Contents:

Page No 1

Page No 2

Page No 3

Page No 4

No Thoroughfare.............................................................................................................................1

Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins.......................................................................................1

Day of the month and year, November the thirtieth, one thousand eight hundred and thirtyfive.

London Time by the great clock of Saint Paul's, ten at night. All the lesser London churches strain

their metallic throats. Some, flippantly begin before the heavy bell of the great cathedral; some,

tardily begin three, four, half a dozen, strokes behind it; all are in sufficiently near accord, to leave a

resonance in the air, as if the winged father who devours his children, had made a sounding sweep

What is this clock lower than most of the rest, and nearer to the ear, that lags so far behind tonight

as to strike into the vibration alone? This is the clock of the Hospital for Foundling Children. Time

was, when the Foundlings were received without question in a cradle at the gate. Time is, when

inquiries are made respecting them, and they are taken as by favour from the mothers who

The moon is at the full, and the night is fair with light clouds. The day has been otherwise than fair,

for slush and mud, thickened with the droppings of heavy fog, lie black in the streets. The veiled

lady who flutters up and down near the posterngate of the Hospital for Foundling Children has

She flutters to and fro, avoiding the stand of hackneycoaches, and often pausing in the shadow of

the western end of the great quadrangle wall, with her face turned towards the gate. As above her

there is the purity of the moonlit sky, and below her there are the defilements of the pavement, so

may she, haply, be divided in her mind between two vistas of reflection or experience. As her

footprints crossing and recrossing one another have made a labyrinth in the mire, so may her track

The posterngate of the Hospital for Foundling Children opens, and a young woman comes out.

The lady stands aside, observes closely, sees that the gate is quietly closed again from within, and

Two or three streets have been traversed in silence before she, following close behind the object of

her attention, stretches out her hand and touches her. Then the young woman stops and looks

"You touched me last night, and, when I turned my head, you would not speak. Why do you follow

"It was not," returned the lady, in a low voice, "that I would not speak, but that I could not when I

"Here are two guineas in this paper. Take my poor little present, and I will tell you."

Into the young woman's face, which is honest and comely, comes a flush as she replies: "There is

neither grown person nor child in all the large establishment that I belong to, who hasn't a good

word for Sally. I am Sally. Could I be so well thought of, if I was to be bought?"

Sally firmly, but not ungently, closes and puts back the offering hand. "If there is anything I can do

for you, ma'am, that I will not do for its own sake, you are much mistaken in me if you think that I

"You are one of the nurses or attendants at the Hospital; I saw you leave tonight and last night."

"There is a pleasant patience in your face which makes me believe that very young children would

The lady lifts her veil, and shows a face no older than the nurse's. A face far more refined and

"I am the miserable mother of a baby lately received under your care. I have a prayer to make to

Instinctively respecting the confidence which has drawn aside the veil, Sallywhose ways are all

"You will listen to my prayer?" the lady urges. "You will not be deaf to the agonised entreaty of such

"O dear, dear, dear!" cries Sally. "What shall I say, or can say! Don't talk of prayers. Prayers are to

be put up to the Good Father of All, and not to nurses and such. And there! I am only to hold my

place for half a year longer, till another young woman can be trained up to it. I am going to be

married. I shouldn't have been out last night, and I shouldn't have been out tonight, but that my

Dick (he is the young man I am going to be married to) lies ill, and I help his mother and sister to

"O good Sally, dear Sally," moans the lady, catching at her dress entreatingly. "As you are hopeful,

and I am hopeless; as a fair way in life is before you, which can never, never, be before me; as you

can aspire to become a respected wife, and as you can aspire to become a proud mother, as you

are a living loving woman, and must die; for GOD'S sake hear my distracted petition!"

"Deary, deary, deary ME!" cries Sally, her desperation culminating in the pronoun, "what am I ever

to do? And there! See how you turn my own words back upon me. I tell you I am going to be

married, on purpose to make it clearer to you that I am going to leave, and therefore couldn't help

you if I would, Poor Thing, and you make it seem to my own self as if I was cruel in going to be

"Sally! Hear me, my dear. My entreaty is for no help in the future. It applies to what is past. It is only

"There! This is worse and worse," cries Sally, "supposing that I understand what two words you

"You do understand. What are the names they have given my poor baby? I ask no more than that. I

have read of the customs of the place. He has been christened in the chapel, and registered by

some surname in the book. He was received last Monday evening. What have they called him?"

Down upon her knees in the foul mud of the byway into which they have strayedan empty

street without a thoroughfare giving on the dark gardens of the Hospitalthe lady would drop in

"Don't! Don't! You make me feel as if I was setting myself up to be good. Let me look in your pretty

face again. Put your two hands in mine. Now, promise. You will never ask me anything more than

The lady lays her face upon the nurse's breast, draws her close in her embrace with both arms,

Day of the month and year, the first Sunday in October, one thousand eight hundred and

fortyseven. London Time by the great clock of Saint Paul's, halfpast one in the afternoon. The

clock of the Hospital for Foundling Children is well up with the Cathedral today. Service in the

There are numerous lookerson at the dinner, as the custom is. There are two or three governors,

whole families from the congregation, smaller groups of both sexes, individual stragglers of various

degrees. The bright autumnal sun strikes freshly into the wards; and the heavyframed windows

through which it shines, and the panelled walls on which it strikes, are such windows and such

walls as pervade Hogarth's pictures. The girls' refectory (including that of the younger children) is

the principal attraction. Neat attendants silently glide about the orderly and silent tables; the

lookerson move or stop as the fancy takes them; comments in whispers on face such a number

from such a window are not unfrequent; many of the faces are of a character to fix attention. Some

of the visitors from the outside public are accustomed visitors. They have established a speaking

acquaintance with the occupants of particular seats at the tables, and halt at those points to bend

down and say a word or two. It is no disparagement to their kindness that those points are

generally points where personal attractions are. The monotony of the long spacious rooms and the

double lines of faces is agreeably relieved by these incidents, although so slight.

A veiled lady, who has no companion, goes among the company. It would seem that curiosity and

opportunity have never brought her there before. She has the air of being a little troubled by the

sight, and, as she goes the length of the tables, it is with a hesitating step and an uneasy manner.

At length she comes to the refectory of the boys. They are so much less popular than the girls that

But just within the doorway, chances to stand, inspecting, an elderly female attendant: some order

of matron or housekeeper. To whom the lady addresses natural questions: As, how many boys? At

what age are they usually put out in life? Do they often take a fancy to the sea? So, lower and

So keenly does the attendant feel the closeness with which the lady's eyes examine her face, that

she keeps her own eyes fast upon the floor, lest by wandering in the right direction they should

"I know which is Walter Wilding, but it is not my place, ma'am, to tell names to visitors."

"I am going to pass round the tables," says the lady's interlocutor, without seeming to address her.

"Follow me with your eyes. The boy that I stop at and speak to, will not matter to you. But the boy

that I touch, will be Walter Wilding. Say nothing more to me, and move a little away."

Quickly acting on the hint, the lady passes on into the room, and looks about her. After a few

moments, the attendant, in a staid official way, walks down outside the line of tables commencing

on her left hand. She goes the whole length of the line, turns, and comes back on the inside. Very

slightly glancing in the lady's direction, she stops, bends forward, and speaks. The boy whom she

addresses, lifts his head and replies. Good humouredly and easily, as she listens to what he says,

she lays her hand upon the shoulder of the next boy on his right. That the action may be well noted,

she keeps her hand on the shoulder while speaking in return, and pats it twice or thrice before

moving away. She completes her tour of the tables, touching no one else, and passes out by a

Dinner is done, and the lady, too, walks down outside the line of tables commencing on her left

hand, goes the whole length of the line, turns, and comes back on the inside. Other people have

strolled in, fortunately for her, and stand sprinkled about. She lifts her veil, and, stopping at the

In stooping low for the purpose, the lady touches the boy's face with her forehead and with her hair.

Then, lowering her veil again, she passes on, and passes out without looking back.

In a courtyard in the City of London, which was No Thoroughfare either for vehicles or

footpassengers; a courtyard diverging from a steep, a slippery, and a winding street connecting

Tower Street with the Middlesex shore of the Thames; stood the place of business of Wilding &

Co., Wine Merchants. Probably as a jocose acknowledgment of the obstructive character of this

main approach, the point nearest to its base at which one could take the river (if so inodorously

minded) bore the appellation BreakNeckStairs. The courtyard itself had likewise been

Years before the year one thousand eight hundred and sixtyone, people had left off taking boat at

BreakNeckStairs, and watermen had ceased to ply there. The slimy little causeway had dropped

into the river by a slow process of suicide, and two or three stumps of piles and a rusty iron

mooringring were all that remained of the departed BreakNeck glories. Sometimes, indeed, a

laden coal barge would bump itself into the place, and certain laborious heavers, seemingly

mudengendered, would arise, deliver the cargo in the neighbourhood, shove off, and vanish; but

at most times the only commerce of BreakNeckStairs arose out of the conveyance of casks and

bottles, both full and empty, both to and from the cellars of Wilding & Co., Wine Merchants. Even

that commerce was but occasional, and through threefourths of its rising tides the dirty indecorous

drab of a river would come solitarily oozing and lapping at the rusty ring, as if it had heard of the

Doge and the Adriatic, and wanted to be married to the great conserver of its filthiness, the Right

Some two hundred and fifty yards on the right, up the opposite hill (approaching it from the low

ground of BreakNeckStairs) was Cripple Corner. There was a pump in Cripple Corner, there was

a tree in Cripple Corner. All Cripple Corner belonged to Wilding and Co., Wine Merchants. Their

cellars burrowed under it, their mansion towered over it. It really had been a mansion in the days

when merchants inhabited the City, and had a ceremonious shelter to the doorway without visible

support, like the soundingboard over an old pulpit. It had also a number of long narrow strips of

window, so disposed in its grave brick front as to render it symmetrically ugly. It had also, on its

"When a man at fiveandtwenty can put his hat on, and can say 'this hat covers the owner of this

property and of the business which is transacted on this property,' I consider, Mr. Bintrey, that,

without being boastful, he may be allowed to be deeply thankful. I don't know how it may appear to

Thus Mr. Walter Wilding to his man of law, in his own countinghouse; taking his hat down from its

peg to suit the action to the word, and hanging it up again when he had done so, not to overstep

An innocent, openspeaking, unusedlooking man, Mr. Walter Wilding, with a remarkably pink and

white complexion, and a figure much too bulky for so young a man, though of a good stature. With

crispy curling brown hair, and amiable bright blue eyes. An extremely communicative man: a man

with whom loquacity was the irrestrainable outpouring of contentment and gratitude. Mr. Bintrey, on

the other hand, a cautious man, with twinkling beads of eyes in a large overhanging bald head, who

inwardly but intensely enjoyed the comicality of openness of speech, or hand, or heart.

"It's from the best corner of our best fortyfive year old bin," said Mr. Wilding.

He laughed again, as he held up his glass and ogled it, at the highly ludicrous idea of giving away

"And now," said Wilding, with a childish enjoyment in the discussion of affairs, "I think we have got

"Housekeeper advertised for," said Bintrey, "'apply personally at Cripple Corner, Great Tower

"And all charges paid," said Bintrey, with a chuckle: probably occasioned by the droll circumstance

"The mention of my late dear mother," Mr. Wilding continued, his eyes filling with tears and his

pockethandkerchief drying them, "unmans me still, Mr. Bintrey. You know how I loved her; you

(her lawyer) know how she loved me. The utmost love of mother and child was cherished between

us, and we never experienced one moment's division or unhappiness from the time when she took

me under her care. Thirteen years in all! Thirteen years under my late dear mother's care, Mr.

Bintrey, and eight of them her confidentially acknowledged son! You know the story, Mr. Bintrey,

who but you, sir!" Mr. Wilding sobbed and dried his eyes, without attempt at concealment, during

Mr. Bintrey enjoyed his comical port, and said, after rolling it in his mouth: "I know the story."

"My late dear mother, Mr. Bintrey," pursued the winemerchant, "had been deeply deceived, and

had cruelly suffered. But on that subject my late dear mother's lips were for ever sealed. By whom

deceived, or under what circumstances, Heaven only knows. My late dear mother never betrayed

"She had made up her mind," said Mr. Bintrey, again turning his wine on his palate, "and she could

hold her peace." An amused twinkle in his eyes pretty plainly added"A devilish deal better than

"'Honour,'" said Mr. Wilding, sobbing as he quoted from the Commandments, "'thy father and thy

mother, that thy days may be long in the land.' When I was in the Foundling, Mr. Bintrey, I was at

such a loss how to do it, that I apprehended my days would be short in the land. But I afterwards

came to honour my mother deeply, profoundly. And I honour and revere her memory. For seven

happy years, Mr. Bintrey," pursued Wilding, still with the same innocent catching in his breath, and

the same unabashed tears, "did my excellent mother article me to my predecessors in this

business, Pebbleson Nephew. Her affectionate forethought likewise apprenticed me to the Vintners'

Company, and made me in time a free Vintner, andandeverything else that the best of

mothers could desire. When I came of age, she bestowed her inherited share in this business upon

me; it was her money that afterwards bought out Pebbleson Nephew, and painted in Wilding and

Co.; it was she who left me everything she possessed, but the mourning ring you wear. And yet,

Mr. Bintrey," with a fresh burst of honest affection, "she is no more. It is little over half a year since

she came into the Corner to read on that doorpost with her own eyes, WILDING AND CO., WINE

"Sad. But the common lot, Mr. Wilding," observed Bintrey. "At some time or other we must all be no

more." He placed the fortyfive year old portwine in the universal condition, with a relishing sigh.

"So now, Mr. Bintrey," pursued Wilding, putting away his pockethandkerchief, and smoothing his

eyelids with his fingers, "now that I can no longer show my love and honour for the dear parent to

whom my heart was mysteriously turned by Nature when she first spoke to me, a strange lady, I

sitting at our Sunday dinnertable in the Foundling, I can at least show that I am not ashamed of

having been a Foundling, and that I, who never knew a father of my own, wish to be a father to all

in my employment. Therefore," continued Wilding, becoming enthusiastic in his loquacity,

"therefore, I want a thoroughly good housekeeper to undertake this dwellinghouse of Wilding and

Co., Wine Merchants, Cripple Corner, so that I may restore in it some of the old relations betwixt

employer and employed! So that I may live in it on the spot where my money is made! So that I

may daily sit at the head of the table at which the people in my employment eat together, and may

eat of the same roast and boiled, and drink of the same beer! So that the people in my employment

may lodge under the same roof with me! So that we may one and allI beg your pardon, Mr.

Bintrey, but that old singing in my head has suddenly come on, and I shall feel obliged if you will

Alarmed by the excessive pinkness of his client, Mr. Bintrey lost not a moment in leading him forth

into the courtyard. It was easily done; for the countinghouse in which they talked together

opened on to it, at one side of the dwellinghouse. There the attorney pumped with a will, obedient

to a sign from the client, and the client laved his head and face with both hands, and took a hearty

"Don't let your good feelings excite you," said Bintrey, as they returned to the countinghouse, and

"No, no. I won't," he returned, looking out of the towel. "I won't. I have not been confused, have I?"

"Well, you left offbut I wouldn't excite myself, if I was you, by taking it up again just yet."

"I'll take care. I'll take care. The singing in my head came on at where, Mr. Bintrey?"

"At roast, and boiled, and beer," answered the lawyer,"prompting lodging under the same

"Do you know, I really WOULD NOT let my good feelings excite me, if I was you," hinted the lawyer

"No occasion, no occasion. All right, Mr. Bintrey. And one and all forming a kind of family! You see,

Mr. Bintrey, I was not used in my childhood to that sort of individual existence which most

individuals have led, more or less, in their childhood. After that time I became absorbed in my late

dear mother. Having lost her, I find that I am more fit for being one of a body than one by myself

one. To be that, and at the same time to do my duty to those dependent on me, and attach them to

me, has a patriarchal and pleasant air about it. I don't know how it may appear to you, Mr Bintrey,

"It is not I who am allimportant in the case, but you," returned Bintrey. "Consequently, how it may

"Handel, Mozart, Haydn, Kent, Purcell, Doctor Arne, Greene, Mendelssohn. I know the choruses to

those anthems by heart. Foundling Chapel Collection. Why shouldn't we learn them together?"

"Ay, ay," returned Bintrey, mollified; as if he had half expected the answer to be, Lawyer and client.

"Not another thing, Mr. Bintrey! The same thing. A part of the bond among us. We will form a Choir

in some quiet church near the Corner here, and, having sung together of a Sunday with a relish, we

will come home and take an early dinner together with a relish. The object that I have at heart now

is, to get this system well in action without delay, so that my new partner may find it founded when

"All good be with it!" exclaimed Bintrey, rising. "May it prosper! Is Joey Ladle to take a share in

"I wish them all well out of it," returned Bintrey, with much heartiness. "Goodbye, sir."

They shook hands and parted. Then (first knocking with his knuckles for leave) entered to Mr.

Wilding from a door of communication between his private countinghouse and that in which his

clerks sat, the Head Cellarman of the cellars of Wilding and Co., Wine Merchants, and erst Head

Cellarman of the cellars of Pebbleson Nephew. The Joey Ladle in question. A slow and ponderous

man, of the drayman order of human architecture, dressed in a corrugated suit and bibbed apron,

"Speaking for myself, Young Master Wildingand I never did speak and I never do speak for no

one elseI don't want no boarding nor yet no lodging. But if you wish to board me and to lodge

me, take me. I can peck as well as most men. Where I peck ain't so high a object with me as What I

peck. Nor even so high a object with me as How Much I peck. Is all to live in the house, Young

Master Wilding? The two other cellarmen, the three porters, the two 'prentices, and the odd men?"

Joey Ladle shook his held. "Don't look to me to make we on it, Young Master Wilding, not at my

time of life and under the circumstances which has formed my disposition. I have said to Pebbleson

Nephew many a time, when they have said to me, 'Put a livelier face upon it, Joey'I have said to

them, 'Gentlemen, it is all wery well for you that has been accustomed to take your wine into your

systems by the conwivial channel of your throttles, to put a lively face upon it; but,' I says, 'I have

been accustomed to take MY wine in at the pores of the skin, and, took that way, it acts different. It

acts depressing. It's one thing, gentlemen,' I says to Pebbleson Nephew, 'to charge your glasses in

a diningroom with a Hip Hurrah and a Jolly Companions Every One, and it's another thing to be

charged yourself, through the pores, in a low dark cellar and a mouldy atmosphere. It makes all the

difference betwixt bubbles and wapours,' I tells Pebbleson Nephew. And so it do. I've been a

cellarman my life through, with my mind fully given to the business. What's the consequence? I'm

as muddled a man as livesyou won't find a muddleder man than menor yet you won't find my

equal in molloncolly. Sing of Filling the bumper fair, Every drop you sprinkle, O'er the brow of care,

Smooths away a wrinkle? Yes. P'raps so. But try filling yourself through the pores, underground,

"I am sorry to hear this, Joey. I had even thought that you might join a singingclass in the house."

"Me, sir? No, no, Young Master Wilding, you won't catch Joey Ladle muddling the Armony. A

peckingmachine, sir, is all that I am capable of proving myself, out of my cellars; but that you're

welcome to, if you think it is worth your while to keep such a thing on your premises."

"Say no more, sir. The Business's word is my law. And you're a going to take Young Master

"More changes, you see! But don't change the name of the Firm again. Don't do it, Young Master

Wilding. It was bad luck enough to make it Yourself and Co. Better by far have left it Pebbleson

Nephew that good luck always stuck to. You should never change luck when it's good, sir."

"At all events, I have no intention of changing the name of the House again, Joey."

"Glad to hear it, and wish you goodday, Young Master Wilding. But you had better by half,"

muttered Joey Ladle inaudibly, as he closed the door and shook his head, "have let the name alone

from the first. You had better by half have followed the luck instead of crossing it."

The wine merchant sat in his diningroom next morning, to receive the personal applicants for the

vacant post in his establishment. It was an oldfashioned wainscoted room; the panels ornamented

with festoons of flowers carved in wood; with an oaken floor, a wellworn Turkey carpet, and dark

mahogany furniture, all of which had seen service and polish under Pebbleson Nephew. The great

sideboard had assisted at many businessdinners given by Pebbleson Nephew to their connection,

on the principle of throwing sprats overboard to catch whales; and Pebbleson Nephew's

comprehensive threesided platewarmer, made to fit the whole front of the large fireplace, kept

watch beneath it over a sarcophagusshaped cellaret that had in its time held many a dozen of

Pebbleson Nephew's wine. But the little rubicund old bachelor with a pigtail, whose portrait was

over the sideboard (and who could easily be identified as decidedly Pebbleson and decidedly not

Nephew), had retired into another sarcophagus, and the platewarmer had grown as cold as he.

So, the golden and black griffins that supported the candelabra, with black balls in their mouths at

the end of gilded chains, looked as if in their old age they had lost all heart for playing at ball, and

were dolefully exhibiting their chains in the Missionary line of inquiry, whether they had not earned

Such a Columbus of a morning was the summer morning, that it discovered Cripple Corner. The

light and warmth pierced in at the open windows, and irradiated the picture of a lady hanging over

"My mother at fiveandtwenty," said Mr. Wilding to himself, as his eyes enthusiastically followed

the light to the portrait's face, "I hang up here, in order that visitors may admire my mother in the

bloom of her youth and beauty. My mother at fifty I hang in the seclusion of my own chamber, as a

These latter words he addressed to a clerk who had tapped at the door, and now looked in.

"Yes, sir. I merely wished to mention that it's gone ten, sir, and that there are several females in the

"Dear me!" said the winemerchant, deepening in the pink of his complexion and whitening in the

white, "are there several? So many as several? I had better begin before there are more. I'll see

Hastily entrenching himself in his easychair at the table behind a great inkstand, having first

placed a chair on the other side of the table opposite his own seat, Mr. Wilding entered on his task

He ran the gauntlet that must be run on any such occasion. There were the usual species of

profoundly unsympathetic women, and the usual species of much too sympathetic women. There

were buccaneering widows who came to seize him, and who griped umbrellas under their arms, as

if each umbrella were he, and each griper had got him. There were towering maiden ladies who

had seen better days, and who came armed with clerical testimonials to their theology, as if he

were Saint Peter with his keys. There were gentle maiden ladies who came to marry him. There

were professional housekeepers, like noncommissioned officers, who put him through his

domestic exercise, instead of submitting themselves to catechism. There were languid invalids, to

whom salary was not so much an object as the comforts of a private hospital. There were sensitive

creatures who burst into tears on being addressed, and had to be restored with glasses of cold

water. There were some respondents who came two together, a highly promising one and a wholly

unpromising one: of whom the promising one answered all questions charmingly, until it would at

last appear that she was not a candidate at all, but only the friend of the unpromising one, who had

At last, when the good winemerchant's simple heart was failing him, there entered an applicant

quite different from all the rest. A woman, perhaps fifty, but looking younger, with a face remarkable

for placid cheerfulness, and a manner no less remarkable for its quiet expression of equability of

temper. Nothing in her dress could have been changed to her advantage. Nothing in the noiseless

selfpossession of her manner could have been changed to her advantage. Nothing could have

been in better unison with both, than her voice when she answered the question: "What name shall

I have the pleasure of noting down?" with the words, "My name is Sarah Goldstraw. Mrs.

Halfadozen questions had scarcely extracted as much to the purpose from any one else. The

voice dwelt so agreeably on Mr. Wilding's ear as he made his note, that he was rather long about it.

When he looked up again, Mrs. Goldstraw's glance had naturally gone round the room, and now

returned to him from the chimneypiece. Its expression was one of frank readiness to be

"Only once. I have lived with the same widow lady for twelve years. Ever since I lost my husband.

