JILL


                                 BY

                           E. A. DILLWYN


                      IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II.


                               London
                         MACMILLAN AND CO.
                                1884




              _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._




                             CONTENTS.


                             CHAPTER I.
                                                                 PAGE
A CHAPELLE MORTUAIRE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   1

                            CHAPTER II.

A NEW USE FOR A BIER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  20

                            CHAPTER III.

OFF FROM CORSICA. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  40

                            CHAPTER IV.

CAPTAIN NORROY APPEARS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  58

                             CHAPTER V.

A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  70

                            CHAPTER VI.

NOTICE TO QUIT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  85

                            CHAPTER VII.

A DOGGY PLACE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  99

                           CHAPTER VIII.

A DISCOVERY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112

                            CHAPTER IX.

THE LAST OF PERKINS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131

                             CHAPTER X.

AN ACCIDENT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152

                            CHAPTER XI.

IN HOSPITAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168

                            CHAPTER XII.

SISTER HELENA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189

                           CHAPTER XIII.

A CATASTROPHE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206

                            CHAPTER XIV.

A CHANGE OF FORTUNE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222




                             CHAPTER I.

                       A CHAPELLE MORTUAIRE.


Immediate preparations were made for our departure from the spot
where we were. A couple of coarse handkerchiefs were tied across the
lower part of our faces, so as to stifle our voices if we should
uplift them on the remote chance of any one being in hearing who
would assist us. Next our feet were untied to enable us to walk. We
were warned that if we attempted to escape or to call out, we should
be instantly stabbed. And in order to convince us that this was no
empty threat, a wicked-looking, dagger-like article, known in Corsica
as a vendetta-knife, was dashed before our eyes, and we were shown
that each of our captors had one of these knives stowed away in a
little inside coat-pocket, where it was ready to hand at a moment's
notice.

Then we moved off in single file. Napoleon went in front, with Kitty
close at his heels; I came third, and César brought up the rear.

The robbers naturally selected to travel through the _maquis_ rather
than along the open road; and we two captives, whose hands were
bound, sorely missed the assistance of those members to push aside
the numerous boughs and twigs by which our progress was impeded. Now
and then the man in front stopped to hold back obstacles in some very
thick place, where we should otherwise have probably altogether stuck
fast; but such an attention was exceptional, and, as a rule, we were
left to make our way unaided as best we could, regardless of the
scratches and bruises which we continually received, and whereby the
discomfort and fatigue of the journey was greatly increased. Napoleon
led us first down to the mouth of the valley; then branched off in a
direction away from that which the carriage and Mrs. Rollin would
take; then climbed a steep hill, and proceeded along the ridge of it
for some distance; then descended abruptly into another valley, and
we were kept trudging over hill and dale alternately in this way
during the whole afternoon. Many of the places we passed were such as
might have roused a lover of fine scenery to enthusiasm; but neither
Kitty nor I were in a humour to appreciate that sort of thing just
then, and the beauties of the landscape were quite wasted upon us, as
we toiled wearily along obscure and seldom-used tracks, through
desolate wild districts, without ever once approaching a human
dwelling.

My having made the men believe that neither of us understood Italian
caused them to converse together in that language as unreservedly as
if they had been alone, and, thanks to this, I was able to discover
what were their intentions for disposing of us for the present. I
learnt that we were being taken to a cave up in the hills, which had
been their headquarters since their escape from prison. Here we were
to be left under care of one of the robbers, whilst the other
descended to the lower lands to seek out Mrs. Rollin, and open
negotiations with her on the important subject of the ransom.

This cave of theirs, wherever it might be, was evidently an
unpleasantly long way off from the scene of our capture. On and on we
went without ever pausing for a moment; and I grew so tired that I
could hardly drag myself along, and began to speculate on the chances
of having to be carried before the appointed resting-place would be
reached. A slackening of speed or a halt would have been a most
welcome relief to me; but of that there was no hope, as our progress
was already too slow to satisfy the robbers, who kept constantly
urging us to hurry on faster, lest we should all be benighted on the
way. As daylight diminished, so did their impatience increase, and
many were the angry oaths they uttered at the distance still to be
traversed before attaining the cave.

Suddenly Napoleon stood still, and looked back at his comrade
joyfully. "César," cried he, "I have a good idea! At the rate we go
now, we shall not get home till midnight; whereas if you and I were
alone, and not hampered by these women, we should arrive in half the
time. Is not that so?"

"Obviously," grumbled César; "but what's the use of stopping to tell
me what I know already?"

"Why this," returned the other; "that I propose we should disembarrass
ourselves of them at once."

"Stupid!" rejoined César, irritably; "don't you see that the only
way of doing that is to kill them, or else to let them go; and that
in either of those cases we should be throwing away all chance of
deriving further gain from them?"

"Ah, but I have thought of another method of getting rid of them,"
answered Napoleon--"a method which will enable us to keep them alive,
and in our power too. I did a good deal of business in this part of
the country formerly, and learnt to know it well; thus I came to know
of a place near here, which I have only just recollected, and which
will be most convenient to us at this moment. It is not exactly such
a place as I would myself care to stay at, but it will do admirably
for shutting up these two women in, and when we have disposed of them
there, you and I can travel home as fast as we please. A famous safe
prison it is, where there will be no need for one of us to stay and
keep guard over them, as there would be if they were housed in the
cave. Thus we shall be free to go together and see about the business
with the ransom--which will, of course, be a great advantage, since
two heads are better than one, you know."

César seemed still incredulous. "I believe you are talking nonsense,"
said he; "I cannot think of any possible prison about here to answer
to your description."

"Nonsense, indeed!" retorted his companion; "no, in truth! A short
distance from here, on the side of a hill, far from any inhabited
house or public road, I remember that there is an old mortuary
chapel. Years ago the family to whom it belonged left their
country-house and went to live in Ajaccio, and since then it has
never been used. This is the place in which I propose to imprison our
captives. There will be no chance of their being heard, however much
noise they may make; for the walls are thick, and there is nothing to
bring any one into the vicinity. And as they will certainly not be
able to get out unaided, we shall have no need to trouble ourselves
more about them, except to supply them with food."

"A deserted mortuary chapel!" said César, reflectively; "'tis a good
idea, no doubt. Only--it is getting late; and--well, to say the
truth, I am not at any time over-fond of the company of the dead, and
like it least of all by night. Still--it would be very convenient to
do what you propose--the light is not gone yet--the chapel is close
by, you say. Yes! there will be time to shut up the women, and remove
ourselves to a pleasanter neighbourhood before dark. Go on, then, and
let us get the job over as soon as possible."

Our course was resumed accordingly. The thought of the grim kind
of hotel that Napoleon had found for us reminded me forcibly of
Schubert's song _Das Wirthshaus_, and I seemed to hear its wild
plaintive melody sounding in my ears as we hurried over the broken
ground through the fast-increasing dusk. Horrible as was the idea of
being immured alive in a tomb, yet I shrank from it less then than I
should have done ordinarily. And for these two reasons: First,
because the long march had reduced me to such a state of exhaustion
that the prospect of rest was welcome anywhere--even in a _chapelle
mortuaire_. Secondly, because it seemed safer and in every way
preferable to be with the dead than with the two ruffians who had us
in their power, and whom I regarded with the most profound distrust.

The chapel being near at hand, we reached it while there was still
sufficient light to show something of the exterior of our prison.

We came first to a high wall, with no other opening in it than an
iron gate, which was wide enough to admit a carriage. The bolt by
which the gate was fastened was forced back without difficulty, and
then a short straight bit of road brought us to the door of the
chapel itself. This door was situated exactly opposite to the gate in
the outer wall, and was secured by a great iron bar across the
outside, and also by a chain and rusty padlock. With the help of a
stone the men easily broke open the padlock, and then they lifted
the ponderous external bar off its supports. There was now no
further obstacle to opening the door before which we stood, but
our captors--being not insensible to superstitious fears--did not
wish to keep the entrance to the charnel-house open longer than was
absolutely necessary, and therefore postponed unclosing it till the
last moment.

They set our hands at liberty, and delivered to us such provisions as
they had with them--consisting of a morsel of sausage, a slice of
rye-bread, a good-sized piece of extremely strong-smelling cheese,
a couple of onions and apples, and a gourd half-full of wine.
Having thus provided us against famine, César made us a profound
bow of mocking deference, and said in French: "Adieu for the
present, ladies. You see our desire to treat you with distinguished
consideration induces us to place you here, with a good roof and
strong walls to shelter you, rather than to take you to the rough
cave which serves _us_ for a habitation. We do not intend remaining
to share this splendid dwelling with you, lest we should intrude on
your privacy; therefore we shall now, however unwillingly, tear
ourselves away, but first thing to-morrow morning we will return with
a supply of food, before departing to seek out and communicate with
the other lady." Then, addressing himself to his comrade, he said:
"Look sharp, Napoleon; open a bit of the door, and in with them!"

