to him. Mr Benjamin, who certainly was intimate with Lord George, was very fond of talking

about the diamonds, and had once suggested to his lordship that, were they to become his lordship's by

marriage, he, Benjamin, might be willing to treat with his lordship. In regard to treating with her

ladyshipMr Benjamin acknowledged that he thought it would be too hazardous. Then came the robbery of

the box, and Lord George was all astray. Mr Benjamin was for a while equally astray, but neither friend

believed in the other friend's innocence. That Lord George should suspect Mr Benjamin was quite natural. Mr

Benjamin hardly knew what to thinkhardly gave Lord George credit for the necessary courage, skill, and

energy. But at last, as he began to put two and two together, he divined the truth, and was enabled to set the

docile Patience on the watch over her mistress's belongings. So it had been with Mr Benjamin, who at last

was able to satisfy Mr Smiler and Mr Cann that he had been no party to their cruel disappointment at Carlisle.

How Lord George had learned the truth has been toldthe truth as to Lizzie's hiding the necklace under her

pillow and bringing it up to London in her desk. But of the facts of the second robbery he knew nothing up to

this morning. He almost suspected that Lizzie had herself again been at workand he was afraid of her. He

had promised her that he would take care of herhad, perhaps, said enough to make her believe that some

day he would marry her. He hardly remembered what he had saidbut he was afraid of her. She was so

wonderfully clever that, if he did not take care, she would get him into some mess from which he would be

He had never whispered her secret to anyone; and had still been at a loss about the second robbery, when he

too saw the paragraph in the newspaper. He went direct to Scotland Yard and made inquiry there. His name

had been so often used in the affair, that such inquiry from him was justified. ``Well, my lord; yes; we have

``Cut the painter, my lord, and started. But what's the good, now we has the wires?''

``Ah, my lord, that's telling. Perhaps I don't know. Perhaps I do. Perhaps two or three of us knows. You'll

hear all in good time, my lord.'' Mr Bunfit wished to appear communicative because he knew but little

himself. Gager, in the meanest possible manner, had kept the matter very close; but the fact that Mr Benjamin

Lord George had been very careful, asking no question about the necklaceno question which would have

shown that he knew that the necklace had been in Hertford Street when the robbery took place there; but it

seemed to him now that the police must be aware that it was so. The arrest had been made because of the

robbery in Hertford Street, and because of that arrest Mr Benjamin had taken his departure. Mr Benjamin was

too big a man to have concerned himself deeply in the smaller matters which had then been stolen.

From Scotland Yard Lord George went direct to Hertford Street. He was in want of money, in want of a

settled home, in want of a future income, and altogether unsatisfied with his present mode of life. Lizzie

Eustace, no doubt, would take himunless she had told her secret to some other lover. To have his wife,

immediately on her marriage, or even before it, arraigned for perjury, would not be pleasant. There was very

much in the whole affair of which he would not be proud as he led his bride to the altarbut a man does not

expect to get four thousand pounds a year for nothing. Lord George, at any rate, did not conceive himself to

be in a position to do so. Had there not been something crooked about Lizziea screw loose, as people

sayshe would never have been within his reach. There are men who always ride lame horses, and yet see

as much of the hunting as others. Lord George, when he had begun to think that, after the tale which he had

forced her to tell him, she had caused the diamonds to be stolen by her own maid out of her own desk,

became almost afraid of her. But now, as he looked at the matter again and again, he believed that the second

robbery had been genuine. He did not quite make up his mind, but he went to Hertford Street resolved to see

He asked for her, and was shown at once into her own sittingroom. ``So you have come at last,'' she said.

``YesI've come at last. It would not have done for me to come up to you when you were in bed. Those

``It wouldn't have been at all wise after all that has been said. People would have been sure to suspect that I

``I wasn't going to run the risk, my dear.'' His manner to her was anything but civil, anything but

complimentary. If this was his Corsair humour, she was not sure that a Corsair might be agreeable to her.

``Oh yes, you do. You know something. You know, at any rate, that the diamonds were there.''

``You are sure of that?'' There was something in his manner absolutely insolent to her. Frank was

affectionate, and even Lord Fawn treated her with deference. ``Because, you know, you have been very

clever. To tell you the truth, I did not think at first that they had been really stolen. It might, you know, have

been a little game to get them out of your own handsbetween you and your maid.''

``I take you for a lady who, for a long time, got the better of the police and the magistrates, and who managed

to shift all the trouble off your own shoulders on to those of other people. You have heard that they have

``Pshapromised! If they put me in a witnessbox of course I must tell. When you come to this kind of

work, promises don't go for much. I don't know that they ever do. What is a broken promise?''

``And what was it you told when you were upon your oath at Carlisle; and again when the magistrate came

``Patience Crabstick will tell it all, without any help from me. Don't you see that the whole thing must be

known? She'll say where the diamonds were foundand how did they come there, if you didn't put them

there? As for telling, there'll be telling enough. You've only two things to do.''

``Go off, like Mr Benjamin; or else make a clean breast of it. Send for John Eustace and tell him the whole.

For his brother's sake he'll make the best of it. It will all be published, and then, perhaps, there will be an end

``You ask me, and I can only tell you what I think. That you should be able to keep the history of the

diamonds a secret does not seem to me to be upon the cards. No doubt people who are rich, and are connected

with rich people, and have great friendswho are what the world call swellshave great advantages over

their inferiors when they get into trouble. You are the widow of a baronet, and you have an uncle a bishop,

and another a dean, and a countess for an aunt. You have a brotherinlaw and a first cousin in Parliament,

and your father was an admiral. The other day you were engaged to marry a peer.''

``Oh yes,'' said Lizzie, ``and Lady Glencora Palliser is my particular friend.''

``She is; is she? So much the better. Lady Glencora, no doubt, is a very swell among swells.''

``If you were nobody, you would, of course, be indicted for perjury, and would go to prison. As it is, if you

will tell all your story to one of your swell friends, I think it very likely that you may be pulled through. I

``Why couldn't you do it? You know it all. I told you becausebecausebecause I thought you would be

``You told me, my dear, because you thought it would not matter much with me, and I appreciate the

compliment. I can do nothing for you. I am not near enough to those who wear wigs.''

Lizzie did not above half understand himdid not at all understand him when he spoke of those who wore

wigs, and was quite dark to his irony about her great friendsbut she did perceive that he was in earnest in

recommending her to confess. She thought about it for a moment in silence, and the more she thought the

more she felt that she could not do it. Had he not suggested a second alternativethat she should go off, like

Mr Benjamin? It might be possible that she should go of, and yet be not quite like Mr Benjamin. In that case

ought she not to go under the protection of her Corsair? Would not that be the proper way of going? ``Might I

``It is possible that you might,'' he said. ``Not that it would blow over altogether. Everybody would know it. It

is too late now to stop the police, and if you meant to be off, you should be off at oncetoday or tomorrow.''

``Indeed, there's no saying whether they will let you go. You could start now, this momentand if you were

at Dover could get over to France. But when once it is known that you had the necklace all that time in your

own desk, any magistrate, I imagine, could stop you. You'd better have some lawyer you can trustnot that

Lord George had certainly brought her no comfort. When he told her that she might go at once if she chose,

she remembered, with a pang of agony, that she had already overdrawn her account at the bankers. She was

the actual possessor of an income of four thousand pounds a year, and now, in her terrible strait, she could not

stir because she had not money with which to travel. Had all things been well with her, she could, no doubt,

have gone to her bankers and have arranged this little difficulty. But as it was, she could not move, because

Lord George sat looking at her, and thinking whether he would make the plunge and ask her to be his

wifewith all her impediments and drawbacks about her. He had been careful to reduce her to such a

condition of despair, that she would, undoubtedly, have accepted him, so that she might have someone to lean

upon in her troublebut, as he looked at her, he doubted. She was such a mass of deceit, that he was afraid

of her. She might say that she would marry him, and then, when the storm was over, refuse to keep her word.

She might be in debtalmost to any amount. She might be already married, for anything that he knew. He

did know that she was subject to all manner of penalties for what she had done. He looked at her, and told

himself that she was very pretty. But, in spite of her beauty, his judgment went against her. He did not dare to

share even his boat with so dangerous a fellowpassenger. ``That's my advice,'' he said, getting up from his

``You are so unkind!'' He shrugged his shoulders, just touched her hand, and left the room without saying

Lizzie when she was left alone, was very angry with the Corsairin truth, more sincerely angry than she had

ever been with any of her lovers, or, perhaps, with any human being. Sincere, true, burning wrath was not the

fault to which she was most exposed. She could snap and snarl, and hate, and say severe things; she could

quarrel, and fight, and be maliciousbut to be full of real wrath was uncommon with her. Now she was

angry. She had been civil, more than civil, to Lord George. She had opened her house to him, and her heart.

She had told him her great secret. She had implored his protection. She had thrown herself into his arms. And

now he had rejected her. That he should have been rough to her was only in accordance with the poetical

attributes which she had attributed to him. But his roughness should have been streaked with tenderness. He

should not have left her roughly. In the whole interview he had not said a loving word to her. He had given

her advicewhich might be good or badbut he had given it as to one whom he despised. He had spoken to

her throughout the interview exactly as he might have spoken to Sir Griffin Tewett. She could not analyse her

feelings thoroughly, but she felt that, because of what had passed between them by reason of his knowledge

of her secret, he had robbed her of all that observance which was due to her as a woman and a lady. She had

been roughly used beforeby people of inferior rank, who had seen through her ways. Andrew Gowran had

insulted her. Patience Crabstick had argued with her. Benjamin, the employer of thieves, had been familiar

with her. But hitherto, in what she was pleased to call her own set, she had always been treated with that

courtesy which ladies seldom fail to receive. She understood it all. She knew how much of mere

wordservice there often is in such complimentary usage. But, nevertheless, it implies respect, and an

acknowledgement of the position of her who is so respected. Lord George had treated her as one schoolboy

And he had not spoken to her one word of love. Love will excuse roughness. Spoken love will palliate even

spoken roughness. Had he once called her his own Lizzie, he might have scolded her as he pleasedmight

have abused her to the top of his bent. But as there had been nothing of the manner of a gentleman to a lady,

so also had there been nothing of the lover to his mistress. That dream was over. Lord George was no longer

But what should she do? Even a brute may speak truth. She was to have gone to a theatre that evening with

Mrs Carbuncle, but she stayed at home thinking over her position. She heard nothing throughout the day from

the police; and she made up her mind that, unless she were stopped by the police, she would go to Scotland

on the day but one following. She thought that she was sure that she would do so; but, of course, she must be

guided by events as they occurred. She wrote, however, to Miss Macnulty saying that she would come, and

she told Mrs Carbuncle of her proposed journey as that lady was leaving the house for the theatre. On the

following morning, however, news came which again made her journey doubtful. There was another

paragraph in the newspaper about the robbery, acknowledging the former paragraph to have been in some

respect erroneous. The ``accomplished housebreaker'' had not been arrested. A confederate of the

``accomplished housebreaker'' was in the hands of the police, and the police were on the track of the

``accomplished housebreaker'' himself. Then there was a line or two alluding in a very mysterious way to the

disappearance of a certain jeweller. Taking it altogether, Lizzie thought that there was ground for hopeand

that, at any rate, there would be delay. She would, perhaps, put off going to Scotland for yet a day or two.

Was it not necessary that she should wait for Lord Fawn's answer; and would it not be incumbent on her

cousin Frank to send her some account of himself after the abrupt manner in which he had left her?

If in real truth she should be driven to tell her story to anyoneand she began to think that she was so

drivenshe would tell it to him. She believed more in his regard for her than that of any other human being.

She thought that he would, in truth, have been devoted to her, had he not become entangled with that

wretched little governess. And she thought that if he could see his way out of that scrape, he would marry her

even yetwould marry her, and be good to her, so that her dream of a poetical phase of life should not be

altogether dissolved. After all, the diamonds were her own. She had not stolen them. When perplexed in the

extreme by magistrates and policemen, with nobody near her whom she trusted to give her advicefor

Lizzie now of course declared to herself that she had never for a moment trusted the Corsairshe had fallen

into an error, and said what was not true. As she practised it before the glass, she thought that she could tell

her story in a becoming manner, with becoming tears, to Frank Greystock. And, were it not for Lucy Morris,

As for Lord Fawn, she knew well enough that, let him write what he would and renew his engagement in

what most formal manner might be possible, he would be off again when he learned the facts as to that night

at Carlisle. She had brought him to succumb, because he could no longer justify his treatment of her by

reference to the diamonds. But when once all the world should know that she had twice perjured herself, his

justification would be completeand his escape would be certain. She would use his letter simply to achieve

that revenge which she had promised herself. Her efforther last final effort must be made to secure the

hand and heart of her cousin Frank. ``Ah, 'tis his heart I want!'' she said to herself.

She must settle something before she went to Scotlandif there was anything that could be settled. If she

could only get a promise from Frank before all her treachery had been exposed, he probably would remain

true to his promise. He would not desert her as Lord Fawn had done. Then, after much thinking of it, she

resolved upon a scheme, which, of all her schemes, was the wickedest. Whatever it might cost her, she would

create a separation between Frank Greystock and Lucy Morris. Having determined upon this, she wrote to

I particularly want to see youon business. Pray come to me at twelve tomorrow. I will send the carriage for

you, and it will take you back again. Pray do this. We used to love one another, and I am sure I love you still.

As a matter of course Lucy went to her. Lizzie, before the interview, studied the part she was to play with all

possible careeven to the words which she was to use. The greeting was at first kindly, for Lucy had almost

forgotten the bribe that had been offered to her, and had quite forgiven it. Lizzie Eustace never could be dear

to her; butso Lucy had thought during her happinessthis former friend of hers was the cousin of the man

who was to be her husband, and was dear to him. Of course she had forgiven the offence. ``And now, dear, I

want to ask you a question,'' Lizzie said; ``or rather, perhaps, not a question. I can do it better than that. I

think that my cousin Frank once talked ofof making you his wife.'' Lucy answered not a word, but she

trembled in every limb, and the colour came to her face. ``Was it not so, dear?''

``What if it was? I don't know why you should ask me any question like that, about myself.''

``Yeshe is your cousin. Why don't you ask him? You see him every day, I suppose?''

``It is so hard to tell you, Lucy. I have sent to you in good faith, and in love. I could have gone to youonly

for the old vulture, who would not have let us have a word in peace. I do see himconstantly. And I love

``That is nothing to me,'' said Lucy. Anybody hearing them, and not knowing them, would have said that

``He has told me everything.'' Lizzie, when she said this, paused, looking at her victim. ``He has told me

things which he could not mention to you. It was only yesterdaythe day before yesterdaythat he was

speaking to me of his debts. I offered to place all that I have at his disposal, so as to free him, but he would

``Not my money alone. Then he told me that he was engaged to you. He had never told me before, but yet I

knew it. It all came out then. Lucy, though he is engaged to you, it is me that he loves.''

``Nonsense! trash! I don't want your heart to bleed. I don't believe you've got a heart. You've got money; I

``And he has got none. If I did not love him, why should I wish to give him all that I have? Is not that

``And of whom are you thinking? Are you doing the best for hima man in his position, without money,

ambitious, sure to succeed if want of money does not stop himin wishing him to marry a girl with nothing?

``Would that do him any service? He cannot marry you. Does he ever see you? Does he write to you as

though you were to be his wife? Do you not know that it is all over?that it must be over? It is impossible

that he should marry you. But if you will give him back his word, he shall be my husband, and shall have all

``There is no need that I should show it. He knows it. The only one in the world to whom I wish it to be

``It is for him to tell me the tidingsnot for you. You are nothing to menothing. And what you say to me

now is all for yourselfnot for him. But it is true that he does not see me. It is true that he does not write to

me. You may tell him from mefor I cannot write to him myselfthat he may do whatever is best for him.

But if you tell him that I do not love him better than all the world, you will lie to him. And if you say that he

``I will hear no more. He can do as he pleases. If money be more to him than love and honesty, let him marry

you. I shall never trouble him; he may be sure of that. As for you, Lizzie, I hope that we may never meet

She would not get into the EustaceCarbuncle carriage, which was waiting for her at the door, but walked

back to Brook Street. She did not doubt but that it was all over with her now. That Lizzie Eustace was an

inveterate liar, she knew well; but she did believe that the liar had on this occasion been speaking truth. Lady

Fawn was not a liar, and Lady Fawn had told her the same. And, had she wanted more evidence, did not her

lover's conduct give it? ``It is because I am poor,'' she said to herself``for I know well that he loves me!''

Lizzie put off her journey to Scotland from day to day, though her cousin Frank continually urged upon her

the expediency of going. There were various reasons, he said, why she should go. Her child was there, and it

was proper that she should be with her child. She was living at present with people whose reputation did not

stand highand as to whom all manner of evil reports were flying about the town. It was generally

thoughtso said Frankthat Lord George de Bruce Carruthers had assisted Mr Benjamin in stealing the

diamonds, and Frank himself did not hesitate to express his belief in the accusation. ``Oh no, that cannot be,''

said Lizzie, trembling. But, though she rejected the supposition, she did not reject it very firmly. ``And then,

you know,'' continued Lizzie, ``I never see him. I have actually only set eyes on him once since the second

robbery, and then just for a minute. Of course, I used to know himdown at Portraybut now we are

strangers.'' Frank went on with his objections. He declared that the manner in which Mrs Carbuncle had got

up the match between Lucinda Roanoke and Sir Griffin was shamefulall the world was declaring that it

was shamefulthat she had not a penny, that the girl was an adventurer, and that Sir Griffin was an

obstinate, pigheaded ruined idiot. It was expedient on every account that Lizzie should take herself away

from that ``lot''. The answer that Lizzie desired to make was very simple. Let me go as your betrothed bride,

and I will start tomorrowto Scotland or elsewhere, as you may direct. Let that little affair be settled, and I

shall be quite as willing to get out of London as you can be to send me. But I am in such a peck of troubles

that something must be settled. And as it seems that after all the police are still astray about the necklace,

perhaps I needn't run away from them for a little while even yet. She did not say this. She did not even in so

many words make the first proposition. But she did endeavour to make Frank understand that she would obey

his dictation if he would earn the right to dictate. He either did not or would not understand her, and then she

became angry with himor pretended to be angry. ``Really, Frank,'' she said, ``you are hardly fair to me.''

``You come here and abuse all my friends, and tell me to go here and go there, just as though I were a child.

``You know what I mean. You are one thing one day and one another. I hope Miss Lucy Morris was quite

``Then why don't you give it up? Why don't you let her have her chancesto do what she can with them?

You know very well that you can't marry her. You know that you ought not to have asked her. You talk of

Miss Roanoke and Sir Griffin Tewett. There are people quite as bad as Sir Griffinor Mrs Carbuncle either.

Don't suppose I am speaking for myself. I've given up all that idle fancy long ago. I shall never marry a

second time myself. I have made up my mind to that. I have suffered too much already.'' Then she burst into

He dried her tears and comforted her, and forgave all the injurious things she had said of him. It is almost

impossible for a mana man under forty and unmarried, and who is not a philosopherto have familiar and

affectionate intercourse with a beautiful young woman, and carry it on as he might do with a friend of the

other sex. In his very heart Greystock despised this woman; he had told himself over and over again that were

there no Lucy in the case he would not marry her, that she was affected, unrealand, in fact, a liar in every

word and look and motion which came from her with premeditation. Judging, not from her own account, but

from circumstances as he saw them and such evidence as had reached him, he did not condemn her in

reference to the diamonds. He had never for a moment conceived that she had secreted them. He acquitted

her altogether from those special charges which had been widely circulated against her; but, nevertheless, he

knew her to be heartless and bad. He had told himself a dozen times that it would be well for him that she

should be married and taken out of his hands. And yet he loved her after a fashion, and was prone to sit near

her, and was fool enough to be flattered by her caresses. When she would lay her hand on his arm, a thrill of

pleasure went through him. And yet he would willingly have seen any decent man take her and marry her,

making a bargain that he should never see her again. Young or old, men are apt to become Merlins when they

encounter Viviens. On this occasion he left her, disgusted indeed, but not having told her that he was

disgusted. ``Come again, Frank, tomorrow, won't you?'' she said. He made her no promise as he went, nor

had she expected it. He had left her quite abruptly the other day, and he now went away almost in the same

fashion. But she was not surprised. She understood that the task she had in hand was one very difficult to be

accomplishedand she did perceive, in some dark way, that, good as her acting was, it was not quite good

enough. Lucy held her ground because she was real. You may knock about a diamond, and not even scratch

it; whereas paste in rough usage betrays itself. Lizzie, with all her selfassuring protestations, knew that she

was paste, and knew that Lucy was real stone. Why could she not force herself to act a little better, so that the

paste might be as good as the stonemight at least seem to be as good? ``If he despises me now, what will

As for Frank Greystock himself, though he had quite made up his mind about Lizzie Eustace, he was still in

doubt about the other girl. At the present moment he though he had q two thousand pounds a year, and yet

was more in debt now than he had been a year ago. When he attempted to look at his affairs, he could not

even remember what had become of his money. He did not gamble. He had no little yacht, costing him about

six hundred a year. He kept one horse in London, and one only. He had no house. And when he could spare

time from his work, he was generally entertained at the houses of his friends. And yet from day to day his

condition seemed to become worse and worse. It was true that he never thought of halfasovereign; that in

calling for wine at his club he was never influenced by the cost; that it seemed to him quite rational to keep a

cab waiting for him half the day; that in going or coming he never calculated expense; that in giving an order

to a tailor he never dreamed of anything beyond his own comfort. Nevertheless, when he recounted with

pride his great economies, reminding himself that he, a successful man, with a large income and no family,

kept neither hunters, nor yacht, nor moor, and that he did not gamble, he did think it very hard that he should

be embarrassed. But he was embarrassed, and in that condition could it be right for him to marry a girl

In these days Mrs Carbuncle was very urgent with her friend not to leave London till after the marriage.

Lizzie had given no promisehad only been induced to promise that the loan of one hundred and fifty

pounds should not be held to have any bearing on the wedding present to be made to Lucinda. That could be

got on credit from Messrs Harter and Benjamin; for though Mr Benjamin was absenton a little tour

through Europe in search of precious stones in the cheap markets, old Mr Harter suggestedthe business

went on the same as ever. There was a good deal of consultation about the present, and Mrs Carbuncle at last

decided, no doubt with the concurrence of Miss Roanoke, that it should consist simply of silver forks and

spoonsreal silver as far as the money would go. Mrs Carbuncle herself went with her friend to select the

articlesas to which, perhaps, we shall do her no injustice in saying that a ready sale, should such a

lamentable occurrence ever become necessary, was one of the objects which she had in view. Mrs

Carbuncle's investigations as to the quality of the metal quite won Mr Harter's respect; and it will probably be

thought that she exacted no more than justiceseeing that the thing had become a matter of bargainin

demanding that the thirtyfive pounds should be stretched to fifty, because the things were bought on long

credit. ``My dear Lizzie,'' Mrs Carbuncle said, ``the dear girl won't have an ounce more than she would have

got, had you gone into another sort of shop with thirtyfive sovereigns in your hand.'' Lizzie growled, but

Mrs Carbuncle's final argument was conclusive. ``I'll tell you what we'll do,'' said she; ``we'll take thirty

pounds down in ready money.'' There was no answer to be made to so reasonable a proposition.

The presents to be made to Lucinda were very much thought of in Hertford Street at this time, and

Lizzieindependently of any feeling that she might have as to her own contributiondid all she could to

assist the collection of tribute. It was quite understood that as a girl can only be married oncefor a widow's

chance in such matters amounts to but littleeverything should be done to gather toll from the taxpayers of

society. It was quite fair on such an occasion that men should be given to understand that something worth

having was expectedno trumpery thirtyshilling piece of crockery, no insignificant glass bottle, or

fantastic paperknife of no real value whatever, but got up just to put money into the tradesmen's hands. To

one or two elderly gentlemen upon whom Mrs Carbuncle had smiled, she ventured to suggest in plain words

that a cheque was the most convenient cadeau. ``What do you say to a couple of sovereigns?'' one sarcastic

old gentleman replied, upon whom probably Mrs Carbuncle had not smiled enough. She laughed and

congratulated her sarcastic friend upon his jokebut the two sovereigns were left upon the table, and went to

``I'll beif I do!'' said Frank, who was beginning to be very much disgusted with the house in Hertford

Street. ``There's a fivepound note, and you may do what you please with it.'' Lizzie gave over the

fivepound notethe identical bit of paper that had come from Frank; and Mrs Carbuncle, no doubt, did do

There was almost a quarrel because Lizzie, after much consideration, declared that she did not see her way to

get a present from the Duke of Omnium. She had talked so much to Mrs Carbuncle about the duke, that Mrs

Carbuncle was almost justified in making the demand. ``It isn't the value, you know,'' said Mrs Carbuncle;

``neither I nor Lucinda would think of that; but it would look so well to have the dear duke's name on

something.'' Lizzie declared that the duke was unapproachable on such subjects. ``There you're wrong,'' said

Mrs Carbuncle. ``I happen to know there is nothing his grace likes so much as giving wedding presents.'' This

was the harder upon Lizzie as she actually did succeed in saying such kind things about Lucinda, that Lady

Glencora sent Miss Roanoke the prettiest smellingbottle in the world. ``You don't mean to say you've given

a present to the future Lady Tewett,'' said Madame Max Goesler to her friend. ``Why not? Sir Griffin can't

hurt me. When one begins to be goodnatured, why shouldn't one be goodnatured all round?'' Madame Max

remarked that it might, perhaps, be preferable to put an end to goodnature altogether. ``There I daresay

you're right, my dear,'' said Lady Glencora. ``I've long felt that making presents means nothing. Only if one

has a lot of money and people like it, why shouldn't one? I've made so many to people I hardly ever saw that

Perhaps the most wonderful affair in that campaign was the spirited attack which Mrs Carbuncle made on a

certain Mrs Hanbury Smith, who for the last six or seven years had not been among Mrs Carbuncle's more

intimate friends. Mrs Hanbury Smith lived with her husband in Paris, but before her marriage had known Mrs

Carbuncle in London. Her father, Mr Bunbury Jones, had, from certain causes, chosen to show certain

civilities to Mrs Carbuncle just at the period of his daughter's marriage, and Mrs Carbuncle being perhaps, at

that moment, well supplied with ready money, had presented a marriage present. From that to this present day

Mrs Carbuncle had seen nothing of Mrs Hanbury Smith, nor of Mr Bunbury Jones, but she was not the

woman to waste the return value of such a transaction. A present so given was seed sown in the earthseed,

indeed, that could not be expected to give back twentyfold, or even tenfold, but still seed from which a crop

should be expected. So she wrote to Mrs Hanbury Smith, explaining that her darling niece Lucinda was about

to be married to Sir Griffin Tewett, and that, as she had no child of her own, Lucinda was the same to her as a

daughter. And then, lest there might be any want of comprehension, she expressed her own assurance that her

friend would be glad to have an opportunity of reciprocating the feelings which had been evinced on the

occasion of her own marriage. ``It is no good mincing matters nowadays,'' Mrs Carbuncle would have said,

had any friend pointed out to her that she was taking strong measures in the exaction of toll. ``People have

come to understand that a spade is a spade, and 10, 10,'' she would have said. Had Mrs Hanbury Smith not

noticed the application, there might, perhaps, have been an end of it, but she was silly enough to send over

from Paris a little trumpery bit of finery, bought in the Palais Royal for ten francs. Whereupon Mrs Carbuncle

Lucinda has received your little brooch, and is much obliged to you for thinking of her; but you must

remember that, when you were married, I sent you a bracelet which cost 10. If I had a daughter of my own, I

should, of course, expect that she would reap the benefit of this on her marriageand my niece is the same

to me as a daughter. I think that this is quite understood now among people in society. Lucinda will be

disappointed much if you do not send her what she thinks she has a right to expect. Of course you can deduct

Mr Hanbury Smith was something of a wag, and caused his wife to write back as follows

I quite acknowledge the reciprocity system, but don't think it extends to descendantscertainly not to nieces.

I acknowledge, too, the present quoted at 10. I thought it had been 7 10s. [``The nasty mean creature,'' said

Mrs Carbuncle, when showing the correspondence to Lizzie, ``must have been to the tradesman to inquire!

The price named was 10, but I got 2 10s. off for ready money.''] At your second marriage I will do what is

needful; but I can assure you I haven't recognised nieces with any of my friends.