She was an invalid, and is lately dead: which is the occasion of my now wearing black."

"I hope I may say, the very best. I thought it would save trouble, sir, if I wrote down the name and

address of her representatives, and brought it with me." Laying a card on the table.

"You singularly remind me, Mrs. Goldstraw," said Wilding, taking the card beside him, "of a manner

and tone of voice that I was once acquainted with. Not of an individualI feel sure of that, though I

cannot recall what it is I have in my mindbut of a general bearing. I ought to add, it was a kind

"Yes," said the winemerchant, thoughtfully repeating his last phrase, with a momentary glance at

his future housekeeper, "it was a kind and pleasant one. But that is the most I can make of it.

Memory is sometimes like a halfforgotten dream. I don't know how it may appear to you, Mrs.

Probably it appeared to Mrs. Goldstraw in a similar light, for she quietly assented to the proposition.

Mr. Wilding then offered to put himself at once in communication with the gentlemen named upon

the card: a firm of proctors in Doctors' Commons. To this, Mrs. Goldstraw thankfully assented.

Doctors' Commons not being far off, Mr. Wilding suggested the feasibility of Mrs. Goldstraw's

looking in again, say in three hours' time. Mrs. Goldstraw readily undertook to do so. In fine, the

result of Mr. Wilding's inquiries being eminently satisfactory, Mrs. Goldstraw was that afternoon

engaged (on her own perfectly fair terms) to come tomorrow and set up her rest as housekeeper

Having settled herself in her own room, without troubling the servants, and without wasting time,

the new housekeeper announced herself as waiting to be favoured with any instructions which her

master might wish to give her. The winemerchant received Mrs. Goldstraw in the diningroom, in

which he had seen her on the previous day; and, the usual preliminary civilities having passed on

either side, the two sat down to take counsel together on the affairs of the house.

"About the meals, sir?" said Mrs. Goldstraw. "Have I a large, or a small, number to provide for?"

"If I can carry out a certain oldfashioned plan of mine," replied Mr. Wilding, "you will have a large

number to provide for. I am a lonely single man, Mrs. Goldstraw; and I hope to live with all the

persons in my employment as if they were members of my family. Until that time comes, you will

only have me, and the new partner whom I expect immediately, to provide for. What my partner's

habits may be, I cannot yet say. But I may describe myself as a man of regular hours, with an

She hesitated, and left the sentence unfinished. Her eyes turned slowly away from her master, and

looked towards the chimneypiece. If she had been a less excellent and experienced housekeeper,

Mr. Wilding might have fancied that her attention was beginning to wander at the very outset of the

"Eight o'clock is my breakfasthour," he resumed. "It is one of my virtues to be never tired of broiled

bacon, and it is one of my vices to be habitually suspicious of the freshness of eggs." Mrs.

Goldstraw looked back at him, still a little divided between her master's chimneypiece and her

master. "I take tea," Mr. Wilding went on; "and I am perhaps rather nervous and fidgety about

He hesitated, on his side, and left the sentence unfinished. If he had not been engaged in

discussing a subject of such paramount interest to himself as his breakfast, Mrs. Goldstraw might

have fancied that his attention was beginning to wander at the very outset of the interview.

"If your tea stands too long, sir?" said the housekeeper, politely taking up her master's lost

"If my tea stands too long," repeated the winemerchant mechanically, his mind getting farther and

farther away from his breakfast, and his eyes fixing themselves more and more inquiringly on his

housekeeper's face. "If my teaDear, dear me, Mrs. Goldstraw! what IS the manner and tone of

voice that you remind me of? It strikes me even more strongly today, than it did when I saw you

She said the words, evidently thinking while she spoke them of something else. The

winemerchant, still looking at her inquiringly, observed that her eyes wandered towards the

chimneypiece once more. They fixed on the portrait of his mother, which hung there, and looked at

it with that slight contraction of the brow which accompanies a scarcely conscious effort of memory.

Mrs. Goldstraw thanked him with a movement of the head for being at the pains to explain the

picture, and said, with a cleared brow, that it was the portrait of a very beautiful lady.

Mr. Wilding, falling back into his former perplexity, tried once more to recover that lost recollection,

associated so closely, and yet so undiscoverably, with his new housekeeper's voice and manner.

"Excuse my asking you a question which has nothing to do with me or my breakfast," he said. "May

I inquire if you have ever occupied any other situation than the situation of housekeeper?"

"Why, that's it!" cried the winemerchant, pushing back his chair. "By heaven! Their manner is the

In an astonished look at him, Mrs. Goldstraw changed colour, checked herself, turned her eyes

"And the lady?" Mrs. Goldstraw stopped short with a look at the portrait which was now

"Yourmother," repeated the housekeeper, a little constrainedly, "removed you from the

"At between eleven and twelve years old. It's quite a romantic adventure, Mrs. Goldstraw."

He told the story of the lady having spoken to him, while he sat at dinner with the other boys in the

Foundling, and of all that had followed in his innocently communicative way. "My poor mother could

never have discovered me," he added, "if she had not met with one of the matrons who pitied her.

The matron consented to touch the boy whose name was 'Walter Wilding' as she went round the

dinnertables and so my mother discovered me again, after having parted from me as an infant

At those words Mrs. Goldstraw's hand, resting on the table, dropped helplessly into her lap. She

sat, looking at her new master, with a face that had turned deadly pale, and with eyes that

"What does this mean?" asked the winemerchant. "Stop!" he cried. "Is there something else in the

past time which I ought to associate with you? I remember my mother telling me of another person

at the Foundling, to whose kindness she owed a debt of gratitude. When she first parted with me,

as an infant, one of the nurses informed her of the name that had been given to me in the

"We had better get back, sir (if I may make so bold as to say so), to my duties in the house," said

Mrs. Goldstraw. "Your breakfasthour is eight. Do you lunch, or dine, in the middle of the day?"

The excessive pinkness which Mr. Bintrey had noticed in his client's face began to appear there

once more. Mr. Wilding put his hand to his head, and mastered some momentary confusion in that

The housekeeper obstinately repeated, "Please to favour me, sir, by saying whether you lunch, or

"I don't know what I do in the middle of the day. I can't enter into my household affairs, Mrs.

Goldstraw, till I know why you regret an act of kindness to my mother, which she always spoke of

gratefully to the end of her life. You are not doing me a service by your silence. You are agitating

His hand went up to his head again, and the pink in his face deepened by a shade or two.

"It's hard, sir, on just entering your service," said the housekeeper, "to say what may cost me the

loss of your good will. Please to remember, end how it may, that I only speak because you have

insisted on my speaking, and because I see that I am alarming you by my silence. When I told the

poor lady, whose portrait you have got there, the name by which her infant was christened in the

Foundling, I allowed myself to forget my duty, and dreadful consequences, I am afraid, have

followed from it. I'll tell you the truth, as plainly as I can. A few months from the time when I had

informed the lady of her baby's name, there came to our institution in the country another lady (a

stranger), whose object was to adopt one of our children. She brought the needful permission with

her, and after looking at a great many of the children, without being able to make up her mind, she

took a sudden fancy to one of the babiesa boyunder my care. Try, pray try, to compose

yourself, sir! It's no use disguising it any longer. The child the stranger took away was the child of

Mr. Wilding started to his feet. "Impossible!" he cried out, vehemently. "What are you talking about?

What absurd story are you telling me now? There's her portrait! Haven't I told you so already? The

"When that unhappy lady removed you from the Foundling, in after years," said Mrs. Goldstraw,

gently, "she was the victim, and you were the victim, sir, of a dreadful mistake."

He dropped back into his chair. "The room goes round with me," he said. "My head! my head!" The

housekeeper rose in alarm, and opened the windows. Before she could get to the door to call for

help, a sudden burst of tears relieved the oppression which had at first almost appeared to threaten

his life. He signed entreatingly to Mrs. Goldstraw not to leave him. She waited until the paroxysm of

weeping had worn itself out. He raised his head as he recovered himself, and looked at her with the

"Mistake?" he said, wildly repeating her last word. "How do I know you are not mistaken yourself?"

"There is no hope that I am mistaken, sir. I will tell you why, when you are better fit to hear it."

The tone in which he spoke warned Mrs. Goldstraw that it would be cruel kindness to let him

comfort himself a moment longer with the vain hope that she might be wrong. A few words more

"I have told you," she said, "that the child of the lady whose portrait hangs there, was adopted in its

infancy, and taken away by a stranger. I am as certain of what I say as that I am now sitting here,

obliged to distress you, sir, sorely against my will. Please to carry your mind on, now, to about three

months after that time. I was then at the Foundling, in London, waiting to take some children to our

institution in the country. There was a question that day about naming an infanta boywho had

just been received. We generally named them out of the Directory. On this occasion, one of the

gentlemen who managed the Hospital happened to be looking over the Register. He noticed that

the name of the baby who had been adopted ('Walter Wilding') was scratched outfor the reason,

of course, that the child had been removed for good from our care. 'Here's a name to let,' he said.

'Give it to the new foundling who has been received today.' The name was given, and the child

The winemerchant's head dropped on his breast. "I was that child!" he said to himself, trying

"Not very long after you had been received into the Institution, sir," pursued Mrs. Goldstraw, "I left

my situation there, to be married. If you will remember that, and if you can give your mind to it, you

will see for yourself how the mistake happened. Between eleven and twelve years passed before

the lady, whom you have believed to be your mother, returned to the Foundling, to find her son,

and to remove him to her own home. The lady only knew that her infant had been called 'Walter

Wilding.' The matron who took pity on her, could but point out the only 'Walter Wilding' known in the

Institution. I, who might have set the matter right, was far away from the Foundling and all that

belonged to it. There was nothing there was really nothing that could prevent this terrible mistake

from taking place. I feel for youI do indeed, sir! You must thinkand with reasonthat it was in

an evil hour that I came here (innocently enough, I'm sure), to apply for your housekeeper's place. I

feel as if I was to blameI feel as if I ought to have had more selfcommand. If I had only been

able to keep my face from showing you what that portrait and what your own words put into my

Mr. Wilding looked up suddenly. The inbred honesty of the man rose in protest against the

housekeeper's last words. His mind seemed to steady itself, for the moment, under the shock that

"Do you mean to say that you would have concealed this from me if you could?" he exclaimed.

"I hope I should always tell the truth, sir, if I was asked," said Mrs. Goldstraw. "And I know it is

better for ME that I should not have a secret of this sort weighing on my mind. But is it better for

"I beg your pardon," said the winemerchant. "You must make allowance for me. This dreadful

discovery is something I can't realise even yet. We loved each other so dearlyI felt so fondly that

I was her son. She died, Mrs. Goldstraw, in my armsshe died blessing me as only a mother

COULD have blessed me. And now, after all these years, to be told she was NOT my mother! O

me, O me! I don't know what I am saying!" he cried, as the impulse of selfcontrol under which he

had spoken a moment since, flickered, and died out. "It was not this dreadful griefit was

something else that I had it in my mind to speak of. Yes, yes. You surprised me you wounded

me just now. You talked as if you would have hidden this from me, if you could. Don't talk in that

way again. It would have been a crime to have hidden it. You mean well, I know. I don't want to

distress youyou are a kindhearted woman. But you don't remember what my position is. She

left me all that I possess, in the firm persuasion that I was her son. I am not her son. I have taken

the place, I have innocently got the inheritance of another man. He must be found! How do I know

he is not at this moment in misery, without bread to eat? He must be found! My only hope of

bearing up against the shock that has fallen on me, is the hope of doing something which SHE

would have approved. You must know more, Mrs. Goldstraw, than you have told me yet. Who was

"Did she say nothing when she took the child away? Search your memory. She must have said

"Only one thing, sir, that I can remember. It was a miserably bad season, that year; and many of

the children were suffering from it. When she took the baby away, the lady said to me, laughing,

"Don't be alarmed about his health. He will be brought up in a better climate than thisI am going

"Only that faint clue!" said Mr. Wilding. "And a quarter of a century has passed since the child was

"I hope you won't take offence at my freedom, sir," said Mrs. Goldstraw; "but why should you

distress yourself about what is to be done? He may not be alive now, for anything you know. And, if

he is alive, it's not likely he can be in any distress. The, lady who adopted him was a bred and born

ladyit was easy to see that. And she must have satisfied them at the Foundling that she could

provide for the child, or they would never have let her take him away. If I was in your place,

sirplease to excuse my saying soI should comfort myself with remembering that I had loved

that poor lady whose portrait you have got theretruly loved her as my mother, and that she had

truly loved me as her son. All she gave to you, she gave for the sake of that love. It never altered

while she lived; and it won't alter, I'm sure, as long as YOU live. How can you have a better right,

Mr. Wilding's immovable honesty saw the fallacy in his housekeeper' s point of view at a glance.

"You don't understand me," he said. "It's BECAUSE I loved her that I feel it a dutya sacred

dutyto do justice to her son. If he is a living man, I must find him: for my own sake, as well as for

his. I shall break down under this dreadful trial, unless I employ myselfactively, instantly employ

myselfin doing what my conscience tells me ought to be done. I must speak to my lawyer; I must

set my lawyer at work before I sleep tonight." He approached a tube in the wall of the room, and

called down through it to the office below. "Leave me for a little, Mrs. Goldstraw," he resumed; "I

shall be more composed, I shall be better able to speak to you later in the day. We shall get on

wellI hope we shall get on well togetherin spite of what has happened. It isn't your fault; I know

it isn't your fault. There! there! shake hands; andand do the best you can in the houseI can't

"Send for Mr. Bintrey," said the winemerchant. "Say I want to see him directly."

The clerk unconsciously suspended the execution of the order, by announcing "Mr. Vendale," and

"Pray excuse me for one moment, George Vendale," said Wilding. "I have a word to say to Jarvis.

"From our correspondents at Neuchatel, I think, sir. The letter has got the Swiss postmark."

The words, "The Swiss Postmark," following so soon upon the housekeeper's reference to

Switzerland, wrought Mr. Wilding's agitation to such a remarkable height, that his new partner could

"Wilding," he asked hurriedly, and yet stopping short and glancing around as if for some visible

"My good George Vendale," returned the winemerchant, giving his hand with an appealing look,

rather as if he wanted help to get over some obstacle, than as if he gave it in welcome or

salutation: "my good George Vendale, so much is the matter, that I shall never be myself again. It is

The new partner, a browncheeked handsome fellow, of about his own age, with a quick

determined eye and an impulsive manner, retorted with natural astonishment: "Not yourself?"

"What, in the name of wonder, DID you suppose yourself to be that you are not?" was the rejoinder,

delivered with a cheerful frankness, inviting confidence from a more reticent man. "I may ask

"There again!" cried Wilding, leaning back in his chair, with a lost look at the other. "Partners! I had

no right to come into this business. It was never meant for me. My mother never meant it should be

mine. I mean, his mother meant it should be hisif I mean anythingor if I am anybody."

"Come, come," urged his partner, after a moment's pause, and taking possession of him with that

calm confidence which inspires a strong nature when it honestly desires to aid a weak one.

"Whatever has gone wrong, has gone wrong through no fault of yours, I am very sure. I was not in

this countinghouse with you, under the old regime, for three years, to doubt you, Wilding. We were

not younger men than we are, together, for that. Let me begin our partnership by being a

serviceable partner, and setting right whatever is wrong. Has that letter anything to do with it?"

"Hah!" said Wilding, with his hand to his temple. "There again! My head! I was forgetting the

"At a second glance I see that the letter is unopened, so it is not very likely to have much to do with

the matter," said Vendale, with comforting composure. "Is it for you, or for us?"

"The letter is only from our champagnemaking friends, the house at Neuchatel. 'Dear Sir. We are

in receipt of yours of the 28th ult., informing us that you have taken your Mr. Vendale into

partnership, whereon we beg you to receive the assurance of our felicitations. Permit us to

embrace the occasion of specially commanding to you M. Jules Obenreizer.' Impossible!"

"Impossible sort of name," returned his partner, slightly "Obenreizer. 'Of specially

commanding to you M. Jules Obenreizer, of Soho Square, London (north side), henceforth fully

accredited as our agent, and who has already had the honour of making the acquaintance of your

Mr. Vendale, in his (said M. Obenreizer's) native country, Switzerland.' To be sure! pooh pooh,

what have I been thinking of! I remember now; 'when travelling with his niece.'"

"With his?" Vendale had so slurred the last word, that Wilding had not heard it.

"When travelling with his Niece. Obenreizer's Niece," said Vendale, in a somewhat superfluously

lucid manner. "Niece of Obenreizer. (I met them in my first Swiss tour, travelled a little with them,

and lost them for two years; met them again, my Swiss tour before last, and have lost them ever

since.) Obenreizer. Niece of Obenreizer. To be sure! Possible sort of name, after all! 'M.

Obenreizer is in possession of our absolute confidence, and we do not doubt you will esteem his

merits.' Duly signed by the House, 'Defresnier et Cie.' Very well. I undertake to see M. Obenreizer

presently, and clear him out of the way. That clears the Swiss postmark out of the way. So now, my

dear Wilding, tell me what I can clear out of YOUR way, and I'll find a way to clear it."

More than ready and grateful to be thus taken charge of, the honest winemerchant wrung his

partner's hand, and, beginning his tale by pathetically declaring himself an Impostor, told it.

"It was on this matter, no doubt, that you were sending for Bintrey when I came in?" said his

"He has experience and a shrewd head; I shall be anxious to know his opinion. It is bold and

hazardous in me to give you mine before I know his, but I am not good at holding back. Plainly,

then, I do not see these circumstances as you see them. I do not see your position as you see it.

As to your being an Impostor, my dear Wilding, that is simply absurd, because no man can be that

without being a consenting party to an imposition. Clearly you never were so. As to your

enrichment by the lady who believed you to be her son, and whom you were forced to believe, on

her showing, to be your mother, consider whether that did not arise out of the personal relations

between you. You gradually became much attached to her; she gradually became much attached

to you. It was on you, personally you, as I see the case, that she conferred these worldly

"She supposed me," objected Wilding, shaking his head, "to have a natural claim upon her, which I

"I must admit that," replied his partner, "to be true. But if she had made the discovery that you have

made, six months before she died, do you think it would have cancelled the years you were

together, and the tenderness that each of you had conceived for the other, each on increasing

"What I think," said Wilding, simply but stoutly holding to the bare fact, "can no more change the

truth than it can bring down the sky. The truth is that I stand possessed of what was meant for

"He may be alive," said Wilding. "And if he is alive, have I not innocently, I grant you

innocentlyrobbed him of enough? Have I not robbed him of all the happy time that I enjoyed in

his stead? Have I not robbed him of the exquisite delight that filled my soul when that dear lady,"

stretching his hand towards the picture, "told me she was my mother? Have I not robbed him of all

the care she lavished on me? Have I not even robbed him of all the devotion and duty that I so

proudly gave to her? Therefore it is that I ask myself, George Vendale, and I ask you, where is he?

"I must try to find out who can tell. I must institute inquiries. I must never desist from prosecuting

inquiries. I will live upon the interest of my shareI ought to say his sharein this business, and

will lay up the rest for him. When I find him, I may perhaps throw myself upon his generosity; but I

will yield up all to him. I will, I swear. As I loved and honoured her," said Wilding, reverently kissing

his hand towards the picture, and then covering his eyes with it. "As I loved and honoured her, and

His partner rose from the chair he had occupied, and stood beside him with a hand softly laid upon

his shoulder. "Walter, I knew you before today to be an upright man, with a pure conscience and a

fine heart. It is very fortunate for me that I have the privilege to travel on in life so near to so

trustworthy a man. I am thankful for it. Use me as your right hand, and rely upon me to the death.

Don't think the worse of me if I protest to you that my uppermost feeling at present is a confused,

you may call it an unreasonable, one. I feel far more pity for the lady and for you, because you did

not stand in your supposed relations, than I can feel for the unknown man (if he ever became a

man), because he was unconsciously displaced. You have done well in sending for Mr. Bintrey.

What I think will be a part of his advice, I know is the whole of mine. Do not move a step in this

serious matter precipitately. The secret must be kept among us with great strictness, for to part with

it lightly would be to invite fraudulent claims, to encourage a host of knaves, to let loose a flood of

perjury and plotting. I have no more to say now, Walter, than to remind you that you sold me a

share in your business, expressly to save yourself from more work than your present health is fit

With these words, and a parting grip of his partner's shoulder that gave them the best emphasis

they could have had, George Vendale betook himself presently to the countinghouse, and

As he turned into Soho Square, and directed his steps towards its north side, a deepened colour

shot across his sunbrowned face, which Wilding, if he had been a better observer, or had been

less occupied with his own trouble, might have noticed when his partner read aloud a certain

passage in their Swiss correspondent's letter, which he had not read so distinctly as the rest.

A curious colony of mountaineers has long been enclosed within that small flat London district of

Soho. Swiss watchmakers, Swiss silverchasers, Swiss jewellers, Swiss importers of Swiss

musical boxes and Swiss toys of various kinds, draw close together there. Swiss professors of

music, painting, and languages; Swiss artificers in steady work; Swiss couriers, and other Swiss

servants chronically out of place; industrious Swiss laundresses and clearstarchers; mysteriously

existing Swiss of both sexes; Swiss creditable and Swiss discreditable; Swiss to be trusted by all

means, and Swiss to be trusted by no means; these diverse Swiss particles are attracted to a

centre in the district of Soho. Shabby Swiss eatinghouses, coffeehouses, and lodginghouses,

Swiss drinks and dishes, Swiss service for Sundays, and Swiss schools for weekdays, are all to

be found there. Even the nativeborn English taverns drive a sort of brokenEnglish trade;

announcing in their windows Swiss whets and drams, and sheltering in their bars Swiss skirmishes

When the new partner in Wilding and Co. rang the bell of a door bearing the blunt inscription

OBENREIZER on a brass platethe inner door of a substantial house, whose ground story was

devoted to the sale of Swiss clockshe passed at once into domestic Switzerland. A whitetiled

stove for wintertime filled the fireplace of the room into which he was shown, the room's bare floor

was laid together in a neat pattern of several ordinary woods, the room had a prevalent air of

surface bareness and much scrubbing; and the little square of flowery carpet by the sofa, and the

velvet chimneyboard with its capacious clock and vases of artificial flowers, contended with that

tone, as if, in bringing out the whole effect, a Parisian had adapted a dairy to domestic purposes.

Mimic water was dropping off a millwheel under the clock. The visitor had not stood before it,

following it with his eyes, a minute, when M. Obenreizer, at his elbow, startled him by saying, in

Releasing his visitor's two arms, which he had lightly pinioned at the elbows by way of embrace, M.

Obenreizer also sat, remarking, with a smile: "You are well? So glad!" and touching his elbows

"I don't know," said Vendale, after exchange of salutations, "whether you may yet have heard of me

"Is it not odd that I should come to you, in London here, as one of the Firm of Wilding and Co., to

"Not at all! What did I always observe when we were on the mountains? We call them vast; but the

world is so little. So little is the world, that one cannot keep away from persons. There are so few

persons in the world, that they continually cross and recross. So very little is the world, that one

cannot get rid of a person. Not," touching his elbows again, with an ingratiatory smile, "that one

"Please call me, in your country, Mr. I call myself so, for I love your country. If I COULD be English!