The door, which only opened outwards, was pulled just far enough
apart to admit a human body. The men, without adventuring their own
persons an inch within the building, thrust Kitty and me roughly in,
and at once closed the entrance behind us again. Then came a
scraping, grating noise, which told that the great iron bar was
being replaced on its supports outside, and immediately afterwards we
heard the steps of César and Napoleon hurrying away at full speed
from the uncanny neighbourhood of the tomb to which they had
consigned us.

At first we stood without moving from the spot to which we had been
pushed, just inside the door, waiting to see if we should be able to
distinguish anything when our eyes had become accustomed to the
darkness; for the interior of the building was perfectly dark.
Meanwhile we profited by the liberty that had been restored to our
hands to remove the handkerchiefs across our mouths, which had
hitherto prevented us from speaking.

Kitty's knowledge of Italian being limited, she had not comprehended
what the men had been saying to one another; consequently she did not
now know the nature of our abode, as I discovered from the first
words she uttered when her mouth was free of its gag:

"I wonder what sort of place this is," she said; "don't you? It's a
bore to have no light; however, I'm going on a bit further, to
explore without it, as we can't possibly have it."

I laid my hand upon her arm, and checked her as she was about to
advance.

"You had better be careful how you move," I said; "we are shut up in
a _chapelle mortuaire_."

"A _chapelle mortuaire_" she echoed, interrogatively; "let me
see--what is that? Oh I remember! Wasn't that the name of those
buildings which you told me you had seen near Ajaccio, and which you
called 'villa residences for the dead?'"

"Yes," I replied, doing my best to speak unconcernedly and carelessly,
and to conceal from her the feeling of disgust and aversion with
which the place inspired me, and which was growing stronger every
moment; "rather an appropriate place for me too, I think, seeing that
I'm nearly dead with fatigue. I haven't the least wish to move about,
and intend to sit down just where I am now. The door will make a
capital back to lean against."

I was not sure but what the knowledge of where she was might
perhaps prove a shock to Kitty's nerves. But there was no trace of
discomposure to be detected in her voice or manner as she answered
me. "So it will," she said, "and I vote that we have dinner at once.
Those wretches never offered us any five o'clock tea; and what with
that and the long walk, I'm quite ravenous! You've no idea what a
relief to my mind it was to find that they didn't intend to leave us
all night without food."

Of course we both wanted to seem as happy and as much at our ease as
possible, in order thus to help to keep up each other's spirits. I,
however, was not very successful in the effort; for though I was
perfectly free from any dread of the supernatural, yet there were
material horrors attached to the position which I could not forget. I
thought of the sights that would be revealed if there were light; of
the grinning skulls, mouldering bodies, crumbling coffins, and
ghastly relics of mortality, which might be expected in a tomb; and I
remembered that these things must be so close to me that I might
perhaps at any moment strike my hand against them. There was a
gruesomeness and eeriness about the place, to which my state of
bodily exhaustion rendered me unwontedly susceptible, and I felt more
nervous and creepy than I had ever done in my life before.

"I don't think that I _can_ eat in this terrible place," I said, with
an involuntary shiver, in response to Kitty's suggestion of dinner.

Whether or not she was at all inclined to be affected by our dismal
surroundings, as I was, I do not know; at all events she did not show
it, and redoubled her efforts to raise my spirits when she perceived
how much disposed I was to break down.

"Oh yes--you'll not think of where you are in a few minutes more,
when you've got used to it," she returned, seating herself beside me,
and proceeding to distribute the food. "What a funny idea to have a
picnic in the dark--quite novel, too; I daresay no one ever did it
before. Where is the bread? Oh you've got it. As for the cheese,
there's no need to ask where _that_ is, because one's nose may safely
be trusted to supply the requisite information. I must say a knife
would be rather handy; but I'm afraid we must do the best we can
without, for I left my pocket-knife where I was sketching, and
Messieurs César and Napoleon have omitted to provide for our wants in
that respect. How lucky that my aunt is not with us, and obliged to
dine in this primitive fashion, without any proper appurtenances! If
she were, I verily believe she'd be unhappy lest any acquaintance
should behold her in the act of committing such an enormity--even
though the fact of the spectator would involve light to see by, and a
chance of assistance; both of which _I_ should consider to be most
desirable things at this moment."

Thus she ran on, joking, laughing, making light of every discomfort,
and chatting to me as if she had thought me her equal, as if the tomb
had been a leveller of ranks to the living as well as to the dead,
and as if in entering it all social differences between her and me
had been annihilated. She could have devised nothing better adapted
to accomplish her object, and help me to shake off the gloomy
influences that oppressed me. Her example of bright good humour and
courage was irresistible, and before our unilluminated repast had
progressed far I became myself again, and eager to show a spirit as
brave as her own. To this desirable result, too, the creature
comforts of which I partook tended not a little to contribute.
Though the victuals were hardly to be called choice, and the wine had
acquired a nasty flavour from the gourd in which it was contained,
nevertheless they revived me as well as the most sumptuous cates
could have done; and when dinner was at an end I was a different
creature from what I had been before. Kitty made no comment on the
change in me, but I have little doubt that she perceived it, all the
same, as she now, for the first time, turned the conversation
seriously to the predicament in which we found ourselves.

"It seems to me, Jill," she said, "that you and I are having
to do penance, with a vengeance, for our disbelief in escaped
_penitenciers_! We must give our minds now to what we are to do next;
but before entering on that subject I want to tell you how _very_
sorry I am to have been the means of bringing you into this scrape.
I can't help feeling that it is all my doing, and that if I had not
gone on to sketch, or had not taken you with me, you, at all events,
would be in safety at this moment."

Proud as she might be, pride had not yet taken enough hold of her to
crush the naturally generous disposition which was more distressed at
being the cause of another person's sufferings than at having to
suffer itself. I was touched at the thoughtfulness on my account
evinced by her last speech; and as I did not wish her to blame
herself unfairly, I assured her that I had accompanied her quite as
much for my own pleasure as hers. And in order to prove that we
should not in any case have got off scot-free, I repeated to her the
conversation I had overheard before we were captured, from which it
appeared that the carriage would have been attacked if she and I had
not separated from it and walked on alone.

"Thank you," she said, when I had completed my tale. "I can't tell
you what a comfort it is to me to know all that, and to think that I
am not the sole cause of this bother! And now to consider our next
proceedings. The two things chiefly borne in upon my mind at this
moment are--first, that it's no use blinking the fact of our being in
an extremely awkward position; and second, that it won't do to be
afraid, because fear, as Solomon says, 'is nothing else but a
betraying of the succours which reason offereth.'"

This was no doubt true. But, unluckily, no amount of calmness and
courage would show us any reasonable prospect of escape--look at the
situation in what way we would.

It was no use to hope that our friends would rescue us, since it was
manifestly impossible for them to have an idea where we were. When
Mrs. Rollin continued her journey from the place where we had left
her, she would, we knew, have reckoned on my remaining on the road,
whether Kitty did or not. Consequently she would have gone on driving
contentedly towards St. Lucie di Tallano without the least fear of
leaving us behind; and there was no saying how long it might have
been before either she or the driver became uneasy at not overtaking
us. Then, when they _did_ take alarm--as they must have done, sooner
or later--there was nothing to make them suspect what had really
happened. They would probably suppose we had simultaneously expired,
tumbled over cliffs, sprained our ankles, or fallen victims to some
other likely or unlikely catastrophe; and then they would have begun
hunting about vaguely for us, without the slightest clue to where we
were. Thus it was in vain to trust to external aid reaching us, and
the question was, Could we anyhow manage to escape by our own
unassisted exertions? Alas! the prospect was no better in that
direction either. The door through which we had entered was the only
outlet apparent, and that was, as we knew, fastened on the outside
by a great heavy bar, which rendered exit in that way impossible.
Shouting was of no avail, because the place was so solitary that we
might have screamed till we were hoarse without a chance of producing
any other effect.

Altogether, therefore, we saw no possible means of getting away from
our prison, and came reluctantly to the conclusion that we had no
alternative but to resign ourselves to stay where we were, and await
the course of events patiently. This was by no means a satisfactory
termination of our deliberations, and, having arrived at it, we sat
in melancholy silence for a minute. The silence was broken by Kitty
who said cheerily: "I'm sure we shall both be the better for some
rest, so let us lie down and go to sleep."

"Lie down!" repeated I; "surely that won't be safe, will it? It's too
dark to see, and there might be--well--things that one wouldn't care
to touch, knocking about in a place of this kind, you know. I should
think we'd best try and go to sleep without changing our present
position."

"No; we shouldn't rest nearly as well sitting upright, as we should
lying down," answered Kitty; "and it won't do for us to play tricks
with our strength in any way, or to risk losing an atom of it that is
to be had. Very likely there may be nothing disagreeable up the
middle of the floor, or, at all events, nothing that we cannot easily
clear away. Let us stoop down and feel our way straight before us
till we have a space to lie down in."