The correspondence was carried no further, for not even can a Mrs Carbuncle exact payment of such a debt in

any established court; but she inveighed bitterly against the meanness of Mrs Smith, telling the story openly,

and never feeling that she told it against herself. In her set it was generally thought that she had done quite

She managed better with old Mr Cabob, who had certainly received many of Mrs Carbuncle's smiles, and

who was very rich. Mr Cabob did as he was desired, and sent a chequea cheque for 20; and added a

message that he hoped Miss Roanoke would buy with it any little thing that she liked. Miss Roanokeor her

aunt for herliked a thirtyguinea ring, and bought it, having the bill for the balance sent in to Mr Cabob.

Mr Cabob, who probably knew that he must pay well for his smiles, never said anything about it.

Lady Eustace went into all this work, absolutely liking it. She had felt nothing of anger even as regarded her

own contributionmuch as she had struggled to reduce the amount. People, she felt, ought to be sharpand

it was nice to look at pretty things, and to be cunning about them. She would have applied to the Duke of

Omnium had she dared, and was very triumphant when she got the smellingbottle from Lady Glencora. But

Lucinda herself took no part whatever in all these things. Nothing that Mrs Carbuncle could say would induce

her to take any interest in them, or even in the trousseau, which, without reference to expense, was being

supplied chiefly on the very indifferent credit of Sir Griffin. What Lucinda had to say about the matter was

said solely to her aunt. Neither Lady Eustace, nor Lord George, nor even the maid who dressed her, heard any

of her complaints. But complain she did, and that with terrible energy. ``What is the use of it, Aunt Jane? I

``And if I had, I should never care for them. I hate them. What does Lady Glencora Palliser or Lord Fawn

care for me?'' Even Lord Fawn had been put under requisition, and had sent a little box full of stationery.

``They are worth money, Lucinda; and when a girl marries she always gets them.''

``Yesand when they come from people who love her, and who pour them into her lap with kisses, because

she has given herself to a man she loves, then it must be nice. Oh if I were marrying a poor man, and a

poor friend had given me a gridiron to help me to cook my husband's dinner, how I could have valued it!''

``I don't know that you like poor things and poor people better than anybody else,'' said Aunt Jane.

``You had better take the good things that come to you, then; and not grumble. How I have worked to get all

``You'll find you have worked for very little, Aunt Jane. I shall never marry the man yet.'' This, however, had

It was acknowledged by Mrs Carbuncle very freely that in the matter of tribute no one behaved better than Mr

Emilius, the fashionable foreign cidevant Jew preacher, who still drew great congregations in the

neighbourhood of Mrs Carbuncle's house. Mrs Carbuncle, no doubt, attended regularly at Mr Emilius's

church, and had taken a sitting for thirteen Sundays at something like ten shillings a Sunday. But she had not

as yet paid the money, and Mr Emilius was well aware that if his tickets were not paid for in advance, there

would be considerable defalcations in his income. He was, as a rule, very particular as to such payments, and

would not allow a name to be put on a sitting till the money had reached his pockets; but with Mrs Carbuncle

he had descended to no such commercial accuracy. Mrs Carbuncle had seats for threefor one of which

Lady Eustace paid her share in advancein the midst of the very best pews in the most conspicuous part of

the houseand hardly a word had been said to her about money. And now there came to them from Mr

Emilius the prettiest little gold salver that ever was seen. ``I send Messrs Clerico's docket,'' wrote Mr Emilius,

``as Miss Roanoke may like to know the quality of the metal.'' ``Ah,'' said Mrs Carbuncle inspecting the little

dish, and putting two and two together; ``he's got it cheap, no doubtat the place where they commissioned

him to buy the plate and candlesticks for the church; but at 3 16s. 3d. the gold is worth nearly twenty

pounds.'' Mr Emilius no doubt had had his outing in the autumn through the instrumentality of Mrs

Carbuncle's kindness; but that was past and gone, and such lavish gratitude for a past favour could hardly be

expected from Mr Emilius. ``I'll be hanged if he isn't after Portray Castle,'' said Mrs Carbuncle to herself.

Mr Emilius was after Portray Castle, and had been after Portray Castle in a silent, not very confident, but yet

not altogether hopeless, manner ever since he had seen the glories of that place, and learned something of

truth as to the widow's income. Mrs Carbuncle was led to her conclusion not simply by the wedding present,

but in part also by the diligence displayed by Mr Emilius in removing the doubts which had got abroad

respecting his condition in life. He assured Mrs Carbuncle that he had never been married. Shortly after his

ordination, which had been effected under the hands of that great and good man the late Bishop of Jerusalem,

he had taken to live with him a lady who wasMrs Carbuncle did not quite recollect who the lady was, but

remembered that she was connected in some way with a stepmother of Mr Emilius who lived in Bohemia.

This lady had for awhile kept house for Mr Emiliusbut illnatured things had been said, and Mr Emilius,

having respect to his cloth, had sent the poor lady back to Bohemia. The consequence was that he now lived

in a solitude which was absolute, and, as Mr Emilius added, somewhat melancholy. All this Mr Emilius

explained very fully, not to Lizzie herself, but to Mrs Carbuncle. If Lady Eustace chose to entertain such a

Lizzie laughed when she was told that she might add the reverend gentleman to the list of her admirers.

``Don't you remember'', she said, ``how we used to chaff Miss Macnulty about him?''

``There is no saying what a man may be after,'' said Lizzie, ``I didn't know but what he might have thought

``He's after you, my dear, and your income. He can manage a congregation for himself.''

Lizzie was very civil to him, but it would be unjust to her to say that she gave him any encouragement. It is

quite the proper thing for a lady to be on intimate, and even on affectionate, terms with her favourite

clergyman, and Lizzie certainly had intercourse with no clergyman who was a greater favourite with her than

Mr Emilius. She had a dean for an uncle, and a bishop for an uncleinlaw; but she was at no pains to hide

her contempt for these old fogies of the Church. ``They preach now and then in the cathedral'', she said to Mr

Emilius, ``and everybody takes the opportunity of going to sleep.'' Mr Emilius was very much amused at this

description of the eloquence of the dignitaries. It was quite natural to him that people should go to sleep in

church who take no trouble in seeking eloquent preachers. ``Ah,'' he said, ``the Church in England, which is

my Churchthe Church which I loveis beautiful. She is as a maiden, all glorious with fine raiment. But

alas! she is mute. She does not sing. She has no melody. But the time cometh in which she shall sing. I,

myselfI am a poor singer in the great choir.'' In saying which Mr Emilius, no doubt, intended to allude to

He was a man who could listen as well as sing, and he was very careful to hear well that which was being

said in public about Lady Eustace and her diamonds. He had learned thoroughly what was her condition in

reference to the Portray estate, and was rejoiced rather than otherwise to find that she enjoyed only a

lifeinterest in the property. Had the thing been better than it was, it would have been the further removed

from his reach. And in the same way, when rumours reached him prejudicial to Lizzie in respect of the

diamonds, he perceived that such prejudice might work weal for him. A gentleman once, on ordering a

mackerel for dinner, was told that a fresh mackerel would come to a shilling. He could have a stale mackerel

for sixpence. ``Then bring me a stale mackerel,'' said the gentleman. Mr Emilius coveted fish, but was aware

that his position did not justify him in expecting the best fish on the market. The Lord Fawns and the Frank

Greystocks of the world would be less likely to covet Lizzie, should she, by any little indiscretion, have

placed herself under a temporary cloud. Mr Emilius had carefully observed the heavens, and knew how

quickly such clouds will disperse themselves when they are tinged with gold. There was nothing which Lizzie

had done, or would be likely to do, which could materially affect her income. It might indeed be possible that

the Eustaces should make her pay for the necklace; but, even in that case, there would be quite enough left for

that modest, unambitious comfort which Mr Emilius desired. It was by preaching, and not by wealth, that he

must make himself known in the world!but for a preacher to have a pretty wife with a title and a good

incomeand a castle in Scotlandwhat an Elysium it would be! In such a condition he would envy no

dean, no bishopno archbishop! He thought a great deal about it, and saw no positive bar to his success.

``But why should not your little boy be here? Surely, for people who can choose, the great centre of the world

``Ah; yes; I can believe that.'' Mr Emilius had himself witnessed the seclusion of Portray Castle, and had

heard, when there, many stories of the Ayrshire hunting. ``It is your naturebut, dear Lady Eustace, will you

allow me to say that our nature is implanted in us in accordance with the Fall?''

``Do you mean to say that it is wicked to like to be in Scotland better than in this giddy town?''

``I say nothing about wicked, Lady Eustace; but this I do say, that nature alone will not lead us always aright.

It is good to be at Portray part of the year, no doubt; but are there not blessings in such a congregation of

``I hope that is something, too, Lady Eustaceotherwise a great many people who kindly come to hear me

must sadly waste their time. And your example to the world aroundis it not more serviceable amidst the

crowds of London than in the solitudes of Scotland? There is more good to be done, Lady Eustace, by living

among our fellowcreatures than by deserting them. Therefore I think you should not go to Scotland before

``The air of his native mountains is everything to my child,'' said Lizzie. The child had, in fact, been born at

``You cannot wonder that I should plead for your stay,'' said Mr Emilius, throwing all his soul into his eyes.

``How dark would everything be to me if I missed you from your seat in the house of praise and prayer!''

Lizzie Eustace, like some other ladies who ought to be more appreciative, was altogether deficient in what

may perhaps be called good taste in reference to men. Though she was clever, and though, in spite of her

ignorance, she at once knew an intelligent man from a fool, she did not know the difference between a

gentleman and a``cad''. It was in her estimation something against Mr Emilius that he was a clergyman,

something against him that he had nothing but what he earned, something against him that he was supposed

to be a renegade Jew, and that nobody knew whence he came, nor who he was. These deficiencies or

drawbacks Lizzie recognised. But it was nothing against him in her judgment that he was a greasy, fawning,

pawing, creeping, blackbrowed rascal, who could not look her full in the face, and whose every word

sounded like a lie. There was a twang in his voice which ought to have told her that he was utterly

untrustworthy. There was an oily pretence at earnestness in his manner which ought to have told that he was

not fit to associate with gentlemen. There was a foulness of demeanour about him which ought to have given

to her, as a woman at any rate brought up among ladies, an abhorrence of his society. But all this Lizzie did

not feel. She ridiculed to Mrs Carbuncle the idea of the preacher's courtship. She still thought that in the teeth

of all her misfortunes she could do better with herself than marry Mr Emilius. She conceived that the man

must be impertinent if Mrs Carbuncle's assertions were truebut she was neither angry nor disgusted, and

she allowed him to talk to her, and even to make love to her, after his nasty pseudoclerical fashion.

She could surely still do better with herself than marry Mr Emilius! It was now the twentieth of March, and a

fortnight had gone since an intimation had been sent to her from the headquarters of the police that Patience

Crabstick was in their hands. Nothing further had occurred, and it might be that Patience Crabstick had told

no tale against her. She could not bring herself to believe that Patience had no tale to tell, but it might be that

Patience, though she was in the hands of the police, would find it to her interest to tell no tale against her late

mistress. At any rate, there was silence and quiet, and the affair of the diamonds seemed almost to be passing

out of people's minds. Greystock had twice called in Scotland Yard, but had been able to learn nothing. It was

feared, they said, that the people really engaged in the robbery had got away scotfree. Frank did no quite

believe them, but he could learn nothing from them. Thus encouraged, Lizzie determined that she would

remain in London till after Lucinda's marriagetill after she should have received the promised letter from

Lord Fawn, as to which, though it was so long in coming, she did not doubt that it would come at last. She

could do nothing with Frankwho was a fool! She could do nothing with Lord Georgewho was a brute!

Lord Fawn would still be within her reach, if only the secret about the diamonds could be kept a secret till

About this time Lucinda spoke to her respecting her proposed journey. ``You were talking of going to

``Aunt Jane says that you are waiting for my wedding. It is very kind of youbut pray don't do that.''

``I shouldn't think of going now till after your marriage. It only wants ten or twelve days.''

``You can't put it off now, I should think,'' said Lizzie; ``and as I have ordered my dress for the occasion I

``I am very sorry for your dress. I am very sorry for it all. Do you knowI sometimes think I shallmurder

``Lucindahow can you say anything so horrible! But I see you are only joking.'' There did come a ghastly

smile over that beautiful face, which was so seldom lighted up by any expression of mirth or good humour.

``It would serve him rightand if he were to murder me, that would serve me right. He knows that I detest

him, and yet he goes on with it. I have told him so a score of times, but nothing will make him give it up. It is

``He is not bound to anybody as I am bound to my aunt. No one can have exacted an oath from him. Lady

Eustace, you don't quite understand how we are situated. I wonder whether you would take the trouble to be

Lucinda Roanoke had never asked a favour of her before had never, to Lizzie's knowledge, asked a favour

``Make him give it up. You may tell him what you like of me. Tell him that I shall only make him miserable,

and more despicable than he isthat I shall never be a good wife to him. Tell him that I am thoroughly bad,

and that he will repent it to the last day of his life. Say whatever you likebut make him give it up.''

``What does all that signify compared to a life of misery? Lady Eustace, I really think that I shouldkill

him, if he really werewere my husband.'' Lizzie at last said that she would, at any rate, speak to Sir Griffin.

And she did speak to Sir Griffin, having waited three or four days for an opportunity to do so. There had been

some desperately sharp words between Sir Griffin and Mrs Carbuncle, with reference to money. Sir Griffin

had been given to understand that Lucinda had, or would have, some few hundred pounds, and insisted that

the money should be handed over to him on the day of his marriage. Mrs Carbuncle had declared that the

money was to come from property to be realised in New York, and had named a day which had seemed to Sir

Griffin to be as the Greek Kalends. He expressed an opinion that he was swindled, and Mrs Carbuncle,

unable to restrain herself, had turned upon him full of wrath. He was caught by Lizzie as he was descending

the stairs, and in the diningroom he poured out the tale of his wrongs. ``That woman doesn't know what fair

``Not a bit. A trumpery six hundred pounds! And she hasn't a shilling of fortune, and never will have, beyond

that! No fellow ever was more generous or more foolish than I have been.'' Lizzie, as she heard this, could not

refrain from thinking of the poor departed Sir Florian. ``I didn't look for fortune, or say a word about money,

as almost every man doesbut just took her as she was. And now she tells me that I can't have just the bit of

money that I wanted for our tour. It would serve them both right if I were to give it up.''

``Why don't you?'' said Lizzie. He look quickly, sharply, and closely into her face as she asked the question.

``There wouldn't be anything of that kind, I'm sure. You see, the truth is, you and Miss Roanoke are always

havinghaving little tiffs together. I sometimes think you don't really care a bit for her.''

``It's the old woman I'm complaining of,'' said Sir Griffin, ``and I'm not going to marry her. I shall have seen

``Of course she does. Where'd she be now if it wasn't to go on? I don't believe they've money enough between

``Of course, I don't want to make difficulties, Sir Griffin, and no doubt the affair has gone very far now. But I

really think Lucinda would consent to break it off if you wish it. I have never thought that you were really in

He again looked at her very sharply and very closely. ``Has she sent you to say all this?''

She paused for a moment before she repliedbut she could not bring herself to be absolutely honest in the

matter. ``Noshe didn't send me. But from what I see and hear, I am quite sure she does not wish to go on

``Then she shall go on with it,'' said Sir Griffin. ``I'm not going to be made a fool of in that way. She shall go

on with it; and the first thing I mean to tell her, as my wife, is, that she shall never see that woman again. If

she thinks she's going to be master, she's very much mistaken.'' Sir Griffin, as he said this, showed his teeth,

and declared his purpose to be masterful by his features as well as by his wordsbut Lady Eustace was,

nevertheless, of opinion that when the two came to an absolute struggle for mastery, the lady would get the

Lizzie never told Miss Roanoke of her want of success, or even of the effort she had made; nor did the

unhappy young woman come to her for any reply. The preparations went on, and it was quite understood that,

on this peculiar occasion, Mrs Carbuncle intended to treat her friends with profuse hospitality. She proposed

to give a breakfast; and as the house in Hertford Street was very small, rooms had been taken at an hotel in

Albemarle Street. Thither, as the day of the marriage drew near, all the presents were takenso that they

might be viewed by the guests, with the names of the donors attached to them. As some of the money given

had been very much wanted indeed, so that the actual cheques could not be conveniently spared just at the

moment to pay for the presents which ought to have been boughta few very pretty things were hired, as to

which, when the donors should see their names attached to them, they should surely think that the money

It took Lord Fawn a long time to write his letter, but at last he wrote it. The delay must not be taken as

throwing any slur on his character as a correspondent or a man of business, for many irritating causes sprang

up sufficient to justify him in pleading that it arose from circumstances beyond his own control. It is,

moreover, felt by us all that the time which may fairly be taken in the performance of any task depends, not

on the amount of work, but on the performance of it when done. A man is not expected to write a cheque for

a couple of thousand pounds as readily as he would one for fiveunless he be a man to whom a couple of

thousand pounds is a mere nothing. To Lord Fawn the writing of this letter was everything. He had told

Lizzie, with much exactness, what he would put into it. He would again offer his handacknowledging

himself bound to do so by his former offerbut would give reasons why she should not accept it. If anything

should occur in the meantime which would, in his opinion, justify him in again repudiating her, he would, of

course, take advantage of such circumstance. If asked himself what was his prevailing motive in all that he

did or intended to do, he would have declared that it was above all things necessary that he should ``put

But he was not able to do this without interference from the judgment of others. Both Mr and Mrs Hittaway

interfered; and he could not prevent himself from listening to them and believing them, though he would

contradict all they said, and snub all their theories. Frank Greystock also continued to interfere, and Lady

Glencora Palliser. Even John Eustace had been worked upon to write to Lord Fawn, stating his opinion, as

trustee for his late brother's property, that the Eustace family did not think that there was ground of complaint

against Lady Eustace in reference to the diamonds which had been stolen. This was a terrible blow to Lord

Fawn, and had come, no doubt, from a general agreement among the Eustace factionincluding the bishop,

John Eustace, and even Mr Camperdownthat it would be a good thing to get the widow married and placed

Lady Glencora absolutely had the effrontery to ask him whether the marriage was not going to take place, and

when a day would be fixed. He gathered up his courage to give her ladyship a rebuke. ``My private affairs do

``Why yes, Lord Fawn,'' said Lady Glencora, whom nothing could abash``most interesting. You see, dear

Lady Eustace is so very popular, that we all want to know what is to be her fate.''

``I regret to say that I cannot answer your ladyship's question with any precision,'' said Lord Fawn.

But the Hittaway persecution was by far the worst. ``You have seen her, Frederic?'' said his sister.

``I do not think that any member of our family has a just right to complain of my conduct since I have had the

honour of being its head. I have endeavoured so to live that my actions should encounter no private or public

censure. If I fail to meet with your approbation, I shall grieve; but I cannot, on that account, act otherwise

Mrs Hittaway knew her brother well, and was not afraid of him. ``That's all very well; and I am sure you

know, Frederic, how proud we all are of you. But this woman is a nasty, low, scheming, illconducted,

dishonest little wretch; and if you make her your wife you'll be miserable all your life. Nothing would make

me and Orlando so unhappy as to quarrel with you. But we know that it is so, and to the last minute I shall

``My dear Clara, perhaps I know what to ask her and what not to ask her better than you can tell me.''

And his brotherinlaw was quite as bad. ``Fawn,'' he said, ``in this matter of Lady Eustace, don't you think

``I think it is an affair in which a man would have so much comfort in being able to say that he was guided by

advice. Of course, her people want you to marry her. Now, if you could just tell them that the whole thing

was in the hands of, say meor any other friend, you would be relieved, you know, of so much

responsibility. They might hammer away at me ever so long, and I shouldn't care twopence.''

``If there is to be any hammering, it cannot be borne vicariously,'' said Lord Fawnand as he said it, he was

He had, indeed, put himself beyond protection by vicarious endurance of hammering when he promised to

write to Lady Eustace, explaining his own conduct and giving reasons. Had anything turned up in Scotland

Yard which would have justified him in sayingor even in thinkingthat Lizzie had stolen her own

diamonds, he would have sent word to her that he must abstain from any communication till that matter had

been cleared up; but, since the appearance of that mysterious paragraph in the newspapers, nothing had been

heard of the robbery, and public opinion certainly seemed to be in favour of Lizzie's innocence. He did think

that the Eustace faction was betraying him, as he could not but remember how eager Mr Camperdown had

been in asserting that the widow was keeping an enormous amount of property and claiming it as her own,

whereas, in truth, she had not the slightest title to it. It was, in a great measure, in consequence of the

assertions of the Eustace faction, almost in obedience to their advice, that he had resolved to break off the

match; and now they turned upon him, and John Eustace absolutely went out of his way to write him a letter

which was clearly meant to imply that he, Lord Fawn, was bound to marry the woman to whom he had once

engaged himself! Lord Fawn felt that he was illused, and that a man might have to undergo a great deal of

At last he wrote his letteron a Wednesday, which with him had something of the comfort of a

In accordance with the promise which I made to you when I did myself the honour of waiting upon you in

Hertford Street, I take up my pen with the view of communicating to you the result of my deliberations

respecting the engagement of marriage which, no doubt, did exist between us last summer.

Since that time I have no doubt taken upon myself to say that that engagement was over; and I am free to

admit that I did so without any assent or agreement on your part to that effect. Such conduct no doubt

I learned that you were in possession of a large amount of property, vested in diamonds, which was claimed

by the executors under your late husband's will as belonging to his estate; and as to which they declared, in

the most positive manner, that you had no right or title to it whatever. I consulted friends and I consulted

lawyers, and I was led to the conviction that this property certainly did not belong to you. Had I married you

in these circumstances, I could not but have become a participator in the lawsuit which I was assured would

be commenced. I could not be a participator with you, because I believed you to be in the wrong. And I

certainly could not participate with those who would in such case be attacking my own wife.

``In this condition of things I requested youas you must, I think, yourself own, with all deference and good

feelingto give up the actual possession of the property, and to place the diamonds in neutral hands,'' [Lord

Fawn was often called upon to be neutral in reference to the condition of outlying Indian principalities] ``till

the law should have decided as to their ownership. As regards myself, I neither coveted nor rejected the

possession of that wealth for my future wife. I desired simply to be free from an embarrassment which would

have overwhelmed me. You declined my requestnot only positively, but perhaps I may add peremptorily;

Since that time the property has been stolen, and, as I believe, dissipated. The lawsuit against you has been

withdrawn; and the bone of contention, so to say, is no longer existing. I am no longer justified in declining

to keep my engagement because of the prejudice to which I should have been subjected by your possession of

the diamondsand, therefore, as far as that goes, I withdraw my withdrawal. [This Lord Fawn thought was

But now there arises the question whether, in both our interests, this marriage should go on, or whether it may

not be more conducive to your happiness and to mine that it should be annulled for causes altogether

irrespective of the diamonds. In a matter so serious as marriage, the happiness of the two parties is that which

There has no doubt sprung up between us a feeling of mutual distrust, which has led to recrimination, and

which is hardly compatible with that perfect confidence which should exist between a man and his wife. This

first arose, no doubt, from the different views which we took as to that property of which I have spokenand

as to which your judgment may possibly have been better than mine. On that head I will add nothing to what

I have already said; but the feeling has arisen; and I fear it cannot be so perfectly allayed as to admit of that

reciprocal trust without which we could not live happily together. I confess that for my own part I do not now

desire a union which was once the great object of my ambitionand that I could not go to the altar with you

without fear and trembling. As to your own feelings, you best know what they are. I bring no charge against

youbut if you have ceased to love me, I think you should cease to wish to be my wife, and that you should

not insist upon a marriage simply because by doing so you would triumph over a former objection. [Before he

finished this paragraph, he thought much of Andy Gowran and of the scene among the rocks of which he had

heard. But he could not speak of it. He had found himself unable to examine the witness who had been

brought to him, and had honestly told himself that he could not take that charge as proved. Andy Gowran

might have lied. In his heart he believed that Andy Gowran had lied. The matter was distasteful to him, and

he would not touch it. And yet he knew that the woman did not love him, and he longed to tell her so.]

As to what we might each gain or each lose in a worldly point of view, either by marrying or not marrying, I

will not say a word. You have rank and wealth, and, therefore, I can comfort myself by thinking that if I

dissuade you from this marriage I shall rob you of neither. I acknowledge that I wish to dissuade you, as I

believe that we should not make each other happy. As, however, I do consider that I am bound to keep my

engagement to you if you demand that I shall do so, I leave the matter in your hands for decision.

He read the letter and copied it, and gave himself great credit for the composition. He thought that it was

impossible that any woman after reading it should express a wish to become the wife of the man who wrote

it; and yetso he believedno man or woman could find fault with him for writing it. There certainly was

one view of the case, which was very distressing. How would it be with him if, after all, she should say that

she would marry him? After having given her her choicehaving put it all in writinghe could not again

go back from it. He would be in her power, and of what use would his life be to him? Would Parliament, or

the India Office, or the eye of the public be able to comfort him then in the midst of his many miseries? What

could he do with a wife whom he married with a declaration that he disliked her? With such feelings as were

his, how could he stand before a clergyman and take an oath that he would love her and cherish her? Would

she not ever be as an adder to himas an adder whom it would be impossible that he should admit into his

bosom? Could he live in the same house with her; and, if so, could he ask his mother and sisters to visit her?

He remembered well what Mrs Hittaway had called hera nasty, low, scheming, illconducted, dishonest

little wretch! And he believed that she was so! Yet he was once again offering to marry her, should she

Nevertheless, the letter was sent. There was, in truth, no alternative. He had promised that he would write

such a letter, and all that had remained to him was the power of cramming into it every available argument

against the marriage. This he had done, and, as he thought, had done well. It was impossible that she should

Lizzie received it in her bedroom, where she breakfasted, and told of its arrival to her friend Mrs Carbuncle

as soon as they met each other. ``My lord has come down from his high horse at last,'' she said, with the letter

``Yes; Lord Fawn. What other lord? There is no other lord for me. He is my lord, my peer of Parliament, my

Cabinet minister, my right honourable, my member of the Governmentmy young man, too, as the

``Saywhat should he say?just that he has behaved very badly, and that he hopes I shall forgive him.''

``That's what it all means. Of course, there is ever so much of itpages of it. It wouldn't be Lord Fawn if he

didn't spin it all out like an Act of Parliament, with `whereas' and `wherein' and `whereof'. It is full of all that;

but the meaning of it is that he's at my feet again, and that I may pick him up if I choose to take him. I'd show

``Ohas to that he's rational enough. He calls the necklace thebone of contention. That's rather good for

Lord Fawn; isn't it? The bone of contention, he says, has been removed; and, therefore, there is no reason

why we shouldn't marry if we like it. He shall hear enough about the bone of contention if we do `marry'.''

``Ah; yes; that's easily asked; is it not? The man's a good sort of man in his way, you know. He doesn't drink

or gamble; and I don't think there is a bit of the King David about himthat I don't.''

``He is such a lumpy man,'' said Lizzie``such an ass; such a load of Government wastepaper.''

``Nothing very muchbut still, you see, they may come again. As to Lord George, we all know that he has

``If he had as many pennies as Judas, Lord George would be nothing to me,'' said Lizzie.

``I know very well what my cousin means. He and I understand each other thoroughly; but cousins can love

``Of course you know your own business, but if I were you I would take Lord Fawn. I speak in true

kindnessas one woman to another. After all, what does love signify? How much real love do we ever see

among married people? Does Lady Glencora Palliser really love her husband, who thinks of nothing in the

``Nobut that is a different kind of thing. Circumstances have caused me to live apart from him. The man is

a good man, and there is no reason why you should not respect him, and treat him well. He will give you a

``Tooriloo, tooriloo, tooriloo, looriloo,'' said Lizzie, in contemptuous disdain of her friend's caution.

``And then all this trouble about the diamonds and the robberies will be over,'' continued Mrs Carbuncle.