But I am born. And you? Though descended from so fine a family, you have had the

condescension to come into trade? Stop though. Wines? Is it trade in England or profession? Not

"Mr. Obenreizer," returned Vendale, somewhat out of countenance, "I was but a silly young fellow,

just of age, when I first had the pleasure of travelling with you, and when you and I and

"Shared some slight glacier dangers together. If, with a boy's vanity, I rather vaunted my family, I

hope I did so as a kind of introduction of myself. It was very weak, and in very bad taste; but

"You make too much of it," returned the Swiss. "And what the devil! After all, yours WAS a fine

George Vendale's laugh betrayed a little vexation as he rejoined: "Well! I was strongly attached to

my parents, and when we first travelled together, Mr. Obenreizer, I was in the first flush of coming

into what my father and mother left me. So I hope it may have been, after all, more youthful

"All openness of speech and heart! No boastfulness!" cried Obenreizer. "You tax yourself too

heavily. You tax yourself, my faith! as if you was your Government taxing you! Besides, it

commenced with me. I remember, that evening in the boat upon the lake, floating among the

reflections of the mountains and valleys, the crags and pine woods, which were my earliest

remembrance, I drew a wordpicture of my sordid childhood. Of our poor hut, by the waterfall which

my mother showed to travellers; of the cowshed where I slept with the cow; of my idiot

halfbrother always sitting at the door, or limping down the Pass to beg; of my halfsister always

spinning, and resting her enormous goitre on a great stone; of my being a famished naked little

wretch of two or three years, when they were men and women with hard hands to beat me, I, the

only child of my father's second marriageif it even was a marriage. What more natural than for

you to compare notes with me, and say, 'We are as one by age; at that same time I sat upon my

mother's lap in my father's carriage, rolling through the rich English streets, all luxury surrounding

me, all squalid poverty kept far from me. Such is MY earliest remembrance as opposed to yours!'"

Mr. Obenreizer was a blackhaired young man of a dark complexion, through whose swarthy skin

no red glow ever shone. When colour would have come into another cheek, a hardly discernible

beat would come into his, as if the machinery for bringing up the ardent blood were there, but the

machinery were dry. He was robustly made, well proportioned, and had handsome features. Many

would have perceived that some surface change in him would have set them more at their ease

with him, without being able to define what change. If his lips could have been made much thicker,

But the great Obenreizer peculiarity was, that a certain nameless film would come over his

eyesapparently by the action of his own willwhich would impenetrably veil, not only from those

tellers of tales, but from his face at large, every expression save one of attention. It by no means

followed that his attention should be wholly given to the person with whom he spoke, or even

wholly bestowed on present sounds and objects. Rather, it was a comprehensive watchfulness of

everything he had in his own mind, and everything that he knew to be, or suspected to be, in the

"The object of my present visit," said Vendale, "is, I need hardly say, to assure you of the

friendliness of Wilding and Co., and of the goodness of your credit with us, and of our desire to be

of service to you. We hope shortly to offer you our hospitality. Things are not quite in train with us

yet, for my partner, Mr. Wilding, is reorganising the domestic part of our establishment, and is

"You must come together soon. He will be glad to have made your acquaintance, and I think I may

predict that you will be glad to have made his. You have not been long established in London, I

"When, and where, might I have the honour of recalling myself to her remembrance?"

Mr. Obenreizer, discarding his film and touching his visitor's elbows as before, said lightly: "Come

Fluttered enough by the suddenness with which the interview he had sought was coming upon him

after all, George Vendale followed upstairs. In a room over the chamber he had just quitteda

room also Swissappointeda young lady sat near one of three windows, working at an

embroideryframe; and an older lady sat with her face turned close to another whitetiled stove

(though it was summer, and the stove was not lighted), cleaning gloves. The young lady wore an

unusual quantity of fair bright hair, very prettily braided about a rather rounder white forehead than

the average English type, and so her face might have been a shadeor say a lightrounder than

the average English face, and her figure slightly rounder than the figure of the average English girl

at nineteen. A remarkable indication of freedom and grace of limb, in her quiet attitude, and a

wonderful purity and freshness of colour in her dimpled face and bright gray eyes, seemed fraught

with mountain air. Switzerland too, though the general fashion of her dress was English, peeped

out of the fanciful bodice she wore, and lurked in the curious clocked red stocking, and in its little

silverbuckled shoe. As to the elder lady, sitting with her feet apart upon the lower brass ledge of

the stove, supporting a lapfull of gloves while she cleaned one stretched on her left hand, she was

a true Swiss impersonation of another kind; from the breadth of her cushionlike back, and the

ponderosity of her respectable legs (if the word be admissible), to the black velvet band tied tightly

round her throat for the repression of a rising tendency to goitre; or, higher still, to her great

coppercoloured gold earrings; or, higher still, to her headdress of black gauze stretched on wire.

"Miss Marguerite," said Obenreizer to the young lady, "do you recollect this gentleman?"

"I think," she answered, rising from her seat, surprised and a little confused: "it is Mr. Vendale?"

The elder lady by the stove, with the glove stretched on her left hand, like a glover's sign, half got

up, half looked over her broad shoulder, and wholly plumped down again and rubbed away.

"Madame Dor," said Obenreizer, smiling, "is so kind as to keep me free from stain or tear. Madame

Dor humours my weakness for being always neat, and devotes her time to removing every one of

Madame Dor, with the stretched glove in the air, and her eyes closely scrutinizing its palm,

discovered a tough spot in Mr. Obenreizer at that instant, and rubbed hard at him. George Vendale

took his seat by the embroideryframe (having first taken the fair right hand that his entrance had

checked), and glanced at the gold cross that dipped into the bodice, with something of the devotion

of a pilgrim who had reached his shrine at last. Obenreizer stood in the middle of the room with his

"He was saying downstairs, Miss Obenreizer," observed Vendale, "that the world is so small a

place, that people cannot escape one another. I have found it much too large for me since I saw

"Not so far, for I have only gone back to Switzerland each year; but I could have wishedand

indeed I have wished very oftenthat the little world did not afford such opportunities for long

escapes as it does. If it had been less, I might have found my followtravellers sooner, you know."

The pretty Marguerite coloured, and very slightly glanced in the direction of Madame Dor.

"I trust not. The curious coincidence that has enabled me to find you, encourages me to hope not."

"What is that coincidence, sir, if you please?" A dainty little native touch in this turn of speech, and

in its tone, made it perfectly captivating, thought George Vendale, when again he noticed an

instantaneous glance towards Madame Dor. A caution seemed to be conveyed in it, rapid flash

"It is that I happen to have become a partner in a House of business in London, to which Mr.

Obenreizer happens this very day to be expressly recommended: and that, too, by another house

of business in Switzerland, in which (as it turns out) we both have a commercial interest. He has

"Ah!" cried Obenreizer, striking in, filmless. "No. I had not told Miss Marguerite. The world is so

small and so monotonous that a surprise is worth having in such a little jogtrot place. It is as he

tells you, Miss Marguerite. He, of so fine a family, and so proudly bred, has condescended to trade.

"Why, it is good for trade!" pursued Obenreizer, enthusiastically. "It ennobles trade! It is the

misfortune of trade, it is its vulgarity, that any low peoplefor example, we poor peasantsmay

take to it and climb by it. See you, my dear Vendale!" He spoke with great energy. "The father of

Miss Marguerite, my eldest halfbrother, more than two times your age or mine, if living now,

Passwanderedwanderedgot to be fed with the mules and dogs at an Inn in the main valley

far awaygot to be Boy theregot to be Ostlergot to be Waitergot to be Cookgot to be

Landlord. As Landlord, he took me (could he take the idiot beggar his brother, or the spinning

monstrosity his sister?) to put as pupil to the famous watchmaker, his neighbour and friend. His

wife dies when Miss Marguerite is born. What is his will, and what are his words to me, when he

dies, she being between girl and woman? 'All for Marguerite, except so much by the year for you.

You are young, but I make her your ward, for you were of the obscurest and the poorest peasantry,

and so was I, and so was her mother; we were abject peasants all, and you will remember it.' The

thing is equally true of most of my countrymen, now in trade in this your London quarter of Soho.

Peasants once; lowborn drudging Swiss Peasants. Then how good and great for trade:" here,

from having been warm, he became playfully jubilant, and touched the young winemerchant's

"I do not think so," said Marguerite, with a flushed cheek, and a look away from the visitor, that was

"I speak in proud earnest," she answered, quietly resuming her work, "and I am not English, but a

There was a dismissal of the subject in her words, which Vendale could not contend against. He

only said in an earnest manner, "I most heartily agree with you, Miss Obenreizer, and I have

already said so, as Mr. Obenreizer will bear witness," which he by no means did, "in this house."

Now, Vendale's eyes were quick eyes, and sharply watching Madame Dor by times, noted

something in the broad back view of that lady. There was considerable pantomimic expression in

her glovecleaning. It had been very softly done when he spoke with Marguerite, or it had

altogether stopped, like the action of a listener. When Obenreizer's peasantspeech came to an

end, she rubbed most vigorously, as if applauding it. And once or twice, as the glove (which she

always held before her a little above her face) turned in the air, or as this finger went down, or that

went up, he even fancied that it made some telegraphic communication to Obenreizer: whose back

Vendale observed too, that in Marguerite's dismissal of the subject twice forced upon him to his

misrepresentation, there was an indignant treatment of her guardian which she tried to cheek: as

though she would have flamed out against him, but for the influence of fear. He also

observedthough this was not muchthat he never advanced within the distance of her at which

he first placed himself: as though there were limits fixed between them. Neither had he ever spoken

of her without the prefix "Miss," though whenever he uttered it, it was with the faintest trace of an air

of mockery. And now it occurred to Vendale for the first time that something curious in the man,

which he had never before been able to define, was definable as a certain subtle essence of

mockery that eluded touch or analysis. He felt convinced that Marguerite was in some sort a

prisoner as to her freewillthough she held her own against those two combined, by the force of

her character, which was nevertheless inadequate to her release. To feel convinced of this, was not

to feel less disposed to love her than he had always been. In a word, he was desperately in love

with her, and thoroughly determined to pursue the opportunity which had opened at last.

For the present, he merely touched upon the pleasure that Wilding and Co. would soon have in

entreating Miss Obenreizer to honour their establishment with her presencea curious old place,

though a bachelor house withaland so did not protract his visit beyond such a visit's ordinary

length. Going downstairs, conducted by his host, he found the Obenreizer countinghouse at the

back of the entrancehall, and several shabby men in outlandish garments hanging about, whom

"Countrymen," he explained, as he attended Vendale to the door. "Poor compatriots. Grateful and

Sweet Marguerite at her frame, and Madame Dor's broad back at her telegraph, floated before him

to Cripple Corner. On his arrival there, Wilding was closeted with Bintrey. The cellar doors

happening to be open, Vendale lighted a candle in a cleft stick, and went down for a cellarous stroll.

Graceful Marguerite floated before him faithfully, but Madame Dor's broad back remained outside.

The vaults were very spacious, and very old. There had been a stone crypt down there, when

bygones were not bygones; some said, part of a monkish refectory; some said, of a chapel; some

said, of a Pagan temple. It was all one now. Let who would make what he liked of a crumbled pillar

and a broken arch or so. Old Time had made what HE liked of it, and was quite indifferent to

The close air, the musty smell, and the thunderous rumbling in the streets above, as being, out of

the routine of ordinary life, went well enough with the picture of pretty Marguerite holding her own

against those two. So Vendale went on until, at a turning in the vaults, he saw a light like the light

"Oughtn't it rather to go, 'O! YOU'RE here, are you, Master George?' For it's my business to be

"O! I don't grumble," returned the Cellarman. "If anything grumbles, it's what I've took in through the

pores; it ain't me. Have a care as something in you don't begin a grumbling, Master George. Stop

His present occupation consisted of poking his head into the bins, making measurements and

mental calculations, and entering them in a rhinoceroshidelooking notebook, like a piece of

"They'll be at it," he resumed, laying the wooden rod that he measured with across two casks,

entering his last calculation, and straightening his back, "trust 'em! And so you've regularly come

"I don't, bless you. But Wapours objects that you're too young. You're both on you too young."

"Ay, Master George; but I shall day by day get over the objection that I'm too old, and so I shan't be

The retort so tickled Joey Ladle that he grunted forth a laugh and delivered it again, grunting forth

"But what's no laughing matter, Master George," he resumed, straightening his back once more,

"is, that young Master Wilding has gone and changed the luck. Mark my words. He has changed

the luck, and he'll find it out. I ain't been down here all my life for nothing! I know by what I notices

down here, when it's agoing to rain, when it's agoing to hold up, when it's agoing to blow, when

it's agoing to be calm. I know, by what I notices down here, when the luck's changed, quite as

"Has this growth on the roof anything to do with your divination?" asked Vendale, holding his light

towards a gloomy ragged growth of dark fungus, pendent from the arches with a very disagreeable

"We are Master George," replied Joey Ladle, moving a step or two away, "and if you'll be advised

Taking up the rod just now laid across the two casks, and faintly moving the languid fungus with it,

"Why, not so much because it rises from the casks of wine, and may leave you to judge what sort

of stuff a Cellarman takes into himself when he walks in the same all the days of his life, nor yet so

much because at a stage of its growth it's maggots, and you'll fetch 'em down upon you," returned

"(I wouldn't keep on touchin' it, if I was you, sir.) I'll tell you if you'll come out of the place. First, take

He moved away with his light, and Vendale followed with his. When Vendale came up with him,

and they were going back together, Vendale, eyeing him as they walked through the arches, said:

"How should I know who?" rejoined the Cellarman, apparently much exasperated by the

unreasonable nature of the question. "Them! Them as says pretty well everything, you know. How

"They do say that the man that gets by any accident a piece of that dark growth right upon his

As Vendale laughingly stopped to meet the Cellarman's eyes, which he had fastened on his light

while dreamily saying those words, he suddenly became conscious of being struck upon his own

breast by a heavy hand. Instantly following with his eyes the action of the hand that struck

himwhich was his companion'she saw that it had beaten off his breast a web or clot of the

For a moment he turned upon the Cellarman almost as scared a look as the Cellarman turned upon

him. But in another moment they had reached the daylight at the foot of the cellarsteps, and

before he cheerfully sprang up them, he blew out his candle and the superstition together.

On the morning of the next day, Wilding went out alone, after leaving a message with his clerk. "If

Mr. Vendale should ask for me," he said, "or if Mr. Bintrey should call, tell them I am gone to the

Foundling." All that his partner had said to him, all that his lawyer, following on the same side, could

urge, had left him persisting unshaken in his own point of view. To find the lost man, whose place

he had usurped, was now the paramount interest of his life, and to inquire at the Foundling was

plainly to take the first step in the direction of discovery. To the Foundling, accordingly, the

The once familiar aspect of the building was altered to him, as the look of the portrait over the

chimneypiece was altered to him. His one dearest association with the place which had sheltered

his childhood had been broken away from it for ever. A strange reluctance possessed him, when he

stated his business at the door. His heart ached as he sat alone in the waitingroom while the

Treasurer of the institution was being sent for to see him. When the interview began, it was only by

a painful effort that he could compose himself sufficiently to mention the nature of his errand.

The Treasurer listened with a face which promised all needful attention, and promised nothing

"We are obliged to be cautious," he said, when it came to his turn to speak, "about all inquiries

"You can hardly consider me a stranger," answered Wilding, simply. "I was one of your poor lost

The Treasurer politely rejoined that this circumstance inspired him with a special interest in his

visitor. But he pressed, nevertheless for that visitor's motive in making his inquiry. Without further

preface, Wilding told him his motive, suppressing nothing. The Treasurer rose, and led the way into

the room in which the registers of the institution were kept. "All the information which our books can

give is heartily at your service," he said. "After the time that has elapsed, I am afraid it is the only

"3d March, 1836. Adopted, and removed from the Foundling Hospital, a male infant, named Walter

Wilding. Name and condition of the person adopting the childMrs. Jane Ann Miller, widow.

Groombridge Wells; and Messrs. Giles, Jeremie, and Giles, bankers, Lombard Street."

"Is that all?" asked the winemerchant. "Had you no aftercommunication with Mrs. Miller?"

"My only chance, I suppose," said Wilding, looking sadly at the copy, "is to inquire at Mrs. Miller's

"That is the only chance I see at present," answered the Treasurer. "I heartily wish I could have

With those farewell words to comfort him Wilding set forth on the journey of investigation which

began from the Foundling doors. The first stage to make for, was plainly the house of business of

the bankers in Lombard Street. Two of the partners in the firm were inaccessible to chancevisitors

when he asked for them. The third, after raising certain inevitable difficulties, consented to let a

clerk examine the ledger marked with the initial letter "M." The account of Mrs. Miller, widow, of

Groombridge Wells, was found. Two long lines, in faded ink, were drawn across it; and at the

bottom of the page there appeared this note Account closed, September 30th, 1837."

So the first stage of the journey was reachedand so it ended in No Thoroughfare! After sending a

note to Cripple Corner to inform his partner that his absence might be prolonged for some hours,

Wilding took his place in the train, and started for the second stage on the journeyMrs. Miller's

Mothers and children travelled with him; mothers and children met each other at the station;

mothers and children were in the shops when he entered them to inquire for LimeTree Lodge.

Everywhere, the nearest and dearest of human relations showed itself happily in the happy light of

day. Everywhere, he was reminded of the treasured delusion from which he had been awakened

so cruellyof the lost memory which had passed from him like a reflection from a glass.

Inquiring here, inquiring there, he could hear of no such place as LimeTree Lodge. Passing a

houseagent's office, he went in wearily, and put the question for the last time. The houseagent

pointed across the street to a dreary mansion of many windows, which might have been a

manufactory, but which was an hotel. "That's where LimeTree Lodge stood, sir," said the man,

But one chance was left. The clerical reference, Mr. Harker, still remained to be found. Customers

coming in at the moment to occupy the houseagent's attention, Wilding went down the street, and

entering a bookseller's shop, asked if he could be informed of the Reverend John Harker's present

The bookseller took up from his counter a prim little volume in a binding of sober gray. He handed it

"The martyrdom of the Reverend John Harker in New Zealand. Related by a former member of his

Wilding put the book down on the counter. "I beg your pardon," he said thinking a little, perhaps, of

his own present martyrdom while he spoke. The silent bookseller acknowledged the apology by a

There was nothing more to be done; there was absolutely no choice but to go back to London,

defeated at all points. From time to time on the return journey, the winemerchant looked at his

copy of the entry in the Foundling Register. There is one among the many forms of

despairperhaps the most pitiable of allwhich persists in disguising itself as Hope. Wilding

checked himself in the act of throwing the useless morsel of paper out of the carriage window. "It

may lead to something yet," he thought. "While I live, I won't part with it. When I die, my executors

Now, the mention of his will set the good winemerchant on a new track of thought, without

diverting his mind from its engrossing subject. He must make his will immediately.

The application of the phrase No Thoroughfare to the case had originated with Mr. Bintrey. In their

first long conference following the discovery, that sagacious personage had a hundred times

repeated, with an obstructive shake of the head, "No Thoroughfare, Sir, No Thoroughfare. My belief

is that there is no way out of this at this time of day, and my advice is, make yourself comfortable

In the course of the protracted consultation, a magnum of the fortyfive year old portwine had been

produced for the wetting of Mr. Bintrey's legal whistle; but the more clearly he saw his way through

the wine, the more emphatically he did not see his way through the case; repeating as often as he

It is certain that the honest winemerchant's anxiety to make a will originated in profound

conscientiousness; though it is possible (and quite consistent with his rectitude) that he may

unconsciously have derived some feeling of relief from the prospect of delegating his own difficulty

to two other men who were to come after him. Be that as it may, he pursued his new track of

thought with great ardour, and lost no time in begging George Vendale and Mr. Bintrey to meet him

"Being all three assembled with closed doors," said Mr. Bintrey, addressing the new partner on the

occasion, "I wish to observe, before our friend (and my client) entrusts us with his further views,

that I have endorsed what I understand from him to have been your advice, Mr. Vendale, and what

would be the advice of every sensible man. I have told him that he positively must keep his secret. I

have spoken with Mrs. Goldstraw, both in his presence and in his absence; and if anybody is to be

trusted (which is a very large IF), I think she is to be trusted to that extent. I have pointed out to our

friend (and my client), that to set on foot random inquiries would not only be to raise the Devil, in

the likeness of all the swindlers in the kingdom, but would also be to waste the estate. Now, you

see, Mr. Vendale, our friend (and my client) does not desire to waste the estate, but, on the

contrary, desires to husband it for what he considersbut I can't say I do the rightful owner, if

such rightful owner should ever be found. I am very much mistaken if he ever will be, but never

mind that. Mr. Wilding and I are, at least, agreed that the estate is not to be wasted. Now, I have

yielded to Mr. Wilding's desire to keep an advertisement at intervals flowing through the

newspapers, cautiously inviting any person who may know anything about that adopted infant,

taken from the Foundling Hospital, to come to my office; and I have pledged myself that such

advertisement shall regularly appear. I have gathered from our friend (and my client) that I meet

you here today to take his instructions, not to give him advice. I am prepared to receive his

instructions, and to respect his wishes; but you will please observe that this does not imply my

Thus Mr. Bintrey; talking quite is much AT Wilding as TO Vendale. And yet, in spite of his care for

his client, he was so amused by his client's Quixotic conduct, as to eye him from time to time with

"Nothing," observed Wilding, "can be clearer. I only wish my head were as clear as yours, Mr.

"If you feel that singing in it coming on," hinted the lawyer, with an alarmed glance, "put it off.I

"No; I WASN'T going to," said the winemerchant. "Mr. Bintrey and George Vendale, would you

have any hesitation or objection to become my joint trustees and executors, or can you at once

"Thank you both. Mr. Bintrey, my instructions for my last will and testament are short and plain.

Perhaps you will now have the goodness to take them down. I leave the whole of my real and

personal estate, without any exception or reservation whatsoever, to you two, my joint trustees and

executors, in trust to pay over the whole to the true Walter Wilding, if he shall be found and

identified within two years after the day of my death. Failing that, in trust to you two to pay over the

"Those are all your instructions, are they, Mr. Wilding?" demanded Bintrey, after a blank silence,

"And as to those instructions, you have absolutely made up your mind, Mr. Wilding?"

"It only remains," said the lawyer, with one shrug of his shoulders, "to get them into technical and

binding form, and to execute and attest. Now, does that press? Is there any hurry about it? You are

"Mr. Bintrey," answered Wilding, gravely, "when I am going to die is within other knowledge than

"We are lawyer and client again," rejoined Bintrey, who, for the nonce, had become almost

sympathetic. "If this day weekhere, at the same hourwill suit Mr. Vendale and yourself, I will

The appointment was made, and in due sequence, kept. The will was formally signed, sealed,

delivered, and witnessed, and was carried off by Mr. Bintrey for safe storage among the papers of

his clients, ranged in their respective iron boxes, with their respective owners' names outside, on

iron tiers in his consultingroom, as if that legal sanctuary were a condensed Family Vault of

With more heart than he had lately had for former subjects of interest, Wilding then set about

completing his patriarchal establishment, being much assisted not only by Mrs. Goldstraw but by

Vendale too: who, perhaps, had in his mind the giving of an Obenreizer dinner as soon as possible.