There seemed a tacit agreement between us that the ghastly objects
by which we knew we must surely be surrounded were not to be defined
in words, but to be kept strictly to ourselves, lest the imagination
of one should supply some additional detail which had not occurred
to that of the other, by which means the horrors of the situation
might have been considerably increased. I am sure this was a wise
precaution. As it was, I know I found my imagination vivid enough to
picture a good deal more than was at all agreeable to think of; and
it would, no doubt, have been still more troublesome if supplemented
by that of Kitty also.

I did not by any means relish her proposal that we should clear
sufficient space to lie down on; for I could not help shuddering at
the thought of the things one might expect to come in contact with
when groping about without light in a _chapelle mortuaire_. Still, I
was not going to have her despise me as a fool or a coward, so I made
no objection, and set to work heroically to perform my share of the
unpleasant task.

The only suspicious thing which I met with in the course of my
explorations was some small-sized object, whose substance was cold
and clammy, and whose identity I could not at all determine by touch.
An exclamation of disgust rose to my lips when my fingers came
against this unknown horror; but I managed to restrain any outward
manifestation of emotion, and merely pushed the obstruction aside
quietly, without letting Kitty know that I had found anything
unpleasant.

As I made this effort to spare her feelings, I was struck by the
quaint probability of her being at the same instant engaged in a
similar endeavour to spare mine, and I realised that the common
danger to which we were exposed was a link which united us so firmly
that our separate identities were, for the time being, well-nigh
merged into one. Whatever affected the condition of one of us must
necessarily affect that of the other also; whence it followed that
the bodily and mental welfare of both was a matter of mutually vital
consequence, and that each was as anxious to shield the other as
herself from any annoyance or shock that could possibly be avoided.
Truly a queer sort of selfish unselfishness!

It did not take us long to make sure that we had room to lie down
without fear of coming against any repulsive relics of mortality;
then we extended ourselves upon the ground, pressing closely together
for warmth, as the night was cold. Hard and rough as was the couch,
and perilous as was our situation, we were too tired to be kept
waking by either discomfort or anxiety, and were speedily asleep.




                            CHAPTER II.

                       A NEW USE FOR A BIER.


As I had no means of knowing the time, I cannot say exactly how long
my slumbers lasted, but, as near as I can guess, it must have been
about a couple of hours before I awoke. On opening my eyes I saw,
with much surprise, that the moon had found its way into the tomb, as
there was a patch of yellow light shining upon the opposite wall, and
relieving the profound obscurity that reigned elsewhere. This was a
most cheering and hope-inspiring spectacle; for, as the door was
still closed as before, the moonlight certainly could not be entering
in that way; and the obvious deduction was, that the chapel walls
must have some second opening which we had not yet discovered.
Whatever it was, might we not escape through it?

I aroused the still sleeping Kitty to point out to her the pleasant
sight, and we got upon our feet to examine into the matter more
nearly. The light was evidently admitted through some aperture
situated in the gable of the roof just above the doorway, and the
shadows by which the patch of light was traversed proved that the
aperture was defended by bars. What the object of the opening may
have been I know not,--perhaps ornament, perhaps ventilation, perhaps
some whim of the architect's. Anyhow, there it was; and though
darkness had prevented our seeing it on our first arrival at the
chapel, yet now the friendly moon had come to our assistance, and was
indicating it as a possible means of regaining liberty. Never in my
life had I felt such a sincere admiration for the moon, and such a
conviction of its utility to the world, as I did then.

We were at that time standing where we had lain down, close to the
door, and the aperture was too immediately over our heads for us to
see it very well, so we advanced cautiously a few steps farther
towards the middle of the floor, in order to obtain a better view. On
looking up from this new point of observation, we saw that though the
hole was small, it nevertheless appeared to be large enough for an
ordinary sized person to be able to squeeze through, provided the
bars were out of the way. This was encouraging. But it remained to be
proved, first, whether we could get up so high without having any
ladder or other means of raising ourselves; and secondly, whether,
if we surmounted that difficulty, we should be able to remove the
obstructing bars without having tools to assist us.

It was very certain that the window was too high up for us to get at
it from the ground, since it was above the door, and I, who was
taller than Kitty, could only just touch the top of the door with my
finger-tips when I stretched out my arm to its fullest extent. How
on earth, then, were we to elevate ourselves to the height of the
window? The first suggestion was, that if one of us was lifted up,
perhaps she might be able to reach the desired niche, and we at once
put the idea into execution. I, being the strongest and heaviest of
the two, was naturally appointed to be the lifter; so I took hold of
Kitty round the knees, and raised her up as far as I could. My utmost
efforts, however, failed to get her to the required height, and I had
to set her down again without having advanced an atom towards the
accomplishment of our purpose.

"I'm sure I wasn't far short of touching the ledge of the window,"
she said, whilst I stood panting after my exertions; "if only I could
get hold of that, and you were to help me by shoving, I expect I
could pull myself right up, and manage to hitch on somehow to examine
the bars. What we want is some kind of elevation for you to stand on
when you lift me. Do try and invent some hoisting contrivance or
other; it would be too provoking not to get up to the window now
we've found it."

For a while we racked our brains vainly without discovering any
solution of the problem. At last an idea flashed across my mind.
No!--I would not mention such a thing--it was too horrible. Yet what
I had thought of was a method whereby we might perhaps supply such an
elevation as we wanted. And the unpleasantness of that method was no
sufficient reason for being silent about it, when the urgent peril in
which we were made it absurd to allow mere sentimental considerations
to stand in the way of any possible chance of escape. Therefore I
conquered my repugnance for the idea that had occurred to me, and
said: "There must be coffins in this place. Very likely they are all
more or less fallen to pieces, for Napoleon said that it had not been
used for a long time; but yet some of the wood may still be sound,
and perhaps if we grope about we may be able to collect enough boards
to make a stage that would serve our purpose."

Kitty did not answer immediately. I daresay that she recoiled from
the idea at first, as I had done. But if so, no doubt second thoughts
showed her, as they had me, the imperative necessity of regarding
matters from an exclusively practical, stern, and unimaginative point
of view, and of absolutely ignoring any fanciful objections to
whatever promised to aid our flight. She replied, after a short
pause:

"Well, it is not a very attractive plan, certainly; but as there
doesn't seem to be any other, I suppose we had better try it, and
endeavour to forget its unpleasantness by looking forward to the
delights of liberty if it succeeds. So now let's go to work. It's a
pity neither of us was ever inside a _chapelle mortuaire_ before,
isn't it? because then we should have some notion of how such places
are generally arranged, which would be a great assistance to us just
now in this pitchy darkness. As it is, however, I suppose we must
imagine what the plan of the interior is _likely_ to be like, and
then proceed according to that idea. If I were an undertaker I think
I should first deposit the coffins in a row along the wall, then pile
them up, two or three deep perhaps, and only take up the middle of
the floor when the sides were all occupied. Therefore I recommend our
exploring the sides first, as likely to afford the largest supply of
wood. Do you go to the right, whilst I take the left--unless you have
anything better to suggest?"

I had not; so we separated, and went off to the right and left
respectively, as she wished. But I had hardly got a yard away from
the door when she exclaimed, "Come here, Jill; I want you!"

"Yes; what is it?" inquired I, as I crossed over to her.

"I've found something that seems to me promising," she replied
eagerly. "I struck my hand against it directly I had got beyond the
doorway. What it is I don't know; but it's pretty big anyhow, and
it's not part of a coffin, and it's made of wood. I want you to help
me feel it over, and see if we can make it out."

We began carefully investigating the unknown object with our fingers,
and endeavouring to recognise by touch its shape and construction.
For a while it puzzled us; then suddenly Kitty had an idea and said:

"Do you think it's a bier? I never handled one before, but I daresay
it would feel something like this does. And it's not unlikely that it
might have been left here and forgotten after the last funeral, is
it?"

"No; that's it, depend upon it!" cried I; "and it's a grand
discovery, for a bier will help to raise us capitally, if only it's
not got rotten, lying here so long."

To ascertain its condition was our first anxiety. Accordingly we took
hold of the handles, lifted it off the ground, and gave it a smart
shake, though not without considerable misgivings lest it should come
to pieces in our hands. Fortunately it stood the test tolerably well,
and did not break down. At the same time, however, it quivered and
cracked in a way that did not give the impression of its being in
very first-rate order; and we decided that it would be imprudent to
expose it to the trial of bearing both of us simultaneously. If it
would support one at a time, we would make no further demands upon
its powers of endurance; and consequently we must utilise it in some
other way than by my standing on it and lifting Kitty up to the
window, as was our first idea.

Instead of that we raised it lengthwise, and placed it so that the
handles at one end rested on the ground, whilst those at the other
were against the door. When thus erected the upper part of the body
of the bier was, of course, a good deal elevated, and made a foothold
whence the window could easily be attained. To mount to this foothold
was now our intention; and Kitty, being the lightest, was selected to
ascend first. The only question was, How was she to get her foot to
the top of the bier, which was too high up for any legs of ordinary
length to step up to from the ground. But this obstacle was quickly
smoothed away by my stooping down and converting myself into a
stepping-stone. Mounted on me, and steadying herself against the
door, she put one foot cautiously on the edge of the bier, and began
to press upon it. The heavier she leant on it, the more ominously did
it crack and tremble; still it did not give way, even when she at
last stood upon it altogether, and it had to bear the whole of her
weight. Hurrah! now we should know what the window looked like at
close quarters; and whether the bars were wooden or iron, loose or
tight, removable or not.