Lizzie looked at her very intently. What should make Mrs Carbuncle suppose that there need be, or, indeed,

``Sothat's your advice,'' said Lizzie. ``I'm half inclined to take it, and perhaps I shall. However, I have

brought him round, and that's something, my dear. And either one way or the other, I shall let him know that I

Then she read the letter again very seriously. Could she possibly marry a man who in so many words told her

that he didn't want her? Wellshe thought she could. Was not everybody treating everybody else much in

the same way? Had she not loved her Corsair trulyand how had he treated her? Had she not been true,

disinterested, and most affectionate to Frank Greystock; and what had she got from him? To manage her

business wisely, and put herself upon firm groundthat was her duty at present. Mrs Carbuncle was right

there. The very name of Lady Fawn would be a rock to herand she wanted a rock. She thought upon the

whole that she could marry himunless Patience Crabstick and the police should again interfere with her

Lady Eustace did not intend to take as much time in answering Lord Fawn's letter as he had taken in writing

it; but even she found that the subject was one which demanded a good deal of thought. Mrs Carbuncle had

very freely recommended her to take the man, supporting her advice by arguments which Lizzie felt to be

valid; but then Mrs Carbuncle did not know all the circumstances. Mrs Carbuncle had not actually seen his

lordship's letter; and, though the great part of the letter, the formal repetition, namely, of the writer's offer of

marriage, had been truly told to her, still, as the reader will have perceived, she had been kept in the dark as

to some of the details. Lizzie did sit at her desk with the object of putting a few words together in order that

she might see how they looked, and she found that there was a difficulty. ``My dear Lord Fawn. As we have

been engaged to marry each other, and as all our friends have been told, I think that the thing had better go

on.'' That, after various attempts, was, she thought, the best letter that she could sendif she should make up

her mind to be Lady Fawn. But, on the morning of the 30th of March she had not sent her letter. She had told

herself that she would take two days to think of her replyand, on the Friday morning the few words she

What was she to get by marrying a man she absolutely disliked? That he also absolutely disliked her was not

a matter much in her thoughts. The man would not illtreat her because he disliked her; or, it might perhaps

be juster to say, that the illtreatment which she might fairly anticipate would not be of a nature which would

much affect her comfort grievously. He would not beat her, nor rob her, nor lock her up, nor starve her. He

would either neglect her, or preach sermons to her. For the first she could console herself by the attention of

others; and should he preach, perhaps she could preach sermons tooas sharply if not as lengthily as his

lordship. At any rate, she was not afraid of him. But what would she gain? It is very well to have a rock, as

Mrs Carbuncle had said, but a rock is not everything. She did not know whether she cared much for living

upon a rock. Even stability may be purchased at too high a price. There was not a grain of poetry in the whole

composition of Lord Fawn, and poetry was what her very soul cravedpoetry, together with houses,

champagne, jewels, and admiration. Her income was still her own, and she did not quite see that the rock was

so absolutely necessary to her. Then she wrote another note to Lord Fawn, a specimen of a note, so that she

might have the opportunity of comparing the two. This note took her much longer than the one first written.

My LordI do not know how to acknowledge with sufficient humility the condescension and great kindness

of your lordship's letter. But perhaps its manly generosity is more conspicuous than either. The truth is, my

Lord, you want to escape from your engagement, but are too much afraid of the consequences to dare to do so

by any act of your owntherefore you throw it upon me. You are quite successful. I don't think you ever

` I am constrained to say, your lordship's scullion Should sooner be my husband than yourself.'

She was comparing the two answers together, very much in doubt as to which should be sent, when there

came a message to her by a man, whom she knew to be a policeman, though he did not announce himself as

such, and was dressed in plain clothes. Major Mackintosh sent his compliments to her, and would wait upon

her that afternoon at three o'clock, if she would have the kindness to receive him. At the first moment of

seeing the man she felt that after all the rock was what she wanted. Mrs Carbuncle was right. She had had

troubles and might have more, and the rock was the thing. But then the more certainly did she become

convinced of this by the presence of the major's messenger, the more clearly did she see the difficulty of

attaining the security which the rock offered. If this public exposure should fall upon her, Lord Fawn's

renewed offer, as she knew well, would stand for nothing. If once it were known that she had kept the

necklaceher own necklaceunder her pillow at Carlisle, he would want no further justification in

She was very uncivil to the messenger, and the more so because she found that the man bore her rudeness

without turning upon her and rending her. When she declared that the police had behaved very badly, and that

Major Mackintosh was inexcusable in troubling her again, and that she had ceased to care twopence about

the necklacethe man made no remonstrance to her petulance. He owned that the trouble was very great,

and the police very inefficient. He almost owned that the major was inexcusable. He did not care what he

owned so that he achieved his object. But, when Lizzie said that she could not see Major Mackintosh at three,

and objected equally to two, four, or five; then the courteous messenger from Scotland Yard did say a word to

make her understand that there must be a meetingand he hinted also that the major was doing a most

unusually goodnatured thing in coming to Hertford Street. Of course, Lizzie made the appointment. If the

As soon as the policeman was gone, she sat alone, with a manner very much changed from that which she

had worn since the arrival of Lord Fawn's letterwith a fresh weight of care upon her, greater perhaps than

she had ever hitherto borne. She had had bad momentswhen, for instance, she had been taken before the

magistrates at Carlisle, when she found the police in her house on her return from the theatre, and when Lord

George had forced her secret from her. But at each of these periods hope had come renewed, before despair

had crushed her. Now it seemed to her that the thing was done and that the game was over. This chief man of

the London police no doubt knew the whole story. If she could only already have climbed upon some rock, so

that there might be a man bound to defend hera man at any rate bound to put himself forward on her behalf

What should she do nowat this minute? She looked at her watch and found that it was already past one.

Mrs Carbuncle, as she knew, was closeted upstairs with Lucinda, whose wedding was fixed for the following

Monday. It was now Friday. Were she to call upon Mrs Carbuncle for aid, no aid would be forthcoming

unless she were to tell the whole truth. She almost thought that she would do so. But then, how great would

have been her indiscretion if, after all, when the major should come, she should discover that he did not know

the truth himself! That Mrs Carbuncle would keep her secret she did not for a moment think. She longed for

the comfort of some friend's counsel, but she found at last that she could not purchase it by telling everything

Might it not be possible that she should still run away? She did not know much of the law, but she thought

that they could not punish her for breaking an appointment even with a man so high in authority as Major

Mackintosh. She could leave a note saying that pressing business called her out. But whither should she go?

She thought of taking a cab to the House of Commons, finding her cousin, and telling him everything. It

would be so much better that he should see the major. But then, again, it might be that she should be mistaken

as to the amount of the major's information. After a while, she almost determined to fly off at once to

Scotland, leaving word that she was obliged to go instantly to her child. But there was no direct train to

Scotland before eight or nine in the evening, and during the intervening hours the police would have ample

time to find her. What, indeed, could she do with herself during these intervening hours? Ah, if she had but a

rock now, so that she need not be dependent altogether on the exercise of her own intellect!

Gradually the minutes passed by, and she became aware that she must face the major. Well! What had she

done? She had stolen nothing. She had taken no person's property. She had, indeed, been wickedly robbed,

and the police had done nothing to get back for her her property, as they were bound to have done. She would

take care to tell the major what she thought about the negligence of the police. The major should not have the

If it had not been for one word with which Lord George had stunned her ears, she could still have borne it

well. She had told a lieperhaps two or three lies. She knew that she had lied. But then people lie every day.

She would not have minded it much if she were simply to be called a liar. But he had told her that she would

be accused ofperjury. There was something frightful to her in the name. And there were, she knew not

what, dreadful penalties attached to it. Lord George had told her that she might be put in prisonwhether he

had said for years or for months she had forgotten. And she thought she had heard of people's property being

confiscated to the Crown when they had been made out to be guilty of certain great offences. Oh, how she

When three o'clock came, she had not started for Scotland or elsewhere, and at last she received the major.

Could she have thoroughly trusted the servant, she would have denied herself at the last moment, but she

feared that she might be betrayed, and she thought that her position would be rendered even worse than it was

at present by a futile attempt. She was sitting alone, pale, haggard, trembling, when Major Mackintosh was

shown into her room. It may be as well explained at once that, at this moment, the major knew, or thought

that he knew, every circumstance of the two robberies, and that his surmises were in every respect right. Miss

Crabstick and Mr Cann were in comfortable quarters, and were prepared to tell all that they could tell. Mr

Smiler was in durance, and Mr Benjamin was at Vienna, in the hands of the Austrian police, who were

prepared to give him up to those who desired his society in England, on the completion of certain legal

formalities. That Mr Benjamin and Mr Smiler would be prosecuted, the latter for the robbery and the former

for conspiracy to rob, and for receiving stolen goods, was a matter of course. But what was to be done with

Lady Eustace? That, at the present moment, was the prevailing trouble with the police. During the last three

weeks every precaution had been taken to keep the matter secret, and it is hardly too much to say, that

Lizzie's interests were handled not only with consideration but with tenderness.

``Lady Eustace,'' said the major, ``I am very sorry to trouble you. No doubt the man who called on you this

``Oh yes, I know who you arequite well.'' Lizzie made a great effort to speak without betraying her

consternation; but she was nearly prostrated. The major, however, hardly observed her, and was by no means

at ease himself in his effort to save her from unnecessary annoyance. He was a tall, thin, gaunt man of about

forty, with large, goodnatured eyesbut it was not till the interview was half over that Lizzie took courage

``Just so; I am come, you know, about the robbery which took place hereand the other robbery at Carlisle.''

``I have been so troubled about these horrid robberies! Sometimes I think they'll be the death of me.''

``We have had very clever people to deal with, Lady Eustaceand I fear that, even now, we shall never get

``I do not care about the property, siralthough it was all my own. Nobody has lost anything but myself; and

I really don't see why the thing should not die out, as I don't care about it. Whoever it is, they may have it

``We were bound to get to the bottom of it all, if we could; and I think that we haveat last. Perhaps, as you

``We have two persons in custody, Lady Eustace, whom we shall use as witnesses, and I am afraid we shall

have to call upon you alsoas a witness.'' It occurred to Lizzie that they could not lock her up in prison and

make her a witness too, but she said nothing. Then the major continued his speechand asked her the

question which was, in fact, alone material. ``Of course, Lady Eustace, you are not bound to say anything to

me unless you like itand you must understand that I by no means wish you to criminate yourself.''

``If you yourself have done anything wrong, I don't want to ask you to confess it.''

``I have had all my diamonds stolen, if you mean that. Perhaps it was wrong to have diamonds.''

``But to come to my questionI suppose we may take it for granted that the diamonds were in your desk

when the thieves made their entrance into this house, and broke the desk open, and stole the money out of it?''

Lizzie breathed so hardly, that she was quite unable to speak. The man's voice was very gentle and very

kindbut then how could she admit that one fact? All depended on that one fact. ``The woman Crabstick'',

said the major, ``has confessed, and will state on her oath that she saw the necklace in your hands in Hertford

Street, and that she saw it placed in the desk. She then gave information of this to Benjaminas she had

before given information as to your journey up from Scotlandand she was introduced to the two men

whom she let into the house. One of them, indeed, who will also give evidence for us, she had before met at

Carlisle. She then was present when the necklace was taken out of the desk. The man who opened the desk

and took it out, who also cut the door at Carlisle, will give evidence to the same effect. The man who carried

the necklace out of the house, and who broke open the box at Carlisle, will be triedas will also Benjamin,

who disposed of the diamonds. I have told you the whole story, as it has been told to me by the woman

Crabstick. Of course, you will deny the truth of it, if it be untrue.'' Lizzie sat with her eyes fixed upon the

floor, but said nothing. She could not speak. ``If you will allow me, Lady Eustace, to give you advicereally

``Or, at any rate, you believed that they were. There can be no doubt, I think, as to that. No one supposes that

``I did it in the morning before I started from Scotland. They frightened me by saying the box would be

``I should tell you, Lady Eustace, that I had not a doubt about this before I came here. For some time past I

have thought that it must be so; and latterly the confessions of two of the accomplices have made it certain to

me. One of the housebreakers and the jeweller will be tried for the felony, and I am afraid that you must

``What will they do to me, Major Mackintosh?'' Lizzie now for the first time looked up into his eyes, and felt

that they were kind. Could he be her rock? He did not speak to her like an enemyand then, too, he would

``Indeed I will do that,'' said Lizzienot aware that, after so many lies, it might be difficult to tell the truth.

``And you will probably be asked to repeat it, this way and that, in a manner that will be troublesome to you.

You see that here in London, and at Carlisle, you havegiven incorrect versions.''

``I know I have. But the necklace was my own. There was nothing dishonestwas there, Major Mackintosh?

When they came to me at Carlisle I was so confused that I hardly knew what to tell them. And when I had

The major was not so well acquainted with Lizzie as is the reader, and he pitied her. ``I can understand all

How much kinder he was than Lord George had been when she confessed the truth to him. Here would be a

rock! And such a handsome man as he was, toonot exactly a Corsair, as he was great in authority over the

London policebut a powerful, fine fellow, who would know what to do with swords and pistols as well as

any Corsairand one, too, no doubt, who would understand poetry! Any such dream, however, was

altogether unavailing, as the major had a wife at home and seven children. ``If you will only tell me what to

do, I will do it,'' she said, looking up into his face with entreaty, and pressing her hands together in

Then at great length, and with much patience, he explained to her what he would have her do. He thought

that, if she were summoned and used as a witness, there would be no attempt to prosecute her for

theincorrect versionsof which she had undoubtedly been guilty. The probability was, that she would

receive assurance to this effect before she would be asked to give her evidence, preparatory to the committal

of Benjamin and Smiler. He could not assure her that it would be so, but he had no doubt of it. In order,

however, that things might be made to run as smooth as possible, he recommended her very strongly to go at

once to Mr Camperdown and make a clean breast of it to him. ``The whole family should be told,'' said the

major, ``and it will be better for you that they should know it from yourself than from us.'' When she

hesitated, he explained to her that the matter could no longer be kept as a secret, and that her evidence would

certainly appear in the papers. He proposed that she should be summoned for that day weekwhich would

be the Friday after Lucinda's marriage, and he suggested that she should go to Mr Camperdown's on the

``My dear Lady Eustace,'' said the major, ``the sooner you get back into straight running, the sooner you will

be comfortable.'' Then she promised that she would go on the Tuesdaythe day after the marriage. ``If he

``Tell me one thing, Major Mackintosh,'' she said, as she gave him her hand at parting``they can't take

``I don't think they can,'' said the major, escaping rather quickly from the room.

The Saturday and the Sunday Lizzie passed in outward tranquillity, though, doubtless, her mind was greatly

disturbed. She said nothing of what had passed between her and Major Mackintosh, explaining that his visit

had been made solely with the object of informing her that Mr Benjamin was to be sent home from Vienna,

but that the diamonds were gone for ever. She had, as she declared to herself, agreed with Major Mackintosh

that she would not go to Mr Camperdown till the Tuesdayjustifying her delay by her solicitude in

reference to Miss Roanoke's marriage; and therefore these two days were her own. After them would come a

totally altered phase of existence. All the world would know the history of the diamondscousin Frank, and

Lord Fawn, and John Eustace, and Mrs Carbuncle, and the Bobsborough people, and Lady Glencora, and that

old vulturess, her aunt, the Countess of Linlithgow. It must come nowbut she had two days in which she

could be quiet and think of her position. She would, she thought, send one of her letters to Lord Fawn before

she went to Mr Camperdownbut which should she send? Or should she write a third explaining the whole

matter in sweetly piteous feminine terms, and swearing that the only remaining feeling in her bosom was a

In the meantime the preparations for the great marriage went on. Mrs Carbuncle spent her time busily

between Lucinda's bedchamber and the banqueting hall in Albemarle Street. In spite of pecuniary difficulties

the trousseau was to be a wonder; and even Lizzie was astonished at the jewellery which that indefatigable

woman had collected together for a preliminary show in Hertford Street. She had spent hours at Howell and

James's, and had made marvellous bargains there and elsewhere. Things were sent for selection, of which the

greater portion were to be returned, but all were kept for the show. The same things which were shown to

separate friends in Hertford Street as part of the trousseau on Friday and Saturday, were carried over to

Albemarle Street on the Sunday, so as to add to the quasipublic exhibition of presents on the Monday. The

money expended had gone very far. The most had been made of a failing credit. Every particle of friendly

generosity had been so manipulated as to add to the external magnificence. And Mrs Carbuncle had done all

this without any help from Lucindain the midst of most contemptuous indifference on Lucinda's part. She

could hardly be got to allow the milliners to fit the dresses to her body, and positively refused to thrust her

feet into certain goldenheeled boots with brightlybronzed toes, which were a great feature among the

raiment. Nobody knew it except Mrs Carbuncle and the maideven Lizzie Eustace did not know itbut

once the bride absolutely ran amok among the finery, scattering the laces here and there, pitching the

gloveboxes under the bed, chucking the goldenheeled boots into the fireplace, and exhibiting quite a

tempest of fury against one of the finest shows of petticoats ever arranged with a view to the admiration and

envy of female friends. But all this Mrs Carbuncle bore, and still persevered. The thing was so nearly done

now that she could endure to persevere though the provocation to abandon it was so great. She had even

ceased to find fault with her niecebut went on in silence counting the hours till the trouble should be taken

off her own shoulders and placed on those of Sir Griffin. It was a great thing to her, almost more than she had

expected, that neither Lucinda nor Sir Griffin should have positively declined the marriage. It was impossible

Luckily for Mrs Carbuncle, Sir Griffin took delight in the show. He did this after a bearish fashion, putting

his finger upon little flaws with an intelligence for which Mrs Carbuncle had not hitherto given him credit.

As to certain ornaments, he observed that the silver was plated and the gold ormolu. A ``rope'' of pearls he at

once detected as being falseand after fingering certain lace he turned up his nose and shook his head. Then,

on the Sunday, in Albemarle Street, he pointed out to Mrs Carbuncle sundry articles which he had seen in the

bedroom on the Saturday. ``But, my dear Sir Griffinthat's of course,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. ``Ohthat's of

course, is it?'' said Sir Griffin, turning up his nose again. ``Where did that Delph bowl come from?'' ``It is one

of Mortlock's finest Etruscan vases,'' said Mrs Carbuncle. ``OhI thought that Etruscan vases came

fromfrom somewhere in Greece or Italy,'' said Sir Griffin. ``I declare that you are shocking,'' said Mrs

He passed hours of the Sunday in Hertford Street, and Lord George also was there for some time. Lizzie, who

could hardly devote her mind to the affairs of the wedding, remained alone in her own sittingroom during

the greater part of the daybut she did show herself while Lord George was there. ``So I hear that

``And what did he say?'' Lizzie did not like the way in which the man looked at her, feeling it to be not only

unfriendly, but absolutely cruel. It seemed to imply that he knew that her secret was about to be divulged.

And what was he to her now that he should be impertinent to her? What he knew, all the world would know

before the end of the week. And that other man who knew it already, had been kind to her, had said nothing

about perjury, but had explained to her that what she would have to bear would be trouble, and not

imprisonment and loss of money. Lord George, to whom she had been so civil, for whom she had spent

money, to whom she had almost offered herself and all that she possessedLord George, whom she had

selected as the first repository of her secret, had spoken no word to comfort her, but had made things look

worse for her than they were. Why should she submit to be questioned by Lord George? In a day or two the

secret which he knew would be no secret. ``Never mind what he said, Lord George,'' she replied.

``You had better go and ask himself,'' said Lizzie. ``I am sick of the subject, and I mean to have done with it.''

``I declare'', said Mrs Carbuncle, ``that you two who were such friends, are always snapping at each other

``The fickleness is all on her l Mrs Carbuncle,not on mine,'' said Lord George; whereupon Lady Eustace

Soon afterwards Lucinda also endeavoured to escape, but to this Sir Griffin objected. Sir Griffin was in a

very good humour, and bore himself like a prosperous bridegroom. ``Come, Luce,'' he said, ``get off your

``I'll be shot if you shall,'' said Sir Griffin. ``Luce, sit in my lap, and give me a kiss.''

At this moment Lord George and Mrs Carbuncle were in the front drawingroom, and Lord George was

telling her the true story as to the necklace. It must be explained on his behalf that in doing this he did not

consider that he was betraying the trust reposed in him. ``They know all about it in Scotland Yard,'' he said;

``I got it from Gager. They were bound to tell me, as up to this week past every man in the police thought that

I had been the mastermind among the thieves. When I think of it I hardly know whether to laugh or cry.''

``Yesin this house! Did you ever hear of such a little cat? I could tell you more than that. She wanted me to

``She did thoughand now see the way she treats me! Never mind. Don't say a word to her about it till it

``Arrested!'' Mrs Carbuncle's further exclamations were stopped by Lucinda's struggles in the other room. She

had declined to sit upon the bridegroom's lap, but had acknowledged that she was bound to submit to be

kissed. He had kissed her, and then had striven to drag her on to his knee. But she was strong, and had

resisted violently, and, as he afterwards said, had struck him savagely. ``Of course I struck him,'' said

``Byyou shall pay for it!'' said Sir Griffin. This took place in the presence of Lord George and Mrs

``The idea of complaining that a girl hit youand the girl who is to be your wife!'' said Lord George, as they

``I know what to complain of, and what not,'' said Sir Griffin. ``Are you going to let me have that money?''

``NoI am not,'' said Lord George``so there's an end of that.'' Nevertheless, they dined together at their

This happened on the Sunday, on which day none of the ladies had gone to church. Mr Emilius well

understood the cause of their absence, and felt nothing of a parson's anger at it. He was to marry the couple

on the Monday morning, and dined with the ladies on the Sunday. He was peculiarly gracious and smiling,

and spoke of the Hymeneals as though they were even more than ordinarily joyful and happy in their

promise. To Lizzie he was almost affectionate, and Mrs Carbuncle he flattered to the top of her bent. The

power of the man in being sprightly under such a load of trouble as oppressed the household, was wonderful.

He had to do with three women who were worldly, hard, and given entirely to evil things. Even as regarded

the bride, who felt the horror of her position, so much must be in truth admitted. Though from day to day and

hour to hour she would openly declare her hatred of the things around heryet she went on. Since she had

entered upon life she had known nothing but falsehood and scheming wickednessand, though she rebelled

against the consequences, she had not rebelled against the wickedness. Now to this unfortunate young woman

and her two companions, Mr Emilius discoursed with an unctuous mixture of celestial and terrestrial

glorification, which was proof, at any rate, of great ability on his part. He told them how a good wife was a

crown, or rather a chaplet of aetherial roses, to her husband, and how high rank and great station in the world

made such a chaplet more beautiful and more valuable. His work in the vineyard, he said, had fallen lately

among the wealthy and nobly born; and though he would not say that he was entitled to take glory on that

account, still he gave thanks daily in that he had been enabled to give his humble assistance towards the

running of a godly life to those who, by their example, were enabled to have so wide an effect upon their

poorer fellowcreatures. He knew well how difficult it was for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

They had the highest possible authority for that. But Scripture never said that the camelwhich, as he

explained it, was simply a thread larger than ordinary threadcould not go through the needle's eye. The

camel which succeeded, in spite of the difficulties attending its exalted position, would be peculiarly blessed.

And he went on to suggest that the three ladies before him, one of whom was about to enter upon a new phase

of life tomorrow, under auspices peculiarly propitious, were, all of them, camels of this description. Sir

Griffin, when he came in, received for a while the peculiar attention of Mr Emilius. ``I think, Sir Griffin,'' he

commenced, ``that no period of a man's life is so blessed, as that upon which you will enter tomorrow.'' This

``Well, after all, what is life till a man has met and obtained the partner of his soul? It is a blankand the

``I wonder you don't get married yourself,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, who perceived that Sir Griffin was rather

``Ah!if one could always be fortunate when one loved!'' said Mr Emilius, casting his eyes across to Lizzie

Eustace. It was evident to them all that he did not wish to conceal his passion.

It was the object of Mrs Carbuncle that the lovers should not be left alone together, but that they should be

made to think that they were passing the evening in affectionate intercourse. Lucinda hardly spoke, hardly

had spoken since her disagreeable struggle with Sir Griffin. He said but little, but with Mrs Carbuncle was

better humoured than usual. Every now and then she made little whispered communications to him, telling

that they would be sure to be at the church at eleven to the moment, explaining to him what would be the

extent of Lucinda's boxes for the wedding tour, assuring him that he would find Lucinda's new maid a

treasure in regard to his own shirts and pockethandkerchiefs. She toiled marvellously at little subjects,

always making some allusion to Lucinda, and never hinting that aught short of Elysium was in store for him.

The labour was great; the task was terrible; but now it was so nearly over! And to Lizzie she was very

courteous, never hinting by a word or a look that there was any new trouble impending on the score of the

diamonds. She, too, as she received the greasy compliments of Mr Emilius with pretty smiles, had her mind

At last Sir Griffin went, again kissing his bride as he left. Lucinda accepted his embrace without a word and

almost without a shudder. ``Eleven to the moment, Sir Griffin,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, with her best

goodhumour. ``All right,'' said Sir Griffin as he passed out of the door. Lucinda walked across the room, and

kept her eyes fixed on his retreating figure as he descended the stairs. Mr Emilius had already departed, with

many promises of punctuality, and Lizzie now withdrew for the night. ``Dear Lizzie, goodnight,'' said Mrs

``Goodnight, Lady Eustace,'' said Lucinda. ``I suppose I shall see you tomorrow?''

``See me!Of course you will see me. I shall come into your room with the girls, after you have had your

tea.'' The girls mentioned were the four bridesmaids, as to whom there had been some difficulty, as Lucinda

had neither sister nor cousins, and had contracted no peculiarly tender friendships. But Mrs Carbuncle had

arranged it, and four properlyequipped young ladies were to be in attendance at ten on the morrow.

Then Lucinda and Mrs Carbuncle were alone. ``Of one thing I feel sure,'' said Lucinda in a low voice.

``You talk in that way on purpose to break me down at the last moment,'' said Mrs Carbuncle.

``Dear Aunt Jane, I would not break you down if I could help it. I have struggled so hardsimply that you

might be freed from me. We have been very foolish, both of us; but I would bear all the punishmentif I

``Very well. I only tell you. I know that I shall never see him again. I will never trust myself alone in his

presence. I could not do it. When he touches me my whole body is in agony. To be kissed by him is

``Lucinda, this is very wicked. You are working yourself up to a paroxysm of folly.''

``Wickedyes, I know that I am wicked. There has been enough of wickedness certainly. You don't suppose

``I shall never be married to him. How I shall escape from himby dying, or going mador by destroying

him, God only knows.'' Then she paused, and her aunt looking into her face almost began to fear that she was

in earnest. But she would not take it as at all indicating any real result for the morrow. The girl had often said

nearly the same thing before, and had still submitted. ``Do you know, Aunt Jane, I don't think I could feel to

any man as though I loved him. But for this manOh God, how I do detest him! I cannot do it.''

``Oh, no. I have ever so many things to do. I have papers to burn, and things to put away. But come to me at

eight. Goodnight, Aunt Jane.'' Mrs Carbuncle went up to her room with her, kissed her affectionately, and

She was now really frightened. What would be said of her if she should press the marriage forward to a

completion, and if after that some terrible tragedy should take place between the bride and bridegroom? That

Lucinda, in spite of all that had been said, would stand at the altar, and allow the ceremony to be performed,

she still believed. Those last words about burning papers and putting things away, seemed to imply that the

girl still thought that she would be taken away from her present home on the morrow. But what would come

afterwards? The horror which the bride expressed was, as Mrs Carbuncle well knew, no mock feeling, no

pretence at antipathy. She tried to think of it, and to realise what might in truth be the girl's action and

ultimate fate when she should find herself in the power of this man whom she so hated. But had not other

girls done the same thing, and lived through it all, and become fat, indifferent, and fond of the world? It is

At any rate, the thing must go on nowmust go on, whatever might be the result to Lucinda or to Mrs

Carbuncle herself. Yes; it must go on. There was, no doubt, very much of bitterness in the world for such as

themfor persons doomed by the necessities of their position to a continual struggle. It always had been so,

and always would be so. But each bitter cup must be drained in the hope that the next might be sweeter. Of

More than once in the night Mrs Carbuncle crept up to the door of her niece's room, endeavouring to

ascertain what might be going on within. At two o'clock, while she was on the landing, the candle was

extinguished, and she could hear that Lucinda put herself to bed. At any rate, so far, things were safe. An

indistinct, incompleted idea of some possible tragedy had flitted across the mind of the poor woman, causing

her to shake and tremble, forbidding her, weary as she was, to lie downbut now she told herself at last that

this was an idle phantasy, and she went to bed. Of course Lucinda must go through with it. It had been her

own doing, and Sir Griffin was not worse than other men. As she said this to herself, Mrs Carbuncle hardened

her heart by remembering that her own married life had not been peculiarly happy.

Exactly at eight on the following morning she knocked at her niece's door, and was at once bidden to enter.