Anyhow, the establishment being reported in sound working order, the Obenreizers, Guardian and

Ward, were asked to dinner, and Madame Dor was included in the invitation. If Vendale had been

over head and ears in love before a phrase not to be taken as implying the faintest doubt about

it this dinner plunged him down in love ten thousand fathoms deep. Yet, for the life of him, he

could not get one word alone with charming Marguerite. So surely as a blessed moment seemed to

come, Obenreizer, in his filmy state, would stand at Vendale's elbow, or the broad back of Madame

Dor would appear before his eyes. That speechless matron was never seen in a front view, from

the moment of her arrival to that of her departureexcept at dinner. And from the instant of her

retirement to the drawingroom, after a hearty participation in that meal, she turned her face to the

Yet, through four or five delightful though distracting hours, Marguerite was to be seen, Marguerite

was to be heard, Marguerite was to be occasionally touched. When they made the round of the old

dark cellars, Vendale led her by the hand; when she sang to him in the lighted room at night,

Vendale, standing by her, held her relinquished gloves, and would have bartered against them

every drop of the fortyfive year old, though it had been fortyfive times fortyfive years old, and its

nett price fortyfive times fortyfive pounds per dozen. And still, when she was gone, and a great

gap of an extinguisher was clapped on Cripple Corner, he tormented himself by wondering, Did she

think that he admired her! Did she think that he adored her! Did she suspect that she had won him,

heart and soul! Did she care to think at all about it! And so, Did she and Didn't she, up and down

the gamut, and above the line and below the line, dear, dear! Poor restless heart of humanity! To

think that the men who were mummies thousands of years ago, did the same, and ever found the

"What do you think, George," Wilding asked him next day, "of Mr. Obenreizer? (I won't ask you

"Yes," said George Vendale, ruminating, "and talks well. Do you know, Wilding, it oddly occurs to

"No, and I don't mean that. But when he is silent, you can hardly help vaguely, though perhaps

most unjustly, mistrusting him. Take people whom you know and like. Take any one you know and

"I didn't bargain for that, or foresee it," returned Vendale, laughing. "However, take me. Reflect for a

moment. Is your approving knowledge of my interesting face mainly founded (however various the

"I think so too. Now, you see, when Obenreizer speaksin other words, when he is allowed to

explain himself awayhe comes out right enough; but when he has not the opportunity of

explaining himself away, he comes out rather wrong. Therefore it is, that I say he does not keep

silence well. And passing hastily in review such faces as I know, and don't trust, I am inclined to

This proposition in Physiognomy being new to Wilding, he was at first slow to admit it, until asking

himself the question whether Mrs. Goldstraw kept silence well, and remembering that her face in

repose decidedly invited trustfulness, he was as glad as men usually are to believe what they

But, as he was very slow to regain his spirits or his health, his partner, as another means of setting

him upand perhaps also with contingent Obenreizer viewsreminded him of those musical

schemes of his in connection with his family, and how a singingclass was to be formed in the

house, and a Choir in a neighbouring church. The class was established speedily, and, two or three

of the people having already some musical knowledge, and singing tolerably, the Choir soon

followed. The latter was led, and chiefly taught, by Wilding himself: who had hopes of converting

his dependents into so many Foundlings, in respect of their capacity to sing sacred choruses.

Now, the Obenreizers being skilled musicians, it was easily brought to pass that they should be

asked to join these musical unions. Guardian and Ward consenting, or Guardian consenting for

both, it was necessarily brought to pass that Vendale's life became a life of absolute thraldom and

enchantment. For, in the mouldy ChristopherWren church on Sundays, with its dearly beloved

brethren assembled and met together, fiveandtwenty strong, was not that Her voice that shot like

light into the darkest places, thrilling the walls and pillars as though they were pieces of his heart!

What time, too, Madame Dor in a corner of the high pew, turning her back upon everybody and

everything, could not fail to be Ritualistically right at some moment of the service; like the man

whom the doctors recommended to get drunk once a month, and who, that he might not overlook it,

But, even those seraphic Sundays were surpassed by the Wednesday concerts established for the

patriarchal family. At those concerts she would sit down to the piano and sing them, in her own

tongue, songs of her own land, songs calling from the mountaintops to Vendale, "Rise above the

grovelling level country; come far away from the crowd; pursue me as I mount higher; higher,

higher, melting into the azure distance; rise to my supremest height of all, and love me here!" Then

would the pretty bodice, the clocked stocking, and the silverbuckled shoe be, like the broad

forehead and the bright eyes, fraught with the spring of a very chamois, until the strain was over.

Not even over Vendale himself did these songs of hers cast a more potent spell than over Joey

Ladle in his different way. Steadily refusing to muddle the harmony by taking any share in it, and

evincing the supremest contempt for scales and suchlike rudiments of musicwhich, indeed,

seldom captivate mere listenersJoey did at first give up the whole business for a bad job, and the

whole of the performers for a set of howling Dervishes. But, descrying traces of unmuddled

harmony in a partsong one day, he gave his two under cellarmen faint hopes of getting on

towards something in course of time. An anthem of Handel's led to further encouragement from

him: though he objected that that great musician must have been down in some of them foreign

cellars pretty much, for to go and say the same thing so many times over; which, took it in how you

might, he considered a certain sign of your having took it in somehow. On a third occasion, the

public appearance of Mr. Jarvis with a flute, and of an odd man with a violin, and the performance

of a duet by the two, did so astonish him that, solely of his own impulse and motion, he became

inspired with the words, "Ann Koar!" repeatedly pronouncing them as if calling in a familiar manner

for some lady who had distinguished herself in the orchestra. But this was his final testimony to the

merits of his mates, for, the instrumental duet being performed at the first Wednesday concert, and

being presently followed by the voice of Marguerite Obenreizer, he sat with his mouth wide open,

entranced, until she had finished; when, rising in his place with much solemnity, and prefacing what

he was about to say with a bow that specially included Mr. Wilding in it, he delivered himself of the

gratifying sentiment: "Arter that, ye may all on ye get to bed!" And ever afterwards declined to

Thus began a separate personal acquaintance between Marguerite Obenreizer and Joey Ladle.

She laughed so heartily at his compliment, and yet was so abashed by it, that Joey made bold to

say to her, after the concert was over, he hoped he wasn't so muddled in his head as to have took

"You'll change the luck time about, Miss," said Joey, ducking again. "It's such as you in the place

"Can I? Round the luck?" she answered, in her pretty English, and with a pretty wonder. "I fear I do

"Young Master Wilding, Miss," Joey explained confidentially, though not much to her

enlightenment, "changed the luck, afore he took in young Master George. So I say, and so they'll

find. Lord! Only come into the place and sing over the luck a few times, Miss, and it won't be able to

With this, and with a whole brood of ducks, Joey backed out of the presence. But Joey being a

privileged person, and even an involuntary conquest being pleasant to youth and beauty,

Another Institution arose in this wise. Joey was a little hard of hearing. He himself said it was

"Wapours," and perhaps it might have been; but whatever the cause of the effect, there the effect

was, upon him. On this first occasion he had been seen to sidle along the wall, with his left hand to

his left ear, until he had sidled himself into a seat pretty near the singer, in which place and position

he had remained, until addressing to his friends the amateurs the compliment before mentioned. It

was observed on the following Wednesday that Joey's action as a Pecking Machine was impaired

at dinner, and it was rumoured about the table that this was explainable by his highstrung

expectations of Miss Obenreizer's singing, and his fears of not getting a place where he could hear

every note and syllable. The rumour reaching Wilding's ears, he in his good nature called Joey to

the front at night before Marguerite began. Thus the Institution came into being that on succeeding

nights, Marguerite, running her hands over the keys before singing, always said to Vendale,

"Where is my Mr. Joey, please?" and that Vendale always brought him forth, and stationed him

near by. That he should then, when all eyes were upon him, express in his face the utmost

contempt for the exertions of his friends and confidence in Marguerite alone, whom he would stand

contemplating, not unlike the rhinocerous out of the spellingbook, tamed and on his hind legs, was

a part of the Institution. Also that when he remained after the singing in his most ecstatic state,

some bold spirit from the back should say, "What do you think of it, Joey?" and he should be

goaded to reply, as having that instant conceived the retort, "Arter that ye may all on ye get to bed!"

But, the simple pleasures and small jests of Cripple Corner were not destined to have a long life.

Underlying them from the first was a serious matter, which every member of the patriarchal family

knew of, but which, by tacit agreement, all forbore to speak of. Mr. Wilding's health was in a bad

He might have overcome the shock he had sustained in the one great affection of his life, or he

might have overcome his consciousness of being in the enjoyment of another man's property; but

the two together were too much for him. A man haunted by twin ghosts, he became deeply

depressed. The inseparable spectres sat at the board with him, ate from his platter, drank from his

cup, and stood by his bedside at night. When he recalled his supposed mother's love, he felt as

though he had stolen it. When he rallied a little under the respect and attachment of his

dependants, he felt as though he were even fraudulent in making them happy, for that should have

Gradually, under the pressure of his brooding mind, his body stooped, his step lost its elasticity, his

eyes were seldom lifted from the ground. He knew he could not help the deplorable mistake that

had been made, but he knew he could not mend it; for the days and weeks went by, and no one

claimed his name or his possessions. And now there began to creep over him a cloudy

consciousness of oftenrecurring confusion in his head. He would unaccountably lose, sometimes

whole hours, sometimes a whole day and night. Once, his remembrance stopped as he sat at the

head of the dinnertable, and was blank until daybreak. Another time, it stopped as he was beating

time to their singing, and went on again when he and his partner were walking in the courtyard by

the light of the moon, half the night later. He asked Vendale (always full of consideration, work, and

help) how this was? Vendale only replied, "You have not been quite well; that's all." He looked for

explanation into the faces of his people. But they would put it off with "Glad to see you looking so

much better, sir;" or "Hope you're doing nicely now, sir;" in which was no information at all.

At length, when the partnership was but five months old, Walter Wilding took to his bed, and his

"Lying here, perhaps you will not mind my calling you Sally, Mrs. Goldstraw?" said the poor

"Thank you, Sally. I think, Sally, I must of late have been subject to fits. Is that so, Sally? Don't mind

"Ah! That is the explanation!" he quietly remarked. "Mr. Obenreizer, Sally, talks of the world being

so small that it is not strange how often the same people come together, and come together at

various places, and in various stages of life. But it does seem strange, Sally, that I should, as I may

"So Mr. Bintrey said, but I think he was wrong. The old childfeeling is coming back upon me, Sally.

After an interval he said, in a placid voice, "Please kiss me, Nurse," and, it was evident, believed

As she had been used to bend over the fatherless and motherless children, Sally bent over the

After another interval, he opened his eyes in his own character, and said: "Don't move me, Sally,

because of what I am going to say; I lie quite easily. I think my time is come, I don't know how it

When he had thus conscientiously finished his favourite sentence, his time came, and he died.

As executors honestly bent on performing their duty towards the dead, Vendale and Bintrey had

held more than one anxious consultation on the subject of Wilding's will. The lawyer had declared,

from the first, that it was simply impossible to take any useful action in the matter at all. The only

obvious inquiries to make, in relation to the lost man, had been made already by Wilding himself;

with this result, that time and death together had not left a trace of him discoverable. To advertise

for the claimant to the property, it would be necessary to mention particularsa course of

proceeding which would invite half the impostors in England to present themselves in the character

of the true Walter Wilding. "If we find a chance of tracing the lost man, we will take it. If we don't, let

us meet for another consultation on the first anniversary of Wilding's death." So Bintrey advised.

And so, with the most earnest desire to fulfil his dead friend's wishes, Vendale was fain to let the

Turning from his interest in the past to his interest in the future, Vendale still found himself

confronting a doubtful prospect. Months on months had passed since his first visit to Soho

Squareand through all that time, the one language in which he had told Marguerite that he loved

her was the language of the eyes, assisted, at convenient opportunities, by the language of the

What was the obstacle in his way? The one immovable obstacle which had been in his way from

the first. No matter how fairly the opportunities looked, Vendale's efforts to speak with Marguerite

alone ended invariably in one and the same result. Under the most accidental circumstances, in the

With the last days of the old year came an unexpected chance of spending an evening with

Marguerite, which Vendale resolved should be a chance of speaking privately to her as well. A

cordial note from Obenreizer invited him, on New Year's Day, to a little family dinner in Soho

Square. "We shall be only four," the note said. "We shall be only two," Vendale determined, "before

New Year's Day, among the English, is associated with the giving and receiving of dinners, and

with nothing more. New Year's Day, among the foreigners, is the grand opportunity of the year for

the giving and receiving of presents. It is occasionally possible to acclimatise a foreign custom. In

this instance Vendale felt no hesitation about making the attempt. His one difficulty was to decide

what his New Year's gift to Marguerite should be. The defensive pride of the peasant's

daughtermorbidly sensitive to the inequality between her social position and hiswould be

secretly roused against him if he ventured on a rich offering. A gift, which a poor man's purse might

purchase, was the one gift that could be trusted to find its way to her heart, for the giver's sake.

Stoutly resisting temptation, in the form of diamonds and rubies, Vendale bought a brooch of the

filagreework of Genoathe simplest and most unpretending ornament that he could find in the

He slipped his gift into Marguerite's hand as she held it out to welcome him on the day of the

"This is your first New Year's Day in England," he said. "Will you let me help to make it like a New

She thanked him, a little constrainedly, as she looked at the jeweller's box, uncertain what it might

contain. Opening the box, and discovering the studiously simple form under which Vendale's little

keepsake offered itself to her, she penetrated his motive on the spot. Her face turned on him

brightly, with a look which said, "I own you have pleased and flattered me." Never had she been so

charming, in Vendale's eyes, as she was at that moment. Her winter dressa petticoat of dark silk,

with a bodice of black velvet rising to her neck, and enclosing it softly in a little circle of

swansdownheightened, by all the force of contrast, the dazzling fairness of her hair and her

complexion. It was only when she turned aside from him to the glass, and, taking out the brooch

that she wore, put his New Year's gift in its place, that Vendale's attention wandered far enough

away from her to discover the presence of other persons in the room. He now became conscious

that the hands of Obenreizer were affectionately in possession of his elbows. He now heard the

voice of Obenreizer thanking him for his attention to Marguerite, with the faintest possible ring of

mockery in its tone. ("Such a simple present, dear sir! and showing such nice tact!") He now

discovered, for the first time, that there was one other guest, and but one, besides himself, whom

Obenreizer presented as a compatriot and friend. The friend's face was mouldy, and the friend's

figure was fat. His age was suggestive of the autumnal period of human life. In the course of the

evening he developed two extraordinary capacities. One was a capacity for silence; the other was a

Madame Dor was not in the room. Neither was there any visible place reserved for her when they

sat down to table. Obenreizer explained that it was "the good Dor's simple habit to dine always in

the middle of the day. She would make her excuses later in the evening." Vendale wondered

whether the good Dor had, on this occasion, varied her domestic employment from cleaning

Obenreizer's gloves to cooking Obenreizer's dinner. This at least was certain the dishes served

were, one and all, as achievements in cookery, high above the reach of the rude elementary art of

England. The dinner was unobtrusively perfect. As for the wine, the eyes of the speechless friend

rolled over it, as in solemn ecstasy. Sometimes he said "Good!" when a bottle came in full; and

sometimes he said "Ah!" when a bottle went out emptyand there his contributions to the gaiety of

Silence is occasionally infectious. Oppressed by private anxieties of their own, Marguerite and

Vendale appeared to feel the influence of the speechless friend. The whole responsibility of

keeping the talk going rested on Obenreizer's shoulders, and manfully did Obenreizer sustain it. He

opened his heart in the character of an enlightened foreigner, and sang the praises of England.

When other topics ran dry, he returned to this inexhaustible source, and always set the stream

running again as copiously as ever. Obenreizer would have given an arm, an eye, or a leg to have

been born an Englishman. Out of England there was no such institution as a home, no such thing

as a fireside, no such object as a beautiful woman. His dear Miss Marguerite would excuse him, if

he accounted for HER attractions on the theory that English blood must have mixed at some former

time with their obscure and unknown ancestry. Survey this English nation, and behold a tall, clean,

plump, and solid people! Look at their cities! What magnificence in their public buildings! What

admirable order and propriety in their streets! Admire their laws, combining the eternal principle of

justice with the other eternal principle of pounds, shillings, and pence; and applying the product to

all civil injuries, from an injury to a man's honour, to an injury to a man's nose! You have ruined my

daughterpounds, shillings, and pence! You have knocked me down with a blow in my

facepounds, shillings, and pence! Where was the material prosperity of such a country as THAT

to stop? Obenreizer, projecting himself into the future, failed to see the end of it. Obenreizer's

enthusiasm entreated permission to exhale itself, English fashion, in a toast. Here is our modest

little dinner over, here is our frugal dessert on the table, and here is the admirer of England

conforming to national customs, and making a speech! A toast to your white cliffs of Albion, Mr.

Vendale! to your national virtues, your charming climate, and your fascinating women! to your

Hearths, to your Homes, to your Habeas Corpus, and to all your other institutions! In one wordto

Obenreizer's voice had barely chanted the last note of the English cheer, the speechless friend had

barely drained the last drop out of his glass, when the festive proceedings were interrupted by a

modest tap at the door. A womanservant came in, and approached her master with a little note in

her hand. Obenreizer opened the note with a frown; and, after reading it with an expression of

genuine annoyance, passed it on to his compatriot and friend. Vendale's spirits rose as he watched

these proceedings. Had he found an ally in the annoying little note? Was the longlookedfor

"I am afraid there is no help for it?" said Obenreizer, addressing his fellowcountryman. "I am afraid

The speechless friend handed back the letter, shrugged his heavy shoulders, and poured himself

out a last glass of wine. His fat fingers lingered fondly round the neck of the bottle. They pressed it

with a little amatory squeeze at parting. His globular eyes looked dimly, as through an intervening

haze, at Vendale and Marguerite. His heavy articulation laboured, and brought forth a whole

sentence at a birth. "I think," he said, "I should have liked a little more wine." His breath failed him

Obenreizer addressed himself to Vendale with an appearance of the deepest distress.

"I am so shocked, so confused, so distressed," he began. "A misfortune has happened to one of

my compatriots. He is alone, he is ignorant of your languageI and my good friend, here, have no

choice but to go and help him. What can I say in my excuse? How can I describe my affliction at

He paused, evidently expecting to see Vendale take up his hat and retire. Discerning his

opportunity at last, Vendale determined to do nothing of the kind. He met Obenreizer dexterously,

"Pray don't distress yourself," he said. "I'll wait here with the greatest pleasure till you come back."

Marguerite blushed deeply, and turned away to her embroideryframe in a corner by the window.

The film showed itself in Obenreizer's eyes, and the smile came something sourly to Obenreizer's

lips. To have told Vendale that there was no reasonable prospect of his coming back in good time,

would have been to risk offending a man whose favourable opinion was of solid commercial

importance to him. Accepting his defeat with the best possible grace, he declared himself to be

equally honoured and delighted by Vendale's proposal. "So frank, so friendly, so English!" He

bustled about, apparently looking for something he wanted, disappeared for a moment through the

foldingdoors communicating with the next room, came back with his hat and coat, and protesting

that he would return at the earliest possible moment, embraced Vendale's elbows, and vanished

Vendale turned to the corner by the window, in which Marguerite had placed herself with her work.

There, as if she had dropped from the ceiling, or come up through the floorthere, in the old

attitude, with her face to the stovesat an Obstacle that had not been foreseen, in the person of

Madame Dor! She half got up, half looked over her broad shoulder at Vendale, and plumped down

again. Was she at work? Yes. Cleaning Obenreizer's gloves, as before? No; darning Obenreizer's

The case was now desperate. Two serious considerations presented themselves to Vendale. Was

it possible to put Madame Dor into the stove? The stove wouldn't hold her. Was it possible to treat

Madame Dor, not as a living woman, but as an article of furniture? Could the mind be brought to

contemplate this respectable matron purely in the light of a chest of drawers, with a black gauze

helddress accidentally left on the top of it? Yes, the mind could be brought to do that. With a

comparatively trifling effort, Vendale's mind did it. As he took his place on the oldfashioned

windowseat, close by Marguerite and her embroidery, a slight movement appeared in the chest of

drawers, but no remark issued from it. Let it be remembered that solid furniture is not easy to move,

Unusually silent and unusually constrainedwith the bright colour fast fading from her face, with a

feverish energy possessing her fingersthe pretty Marguerite bent over her embroidery, and

worked as if her life depended on it. Hardly less agitated himself, Vendale felt the importance of

leading her very gently to the avowal which he was eager to maketo the other sweeter avowal

still, which he was longing to hear. A woman's love is never to be taken by storm; it yields

insensibly to a system of gradual approach. It ventures by the roundabout way, and listens to the

low voice. Vendale led her memory back to their past meetings when they were travelling together

in Switzerland. They revived the impressions, they recalled the events, of the happy bygone time.

Little by little, Marguerite's constraint vanished. She smiled, she was interested, she looked at

Vendale, she grew idle with her needle, she made false stitches in her work. Their voices sank

lower and lower; their faces bent nearer and nearer to each other as they spoke. And Madame

Dor? Madame Dor behaved like an angel. She never looked round; she never said a word; she

went on with Obenreizer's stockings. Pulling each stocking up tight over her left arm, and holding

that arm aloft from time to time, to catch the light on her work, there were momentsdelicate and

contemplating one of her own respectable legs, elevated in the air. As the minutes wore on, these

elevations followed each other at longer and longer intervals. Now and again, the black gauze

headdress nodded, dropped forward, recovered itself. A little heap of stockings slid softly from

Madame Dor's lap, and remained unnoticed on the floor. A prodigious ball of worsted followed the

stockings, and rolled lazily under the table. The black gauze headdress nodded, dropped forward,

recovered itself, nodded again, dropped forward again, and recovered itself no more. A composite

sound, partly as of the purring of an immense cat, partly as of the planing of a soft board, rose over

the hushed voices of the lovers, and hummed at regular intervals through the room. Nature and

Madame Dor had combined together in Vendale's interests. The best of women was asleep.

Marguerite rose to stopnot the snoringlet us say, the audible repose of Madame Dor. Vendale

"Don't disturb her," he whispered. "I have been waiting to tell you a secret. Let me tell it now."

Marguerite resumed her seat. She tried to resume her needle. It was useless; her eyes failed her;

"We have been talking," said Vendale, "of the happy time when we first met, and first travelled

together. I have a confession to make. I have been concealing something. When we spoke of my

first visit to Switzerland, I told you of all the impressions I had brought back with me to

Her eyes looked stedfastly at the embroidery, and her face turned a little away from him. Signs of

disturbance began to appear in her neat velvet bodice, round the region of the brooch. She made

"No. The lakes have not grown dearer and dearer in remembrance to me every day. The lakes are

not associated with my happiness in the present, and my hopes in the future. Marguerite! all that

makes life worth having hangs, for me, on a word from your lips. Marguerite! I love you!"

Her head drooped as he took her hand. He drew her to him, and looked at her. The tears escaped

"O, Mr. Vendale," she said sadly, "it would have been kinder to have kept your secret. Have you

"There can be but one distance between us, Margueritea distance of your making. My love, my

darling, there is no higher rank in goodness, there is no higher rank in beauty, than yours! Come!

"If you dwell on such an obstacle as that," he said, "I shall think but one thoughtI shall think I

She started, and looked up. "O, no!" she exclaimed innocently. The instant the words passed her

lips, she saw the construction that might be placed on them. Her confession had escaped her in

spite of herself. A lovely flush of colour overspread her face. She made a momentary effort to

disengage herself from her lover's embrace. She looked up at him entreatingly. She tried to speak.

The words died on her lips in the kiss that Vendale pressed on them. "Let me go, Mr. Vendale!" she

She laid her head on his bosom. All her heart went out to him at last. "George!" she whispered.

Her arms twined themselves gently round his neck. Her lips, timidly touching his cheek, murmured

In the moment of silence that followed, the sound of the opening and closing of the housedoor

She hurried from the room, and touched Madame Dor's shoulder in passing. Madame Dor woke up

with a loud snort, looked first over one shoulder and then over the other, peered down into her lap,

and discovered neither stockings, worsted, nor darningneedle in it. At the same moment,

footsteps became audible ascending the stairs. "Mon Dieu!" said Madame Dor, addressing herself

to the stove, and trembling violently. Vendale picked up the stockings and the ball, and huddled

them all back in a heap over her shoulder. "Mon Dieu!" said Madame Dor, for the second time, as

The door opened, and Obenreizer came in. His first glance round the room showed him that

"What!" he exclaimed, "my niece is away? My niece is not here to entertain you in my absence?