Kitty's report was satisfactory. She said that the window had a ledge
on the inside which was broad and deep enough for a person to sit on
by crouching a good deal, and that the bars were only wooden.

"Are they breakable?" I asked anxiously.

"Don't know yet," she returned; "I shall be able to tell better if I
get right up on the ledge. They don't _feel_ very solid; but I'm
afraid of trying them from here. You see I'm not very confident of
the stability of my present foothold, and don't care to indulge in
violent exertions till I get to a safer situation. Wrestling with the
bars where I am now _might_ lead to an upset. If you'll help me by
pushing below, I will draw myself up on to the ledge."

By dint of our united efforts, the further ascent was accomplished
successfully. The ledge did not afford a very comfortable resting-place,
as she had to sit bent nearly double, with her feet hanging down
against the wall. But the position, though cramped and inconvenient,
was secure, and was a firm point of vantage from which to attack the
bars. She took hold of one, and shook it. Being completely rotted
through, it came in two in her hand at once. The next offered a more
obstinate resistance; in this also, however, as well as in the
others, decay had begun, and had gone too far for the wood to
withstand her vigorous jerks, pushes, pulls, shakes, and blows.
Therefore it was not very long before she announced triumphantly that
there was now nothing to hinder our egress through the window, which
was, as we had thought, big enough for us to pass through.

"There's one thing I don't quite see, though," she said, after poking
out her head and reconnoitring the exterior; "that is, how we're to
get down on the other side. It looks to me rather far for a drop. I
should say it would be a toss up whether we did it safely, or whether
we broke our legs. Of course we must risk it if there's nothing else
to be done; but if there _is_ any other way of descending--why, I
think it would be better."

"Is there room for us both to be on the ledge at the same time?" I
inquired, after a moment's reflection; "because if I were up there by
you, I might break the fall considerably by reaching down and holding
you up when you drop. And then when you are down, you may be able to
find some way of breaking the fall for me. Even if not, it would not
matter so much for me. I think I could drop the distance without
hurting myself; for when I was a child I used to do a deal of jumping
and climbing, and was always good at falling light."

"Well--we might try that, at all events," she answered, "if the
ledge is large enough to hold us both at the same time. I'm doubtful
whether it is--but we can soon see. Wait a moment and I'll make more
room by turning round, and sitting with my feet out instead of in.
There--now they're out of the way. Come and stand on the top of the
bier, and see if you can stow yourself away up here by my side."

It now for the first time struck us that it was by no means sure
whether I should be able to get to the top of the bier without having
any one to assist me from below as I had assisted Kitty. Yet if I
failed to reach that point, I must give up the idea of reaching the
window; and as that was equivalent to resigning my hopes of liberty,
it was evidently of the utmost importance that I should accomplish
the ascent.

Kitty was the first to suggest a way out of the difficulty.

"Can you alter the position of the bier," said she, "so as to make it
slant, instead of standing almost upright as it does now? Because
then you might manage to creep up it."

"I've no doubt I can, only I hadn't thought of it," replied I,
proceeding to drag the two lower handles away from the door, till the
steepness of the incline was much less than before. Then I grasped
the upper edge of the bier, and tried, partly by pulling and partly
by crawling, to bring my feet up to where my hands were. Alas! the
woodwork that was firm enough to support Kitty, standing upon it
quietly, had not strength to bear a person of my greater weight,
scrambling up it as I was doing. Collapsing altogether, it brought me
violently to the ground with a crash which alarmed Kitty, who, on
her perch overhead, half in and half out, could not see what was
happening in the darkness beneath.

"Oh, Jill!" she exclaimed, "what is it? Are you hurt?"

"No," I answered, feeling ready to cry with vexation, as I rose, and
cleared away the _débris_ of broken wood with which I was covered. "I
wasn't far enough off the ground for that. But the old bier has
smashed all to pieces; and however I'm to get up to the window now,
I'm _sure_ I don't know!"

"Are you certain," she returned, "that there isn't any sound corner
still holding together, which would do for you to stick up, and stand
on? It's worth while for you to feel about on chance of such a thing,
at all events."

This was true; and I explored carefully amongst the splintered
fragments in hopes of discovering some solid bit. But my efforts were
in vain.

"It's no use," said I, ruefully; "the thing is gone to pieces
completely."

Neither of us spoke for a while after this. First I exhausted my
ingenuity in vain endeavours to discover some means of raising
myself to the window. Then, when I made up my mind that I was doomed
to remain a captive, I began to reflect enviously on the superior
good fortune of Kitty. The only thing between her and freedom was the
trivial difficulty of getting down safely on the other side. Once
that was overcome, she would be off, and leave me by myself in this
abominable place. I did not at all like the idea of her going. For
one thing, I preferred having a companion in misfortune to being
solitary. And for another thing, her absence would greatly aggravate
my danger, as the _penitenciers_ would be sure to be rendered furious
by her having given them the slip, and would vent their wrath upon
me. Of course, if she were to fall in with efficient succour, and
return before they did, it would be a different matter. But then the
chance of that seemed too remote to be worth reckoning on; and I
thought it was decidedly more to my interest that she should stay
with me than that she should regain her liberty alone.

Why did she sit up there silently without saying anything about her
departure? I wondered. Ah! probably she hadn't yet discovered a
satisfactory method of managing the descent outside, which she seemed
to think difficult. _I_ could tell her how it was to be done, if I
chose--but then I wasn't going to chose anything of the kind. If her
own wits couldn't show her how to profit by her advantages, then let
her stay where she was, and keep me company!

These were the thoughts that first crossed my mind, when I recognised
the melancholy fact that I had no chance of escape. Yet, somehow or
other, I did not eventually hold my tongue, as I had intended to do,
about the means by which her descent might be accomplished. What
induced me to change my mind about it I don't exactly know. Perhaps
the fancy that I had for her may have been stronger than I realised,
and have made it impossible for me to refrain from doing whatever I
could to get her out of the power of two such ruffians as César and
Napoleon. Or perhaps I may have been influenced by the obvious
unreasonableness of allowing two people to be exposed to a danger
from which one of them might escape. Anyhow, the upshot of it was
that I said--though not without an effort:

"I've thought of a way for you to get down from the window without
damaging yourself. We'll tie our dresses, jackets--petticoats too, if
need be--into a rope which must be long enough to go through the
window and dangle down outside, whilst I keep hold of one end in
here. The outside end must have a loop for you to put your feet in;
and with the help of that, I'm pretty sure we can make the drop safe.
Then, if you should be lucky about falling in with respectable people
soon, perhaps you may be able to come back and get me away before the
_penitenciers_ reappear in the morning."

As I believed her to be only staying there because she did not know
how to get away, I took it for granted that she would be delighted at
my suggestion, and be in a desperate hurry to avail herself of it.
Instead of that, however, she only said coolly:

"Thank you, Jill; but I think it's perfectly impossible that I should
find help and return in time to rescue you, so I don't at all
contemplate going off alone, and leaving you to face the indignation
of César and Napoleon at my departure. Goodness knows what they
wouldn't do to you! No; I was the means of getting you into this
scrape, and I don't seem to see leaving you to shift for yourself
now. If there's no alternative between deserting you or taking up my
abode again inside the chapel--why, I prefer the latter. But it's too
soon to despair yet. Having got _one_ of us up here is something; and
it won't do to abandon that advantage until we're quite positive that
we can't turn it to account. There's your first plan of trying to get
enough wood to make a platform--why not take to that again?"

"For two reasons," said I, with a thrill of indescribable happiness
and comfort at finding that she was too staunch and plucky for there
to be a chance of her deserting me. "In the first place there isn't
time, because I should only get on at half the pace by myself that we
should have done working together. And besides that, I think that the
rottenness of the bier and bars is a conclusive proof that there
isn't likely to be any sound wood discoverable here."

"True," she returned. Immediately afterwards she added, exultingly,
"What idiots we are! As the men hadn't a key, they can't possibly
have locked us in, and there can't be any fastening except the bar
across the outside of the door. We never thought of that! As soon as
I get down and take away the bar, you can march out without trouble.
Off with your dress, and let's make that rope you talked of to let me
down with!"

It seems extraordinary that neither of us had remembered this simple
solution of the difficulty sooner; yet so it was. Now that it had at
last occurred to us, however, we lost no time in going to work. Our
garments were instantly put into requisition, and twisted and knotted
into as good an imitation of a rope as we could construct out of such
materials. The end which had a loop to it was hung out of the window,
whilst I retained the other end in my hands, and Kitty, placing her
feet in the loop, began to lower herself gently.