``Come in, Aunt Jane.'' The words cheered her wonderfully. At any rate, there had been no tragedy as yet, and

as she turned the handle of the door, she felt that, as a matter of course, the marriage would go on just like

any other marriage. She found Lucinda up and dressedbut so dressed as certainly to show no preparation

for a wedding toilet. She had on an ordinary stuff morning frock, and her hair was close tucked up and

pinned, as it might have been had she already prepared herself for a journey. But what astonished Mrs

Carbuncle more than the dress was the girl's manner. She was sitting at a table with a book before her, which

was afterwards found to be the Bible, and she never turned her head as her aunt entered the room. ``What, up

``Yes; I am upand dressed. I have been up ever so long. How was I to lie in bed on such a morning as this?

Aunt Jane, I wish you to know as soon as possible that no earthly consideration will induce me to leave this

``Very wellall the same you might as well believe me. I want you to send to Mr Emilius, and to those

girlsand to the man. And you had better get Lord George to let the other people know. I'm quite in

And she was in earnestquite in earnest, though there was a flightiness about her manner which induced

Mrs Carbuncle for awhile to think that she was less so than she had been on the previous evening. The

unfortunate woman remained with her niece for an hour and a half, imploring, threatening, scolding, and

weeping. When the maids came to the door, first one maid and then another, they were refused entrance. It

might still be possible, Mrs Carbuncle thought, that she would prevail. But nothing now could shake Lucinda

or induce her even to discuss the subject. She sat there looking steadfastly at the bookhardly answering,

never defending herself, but protesting that nothing should induce her to leave the room on that day. ``Do you

At halfpast nine Lizzie Eustace came to the room, and Mrs Carbuncle, in her trouble, thought it better to

take other counsel. Lizzie, therefore, was admitted. ``Is anything wrong?'' asked Lizzie.

``Pray speak to her, Lady Eustace. You see it is getting so late, and she ought to be nearly dressed now. Of

``Let them waittill they're tired. If Aunt Jane doesn't choose to send, it is not my fault. I shan't go out of

this room today unless I am carried out. Do you want to hear that I have murdered the man?''

They brought her tea, and endeavoured to induce her to eat and drink. She would take the tea, she said, if they

would promise to send to put the people off. Mrs Carbuncle so far gave way as to undertake to do so, if she

would name the next day or the day following for the wedding. But, on hearing this, she arose almost in a

majesty of wrath. Neither on this day, or on the next, or on any following day, would she yield herself to the

wretch whom they had endeavoured to force upon her. ``She must do it, you know,'' said Mrs Carbuncle,

turning to Lizzie. ``You'll see if I must,'' said Lucinda, sitting square at the table, with her eyes firmly fixed

Then came up the servant to say that the four bridesmaids were all assembled in the drawingroom. When

she heard this, even Mrs Carbuncle gave way, and threw herself upon the bed and wept. ``Oh, Lady Eustace,

what are we to do? Lucinda, you have destroyed me. You have destroyed me altogether, after all that I have

Something must be settled. All the servants in the house by this time knew that there would be no wedding,

and no doubt some tidings as to the misadventure of the day had already reached the four ladies in the

``I really think you had better send to Mr Emilius,'' said Lizzie``and to Lord George.''

``What am I to say? Who is there to go? OhI wish that somebody would kill me this minute! Lady Eustace,

``Oh yessend anybody everywhere. I don't know what to do. Oh, Lucinda, this is the unkindest and the

wickedest and the most horrible thing that anybody ever did! I shall never, never be able to hold up my head

again.'' Mrs Carbuncle was completely prostrate, but Lucinda sat square at the table, firm as a rock, saying

Lady Eustace carried her message to the astonished and indignant bridesmaids, and succeeded in sending

them back to their respective homes. Richard, glorious in new livery, forgetting that his flowers were still on

his breastready dressed to attend the bride's carriagewent with his sad message, first to the church and

``Not any wedding?'' said the head waiter at the hotel. ``I knew they was folks as would have a screw loose

somewhere. There's lots to stand for the bill, anyways,'' he added, as he remembered all the tribute.

No attempt was made to send other messages from Hertford Street than those which were taken to the church

and to the hotel. Sir Griffin and Lord George went together to the church in a brougham, and, on the way, the

best man rather ridiculed the change in life which he supposed that his friend was about to make. ``I don't in

``It's that old woman that you're so fond of,'' said Sir Griffin. ``I don't mean to have any illhumour from my

``Upon my word, I think you'll have your hands full,'' said Lord George. They got out at a sort of private door

attached to the chapel, and were there received by the clerk, who wore a very long face. The news had

already come, and had been communicated to Mr Emilius, who was in the vestry. ``Are the ladies here yet?''

asked Lord George. The woebegone clerk told them that the ladies were not yet there, and suggested that they

should see Mr Emilius. Into the presence of Mr Emilius they were led, and then they heard the truth.

``Sir Griffin,'' said Mr Emilius, holding the baronet by the hand, ``I'm sorry to have to tell you that there's

``You don't mean to say that Miss Roanoke is not to be here?'' demanded Lord George. ``By George, I

``I can only tell you what I know, Lord George. Mrs Carbuncle's servant was here ten minutes since, Sir

``He said that Miss Roanoke had changed her mind, and didn't mean to be married at all. That's all that I can

learn from what he says. Perhaps you will think it best to go up to Hertford Street?''

``I am not in the least surprised,'' repeated Lord George. ``Tewett, my boy, we might as well go home to

``I knew that I should be taken in at last by that accursed woman,'' said Sir Griffin.

``It wasn't Mrs Carbuncle, if you mean that. She'd have given her left hand to have had it completed. I rather

think you've had an escape, Griff; and if I were you, I'd make the best of it.'' Sir Griffin spoke not another

word, but left the church with his friend in the brougham that had brought them, and so he disappears from

our story. Mr Emilius looked after him with wistful eyes, regretful for his fee. Had the bayonet been less

coarse and violent in his language he would have asked for it; but he feared that he might be cursed in his

own church, before his clerk, and abstained. Late in the afternoon Lord George, when he had administered

comfort to the disappointed bridegroom in the shape of a hot lunch, Curaoa, and cigars, walked up to

Hertford Street, calling at the hotel in Albemarle Street on the way. The waiter told him all that he knew.

Some thirty or forty guests had come to the wedding banquet, and had all been sent away with tidings that the

marriage had beenpostponed. ``You might have told 'em a trifle more than that,'' said Lord George.

``Postponed was pleasantest, my lord,'' said the waiter. ``Anyways, that was said, and we supposes, my lord,

as the things ain't wanted now.'' Lord George replied that, as far as he knew, the things were not wanted, and

At first he saw Lizzie Eustace, upon whom the misfortune of the day had had a most depressing effect. The

wedding was to have been the one morsel of pleasing excitement which would come before she underwent

the humble penance to which she was doomed. That was frustrated and abandoned, and now she could think

only of Mr Camperdown, her cousin Frank, and Lady Glencora Palliser. ``What's up now?'' said Lord

George, with that disrespect which had always accompanied his treatment of her since she had told him her

``I must know a good deal if I do. It seems that among you there is nothing but one trick upon another.''

``I suppose you are speaking of your own friends, Lord George. You doubtless know much more than I do of

He did send for Mrs Carbuncle, and after some words with her, was taken up into Lucinda's room. There sat

the unfortunate girl, in the chair from which she had not moved since the morning. There had come over her

face a look of fixed but almost idiotic resolution; her mouth was compressed, and her eyes were glazed, and

she sat twiddling her book before her with her fingers. She had eaten nothing since she had got up, and had

long ceased to be violent when questioned by her aunt. But, nevertheless, she was firm enough when her aunt

begged to be allowed to write a letter to Sir Griffin, explaining that all this had arisen from temporary

indisposition. ``No; it isn't temporary. It isn't temporary at all. You can write to him; but I'll never come out

``What is all this about, Lucinda?'' said Lord George, speaking in his kindest voice.

``You're sure he's not there. It's no good his coming. If he comes for ever and ever he shall never touch me

againnot alive; he shall never touch me again alive.'' As she spoke she moved across the room to the

``Don't let him come here, then; that's all. What's the use? They can't make me marry him. And I won't marry

him. Everybody has known that I hated himdetested him. Oh, Lord George, it has been very, very cruel.''

``She wouldn't have done it if you had told her not. But you won't bring him againwill you?''

``Ahyes; that will be best. Let him go abroad. He knew it, all the timethat I hated him. Why did he want

me to be his wife? If he has gone abroad, I will go downstairs. But I won't go out of the house. Nothing shall

``It is my belief'', said Lord George to Mrs Carbuncle, some minutes afterwards, ``that you have driven her

``It is true. How you have had the heart to go on pressing it upon her, I could never understand, I am about as

hard as a milestone, but I'll be shot if I could have done it. From day to day I thought that you would have

``That is so like a manwhen it is all over, to turn upon a woman and say that she did it.''

``Didn't you do it? I thought you did, and that you took a great deal of pride in the doing of it. When you

made him offer to her down in Scotland, and made her accept him, you were so proud that you could hardly

hold yourself. What will you do now? Go on just as though nothing had happened?''

``I should think there wouldand you can hardly expect Sir Griffin to pay for them. You'll have to take her

away somewhere. You'll find that she can't remain here. And that other woman will be in prison before the

There was not much of comfort to be obtained by any of them from Lord George, who was quite as harsh to

Mrs Carbuncle as he had been to Lizzie Eustace. He remained in Hertford Street for an hour, and then took

his leave, saying that he thought that he also should go abroad. ``I didn't think,'' he said, ``that anything could

have hurt my character much; but, upon my word, between you and Lady Eustace, I begin to find that in

every deep there may be a lower depth. All the town has given me credit for stealing her ladyship's necklace,

and now I shall be mixed up in this mock marriage. I shouldn't wonder if Rooper were to send his bill in to

me,''Mr Rooper was the keeper of the hotel in Albemarle Street``I think I shall follow Sir Griffin

The evening of that day was a terrible time to the three ladies in Hertford Streetand the following day was

almost worse. Nobody came to see them, and not one of them dared to speak of the future. For the third day,

the Wednesday, Lady Eustace had made her appointment with Mr Camperdown, having written to the

attorney, in compliance with the pressing advice of Major Mackintosh, to name an hour. Mr Camperdown

had written again, sending his compliments, and saying that he would receive Lady Eustace at the time fixed

by her. The prospect of this interview was very bad, but even this was hardly so oppressive as the actual

existing wretchedness of that house. Mrs Carbuncle, whom Lizzie had always known as highspirited, bold,

and almost domineering, was altogether prostrated by her misfortunes. She was querulous, lachrymose, and

utterly despondent. From what Lizzie now learned, her hostess was enveloped in a mass of debt which would

have been hopeless, even had Lucinda gone off as a bride, but she had been willing to face all that with the

object of establishing her niece. She could have expected nothing from the marriage for herself. She well

knew that Sir Griffin would neither pay her debts nor give her a home nor lend her money. But to have

married the girl who was in her charge would have been in itself a success, and would have in some sort

repaid her for her trouble. There would have been something left to show for her expenditure of time and

money. But now there was nothing around her but failure and dismay. The very servants in the house seemed

As to Lucinda, Lizzie felt, from the very hour in which she first saw her on the morning of the intended

wedding, that her mind was astray. She insisted on passing the time up in her own room, and always sat with

the Bible before her. At every knock at the door, or ring at the bell, she would look round suspiciously, and

once she whispered into Lizzie's ear that, if ever ``he'' should come there again, she would ``give him a kiss

with a vengeance''. On the Tuesday, Lizzie recommended Mrs Carbuncle to get medical adviceand at last

they sent for Mr Emilius that they might ask counsel of him. Mr Emilius was full of smiles and consolation,

and still allowed his golden hopes as to some Elysian future to crop outbut he did acknowledge at last, in a

whispered conference with Lady Eustace, that somebody ought to see Miss Roanoke. Somebody did see Miss

Roanokeand the doctor who was thus appealed to shook his head. Perhaps Miss Roanoke had better be

``Dear Lady Eustace,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, ``now you can be a friend indeed,''meaning, of course, that an

invitation to Portray Castle would do more than could anything else towards making straight the crooked

things of the hour. Mrs Carbuncle, when she made the request, of course knew of Lizzie's coming

troublesbut let them do what they could to Lizzie, they could not take away her house.

But Lizzie felt at once that this would not suit. ``Ah, Mrs Carbuncle,'' she said. ``You do not know the

Early on the Wednesday morning, two or three hours before the time fixed for Lizzie's visit to Mr

Camperdown, her cousin Frank came to call upon her. She presumed him to be altogether ignorant of all that

Major Mackintosh had known, and therefore endeavoured to receive him as though her heart were light.

``I have heard so much,'' said he gravely, ``that I hardly know what to believe and what not to believe.''

Then Lizzie, with affected eagerness, gave him a description of the whole affair, declaring how horrible, how

tragic, the thing had been from its very commencement. ``Don't you remember, Frank, down at Portray, they

never really cared for each other? They became engaged the very time you were there.''

``The truth is, Lucinda Roanoke did not understand what real love means. She had never taught herself to

comprehend what is the very essence of loveand as for Sir Griffin Tewett, though he was anxious to marry

her, he never had any idea of love at all. Did not you always feel that, Frank?''

``There's no help for spilt milk, Frank; and, as for that, I don't suppose that Mrs Carbuncle can do me any

harm. The man is a baronet, and the marriage would have been respectable. Miss Roanoke has been eccentric,

and that has been the long and the short of it. What will be done, Frank, with all the presents that were

``I haven't an idea. They'd better be sold to pay the bills. But I came to you, Lizzie, about another piece of

``What piece of business?'' she asked, looking him in the face for a moment, trying to be bold, but trembling

as she did so. She had believed him to be ignorant of her story, but she had soon perceived, from his manner

to her, that he knew it allor, at least, that he knew so much that she would have to tell him all the rest.

There could be no longer any secret with him. Indeed there could be no longer any secret with anybody. She

must be prepared to encounter a world accurately informed as to every detail of the business which, for the

last three months, had been to her a burden so oppressive that, at some periods, she had sunk altogether under

the weight. She had already endeavoured to realise her position, and to make clear to herself the condition of

her future life. Lord George had talked to her of perjury and prison, and had tried to frighten her by making

the very worst of her faults. According to him she would certainly be made to pay for the diamonds, and

would be enabled to do so by saving her income during a long term of incarceration. This was a terrible

prospect of thingsand she had almost believed in it. Then the major had come to her. The major, she

thought, was the truest gentleman she had ever seen, and her best friend. Ahif it had not been for the wife

and seven children, there might still have been comfort! That which had been perjury with Lord George, had

by the major been so simply, and yet so correctly, called an incorrect version of facts! And so it wasand no

more than that. Lizzie, in defending herself to herself, felt that, though cruel magistrates and hardhearted

lawyers and pigheaded jurymen might call her little fault by the name of perjury, it could not be real,

wicked perjury, because the diamonds had been her own. She had defrauded nobodyhad wished to defraud

nobodyif only the people would have left her alone. It had suited her to givean incorrect version of

facts, because people had troubled themselves about her affairs; and now all this had come upon her! The

major had comforted her very greatly; but stillwhat would the world say? Even he, kind and comfortable

as he had been, had made her understand that she must go into court and confess the incorrectness of her own

version. She believed every word the major said. Ah, there was a man worthy to be believeda man of men!

They could not take away her income or her castle. They could not make her pay for the diamonds. But

stillwhat would the world say? And what would her lovers say? What one of her lovers thought proper to

say, she had already heard. Lord George had spoken out, and had made himself very disagreeable. Lord

Fawn, she knew, would withdraw the renewal of his offer, let her answer to him be what it might. But what

would Frank say? And now Frank was with her, looking into her face with severe eyes.

She was more than ever convinced that the life of a widow was not suited for her, and that, among her several

lovers, she must settle her wealth and her heart upon some special lover. Neither her wealth nor her heart

would be in any way injured by the confession which she was prepared to make. But then men are so timid,

so false, and so blind! In regard to Frank, whom she now believed that she had loved with all the warmth of

her young affections from the first moment in which she had seen him after Sir Florian's deathshe had

been at great trouble to clear the way for him. She knew of his silly engagement to Lucy Morris, and was

willing to forgive him that offence. She knew that he could not marry Lucy, because of her pennilessness and

his indebtedness; and therefore she had taken the trouble to see Lucy with the view of making things straight

on that side. Lucy had, of course, been rough with her, and illmannered, but Lizzie thought that, upon the

whole, she had succeeded. Lucy was rough and illmannered, but was, at the same time, what the world calls

good, and would hardly persevere after what had been said to her. Lizzie was sure that, a month since, her

cousin would have yielded himself to her willingly, if he could only have freed himself from Lucy Morris.

But now, just in this very nick of time, which was so momentous to her, the police had succeeded in

unravelling her secret, and there sat Frank, looking at her with stern, illnatured eyes, like an enemy rather

``What piece of business?'' she asked, in answer to his question. She must be boldif she could. She must

brazen it out with him, if only she could be strong enough to put on her brass in his presence. He had been so

stupidly chivalrous in believing all her stories about the robbery when nobody else had quite believed them,

that she felt that she had before her a task that was very disagreeable and very difficult. She looked up at him,

struggling to be bold, and then her glance sank before his gaze and fell upon the floor.

Secrets from him! Some such exclamation was on her lips, when she remembered that her special business, at

the present moment, was to acknowledge a secret which had been kept from him. ``It is unkind of you to

``I am quite in earnest. I do not wish to pry into your secrets. But I hear rumours which seem to be

``Ohwhatever happens, pray, pray do not stay away from me. Where am I to look for advice if you stay

``Major Mackintosh was here, about the end of last weeka most kind man, altogether a gentleman, and I

``What made him come?'' How should she tell her story? ``Oh, he came, of course, about the robbery. They

have found out everything. It was the jeweller, Benjamin, who concocted it all. That horrid sly girl I had,

Patience Crabstick, put him up to it. And there were two regular housebreakers. They have found it all out at

``Oh yesthose weary, weary diamonds. Do you know, Frank, that, though they were my own, as much as

the coat you wear is your own, I am glad they are gone. I am glad that the police have not found them. They

tormented me so that I hated them. Don't you remember that I told you how I longed to throw them into the

That, of course, was the question which hitherto Lizzie Eustace had answered by an incorrect version of facts,

and now she must give the true version. She tried to put a bold face upon it, but it was very difficult. A face

bold with brass she could not assume. Perhaps a little bit of acting might serve her turn, and a face that should

be tender rather than bold. ``Oh, Frank!'' she exclaimed, bursting out into tears.

``I always supposed that they were taken at Carlisle,'' said Frank. Lizzie fell on her knees, at his feet, with her

hands clasped together, and her one long lock of hair hanging down so as to touch his arm. Her eyes were

bright with tears, but were not, as yet, wet and red with weeping. Was not this confession enough? Was he so

hardhearted as to make her tell her own disgrace in spoken words? Of course he knew well enough now,

when the diamonds had been stolen. If he were possessed of any tenderness, any tact, any manliness, he

``I don't quite understand it all,'' he said, laying his hand softly upon her shoulder. ``I have been led to make

so many statements to other people, which now seem to have beenincorrect! It was only the box that was

``I suppose so. But, oh, Frank! don't crossquestion me about it. If you could know what I have suffered, you

would not punish me any more. I have got to go to Mr Camperdown's this very day. I offered to do that at

once, and I shan't have strength to go through it if you are not kind to me now. Dear, dear Frankdo be kind

And he was kind to her. He lifted her up to the sofa and did not ask her another question about the necklace.

Of course she had lied to him and to all the world. From the very commencement of his intimacy with her, he

had known that she was a liar, and what else could he have expected but lies? As it happened, this particular

lie had been very big, very efficacious, and the cause of boundless troubles. It had been wholly unnecessary,

and, from the first, though injurious to many, more injurious to her than to any other. He himself had been

injured, but it seemed to him now that she had absolutely ruined herself. And all this had been done for

nothinghad been done, as he thought, that Mr Camperdown might be kept in the dark, whereas all the light

in the world would have assisted Mr Camperdown nothing. He brought to mind, as he stood over her, all

those scenes which she had so successfully performed in his presence since she had come to Londonscenes

in which the robbery in Carlisle had been discussed between them. She had on these occasions freely

expressed her opinion about the necklace, saying, in a low whisper, with a pretty little shrug of her shoulders,

that she presumed it to be impossible that Lord George should have been concerned in the robbery. Frank had

felt, as she said so, that some suspicion was intended by her to be attached to Lord George. She had wondered

whether Mr Camperdown had known anything about it. She had hoped that Lord Fawn would now be

satisfied. She had been quite convinced that Mr Benjamin had the diamonds. She had been indignant that the

police had not traced the property. She had asked in another whispera very low whisper indeedwhether

it was possible that Mrs Carbuncle should know more about it than she was pleased to tell? And all the while

the necklace had been lying in her own desk, and she had put it there with her own hands!

It was marvellous to him that the woman could have been so false and have sustained her falsehood so well.

And this was his cousin, his wellbelovedas a cousin, certainly wellbeloved; and there had, doubtless,

been times in which he had thought that he would make her his wife! He could not but smile as he stood

looking at her, contemplating all the confusion which she had caused, and thinking how very little the

disclosure of her iniquity seemed to confound herself. ``Oh, Frank, do not laugh at me,'' she said.

``Ahthat is difficult; is it not? You see I hardly know all the truth yet. I do not want to know morebut

``Major Mackintosh says that nobody can. He quite understands that they were my own property, and that I

had a right to keep them in my desk if I pleased. Why was I to tell everybody where they were? Of course I

was foolish, and now they are lost. It is I that have suffered. Major Mackintosh quite understands that, and

``YesI suppose I must be examined. You will go with me, Frankwon't you?'' He winced, and made no

immediate reply. ``I don't mean to Mr Camperdown, but before the magistrate. Will it be in a court?''

``The gentleman came here before. Couldn't he come here again?'' Then he explained to her the difference of

her present position, and in doing so he did say something of her iniquity. He made her understand that the

magistrate had gone out of his way at the last inquiry, believing her to be a lady who had been grievously

wronged, and one, therefore, to whom much consideration was due. ``And I have been grievously wronged,''

said Lizzie. But now she would be required to tell the truth in opposition to the false evidence which she had

formerly given; and she would herself be exempted from prosecution for perjury only on the ground that she

would be called on to criminate herself in giving evidence against criminals whose crimes had been deeper

than her own. ``I suppose they can't quite eat me,'' she said, smiling through her tears.

``Ahthat will be so nice.'' The idea of the scene at the policecourt was not at all ``nice'' to Frank

Greystock. ``I shall not mind what they say to me as long as you are by my side. Everybody will know that

``Another trial?'' Then he explained to her the course of affairsthat the men might not improbably be tried

at Carlisle for stealing the box, and again in London for stealing the diamondsthat two distinct acts of

burglary had been committed, and that her evidence would be required on both occasions. He told her, also,

that her attendance before the magistrate on Friday would only be a preliminary ceremony, and that, before

the thing was over, she would, doubtless, be doomed to bear a great deal of annoyance, and to answer very

many disagreeable questions. ``I shall care for nothing if you will only be at my side,'' she exclaimed.

He was very urgent with her to go to Scotland as soon as her examination before the magistrates should be

over, and was much astonished at the excuse she made for not doing so. Mrs Carbuncle had borrowed all her

ready money; but as she was now in Mrs Carbuncle's house, she could repay herself a portion of the loan by

remaining there and eating it out. She did not exactly say how much Mrs Carbuncle had borrowed, but she

left an impression on Frank's mind that it was about ten times the actual sum. With this excuse he was not

satisfied, and told her that she must go to Scotland, if only for the sake of escaping from the Carbuncle

connection. She promised to obey him if he would be her convoy. The Easter holidays were just now at hand,

and he could not refuse on the plea of time. ``Oh, Frank, do not refuse me thisonly think how terribly

forlorn is my position!'' He did not refuse, but he did not quite promise. He was still tenderhearted towards

her in spite of her enormities. One iniquityperhaps her worst iniquity, he did not yet know. He had not as

When he left her she was almost joyous for a few minutestill the thought of her coming interview with Mr

Camperdown again overshadowed her. She had dreaded two things chieflyher first interview with her

cousin Frank after he should have learned the truth, and those perils in regard to perjury with which Lord

George had threatened her. Both these bugbears had now vanished. That dear man, the major, had told her

that there would be no such perils, and her cousin Frank had not seemed to think so very much of her lies and

treachery! He had still been affectionate with her; he would support her before the magistrate; and would

travel with her to Scotland. And after that who could tell what might come next? How foolish she had been to

trouble herself as she had donealmost to choke herself with an agony of fear, because she had feared

detection. Now she was detectedand what had come of it? That great officer of justice, Major Mackintosh,

had been almost more than civil to her; and her dear cousin Frank was still a cousindear as ever. People,

after all, did not think so very much of perjuryof perjury such as hers, committed in regard to one's own

property. It was that odious Lord George who had frightened her, instead of comforting, as he would have

done, had there been a spark of the true Corsair poetry about him. She did not feel comfortably confident as

to what might be said of her by Lady Glencora and the Duke of Omnium, but she was almost inclined to

think that Lady Glencora would support her. Lady Glencora was no poor, mealymouthed thing, but a

woman of the world who understood what was what. Lizzie, no doubt, wished that the trials and

examinations were overbut her money was safe. They could not take away Portray, nor could they rob her

She had ordered the carriage to take her to Mr Camperdown's chambers, and now she dressed herself for the

occasion. He should not be made to think, at any rate by her outside appearance, that she was ashamed of

herself. But before she started she had just a word with Mrs Carbuncle. ``I think I shall go down to Scotland

``The police. I know all about it, Lady Eustace, and you need not look like that. Lord George informs me that

``Lord George is a storyteller. I don't believe he ever said so. And if he did, he knows nothing about it.''

``He ought to know, considering all that you have made him suffer. That you should have gone on, with the

necklace in your own box all the time, letting people think that he had taken them, and accepting his

attentions all the while, is what I cannot understand! And however you were able to taken those people at

Carlisle in the face, passes me! Of course, Lady Eustace, you can't stay here after what has occurred.''

``Poor dear Lucinda! I do not wonder that she should be driven beyond herself by so horrible a story. The

feeling that she has been living all this time in the same house with a woman who had deceived all the

policeall the policehas been too much for her. I know it has been almost too much for me.'' And yet, as

Lizzie at once understood, Mrs Carbuncle knew nothing now which she had not known when she made her

petition to be taken to Portray. And this was the woman, too, who had borrowed her money last week, whom

she had entertained for months at Portray, and who had pretended to be her bosomfriend. ``You are quite

right in getting off to Scotland as soon as possibleif they will let you go,'' continued Mrs Carbuncle. ``Of

course you could not stay here. Up to Friday night it can be permitted; but the servants had better wait upon

``When a woman has committed perjury,'' said Mrs Carbuncle, holding up both her hands in awe and grief,

``nothing too bad can possibly be said to her. You are amenable to the outraged laws of the country, and it is

my belief that they can keep you upon the treadmill and bread and water for months and monthsif not for

years.'' Having pronounced this terrible sentence, Mrs Carbuncle stalked out of the room. ``That they can

sequester your property for your creditors, I know,'' she said, returning for a moment and putting her head

The carriage was ready, and it was time for Lizzie to start if she intended to keep her appointment with Mr

Camperdown. She was much flustered and weakened by Mrs Carbuncle's illusage, and had difficulty in

restraining herself from tears. And yet what the woman had said was false from beginning to end. The maid,

who was the successor of Patience Crabstick, was to accompany her; and, as she passed through the hall, she

Reports had, of course, reached Mr Camperdown of the true story of the Eustace diamonds. He had learned

that the Jew jeweller had made a determined set at them, having in the first place hired housebreakers to steal

them at Carlisle, and having again hired the same housebreakers to steal them from the house in Hertford

Street, as soon as he knew that Lady Eustace had herself secreted them. By degrees this information had

reached himbut not in a manner to induce him to declare himself satisfied with the truth. But now Lady

When he first heard that the diamonds had been stolen at Carlisle, he was eager with Mr Eustace in

contending that the widow's liability in regard to the property was not at all the less because she had managed

to lose it through her own pigheaded obstinacy. He consulted his trusted friend, Mr Dove, on the occasion,

making out another case for the barrister, and Mr Dove had opined that, if it could be first proved that the

diamonds were the property of the estate and not of Lady Eustace, and afterwards proved that they had been

stolen through her lachesthen could the Eustace estate recover the value from her estate. As she had carried

the diamonds about with her in an absurd manner, her responsibility might probably be establishedbut the

nonexistence of ownership by her must be first declared by a ViceChancellorwith probability of appeal

to the Lords Justices and to the House of Lords. A bill in Chancery must be filed, in the first place, to have

the question of ownership settled; and then, should the estate be at length declared the owner, restitution of

the property which had been lost through the lady's fault, must be sought at Common Law.