"I beg you will not disturb Miss Obenreizer," he said. "You have returned, I see, without your

"My friend remains, and consoles our afflicted compatriot. A heartrending scene, Mr. Vendale! The

household gods at the pawnbroker's the family immersed in tears. We all embraced in silence.

My admirable friend alone possessed his composure. He sent out, on the spot, for a bottle of wine."

"Assuredly." He turned to Madame Dor. "My good creature, you are sinking for want of repose. Mr.

Madame Dor rose, and set forth sideways on her journey from the stove to bed. She dropped a

stocking. Vendale picked it up for her, and opened one of the foldingdoors. She advanced a step,

and dropped three more stockings. Vendale stooping to recover them as before, Obenreizer

interfered with profuse apologies, and with a warning look at Madame Dor. Madame Dor

acknowledged the look by dropping the whole of the stockings in a heap, and then shuffling away

panicstricken from the scene of disaster. Obenreizer swept up the complete collection fiercely in

both hands. "Go!" he cried, giving his prodigious handful a preparatory swing in the air. Madame

Dor said, "Mon Dieu," and vanished into the next room, pursued by a shower of stockings.

"What must you think, Mr. Vendale," said Obenreizer, closing the door, "of this deplorable intrusion

of domestic details? For myself, I blush at it. We are beginning the New Year as badly as possible;

everything has gone wrong tonight. Be seated, prayand say, what may I offer you? Shall we

pay our best respects to another of your noble English institutions? It is my study to be, what you

"I wish to speak to you on a subject in which I am deeply interested," he said. "You must have

observed, Mr. Obenreizer, that I have, from the first, felt no ordinary admiration for your charming

"Perhaps you may have noticed, latterly, that my admiration for Miss Obenreizer has grown into a

Obenreizer started out of his chair. The faintly discernible beat, which was his nearest approach to

"You are Miss Obenreizer's guardian," pursued Vendale. "I ask you to confer upon me the greatest

Obenreizer dropped back into his chair. "Mr. Vendale," he said, "you petrify me."

"One word before I recover myself. You have said nothing about this to my niece?"

"What!" interposed Obenreizer. "You have made a proposal to my niece, without first asking for my

authority to pay your addresses to her?" He struck his hand on the table, and lost his hold over

himself for the first time in Vendale's experience of him. "Sir!" he exclaimed, indignantly, "what sort

of conduct is this? As a man of honour, speaking to a man of honour, how can you justify it?"

"I can only justify it as one of our English institutions," said Vendale quietly. "You admire our

English institutions. I can't honestly tell you, Mr. Obenreizer, that I regret what I have done. I can

only assure you that I have not acted in the matter with any intentional disrespect towards yourself.

This said, may I ask you to tell me plainly what objection you see to favouring my suit?"

"I see this immense objection," answered Obenreizer, "that my niece and you are not on a social

equality together. My niece is the daughter of a poor peasant; and you are the son of a gentleman.

You do us an honour," he added, lowering himself again gradually to his customary polite level,

"which deserves, and has, our most grateful acknowledgments. But the inequality is too glaring; the

sacrifice is too great. You English are a proud people, Mr. Vendale. I have observed enough of this

country to see that such a marriage as you propose would be a scandal here. Not a hand would be

"One moment," said Vendale, interposing on his side. "I may claim, without any great arrogance, to

know more of my country people in general, and of my own friends in particular, than you do. In the

estimation of everybody whose opinion is worth having, my wife herself would be the one sufficient

justification of my marriage. If I did not feel certainobserve, I say certainthat I am offering her a

position which she can accept without so much as the shadow of a humiliationI would never

(cost me what it might) have asked her to be my wife. Is there any other obstacle that you see?

Obenreizer spread out both his hands in courteous protest. "Personal objection!" he exclaimed.

"We are both men of business," pursued Vendale, "and you naturally expect me to satisfy you that I

have the means of supporting a wife. I can explain my pecuniary position in two words. I inherit

from my parents a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. In half of that sum I have only a lifeinterest,

to which, if I die, leaving a widow, my widow succeeds. If I die, leaving children, the money itself is

divided among them, as they come of age. The other half of my fortune is at my own disposal, and

is invested in the winebusiness. I see my way to greatly improving that business. As it stands at

present, I cannot state my return from my capital embarked at more than twelve hundred a year.

Add the yearly value of my lifeinterest and the total reaches a present annual income of fifteen

hundred pounds. I have the fairest prospect of soon making it more. In the meantime, do you object

Driven back to his last entrenchment, Obenreizer rose, and took a turn backwards and forwards in

"Before I answer that last question," he said, after a little close consideration with himself, "I beg

leave to revert for a moment to Miss Marguerite. You said something just now which seemed to

"I have the inestimable happiness," said Vendale, "of knowing that she loves me."

Obenreizer stood silent for a moment, with the film over his eyes, and the faintly perceptible beat

"If you will excuse me for a few minutes," he said, with ceremonious politeness, "I should like to

have the opportunity of speaking to my niece." With those words, he bowed, and quitted the room.

Left by himself, Vendale's thoughts (as a necessary result of the interview, thus far) turned

instinctively to the consideration of Obenreizer's motives. He had put obstacles in the way of the

courtship; he was now putting obstacles in the way of the marriage a marriage offering

advantages which even his ingenuity could not dispute. On the face of it, his conduct was

Seeking, under the surface, for the answer to that questionand remembering that Obenreizer

was a man of about his own age; also, that Marguerite was, strictly speaking, his halfniece

onlyVendale asked himself, with a lover's ready jealousy, whether he had a rival to fear, as well

as a guardian to conciliate. The thought just crossed his mind, and no more. The sense of

Marguerite's kiss still lingering on his cheek reminded him gently that even the jealousy of a

On reflection, it seemed most likely that a personal motive of another kind might suggest the true

explanation of Obenreizer's conduct. Marguerite's grace and beauty were precious ornaments in

that little household. They gave it a special social attraction and a special social importance. They

armed Obenreizer with a certain influence in reserve, which he could always depend upon to make

his house attractive, and which he might always bring more or less to bear on the forwarding of his

own private ends. Was he the sort of man to resign such advantages as were here implied, without

obtaining the fullest possible compensation for the loss? A connection by marriage with Vendale

offered him solid advantages, beyond all doubt. But there were hundreds of men in London with far

greater power and far wider influence than Vendale possessed. Was it possible that this man's

ambition secretly looked higher than the highest prospects that could be offered to him by the

alliance now proposed for his niece? As the question passed through Vendale's mind, the man

A marked change was visible in Obenreizer when he resumed his place. His manner was less

assured, and there were plain traces about his mouth of recent agitation which had not been

successfully composed. Had he said something, referring either to Vendale or to himself, which had

raised Marguerite's spirit, and which had placed him, for the first time, face to face with a resolute

assertion of his niece's will? It might or might not be. This only was certainhe looked like a man

"I have spoken to my niece," he began. "I find, Mr. Vendale, that even your influence has not

"May I ask," returned Vendale, "if that is the only result of your interview with Miss Obenreizer?"

"You are master of the situation," he answered, in a tone of sardonic submission. "If you insist on

my admitting it, I do admit it in those words. My niece's will and mine used to be one, Mr. Vendale.

You have come between us, and her will is now yours. In my country, we know when we are

beaten, and we submit with our best grace. I submit, with my best grace, on certain conditions. Let

us revert to the statement of your pecuniary position. I have an objection to you, my dear sira

most amazing, a most audacious objection, from a man in my position to a man in yours."

"You have honoured me by making a proposal for my niece's hand. For the present (with best

The objection, as the speaker had foreseen, took Vendale completely by surprise. For the moment

"Your income is fifteen hundred a year," pursued Obenreizer. "In my miserable country I should fall

on my knees before your income, and say, 'What a princely fortune!' In wealthy England, I sit as I

am, and say, 'A modest independence, dear sir; nothing more. Enough, perhaps, for a wife in your

own rank of life who has no social prejudices to conquer. Not more than half enough for a wife who

is a meanly born foreigner, and who has all your social prejudices against her.' Sir! if my niece is

ever to marry you, she will have what you call uphill work of it in taking her place at starting. Yes,

yes; this is not your view, but it remains, immovably remains, my view for all that. For my niece's

sake, I claim that this uphill work shall be made as smooth as possible. Whatever material

advantages she can have to help her, ought, in common justice, to be hers. Now, tell me, Mr.

Vendale, on your fifteen hundred a year can your wife have a house in a fashionable quarter, a

footman to open her door, a butler to wait at her table, and a carriage and horses to drive about in?

I see the answer in your faceyour face says, No. Very good. Tell me one more thing, and I have

done. Take the mass of your educated, accomplished, and lovely countrywomen, is it, or is it not,

the fact that a lady who has a house in a fashionable quarter, a footman to open her door, a butler

to wait at her table, and a carriage and horses to drive about in, is a lady who has gained four

"Come to the point," said Vendale. "You view this question as a question of terms. What are your

"The lowest terms, dear sir, on which you can provide your wife with those four steps at starting.

Double your present incomethe most rigid economy cannot do it in England on less. You said

just now that you expected greatly to increase the value of your business. To workand increase

it! I am a good devil after all! On the day when you satisfy me, by plain proofs, that your income has

"Certainly. She has a last little morsel of regard still left for me, Mr. Vendale, which is not yours yet;

and she accepts my terms. In other words, she submits to be guided by her guardian's regard for

her welfare, and by her guardian's superior knowledge of the world." He threw himself back in his

chair, in firm reliance on his position, and in full possession of his excellent temper.

Any open assertion of his own interests, in the situation in which Vendale was now placed, seemed

to be (for the present at least) hopeless. He found himself literally left with no ground to stand on.

Whether Obenreizer's objections were the genuine product of Obenreizer's own view of the case,

or whether he was simply delaying the marriage in the hope of ultimately breaking it off

altogether in either of these events, any present resistance on Vendale's part would be equally

useless. There was no help for it but to yield, making the best terms that he could on his own side.

"Naturally," said Obenreizer; "I dare say I should protest, myself, in your place."

"Say, however," pursued Vendale, "that I accept your terms. In that case, I must be permitted to

make two stipulations on my part. In the first place, I shall expect to be allowed to see your niece."

"Aha! to see my niece? and to make her in as great a hurry to be married as you are yourself?

"How delightfully frank! How exquisitely English! You shall see her, Mr. Vendale, on certain days,

"Your objection to my income," proceeded Vendale, "has taken me completely by surprise. I wish to

be assured against any repetition of that surprise. Your present views of my qualification for

marriage require me to have an income of three thousand a year. Can I be certain, in the future, as

"Do you purpose to take MY word for it when I inform you that I have doubled my income?" asked

Vendale. "If my memory does not deceive me, you stipulated, a minute since, for plain proofs?"

"Well played, Mr. Vendale! You combine the foreign quickness with the English solidity. Accept my

He rose; seated himself at a writingdesk at a sidetable, wrote a few lines, and presented them to

Vendale with a low bow. The engagement was perfectly explicit, and was signed and dated with

"Charmed to hear it, I am sure. We have had our little skirmishwe have really been wonderfully

clever on both sides. For the present our affairs are settled. I bear no malice. You bear no malice.

Vendale gave his hand, a little bewildered by Obenreizer's sudden transitions from one humour to

"Honour me with a visit tomorrow," said Obenreizer, "and we will settle it then. Do have a grog

before you go! No? Well! well! we will reserve the grog till you have your three thousand a year,

"I made an estimate, some months since, of the capacities of my business," said Vendale. "If that

When Vendale entered his office the next morning, the dull commercial routine at Cripple Corner

met him with a new face. Marguerite had an interest in it now! The whole machinery which

Wilding's death had set in motion, to realise the value of the businessthe balancing of ledgers,

the estimating of debts, the taking of stock, and the rest of itwas now transformed into machinery

which indicated the chances for and against a speedy marriage. After looking over results, as

presented by his accountant, and checking additions and subtractions, as rendered by the clerks,

Vendale turned his attention to the stocktaking department next, and sent a message to the

The Cellarman's appearance, the moment he put his head in at the door of his master's private

room, suggested that something very extraordinary must have happened that morning. There was

an approach to alacrity in Joey Ladle's movements! There was something which actually simulated

"I should wish to mention one thing," answered Joey. "Young Mr. Vendale, I have never set myself

"No prophet, as far as I've heard I tell of that profession," proceeded Joey, "ever lived principally

underground. No prophet, whatever else he might take in at the pores, ever took in wine from

morning to night, for a number of years together. When I said to young Master Wilding, respecting

his changing the name of the firm, that one of these days he might find he'd changed the luck of the

firmdid I put myself forward as a prophet? No, I didn't. Has what I said to him come true? Yes, it

has. In the time of Pebbleson Nephew, Young Mr. Vendale, no such thing was ever known as a

mistake made in a consignment delivered at these doors. There's a mistake been made now.

Please to remark that it happened before Miss Margaret came here. For which reason it don't go

against what I've said respecting Miss Margaret singing round the luck. Read that, sir," concluded

Joey, pointing attention to a special passage in the report, with a forefinger which appeared to be in

process of taking in through the pores nothing more remarkable than dirt. "It's foreign to my nature

to crow over the house I serve, but I feel it a kind of solemn duty to ask you to read that."

Vendale read as follows: "Note, respecting the Swiss champagne. An irregularity has been

discovered in the last consignment received from the firm of Defresnier and Co." Vendale stopped,

and referred to a memorandumbook by his side. "That was in Mr. Wilding's time," he said. "The

vintage was a particularly good one, and he took the whole of it. The Swiss champagne has done

"I don't say it's done badly," answered the Cellarman. "It may have got sick in our customers' bins,

or it may have bust in our customers' hands. But I don't say it's done badly with us."

Vendale resumed the reading of the note: "We find the number of the cases to be quite correct by

the books. But six of them, which present a slight difference from the rest in the brand, have been

opened, and have been found to contain a red wine instead of champagne. The similarity in the

brands, we suppose, caused a mistake to be made in sending the consignment from Neuchatel.

"I'm glad to see you take it easy, sir," he said. "Whatever happens, it will be always a comfort to

you to remember that you took it easy at first. Sometimes one mistake leads to another. A man

drops a bit of orangepeel on the pavement by mistake, and another man treads on it by mistake,

and there's a job at the hospital, and a party crippled for life. I'm glad you take it easy, sir. In

Pebbleson Nephew's time we shouldn't have taken it easy till we had seen the end of it. Without

desiring to crow over the house, young Mr. Vendale, I wish you well through it. No offence, sir,"

said the Cellarman, opening the door to go out, and looking in again ominously before he shut it.

"I'm muddled and molloncolly, I grant you. But I'm an old servant of Pebbleson Nephew, and I wish

Left by himself, Vendale laughed, and took up his pen. "I may as well send a line to Defresnier and

"Dear Sirs. We are taking stock, and a trifling mistake has been discovered in the last consignment

of champagne sent by your house to ours. Six of the cases contain red winewhich we hereby

return to you. The matter can easily be set right, either by your sending us six cases of the

champagne, if they can be produced, or, if not, by your crediting us with the value of six cases on

the amount last paid (five hundred pounds) by our firm to yours. Your faithful servants,

This letter despatched to the post, the subject dropped at once out of Vendale's mind. He had other

and far more interesting matters to think of. Later in the day he paid the visit to Obenreizer which

had been agreed on between them. Certain evenings in the week were set apart which he was

privileged to spend with Margueritealways, however, in the presence of a third person. On this

stipulation Obenreizer politely but positively insisted. The one concession he made was to give

Vendale his choice of who the third person should be. Confiding in past experience, his choice fell

unhesitatingly upon the excellent woman who mended Obenreizer's stockings. On hearing of the

responsibility entrusted to her, Madame Dor's intellectual nature burst suddenly into a new stage of

development. She waited till Obenreizer's eye was off herand then she looked at Vendale, and

The time passedthe happy evenings with Marguerite came and went. It was the tenth morning

since Vendale had written to the Swiss firm, when the answer appeared, on his desk, with the other

"Dear Sirs. We beg to offer our excuses for the little mistake which has happened. At the same

time, we regret to add that the statement of our error, with which you have favoured us, has led to a

very unexpected discovery. The affair is a most serious one for you and for us. The particulars are

"Having no more champagne of the vintage last sent to you, we made arrangements to credit your

firm to the value of six cases, as suggested by yourself. On taking this step, certain forms observed

in our mode of doing business necessitated a reference to our bankers' book, as well as to our

ledger. The result is a moral certainty that no such remittance as you mention can have reached

our house, and a literal certainty that no such remittance has been paid to our account at the bank.

"It is needless, at this stage of the proceedings, to trouble you with details. The money has

unquestionably been stolen in the course of its transit from you to us. Certain peculiarities which we

observe, relating to the manner in which the fraud has been perpetrated, lead us to conclude that

the thief may have calculated on being able to pay the missing sum to our bankers, before an

inevitable discovery followed the annual striking of our balance. This would not have happened, in

the usual course, for another three months. During that period, but for your letter, we might have

"We mention this last circumstance, as it may help to show you that we have to do, in this case,

with no ordinary thief. Thus far we have not even a suspicion of who that thief is. But we believe

you will assist us in making some advance towards discovery, by examining the receipt (forged, of

course) which has no doubt purported to come to you from our house. Be pleased to look and see

whether it is a receipt entirely in manuscript, or whether it is a numbered and printed form which

merely requires the filling in of the amount. The settlement of this apparently trivial question is, we

assure you, a matter of vital importance. Anxiously awaiting your reply, we remain, with high

Vendale had the letter on his desk, and waited a moment to steady his mind under the shock that

had fallen on it. At the time of all others when it was most important to him to increase the value of

his business, that business was threatened with a loss of five hundred pounds. He thought of

Marguerite, as he took the key from his pocket and opened the iron chamber in the wall in which

He was still in the chamber, searching for the forged receipt, when he was startled by a voice

"I have called," pursued Obenreizer, "to know if I can be of any use. Business of my own takes me

away for some days to Manchester and Liverpool. Can I combine any business of yours with it? I

am entirely at your disposal, in the character of commercial traveller for the firm of Wilding and Co."

"Excuse me for one moment," said Vendale; "I will speak to you directly." He turned round again,

and continued his search among the papers. "You come at a time when friendly offers are more

than usually precious to me," he resumed. "I have had very bad news this morning from

"Yes. A remittance we sent to them has been stolen. I am threatened with a loss of five hundred

Turning sharply, and looking into the room for the second time, Vendale discovered his envelope

case overthrown on the floor, and Obenreizer on his knees picking up the contents.

"All my awkwardness," said Obenreizer. "This dreadful news of yours startled me; I stepped

back" He became too deeply interested in collecting the scattered envelopes to finish the

"This dreadful news!" repeated Obenreizer, persisting in collecting the envelopes. "This dreadful

"If you will read the letter," said Vendale, "you will find I have exaggerated nothing. There it is, open

He resumed his search, and in a moment more discovered the forged receipt. It was on the

numbered and printed form, described by the Swiss firm. Vendale made a memorandum of the

number and the date. Having replaced the receipt and locked up the iron chamber, he had leisure

to notice Obenreizer, reading the letter in the recess of a window at the far end of the room.

"Come to the fire," said Vendale. "You look perished with the cold out there. I will ring for some

Obenreizer rose, and came slowly back to the desk. "Marguerite will be as sorry to hear of this as I

"I am in the hands of Defresnier and Company," answered Vendale. "In my total ignorance of the

circumstances, I can only do what they recommend. The receipt which I have just found, turns out

to be the numbered and printed form. They seem to attach some special importance to its

discovery. You have had experience, when you were in the Swiss house, of their way of doing

"Are you ill?" asked Vendale, startled by the change in his face, which now showed itself plainly for

the first time. "Pray go to the fire. You seem to be shiveringI hope you are not going to be ill?"

"Not I!" said Obenreizer. "Perhaps I have caught cold. Your English climate might have spared an

Vendale opened the iron chamber. Obenreizer took a chair, and drew it close to the fire. He held

both hands over the flames. "Let me look at the receipt," he repeated, eagerly, as Vendale

reappeared with the paper in his hand. At the same moment a porter entered the room with a fresh

supply of coals. Vendale told him to make a good fire. The man obeyed the order with a disastrous

alacrity. As he stepped forward and raised the scuttle, his foot caught in a fold of the rug, and he

discharged his entire cargo of coals into the grate. The result was an instant smothering of the

flame, and the production of a stream of yellow smoke, without a visible morsel of fire to account for

"Imbecile!" whispered Obenreizer to himself, with a look at the man which the man remembered for

"Will you come into the clerks' room?" asked Vendale. "They have a stove there."

Vendale handed him the receipt. Obenreizer's interest in examining it appeared to have been

quenched as suddenly and as effectually as the fire itself. He just glanced over the document, and

"I will write to Neuchatel by tonight's post," said Vendale, putting away the receipt for the second

"By tonight's post," repeated Obenreizer. "Let me see. You will get the answer in eight or nine

days' time. I shall be back before that. If I can be of any service, as commercial traveller, perhaps

you will let me know between this and then. You will send me written instructions? My best thanks.

I shall be most anxious for your answer from Neuchatel. Who knows? It may be a mistake, my dear

friend, after all. Courage! courage! courage!" He had entered the room with no appearance of being

pressed for time. He now snatched up his hat, and took his leave with the air of a man who had not

His previous impression of Obenreizer was shaken by what he had heard and seen at the interview

which had just taken place. He was disposed, for the first time, to doubt whether, in this case, he

had not been a little hasty and hard in his judgment on another man. Obenreizer's surprise and

regret, on hearing the news from Neuchatel, bore the plainest marks of being honestly feltnot

politely assumed for the occasion. With troubles of his own to encounter, suffering, to all

appearance, from the first insidious attack of a serious illness, he had looked and spoken like a

man who really deplored the disaster that had fallen on his friend. Hitherto Vendale had tried vainly

to alter his first opinion of Marguerite's guardian, for Marguerite's sake. All the generous instincts in

his nature now combined together and shook the evidence which had seemed unanswerable up to

this time. "Who knows?" he thought. "I may have read that man's face wrongly, after all."

The time passedthe happy evenings with Marguerite came and went. It was again the tenth

morning since Vendale had written to the Swiss firm; and again the answer appeared on his desk

"Dear Sir. My senior partner, M. Defresnier, has been called away, by urgent business, to Milan. In

his absence (and with his full concurrence and authority), I now write to you again on the subject of

"Your discovery that the forged receipt is executed upon one of our numbered and printed forms

has caused inexpressible surprise and distress to my partner and to myself. At the time when your

remittance was stolen, but three keys were in existence opening the strongbox in which our

receiptforms are invariably kept. My partner had one key; I had the other. The third was in the

possession of a gentleman who, at that period, occupied a position of trust in our house. We should

as soon have thought of suspecting one of ourselves as of suspecting this person. Suspicion now

points at him, nevertheless. I cannot prevail on myself to inform you who the person is, so long as

there is the shadow of a chance that he may come innocently out of the inquiry which must now be

"The form our investigation must now take is simple enough. The handwriting of your receipt must

be compared, by competent persons whom we have at our disposal, with certain specimens of

handwriting in our possession. I cannot send you the specimens for business reasons, which, when

you hear them, you are sure to approve. I must beg you to send me the receipt to Neuchateland,

"If the person, at whom suspicion now points, really proves to be the person who has committed

this forger and theft, I have reason to fear that circumstances may have already put him on his

guard. The only evidence against him is the evidence in your hands, and he will move heaven and

earth to obtain and destroy it. I strongly urge you not to trust the receipt to the post. Send it to me,

without loss of time, by a private hand, and choose nobody for your messenger but a person long

established in your own employment, accustomed to travelling, capable of speaking French; a man

of courage, a man of honesty, and, above all things, a man who can be trusted to let no stranger

scrape acquaintance with him on the route. Tell no one absolutely no onebut your messenger

of the turn this matter has now taken. The safe transit of the receipt may depend on your

"I have only to add that every possible saving of time is now of the last importance. More than one

of our receiptforms is missingand it is impossible to say what new frauds may not be committed

Who was to be sent to Neuchatel with the receipt? Men of courage and men of honesty were to be

had at Cripple Corner for the asking. But where was the man who was accustomed to foreign

travelling, who could speak the French language, and who could be really relied on to let no

stranger scrape acquaintance with him on his route? There was but one man at hand who

combined all those requisites in his own person, and that man was Vendale himself.