As long as she could keep hold of the window her weight was thrown
partly on her hands; thus I had not the whole of it to support until
during the last few seconds, when, taking her feet out of the loop,
letting go of the window, and clinging only to the rope, she
descended as near as she could to the ground. I held on to the rope
with might and main, till the tension relaxed with a sudden jerk that
threw me down, and informed me that she had regained _terra firma_.

"Sprained ankle, broken bones, or anything of that kind?" I asked,
anxiously.

"No, not hurt a bit," was the welcome response. "I'll get the door
open as quickly as I can; will you begin undoing the rope meanwhile?"

"All right!" I returned, commencing to restore it to its normal
condition of clothes as fast as I could in the dark. As I worked I
listened hopefully to the scratching and fumbling that went on
outside, and expected every moment to hear the downfall of the bar.
But the minutes passed on, and still the looked-for sound did not
come. I could not understand what could be causing so much delay
about so simple a matter as removing a bar from across a door, and I
began to grow feverishly nervous lest any unforeseen obstacle should
even now intervene, and deprive me of the freedom I had begun to
anticipate confidently. My alarm was not unfounded, for, to my
dismay, she called out:

"This bar is so dreadfully heavy that I can't raise it. I can only
move one end at a time, and lift it up a very small way above the
support it stands on; but not high enough for what I want."

Then it was all over with me, and I was fated to stay there alone to
be cut to pieces, or murdered in any way that might seem good to
those two ruffians! And when I had thought, too, that I was so sure
of getting away! The bitterness of the disappointment seemed to choke
me for a minute, so that I could not speak. However, when I could
control my voice, I shouted to her:

"There's no help for it! You can't get back inside again now, even if
you wish to. So you've no choice about going away. Goodbye!"

"I'm not at an end of my resources yet," she replied. "I've thought
of something fresh. I'm going away for a few minutes, but I shall be
back directly."

The sound of her steps gave me notice of her departure from and
return to the chapel. Then ensued much scraping, scratching, and
other noises, to which I listened with intense anxiety, longing to
know what she was about, yet fearing to ask, lest, if I interrupted
her with questions, I might perhaps hinder my deliverance.

Her operations meanwhile, as I afterwards learnt, were as
follows:--First, she went to fetch a supply of stones of various
sizes. Returning with these, she put her shoulder underneath one end
of the bar, and exerting all her strength, raised it as high as she
could above the broad projecting piece of iron on which it rested.
Then, before removing her shoulder, she inserted between the iron
support and the bar enough stones to maintain the latter at the place
to which she had raised it. This performance many times repeated, at
last elevated that end so far above the other that the bar was all
slanting, and only needed one vigorous push to set it in motion,
sliding downwards across the iron projection on which the opposite
end was supported. Moving slowly at first, the massive bar went
faster and faster every instant as its own weight gave it additional
impetus, till it dashed on to the ground with a resounding clang that
seemed to me the sweetest music that ever gladdened the ears of
mortal man or woman. I immediately pushed against the door. It
yielded slowly, and next minute I was emancipated from that horrible
_chapelle mortuaire_, and standing beside Kitty, free in the open air
once more.

To describe the rapture of that moment is beyond my powers. If any
one wants to know true bliss for once in their lives, I recommend
them to go through a similar experience. Only they must take into
account the possibility of _not_ escaping after all; which is
evidently a serious drawback, since a failure in that respect would
be quite fatal to the object of the experiment.




                            CHAPTER III.

                         OFF FROM CORSICA.


We had no means of knowing how far advanced the night might be, but
we knew that our enemies intended to return early in the morning; we
saw that the moon was waning, and we naturally wished to get away
from the vicinity of the _chapelle mortuaire_ with all possible
expedition. Having been obliged to partially undress ourselves in
order to find materials for the rope, we began hastily resuming such
articles of attire as had been taken off; whilst thus engaged Kitty
said:

"It seems to me rather a chance that we don't run straight into the
arms of those two villains when we leave this place. I don't the
least know which way to go; for, except that we're in Corsica, I have
uncommonly little notion of where we are. Have you?"

"Well, only this much," I replied; "in coming here we travelled a
good deal more uphill than down, so I expect we must be in rather
high ground. And when our captors left us I heard them say they
were going to a cave in the mountains, so they will be coming here
from somewhere above. Therefore, I think, we must obviously guide
ourselves by the rule of going always downhill, if we want to reach a
safe district, and keep out of harm's way."

"Yes; there's sense in that," answered she. "Downhill shall be our
rule, as you say. But first of all, here's this enclosing wall to be
got out of. We shall have to find some way of climbing over it,
unless we can open the gate."

Luckily, however, the gate had only been swung to, and not fastened;
so we had no difficulty in passing through it. Outside there was a
roughly made road, much overgrown in consequence of long disuse, and
going in two opposite directions.

"Come along," said Kitty; "roads almost always lead _somewhere_,
and it is to be hoped this one is no exception; then we shall find
ourselves at some inhabited locality or other at last. The way to the
right goes downwards, I think."

Off we set to the right, therefore, at full speed, and ran ourselves
out of breath; then we walked till we had got enough fresh wind to
begin running again; then ran till we were blown again; and so on,
recommencing as before, and ever and anon listening anxiously for
any sounds of pursuit. For though it was not yet the time when the
robbers had announced they would return to us, yet our fears
suggested the possibility of their having changed their minds, and
gone back to the _chapelle_ sooner than they had intended. Presently
the moon set; and after that the unevenness of the track and the
darkness combined caused us to stumble, slip, and fall several times.
But we did not slacken pace on that account, and continued our
headlong flight, till at last we came to a road which was so much
broader and better than the one we had hitherto been following, that
we had little doubt of its being the route _nationale_.

We had now a comfortable sensation of being once more within reach of
protection; and shortly afterwards we were yet further cheered by a
sound behind us of wheels, horses' feet, and jingling bells, which
announced that some vehicle was approaching. We hailed it as soon as
it came up to us; but found, to our disgust, that our shouts produced
no effect; for no one paid the slightest attention to them, and
the thing lumbered heavily past in the darkness, giving a general
impression of length and bulk which made us guess it to be a
diligence, though we could not see it clearly. Having no fancy to be
thus ignored and left behind, we gave chase, and quickly overtook the
slowly-moving conveyance as it crawled up a hill. Being one of the
mail diligences it had a letter-box hanging at the back, just above a
broad low step, which it was easy to mount and descend from whilst
the vehicle was in motion; thus any one with letters to post could
jump up, consign them to the box, and get down again without causing
any stoppage, so that the diligence was a sort of moving post-office.
This step was most convenient to us at this moment. There was room
enough for us both to sit upon it, and we very soon established
ourselves in this muddy but not uncomfortable situation, rejoicing
greatly at the welcome rest and security which it afforded. None of
the people inside the diligence attempted to dislodge us, or took any
notice of us, so I imagine either that our proceeding must have been
too ordinary a one to attract attention, or else that they were all
fast asleep. On the horses trotted again when the top of the hill was
reached; the mud-splashes bespattered us freely, and we had to hold
tight for fear of being shaken off by some severer jolt than usual;
but we maintained our position till the carriage, after travelling
some distance, came to a standstill, and some one began to get down.
Then, fearing lest gratuitous conveyance might be objected to, we got
off and stood aside to reconnoitre before showing ourselves.

It appeared that the reason of the halt was our having reached an inn
at which some one in the diligence was going to alight. The house
door stood wide open, which indicated, I suppose, that accommodation
might be had within by any one who could manage to awake one of the
inhabitants; but otherwise there was no sign of readiness for guests;
the premises were totally unlighted; there was no guardian--human or
canine--to give notice of the arrival of either friend or foe, nor
was there any bell or other means of summons.

The diligence having drawn up opposite to this primitive hotel,
one of the passengers got out with a bag in his hand, and the
_conducteur_ descended from his perch bearing a lantern. Then they
entered the house, and as they did so the lantern went out, and we
heard them go stumbling and groping their way in the dark upstairs to
the first floor. Here there was a fastened door, which prevented a
further advance, and a considerable amount of knocking, kicking, and
bawling ensued, till some inmate was at last aroused to come and see
what was wanted. Up to this moment the _conducteur_ had appeared to
consider himself as to some extent bound to look after the passenger
whom his vehicle had conveyed there; but the instant his ears had
assured him of the fact of there being a living person in the inn, he
evidently felt that _his_ duty in the matter was at an end, and all
responsibility for the traveller henceforth transferred to the
landlord. No sooner, therefore, were the first sounds audible of some
one stirring within than the _conducteur_ left his charge to take
care of himself and came clattering downstairs and out into the
road again, without troubling himself to wait for the inner door
to be opened, in order to find out whether the new-comer could be
accommodated, or whether, perhaps, the little hostelry might be
already full--in which case the visitor would have had no option
about passing the rest of the night in the street, unless he had
preferred going on again in the diligence.

"Not much like English ideas of travelling and arriving at a hotel,
is it?" whispered Kitty to me, with much truth.