That had been the opinion of the Turtle Dove, and Mr Camperdown had at once submitted to the law of his

great legal mentor. But John Eustace had positively declared when he heard it that no more money should be

thrown away in looking after property which would require two lawsuits to establish, and which, when

established, might not be recovered. ``How can we make her pay ten thousand pounds? She might die first,''

said John Eustaceand Mr Camperdown had been forced to yield. Then came the second robbery, and

gradually there was spread about a report that the diamonds had been in Hertford Street all the timethat

Mr Camperdown was again in a fever, and again had recourse to Mr Dove and to John Eustace. He earned

from the police all that they would tell him, and now the whole truth was to be divulged to him by the chief

culprit herself. For, to the mind of Mr Camperdown, the two housebreakers, and Patience Crabstickand

even Mr Benjamin himself, were white as snow as compared with the blackness of Lady Eustace. In his

estimation no punishment could be too great for herand yet he began to understand that she would escape

scotfree! Her evidence would be needed to convict the thieves, and she could not be prosecuted for perjury

when once she had been asked for her evidence. ``After all, she has only told a fib about her own property,''

said the Turtle Dove. ``About property not her own,'' replied Mr Camperdown stoutly. ``Her owntill the

contrary shall have been proved; her own, for all purposes of defence before a jury, if she were prosecuted

now. Were she tried for the perjury, your attempt to obtain possession of the diamonds would be all so much

in her favour.'' With infinite regrets, Mr Camperdown began to perceive that nothing could be done to her.

But she was to come to him and let him know from her own lips facts of which nothing more than rumour

had yet reached him. He had commenced his bill in Chancery, and had hitherto stayed proceedings simply

because it had been reportedfalsely, as it now appearedthat the diamonds had been stolen at Carlisle.

Major Mackintosh, in his desire to use Lizzie's evidence against the thieves, had recommended her to tell the

whole truth openly to those who claimed the property on behalf of her husband's estate; and now, for the first

He did not think it expedient to receive her alone. He consulted his mentor, Mr Dove, and his client, John

Eustace, and the latter consented to be present. It was suggested to Mr Dove that he might, on so peculiar an

occasion as this, venture to depart from the established rule, and visit the attorney on his own quarterdeck;

but he smiled, and explained that, though he was altogether superior to any such prejudice as that, and would

not object at all to call on his friend, Mr Camperdown, could any good effect arise from his doing so, he

considered that, were he to be present on this occasion, he would simply assist in embarrassing the poor lady.

On this very morning, while Mrs Carbuncle was abusing Lizzie in Hertford Street, John Eustace and Mr

Camperdown were in Mr Dove's chambers, whither they had gone to tell him of the coming interview. The

Turtle Dove was sitting back in his chair, with his head leaning forward as though it were going to drop from

his neck, and the two visitors were listening to his words. ``Be merciful, I should say,'' suggested the

barrister. John Eustace was clearly of opinion that they ought to be merciful. Mr Camperdown did not look

merciful. ``What can you get by harassing the poor, weak, ignorant creature?'' continued Mr Dove. ``She has

hankered after her bauble, and has told falsehoods in her efforts to keep it. Have you never heard of older

persons, and more learned persons, and persons nearer to ourselves, who have done the same?'' At that

moment there was presumed to be great rivalry, not unaccompanied by intrigue, among certain leaders of the

learned profession with reference to various positions of high honour and emolument, vacant or expected to

be vacant. A Lord Chancellor was about to resign, and a Lord Justice had died. Whether a somewhat

unpopular AttorneyGeneral should be forced to satisfy himself with the one place or allowed to wait for the

other, had been debated in all the newspapers. It was agreed that there was a middle course in reference to a

certain secondclass ChiefJusticeshiponly that the present secondclass Chief Justice objected to shelve

himself. There existed considerable jealousy, and some statements had been made which were not, perhaps,

strictly founded on fact. It was understood, both by the attorney and by the Member of Parliament, that the

Turtle Dove was referring to these circumstances when he spoke of baubles and falsehoods, and of learned

persons near to themselves. He himself had hankered after no baublebut, as is the case with many men and

women who are free from such hankerings, he was hardly free from that dash of malice which the possession

of such things in the hands of others is so prone to excite. ``Spare her,'' said Mr Dove. ``There is no longer

any material question as to the property, which seems to be gone irrecoverably. It is, upon the whole, well for

the world that property so fictitious as diamonds should be subject to the risk of such annihilation. As far as

we are concerned, the property is annihilated, and I would not harass the poor, ignorant young creature.''

As Eustace and the attorney walked across from the Old to the New Square, the former declared that he quite

agreed with Mr Dove. ``In the first place, Mr Camperdown, she is my brother's widow.'' Mr Camperdown

with sorrow admitted the fact. ``And she is the mother of the head of our family. It should not be for us to

degrade herbut rather to protect her from degradation, if that be possible.'' ``I heartily wish she had got her

Lizzie, in her fears, had been very punctual; and when the two gentlemen reached the door leading up to Mr

Camperdown's chambers, the carriage was already standing there. Lizzie had come up the stairs, and had

been delighted at hearing that Mr Camperdown was out, and would be back in a moment. She instantly

resolved that it did not become her to wait. She had kept her appointment, had not found Mr Camperdown at

home, and would be off as fast as her carriage wheels could take her. But, unfortunately, while with a gentle

murmur she was explaining to the clerk how impossible it was that she should wait for a lawyer who did not

keep his own appointment, John Eustace and Mr Camperdown appeared upon the landing, and she was at

Lizzie, who always dressed well, was now attired as became a lady of rank, who had four thousand a year,

and was the intimate friend of Lady Glencora Palliser. When last she saw Mr Camperdown she had been

arrayed for a summer, long, dusty journey down to Scotland, and neither by her outside garniture nor by her

manner had she then been able to exact much admiration. She had been taken by surprise in the street, and

was frightened. Now, in difficulty though she was, she resolved that she would hold up her head and be very

brave. She was a little taken aback when she saw her brotherinlaw, but she strove hard to carry herself

with confidence. ``Ah, John,'' she said, ``I did not expect to find you with Mr Camperdown.''

``It makes it much pleasanter for me, of course,'' said Lizzie. ``I am not quite sure that Mr Camperdown will

``You have never had any reason to regard me as your enemy, Lady Eustace,'' said Mr Camperdown. ``Will

you take a seat? I understand that you wish to state the circumstances under which the Eustace family

``What does it signify?'' said Eustace. ``The wretched stones are gone for ever; and whether they were of

Mr Camperdown was irritated, and shook his head. It cut him to the heart that everybody should take the part

of the wicked, fraudulent woman who had caused him such infinite trouble. Lizzie saw her opportunity and

was bolder than ever. ``You will never get me to acknowledge that they were not my own,'' she said. ``My

Lizzie looked round upon her brotherinlaw and sighed. She had never yet told the story in all its

nakedness, although it had been three or four times extracted from her by admission. She paused, hoping that

questions might be asked her which she could answer by easy monosyllables, but not a word was uttered to

``We heard that your jewelcase was taken out of your room at Carlisle and broken open,'' said Eustace.

``So it was. They broke into my room in the dead of night, when I was in bed, fast asleep, and took the case

away. When the morning came, everybody rushed into my room, and I was so frightened that I did not know

what I was doing, How would your daughter bear it, if two men cut away the locks and got into her bedroom

Lizzie remembered that her friend the major had specially advised her to tell the whole truth to Mr

Camperdownsuggesting that, by doing so, she would go far towards saving herself from any prosecution.

Mr Camperdown's voice, as he put to her this vital question, was severe, and almost justified the little burst of

sobs which came forth as a prelude to Lizzie's answer. ``I did not know what I was doing. I don't know what

you expect from me. You had been persecuting me ever since Sir Florian's death about the diamonds, and I

didn't know what I was to do. They were my own, and I thought I was not obliged to tell everybody where I

kept them. There are things which nobody tells. If I were to ask you all your secrets, would you tell them?

``He did take his oathever so many times. I don't know what difference an oath makes. People ain't obliged

``The difference is this, Lady Eustacethat if you give false evidence upon oath, you commit perjury.''

``How was I to think of that, when I was so frightened and confused that I didn't know where I was or what I

``Not quite everything. The diamonds were not stolen at Carlisle, but they were stolen afterwards. Did you

tell the police what you had lostor the magistrateafter the robbery in Hertford Street?''

``Did you tell them that the diamonds had been really stolen on that occasion?''

There was no reason why she should not go; and, indeed, now that the interview was over, there did not seem

to be any reason why she should have come. Though they had heard so much from her own mouth, they

knew no more than they had known before. The great mystery had been elucidated, and Lizzie Eustace had

been found to be the intriguing villain; but it was quite clear, even to Mr Camperdown, that nothing could be

done to her. He had never really thought that it would be expedient that she should be prosecuted for perjury,

and he now found that she must go utterly scatheless, although, by her obstinacy and dishonesty, she had

inflicted so great a loss on the distinguished family which had taken her to its bosom. ``I have no reason for

wishing to detain you, Lady Eustace,'' he said. ``If I were to talk for ever, I should not, probably, make you

understand the extent of the injury you have done, or teach you to look in a proper light at the position in

which you have placed yourself and all those who belong to you. When your husband died, good advice was

given you, and given, I think, in a very kind way. You would not listen to it, and you see the result.''

``Mr Camperdown, I have the honour to wish you good morning.'' And Lizzie made a low curtsey to the

lawyer, and was then attended to her carriage by the lawyer's clerk. She had certainly come forth from the

``The barrister who will have the crossexamining of her at the Central Criminal Court'', said Mr

Camperdown, as soon as the door was closed behind her, ``will have a job of work on his hand. There's

``She is a very great woman'', said John Eustace``a very great woman; and, if the sex could have its rights,

would make an excellent lawyer.'' In the meantime Lizzie Eustace returned home to Hertford Street in

Lizzie's interview with the lawyer took place on the Wednesday afternoon, and, on her return to Hertford

Street, she found a note from Mrs Carbuncle, ``I have made arrangements for dining out today, and shall not

return till after ten. I will do the same tomorrow, and on every day till you leave town, and you can breakfast

in your own room. Of course you will carry out your plan for leaving this house on Monday. After what has

passed, I shall prefer not to meet you again.J.C.'' And this was written by a woman who, but a few days

since, had borrowed 150 from her, and who at this moment had in her hands fifty pouns' worth of silver plate,

supposed to have been given to Lucinda, and which clearly ought to have been returned to the donor when

Lucinda's marriage waspostponed, as the newspapers had said! Lucinda at this time had left the house in

Hertford Street, but Lizzie had not been informed whither she had been taken. She could not apply to Lucinda

for restitution of the silverwhich was, in fact, held at the moment by the Albemarle Street hotelkeeper as

part security for his debtand she was quite sure that any application to Mrs Carbuncle for either the silver

or the debt would be unavailing. But she might, perhaps, cause annoyance by a letter, and could, at any rate,

I certainly am not desirous of continuing an acquaintance into which I was led by false representations, and in

the course of which I have been almost absurdly hospitable to persons altogether unworthy of my kindness.

You, and your niece, and your especial friend Lord George Carruthers, and that unfortunate young man your

niece's lover, were entertained at my country house as my guests for some months. I am here, in my own

right, by arrangement; and as I pay more than a proper share of the expense of the establishment, I shall stay

In the meantime, as we are about to part, certainly for ever, I must beg you at once to repay me the sum of

150which you have borrowed from me; and I must also insist on your letting me have back the present of

silver which was prepared for your niece's marriage. That you should retain it as a perquisite for yourself

As far as the application for restitution went, or indeed in regard to the insult, she might as well have written

to a milestone. Mrs Carbuncle was much too strong, and had fought her battle with the world much too long,

to regard such wordpelting as that. She paid no attention to the note, and as she had come to terms with the

agent of the house by which she was to evacuate it on the following Mondaya fact which was

communicated to Lizzie by the servantsshe did not much regard Lizzie's threat to remain there. She knew,

moreover, that arrangements were already being made for the journey to Scotland.

Lizzie had come back from the attorney's chambers in triumph, and had been triumphant when she wrote her

note to Mrs Carbuncle; but her elation was considerably repressed by a short notice which she read in the

fashionable evening paper of the day. She always took the fashionable evening paper, and had taught herself

to think that life without it was impossible. But on this afternoon she quarrelled with that fashionable evening

paper for ever. The popular and wellinformed organ of intelligence in question informed its readers, that the

Eustace diamondsIn fact, it told the whole story; and then expressed a hope that, as the matter had from the

commencement been one of great interest to the public, who had sympathised with Lady Eustace deeply as to

the loss of her diamonds, Lady Eustace would be able to explain that part of her conduct which certainly, at

present, was quite unintelligible. Lizzie threw the paper from her with indignation, asking what right

newspaperscribblers could have to interfere with the private affairs of such persons as herself!

But on this evening the question of her answer to Lord Fawn was the one which most interested her. Lord

Fawn had taken long in the writing of his letter, and she was justified in taking what time she pleased in

answering itbut, for her own sake, it had better be answered quickly. She had tried her hand at two

different replies, and did not at all doubt but what she would send the affirmative answer, if she were sure

that these latter discoveries would not alter Lord Fawn's decision. Lord Fawn had distinctly told her that, if

she pleased, he would marry her. She would pleasehaving been much troubled by the circumstances of the

past six months. But then, was it not almost a certainty that Lord Fawn would retreat from his offer on

learning the facts which were now so well known as to have been related in the public papers? She thought

Alas! she took one night too many. On the next morning, while she was still in bed, a letter was brought to

her from Lord Fawn, dated from his club the preceding evening. ``Lord Fawn presents his compliments to

Lady Eustace. Lady Eustace will be kind enough to understand that Lord Fawn recedes altogether from the

proposition made by him in his letter to Lady Eustace dated March 28th last. Should Lady Eustace think

proper to call in question the propriety of this decision on the part of Lord Fawn, she had better refer the

question to some friend, and Lord Fawn will do the same. Lord Fawn thinks it best to express his

determination, under no circumstances, to communicate again personally with Lady Eustace on this

The letter was a blow to her, although she had felt quite certain that Lord Fawn would have no difficulty in

escaping from her hands as soon as the story of the diamonds should be made public. It was a blow to her,

although, she had assured herself a dozen times that a marriage with such a one as Lord Fawn, a man who

had not a grain of poetry in his composition, would make her unutterably wretched. What escape would her

heart have had from itself in such a union? This question she had asked herself over and over again, and there

had been no answer to it. But then why had she not been beforehand with Lord Fawn? Why had she not

rejected his second offer with the scorn which such an offer had deserved? Ahthere was her misfortune;

But, with Lizzie Eustace, when she could not do a thing which it was desirable that she should be known to

have done, the next consideration was whether she could not so arrange as to seem to have done it. The

arrival of Lord Fawn's note just as she was about to write to him, was unfortunate. But she would still write to

him, and date her letter before the time that his was dated. He probably would not believe her date. She

hardly ever expected to be really believed by anybody. But he would have to read what she wrote; and,

writing on this pretence, she would avoid the necessity of alluding to his last letter.

Neither of the notes which she had by her quite suited the occasionso she wrote a third. The former letter

in which she declined his offer was, she thought, very charmingly insolent, and the allusion to his lordship's

scullion would have been successful, had it been sent on the moment, but now a graver letter was

The date, it will be observed, was the day previous to the morning on which she had received Lord Fawn's

I have taken a week to answer the letter which your lordship has done me the honour of writing to me,

because I have thought it best to have time for consideration in a matter of such importance. In this I have

I think I never read a letter so false, so unmanly, and so cowardly, as that which you have found yourself

You became engaged to me when, as I admit with shame, I did not know your character. You have since

repudiated me and vilified my name simply because, having found that I had enemies, and being afraid to

face them, you wished to escape from your engagement. It has been cowardice from the beginning to the end.

Your whole conduct to me has been one long, unprovoked insult, studiously concocted, because you have

feared that there might possibly be some trouble for you to encounter. Nobody ever heard of anything so

And now you again offer to marry mebecause you are again afraid. You think you will be thrashed, I

suppose, if you decline to keep your engagement; and feel that if you offer to go on with it, my friends cannot

beat you. You need not be afraid. No earthly consideration would induce me to be your wife. And if any

friend of mine should look at you as though he meant to punish you, you can show him this letter and make

him understand that it is I who have refused to be your wife, and not you who have refused to be my husband.

This epistle Lizzie did send, believing that she could add nothing to its insolence, let her study it as she

might. And, she thought, as she read it for the fifth time, that it sounded as though it had been written before

her receipt of the final note from himself, and that it would, therefore, irritate him the more.

This was to be the last week of her sojourn in town, and then she was to go down and bury herself at Portray,

with no other companionship than that of the faithful Macnulty, who had been left in Scotland for the last

three months as nurseinchief to the little heir! She must go and give her evidence before the magistrate on

Friday, as to which she had already received an odious slip of paperbut Frank would accompany her. Other

misfortunes had passed off so lightly that she hardly dreaded this. She did not quite understand why she was

to be so banished, and thought much on the subject. She had submitted herself to Frank's advice when first

she had begun to fear that her troubles would be insuperable. Her troubles were now disappearing; and, as for

Frankwhat was Frank to her, that she should obey him? Nevertheless, her trunks were being already

packed, and she knew that she must go. He was to accompany her on her journey, and she would still have

As she was thinking of all this, Mr Emilius, the clergyman, was announced. In her loneliness she was

delighted to receive any visitor, and she knew that Mr Emilius would be at least courteous to her. When he

had seated himself, he at once began to talk about the misfortune of the unaccomplished marriage, and in a

very low voice hinted that, from the beginning to end, there had been something wrong. He had always feared

that an alliance based on a footing that was so openly ``pecuniary,''he declared that the word pecuniary

expressed his meaning better than any other epithetcould not lead to matrimonial happiness. ``We all

know'', said he ``that our dear friend, Mrs Carbuncle, had views of her own quite distinct from her niece's

happiness. I have the greatest possible respect for Mrs Carbuncleand I may say esteem; but it is impossible

to live long in any degree of intimacy with Mrs Carbuncle without seeing that she ismercenary.''

``You have observed it? Oh yes; it is so, and it cast a shadow over a character which otherwise has so much

``She is the most insolent and the most ungrateful woman that I ever heard of!'' exclaimed Lizzie, with

energy. Mr Emilius opened his eyes, but did not contradict her assertion. ``As you have mentioned her name,

Mr Emilius, I must tell you. I have done everything for that woman. You know how I treated her down in

``Oh no.'' The idea of anyone being called upon to pay for what one ate and drank at a friend's house, was

``And I have paid for everything here. That is to say, we have made an arrangement, very much in her favour.

``And when that unfortunate girl, her niece, was to be married to poor Sir Griffin Tewett, I gave her a whole

``Would you believe she has taken the whole for her own base purposes? And then what do you think she has

Lizzie suddenly found a difficulty in describing to her friend the fact that Mrs Carbuncle was endeavouring to

turn her out of the house, without also alluding to her own troubles about the robbery. ``She has actually told

me'', she continued, ``that I must leave the house without a day's warning. But I believe the truth is, that she

``But she owed me some civility. Instead of that, she has treated me with nothing but insolence. And why, do

you think? It is all because I would not allow her to take that poor insane young woman to Portray Castle.''

``I never heard such impertinence in my lifenever,'' said Mr Emilius, again opening his eyes and shaking

``She proposed that I should ask them both down to Portray, forforof course it would have been almost

for ever. I don't know how I should have got rid of them. And that poor young woman is mad, you

knowquite mad. She never recovered herself after that morning. Ohwhat I have suffered about that

unhappy marriage, and the cruel, cruel way in which Mrs Carbuncle urged it on. Mr Emilius, you can't

conceive the scenes which have been acted in this house during the last month. It has been dreadful. I

wouldn't go though such a time again for anything that could be offered to me. It has made me so ill that I am

``I heard that you were going to Scotland, and I wished to have an opportunity of sayingjust a word to you,

in private, before you go.'' Mr Emilius had thought a good deal about this interview, and had prepared himself

for it with considerable care. He knew, with tolerable accuracy, the whole story of the necklace, having

discussed it with Mrs Carbuncle, who, as the reader will remember, had been told the tale by Lord George.

He was aware of the engagement with Lord Fawn, and of the growing intimacy which had existed between

Lord George and Lizzie. He had been watchful, diligent, patient, and had at last become hopeful. When he

learned that his beloved was about to start for Scotland, he felt that it would be well that he should strike a

blow before she went. As to a journey down to Ayrshire, that would be nothing to one so enamoured as was

Mr Emilius; and he would not scruple to show himself at the castledoor without invitation. Whatever may

have been his deficiencies, Mr Emilius did not lack the courage needed to carry such an enterprise as this to a

happy conclusion. As far as pluck and courage might serve a man, he was well served by his own gifts. He

could, without a blush or a quiver in his voice, have asked a duchess to marry him, with ten times Lizzie's

income. He had now considered deeply whether, with the view of prevailing, it would be better that he should

allude to the lady's trespasses in regard to the diamonds, or that he should pretend to be in ignorance; and he

had determined that ultimate success might, with most probability, be achieved by a bold declaration of the

truth. ``I know how desperately you must be in want of someone to help you through your troubles, and I

know also that your grand lovers will avoid you because of what you have done, and therefore you had better

take me at once. Take me, and I'll bring you through everything. Refuse me, and I'll help to crush you.'' Such

were the arguments which Mr Emilius had determined to use, and such the languageof course, with some

modifications. He was now commencing his work, and was quite resolved to leave no stone unturned in

carrying it to a successful issue. He drew his chair nearer to Lizzie as he announced his desire for a private

interview, and leaned over towards her with his two hands closed together between his knees. He was a dark,

hookeynosed, wellmade man, with an exuberance of greasy hair, who would have been considered

handsome by many women, had there not been something, almost amounting to a squint, amiss with one of

his eyes. When he was preaching, it could hardly be seen, but in the closeness of private conversation it was

``Ohindeed!'' said Lizzie, with a look of astonishment, perfectly well assumed. She had already begun to

``YesLady Eustace; it is so. You and I have known each other now for many months, and I have received

the most unaffected pleasure from the acquaintancemay I not say from the intimacy which has sprung up

between us?'' Lizzie did not forbid the use of the pleasant word, but merely bowed. ``I think that, as a devoted

friend and a clergyman, I shall not be thought to be intruding on private ground in saying that circumstances

have made me aware of the details of the robberies by which you have been so cruelly persecuted.'' So the

man had come about the diamonds, and not to make an offer! Lizzie raised her eyebrows and bowed her

head, with the slightest possible motion. ``I do not know how far your friends or the public may condemn

``Nobody has dared to condemn me, except this impudent woman here, who wants an excuse for not paying

``I am delighted. I was going to explain that although I am aware you have infringed the letter of the law, and

``Then my mind is greatly relieved. I was about to remark, having heard in the outer world that there were

``Nobody has dared to accuse me of anything. What makes you come here and say such things?''

``AhLady, Eustace. It is because these calumnies are spoken so openly behind your back.''

Mr Emilius was beginning to feel that he was not making progress. ``I was on the point of observing to you

that according to the view of the matter which I, as a clergyman, have taken, you were altogether justified in

the steps which you took for the protection of property which was your own, but which had been attacked by

``You know best, Lady Eustace, whether any assistance I can offer will avail you anything.''

``I certainly have been given to understand that they who ought to stand by you with the closest devotion

have, in this period of what I may, perhaps, calltribulation, deserted your side with cold selfishness.''

``And I have deserted him. I wrote to him this very morning, in answer to a pressing letter from him to renew

our engagement, to tell him that that was out of the question. I despise Lord Fawn, and my heart never can be

``A noble sentiment, Lady Eustace, which I reciprocate completely. And now, to come to what I may call the

inner purport of my visit to you this morning, the sweet cause of my attendance on you, let me assure you

that I should not now offer you my heart, unless with my heart went the most perfect respect and esteem

which any man ever felt for a woman.'' Mr Emilius had found the necessity of coming to the point by some

direct road, as the lady had refused to allow him to lead up to it in the manner he had proposed to himself. He

still thought that what he had said might be efficacious, as he did not for a moment believe her assertions as

to her own friends, and the nonexistence of any trouble as to the oaths which she had falsely sworn. But she

carried the matter with a better courage than he had expected to find, and drove him out of his intended line

``I mean to lay my heart, my hand, my fortunes, my profession, my career at your feet. I make bold to say of

myself that I have, by my own unaided eloquence and intelligence, won for myself a great position in this

swarming metropolis. Lady Eustace, I know your great rank. I feel your transcendent beautyah, too

acutely. I have been told that you are rich. But I, myself, who venture to approach you, as a suitor for your

hand, am also somebody in the world. The blood that runs in my veins is as illustrious as your own, having

descended to me from the great and ancient nobles of my native country. The profession which I have

adopted is the grandest which ever filled the heart of man with aspirations. I have barely turned my

thirtysecond year, and I am known as the greatest preacher of my day, though I preach in a language which

is not my own. Your House of Lords would be open to me as a spiritual peer, would I condescend to come to

terms with those who crave the assistance which I could give them. I can move the masses. I can touch the

hearts of men. And in this great assemblage of mankind which you call London, I can choose my own society

among the highest of the land. Lady Eustace, will you share with me my career and my fortunes? I ask you,

The man was a nasty, greasy, lying, squinting Jew preacher; an imposter, over forty years of age, whose

greatest social success had been achieved when, through the agency of Mrs Carbuncle, he made his way into

Portray Castle. He was about as near a English mitre as had been that great man of a past generation, the

Deputy Shepherd. He was a creature to loathebecause he was greasy, and a liar, and an impostor. But there

was a certain manliness in him. He was not afraid of the woman; and in pleading his cause with her he could

stand up for himself courageously. He had studied his speech, and having studied it, he knew how to utter the

words. He did not blush, nor stammer, nor cringe. Of grandfather or grandmother belonging to himself he had

probably never heard, but he could so speak of his noble ancestors as to produce belief in Lizzie's mind. And

he almost succeeded in convincing her that he was, by the consent of mankind, the greatest preacher of the

day. While he was making his speech she almost liked his squint. She certainly liked the grease and nastiness.

Presuming, as she naturally did, that something of what he said was false, she liked the lies. There was a dash

of poetry about him; and poetry, as she thought, was not compatible with humdrum truth. A man, to be a man

in her eyes, should be able to swear that all his geese are swansshould be able to reckon his swans by the

dozen, though he have not a feather belonging to him, even from a goose's wing. She liked his audacity; and

then, when he was making love, he was not afraid of talking out boldly about his heart. Nevertheless he was

only Mr Emilius, the clergyman; and she had means of knowing that his income was not generous. Though

she admired his manner and his language, she was quite aware that he was in pursuit of her money. And from

the moment in which she first understood his object, she was resolved that she would never become the wife

``I was told, Mr Emilius,'' she said, ``that some time since you used to have a wife.''

``It was a falsehood, Lady Eustace. From motives of pure charity I gave a home to a distant cousin. I was

then in a land of strangers, and my life was misinterpreted. I made no complaint, but sent the lady back to her

Mr Emilius bethought himself for a moment. There might be danger in asserting that he was subject to such

an encumbrance. ``I did do so'', he answered, ``till she found a congenial home as the wife of an honest man.''

Upon this, Lizzie made him a speech as long and almost as well turned as his own. Her heart had of late been

subject to many vicissitudes. She had lost the dearest husband that a woman had ever worshipped. She had

ventured, for purposes with reference to her child which she could not now explain, to think once again of

matrimony with a man of high rank, but who had turned out to be unworthy of her. She had recededLizzie,

as she said this, acted the part of receding with a fine expression of scornful faceand after that she was

unwilling to entertain any further idea of marriage. Upon hearing this, Mr Emilius bowed low, and before the

streetdoor was closed against him had begun to calculate how much a journey to Scotland would cost him.