It was a sacrifice to leave his business; it was a greater sacrifice to leave Marguerite. But a matter

of five hundred pounds was involved in the pending inquiry; and a literal interpretation of M.

Rolland's advice was insisted on in terms which there was no trifling with. The more Vendale

As he locked up the letter with the receipt, the association of ideas reminded him of Obenreizer. A

guess at the identity of the suspected man looked more possible now. Obenreizer might know.

The thought had barely passed through his mind, when the door opened, and Obenreizer entered

"They told me at Soho Square you were expected back last night," said Vendale, greeting him.

A thousand thanks. Obenreizer had done admirably well; Obenreizer was infinitely better. And now,

"A very strange letter," answered Vendale. "The matter has taken a new turn, and the letter

insistswithout excepting anybodyon my keeping our next proceedings a profound secret."

"Without excepting anybody?" repeated Obenreizer. As he said the words, he walked away again,

thoughtfully, to the window at the other end of the room, looked out for a moment, and suddenly

came back to Vendale. "Surely they must have forgotten?" he resumed, "or they would have

"It is Monsieur Rolland who writes," said Vendale. "And, as you say, he must certainly have

forgotten. That view of the matter quite escaped me. I was just wishing I had you to consult, when

you came into the room. And here I am tried by a formal prohibition, which cannot possibly have

"Perhaps it is more than annoying!" he said. "I came this morning not only to hear the news, but to

offer myself as messenger, negotiatorwhat you will. Would you believe it? I have letters which

oblige me to go to Switzerland immediately. Messages, documents, anythingI could have taken

"You are the very man I wanted," returned Vendale. "I had decided, most unwillingly, on going to

Neuchatel myself, not five minutes since, because I could find no one here capable of taking my

He opened the strong room to get at the letter. Obenreizer, after first glancing round him to make

sure that they were alone, followed a step or two and waited, measuring Vendale with his eye.

Vendale was the tallest man, and unmistakably the strongest man also of the two. Obenreizer

Meanwhile, Vendale read the last paragraph in the letter for the third time. There was the plain

warningthere was the closing sentence, which insisted on a literal interpretation of it. The hand,

which was leading Vendale in the dark, led him on that condition only. A large sum was at stake: a

terrible suspicion remained to be verified. If he acted on his own responsibility, and if anything

happened to defeat the object in view, who would be blamed? As a man of business, Vendale had

"It is most annoying," he said to Obenreizer"it is a piece of forgetfulness on Monsieur Rolland's

part which puts me to serious inconvenience, and places me in an absurdly false position towards

you. What am I to do? I am acting in a very serious matter, and acting entirely in the dark. I have no

choice but to be guided, not by the spirit, but by the letter of my instructions. You understand me, I

am sure? You know, if I had not been fettered in this way, how gladly I should have accepted your

"Say no more!" returned Obenreizer. "In your place I should have done the same. My good friend, I

take no offence. I thank you for your compliment. We shall be travelling companions, at any rate,"

"Surely! surely! Speak to her this evening. Come, and pick me up on the way to the station. We go

It was later than Vendale had anticipated when he drove up to the house in Soho Square. Business

difficulties, occasioned by his sudden departure, had presented themselves by dozens. A cruelly

large share of the time which he had hoped to devote to Marguerite had been claimed by duties at

To his surprise and delight, she was alone in the drawingroom when he entered it.

"We have only a few minutes, George," she said. "But Madame Dor has been good to meand we

can have those few minutes alone." She threw her arms round his neck, and whispered eagerly,

"Hush!" she said, "I want to whisper it. You know the little photograph I have got of you. This

afternoon it happened to be on the chimneypiece. He took it up and looked at itand I saw his

face in the glass. I know you have offended him! He is merciless; he is revengeful; he is as secret

"My own love," returned Vendale, "you are letting your fancy frighten you! Obenreizer and I were

Before a word more could be said, the sudden movement of some ponderous body shook the floor

of the next room. The shock was followed by the appearance of Madame Dor. "Obenreizer"

exclaimed this excellent person in a whisper, and plumped down instantly in her regular place by

Obenreizer came in with a courier's big strapped over his shoulder. "Are you ready?" he asked,

addressing Vendale. "Can I take anything for you? You have no travellingbag. I have got one.

"Thank you," said Vendale. "I have only one paper of importance with me; and that paper I am

bound to take charge of myself. Here it is," he added, touching the breastpocket of his coat, "and

As he said those words, Marguerite's hand caught his, and pressed it significantly. She was looking

towards Obenreizer. Before Vendale could look, in his turn, Obenreizer had wheeled round, and

"Adieu, my charming niece!" he said, turning to Marguerite next. "En route, my friend, for

Neuchatel!" He tapped Vendale lightly over the breastpocket of his coat and led the way to the

Vendale's last look was for Marguerite. Marguerite's last words to him were, "Don't go!"

It was about the middle of the month of February when Vendale and Obenreizer set forth on their

expedition. The winter being a hard one, the time was bad for travellers. So bad was it that these

two travellers, coming to Strasbourg, found its great inns almost empty. And even the few people

they did encounter in that city, who had started from England or from Paris on business journeys

Many of the railroads in Switzerland that tourists pass easily enough now, were almost or quite

impracticable then. Some were not begun; more were not completed. On such as were open, there

were still large gaps of old road where communication in the winter season was often stopped; on

others, there were weak points where the new work was not safe, either under conditions of severe

frost, or of rapid thaw. The running of trains on this last class was not to be counted on in the worst

time of the year, was contingent upon weather, or was wholly abandoned through the months

At Strasbourg there were more travellers' stories afloat, respecting the difficulties of the way further

on, than there were travellers to relate them. Many of these tales were as wild as usual; but the

more modestly marvellous did derive some colour from the circumstance that people were

indisputably turning back. However, as the road to Basle was open, Vendale's resolution to push on

was in no wise disturbed. Obenreizer's resolution was necessarily Vendale's, seeing that he stood

at bay thus desperately: He must be ruined, or must destroy the evidence that Vendale carried

The state of mind of each of these two fellowtravellers towards the other was this. Obenreizer,

encircled by impending ruin through Vendale's quickness of action, and seeing the circle narrowed

every hour by Vendale's energy, hated him with the animosity of a fierce cunning lower animal. He

had always had instinctive movements in his breast against him; perhaps, because of that old sore

of gentleman and peasant; perhaps, because of the openness of his nature, perhaps, because of

his better looks; perhaps, because of his success with Marguerite; perhaps, on all those grounds,

the two last not the least. And now he saw in him, besides, the hunter who was tracking him down.

Vendale, on the other hand, always contending generously against his first vague mistrust, now felt

bound to contend against it more than ever: reminding himself, "He is Marguerite's guardian. We

are on perfectly friendly terms; he is my companion of his own proposal, and can have no

interested motive in sharing this undesirable journey." To which pleas in behalf of Obenreizer,

chance added one consideration more, when they came to Basle after a journey of more than twice

They had had a late dinner, and were alone in an inn room there, overhanging the Rhine: at that

place rapid and deep, swollen and loud. Vendale lounged upon a couch, and Obenreizer walked to

and fro: now, stopping at the window, looking at the crooked reflection of the town lights in the dark

water (and peradventure thinking, "If I could fling him into it!"); now, resuming his walk with his eyes

"Where shall I rob him, if I can? Where shall I murder him, if I must?" So, as he paced the room,

The burden seemed to him, at last, to be growing so plain, that he stopped; thinking it as well to

"The Rhine sounds tonight," he said with a smile, "like the old waterfall at home. That waterfall

which my mother showed to travellers (I told you of it once). The sound of it changed with the

weather, as does the sound of all falling waters and flowing waters. When I was pupil of the

watchmaker, I remembered it as sometimes saying to me for whole days, 'Who are you, my little

wretch? Who are you, my little wretch?' I remembered it as saying, other times, when its sound was

hollow, and storm was coming up the Pass: 'Boom, boom, boom. Beat him, beat him, beat him.'

"If she was?" said Vendale, gradually changing his attitude to a sitting one. "If she was? Why do

"What do I know?" replied the other negligently, throwing up his hands and letting them fall as they

would. "What would you have? I am so obscurely born, that how can I say? I was very young, and

all the rest of the family were men and women, and my socalled parents were old. Anything is

"I told you once, I doubt the marriage of those two," he replied, throwing up his hands again, as if

he were throwing the unprofitable subject away. "But here I am in Creation. I come of no fine family.

"At least you are Swiss," said Vendale, after following him with his eyes to and fro.

"How do I know?" he retorted abruptly, and stopping to look back over his shoulder. "I say to you, at

"And," added Vendale, pursuing the thought that he could not drive back, "by my earliest

"It must. There is nothing like 'it must' in this little world. It must. Two short words those, but

"You and poor Wilding were born in the same year. You were nearly of an age," said Vendale,

Could Obenreizer be the missing man? In the unknown associations of things, was there a subtler

meaning than he himself thought, in that theory so often on his lips about the smallness of the

world? Had the Swiss letter presenting him followed so close on Mrs. Goldstraw's revelation

concerning the infant who had been taken away to Switzerland, because he was that infant grown

a man? In a world where so many depths lie unsounded, it might be. The chances, or the

lawscall them eitherthat had wrought out the revival of Vendale's own acquaintance with

Obenreizer, and had ripened it into intimacy, and had brought them here together this present

winter night, were hardly less curious; while read by such a light, they were seen to cohere towards

Vendale's awakened thoughts ran high while his eyes musingly followed Obenreizer pacing up and

down the room, the river ever running to the tune: "Where shall I rob him, if I can? Where shall I

murder him, if I must?" The secret of his dead friend was in no hazard from Vendale's lips; but just

as his friend had died of its weight, so did he in his lighter succession feel the burden of the trust,

and the obligation to follow any clue, however obscure. He rapidly asked himself, would he like this

man to be the real Wilding? No. Argue down his mistrust as he might, he was unwilling to put such

a substitute in the place of his late guileless, outspoken childlike partner. He rapidly asked himself,

would he like this man to be rich? No. He had more power than enough over Marguerite as it was,

and wealth might invest him with more. Would he like this man to be Marguerite's Guardian, and

yet proved to stand in no degree of relationship towards her, however disconnected and distant?

No. But these were not considerations to come between him and fidelity to the dead. Let him see to

it that they passed him with no other notice than the knowledge that they HAD passed him, and left

him bent on the discharge of a solemn duty. And he did see to it, so soon that he followed his

companion with ungrudging eyes, while he still paced the room; that companion, whom he

supposed to be moodily reflecting on his own birth, and not on another man'sleast of all what

The road in advance from Basle to Neuchatel was better than had been represented. The latest

weather had done it good. Drivers, both of horses and mules, had come in that evening after dark,

and had reported nothing more difficult to be overcome than trials of patience, harness, wheels,

axles, and whipcord. A bargain was soon struck for a carriage and horses, to take them on in the

"Do you lock your door at night when travelling?" asked Obenreizer, standing warming his hands by

"You are so sound a sleeper?" he retorted, with an admiring look. "What a blessing!"

"Anything but a blessing to the rest of the house," rejoined Vendale, "if I had to be knocked up in

"I, too," said Obenreizer, "leave open my room. But let me advise you, as a Swiss who knows:

always, when you travel in my country, put your papersand, of course, your moneyunder your

"My countrymen," said Obenreizer, with that light touch of his friend's elbows by way of GoodNight

and benediction, "I suppose are like the majority of men. And the majority of men will take what

Left to himself, Vendale raked the logs together, sprinkled over them the white woodashes lying

on the hearth, and sat down to compose his thoughts. But they still ran high on their latest theme,

and the running of the river tended to agitate rather than to quiet them. As he sat thinking, what

little disposition he had had to sleep departed. He felt it hopeless to lie down yet, and sat dressed

by the fire. Marguerite, Wilding, Obenreizer, the business he was then upon, and a thousand hopes

and doubts that had nothing to do with it, occupied his mind at once. Everything seemed to have

He had sat for a long time thinking, on the hearth, when his candle burned down and its light went

out. It was of little moment; there was light enough in the fire. He changed his attitude, and, leaning

But he sat between the fire and the bed, and, as the fire flickered in the play of air from the

fastflowing river, his enlarged shadow fluttered on the white wall by the bedside. His attitude gave

it an air, half of mourning and half of bending over the bed imploring. His eyes were observant of it,

when he became troubled by the disagreeable fancy that it was like Wilding's shadow, and not his

A slight change of place would cause it to disappear. He made the change, and the apparition of

his disturbed fancy vanished. He now sat in the shade of a little nook beside the fire, and the door

It had a long cumbrous iron latch. He saw the latch slowly and softly rise. The door opened a very

little, and came to again, as though only the air had moved it. But he saw that the latch was out of

The door opened again very slowly, until it opened wide enough to admit some one. It afterwards

remained still for a while, as though cautiously held open on the other side. The figure of a man

then entered, with its face turned towards the bed, and stood quiet just within the door. Until it said,

It was Obenreizer, and he uttered a cry of surprise as Vendale came upon him from that

unexpected direction. "Not in bed?" he said, catching him by both shoulders with an instinctive

"My good fellow, I may as well ask you how it is that I see YOU up and undressed?"

"I have told you why. I have had a bad dream about you. I tried to rest after it, but it was impossible.

I could not make up my mind to stay where I was without knowing you were safe; and yet I could

not make up my mind to come in here. I have been minutes hesitating at the door. It is so easy to

His room was very near, and he was absent for but a few seconds. Coming back with the candle in

his hand, he kneeled down on the hearth and lighted it. As he blew with his breath a charred billet

into flame for the purpose, Vendale, looking down at him, saw that his lips were white and not easy

"Yes!" said Obenreizer, setting the lighted candle on the table, "it was a bad dream. Only look at

His feet were bare; his redflannel shirt was thrown back at the throat, and its sleeves were rolled

above the elbows; his only other garment, a pair of under pantaloons or drawers, reaching to the

ankles, fitted him close and tight. A certain lithe and savage appearance was on his figure, and his

"If there had been a wrestle with a robber, as I dreamed," said Obenreizer, "you see, I was stripped

"A traveller's dagger, that I always carry on the road," he answered carelessly, half drawing it from

its sheath with his left hand, and putting it back again. "Do you carry no such thing?"

"No pistols?" said Obenreizer, glancing at the table, and from it to the untouched pillow.

"I neither, after the bad dream. My fire has gone the way of your candle. May I come and sit by

yours? Two o'clock! It will so soon be four, that it is not worth the trouble to go to bed again."

"I shall not take the trouble to go to bed at all, now," said Vendale; "sit here and keep me company,

Going back to his room to arrange his dress, Obenreizer soon returned in a loose cloak and

slippers, and they sat down on opposite sides of the hearth. In the interval Vendale had replenished

the fire from the woodbasket in his room, and Obenreizer had put upon the table a flask and cup

"Common cabaret brandy, I am afraid," he said, pouring out; "bought upon the road, and not like

yours from Cripple Corner. But yours is exhausted; so much the worse. A cold night, a cold time of

night, a cold country, and a cold house. This may be better than nothing; try it."

"It has a coarse afterflavour," said Vendale, giving back the cup with a slight shudder, "and I don't

"You are right," said Obenreizer, tasting, and smacking his lips; "it HAS a coarse afterflavour, and

I don't like it. Booh! It burns, though!" He had flung what remained in the cup upon the fire.

Each of them leaned an elbow on the table, reclined his head upon his hand, and sat looking at the

flaring logs. Obenreizer remained watchful and still; but Vendale, after certain nervous twitches and

starts, in one of which he rose to his feet and looked wildly about him, fell into the strangest

confusion of dreams. He carried his papers in a leather case or pocketbook, in an inner

breastpocket of his buttoned travellingcoat; and whatever he dreamed of, in the lethargy that got

possession of him, something importunate in those papers called him out of that dream, though he

could not wake from it. He was berated on the steppes of Russia (some shadowy person gave that

name to the place) with Marguerite; and yet the sensation of a hand at his breast, softly feeling the

outline of the packetbook as he lay asleep before the fire, was present to him. He was

shipwrecked in an open boat at sea, and having lost his clothes, had no other covering than an

old sail; and yet a creeping hand, tracing outside all the other pockets of the dress he actually wore,

for papers, and finding none answer its touch, warned him to rouse himself. He was in the ancient

vault at Cripple Corner, to which was transferred the very bed substantial and present in that very

room at Basle; and Wilding (not dead, as he had supposed, and yet he did not wonder much)

shook him, and whispered, "Look at that man! Don't you see he has risen, and is turning the pillow?

Why should he turn the pillow, if not to seek those papers that are in your breast? Awake!" And yet

Watchful and still, with his elbow on the table, and his head upon that hand, his companion at

length said: "Vendale! We are called. Past Four!" Then, opening his eyes, he saw, turned sideways

"You have been in a heavy sleep," he said. "The fatigue of constant travelling and the cold!"

"I am broad awake now," cried Vendale, springing up, but with an unsteady footing. "Haven't you

"I may have dozed, but I seem to have been patiently looking at the fire. Whether or no, we must

It was said in a tone to rouse him, for already he was half asleep again. In his preparation for the

day, too, and at his breakfast, he was often virtually asleep while in mechanical action. It was not

until the cold dark day was closing in, that he had any distincter impressions of the ride than jingling

bells, bitter weather, slipping horses, frowning hillsides, bleak woods, and a stoppage at some

wayside house of entertainment, where they had passed through a cowhouse to reach the

travellers' room above. He had been conscious of little more, except of Obenreizer sitting thoughtful

But when he shook off his stupor, Obenreizer was not at his side. The carriage was stopping to bait

at another wayside house; and a line of long narrow carts, laden with casks of wine, and drawn by

horses with a quantity of blue collar and headgear, were baiting too. These came from the

direction in which the travellers were going, and Obenreizer (not thoughtful now, but cheerful and

alert) was talking with the foremost driver. As Vendale stretched his limbs, circulated his blood, and

cleared off the lees of his lethargy, with a sharp run to and fro in the bracing air, the line of carts

"They are our carriersDefresnier and Company's," replied Obenreizer. "Those are our casks of

"I have been drearily dull company today," said Vendale. "I don't know what has been the matter

"You had no sleep last night; and a kind of braincongestion frequently comes, at first, of such

cold," said Obenreizer. "I have seen it often. After all, we shall have our journey for nothing, it

"The House is at Milan. You know, we are a Wine House at Neuchatel, and a Silk House at Milan?

Well, Silk happening to press of a sudden, more than Wine, Defresnier was summoned to Milan.

Rolland, the other partner, has been taken ill since his departure, and the doctors will allow him to

see no one. A letter awaits you at Neuchatel to tell you so. I have it from our chief carrier whom you

saw me talking with. He was surprised to see me, and said he had that word for you if he met you.

Obenreizer stopped in his smoking to look at Vendale, and then smoked heavily, looked up the

"I have a very serious matter in charge," said Vendale; "more of these missing forms may be turned

to as bad account, or worse: I am urged to lose no time in helping the House to take the thief; and

"No?" cried Obenreizer, taking out his cigar to smile, and giving his hand to his fellowtraveller.

"Then nothing shall turn ME back. Ho, driver! Despatch. Quick there! Let us push on!"

They travelled through the night. There had been snow, and there was a partial thaw, and they

mostly travelled at a footpace, and always with many stoppages to breathe the splashed and

floundering horses. After an hour's broad daylight, they drew rein at the inndoor at Neuchatel,

When they had hurriedly refreshed and changed, they went together to the house of business of

Defresnier and Company. There they found the letter which the winecarrier had described,

enclosing the tests and comparisons of handwriting essential to the discovery of the Forger.

Vendale's determination to press forward, without resting, being already taken, the only question to

delay them was by what Pass could they cross the Alps? Respecting the state of the two Passes of

the St. Gotthard and the Simplon, the guides and muledrivers differed greatly; and both passes

were still far enough off, to prevent the travellers from having the benefit of any recent experience

of either. Besides which, they well knew that a fall of snow might altogether change the described

conditions in a single hour, even if they were correctly stated. But, on the whole, the Simplon

appearing to be the hopefuller route, Vendale decided to take it. Obenreizer bore little or no part in

To Geneva, to Lausanne, along the level margin of the lake to Vevay, so into the winding valley

between the spurs of the mountains, and into the valley of the Rhone. The sound of the

carriagewheels, as they rattled on, through the day, through the night, became as the wheels of a

great clock, recording the hours. No change of weather varied the journey, after it had hardened

into a sullen frost. In a sombreyellow sky, they saw the Alpine ranges; and they saw enough of

snow on nearer and much lower hilltops and hillsides, to sully, by contrast, the purity of lake,

torrent, and waterfall, and make the villages look discoloured and dirty. But no snow fell, nor was

there any snowdrift on the road. The stalking along the valley of more or less of white mist,

changing on their hair and dress into icicles, was the only variety between them and the gloomy

sky. And still by day, and still by night, the wheels. And still they rolled, in the hearing of one of

them, to the burden, altered from the burden of the Rhine: "The time is gone for robbing him alive,

They came, at length, to the poor little town of Brieg, at the foot of the Simplon. They came there

after dark, but yet could see how dwarfed men's works and men became with the immense

mountains towering over them. Here they must lie for the night; and here was warmth of fire, and

lamp, and dinner, and wine, and afterconference resounding, with guides and drivers. No human

creature had come across the Pass for four days. The snow above the snowline was too soft for

wheeled carriage, and not hard enough for sledge. There was snow in the sky. There had been

snow in the sky for days past, and the marvel was that it had not fallen, and the certainty was that it

must fall. No vehicle could cross. The journey might be tried on mules, or it might be tried on foot;

but the best guides must be paid dangerprice in either case, and that, too, whether they

succeeded in taking the two travellers across, or turned for safety and brought them back.

In this discussion, Obenreizer bore no part whatever. He sat silently smoking by the fire until the

"Bah! I am weary of these poor devils and their trade," he said, in reply. "Always the same story. It

is the story of their trade today, as it was the story of their trade when I was a ragged boy. What do

you and I want? We want a knapsack each, and a mountainstaff each. We want no guide; we

should guide him; he would not guide us. We leave our portmanteaus here, and we cross together.

We have been on the mountains together before now, and I am mountainborn, and I know this

PassPass!rather High Road!by heart. We will leave these poor devils, in pity, to trade with

others; but they must not delay us to make a pretence of earning money. Which is all they mean."

Vendale, glad to be quit of the dispute, and to cut the knot: active, adventurous, bent on getting

forward, and therefore very susceptible to the last hint: readily assented. Within two hours, they had

purchased what they wanted for the expedition, had packed their knapsacks, and lay down to

At break of day, they found half the town collected in the narrow street to see them depart. The

people talked together in groups; the guides and drivers whispered apart, and looked up at the sky;

As they began the ascent, a gleam of run shone from the otherwise unaltered sky, and for a

"A good omen!" said Vendale (though it died out while he spoke). "Perhaps our example will open

"No; we shall not be followed," returned Obenreizer, looking up at the sky and back at the valley.