As soon as the _conducteur_ returned to the road, we stepped up to
him, and Kitty asked if he would kindly tell us the name of this
place, and also what was the destination of the diligence, as we
were strangers who had got lost, and did not know where we were. He
looked at us with no little surprise, and answered that our present
situation was St. Marie Sicché, and that the diligence was on its way
to Ajaccio.

This was a welcome piece of information. St. Marie Sicché was, it
will be remembered, the village where we had slept on the first night
of our driving-tour; consequently we were not in an altogether
strange district, and knew that we were within three or four hours of
Ajaccio, where the best part of our luggage was left, and where we
were more at home than in any other part of the island. There could
be no doubt that the best thing for us to do was to get there and
make ourselves comfortable at the hotel as soon as possible; and
then, when the telegraph offices should be open in the morning, we
would find out where Mrs. Rollin was, and relieve her mind as to our
safety. The only obstacle was that we had no money to pay for our
conveyance to Ajaccio; for the _penitenciers_ had carried off
everything valuable that we possessed; and, therefore, unless we
could get credit, we must evidently be involved in a good deal of
bother and delay before we should be able to leave our present
situation, or do anything that we wanted to do.

In this difficulty Kitty appealed to the _conducteur_, telling him
that as we had been robbed, we were at that moment penniless; and
asking him whether he would take us in his diligence to Ajaccio, and
let us pay for our places after arriving there. She also told him the
name of the hotel where our baggage was left, and assured him that we
should have no difficulty in having our respectability guaranteed
there. The man hesitated, hummed and hawed, looked suspiciously at
us--muddy and untidy as we were--and did not seem much inclined to
believe her story. But after some trouble, she persuaded him to
consent to her request by promising to pay double the ordinary fare.

Having thus settled the matter satisfactorily with him, we anticipated
no further difficulty, and were about to enter the interior of the
vehicle--both _coupé_ and _banquette_ being full--when we were
unexpectedly opposed by one of the passengers already established
there. The conversation had roused him from his slumbers; and
when Kitty attempted to get in, he started forward and protested
energetically against our admission. It was a shame to take up any
one else, he said, when he and his fellows were already "_pressés
comme des anchois_"; they had been crowded to the very verge of
possibility by the person who had just alighted; it was absurd to
think of cramming us two individuals into the space that that one had
occupied; he objected--he would complain to the authorities--it was
disgraceful to treat travellers in that way. Another diligence was
due in about ten or twelve hours, and we ought to wait, and take our
chance of finding places in that.

The prospect of waiting at St. Marie Sicché for another ten or twelve
hours was by no means to our mind, and we were alarmed to see that
the _conducteur_ seemed inclined to listen to the irate passenger.
But Kitty showed herself equal to the emergency. Turning promptly
to the _conducteur_, she whispered to him that she hardly supposed
he was going to leave us for the benefit of any rival vehicle; and
that as it was important to her to get to Ajaccio at once, she
would give him treble the proper fare if he took us, instead of only
double, as previously agreed. He was evidently quite alive to the fact
that an extra high fare would give him the opportunity of pocketing a
nice little profit, by only paying the diligence company a single
fare and keeping the rest for himself; and her increased offer
put an end to his hesitation about introducing us into the already
full conveyance. Therefore he turned a deaf ear to the other man's
expostulations--thoroughly well-founded though they were--proceeded
to make room somehow or other, and finally stowed us away without
heeding the discontented sleepy grunts and growls of the victims whom
we had forced to compress themselves into an unnaturally small space.
Then he shut us all in, climbed back to his place, and the journey
was resumed.

The interior of a hot, crowded, stuffy diligence, packed closely with
garlic-eating Corsicans clad in strong-smelling garments, would not
generally be deemed a very inviting haven of repose. Yet it seemed so
to us just then; for we were tired enough to find rest anywhere
delicious, and were too full of joy at having escaped from serious
danger to grumble at such trifling annoyances as mere discomfort and
unpleasant odours.

A couple of hours' jolting brought us to Cauro, where the horses
were changed; thence we continued our course to Ajaccio, which was
reached soon after seven in the morning. Stiff and fatigued as we
were, we should have been glad of a _fiacre_ to take us from the
_diligence-bureau_ to the hotel; but no _fiacre_ was to be had at
that early hour, so we set off walking, accompanied (I need hardly
say) by an envoy sent by the _conducteur_ to find out whether
the account we had given of ourselves was a true one.

As we were going up the street I saw a couple of smart-looking
sailors coming towards us. The sight of them suddenly reminded me
that there was a chance of Lord Clement's being still at Ajaccio,
which possibility I had till then forgotten. If he were within reach,
would Kitty turn willingly to him as a protector and counsellor, I
wondered?

"Those two look like sailors from a yacht," said I; "if they should
happen to belong to _La Catalina_, I suppose you will send word by
them to Lord Clement that you have returned, won't you?"

"No! what would be the good of that?" she answered sharply, and not
at all as if she was in any hurry to meet her noble admirer again.
But second thoughts made her change her mind, for she added: "Well,
yes; perhaps it would be as well to let him know we're back, if he
_does_ happen to be still here. Both you and I are dead tired; and he
could go and see to telegraphing, and all that's got to be done,
while we rest. Besides that, in spite of the principles of equality
of these republicans, I strongly suspect that a person who is rich, a
man, and an earl, stands a better chance of being attended to by the
authorities than a mere commonplace woman. So, on the whole, I
daresay he would be useful just now to act as agent for me."

When we were close to the sailors we saw that they were part of the
crew of _La Catalina_, as her name was visible upon their hats
and jerseys.

"Is Lord Clement on board _La Catalina_?" asked Kitty.

The two tars stopped and stared in evident surprise at being accosted
in their own tongue in the streets of Ajaccio at that early hour in
the morning.

"Ay, ay," answered one of them.

"Just go back to the yacht at once then," returned Kitty, "and tell
him that Miss Mervyn has returned here, and has gone to the hotel
where she was staying before, and will be glad to see him there as
soon as possible."

The men, who did not in the least recognise us, stared more than ever
at hearing themselves ordered about in this fashion by one of two
strange women presenting the extraordinary appearance which Kitty and
I did at that moment. For it must be remembered that we had been
splashed with mud from head to foot as we sat on the step of the
diligence; that our clothes were torn, rumpled, and put on anyhow;
that our hair was horribly disheveled; and that we were altogether
as untidy-looking objects as could well be imagined.

Evidently the sailors did not know what to make of us, and were
undecided, for a moment, whether to do what they were told, or to be
impertinent. But Kitty bore the stamp of high birth and breeding
marked too plainly for it to be concealed by disreputable externals;
and she spoke with the calmly-commanding manner of a person who is
accustomed to be obeyed. The sailors were not insensible to this
influence, and could not help recognising her as a legitimate
authority, notwithstanding the peculiarity of her appearance. When,
therefore, she repeated what she had said before, and again told
them to be off at once, they looked at one another sheepishly,
touched their hats, and departed obediently in the direction of the
harbour. And that they executed their commission faithfully was
proved by the promptitude with which Lord Clement arrived at our
hotel and asked for Miss Mervyn.

Poor young man! thought I, as I watched him going upstairs to her
room. I do not suppose you will be very pleased at what you are going
to hear; for your Mrs. Grundy-loving nature is sure to abhor
eccentric adventures; and I do not expect you will enjoy that your
lady-love should be known to have been the heroine of such an unusual
experience as Kitty has just gone through! Judging by the annoyed and
disturbed expression on his countenance when the interview with her
was over, and he left the hotel, I imagine that my anticipations were
not far wrong, and that his sense of propriety and of the fitness of
things was greatly shocked at what had occurred to the young lady
whom he desired to marry. His annoyance, however, did not prevent him
from taking all trouble off her shoulders as far as possible; and he
made himself useful by telegraphing to various places till he had
discovered Mrs. Rollin; then informing her that we were safe at
Ajaccio; and also giving notice to the police of the nefarious
proceedings of César and Napoleon.

Our loss had thrown Mrs. Rollin into a state of anxiety, nervousness,
and discomposure, which none of the French novels she had with her
had sufficed to calm. She had gone on hourly exciting herself more
and more against Corsica and all its people, until she had worked
herself into an unreasoning aversion to it and them. Consequently,
when she rejoined us at Ajaccio, which she did on the evening of the
day that we had returned there, the one fixed idea in her mind was,
that she would never know a moment's ease or happiness as long as
she remained in the island, and that we must get away from it
immediately.

On hearing our adventures she declared that what had happened was
fearful, ghastly, and shocking, but yet no more than was to be
expected in an out-of-the-way, uncivilised, poverty-stricken country
where nobody went, where the inhabitants lived without milk and
butter, and where every one was a savage or thief, or both. She very
deeply regretted having let herself be overpersuaded to come to this
Corsica; but, at all events, no power on earth should induce her to
stay in such a vile, odious, unsafe, abominable place any longer.
Besides, though the two _penitenciers_ would probably never be
captured, yet still, supposing by any accident that they _were_
caught, and Kitty was within reach, then the girl would be wanted to
give evidence against them, and that was another reason for taking
flight at once. Else there would be the risk of Kitty's having to
appear in a police-court, take oaths, be cross-examined and badgered
by vulgar lawyers, and all that sort of thing, which was quite unfit
for a lady to undergo. And what depths the vulgarity of lawyers in a
republican country might reach, she, Mrs. Rollin, was afraid to
think! Of course she by no means expected that the robbers _would_ be
taken; but as there was a possibility of such a thing, it was her
duty to provide for it.