On the Wednesday and Thursday Lizzie had been triumphant; for she had certainly come out unscathed from

Mr Camperdown's chambers, and a lady may surely be said to triumph when a gentleman lays his hand, his

heart, his fortunes, and all that he has got, at her feet. But when the Friday came, though she was determined

to be brave, her heart did sink within her bosom. She understood well that she would be called upon to admit

in public the falseness of the oaths she had sworn upon two occasions; and that though she would not be

made amenable to any absolute punishment for her perjury, she would be subject to very damaging remarks

from the magistrate, and probably also from some lawyers employed to defend the prisoners. She went to bed

in fairly good spirits, but in the morning she was cowed and unhappy. She dressed herself from head to foot

in black, and prepared for herself a heavy black veil. She had ordered from the livery stable a brougham for

the occasion, thinking it wise to avoid the display of her own carriage. She breakfasted early, and then took a

large glass of wine to support her. When Frank called for her at a quarter to ten, she was quite ready, and

grasped his hand almost without a word. But she looked into his face with her eyes filled with tears. ``It will

soon be over,'' he said. She pressed his hand, and made him a sign to show that she was ready to follow him

to the door. ``The case will come on at once,'' he said, ``so that you will not be kept waiting.''

``Oh, you are so goodso good to me.'' She pressed his arm, and did not speak another word on their way to

There was a great crowd about the office, which was in a little bystreet, and so circumstanced that Lizzie's

brougham could hardly make its way up to the door. But way was at once made for her when Frank handed

her out of it, and the policemen about the place were as courteous to her as though she had been the Lord

Chancellor's wife. Evildoing will be spoken of with bated breath and soft words even by policemen, when

the evildoer comes in a carriage, and with a title. Lizzie was led at once into a private room, and told that

she would be kept there only a very few minutes. Frank made his way into the court and found that two

magistrates had just seated themselves on the bench. One would have sufficed for the occasion; but this was a

case of great interest, and even policemagistrates are human in their interests. Greystock was allowed to get

round to the bench, and to whisper a word or two to the gentleman who was to preside. The magistrate

The unfortunate Mr Benjamin had been sent back in durance vile from Vienna, and was present in the court.

With him, as joint malefactor, stood Mr Smiler, the great housebreaker, a huge, ugly, resolutelooking

scoundrel, possessed of enormous strength, who was very intimately known to the police, with whom he had

had various dealings since he had been turned out upon the town to earn his bread some fifteen years ago.

Indeed, long before that he had known the police. As far as his memory went back he had always known

them. But the sportive industry of his boyish years was not now counted up against him. In the last fifteen

years his biography was written with all the accuracy due to the achievements of a great man, and during

those hundred and eighty months he had spent over one hundred in prison, and had been convicted

twentythree times. He was now growing oldas a thief; and it was thought by his friends that he would be

settled for life in some quiet retreat. Mr Benjamin was a very respectablelooking man of about fifty with

slightly grizzled hair, with excellent black clothes, showing, by a surprised air, his great astonishment at

finding himself in such a position. He spoke constantly both to his attorney, and to the barrister who was to

show cause why he should not be committed, and throughout the whole morning was very busy. Smiler, who

was quite at home, and who understood his position, never said a word to anyone. He stood, perfectly

straight, looking at the magistrate, and never for a moment leaning on the rail before him during the four

hours that the case consumed. Once, when his friend, Billy Cann, was brought into court to give evidence

against him, dressed up to the eyes, serene and sleek as when we saw him once before at the ``Rising Sun'', in

Meek Street, Smiler turned a glance upon him which, to the eyes of all present, contained a threat of most

bloody revenge. But Billy knew the advantages of his situation, and nodded at his old comrade, and smiled.

His old comrade was very much stronger than he, and possessed of many natural advantages; but, perhaps,

upon the whole, his old comrade had been the less intelligent thief of the two. It was thus that the bystanders

The case was opened very shortly and very clearly by the gentleman who was employed for the prosecution.

It would all, he said, have lain in a nutshell, had it not been complicated by a previous robbery at Carlisle.

Were it necessary, he said, there would be no difficulty in convicting the prisoners for that offence also, but it

had been thought advisable to confine the prosecution to the act of burglary committed in Hertford Street. He

stated the facts of what had happened at Carlisle, merely for explanation, but would state nothing that could

not be proved. Then he told all that the reader knows about the iron box. But the diamonds were not then in

the boxand he told that story also, treating Lizzie with great tenderness as he did so. Lizzie, all this time,

was sitting behind her veil in the private room, and did not hear a word of what was going on. Then he came

to the robbery in Hertford Street. He would prove by Lady Eustace that the diamonds were left by her in a

locked deskwere so deposited, though all her friends believed them to have been taken at Carlisle; and he

would, moreover, prove by accomplices that they were stolen by two menthe younger prisoner at the bar

being one of them, and the witness who would be adduced, the otherthat they were given up by these men

to the elder prisoner, and that a certain sum had been paid by him for the execution of the two robberies.

There was much more of itbut to the reader, who knows it all, it would be but a thricetold tale. He then

said that he first proposed to take the evidence of Lady Eustace, the lady who had been in possession of the

diamonds when they were stolen. Then Frank Greystock left the court, and returned with poor Lizzie on his

She was handed to a chair, and, after she was sworn, was told that she might sit down. But she was requested

to remove her veil, which she had replaced as soon as she had kissed the book. The first question asked her

was very easy. Did she remember the night at Carlisle? Would she tell the history of what occurred on that

night? When the box was stolen, were the diamonds in it? No; she had taken the diamonds out for security,

and had kept them under her pillow. Then came a bitter moment, in which she had to confess her perjury

before the Carlisle benchbut even that seemed to pass off smoothly. The magistrate asked one severe

question. ``Do you mean to say, Lady Eustace, that you gave false evidence on that occasionknowing it to

be false?'' ``I was in such a state, sir, from fear, that I did not know what I was saying,'' exclaimed Lizzie,

bursting into tears and stretching forth towards the bench her two clasped hands with the air of a suppliant.

From that moment the magistrate was altogether on her sideand so were the public. Poor ignorant, illused

young creatureand then so lovely! That was the general feeling. But she had not as yet come beneath the

harrow of the learned gentleman on the other side, whose best talents were due to Mr Benjamin. Then she

told all she knew about the other robbery. She certainly had not said, when examined on that occasion, that

the diamonds had then been taken. She had omitted to name the diamonds in her catalogue of the things

stolen. But she was sure that she had never said that they were not then taken. She had said nothing about the

diamonds, knowing them to be her own, and preferring to lose them to the trouble of again referring to the

night at Carlisle. Such was her evidence for the prosecution, and then she was turned over to the very learned

and very acute gentleman whom Mr Benjamin had hired for his defenceor rather, to show cause why he

It must be owned that poor Lizzie did receive from his hands some of that punishment which she certainly

deserved. This acute and learned gentleman seemed to possess for the occasion the blandest and most dulcet

voice that ever was bestowed upon an English barrister. He addressed Lady Eustace with the softest words, as

though he hardly dared to speak to a woman so eminent for wealth, rank, and beauty; but nevertheless he

asked her some very disagreeable questions. ``Was he to understand that she went of her own will before the

bench of magistrates at Carlisle, with the view of enabling the police to capture certain persons for stealing

certain jewels, while she knew that the jewels were actually in her own possession?'' Lizzie, confounded by

the softness of his voice as joined to the harshness of the question, could hardly understand him, and he

repeated it thrice, becoming every time more and more mellifluous. ``Yes,'' said Lizzie at last. ``Yes?'' he

asked. ``Yes,'' said Lizzie. ``Your ladyship did send the Cumberland police after men for stealing jewels

which were in your ladyship's own hands when you swore the information?'' ``Yes,'' said Lizzie. ``And your

ladyship knew that the information was untrue?'' ``Yes,'' said Lizzie. ``And the police were pursuing the men

for many weeks?'' ``Yes,'' said Lizzie. ``On your information?'' ``Yes,'' said Lizzie, through her tears. ``And

your ladyship knew all the time that the poor men were altogether innocent of taking the jewels?'' ``But they

took the box,'' said Lizzie, through her tears. ``Yes,'' said the acute and learned gentleman, ``somebody took

your ladyship's iron box out of the room, and you swore that the diamonds had been taken. Was it not the fact

that legal proceedings were being taken against you for recovery of the diamonds by persons who claimed the

property?'' ``Yes,'' said Lizzie. ``And these persons withdrew their proceedings as soon as they heard that the

Soft as he was in his manner, he nearly reduced Lizzie Eustace to fainting. It seemed to her that the questions

would never end. It was in vain that the magistrate pointed out to the learned gentleman that Lady Eustace

had confessed her own false swearing, both at Carlisle and in London, a dozen times. He continued his

questions over and over again, harping chiefly on the affair at Carlisle, and saying very little as to the second

robbery in Hertford Street. His idea was to make it appear that Lizzie had arranged the robbery with the view

of defrauding Mr Camperdown, and that Lord George Carruthers was her accomplice. He even asked her,

almost in a whisper, and with the sweetest smile, whether she was not engaged to marry Lord George. When

Lizzie denied this, he still suggested that some such alliance might be in contemplation. Upon this, Frank

Greystock called upon the magistrate to defend Lady Eustace from such unnecessary vulgarity, and there was

a scene in the court. Lizzie did not like the scene, but it helped to protect her from the contemplation of the

Lady Eustace was forced to remain in the private room during the examination of Patience Crabstick and Mr

Cann; but she did not hear it. Patience was a most obdurate and difficult witnessextremely averse to say

evil of herself, and on that account unworthy of the good things which she had received. But Billy Cann was

charminggraceful, communicative, and absolutely accurate. There was no shaking him. The learned and

acute gentleman who tried to tear him in pieces could do nothing with him. He was asked whether he had not

been a professional thief for ten years. ``Ten or twelve,'' he said. Did he expect that any jurymen would

believe him on his oath? ``Not unless I am fully corroborated.'' ``Can you look that man in the facethat

man who is at any rate so much honester than yourself'' asked the learned gentleman with pathos. Billy said

that he thought he could, and the way in which he smiled upon Smiler caused a roar through the whole court.

The two men were, as a matter of course, committed for trial at the Central Criminal Court, and Lizzie

Eustace was bound by certain penalties to come forward when called upon, and give her evidence again. ``I

am glad that it is over,'' said Frank, as he left her at Mrs Carbuncle's hall door.

Lady Eustace did not leave the house during the Saturday and Sunday, and engaged herself exclusively with

preparing for her journey. She had no further interview with Mrs Carbuncle, but there were messages

between them, and even notes were written. They resulted in nothing. Lizzie was desirous of getting back the

spoons and forks, and, if possible, some of her money. The spoons and forks were out of Mrs Carbuncle's

power, in Albemarle Street; and the money had of course been spent. Lizzie might have saved herself the

trouble, had it not been that it was a pleasure to her to insult her late friend, even though in doing so new

insults were heaped upon her own head. As for the trumpery spoons, theyso said Mrs Carbunclewere

the property of Miss Roanoke, having been made over to her unconditionally long before the wedding, as a

part of a separate pecuniary transaction. Mrs Carbuncle had no power of disposing of Miss Roanoke's

property. As to the money which Lady Eustace claimed, Mrs Carbuncle asserted that, when the final accounts

should be made up between them, it would be found that there was a considerable balance due to Mrs

Carbuncle. But even were there anything due to Lady Eustace, Mrs Carbuncle would decline to pay it, as she

was informed that all moneys possessed by Lady Eustace were now confiscated to the Crown by reason of

the PERJURIESthe word was doubly scored in Mrs Carbuncle's notewhich Lady Eustace had

committed. This, of course, was unpleasant; but Mrs Carbuncle did not have the honours of the battle all to

herself. Lizzie also said some unpleasant thingswhich perhaps were the more unpleasant because they

were true. Mrs Carbuncle had come pretty nearly to the end of her career, whereas Lizzie's income, in spite of

her perjuries, was comparatively untouched. The undoubted mistress of Portray Castle, and mother of the Sir

Florian Eustace of the day, could still despise and look down upon Mrs Carbuncle, although she were known

Lord George always came to Hertford Street on a Sunday, and Lady Eustace left word for him with the

servant that she would be glad to see him before her journey into Scotland. ``Goes tomorrow, does she?'' said

Lord George to the servant. ``Well; I'll see her.'' And he was shown up to her room before he went to Mrs

Lizzie, in sending to him, had some halfformed idea of a romantic farewell. The man, she thought, had

behaved very badly to herhad accepted very much from her hands, and had refused to give her anything in

return; had become the first depository of her great secret, and had placed no mutual confidence in her. He

had been harsh to her, and unjust. And then, too, he had declined to be in love with her! She was full of spite

against Lord George and would have been glad to injure him. But, nevertheless, there would be some

excitement in a farewell in which some mock affection might be displayed, and she would have an

``So you are off tomorrow?'' said Lord George, taking his place on the rug before her fire, and looking down

at her with his head a little on one side. Lizzie's anger against the man chiefly arose from a feeling that he

treated her with all a Corsair's freedom without any of a Corsair's tenderness. She could have forgiven the

want of deferential manner, had there been any devotionbut Lord George was both impudent and

``Yes,'' she said. ``Thank goodness, I shall get out of this frightful place tomorrow, and soon have once more

a roof of my own over my head. What an experience I have had since I have been here!''

``We have all had an experience,'' said Lord George, still looking at her with that halfcomic turn of his

facealmost as though he were investigating some curious animal of which so remarkable a specimen had

``No woman ever intended to show a more disinterested friendship than I have done; and what has been my

``You mean to me?disinterested friendship to me?'' And Lord George tapped his breast lightly with his

fingers. His head was still a little on one side, and there was still the smile upon his face.

``Lady Eustace, I cannot take charge of Mrs Carbuncle's friendships. I have enough to do to look after my

own. If you have any complaint to make against meI will at least listen to it.''

``God knows I do not want to make complaints,'' said Lizzie, covering her face with her hands.

``They don't do much gooddo they? It's better to take people as you find 'em, and then make the best of

'em. They're a queer lotain't theythe sort of people one meets about in the world?''

``Just what you were saying, when you talked of your experiences. These experiences do surprise one. I have

knocked about the world a great deal, and would have almost said that nothing would surprise me. You are no

``Do you remember how you rode to hounds the day your cousin took that other man's horse? That surprised

``Oh, Lord George, that was the happiest day of my life. How little happiness there is for people!''

``And when Tewett got that girl to say she'd marry him, the coolness with which you bore all the abomination

``And when I found that you always travelled with ten thousand pounds worth of diamonds in a box, that

``Then came the robbery, and you seemed to lose your diamonds without being at all unhappy about them. Of

course, we understand that now.'' On hearing this, Lizzie smiled, but did not say a word. ``Then I perceived

that II was supposed to be the thief. Youyou yourself couldn't have suspected me of taking the

diamonds, becausebecause you'd got them, you know, all safe in your pocket. But you might as well own

``All that surprised me. The police were watching me every day as a cat watches a mouse, and thought that

they surely had got the thief when they found that I had dealings with Benjamin. Well; youyou were

``Yes you were. You had got the kernel yourself, and thought that I had taken all the trouble to crack the nut

and had found myself with nothing but the shell. Then, when you found you couldn't eat the kernel; that you

couldn't get rid of the swag without assistance, you came to me to help you. I began to think then that you

were too many for all of us. By Jove, I did. Then I heard of the second robbery, and, of course, I thought you

``Unfortunately you didn't; but I thought you did. And you thought that I had done it! Mr Benjamin was too

clever for us both, and now he is going to have penal servitude for the rest of his life. I wonder who will be

``I do not in the least care. I hate the diamonds. Of course I would not give them up, because they were my

``The end of it seems to be that you have lost your property, and sworn ever so many false oaths, and have

brought all your friends into trouble, and have got nothing by it. What was the good of being so clever?''

``I came here because you sent for me. There's my poor friend, Mrs Carbuncle, declares that all her credit is

destroyed, and her niece unable to marry, and her house taken away from herall because of her connection

``I know that Mrs Carbuncle is in a very bad way, and that that girl has gone crazy, and that poor Griff has

taken himself off to Japan, and that I am so knocked about that I don't know where to go; and somehow it

seems all to have come from your little manoeuvres. You see, we have, all of us, been made remarkable;

``And it is all your doing. To be sure you have lost your diamonds for your pains. I wouldn't mind it so much

if anybody were the better for it. I shouldn't have begrudged even Benjamin the pull, if he'd got it.''

He stood there still looking down upon her, speaking with a sarcastic subrisive tone, and, as she felt,

intending to be severe to her. She had sent for him, and now she didn't know what to say to him. Though she

believed that she hated him, she would have liked to get up some show of an affectionate farewell, some

scene in which there might have been tears, and tenderness, and poetryand, perhaps, a parting caress. But

with his jeering words, and sneering face, he was as hard to her as a rock. He was now silent, but still looking

down upon her as he stood motionless upon the rugso that she was compelled to speak again. ``I sent for

you, Lord George, because I did not like the idea of parting with you for ever, without one word of adieu.''

``And never coming back any more? You'll be up here before the season is over, with fifty more wonderful

``Ohh. That makes it altogether another thing. He attends you down to Scotlanddoes he? Does Mr

``You can't expect but what a man should be a little jealous, when he has been so completely cut out himself.

There was a time, you know, when even cousin Frank wasn't a better fellow than myself.''

``WellI did. I thought about it a good deal, my lady. And I liked the idea of it very much.'' Lizzie pricked

up her ears. In spite of all his harshness, could it be that he should be the Corsair still? ``I am a rambling,

uneasy, illtodo sort of man; but still I thought about it. You are pretty, you knowuncommonly pretty.''

``And I'll acknowledge that the income goes for much. I suppose that's real at any rate?''

``WellI hope so. Of course it's real. And so is the prettiness, Lord Georgeif there is any.''

``I never doubted that, Lady Eustace. But when it came to my thinking that you had stolen the diamonds, and

you thinking that I had stolen the box! I'm not a man to stand on trifles, but, by George, it wouldn't do

``Who wanted it to do?'' said Lizzie. ``Go away. You are very unkind to me. I hope I may never see you

again. I believe you care more for that odious vulgar woman downstairs than you do for anybody else in the

``Ah dear! I have known her for many years, Lizzie, and that both covers and discovers many faults. One

learns to know how bad one's old friends are, but then one forgives them, because they are old friends.''

``Yes, I will. I forgive you all, and hope you may do well yet. If I may give you one bit of advice at parting, it

``Goodbye,'' said Lizzie. He took her hand in one of his; patted her on the head with the other, as though she

Frank Greystock, the writer fears, will not have recommended himself to those readers of this tale who think

the part of lover to the heroine should be always filled by a young man with heroic attributes. And yet the

young member for Bobsborough was by no means deficient in fine qualities, and perhaps was quite as

capable of heroism as the majority of barristers and members of Parliament among whom he consorted, and

who were to himthe world. A man born to great wealth maywithout injury to himself or friendsdo

pretty nearly what he likes in regard to marriage, always presuming that the wife he selects be of his own

rank. He need not marry for money, nor need he abstain from marriage because he can't support a wife

without money. And the very poor man, who has no pretension to rank or standing other than that which

honesty may give him, can do the same. His wife's fortune will consist in the labour of her hands, and in her

ability to assist him in his home. But between these there is a middle class of men, who, by reason of their

education, are peculiarly susceptible to the charms of womanhood, but who literally cannot marry for love,

because their earnings will do no more than support themselves. As to this special young man, it must be

confessed that his earnings should have done much more than that; but not the less did he find himself in a

position in which marriage with a penniless girl seemed to threaten him and her with ruin. All his friends told

Frank Greystock that he would be ruined were he to marry Lucy Morrisand his friends were people

supposed to be very good and wise. The dean, and the dean's wife, his father and mother, were very clear that

it would be so. Old Lady Linlithgow had spoken of such a marriage as quite out of the question. The Bishop

of Bobsborough, when it was mentioned in his hearing, had declared that such a marriage would be a

thousand pities. And even dear old Lady Fawn, though she wished it for Lucy's sake, had many times

prophesied that such a thing was quite impossible. When the rumour of the marriage reached Lady Glencora,

Lady Glencora told her friend, Madame Max Goesler, that that young man was going to blow his brains out.

To her thinking the two actions were equivalent. It is only when we read of such men that we feel that truth to

his sweetheart is the first duty of man. I am afraid that it is not the advice which we give to our sons.

But it was the advice which Frank Greystock had most persistently given to himself since he had first known

Lucy Morris. Doubtless he had vacillated, but, on the balance of his convictions as to his own future conduct,

he had been much nobler than his friends. He had never hesitated for a moment as to the value of Lucy

Morris. She was not beautiful. She had no wonderful gifts of nature. There was nothing of a goddess about

her. She was absolutely penniless. She had never been what the world calls well dressed. And yet she had

been everything to him. There had grown up a sympathy between them quite as strong on his part as on hers,

and he had acknowledged it to himself. He had never doubted his own loveand when he had been most

near to convincing himself that in his peculiar position he ought to marry his rich cousin, because of her

wealth, then, at those moments, he had most strongly felt that to have Lucy Morris close to him was the

greatest charm in existence. Hitherto his cousin's money, joined to flatteries and caresseswhich, if a young

man can resist, he is almost more than a young manhad tempted him; but he had combated the temptation.

On one memorable evening his love for Lucy had tempted him. To that temptation he had yielded, and the

letter by which he became engaged to her had been written. He had never meant to evade ithad always told

himself that it should not be evaded; but, gradually, days had been added to days, and months to months, and

he had allowed her to languish without seeing him, and almost without hearing from him.

She, too, had heard from all sides that she was deserted by him, and she had written to him to give him back

his troth. But she had not sent her letters. She did not doubt that the thing was overshe hardly doubted.

And yet she would not send any letter. Perhaps it would be better that the matter should be allowed to drop

without any letterwriting. She would never reproach himthough she would ever think him to be a traitor.

Would not she have starved herself for him, could she so have served him? And yet he could bear for her

sake no touch of delay in his prosperity! Would she not have been content to wait, and always to waitso

that he with some word of love would have told her that he waited also? But he would not only desert

herbut would give himself to that false, infamous woman, who was so wholly unfitted to be his wife. For

Lucy, though to herself she would call him a traitorand would think him to be a traitor, still regarded him

as the best of mankind, as one who in marrying such a one as Lizzie Eustace would destroy all his excellence,

as a man might mar his strength and beauty by falling into a pit. For Lizzie Eustace Lucy Morris had now no

forgiveness. Lucy had almost forgotten Lizzie's lies, and her proffered bribe, and all her meanness, when she

made that visit to Hertford Street. Then, when Lizzie claimed this man as her lover, a full remembrance of all

the woman's iniquities came back on Lucy's mind. The statement that Lizzie then made, Lucy did believe.

She did think that Frank, her Frank, the man whom she worshipped, was to take this harpy to his bosom as

his wife. And if it were to be so, was it not better that she should be so told? But, from that moment, poor

Lizzie's sins were ranker to Lucy Morris than even to Mr Camperdown or Mrs Hittaway. She could not

refrain from saying a word even to old Lady Linlithgow. The countess had called her niece a little liar.

``Liar!'' said Lucy. ``I do not think Satan himself can lie as she does.'' ``Hightytighty,'' said the countess. ``I

suppose, then, there's to be a match between Lady Satan and her cousin Frank?'' ``They can do as they like

Then came the paragraph in the fashionable evening newspaper, after that the report of the examination

before the magistrate, and then certain information that Lady Eustace was about to proceed to Scotland

together with her cousin Mr Greystock, the Member for Bobsborough. ``It is a large income,'' said the

countess; ``but, upon my word, she's dear at the money.'' Lucy did not speak, but she bit her lip till the blood

ran into her mouth. She was going down to Fawn Court almost immediately, to stay there with her old friends

till she should be able to find some permanent home for herself. Once and once only would she endure

Early on the appointed morning Frank Greystock, with a couple of cabs, was at Mrs Carbuncle's door in

Hertford Street. Lizzie had agreed to start by a very early trainat eight a.m.so that she might get through

to Portray in one day. It had been thought expedient, both by herself and by her cousin, that for the present

there should be no more sleeping at the Carlisle hotel. The robbery was probably still talked about in that

establishment; and the report of the proceedings at the policecourt had, no doubt, travelled as far north as

the border city. It was to be a long day, and could hardly be other than sad. Lizzie, understanding this, feeling

that though she had been in a great measure triumphant over her difficulties before the magistrate, she ought

still to consider herself for a short while as being under a cloud, crept down into the cab and seated herself

beside her cousin almost without a word. She was again dressed in black, and again wore the thick veil. Her

maid, with the luggage, followed them, and they were driven to Euston Square almost without a word. On

this occasion no tall footman accompanied them. ``Oh Frank; dear Frank,'' she had said, and that was all. He

had been active about the luggage and useful in giving ordersbut beyond his directions and inquiries as to

the journey, he spoke not a word. Had she breakfasted? Would she have a cup of tea at the station? Should he

take any luncheon for her? At every question she only looked into his face and shook her head. All thoughts

as to creaturecomforts were over with her now for ever. Tranquillity, a little poetry, and her darling boy,

were all that she needed for the short remainder of her sojourn upon earth. These were the sentiments which

she intended to convey when she shook her head and looked up into his eyes. The world was over for her.

She had had her day of pleasure, and found how vain it was. Now she would devote herself to her child. ``I

shall see my boy again tonight,'' she said, as she took her seat in the carriage.

Such was the state of mind, or such rather the resolutions, with which she commenced her journey. Should he

become bright, communicative, and pleasant, or even tenderly silent, or, perhaps, now at length affectionate

and demonstrative, she, no doubt, might be able to change as he changed. He had been cousinly, but gloomy,

at the policecourt; in the same mood when he brought her home; and, as she saw with the first glance of her

eye, in the same mood again when she met him in the hall this morning. Of course she must play his tunes. Is

it not the fate of women to play the tunes which men dictateexcept in some rare case in which the woman

can make herself the dictator? Lizzie loved to be a dictator; but at the present moment she knew that

She watched himso closely. At first he slept a good deal. He was never in bed very early, and on this

morning had been up at six. At Rugby he got out and ate what he said was his breakfast. Would not she have

a cup of tea? Again she shook her head and smiled. She smiled as some women smile when you offer them a

third glass of champagne. ``You are joking with me, I know. You cannot think that I would take it.'' That was

the meaning of Lizzie's smile. He went into the refreshmentroom, growled at the heat of the tea, and the

abominable nastiness of the food provided, and then, after the allotted five minutes, took himself to a

smokingcarriage. He did not rejoin his cousin till they were at Crewe. When he went back to his old seat,

she only smiled again. He asked her whether she had slept, and again she shook her head. She had been

repeating to herself the address to Ianthe's soul, and her whole being was pervaded with poetry.

It was absolutely necessary, as he thought, that she should eat something, and he insisted that she should dine

upon the road somewhere. He, of course, was not aware that she had been nibbling biscuits and chocolate

while he had been smoking, and had had recourse even to the comfort of a sherryflask which she carried in

her dressingbag. When he talked of dinner she did more than smile and refuse. She expostulated. For she

well knew that the twenty minutes for dinner were allowed at the Carlisle station; and even if there had been

no chocolate and no sherry, she would have endured on, even up to absolute inanition, rather than step out

upon this wellremembered platform. ``You must eat, or you'll be starved,'' he said. ``I'll fetch you

something.'' So he bribed a special waiter, and she was supplied with cold chicken and more sherry. After this

Hitherto there had been no tendernessnothing but the coldest cousinship. He clearly meant her to

understand that he had submitted to the task of accompanying her back to Portray Castle as a duty, but that he

had nothing to say to one who had so misbehaved herself. This was very irritating. She could have taken

herself home to Portray without his company, and have made the journey more endurable without him than

with him, if this were to be his conduct throughout. They had had the carriage to themselves all the way from

Crewe to Carlisle, and he had hardly spoken a word to her. If he would have rated her soundly for her

wickednesses, she could have made something of that. She could have thrown herself on her knees, and

implored his pardon; or, if hard pressed, have suggested the propriety of throwing herself out of the carriage

window. She could have brought him round if he would only have talked to her, but there is no doing

anything with a silent man. He was not her master. He had no power over her. She was the lady of Portray,

and he could not interfere with her. If he intended to be sullen with her to the end, and to show his contempt

for her, she would turn against him. ``The worm will turn,'' she said to herself. And yet she did not think

A few stations beyond Dumfries they were again alone. It was now quite dark, and they had already been

travelling over ten hours. They would not reach their own station till eight, and then again there would be the

``No, not once; not a wink. You have slept.'' This she said in a tone of reproach.