The road was fair enough for stout walkers, and the air grew lighter and easier to breathe as the

two ascended. But the settled gloom remained as it had remained for days back. Nature seemed to

have come to a pause. The sense of hearing, no less than the sense of sight, was troubled by

having to wait so long for the change, whatever it might be, that impended. The silence was as

palpable and heavy as the lowering cloudsor rather cloud, for there seemed to be but one in all

Although the light was thus dismally shrouded, the prospect was not obscured. Down in the valley

of the Rhone behind them, the stream could be traced through all its many windings, oppressively

sombre and solemn in its one leaden hue, a colourless waste. Far and high above them, glaciers

and suspended avalanches overhung the spots where they must pass, byandby; deep and dark

below them on their right, were awful precipice and roaring torrent; tremendous mountains arose in

every vista. The gigantic landscape, uncheered by a touch of changing light or a solitary ray of sun,

was yet terribly distinct in its ferocity. The hearts of two lonely men might shrink a little, if they had

to win their way for miles and hours among a legion of silent and motionless menmere men like

themselvesall looking at them with fixed and frowning front. But how much more, when the

legion is of Nature's mightiest works, and the frown may turn to fury in an instant!

As they ascended, the road became gradually more rugged and difficult. But the spirits of Vendale

rose as they mounted higher, leaving so much more of the road behind them conquered.

Obenreizer spoke little, and held on with a determined purpose. Both, in respect of agility and

endurance, were well qualified for the expedition. Whatever the born mountaineer read in the

"No," replied the other. "You see how much deeper the snow lies here than it lay half a league

lower. The higher we mount the deeper the snow will lie. Walking is half wading even now. And the

days are so short! If we get as high as the fifth Refuge, and lie tonight at the Hospice, we shall do

"Is there no danger of the weather rising in the night," asked Vendale, anxiously, "and snowing us

"There is danger enough about us," said Obenreizer, with a cautious glance onward and upward,

"to render silence our best policy. You have heard of the Bridge of the Ganther?"

"Yes; but it is another thing at this season;" with a sneer, as though he were out of temper. "This is

not a time of year, or a state of things, on an Alpine Pass, that you gentlemen holidaytravellers

"I am your Guide," said Obenreizer, "and I will guide you to your journey's end. There is the Bridge

They had made a turn into a desolate and dismal ravine, where the snow lay deep below them,

deep above them, deep on every side. While speaking, Obenreizer stood pointing at the Bridge,

"If I, as Guide, had sent you over there, in advance, and encouraged you to give a shout or two,

you might have brought down upon yourself tons and tons and tons of snow, that would not only

"No doubt. But that is not what I have to do, as Guide. So pass silently. Or, going as we go, our

There was a great accumulation of snow on the Bridge; and such enormous accumulations of snow

overhung them from protecting masses of rock, that they might have been making their way

through a stormy sky of white clouds. Using his staff skilfully, sounding as he went, and looking

upward, with bent shoulders, as it were to resist the mere idea of a fall from above, Obenreizer

softly led. Vendale closely followed. They were yet in the midst of their dangerous way, when there

came a mighty rush, followed by a sound as of thunder. Obenreizer clapped his hand on Vendale's

mouth and pointed to the track behind them. Its aspect had been wholly changed in a moment. An

avalanche had swept over it, and plunged into the torrent at the bottom of the gulf below.

Their appearance at the solitary Inn not far beyond this terrible Bridge, elicited many expressions of

astonishment from the people shut up in the house. "We stay but to rest," said Obenreizer, shaking

the snow from his dress at the fire. "This gentleman has very pressing occasion to get across; tell

"You hear, all of you. My friend has very pressing occasion to get across, and we want no advice

and no help. I am as good a guide, my fellowcountrymen, as any of you. Now, give us to eat and

In exactly the same way, and in nearly the same words, when it was coming on dark and they had

struggled through the greatly increased difficulties of the road, and had at last reached their

destination for the night, Obenreizer said to the astonished people of the Hospice, gathering about

them at the fire, while they were yet in the act of getting their wet shoes off, and shaking the snow

"Has," said Vendale, readily taking him up with a smile, "very pressing occasion to get across.

"You hear?has very pressing occasion to get across, must cross. We want no advice and no

help. I am mountainborn, and act as Guide. Do not worry us by talking about it, but let us have

All through the intense cold of the night, the same awful stillness. Again at sunrise, no sunny tinge

to gild or redden the snow. The same interminable waste of deathly white; the same immovable air;

"Travellers!" a friendly voice called to them from the door, after they were afoot, knapsack on back

and staff in hand, as yesterday; "recollect! There are five places of shelter, near together, on the

dangerous road before you; and there is the wooden cross, and there is the next Hospice. Do not

"The trade of these poor devils!" said Obenreizer to his friend, with a contemptuous backward wave

of his hand towards the voice. "How they stick to their trade! You Englishmen say we Swiss are

They had divided between the two knapsacks such refreshments as they had been able to obtain

that morning, and as they deemed it prudent to take. Obenreizer carried the wine as his share of

They had for some time laboured upward and onward through the snow which was now above

their knees in the track, and of unknown depth elsewhereand they were still labouring upward

and onward through the most frightful part of that tremendous desolation, when snow begin to fall.

At first, but a few flakes descended slowly and steadily. After a little while the fall grew much

denser, and suddenly it began without apparent cause to whirl itself into spiral shapes. Instantly

ensuing upon this last change, an icy blast came roaring at them, and every sound and force

One of the dismal galleries through which the road is carried at that perilous point, a cave eked out

by arches of great strength, was near at hand. They struggled into it, and the storm raged wildly.

The noise of the wind, the noise of the water, the thundering down of displaced masses of rock and

snow, the awful voices with which not only that gorge but every gorge in the whole monstrous

range seemed to be suddenly endowed, the darkness as of night, the violent revolving of the snow

which beat and broke it into spray and blinded them, the madness of everything around insatiate for

destruction, the rapid substitution of furious violence for unnatural calm, and hosts of appalling

sounds for silence: these were things, on the edge of a deep abyss, to chill the blood, though the

Obenreizer, walking to and fro in the gallery without ceasing, signed to Vendale to help him

unbuckle his knapsack. They could see each other, but could not have heard each other speak.

Vendale complying, Obenreizer produced his bottle of wine, and poured some out, motioning

Vendale to take that for warmth's sake, and not brandy. Vendale again complying, Obenreizer

seemed to drink after him, and the two walked backwards and forwards side by side; both well

The snow came driving heavily into the gallery by the upper end at which they would pass out of it,

if they ever passed out; for greater dangers lay on the road behind them than before. The snow

soon began to choke the arch. An hour more, and it lay so high as to block out half the returning

daylight. But it froze hard now, as it fell, and could be clambered through or over. The violence of

the mountain storm was gradually yielding to steady snowfall. The wind still raged at intervals, but

They might have been two hours in their frightful prison, when Obenreizer, now crunching into the

mound, now creeping over it with his head bowed down and his body touching the top of the arch,

made his way out. Vendale followed close upon him, but followed without clear motive or

calculation. For the lethargy of Basle was creeping over him again, and mastering his senses.

How far he had followed out of the gallery, or with what obstacles he had since contended, he knew

not. He became roused to the knowledge that Obenreizer had set upon him, and that they were

struggling desperately in the snow. He became roused to the remembrance of what his assailant

carried in a girdle. He felt for it, drew it, struck at him, struggled again, struck at him again, cast him

"I promised to guide you to your journey's end," said Obenreizer, "and I have kept my promise. The

journey of your life ends here. Nothing can prolong it. You are sleeping as you stand."

"You are a fool. I have drugged you. You are doubly a fool, for I drugged you once before upon the

journey, to try you. You are trebly a fool, for I am the thief and forger, and in a few moments I shall

The entrapped man tried to throw off the lethargy, but its fatal hold upon him was so sure that, even

while he heard those words, he stupidly wondered which of them had been wounded, and whose

"What have I done to you," he asked, heavily and thickly, "that you should beso basea

"Done to me? You would have destroyed me, but that you have come to your journey's end. Your

cursed activity interposed between me, and the time I had counted on in which I might have

replaced the money. Done to me? You have come in my way not once, not twice, but again and

again and again. Did I try to shake you off in the beginning, or no? You were not to be shaken off.

Vendale tried to think coherently, tried to speak coherently, tried to pick up the ironshod staff he

had let fall; failing to touch it, tried to stagger on without its aid. All in vain, all in vain! He stumbled,

Stupefied, dozing, unable to stand upon his feet, a veil before his eyes, his sense of hearing

deadened, he made such a vigorous rally that, supporting himself on his hands, he saw his enemy

standing calmly over him, and heard him speak. "You call me murderer," said Obenreizer, with a

grim laugh. "The name matters very little. But at least I have set my life against yours, for I am

surrounded by dangers, and may never make my way out of this place. The Tourmente is rising

again. The snow is on the whirl. I must have the papers now. Every moment has my life in it."

"Stop!" cried Vendale, in a terrible voice, staggering up with a last flash of fire breaking out of him,

and clutching the thievish hands at his breast, in both of his. "Stop! Stand away from me! God bless

my Marguerite! Happily she will never know how I died. Stand off from me, and let me look at your

The sight of him fighting so hard for his senses, and the doubt whether he might not for the instant

be possessed by the strength of a dozen men, kept his opponent still. Wildly glaring at him,

As his head dropped on his breast, and he stumbled on the brink of the chasm as before, the

thievish hands went once more, quick and busy, to his breast. He made a convulsive attempt to cry

"No!" desperately rolled himself over into the gulf; and sank away from his enemy's touch, like a

The mountain storm raged again, and passed again. The awful mountainvoices died away, the

Two men and two large dogs came out at the door of the Hospice. The men looked carefully

around them, and up at the sky. The dogs rolled in the snow, and took it into their mouths, and cast

One of the men said to the other: "We may venture now. We may find them in one of the five

Refuges." Each fastened on his back a basket; each took in his hand a strong spiked pole; each

girded under his arms a looped end of a stout rope, so that they were tied together.

Suddenly the dogs desisted from their gambols in the snow, stood looking down the ascent, put

their noses up, put their noses down, became greatly excited, and broke into a deep loud bay

The two men looked in the faces of the two dogs. The two dogs looked, with at least equal

"Au secours, then! Help! To the rescue!" cried the two men. The two dogs, with a glad, deep,

"Two more mad ones!" said the men, stricken motionless, and looking away in the moonlight. "Is it

Each of the dogs had the corner of a woman's dress in its mouth, and drew her along. She fondled

their heads as she came up, and she came up through the snow with an accustomed tread. Not so

"Dear guides, dear friends of travellers! I am of your country. We seek two gentlemen crossing the

"But, unhappily, they have gone on again. We are setting forth to seek them even now. We had to

"Dear guides, dear friends of travellers! Let me go with you. Let me go with you for the love of

GOD! One of those gentlemen is to be my husband. I love him, O, so dearly. O so dearly! You see I

am not faint, you see I am not tired. I am born a peasant girl. I will show you that I know well how to

fasten myself to your ropes. I will do it with my own hands. I will swear to be brave and good. But

let me go with you, let me go with you! If any mischance should have befallen him, my love would

find him, when nothing else could. On my knees, dear friends of travellers! By the love your dear

The good rough fellows were moved. "After all," they murmured to one another, "she speaks but

the truth. She knows the ways of the mountains. See how marvellously she has come here. But as

"Dear Mr. Joey," said Marguerite, addressing him in his own tongue, "you will remain at the house,

"If I know'd which o' you two recommended it," growled Joey Ladle, eyeing the two men with great

indignation, "I'd fight you for sixpence, and give you halfacrown towards your expenses. No,

Miss. I'll stick by you as long as there's any sticking left in me, and I'll die for you when I can't do

The state of the moon rendering it highly important that no time should be lost, and the dogs

showing signs of great uneasiness, the two men quickly took their resolution. The rope that yoked

them together was exchanged for a longer one; the party were secured, Marguerite second, and

the Cellarman last; and they set out for the Refuges. The actual distance of those places was

nothing: the whole five, and the next Hospice to boot, being within two miles; but the ghastly way

They made no miss in reaching the Gallery where the two had taken shelter. The second storm of

wind and snow had so wildly swept over it since, that their tracks were gone. But the dogs went to

and fro with their noses down, and were confident. The party stopping, however, at the further arch,

where the second storm had been especially furious, and where the drift was deep, the dogs

The great abyss being known to lie on the right, they wandered too much to the left, and had to

regain the way with infinite labour through a deep field of snow. The leader of the line had stopped

it, and was taking note of the landmarks, when one of the dogs fell to tearing up the snow a little

before them. Advancing and stooping to look at it, thinking that some one might be overwhelmed

The other dog was now seen to look over the brink of the gulf, with his fore legs straightened out,

lest he should fall into it, and to tremble in every limb. Then the dog who had found the stained

snow joined him, and then they ran to and fro, distressed and whining. Finally, they both stopped

"I think so," said the foremost man. "Stand well inward, the two last, and let us look over."

The last man kindled two torches from his basket, and handed them forward. The leader taking

one, and Marguerite the other, they looked down; now shading the torches, now moving them to

the right or left, now raising them, now depressing them, as moonlight far below contended with

"My God! On a projecting point, where a wall of ice stretches forward over the torrent, I see a

The leader, with a sickened aspect, drew inward, and they were all silent. But they were not all

inactive, for Marguerite, with swift and skilful fingers, had detached both herself and him from the

"If he is aliveI know it is my loverhe will be dead before you can return. Dear Guides! Blessed

friends of travellers! Look at me. Watch my hands. If they falter or go wrong, make me your

She girded herself with a cord under the breast and arms, she formed it into a kind of jacket, she

drew it into knots, she laid its end side by side with the end of the other cord, she twisted and

twined the two together, she knotted them together, she set her foot upon the knots, she strained

"By the Almighty's mercy!" she exclaimed. "You both know that I am by far the lightest here. Give

me the brandy and the wine, and lower me down to him. Then go for assistance and a stronger

rope. You see that when it is lowered to melook at this about me nowI can make it fast and

safe to his body. Alive or dead, I will bring him up, or die with him. I love him passionately. Can I

"Lower me down to him," she said, taking two little kegs they had brought, and hanging them about

her, "or I will dash myself to pieces! I am a peasant, and I know no giddiness or fear; and this is

"Dying or dead, my husband's head shall lie upon my breast, or I will dash myself to pieces."

They yielded, overborne. With such precautions as their skill and the circumstances admitted, they

let her slip from the summit, guiding herself down the precipitous icy wall with her hand, and they

lowered down, and lowered down, and lowered down, until the cry came up: "Enough!"

The cry came up: "He is insensible; but his heart beats. It beats against mine."

The cry came up: "Upon a ledge of ice. It has thawed beneath him, and it will thaw beneath me.

One of the two men hurried off with the dogs at such topmost speed as he could make; the other

set up the lighted torches in the snow, and applied himself to recovering the Englishman. Much

snowchafing and some brandy got him on his legs, but delirious and quite unconscious where he

The watch remained upon the brink, and his cry went down continually: "Courage! They will soon

be here. How goes it?" And the cry came up: "His heart still beats against mine. I warm him in my

arms. I have cast off the rope, for the ice melts under us, and the rope would separate me from

The moon went down behind the mountain tops, and all the abyss lay in darkness. The cry went

down: "How goes it?" The cry came up: "We are sinking lower, but his heart still beats against

At length the eager barking of the dogs, and a flare of light upon the snow, proclaimed that help

was coming on. Twenty or thirty men, lamps, torches, litters, ropes, blankets, wood to kindle a great

fire, restoratives and stimulants, came in fast. The dogs ran from one man to another, and from this

thing to that, and ran to the edge of the abyss, dumbly entreating Speed, speed, speed!

The cry came up: "We are sinking still, and we are deadly cold. His heart no longer beats against

The fire was kindled high, a great glare of torches lighted the sides of the precipice, lamps were

lowered, a strong rope was lowered. She could be seen passing it round him, and making it secure.

The cry came up into a deathly silence: "Raise! Softly!" They could see her diminished figure

They gave no shout when some of them laid him on a litter, and others lowered another strong

rope. The cry again came up into a deathly silence: "Raise! Softly!" But when they caught her at the

brink, then they shouted, then they wept, then they gave thanks to Heaven, then they kissed her

feet, then they kissed her dress, then the dogs caressed her, licked her icy hands, and with their

She broke from them all, and sank over him on his litter, with both her loving hands upon the heart

The pleasant scene was Neuchatel; the pleasant month was April; the pleasant place was a

notary's office; the pleasant person in it was the notary: a rosy, hearty, handsome old man, chief

notary of Neuchatel, known far and wide in the canton as Maitre Voigt. Professionally and

personally, the notary was a popular citizen. His innumerable kindnesses and his innumerable

oddities had for years made him one of the recognised public characters of the pleasant Swiss

town. His long brown frockcoat and his black skullcap, were among the institutions of the place:

and he carried a snuffbox which, in point of size, was popularly believed to be without a parallel in

There was another person in the notary's office, not so pleasant as the notary. This was

An oddly pastoral kind of office it was, and one that would never have answered in England. It

stood in a neat back yard, fenced off from a pretty flowergarden. Goats browsed in the doorway,

and a cow was within halfadozen feet of keeping company with the clerk. Maitre Voigt's room

was a bright and varnished little room, with panelled walls, like a toychamber. According to the

seasons of the year, roses, sunflowers, hollyhocks, peeped in at the windows. Maitre Voigt's bees

hummed through the office all the summer, in at this window and out at that, taking it frequently in

their day's work, as if honey were to be made from Maitre Voigt's sweet disposition. A large musical

box on the chimneypiece often trilled away at the Overture to Fra Diavolo, or a Selection from

William Tell, with a chirruping liveliness that had to be stopped by force on the entrance of a client,

"Courage, courage, my good fellow!" said Maitre Voigt, patting Obenreizer on the knee, in a fatherly

and comforting way. "You will begin a new life tomorrow morning in my office here."

Obenreizerdressed in mourning, and subdued in mannerlifted his hand, with a white

handkerchief in it, to the region of his heart. "The gratitude is here," he said. "But the words to

"Tatata! Don't talk to me about gratitude!" said Maitre Voigt. "I hate to see a man oppressed. I

see you oppressed, and I hold out my hand to you by instinct. Besides, I am not too old yet, to

remember my young days. Your father sent me my first client. (It was on a question of half an acre

of vineyard that seldom bore any grapes.) Do I owe nothing to your father's son? I owe him a debt

of friendly obligation, and I pay it to you. That's rather neatly expressed, I think," added Maitre

Voigt, in high good humour with himself. "Permit me to reward my own merit with a pinch of snuff!"

Obenreizer dropped his eyes to the ground, as though he were not even worthy to see the notary

"Do me one last favour, sir," he said, when he raised his eyes. "Do not act on impulse. Thus far,

you have only a general knowledge of my position. Hear the case for and against me, in its details,

before you take me into your office. Let my claim on your benevolence be recognised by your

sound reason as well as by your excellent heart. In THAT case, I may hold up my head against the

bitterest of my enemies, and build myself a new reputation on the ruins of the character I have lost."

"As you will," said Maitre Voigt. "You speak well, my son. You will be a fine lawyer one of these

"The details are not many," pursued Obenreizer. "My troubles begin with the accidental death of my

"Mr. Vendale," repeated the notary. "Just so. I have heard and read of the name, several times

within these two months. The name of the unfortunate English gentleman who was killed on the

"From my own knife," said Obenreizer, touching what must have been an ugly gash at the time

"From your own knife," assented the notary, "and in trying to save him. Good, good, good. That

was very good. Vendale. Yes. I have several times, lately, thought it droll that I should once have

"But the world, sir," returned Obenreizer, "is SO small!" Nevertheless he made a mental note that

"As I was saying, sir, the death of that dear travelling comrade begins my troubles. What follows? I

save myself. I go down to Milan. I am received with coldness by Defresnier and Company. Shortly

afterwards, I am discharged by Defresnier and Company. Why? They give no reason why. I ask, do

they assail my honour? No answer. I ask, what is the imputation against me? No answer. I ask,

where are their proofs against me? No answer. I ask, what am I to think? The reply is, 'M.

Obenreizer is free to think what he will. What M. Obenreizer thinks, is of no importance to

"That is not enough," said Maitre Voigt. "The House of Defresnier are my fellow townsmenmuch

respected, much esteemedbut the House of Defresnier must not silently destroy a man's

"Your sense of justice, my dear patron," answered Obenreizer, "states in a word the cruelty of the

"True, my poor boy," said the notary, with a comforting nod or two; "your ward rebels upon that."

"Rebels is too soft a word," retorted Obenreizer. "My ward revolts from me with horror. My ward

defies me. My ward withdraws herself from my authority, and takes shelter (Madame Dor with her)

in the house of that English lawyer, Mr. Bintrey, who replies to your summons to her to submit

"And who afterwards writes," said the notary, moving his large snuffbox to look among the

"Indeed?" replied Obenreizer, rather checked. "Well, sir. Have I no legal rights?"

"Assuredly, my poor boy," returned the notary. "All but felons have their legal rights."

"No one. Be calm under your wrongs. If the House of Defresnier would call you felon, indeed, we

While saying these words, he had handed Bintrey's very short letter to Obenreizer, who now read it

"In saying," observed Obenreizer, with recovered composure, "that he is coming to confer with you,

"I am sure of it. I know him. He is obstinate and contentious. You will tell me, my dear sir, whether

"I will enforce it. I will make her submit herself to it. For," said Obenreizer, changing his angry tone

to one of grateful submission, "I owe it to you, sir; to you, who have so confidingly taken an injured

"Make your mind easy," said Maitre Voigt. "No more of this now, and no thanks! Be here tomorrow

morning, before the other clerk comes between seven and eight. You will find me in this room;

and I will myself initiate you in your work. Go away! go away! I have letters to write. I won't hear a

Dismissed with this generous abruptness, and satisfied with the favourable impression he had left

on the old man's mind, Obenreizer was at leisure to revert to the mental note he had made that

"I ought to know England well enough by this time;" so his meditations ran, as he sat on a bench in

the yard; "and it is not a name I ever encountered there, except" he looked involuntarily over his

shoulder"as HIS name. Is the world so small that I cannot get away from him, even now when he

is dead? He confessed at the last that he had betrayed the trust of the dead, and misinherited a

fortune. And I was to see to it. And I was to stand off, that my face might remind him of it. Why MY

face, unless it concerned ME? I am sure of his words, for they have been in my ears ever since.

Can there be anything bearing on them, in the keeping of this old idiot? Anything to repair my

fortunes, and blacken his memory? He dwelt upon my earliest remembrances, that night at Basle.

Maitre Voigt's two largest hegoats were butting at him to butt him out of the place, as if for that

disrespectful mention of their master. So he got up and left the place. But he walked alone for a

Between seven and eight next morning, he presented himself again at the office. He found the

notary ready for him, at work on some papers which had come in on the previous evening. In a few

clear words, Maitre Voigt explained the routine of the office, and the duties Obenreizer would be

expected to perform. It still wanted five minutes to eight, when the preliminary instructions were

"I will show you over the house and the offices," said Maitre Voigt, "but I must put away these

papers first. They come from the municipal authorities, and they must be taken special care of."

Obenreizer saw his chance, here, of finding out the repository in which his employer's private

"Can't I save you the trouble, sir?" he asked. "Can't I put those documents away under your

Maitre Voigt laughed softly to himself; closed the portfolio in which the papers had been sent to

He pointed to a heavy oaken door, thickly studded with nails, at the lower end of the room.

Approaching the door, with the portfolio, Obenreizer discovered, to his astonishment, that there

were no means whatever of opening it from the outside. There was no handle, no bolt, no key, and

"There is a second door to this room?" said Obenreizer, appealing to the notary.