When she stopped to take breath, Kitty inquired why she was so
certain that the culprits would not be recaptured, and that set her
off again. She had seen, she said, enough of Corsicans by this time
to convince her that they were all rogues alike, and all in collusion
with one another. In hopes of keeping us staying on and on, and
spending money amongst them, they might perhaps talk big, and declare
that the offenders would soon be under lock and key; but meanwhile
they would be let to escape quietly; or, if caught, good care would
be taken that they should not be convicted. But _she_ wasn't going to
be so silly as to be made a fool of by these Corsicans, and to play
into their hands by remaining there longer. No, thank you! She had
discovered that there would be a steamer to Marseilles on the
following day, and by that steamer she intended to go. And besides
everything else, there was yet another reason, she averred, why she
must now begin to make her way homewards. She found, from letters she
had just received, that matters of business made it necessary for
her to return to England sooner than she had expected. She must
positively have a week's shopping in Paris on the way back, and she
would not have time for this unless she started at once. Therefore it
was, in every respect, out of the question that we should prolong our
visit to this detestable island.

Her mind was made up too firmly to be shaken, and on the next day we
quitted Ajaccio in _La Catalina_--Lord Clement having again placed
that vessel at my two ladies' disposal. I am afraid, however, that
this act of civility did not bring him the satisfaction that he
probably expected. For Kitty, instead of making herself agreeable
during the voyage, professed to be headachy, and remained alone in a
cabin; and as soon as Marseilles was reached, she and her aunt said
goodbye to him, and set off for Paris by the next _rapide_. Very
possibly he would have liked to accompany them there. But then
yachting was his ostensible occupation at the present time; and if he
deserted his yacht to go to Paris, people would be sure to talk,
shrug shoulders, and say that there certainly was something on
between him and Kitty. Though all this would not matter supposing it
to be followed promptly by the announcement that they were engaged,
yet, under other circumstances, it would in his eyes be highly
undesirable; therefore he stuck to _La Catalina_.

As for me, I was a good deal disappointed, for I had been looking
forward with vindictive pleasure to the chance of bearing witness
against Messrs. César and Napoleon, and I grudged the hasty departure
from Corsica which deprived me of this chance. A few days later I saw
in a newspaper that they had been caught, and relegated to their
former quarters in prison at Chiavari. That was some comfort, no
doubt; but nothing like as satisfactory as it would have been to have
contributed, in my own person, to bring about their punishment.




                            CHAPTER IV.

                      CAPTAIN NORROY APPEARS.


I have already said that the circumstances connected with the
photograph which I had found in Kitty's purse had made me fancy that
there was some secret reason for her regarding Captain Edward Norroy
differently from the rest of mankind; and I have said, also, that I
was hoping some day to see him and her together, on chance that I
might then succeed in discovering a clue to a right comprehension
of what the relations between them were. This opportunity which I
desired came unexpectedly on the day after our arrival in Paris, and
was brought about in the following manner.

Mrs. Rollin was determined that she and Kitty must be photographed by
a Paris photographer named Raoul, who was at that time so much the
rage amongst fashionable people that to be in his town and not profit
by the opportunity of having her likeness done by him, would have
been a sin of omission which would have lain heavy on her conscience
for the rest of her existence--or, at all events, for as long as he
continued to be the fashion. It was, of course, necessary in the
first place to ascertain when it would suit the great man to take the
photograph. For this purpose she had intended to go to his studio
in person on the day after reaching Paris; but as she happened to be
a little out of sorts on that day, she preferred to stay at home
reading _Rocambole_, and send Kitty in her stead, under my escort,
to make the requisite appointment. At the studio we found a polite
assistant, who was quite in despair to think that the ladies should
be obliged to wait; but as his _patron_ was just then engaged, he
feared it was inevitable that they should do so, unless their
business was of a nature which he, the assistant, could transact
for them. If so, he should be proud and honoured to receive their
commands.

Now Mrs. Rollin, having been much exercised in her mind as to whether
it would be more _chic_ to be done in morning or evening attire, had
particularly instructed Kitty to refer the matter to Raoul, and find
out his opinion about it. Consequently she declined the assistant's
offer of his services with thanks, and said that she would wait till
Monsieur Raoul was disengaged. On this we were shown into the
waiting-room, which was as dreary as the rest of its kind, and where
we endeavoured to find amusement by inspecting the various specimens
of the _patron's_ art that were dispersed on the table.

We were thus employed, and I was standing with my back to the
door, when it opened to admit some one; at the same instant I saw
Kitty--who was looking that way--flush violently and suddenly, and,
on turning round, I perceived that the new-comer was Captain Norroy.

I need hardly say that I was immediately all eyes and ears for what
would take place; and that my subsequent inspection of photographs
was a mere pretence, which I kept up in order that the young couple
might not suspect how attentively I was studying them.

They shook hands, exchanged greetings, and then went on to talk of
the weather, the state of the streets, the hotels at which they were
staying, etc., just as any ordinary acquaintances would do. There
was not the faintest trace of consciousness about Captain Norroy's
manner; and he was so evidently free from any kind of special emotion
connected with Kitty, that I doubted, for a moment, whether my
surmises might after all have been wrong. But then, again, I felt
confirmed in them by Kitty, who was certainly not as cool and
unembarrassed as was the captain. The first flush caused by his
entrance had nearly died out; but there still lingered a tinge of
unwonted colour on her cheeks, and a more than commonly brilliant
light in her eyes. In both her look and manner of speaking I could
detect a shade of nervousness, of pleasure, of restraint, of
something different to usual, which I was unable to interpret. It was
a difference so slight as to have been, probably, imperceptible to
any one who did not know her well; but to me it was so plainly
visible that I felt sure I was not mistaken about it.

As it happened, the conversation presently took a turn which supplied
me with such a clue as I wanted in order to read the riddle which had
been perplexing me, and to arrive at some idea of how matters stood
between these two people, in whom my interest had been excited.

The captain, looking at his watch, observed that Raoul was not very
punctual, as it was already twenty minutes past the time when he had
said that he would be ready to photograph the captain.

"What! are you actually going to be photographed?" said Kitty,
laughing. "I can hardly believe it possible when I remember the
vehemence with which I have heard you declare that, having gone
through the operation once, you never would again. You professed to
think it an intolerable bore."

"Yes--so I did, and so I do still," he replied; "but I'm going to
sacrifice myself nobly for the sake of other people. You see almost
every one, now-a-days, has a _carte-de-visite_ book, which they are
desirous of filling by hook or by crook. Consequently, one is
constantly being entreated for a photo by even one's most casual
acquaintances. One don't like to be always refusing to do what one's
asked, because it makes one feel such an ill-natured brute; but at
present I can't help saying no when I'm asked for a photo of myself,
for the very excellent reason that I haven't such a thing to give."

"Why not?" inquired Kitty. "Haven't you the photos which were taken
on the solitary occasion when you _were_ done?"

"Ah! that attempt had no _chance_, as the French say," he answered.
"My batch of copies fell into the fire directly they arrived, and
were all burnt except four, which I managed to rescue, and of which I
gave three to my mother and sisters, and the fourth to Lady Cantern,
who was just then perfectly ravenous for photos, because she and
her sister were in the midst of a race as to which could get her
photo-book filled the quickest. Of course this left me destitute of
_cartes_, so I at once ordered a fresh lot from the photographer; but
the fates were evidently against me, for the original plate had been
accidentally cracked, so that no more copies could be struck from it.
Curiously enough, too, the bad luck which attended that photographic
effort pursued even the copy I gave Lady Cantern. You remember that
time you and I, and a lot of other people, were staying with her last
winter for balls, don't you? What a pleasant visit it was! and
especially that last _cotillion_ you and I danced together--wasn't it
delightful?"

As Kitty assented, I noticed that she looked down somewhat nervously,
as if she wished to avoid all risk of having the recollections evoked
by the mention of that visit read in her face.

"Well," he continued, "she says that she missed my photo out of
her book on the very day after her guests departed; and as she is
positive it was in its place just before, she declares some one of
them must have taken a fancy to it and carried it off. At first she
accused _me_ of being the thief--as if it was likely I should care to
have such a caricature of myself as I considered it to be! I can't
imagine how she _could_ suppose that any one would wish for such an
unflattering presentment of himself as long as looking-glasses
continue plentiful! However, I undeceived her on that point; and then
she said that if it wasn't I who had appropriated the thing, it must
have been some one else. My own idea is that she must have put it
away somewhere, and forgotten what she'd done with it. But, anyhow,
she hadn't discovered it when last I saw her, and I don't believe she
will--that batch had no _chance_, as I said before. Ah! here comes
Raoul to lead off his victim. I shall have a few moments of grace
whilst you and he fix the date of your execution; and then----"

Raoul's entrance terminated this conversation, to which I--whilst
making believe to be engrossed in the study of photographs--had
listened with the greatest attention. It seemed to me to throw fresh
light upon the matter that had been perplexing me hitherto.