``I have endeavoured to read, but one cannot command one's mind at all times. Oh, I am so weary. Is it much

``We change at the next station but one. It will soon be over now. Will you have a glass of sherry? I have

some in my flask.'' Again she shook her head. ``It is a long way down to Portray, I must own.''

``I was not thinking of myself. I don't mind it. It was better that you should have somebody with youjust

``I don't know why this journey should be different from any other,'' said Lizzie crossly. She had not done

anything that made it necessary that she should be taken care oflike a naughty girl.

``And you'll stay a few days with me, Frank? You won't go away at once? Say you'll stay a week. Dear, dear

Frank; say you'll stay a week. I know that the House doesn't meet for ever so long. Oh, Frank, I do so wish

you'd be more like yourself.'' There was no reason why she should not make one other effort, and as she made

``Days with me mean money, Lizzie, and money is a thing which is at present very necessary to me.''

``I hate money. It is the only thing that one has that one cannot give to those one loves. I could give you

``Because you are so indifferent, Frankso cold. Do you remember giving me a little ring?''

``I never thought what it costbut there it is.'' This she said, drawing off her glove and showing him her

finger. ``And when I am dead, there it will be. You say you want money, Frank. May I not give it you? Are

``It is you that talk about it. I only talk about it because I want to give it youyes, all that I have. When I

first knew what was the real meaning of my husband's will, my only thought was to be of assistance to you.''

In real truth Frank was becoming very sick of her. It seemed to him now to have been almost impossible that

he should ever soberly have thought of making her his wife. The charm was all gone, and even her prettiness

had in his eyes lost its value. He looked at her, asking himself whether in truth she was pretty. She had been

travelling all day, and perhaps the scrutiny was not fair. But he thought that even after the longest day's

journey Lucy would not have been soiled, haggard, dishevelled and unclean, as was this woman.

Travellers again entered the carriage, and they went on with a crowd of persons till they reached the platform

at which they changed the carriage for Troon. Then they were again alone, for a few minutes, and Lizzie with

infinite courage determined that she would make her last attempt. ``Frank,'' she said, ``you know what it is

that I mean. You cannot feel that I am ungenerous. You have made me love you. Will you have all that I have

to give?'' She was leaning over, close to him, and he was observing that her long lock of hair was out of curl

and untidya thing that ought not to have been there during such a journey as this.

``Then I shall do it without affording.'' Lizzie was about to speakhad already pronounced her rival's name

in that tone of contempt which she so well knew how to use, when he stopped her. ``Do not say anything

against her, Lizzie, in my hearing, for I will not bear it. It would force me to leave you at the Troon station,

and I had better see you now to the end of the journey.'' Lizzie flung herself back into the corner of her

carriage, and did not utter another word till she reached Portray Castle. He handed her out of the railway

carriage, and into her own vehicle which was waiting for them, attended to the maid, and got the luggage; but

still she did not speak. It would be better that she should quarrel with him. That little snake, Lucy, would of

course now tell him of the meeting between them in Hertford Street, after which anything but quarrelling

would be impossible. What a fool the man must be, what an idiot, what a softhearted, meanspirited fellow!

Lucy, by her sly, quiet little stratagems, had got him once to speak the word, and now he had not courage

enough to go back from it! He had less strength of will even than Lord Fawn! What she offered to him would

be the making of him. With his position, his seat in Parliament, such a country house as Portray Castle, and

the income which she would give him, there was nothing that he might not reach! And he was so infirm of

purpose, that though he had hankered after it all, he would not open his hand to take itbecause he was

afraid of such a little thing as Lucy Morris! It was thus that she thought of him, as she leaned back in the

carriage without speaking. In giving her all that is due to her, we must acknowledge that she had less feeling

of the injury done to her charms as a woman than might have been expected. That she hated Lucy was a

matter of courseand equally so that she should be very angry with Frank Greystock. But the anger arose

from general disappointment, rather than from any sense of her own despised beauty. ``Ah, now I shall see

When Frank Greystock went to his supper, Miss Macnulty brought to him his cousin's compliments with a

message saying that she was too weary to see him again that night. The message had been intended to be curt

and uncourteous, but Miss Macnulty had softened itso that no harm was done. ``She must be very weary,''

``I suppose though that nothing would ever really tire Lady Eustace,'' said Miss Macnulty. ``When she is

``Exceedingly dull,'' said Frank, as he helped himself to the collops which the Portray cook had prepared for

Miss Macnulty was very attentive to him, and had many questions to ask. About the necklace she hardly

dared to speak, merely observing how sad it was that all those precious diamonds should have been lost for

ever. ``Very sad indeed,'' said Frank with his mouth full. She then went on to the marriagethe marriage that

was no marriage. Was not that very dreadful? Was it true that Miss Roanoke was reallyout of her mind?

Frank acknowledged that it was dreadful, but thought that the marriage had it been completed would have

been more so. As for the young lady, he only knew that she had been taken somewhere out of the way. Sir

``To Japan!'' said Miss Macnulty, really interested. Had Sir Griffin gone no further than Boulogne, her

pleasure in the news would certainly have been much less. Then she asked some single question about Lord

George, and from that came to the real marrow of her anxiety. Had Mr Greystock lately seen thethe Rev

Mr Emilius? Frank had not seen the clergyman, and could only say of him that had Lucinda Roanoke and Sir

``Would it indeed? Did you not think Mr Emilius very clever when you met him down here?''

``Oh, Mr Greystock, I don't think that that's the word for him at all. He did promise me when he was here that

he would write to me occasionally, but I suppose that the increasing duties of his position have rendered that

impossible.'' Frank, who had no idea of the extent of the preacher's ambition, assured Miss Macnulty that

among his multifarious clerical labours it was out of the question that Mr Emilius should find time to write

Frank had consented to stay one day at Portray, and did not now like to run away without again seeing his

cousin. Though much tempted to go at once, he did stay the day, and had an opportunity of speaking a few

words to Mr Gowran. Mr Gowran was very gracious, but said nothing of his journey up to London. He asked

various questions concerning her ``leddyship's'' appearance at the policecourt, as to which tidings had

already reached Ayrshire, and pretended to be greatly shocked at the loss of the diamonds. ``When they talk

``And her leddyship wad tak' aboot wi' her ten thoosand poondin a box?'' Andy still showed much doubt

by the angry glance of his eye of the close compression of his lips, and the great severity of his demeanour as

``I know nothing about diamonds myself, but that is what they say they were worth.''

``Her leddyship's her ain sell seems nae to ha' been in ain story aboot the box, Muster Greystock?'' But Frank

could not stand to be crossquestioned on this delicate matter, and walked off, saying that as the thieves had

At four o'clock on that afternoon he had not seen Lizzie, and then he received a message from her to the

effect that she was still so unwell from the fatigue of her journey that she could bear no one with her but her

child. She hoped that her cousin was quite comfortable, and that she might be able to see him after breakfast

on the following day. But Frank was determined to leave Portray very early on the following day, and

therefore wrote a note to his cousin. He begged that she would not disturb herself, that he would leave the

castle the next morning before she could be up, and that he had only further to remind her that she must come

up to London at once as soon as she should be summoned for the trial of Mr Benjamin and his comrade. It

had seemed to Frank that she had almost concluded that her labours connected with that disagreeable matter

were at an end. ``The examination may be long, and I will attend you if you wish it,'' said her cousin. Upon

receiving this she thought it expedient to come down to him, and there was an interview for about a quarter of

an hour in her own little sittingroom looking out upon the sea. She had formed a project, and at once

suggested it to him. If she found herself ill when the day of the trial came, could they make her go up and

give her evidence? Frank told her that they could, and that they would. She was very clever about it. ``They

couldn't go back to what I said at Carlisle, you know; because they already have made me tell all that

myself.'' As she had been called upon to criminate herself, she could not now be tried for the crime. Frank,

however, would not listen to this, and told her that she must come. ``Very well, Frank. I know you like to

have your own way. You always did. And you think so little of my feelings! I shall make inquiry, and if I

``Very well. And now, Frank, as I am so very tired, if you please I'll say goodbye to you. I am very much

On the day appointed, Lucy Morris went back from the house of the old countess to Fawn Court. ``My dear,''

said Lady Linlithgow, ``I am sorry that you are going. Perhaps you'll think I haven't been very kind to you,

but I never am kind. People have always been hard to me, and I'm hard. But I do like you.''

``It hasn't been bad at allonly that there's nothing particular to do. But I must go. I shall get another place

``I mean to pay you something,'' said the countess, opening her pocketbook, and fumbling for two

``I always gave Macnulty something, and she was not near so nice as you.'' And then the countess produced

two tenpound notes. But Lucy would have none of her money, and when she was pressed, became proud

and almost indignant in her denial. She had earned nothing, and she would take nothing, and it was in vain

that the old lady spread the clean bits of paper before her. ``And so you'll go and be a governess again; will

``I'll tell you what, my dear. If I were Frank Greystock, I'd stick to my bargain.'' Lucy at once fell acrying,

but she smiled upon the old woman through her tears. ``Of course he's going to marry that little limb of the

``It isn't for myself I'm speaking. If I can'tif I can'tcan't have things go as I thought they would by

myself, I will never ask anyone to help me. It is not that I mean. I have given all that up.''

``YesI have. But nevertheless I think of him. She is bad, and he will never be happy if he marries her.

When he asked me to be his wife, he was mistaken as to what would be good for him. He ought not to have

``But I do not wish him to be unhappy all his life. He is not bad, but she is very bad. I would not for worlds

that anybody should tell him that he owed me anything; but if he could be saved from heroh, I should be so

``Then I may as well put it up again.'' And the countess replaced the notes in her pocketbook. When this

conversation took place, Frank Greystock was travelling back alone from Portray to London. On the same

day the Fawn carriage came to fetch Lucy away. As Lucy was in peculiar distress, Lady Fawn would not

allow her to come by any other conveyance. She did not exactly think that the carriage would console her

poor favourite; but she did it as she would have ordered something specially nice to eat for anyone who had

broken his leg. Her soft heart had compassion for misery, though she would sometimes show her sympathy

by strange expressions. Lady Linlithgow was almost angry about the carriage. ``How many carriages and

``She's very fond of sending them up into the streets of London, I think.'' Lucy said nothing more, knowing

that it would be impossible to soften the heart of this dowager in regard to the other. But she kissed the old

She had made up her mind to have one discussion with Lady Fawn about her engagementthe engagement

which was no longer an engagementand then to have done with it. She would ask Lady Fawn to ask the

girls never to mention Mr Greystock's name in her hearing. Lady Fawn had also made up her mind to the

same effect. She felt that the subject should be mentioned onceand once only. Of course Lucy must have

another place, but there need be no hurry about that. She fully recognised her young friend's feeling of

independence, and was herself aware that she would be wrong to offer to the girl a permanent home among

her own daughters, and therefore she could not abandon the idea of a future place; but Lucy would, of course,

remain till a situation should have been found for her that would be in every sense unexceptionable. There

need, however, be no hasteand, in the meantime, the few words about Frank Greystock must be spoken.

They need not, however, be spoken quite immediately. Let there be smiles, and joy, and a merry ring of

laughter on this the first day of the return of their old friend. As Lucy had the same feelings on that afternoon,

they did talk pleasantly and were merry. The girls asked questions about the Vulturessas they had heard

her called by Lizzie Eustaceand laughed at Lucy to her face when she swore that, after a fashion, she liked

Lady Fawn planned out the next day with great precision. After breakfast, Lucy and the girls were to spend

the morning in the old schoolroom, so that there might be a general explanation as to the doings of the last six

months. They were to dine at three, and after dinner there should be the discussion. ``Will you come up to my

room at four o'clock, my dear?'' said Lady Fawn, patting Lucy's shoulder, in the breakfastparlour. Lucy

knew well why her presence was required. Of course she would come. It would be wise to get it over and

At noon Lady Fawn, with her three eldest daughters, went out in the carriage, and Lucy was busy among the

others with books and maps and sheets of scribbled music. Nothing was done on that day in the way of

instruction; but there was much of halfjocose acknowledgement of past idleness, and a profusion of

resolutions of future diligence. One or two of the girls were going to commence a course of reading that

would have broken the back of any professor, and suggestions were made as to very rigid rules as to the

talking of French and German. ``But as we can't talk German,'' said Nina, ``we should simply be dumb.''

``You'd talk High Dutch, Nina, sooner than submit to that,'' said one of the sisters.

The conclave was still sitting in full deliberation, when one of the maids entered the room with a very long

face. There was a gentleman in the drawing room asking for Miss Morris! Lucy, who at the moment was

standing at a table on which were spread an infinity of books, became at once as white as a sheet. Her fast

friend, Lydia Fawn, who was standing by her, immediately took hold of her hand quite tightly. The face of

the maid was fit for a funeral. She knew that Miss Morris had had a ``follower'that the follower had

comeand that then Miss Morris had gone away. Miss Morris had been allowed to come back; and now, on

the very first day, just when my lady's back was turned, here was the follower again! Before she had come up

with her message, there had been an unanimous expression of opinion in the kitchen that the fat would all be

in the fire. Lucy was as white as marble, and felt such a sudden shock at her heart, that she could not speak.

And yet she never doubted for a moment that Frank Greystock was the man. And with what purpose but one

could he have come there? She had on the old, old frock in which, before her visit to Lady Linlithgow, she

used to pass the morning amidst her labours with the girlsa pale grey, wellworn frock, to which must

have been imparted some attraction from the milliner's art, because everybody liked it so wellbut which

she had put on this very morning as a testimony, to all the world around her, that she had abandoned the idea

of being anything except a governess. Lady Fawn had understood the frock well. ``Here is the dear little old

woman just the same as ever,'' Lydia had said, embracing her. ``She looks as if she'd gone to bed before the

winter, and had a long sleep, like a dormouse,'' said Cecilia, Lucy had liked it all, and thoroughly appreciated

the lovingkindness; but she had known what it all meant. She had left them as the engaged bride of Mr

Greystock, the member for Bobsborough; and now she had come back as Lucy Morris, the governess, again.

``Just the same as ever,'' Lucy had said, with the sweetest smile. They all understood that, in so saying, she

And now there stood the maid, inside the room, who, having announced that there was a gentleman asking for

Miss Morris, was waiting for an answer. Was the follower to be sent about his business, with a flea in his ear,

having come slyly, craftily, and wickedly, in Lady Fawn's absence; or would Miss Morris brazen it out, and

``Who is the gentleman?'' asked Diana, who was the eldest of the Fawn girls present.

``It is Mr Greystock,'' said Lucy, recovering herself with an effort. ``I had better go down to him. Will you

``You ought to have put on the other frock, after all,'' said Nina, whispering into her ear.

``I suppose it was all because he didn't like Lady Linlithgow,'' said Cecilia. Lucy had not a word to say. She

stood for a minute among them, trying to think, and then she slowly left the room.

She would not condescend to alter her dress by the aid of a single pin, or by the adjustment of a ribbon. It

might well be that, after the mingled work and play of the morning, her hair should not be smooth; but she

was too proud to look at her hair. The man whom she had loved, who had loved her but had neglected her,

was in the house. He would surely not have followed her thither did he not intend to make reparation for his

neglect. But she would use no art with himnor would she make any entreaty. It might be that, after all, he

had the courage to come and tell her, in a manly, straightforward way, that the thing must be all overthat

he had made a mistake, and would beg her pardon. If it were so, there should be no word of reproach. She

would be quite quiet with him; but there should be no word of reproach. But ifIn that other case she could

not be sure of her behaviour, but she knew well that he would not have to ask long for forgiveness. As for her

dresshe had chosen to love her in that frock before, and she did not think that he would pay much attention

She opened the door very quietly and very slowly, intending to approach him in the same way. But in a

moment, before she could remember that she was in the room, he had seized her in his arms, and was

showering kisses upon her forehead, her eyes, and her lips. When she thought of it afterwards, she could not

call to mind a single word that he had spoken before he held her in his embrace. It was she, surely, who had

spoken first, when she begged to be released from his pressure. But she well remembered the first words that

struck her ear. ``Dearest Lucy, will you forgive me?'' She could only answer them through her tears by taking

When Lady Fawn came back with the carriage, she herself saw the figures of two persons, walking very close

``Yes,'' said Augusta, with a tone of horror. ``Indeed it is, andMr Greystock.''

Lady Fawn was neither shocked nor displeased; nor was she disappointed; but a certain faint feeling of being

illused by circumstances came over her. ``Dear methe very first day!'' she said.

``It's because he wouldn't go to Lady Linlithgow's,'' said Amelia. ``He has only waited, mamma.''

``But the very first day!'' exclaimed Lady Fawn. ``I hope Lucy will be happythat's all.''

There was a great meeting of all the Fawns, as soon as Lady Fawn and the eldest girls were in the house. Mr

Greystock had been walking about the grounds with Lucy for the last hour and a half. Lucy had come in once

to beg that Lady Fawn might be told directly she came in. ``She said you were to send for her, mamma,'' said

``She was as happy as ever she could be,'' said Lydia. ``There's no doubt about its being all right, mamma.

``I don't suppose he cares one ha'penny about her frock,'' said Nina. ``I should never think about a man's coat

``Nina, you shouldn't talk in that way,'' said Augusta. Whereupon Nina made a face behind one of her sisters'

The consultation was ended by a decision in accordance with which Nina went as an ambassador to the

lovers. Lady Fawn sent her compliments to Mr Greystock, and hoped he would come in to lunch. Lucy must

come in to dinner, because dinner was ready. ``And mamma wants to see you just for a minute,'' added Nina,

``Oh, Nina, you darling girl!'' said Lucy, kissing her young friend in an ecstasy of joy.

``It's all right?'' asked Nina in a whisper which was really intended for privacy. Lucy did not answer the

Frank Greystock was, of course, obliged to take his seat at the table, and was entertained with a profusion of

civility. Everybody knew that he had behaved badly to Lucyeverybody, except Lucy herself, who, from

this time forward, altogether forgot that she had for some time looked upon him as a traitor, and had made up

her mind that she had been deceived and illused. All the Fawns had spoken of him, in Lucy's absence, in the

hardest terms of reproach, and declared that he was not fit to be spoken to by any decent person. Lady Fawn

had known from the first that such a one as he was not to be trusted. Augusta had never liked him. Amelia

had feared that poor Lucy Morris had been unwise, and too ambitious. Georgina had seen that, of course, it

would never do. Diana had sworn that it was a great shame. Lydia was sure that Lucy was a great deal too

good for him. Cecilia had wondered where he would go toa form of anathema which had brought down a

rebuke from her mother. And Nina had always hated him like poison. But now nothing was too good for him.

An unmarried man who is willing to sacrifice himself is, in feminine eyes, always worthy of ribbons and a

chaplet. Among all these Fawns there was as little selfishness as can be foundeven among women. The

lover was not the lover of one of themselves, but of their governess. And yet, though he desired neither to eat

nor drink at that hour, something special had been cooked for him, and a special bottle of wine had been

brought out of the cellar. All his sins were forgiven him. No single question was asked as to his gross

misconduct during the last six months. No pledge or guarantee was demanded for the future. There he was, in

After his early dinner it was necessary that he should return to town, and Lucy obtained leave to walk with

him to the station. To her thinking now, there was no sin to be forgiven. Everything was, and had been, just

as it ought to be. Had any human being hinted that he had sinned, she would have defended him to the death.

Something was said between them about Lizzie, but nothing that arose from jealousy. Not till many months

had passed did she tell him of Lizzie's message to herself, and of her visit to Hertford Street. But they spoke

of the necklace, and poor Lucy shuddered as she was told the truth about those false oaths. ``I really do think

that, after that, Lord Fawn is right,'' she said, looking round at her lover. ``Yes; but what he did, he did before

that,'' said Frank. ``But are they not good and kind?'' she said, pleading for her friends. ``Was ever anybody so

well treated as they have treated me? I'll tell you what, sir, you mustn't quarrel with Lord Fawn any more. I

won't allow it.'' Then she walked back from the station alone, almost bewildered by her own happiness.

That evening something like an explanation was demanded by Lady Fawn, but no explanation was

forthcoming. When questions were asked about his silence, Lucy, half in joke and half in earnest, fired up

and declared that everything had been as natural as possible. He could not have come to Lady Linlithgow's

house. Lady Linlithgow would not receive him. No doubt she had been impatient, but then that had been her

fault. Had he not come to her the very first day after her return to Richmond? When Augusta said something

as to letters which might have been written, Lucy snubbed her. ``Who says he didn't write? He did write. If I

am contented, why should you complain?'' ``Oh, I don't complain,'' said Augusta.

Then questions were asked as to the futurequestions to which Lady Fawn had a right to demand an answer.

What did Mr Greystock propose to do now? Then Lucy broke down, sobbing, crying, triumphing, with

mingled love and happiness. She was to go to the deanery. Frank had brought with him a little note to her

from his mother, in which she was invited to make the deanery at Bobsborough her home for the present.

``Stay with us a month, my dear,'' said Lady Fawn, ``just to let people know that we are friends, and after that

It need only be further said, in completing the history of Lucy Morris as far as it can be completed in these

pages, that she did go to the deanery, and that there she was received with all the affection which Mrs

Greystock could show to an adopted daughter. Her quarrel had never been with Lucy personallybut with

the untoward fact that her son would not marry money. At the deanery she remained for fifteen happy

months, and then became Mrs Greystock, with a bevy of Fawn bridesmaids around her. As the personages of

a chronicle such as this should all be made to operate backwards and forwards on each other from the

beginning to the end, it would have been desirable that the chronicler should have been able to report that the

ceremony was celebrated by Mr Emilius. But as the wedding did not take place till the end of the summer,

and as Mr Emilius at that time never remained in town, after the season was over, this was impossible. It was

the Dean of Bobsborough, assisted by one of the minor canons, who performed the service.

Having told the tale of Lucy Morris to the end, the chronicler must now go back to the more important

persons of this history. It was still early in April when Lizzie Eustace was taken down to Scotland by her

cousin, and the trial of Mr Benjamin and Mr Smiler was fixed to take place at the Central Criminal Court

about the middle of May. Early in May the attorneys for the prosecution applied to Greystock, asking him

whether he would make arrangements for his cousin's appearance on the occasion, informing him that she

had already been formally summoned. Whereupon he wrote to Lizzie, telling her what she had better do, in

the kindest manneras though there had been no cessation of their friendly intercourse; offering to go with

her into courtand naming a hotel at which he would advise her to stay during the very short time that she

need remain in London. She answered this letter at once. She was sorry to say that she was much too ill to

travel, or even to think of travelling. Such was her present condition that she doubted greatly whether she

would ever again be able to leave the two rooms to which she was at present confined. All that remained to

her in life was to watch her own blue waves from the casement of her dear husband's castlethat casement

at which he had loved to sit, and to make herself happy in the smiles of her child. A few months would see

the last of it all, and then, perhaps, they who had trampled her to death would feel some pangs of remorse as

they thought of her early fate. She had given her evidence once and had told all the truththough she was

now aware that she need not have done so, as she had been defrauded of a vast amount of property through

the gross negligence of the police. She was advised now by persons who seemed really to understand the law,

that she could recover the value of the diamonds which her dear, dear husband had given her, from the

freeholders of the parish in which the robbery had taken place. She feared that her health did not admit of the

necessary exertion. Were it otherwise she would leave no stone unturned to recover the value of her

propertynot on account of its value, but because she had been so illtreated by Mr Camperdown, and the

police. Then she added a postscript to say that it was quite out of the question that she should take any

The reader need hardly be told that Greystock did not believe a word of what she said. He felt sure that she

was not ill. There was an energy in the letter hardly compatible with illness. But he could not make her come.

He certainly did not intend to go down again to Scotland to fetch herand even had he done so he could not

have forced her to accompany him. He could only go to the attorneys concerned, and read to them so much of

the letter as he thought fit to communicate to them. ``That won't do at all,'' said an old gentleman at the head

``I hope she won't give us trouble, because if she does we must expose her,'' said the second member.

``She has not even sent a medical certificate,'' said the tyro of the firm, who was not quite so sharp as he will

probably become when he has been a member of it for ten or twelve years. You should never ask the ostler

whether he greases his oats. In this case Frank Greystock was not exactly in the position of the ostler; but he

did inform his cousin by letter that she would lay herself open to all manner of pains and penalties if she

disobeyed such a summons as she had received, unless she did so by a very strong medical advice, backed by

Lizzie, when she received this, had two strings to her bow. A writer from Ayr had told her that the summons

sent to her was not worth the paper on which it was printed in regard to a resident in Scotlandand she had

also got a doctor from the neighbourhood who was satisfied that she was far too ill to travel up to London.

Pulmonary debilitation was the complaint from which she was suffering, which, with depressed vitality in all

the organs, and undue languor in all the bodily functions, would be enough to bring her to a speedy end if she

so much as thought of making a journey up to London. A certificate to this effect was got in triplicate. One

The matter was very pressing indeed. It was considered that the trial could not be postponed till the next

sitting at the Criminal Court, because certain witnesses in respect to the diamonds had been procured from

Hamburg and Vienna, at a very great cost; they were actually on their way to London when Lizzie's second

letter was received. Mr Camperdown had resolved to have the diamonds, still with a hope that they might be

restored to the keeping of Messrs Garnett, there to lie hidden and unused at any rate for the next twenty years.

The diamonds had been traced first to Hamburg, and then to Viennaand it was to be proved that they were

now adorning the bosom of a certain enormously rich Russian princess. From the grasp of the Russian

princess it was found impossible to rescue them; but the witnesses who, as it was hoped, might have aided Mr

A confidential clerk was sent down to Portray, but the confidential clerk altogether failed in making his way

into Lizzie's presence. Word was brought to him that nothing but force could take Lady Eustace from her

bedchamber; and that force used to that effect might take her out dead, but certainly not alive. He made

inquiry, however, about the doctor, and found that he certainly was a doctor. If a doctor will certify that a

lady is dying, what can any judge do, or any jury? There are certain statements which, though they are false

as hell, must be treated as though they were true as gospel. The clerk reported, when he got back to London,

that, to his belief, Lady Eustace was enjoying an excellent state of healthbut that he was perfectly certain

The anger felt by many persons as to Lizzie's fraudulent obstinacy was intense. Mr Camperdown thought that

she ought to be dragged up to London by cart ropes. The attorneys engaged for the prosecution were almost

beside themselves. They did send down a doctor of their own, but Lizzie would not see the doctorwould

not see the doctor though threats of most frightful consequences were conveyed to her. She would be

exposed, fined thousands of pounds, committed to gaol for contempt of court, and prosecuted for perjury into

the bargain. But she was firm. She wrote one scrap of a note to the doctor who came from London, ``I shall

not live to satisfy their rabid vengeance.'' Even Frank Greystock felt almost more annoyed than gratified that

she should be able thus to escape. People who had heard of the inquiry before the magistrate, had postponed

their excitement and interest on the occasion, because they knew that the day of the trial would be the great

day; and when they heard that they were to be robbed of the pleasure of Lady Eustace's crossexamination,

there arose almost a public feeling of wrath that justice should be thus outraged. The doctor who had given

the certificate was vilified in the newspapers, and long articles were written as to the impotence of the law.

It appeared that though her evidence was very desirable it was not absolutely essential, as, in consequence of

her certified illness, the statement which she had made at the policecourt could be brought up and used

against the prisoners. All the facts of the robbery were, moreover, proved by Patience Crabstick and Billy

Cann. And the transfer of the diamonds by Mr Benjamin to the man who recut them at Hamburg, was also

proved. Many other morsels of collateral evidence had also been picked up by the policeso that there was

no possible doubt as to any detail of the affair in Hertford Street. There was a rumour that Mr Benjamin

intended to plead guilty. He might, perhaps, have done so had it not been for the absence of Lady Eustace;

but as that was thought to give him a possible chance of escape, he stood his ground.