"Nothing of the sort. The window has been bricked up. The only way in, is the way by that door. Do

you give it up?" cried Maitre Voigt, in high triumph. "Listen, my good fellow, and tell me if you hear

"I know! " he exclaimed. "I heard of this when I was apprenticed here at the watchmaker's. Perrin

"Bravo!" said Maitre Voigt. "The clocklock it is! There, my son! There you have one more of what

the good people of this town call, 'Daddy Voigt's follies.' With all my heart! Let those laugh who win.

No thief can steal MY keys. No burglar can pick MY lock. No power on earth, short of a

batteringram or a barrel of gunpowder, can move that door, till my little sentinel insidemy worthy

friend who goes 'Tick, Tick,' as I tell himsays, 'Open!' The big door obeys the little Tick, Tick, and

the little Tick, Tick, obeys ME. That!" cried Daddy Voigt, snapping his fingers, "for all the thieves in

"May I see it in action?" asked Obenreizer. "Pardon my curiosity, dear sir! You know that I was

"Certainly you shall see it in action," said Maitre Voigt. "What is the time now? One minute to eight.

In one minute, smoothly and slowly and silently, as if invisible hands had set it free, the heavy door

opened inward, and disclosed a dark chamber beyond. On three sides, shelves filled the walls,

from floor to ceiling. Arranged on the shelves, were rows upon rows of boxes made in the pretty

inlaid woodwork of Switzerland, and bearing inscribed on their fronts (for the most part in fanciful

"You shall see the clock," he said proudly. "I possess the greatest curiosity in Europe. It is only a

privileged few whose eyes can look at it. I give the privilege to your good father's sonyou shall be

one of the favoured few who enter the room with me. See! here it is, on the righthand wall at the

"An ordinary clock," exclaimed Obenreizer. "No! Not an ordinary clock. It has only one hand."

"Aha!" said Maitre Voigt. "Not an ordinary clock, my friend. No, no. That one hand goes round the

dial. As I put it, so it regulates the hour at which the door shall open. See! The hand points to eight.

"More than once?" repeated the notary, with great scorn. "You don't know my good friend,

TickTick! He will open the door as often as I ask him. All he wants is his directions, and he gets

them here. Look below the dial. Here is a halfcircle of steel let into the wall, and here is a hand

(called the regulator) that travels round it, just as MY hand chooses. Notice, if you please, that

there are figures to guide me on the halfcircle of steel. Figure I. means: Open once in the

fourandtwenty hours. Figure II. means: Open twice; and so on to the end. I set the regulator

every morning, after I have read my letters, and when I know what my day's work is to be. Would

you like to see me set it now? What is today? Wednesday. Good! This is the day of our rifleclub;

there is little business to do; I grant a halfholiday. No work here today, after three o'clock. Let us

first put away this portfolio of municipal papers. There! No need to trouble TickTick to open the

door until eight tomorrow. Good! I leave the dialhand at eight; I put back the regulator to I.; I close

the door; and closed the door remains, past all opening by anybody, till tomorrow morning at

Obenreizer's quickness instantly saw the means by which he might make the clocklock betray its

"Stop, sir!" he cried, at the moment when the notary was closing the door. "Don't I see something

(Maitre Voigt turned his back for a moment to look. In that moment, Obenreizer's ready hand put

the regulator on, from the figure "I." to the figure "II." Unless the notary looked again at the halfcircle

of steel, the door would open at eight that evening, as well as at eight next morning, and nobody

"There is nothing!" said Maitre Voigt. Your troubles have shaken your nerves, my son. Some

shadow thrown by my taper; or some poor little beetle, who lives among the old lawyer's secrets,

running away from the light. Hark! I hear your fellowclerk in the office. To work! to work! and build

He goodhumouredly pushed Obenreizer out before him; extinguished the taper, with a last fond

glance at his clock which passed harmlessly over the regulator beneath; and closed the oaken

At three, the office was shut up. The notary and everybody in the notary's employment, with one

exception, went to see the rifleshooting. Obenreizer had pleaded that he was not in spirits for a

public festival. Nobody knew what had become of him. It was believed that he had slipped away for

The house and offices had been closed but a few minutes, when the door of a shining wardrobe in

the notary's shining room opened, and Obenreizer stopped out. He walked to a window, unclosed

the shutters, satisfied himself that he could escape unseen by way of the garden, turned back into

the room, and took his place in the notary's easychair. He was locked up in the house, and there

He wore his way through the five hours: sometimes reading the books and newspapers that lay on

the table: sometimes thinking: sometimes walking to and fro. Sunset came on. He closed the

windowshutters before he kindled a light. The candle lighted, and the time drawing nearer and

One after another, he read the names on the outer rows of boxes. No such name as Vendale! He

removed the outer row, and looked at the row behind. These were older boxes, and shabbier

boxes. The four first that he examined, were inscribed with French and German names. The fifth

bore a name which was almost illegible. He brought it out into the room, and examined it closely.

The key hung to the box by a string. He unlocked the box, took out four loose papers that were in it,

spread them open on the table, and began to read them. He had not so occupied a minute, when

his face fell from its expression of eagerness and avidity, to one of haggard astonishment and

disappointment. But, after a little consideration, he copied the papers. He then replaced the papers,

As his murderous and thievish footfall passed out of the garden, the steps of the notary and some

one accompanying him stopped at the front door of the house. The lamps were lighted in the little

"Pray do not pass my house, Mr. Bintrey," he said. "Do me the honour to come in. It is one of our

town halfholidaysour Tir but my people will be back directly. It is droll that you should ask

"I shall be enchanted, sir, to take so early an opportunity of redressing the wrongs of my injured

"Yes," retorted Bintrey; "your injured client is all very wellbut a word in your ear."

He whispered to the notary and walked off. When the notary's housekeeper came home, she found

him standing at his door motionless, with the key still in his hand, and the door unopened.

In one of the dreary rooms of the dreary little inn at Brieg, Mr. Bintrey and Maitre Voigt sat together

at a professional council of two. Mr. Bintrey was searching in his despatchbox. Maitre Voigt was

looking towards a closed door, painted brown to imitate mahogany, and communicating with an

"Isn't it time he was here?" asked the notary, shifting his position, and glancing at a second door at

After greeting Maitre Voigt with a cordiality which appeared to cause the notary no little

embarrassment, Obenreizer bowed with grave and distant politeness to Bintrey. "For what reason

have I been brought from Neuchatel to the foot of the mountain?" he inquired, taking the seat which

"You shall be quite satisfied on that head before our interview is over," returned Bintrey. "For the

present, permit me to suggest proceeding at once to business. There has been a correspondence,

"In other words, you, a lawyer, are here to represent an infraction of the law."

"Admirably put!" said Bintrey. "If all the people I have to deal with were only like you, what an easy

profession mine would be! I am here to represent an infraction of the lawthat is your point of

view. I am here to make a compromise between you and your niece that is my point of view."

"There must be two parties to a compromise," rejoined Obenreizer. "I decline, in this case, to be

one of them. The law gives me authority to control my niece's actions, until she comes of age. She

At this point Maitre attempted to speak. Bintrey silenced him with a compassionate indulgence of

"No, my worthy friend, not a word. Don't excite yourself unnecessarily; leave it to me." He turned,

and addressed himself again to Obenreizer. "I can think of nothing comparable to you, Mr.

Obenreizer, but graniteand even that wears out in course of time. In the interests of peace and

quietnessfor the sake of your own dignityrelax a little. If you will only delegate your authority to

another person whom I know of, that person may be trusted never to lose sight of your niece, night

"You are wasting your time and mine," returned Obenreizer. "If my niece is not rendered up to my

authority within one week from this day, I invoke the law. If you resist the law, I take her by force."

He rose to his feet as he said the last word. Maitre Voigt looked round again towards the brown

"Have some pity on the poor girl," pleaded Bintrey. "Remember how lately she lost her lover by a

Bintrey, in his turn, rose to his feet, and looked at Maitre Voigt. Maitre Voigt's hand, resting on the

table, began to tremble. Maitre Voigt's eyes remained fixed, as if by irresistible fascination, on the

"There is somebody listening in there!" he exclaimed, with a sharp backward glance at Bintrey.

With this answer, he raised his voice and spoke the next wordsthe two common words which are

The brown door opened. Supported on Marguerite's armhis sunburnt colour gone, his right arm

bandaged and clung over his breast Vendale stood before the murderer, a man risen from the

In the moment of silence that followed, the singing of a caged bird in the courtyard outside was the

one sound stirring in the room. Maitre Voigt touched Bintrey, and pointed to Obenreizer. "Look at

The shock had paralysed every movement in the villain's body, but the movement of the blood. His

face was like the face of a corpse. The one vestige of colour left in it was a livid purple streak which

marked the course of the scar where his victim had wounded him on the cheek and neck.

Speechless, breathless, motionless alike in eye and limb, it seemed as if, at the sight of Vendale,

Even at that moment Bintrey persisted in silencing the notary, and in keeping the lead in the

proceedings to himself. Checking Maitre Voigt by a gesture, he dismissed Marguerite and Vendale

in these words: "The object of your appearance here is answered," he said. "If you will withdraw

It did help him. As the two passed through the door and closed it behind them, he drew a deep

breath of relief. He looked round him for the chair from which he had risen, and dropped into it.

"No," said Bintrey. "I don't know what use he may make of it if I do." He turned once more to

Obenreizer, and went on. "I owe it to myself," he said"I don't admit, mind, that I owe it to youto

account for my appearance in these proceedings, and to state what has been done under my

"Recall the time when you started for Switzerland with Mr. Vendale," Bintrey begin. "You had not

left England fourandtwenty hours before your niece committed an act of imprudence which not

even your penetration could foresee. She followed her promised husband on his journey, without

asking anybody's advice or permission, and without any better companion to protect her than a

"Why did she follow me on the journey? and how came the Cellarman to be the person who

"She followed you on the journey," answered Bintrey, "because she suspected there had been

some serious collision between you and Mr. Vendale, which had been kept secret from her; and

because she rightly believed you to be capable of serving your interests, or of satisfying your

enmity, at the price of a crime. As for the Cellarman, he was one, among the other people in Mr.

Vendale's establishment, to whom she had applied (the moment your back was turned) to know if

anything had happened between their master and you. The Cellarman alone had something to tell

her. A senseless superstition, and a common accident which had happened to his master, in his

master's cellar, had connected Mr. Vendale in this man's mind with the idea of danger by murder.

Your niece surprised him into a confession, which aggravated tenfold the terrors that possessed

her. Aroused to a sense of the mischief he had done, the man, of his own accord, made the one

atonement in his power. 'If my master is in danger, miss,' he said, 'it's my duty to follow him, too;

and it's more than my duty to take care of YOU.' The two set forth togetherand, for once, a

superstition has had its use. It decided your niece on taking the journey; and it led the way to

"My first knowledge of the crime that you had committed," pursued Bintrey, "came to me in the form

of a letter from your niece. All you need know is that her love and her courage recovered the body

of your victim, and aided the afterefforts which brought him back to life. While he lay helpless at

Brieg, under her care, she wrote to me to come out to him. Before starting, I informed Madame Dor

that I knew Miss Obenreizer to be safe, and knew where she was. Madame Dor informed me, in

return, that a letter had come for your niece, which she knew to be in your handwriting. I took

possession of it, and arranged for the forwarding of any other letters which might follow. Arrived at

Brieg, I found Mr. Vendale out of danger, and at once devoted myself to hastening the day of

reckoning with you. Defresnier and Company turned you off on suspicion; acting on information

privately supplied by me. Having stripped you of your false character, the next thing to do was to

strip you of your authority over your niece. To reach this end, I not only had no scruple in digging

the pitfall under your feet in the darkI felt a certain professional pleasure in fighting you with your

own weapons. By my advice the truth has been carefully concealed from you up to this day. By my

advice the trap into which you have walked was set for you (you know why, now, as well as I do) in

this place. There was but one certain way of shaking the devilish selfcontrol which has hitherto

made you a formidable man. That way has been tried, and (look at me as you may) that way has

succeeded. The last thing that remains to be done," concluded Bintrey, producing two little slips of

manuscript from his despatchbox, "is to set your niece free. You have attempted murder, and you

have committed forgery and theft. We have the evidence ready against you in both cases. If you

are convicted as a felon, you know as well as I do what becomes of your authority over your niece.

Personally, I should have preferred taking that way out of it. But considerations are pressed on me

which I am not able to resist, and this interview must end, as I have told you already, in a

compromise. Sign those lines, resigning all authority over Miss Obenreizer, and pledging yourself

never to be seen in England or in Switzerland again; and I will sign an indemnity which secures you

Obenreizer took the pen in silence, and signed his niece's release. On receiving the indemnity in

return, he rose, but made no movement to leave the room. He stood looking at Maitre Voigt with a

strange smile gathering at his lips, and a strange light flashing in his filmy eyes.

Obenreizer pointed to the brown door. "Call them back," he answered. "I have something to say in

Obenreizer turned to Maitre Voigt. "Do you remember telling me that you once had an English

"I have read the letters and certificates in your client's box. I have taken copies of them. I have got

For a moment the notary looked to and fro, between Obenreizer and Bintrey, in helpless

astonishment. Recovering himself, he drew his brotherlawyer aside, and hurriedly spoke a few

words close at his ear. The face of Bintreyafter first faithfully reflecting the astonishment on the

face of Maitre Voigtsuddenly altered its expression. He sprang, with the activity of a young man,

to the door of the inner room, entered it, remained inside for a minute, and returned followed by

Marguerite and Vendale. "Now, Mr. Obenreizer," said Bintrey, "the last move in the game is yours.

"Before I resign my position as that young lady's guardian," said Obenreizer, "I have a secret to

reveal in which she is interested. In making my disclosure, I am not claiming her attention for a

narrative which she, or any other person present, is expected to take on trust. I am possessed of

written proofs, copies of originals, the authenticity of which Maitre Voigt himself can attest. Bear

that in mind, and permit me to refer you, at starting, to a date long pastthe month of February, in

"My first proof," said Obenreizer, taking a paper from his pocketbook. "Copy of a letter, written by

an English lady (married) to her sister, a widow. The name of the person writing the letter I shall

keep suppressed until I have done. The name of the person to whom the letter is written I am

willing to reveal. It is addressed to 'Mrs. Jane Anne Miller, of Groombridge Wells, England.'"

Vendale started, and opened his lips to speak. Bintrey instantly stopped him, as he had stopped

"It is needless to trouble you with the first half of the letter," he said. "I can give the substance of it

in two words. The writer's position at the time is this. She has been long living in Switzerland with

her husbandobliged to live there for the sake of her husband's health. They are about to move to

a new residence on the Lake of Neuchatel in a week, and they will be ready to receive Mrs. Miller

as visitor in a fortnight from that time. This said, the writer next enters into an important domestic

detail. She has been childless for yearsshe and her husband have now no hope of children; they

are lonely; they want an interest in life; they have decided on adopting a child. Here the important

part of the letter begins; and here, therefore, I read it to you word for word."

"* * * Will you help us, my dear sister, to realise our new project? As English people, we wish to

adopt an English child. This may be done, I believe, at the Foundling: my husband's lawyers in

London will tell you how. I leave the choice to you, with only these conditions attached to itthat

the child is to be an infant under a year old, and is to be a boy. Will you pardon the trouble I am

giving you, for my sake; and will you bring our adopted child to us, with your own children, when

"I must add a word as to my husband's wishes in this matter. He is resolved to spare the child

whom we make our own any future mortification and loss of selfrespect which might be caused by

a discovery of his true origin. He will bear my husband's name, and he will be brought up in the

belief that he is really our son. His inheritance of what we have to leave will be secured to himnot

only according to the laws of England in such cases, but according to the laws of Switzerland also;

for we have lived so long in this country, that there is a doubt whether we may not be considered as

I domiciled, in Switzerland. The one precaution left to take is to prevent any afterdiscovery at the

Foundling. Now, our name is a very uncommon one; and if we appear on the Register of the

Institution as the persons adopting the child, there is just a chance that something might result from

it. Your name, my dear, is the name of thousands of other people; and if you will consent to appear

on the Register, there need be no fear of any discoveries in that quarter. We are moving, by the

doctor's orders, to a part of Switzerland in which our circumstances are quite unknown; and you, as

I understand, are about to engage a new nurse for the journey when you come to see us. Under

these circumstances, the child may appear as my child, brought back to me under my sister's care.

The only servant we take with us from our old home is my own maid, who can be safely trusted. As

for the lawyers in England and in Switzerland, it is their profession to keep secretsand we may

feel quite easy in that direction. So there you have our harmless little conspiracy! Write by return of

"I keep the name of the writer till the last," answered Obenreizer, "and I proceed to my second

proofa mere slip of paper this time, as you see. Memorandum given to the Swiss lawyer, who

drew the documents referred to in the letter I have just read, expressed as follows: "Adopted from

the Foundling Hospital of England, 3d March, 1836, a male infant, called, in the Institution, Walter

Wilding. Person appearing on the register, as adopting the child, Mrs. Jane Anne Miller, widow,

acting in this matter for her married sister, domiciled in Switzerland.' Patience!" resumed

Obenreizer, as Vendale, breaking loose from Bintrey, started to his feet. "I shall not keep the name

concealed much longer. Two more little slips of paper, and I have done. Third proof! Certificate of

Doctor Ganz, still living in practice at Neuchatel, dated July, 1838. The doctor certifies (you shall

read it for yourselves directly), first, that he attended the adopted child in its infant maladies;

second, that, three months before the date of the certificate, the gentleman adopting the child as

his son died; third, that on the date of the certificate, his widow and her maid, taking the adopted

child with them, left Neuchatel on their return to England. One more link now added to this, and my

chain of evidence is complete. The maid remained with her mistress till her mistress's death, only a

few years since. The maid can swear to the identity of the adopted infant, from his childhood to his

youthfrom his youth to his manhood, as he is now. There is her address in Englandand there,

"Why do you address yourself to ME?" said Vendale, as Obenreizer threw the written address on

"BECAUSE YOU ARE THE MAN! If my niece marries you, she marries a bastard, brought up by

public charity. If my niece marries you, she marries an impostor, without name or lineage, disguised

"Bravo!" cried Bintrey. "Admirably put, Mr. Obenreizer! It only wants one word more to complete it.

She marriesthanks entirely to your exertionsa man who inherits a handsome fortune, and a

man whose origin will make him prouder than ever of his peasantwife. George Vendale, as

brotherexecutors, let us congratulate each other! Our dear dead friend's last wish on earth is

accomplished. We have found the lost Walter Wilding. As Mr. Obenreizer said just nowyou are

The words passed by Vendale unheeded. For the moment he was conscious of but one sensation;

he heard but one voice. Marguerite's hand was clasping his. Marguerite's voice was whispering to

Mayday. There is merrymaking in Cripple Corner, the chimneys smoke, the patriarchal

dininghall is hung with garlands, and Mrs. Goldstraw, the respected housekeeper, is very busy.

For, on this bright morning the young master of Cripple Corner is married to its young mistress, far

away: to wit, in the little town of Brieg, in Switzerland, lying at the foot of the Simplon Pass where

The bells ring gaily in the little town of Brieg, and flags are stretched across the street, and rifle

shots are heard, and sounding music from brass instruments. Streamerdecorated casks of wine

have been rolled out under a gay awning in the public way before the Inn, and there will be free

feasting and revelry. What with bells and banners, draperies hanging from windows, explosion of

gunpowder, and reverberation of brass music, the little town of Brieg is all in a flutter, like the hearts

It was a stormy night last night, and the mountains are covered with snow. But the sun is bright

today, the sweet air is fresh, the tin spires of the little town of Brieg are burnished silver, and the

The primitive people of the little town of Brieg have built a greenwood arch across the street, under

which the newly married pair shall pass in triumph from the church. It is inscribed, on that side,

enthusiasm. This greeting of the bride under her new name is affectionately meant as a surprise,

and therefore the arrangement has been made that she, unconscious why, shall be taken to the

church by a tortuous back way. A scheme not difficult to carry into execution in the crooked little

So, all things are in readiness, and they are to go and come on foot. Assembled in the Inn's best

chamber, festively adorned, are the bride and bridegroom, the Neuchatel notary, the London

lawyer, Madame Dor, and a certain large mysterious Englishman, popularly known as Monsieur

ZhoeLadelle. And behold Madame Dor, arrayed in a spotless pair of gloves of her own, with no

hand in the air, but both hands clasped round the neck of the bride; to embrace whom Madame Dor

"Forgive me, my beautiful," pleads Madame Dor, "for that I ever was his shecat!"

"Engaged to sit watching my so charming mouse," are the explanatory words of Madame Dor,

"Why, you were our best friend! George, dearest, tell Madame Dor. Was she not our best friend?"

"You are both so generous," cries Madame Dor, accepting consolation, and immediately relapsing.

"Ah! But like the cat in the fairystory, good Madame Dor," says Vendale, saluting her cheek, "you

were a true woman. And, being a true woman, the sympathy of your heart was with true love."

"I don't wish to deprive Madame Dor of her share in the embraces that are going on," Mr. Bintrey

puts in, watch in hand, "and I don't presume to offer any objection to your having got yourselves

mixed together, in the corner there, like the three Graces. I merely remark that I think it's time we

"Clear, sir," replies Joey, with a gracious grin. "I'm clearer altogether, sir, for having lived so many

weeks upon the surface. I never was half so long upon the surface afore, and it's done me a power

of good. At Cripple Corner, I was too much below it. Atop of the Simpleton, I was a deal too high

above it. I've found the medium here, sir. And if ever I take it in convivial, in all the rest of my days, I

"I, too!" says Bintrey. "And now, Monsieur Voigt, let you and me be two men of Marseilles, and

They go down to the door, where others are waiting for them, and they go quietly to the church, and

the happy marriage takes place. While the ceremony is yet in progress, the notary is called out.

When it is finished, he has returned, is standing behind Vendale, and touches him on the shoulder.

At the side door of the church, are the same two men from the Hospice. They are snowstained

and travelworn. They wish him joy, and then each lays his broad hand upon Vendale's breast, and

The man looks at his comrade, and his comrade takes him up. Each keeps his hand laid earnestly

"He had been living at the first Refuge, monsieur, for some days. The weather was now good, now

"He arrived at our Hospice the day before yesterday, and, having refreshed himself with sleep on

the floor before the fire, wrapped in his cloak, was resolute to go on, before dark, to the next

Hospice. He had a great fear of that part of the way, and thought it would be worse tomorrow."

"He went on alone. He had passed the gallery when an avalanche like that which fell behind you

"We dug him out, suffocated and broken all to pieces! But, monsieur, as to Madame. We have

brought him here on the litter, to be buried. We must ascend the street outside. Madame must not

see. It would be an accursed thing to bring the litter through the arch across the street, until

Madame has passed through. As you descend, we who accompany the litter will set it down on the

stones of the street the second to the right, and will stand before it. But do not let Madame turn her

head towards the street the second to the right. There is no time to lose. Madame will be alarmed

Vendale returns to his bride, and draws her hand through his unmainied arm. A pretty procession

awaits them at the main door of the church. They take their station in it, and descend the street

amidst the ringing of the bells, the firing of the guns, the waving of the flags, the playing of the

music, the shouts, the smiles, and tears, of the excited town. Heads are uncovered as she passes,

hands are kissed to her, all the people bless her. "Heaven's benediction on the dear girl! See where

Near the corner of the street the second to the right, he speaks to her, and calls her attention to the

windows on the opposite side. The corner well passed, he says: "Do not look round, my darling, for

a reason that I have," and turns his head. Then, looking back along the street, he sees the litter and

its bearers passing up alone under the arch, as he and she and their marriage train go down