Lizzie's absence was a great disappointment to the sightseers of London, but nevertheless the court was

crowded. It was understood that the learned serjeant who was retained on this occasion to defend Mr

Benjamin, and who was assisted by the acute gentleman who had appeared before the magistrate, would be

rather severe upon Lady Eustace, even in her absence; and that he would ground his demand for an acquittal

on the combined facts of her retention of the diamonds, her perjury, and of her obstinate refusal to come

forward on the present occasion. As it was known that he could be very severe, many came to hear himand

they were not disappointed. The reader shall see a portion of his address to the jurywhich we hope may

have had some salutary effect on Lizzie, as she read it in her retreat at Portray, looking out upon her own blue

``And now, gentlemen of the jury, let me recapitulate to you the history of this lady as far as it relates to the

diamonds as to which my client is now in jeopardy. You have heard on the testimony of Mr Camperdown

that they were not hers at allthat, at any rate, they were not supposed to be hers by those in whose hands

was left the administration of her husband's estate, and that when they were first supposed to have been stolen

at the inn at Carlisle, he had already commenced legal steps for the recovery of them from her clutches. A bill

in Chancery had been filed because she had obstinately refused to allow them to pass out of her hands. It has

been proved to you by Lord Fawn that though he was engaged to marry her, he broke his engagement

because he supposed her possession of these diamonds to be fraudulent and dishonest.'' This examination had

been terrible to the unfortunate UnderSecretaryand had absolutely driven him away from the India Board

and from Parliament for a month. ``It has been proved to you that when the diamonds were supposed to have

vanished at Carlisle, she there committed perjury. That she did so she herself stated on oath in that evidence

which she gave before the magistrate when my client was committed, and which has, as I maintain,

improperly and illegally been used against my client at this trial.'' Here the judge looked over his spectacles

and admonished the learned serjeant, that his argument on that subject had already been heard, and the matter

decided. ``True, my lord; but my conviction of my duty to my client compels me to revert to it. Lady Eustace

committed perjury at Carlisle, having the diamonds in her pocket at the very moment in which she swore that

they had been stolen from her. And if justice had really been done in this case, gentlemen, it is Lady Eustace

who should now be on her trial before you, and not my unfortunate client. Wellwhat is the next that we

hear of it? It seems that she brought the diamonds up to London; but how long she kept them there, nobody

knows. It was, however, necessary to account for them. A robbery is got up between a young woman who

seems to have been the confidential friend rather than the maid of Lady Eustace, and that other witness whom

you have heard testifying against himself, and who is, of all the informers that ever came into my hands, the

most flippant, the most hardened, the least conscientious, and the least credible. That they two were engaged

in a conspiracy I cannot doubt. That Lady Eustace was engaged with them, I will not say. But I will ask you

to consider whether such may not probably have been the case. At any rate, she then perjures herself again.

She gives a list of the articles stolen from her, and omits the diamonds. She either perjures herself a second

timeor else the diamonds in regard to which my client is in jeopardy were not in the house at all, and could

not then have been stolen. It may very probably have been so. Nothing more probable. Mr Camperdown and

the managers of the Eustace estate had gradually come to a belief that the Carlisle robbery was a hoaxand,

therefore, another robbery is necessary to account for the diamonds. Another robbery is arranged, and this

young and beautiful widow, as bold as brass, again goes before the magistrate and swears. Either the

``And now, gentlemen, she is not here. She is sick forsooth at her own castle in Scotland, and sends to us a

medical certificate. But the gentlemen who are carrying on the prosecution know their witness, and don't

believe a word of her sickness. Had she the feelings of woman in her bosom she ought indeed to be sick unto

death. But they know her better, and send down a doctor of their own. You have heard his evidenceand yet

this wonderful lady is not before us. I say again that she ought to be here in that dockin that dock in spite

of her fortune, in that dock in spite of her title, in that dock in spite of her castle, her riches, her beauty, and

her great relatives. A most wonderful woman, indeed, is the widow Eustace. It is she whom public opinion

will convict as the guilty one in this marvellous mass of conspiracy and intrigue. In her absence, and after

what she has done herself, can you convict any man either of stealing or of disposing of these diamonds?''

The vigour, the attitude, and the indignant tone of the man were more even than his wordsbut,

nevertheless, the jury did find both Benjamin and Smiler guilty, and the judge did sentence them to penal

And this was the end of the Eustace diamonds as far as anything was ever known of them in England. Mr

Camperdown altogether failed, even in his attempt to buy them back at something less than their value, and

was ashamed himself to look at the figures when he found how much money he had wasted for his clients in

their pursuit. In discussing the matter afterwards with Mr Dove, he excused himself by asserting his inability

to see so gross a robbery perpetrated by a little minx under his very eyes without interfering with the plunder.

``I knew what she was'', he said, ``from the moment of Sir Florian's unfortunate marriage. He had brought a

little harpy into the family, and I was obliged to declare war against her.'' Mr Dove seemed to be of opinion

that the ultimate loss of the diamonds was upon the whole desirable, as regarded the whole community. ``I

should like to have had the case settled as to right of possession'', he said, ``because there were in it one or

two points of interest. We none of us know, for instance, what a man can, or what a man cannot, give away

``Such evidence as there is would have gone to show that it had been spoken. But the very existence of such

property so to be disposed of, or so not to be disposed of, is in itself an evil. Thus, we have had to fight for

six months about a lot of stones hardly so useful as the flags in the street, and then they vanish from us,

leaving us nothing to repay us for our labour.'' All which Mr Camperdown did not quite understand. Mr Dove

would be paid for his labouras to which, however, Mr Camperdown knew well that no human being was

There was much sorrow, too, among the police. They had no doubt succeeded in sending two scoundrels out

of the social world, probably for life, and had succeeded in avoiding the reproach which a great robbery,

unaccounted for, always entails upon them. But it was sad to them that the property should altogether have

been lost, and sad also that they should have been constrained to allow Billy Cann to escape out of their

hands. Perhaps the sadness may have been lessened to a certain degree in the breast of the great Mr Gager by

the charms and graces of Patience Crabstick, to whom he kept his word by making her his wife. This

factor rather the prospect of this fact, as it then washad also come to the knowledge of the learned

serjeant, and, in his hands, had served to add another interest to the trial. Mr Gager, when examined on the

subject, did not attempt to deny the impeachment, and expressed a strong opinion that, though Miss Crabstick

had given way to temptation under the wiles of the Jew, she would make an honest and an excellent wife. In

Amusement had, indeed, been expected from other sources which failed. Mrs Carbuncle had been

summoned, and Lord George; but both of them had left town before the summons could reach them. It was

rumoured that Mrs Carbuncle, with her niece, had gone to join her husband at New York. At any rate, she

disappeared altogether from London, leaving behind her an amount of debts which showed how extremely

liberal in their dealings the great tradesmen of London will occasionally be. There were milliners' bills which

had been running for three years, and horsedealers had given her credit year after year, though they had

scarcely ever seen the colour of her money. One account, however, she had honestly settled. The

hotelkeeper in Albemarle Street had been paid, and all the tribute had been packed and carried off from the

scene of the proposed wedding banquet. What became of Lord George for the next six months, nobody ever

knew; but he appeared at Melton in the following November, and I do not know that anyone dared to ask him

Of Lizzie, and her future career, something further must be said in the concluding chapters of this work. She

has been our heroine, and we must see her through her immediate troubles before we can leave her; but it

may be as well to mention here, that although many threats had been uttered against her, not only by Mr

Camperdown and the other attorneys, but even by the judge himself, no punishment at all was inflicted upon

her in regard to her recusancy, nor was any attempt made to punish her. The affair was over, and men were

glad to avoid the necessity of troubling themselves further with the business. It was said that a case would be

got up with the view of proving that she had not been ill at all, and that the Scotch doctor would be subjected

to the loss of his degree, or whatever privileges in the healing art belonged to himbut nothing was done,

On the very day of the trial Mr Emilius travelled from London to Kilmarnock. The trial took place on a

Monday, so that he had at his command an entire week before he would be required to appear again in his

church. He had watched the case against Benjamin and Smiler very closely, and had known beforehand,

almost with accuracy, what witnesses would appear and what would not at the great coming event at the Old

Bailey. When he first heard of Lady Eustace's illness, he wrote to her a most affectionately pastoral letter,

strongly adjuring her to think of her health before all things, and assuring her that in his opinion, and in that

of all his friends, she was quite right not to come up to London. She wrote him a very short, but a very

gracious, answer, thanking him for his solicitude, and explaining to him that her condition made it quite

``I don't suppose anybody knows how ill I am; but it does not matter. When I am gone, they will know what

they have done.'' Then Mr Emilius resolved that he would go down to Scotland. Perhaps Lady Eustace was

not as ill as she thought; but it might be that the trial, and the hard things lately said of her, and her loneliness,

and the feeling that she needed protection, might, at such a moment as this, soften her heart. She should know

at least that one tender friend did not desert her because of the evil things which men said of her.

He went to Kilmarnock, thinking it better to make his approaches by degrees. Were he to present himself at

once at the castle and be refused admittance, he would hardly know how to repeat his application, or to force

himself upon her presence. From Kilmarnock he wrote to her, saying that business connected with his

ministrations during the coming autumn had brought him into her beautiful neighbourhood, and that he could

not leave it without paying his respects to her in person. With her permission he would call upon her on the

Thursday at about noon. He trusted that the state of her health would not prevent her from seeing him, and

reminded her that a clergyman was often as welcome a visitor at the bedside of the invalid as the doctor or the

nurse. He gave her no address, as he rather wished to hinder her from answering him, but at the appointed

Need it be said that Lizzie's state of health was not such as to preclude her from seeing so intimate a friend as

Mr Emilius? That she was right to avoid by any effort the castigation which was to have fallen upon her from

the tongue of the learned serjeant, the reader who is not straightlaced will be disposed to admit. A lone

woman, very young, and delicately organised! How could she have stood up against such treatment as was in

store for her? And is it not the case that false pretexts against public demands are always held to be justifiable

by the female mind? What lady will ever scruple to avoid her taxes? What woman ever understood her duty

to the State? And this duty which was required of her was so terrible, that it might well have reduced to

falsehood a stouter heart than her own. It can hardly be reckoned among Lizzie's great sins that she did not

make that journey up to London. An appearance of sickness she did maintain, even with her own domestics.

To do as much as that was due even to the doctor whom she had cajoled out of the certificate, and who was

afterwards frightened into maintaining it. But Mr Emilius was her clergymanher own clergyman, as she

took care to say to her maidher own clergyman, who had come all the way from London to be present with

Lizzie did not think much of the coming autumnal ministration at Kilmarnock. She knew very well why Mr

Emilius had undertaken the expense of a journey into Scotland in the middle of the London season. She had

been maimed fearfully in her late contests with the world, and was now lame and soiled and impotent. The

boy with none of the equipments of the skilled sportsman can make himself master of a wounded bird. Mr

Emilius was seeking her in the moment of her weakness, fearing that all chance of success might be over for

him should she ever again recover the full use of her wings. All this Lizzie understood, and was able to

measure Mr Emilius at his own value of himself. But then, again, she was forced to ask herself what was her

value. She had been terribly mauled by the fowlers. She had been hit, so to say, on both wings, and hardly

knew whether she would ever again be able to attempt a flight in public. She could not live alone in Portray

Castle for the rest of her days. Ianthe's soul and the Corsair were not, in truth, able to console her for the loss

of society. She must have somebody to depend uponah, someone whom, if it were possible, she might

love. She saw no reason why she should not love Mr Emilius. She had been shockingly illtreated by Lord

Fawn, and the Corsair, and Frank Greystock. No woman had ever been so knocked about in her affections.

She pitied herself with an exceeding pity when she thought of all the hardships which she had endured. Left

an early widow, persecuted by her husband's family, twice robbed, spied upon by her own servants,

unappreciated by the world at large, illused by three lovers, victimised by her selected friend, Mrs

Carbuncle, and now driven out of society because she had lost her diamonds, was she not more cruelly

treated than any woman of whom she had ever read or heard? But she was not going to give up the battle,

even now. She still had her income, and she had great faith in income. And though she knew that she had

been grievously wounded by the fowlers, she believed that time would heal her wounds. The world would not

continue to turn its back altogether upon a woman with four thousand pounds a year, because she had told a

fib about her necklace. She weighed all this; but the conviction strongest upon her mind was the necessity

that she should have a husband. She felt that a woman by herself in the world can do nothing, and that an

unmarried woman's strength lies only in the expectation that she may soon be married. To her it was

essentially necessary that she should have the protection of a husband who might endure on her behalf some

portion of those buffetings to which she seemed to be especially doomed. Could she do better with herself

Might she have chosen from all the world, Mr Emilius was not, perhaps, the man whom she would have

selected. There were, indeed, attributes in this man, very objectionable in the sight of some people, which to

her were not specially disagreeable. She thought him rather goodlooking than otherwise, in spite of a slight

defect in his left eye. His coalblack, glossy hair commanded and obtained her admiration, and she found his

hooky nose to be handsome. She did not think much of his ancestral blood, of which he had boasted, and

hardly believed he would ever be a bishop. But he was popular, with and a rich, titled wife, might become

more so. Mr Emilius and Lady Eustace would, she thought, sound very well, and would surely make their

way in society. The man had a grasping ambition about him, and a capacity, too, which, combined, would

enable him to preach himself into notoriety. And then in marrying Mr Emilius, should she determine to do so,

she might be sure, almost sure, of dictating her own terms as to settlement. With Lord Fawn, with Lord

George, or even with her cousin Frank, there would have been much difficulty. She thought that with Mr

Emilius she might obtain the undisputed command of her own income. But she did not quite make up her

mind. She would see him and hear what he had to say. Her income was her own, and should she refuse Mr

She dressed herself with considerable carehaving first thought of receiving him in bed. But as the trial had

now gone on without her, it would be convenient that her recovery should be commenced. So she had herself

dressed in a white morning wrapper with pink bows, and allowed the curl to be made fit to hang over her

shoulder. And she put on a pair of pretty slippers, with gilt bindings, and took a lace handkerchief and a

volume of Shelleyand so she prepared herself to receive Mr Emilius. Lizzie, since the reader first knew

her, had begun to use a little colouring in the arrangement of her face, and now, in honour of her sickness, she

was very pale indeed. But still, through the paleness, there was the faintest possible tinge of pink colour

shining through the translucent pearl powder. Anyone who knew Lizzie would be sure that, when she did

The conversation was at first, of course, confined to the lady's health. She thought that she was, perhaps,

getting better, though, as the doctor had told her, the reassuring symptoms might too probably only be too

fallacious. She could eat nothingliterally nothing. A few grapes out of the hothouse had supported her for

the last week. This statement was foolish on Lizzie's part, as Mr Emilius was a man of an inquiring nature,

and there was not a grape in the garden. Her only delight was in reading and in her child's society. Sometimes

she thought that she would pass away with the boy in her arms and her favourite volume of Shelley in her

hand. Mr Emilius expressed a hope that she would not pass away yet, for ever so many years. ``Oh, my

friend,'' said Lizzie, ``what is life, that one should desire it?'' Mr Emilius of course reminded her that, though

her life might be nothing to herself, it was very much indeed to those who loved her. ``Yesto my boy,'' said

Lizzie. Mr Emilius informed her, with confidence, that it was not only her boy that loved her. There were

others: or, at any rate, one other. She might be sure of one faithful heart, if she cared for that. Lizzie only

smiled, and threw from her taper fingers a little paper pellet into the middle of the roomprobably with the

view of showing at what value she priced the heart of which Mr Emilius was speaking.

The trial had occupied two days, Monday and Tuesday, and this was now the Wednesday. The result had

been telegraphed to Mr Emiliusof course without any record of the serjeant's bitter speechand the suitor

now gave the news to his ladylove. Those two horrid men had at last been found guilty, and punished with

all the severity of the law. ``Poor fellows,'' said Lady Eustace``poor Mr Benjamin! Those illstarred jewels

``He'll never come back alive, of course,'' said Mr Emilius. ``It'll kill him.''

``And it will kill me too,'' said Lizzie. ``I have a something here which tells me that I shall never recover.

Nobody will ever believe what I have suffered about those paltry diamonds. But he coveted them. I never

coveted them, Mr Emilius; though I clung to them because they were my darling husband's last gift to me.''

Mr Emilius assured her that he quite understood the facts, and appreciated all her feelings.

And now, as he thought, had come the time for pressing his suit. With widows, he had been told, the wooing

should be brisk. He had already once asked her to be his wife, and of course she knew the motive of his

journey to Scotland. ``Dearest Lady Eustace,'' he said suddenly, ``may I be allowed to renew the petition

``Ah yes; I can well understand that your indifference should enable you to forget it. Lady Eustace, I did

``I can well believe it. Some have told you so, perhaps, from base, mercenary motives.''

``I shall never pay you any compliments, Lady Eustace. Whatever may be our future intercourse in life, you

will only hear words of truth from my lips. Some have told you so from mercenary motives.''Mr Emilius

repeated the words with severity, and then paused to hear whether she would dare to argue with him. As she

was silent, he changed his voice, and went on with that sweet, oily tone, which had made his fortune for

him.``Some, no doubt, have spoken from the inner depths of their hearts. But none, Lady Eustace, have

spoken with such adamantine truth, with so intense an anxiety, with so personal a solicitude for your welfare

in this world and the next, as thator I should rather say thosewhich glow within this bosom.'' Lizzie was

certainly pleased by the manner in which he addressed her. She thought that a man ought to dare to speak out,

and that on such an occasion as this he should venture to do so with some enthusiasm and some poetry. She

considered that men generally were afraid of expressing themselves, and were as dumb as dogs, from the

want of becoming spirit. Mr Emilius gesticulated, and struck his breast, and brought out his words as though

``The saying of it is hard enough, Lady Eustace. You can never know how hard it is to speak from a full

heart. But to feel it, I will not say is easyonly to me, not to feel it is impossible. Lady Eustace, my heart is

devoted to your heart, and seeks its comrade. It is sick with love and will not be stayed. It forces from me

wordswords which will return upon me with all the bitterness of gall, if they be not accepted by you as

``No indeednor at command will it stay away. Do you think I have not tried that? Do you believe that for a

man it can be pleasant to be rebuffedthat for one who up to this day has always walked on, triumphant

over every obstacle, who has conquered every nay that has obstructed his path, it can have less of bitterness

``It is everything to medeath, destruction, annihilationunless I can overcome it. Darling of my heart,

queen of my soul, empress presiding over the very spirit of my being, sayshall I overcome it now?''

She had never been made love to after this fashion before. She knew, or half knew, that the man was a

scheming hypocrite, craving her money, and following her in the hour of her troubles, because he might then

have the best chance of success. She had no belief whatever in his love. And yet she liked it, and approved

his proceedings. She liked lies, thinking them to be more beautiful than truth. To lie readily and cleverly,

recklessly and yet successfully, was, according to the lessons which she had learned, a necessity in woman,

and an added grace in man. There was that wretched Macnulty, who would never lie; and what was the

result? She was unfit even for the poor condition of life which she pretended to fill. When poor Macnulty had

heard that Mr Emilius was coming to the castle, and had not even mentioned her name; and again, when he

had been announced on this very morning, the unfortunate woman had been unable to control her absurd

disappointment. ``Mr Emilius,'' Lizzie said, throwing herself back upon her couch, ``you press me very hard.''

``I would press you harder still to gain the glory I covet.'' And he made a motion with his arms as though he

``In attacking a fortress do not the besiegers take all advantages? Dear Lady Eustace, allow me to return to

London with the right of protecting your name at this moment, in which the false and the thoughtless are

``I can defend myself, sir, from all attacks. I do not know that anyone can hurt me.''

``God forbid that you should be hurt. Heaven forbid that even the winds of heaven should blow too harshly

on my beloved. But my beloved is subject to the malice of the world. My beloved is a flower all beautiful

within and without, but one whose stalk is weak, whose petals are too delicate, whose soft bloom is

evanescent. Let me be the strong staff against which my beloved may blow in safety.''

A vague idea came across Lizzie's mind that this glowing language had a taste of the Bible about it, and that,

therefore, it was in some degree impersonal, and intended to be pious. She did not relish piety at such a crisis

as this, and was, therefore, for a moment inclined to be cold. But she liked being called a flower, and was not

quite sure whether she remembered her Bible rightly. The words which struck her ear as familiar might have

come from Juan and Haidee, and if so, nothing could be more opportune. ``Do you expect me to give you

``Yesnow.'' And he stood before her in calm dignity, with his arms crossed upon his breast.

She did give him his answer then and there, but first she turned her face to the wallor rather to the back of

the sofa, and burst into a flood of tears. It was a delicious moment to her, that in which she was weeping. She

sobbed forth something about her child, something about her sorrows, something as to the wretchedness of

her lot in life, something of her widowed heartsomething also of that duty to others which would compel

her to keep her income in her own hands; and then she yielded herself to his entreaties.

That evening she thought it proper to tell Miss Macnulty what had occurred. ``He is a great preacher of the

gospel,'' she said, ``and I know no position in the world more worthy of a woman's fondest admiration.'' Miss

Macnulty was unable to answer a word. She could not congratulate her successful rival, even though her

bread depended on it. She crept slowly out of the room, and went upstairs, and wept.

Early in the month of June, Lady Eustace was led to the hymeneal altar by her clerical bridegroom. The

wedding took place at the Episcopal church at Ayr, far from the eyes of curious Londoners. It need only be

further said that Mr Emilius could be persuaded to agree to no settlements prejudical to that marital

supremacy which should be attached to the husband; and that Lizzie, when the moment came, knowing that

her betrothals had been made public to all the world, did not dare to recede from another engagement. It may

be that Mr Emilius will suit her as well as any husband that she could findunless it shall be found that his

previous career has been too adventurous. After a certain fashion he will, perhaps, be tender to her; and he

will have his own way in everything, and be no whit afraid when she is about to die in an agony of tears

before his eyes. The writer of the present story may, however, declare that the future fate of this lady shall not

The Whitsuntide holidays were late this year, not taking place till the beginning of June, and were protracted

till the 9th of that month. On the 8th Lizzie and Mr Emilius became man and wife, and on that same day Lady

Glencora Palliser entertained a large company of guests at Matching Priory. That the Duke of Omnium was

there was quite a matter of course. Indeed, in these days, Lady Glencora seldom separated herself far, or for

any long time, from her husband's uncledoing her duty to the head of her husband's family in the most

exemplary manner. People indeed said that she watched him narrowly, but of persons in high station common

people will say anything. It was at any rate certain that she made the declining years of that great nobleman's

life comfortable and decorous. Madame Max Goesler was also at Matching, a lady whose society always

gave gratification to the duke. And Mr Palliser was also there, taking the rest that was so needful to himby

which it must be understood that after having worked all day, he was able to eat his dinner, and then only

write a few letters before going to bed, instead of attending the House of Commons till two or three o'clock in

the morning. But his mind was still deep in quints and semitenths. His great measure was even now in

committee. His hundred and second clause had been carried, with only nine divisions against him of any

consequence. Seven of the most material clauses had, no doubt, been postponed, and the great bone of

contention as to the two superfluous farthings still remained before him. Nevertheless he fondly hoped that he

would be able to send his bill complete to the House of Lords before the end of July. What might be done in

the way of amendments there he had hitherto refused to consider. ``If the peers choose to put themselves in

opposition to the whole nation on a purely commercial question, the responsibility of all evils that may follow

must be at their doors.'' This he had said, as a commoner. A year or two at the farthestor more probably a

few monthswould make him a peer; and then, no doubt, he would look at the matter in a whole different

light. But he worked at his great measure with a diligence which at any rate deserved success; and he now

had with him a whole bevy of secretaries, private secretaries, chief clerks, and accountants, all of whom Lady

Glencora captivated by her flattering ways, and laughed at behind their backs. Mr Bonteen was there with his

wife, repeatedly declaring to all his friends that England would achieve the glories of decimal coinage by his

blood and over his graveand Barrington Erle, who took things much more easily, and Lord Chiltern, with

his wife, who would occasionally ask her if she could explain to him the value of a quint, and many others

whom it may not be necessary to name. Lord Fawn was not there. Lord Fawn, whose health had temporarily

given way beneath the pressing labours of the India Board, was visiting his estates in Tipperary.

``She is married today, Duke, down in Scotland,''said Lady Glencora, sitting close to the duke's ear, for the

duke was a little deaf. They were in the duke's small morning sittingroom, and no one else was present

``Married tomorrowdown in Scotland. Dear, dear! what is he?'' The profession to which Mr Emilius

``He's some sort of a clergyman, Duke. You went and heard him preach, Madame Max. You can tell us what

``A clergyman of our church: dear, dear. And married in Scotland! That makes it stranger. I wonder what

``Oh, ah, yes. I forgot. She was very well left; wasn't she? And so she has married a clergyman without a

``I went to her twiceand got quite scolded about it. Plantagenet said that if I wanted horrors I'd better go to

Madame Tussaud's. Didn't he, Madame Max?'' Madame Max smiled and nodded her head.

``Now, my dear, you must take up the running,'' said Lady Glencora, dropping her voice. ``I ran after the

lady, but it was you who ran after the gentleman.'' Then she raised her voice. ``Madame Max will tell you all

``I don't know him at all, Duke, but I once went to hear him preach. He's one of those men who string words

This tickled the duke amazingly. ``He, he, heI don't see why I shouldn't be like an archbishop. If I hadn't

happened to be a duke, I should have liked to be an archbishop. Both the archbishops take rank of me. I never

quite understood why that was, but they do. And these things never can be altered when they're once settled.

It's quite absurd, nowadays, since they've cut the archbishops down so terribly. They were princes once, I

suppose, and had great power. But it's quite absurd now, and so they must feel it. I have often thought about

``A great prelate having a wife does seem to be an absurdity,'' said Madame Max, who had passed some years

``A Bohemian Jew, Dukean impostor who has come over here to make a fortune. We hear that he has a

wife in Prague, and probably two or three elsewhere. But he has got poor little Lizzie Eustace and all her

``Barrington says that the best spec he knows out, for a young person, would be to go to Prague for the

former wife, and bring her back with evidence of the marriage. The poor little woman could not fail of being

``Dear, dear, dear!'' said the duke. ``And the diamonds never turned up after all. I think that was a pity,

because I knew the late man's father very well. We used to be together a good deal at one time. He had a fine

property, and we used to livebut I can't just tell you how we used to live. He, he, he!''

The affairs of our heroine were again discussed that evening in another part of the Priory. They were in the

billiardroom in the evening, and Mr Bonteen was inveighing against the inadequacy of the law as it had

been brought to bear against the sinners who, between them, had succeeded in making away with the Eustace

diamonds. ``It was a most unworthy conclusion to such a plot,'' he said. ``It always happens that they catch

``I quite agree with you, Mr Bonteen, that it would be very nice to send the brother of a marquis to Botany

Bay, or wherever they go now; and that it would do a deal of good to have the widow of a baronet locked up

in the Penitentiary; but you see, if they didn't happen to be guilty, it would be almost a shame to punish them

Mr Palliser was enjoying ten minutes of recreation before he went back to his letters. ``I can't say that I

attended to the case very closely,'' he observed, ``and perhaps, therefore, I am not entitled to speak about it.''

``If people only spoke about what they attended to, how very little there would be to sayeh, Mr Bonteen?''

``But as far as I could hear,'' continued Mr Palliser, ``Lord George Carruthers cannot possibly have had

``I know Coldfoot told me so.'' Now Sir Harry Coldfoot was at this time Secretary of State for the Home

Affairs, and in a matter of such importance of course had an opinion of his own.

``We all know that he had money dealings with Benjamin, the Jew,'' said Mrs Bonteen.

``Why didn't he come forward as a witness when he was summoned?'' asked Mr Bonteen triumphantly. ``And

as for the woman, does anybody mean to say that she should not have been indicted for perjury?''

``The woman, as you are pleased to call her, is my particular friend,'' said Lady Glencora. When Lady

Glencora made any such statement as thisand she often did make such statements, no one dared to answer

her. It was understood that Lady Glencora was not to be snubbed, though she was very much given to

snubbing others. She had attained this position for herself by a mixture of beauty, rank, wealth, and

Then Lord Chiltern, who was playing billiards with Barrington Erle, rapped his cue down on the floor, and

made a speech. ``I never was so sick of anything in my life as I am of Lady Eustace. People have talked about

``And all that I can hear of her is, that she has told a lot of lies and lost a necklace.''

``When Lady Chiltern loses a necklace worth ten thousand pounds there will be talk of her,'' said Lady

At that moment Madame Max Goesler entered the room and whispered a word to the hostess. She had just

come from the duke, who could not bear the racket of the billiardroom. ``Wants to go to bed, does he? Very

``I call that woman a perfect godsend. What should we have done without her?'' This Lady Glencora said

almost to herself as she prepared to join the duke. The duke had only one more observation to make before he

retired for the night. ``I'm afraid, you know, that your friend hasn't what I call a good time before her,

In this opinion of the Duke of Omnium's, the readers of this story will perhaps agree.