Evidently Kitty possessed a photograph of Captain Norroy of which
there were only four copies in existence. As neither of them had been
given to her, she must have come by it surreptitiously; and her
possession of it was, no doubt, to be explained by the mysterious
disappearance of Lady Cantern's copy immediately after Kitty had been
staying in her house.

But though I thought there could be no doubt as to Kitty's having
been the person who purloined this precious _carte-de-visite_, I was
sorely puzzled to conjecture what possible motive she could have had
for doing so. After reflecting deeply on the problem, I could find no
solution of it except one, which did not seem to me to be altogether
likely. It was this. Had the handsome young captain perhaps touched
her heart more deeply than was expedient? and could she have fallen
in love with him? If so, that might explain the things that now
puzzled me: her stealing the photograph; the care with which it was
concealed; the emotion she had betrayed when I suddenly produced it;
and also the nervousness and peculiarity of manner I had noticed in
her when she met him at Raoul's.

But however probable this theory might have appeared in the case of
some girls, it hardly seemed admissible when Kitty was the person
concerned. For as it was quite plain that the captain's sentiments
towards her were simply those of an ordinary acquaintance, it
followed that to suppose her to have a fancy for him involved
supposing that she cared for a man who did not return the compliment.
And her pride seemed to make such an idea impossible. Kitty Mervyn to
have an unrequited attachment, indeed! It was absurd even to think of
such a thing.

Yet again, on the other hand, who could tell what caprice might not
rule an article so notoriously wayward as a woman's heart? And if
love overcomes bolts and bars, why should it not conquer the stiffest
pride also? Clearly it was foolish of me to think I could be _sure_
of how any person would act, when there was a possibility of a
strange and unknown quantity like love manifesting itself, upsetting
the best-founded calculations, and altering the whole aspect of
affairs.

Still, I could scarcely bring myself to believe that Kitty would have
bestowed her affections on any one who did not seek them. Ah! but
then there was the question--had she perhaps imagined that they
_were_ sought? This good-looking Captain Norroy was as pleasant in
manner as he was in personal appearance; his voice was soft and
caressing; he gave me the idea of being a lazy, good-humoured,
susceptible man, who would enjoy popularity with women and take pains
to be agreeable in their eyes; and who would unintentionally put an
appearance of earnestness into a mere passing flirtation, which would
make it dangerous to the other party. And possibly he had admired
Kitty, and flirted with her mildly, without meaning anything serious;
and possibly she had been deceived by his attentions into supposing
he was in love with her, and not discovered her error until her heart
was already touched.

If that were so, I could not help pitying her; for I knew that the
knowledge of her own weakness and folly must be terribly galling to
her, and that she must be in a continual state of anxiety lest any
one should discover, or even suspect it. Yet I could imagine, too,
that the bitterness would be mingled with sweetness, in that she
would be always hoping he might some day return her love. It was a
hope that it would be most natural for her to entertain; for she
could not fail to know how generally attractive she was to his sex;
and as he was but a man like other men, was it not reasonable to
suppose that he too might be affected by charms which his fellows
seemed to find irresistible? And then the recollection of the
numerous admirers she had had, and for whom she cared nothing, took
my thoughts for a moment into a fresh channel, as I wondered whether
those victims would not have thought it a no more than just
retribution for her to give her affections without return. For I was
aware that some ill-natured people had been known to term her a
regular flirt; and I had heard of rejected suitors of hers who had
complained bitterly of the impartial amiability with which she
behaved to every one, and had declared that she did it with malicious
intent to lead men on to propose, in order that she might have the
pleasure of refusing them.

Assuming her to be in love with Captain Norroy, I thought I could
form a pretty good guess as to what her feeling about Lord Clement
would be. Her pride would be all in his favour; for pride would be
up in arms at the idea of her waiting to see if the captain would
condescend to throw his handkerchief to her, and would urge her to
terminate so humiliating a situation by marrying some one else. And
thus pride would be a powerful auxiliary to the soaring ambition and
desire to be amongst the great ones of the earth, which were marked
features of her character. All this would evidently prompt her to
accept Lord Clement and the high rank and position he had to offer;
and I could only account for her not having done so already, by
supposing that the voice of natural inclination had made itself heard
on the other side. Perhaps it had pleaded with her not to be in a
hurry, and not rashly to render impossible a happiness that might
still be hers if she would have the patience to wait awhile longer.
Perhaps the struggle between pride and love was going on within her
now, and she had not yet determined which voice to listen to. If so,
I could by no means hazard an opinion as to what the issue was likely
to be; and it seemed to me an even chance which would gain the
mastery.

How far were all these speculations and conjectures of mine right?
That remained to be proved; and I felt as if fate had kindly assigned
to me a good situation in the front row whence to watch the progress
of a play which it amused me to look on at. Yet, as it must interfere
with one's enjoyment of a play to get excited about its termination,
I should certainly have preferred for some other than Kitty to be the
chief performer. For I was half afraid that I might find I cared for
her too much to remain an altogether indifferent spectator where her
happiness was seriously concerned.




                            CHAPTER V.

                       A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.


Of course Mrs. Rollin and Kitty had a deal of shopping to do in
Paris; for to be in that town and not buy clothes is--to most
feminine minds--an unpardonable sinning of one's mercies. The
dressmaker whom they elected to give their orders to was a certain
Madame Jarrot, much patronised by the fashionable world; and having
made an appointment with her at her own residence, they proceeded
thither to keep it one day soon after the visit to the photographer
which was related in the last chapter.

Now I liked much better to sit in their drawing-room than in the poky
little garret which was my bedroom; and when they did not want the
sitting-room themselves, I never saw any reason why I should not
avail myself of it. No sooner, therefore, were they safe off than
I betook myself there, and proceeded to make myself comfortable,
according to my usual practice, during their absence. Lying on the
table were some English newspapers that had just arrived, and I began
to read them. In a column devoted to fashionable intelligence, I
presently came upon the following paragraph--to me most entirely
unexpected.

"The Duke of Murkshire and his family, who are at present in the
French metropolis, will probably return at an early date to their
ancestral halls, in order to make preparations for the marriage of
his Grace's eldest daughter, Lady Emma, to Captain Edward Norroy of
the Scots Fusilier Guards. The engagement of the young couple has
just been announced, and the wedding is, we understand, to take place
shortly."

When I had read this I laid down the paper, feeling perfectly
dazed. Captain Norroy going to be married to this Lady Emma! In my
speculations about Kitty and her love affairs I had--without being
aware of it--invariably put aside as absurd the idea of its being
possible that any one whom she might honour with her preference
_could_ remain indifferent to her; and therefore I had all along
been unconsciously taking it for granted that Captain Norroy must
inevitably fall in love with her sooner or later; and that if she did
not eventually become his wife, it would not be at any rate for want
of the opportunity. I knew well enough that I myself should have been
at her feet if she had but held up her little finger to me. And as
one is apt to consider it a matter of course that attractions by
which one is oneself fascinated must be equally irresistible to
other people, it was consequently not much to be wondered at that I
should now be utterly taken aback at finding the man whom I believed
her to care for was going to marry some one else.

The thing seemed to me hardly credible. He must be blind--a dolt and
fool--to have a prize like Kitty within his reach, and let it slip!
Why, there was no one so attractive and charming as she was; she was
(in my eyes) quite incomparable. And though I had never seen this
Lady Emma, and knew nothing whatever about her, I was none the less
firmly convinced that she could not hold a candle to Kitty in any
single respect.

How would Kitty take the news, I wondered? Had she any expectation of
it? Had the possibility of such a thing ever occurred to her? No; I
had an intuitive conviction to the contrary. When she had met him at
Raoul's her manner had shown not only shyness and nervousness, there
had been something more--something indefinable, of pleasure and
hope--which made me feel sure that she had believed him to be
heart-whole, and not the property of any other girl, or about to
become so. Had she been in England, she would no doubt have heard
some of the gossip by which the engagements of people conspicuous in
society are usually preceded, but her recent absence abroad had, of
course, prevented any rumours of a flirtation between Captain Norroy
and Lady Emma from reaching her ears, and she must now be totally
unprepared to hear they were going to be married. Of course, it would
not matter to her an atom if she were fancy-free about him, and if
the romance I had constructed was a baseless one. But then I was
almost positive that it was _not_ baseless, and that the news would
be a blow to her, though she would doubtless strain every nerve to
conceal that fact.

My poor Kitty, thought I sorrowfully; and, immediately afterwards,
laughed at my own folly. How could I be so silly as to prefix the
possessive pronoun singular to the name of a person who was not mine
at all? Though she had always been kind and courteous to me, yet her
manner showed plainly that she regarded me as one of an inferior
order, between whom and herself existed, naturally, an impassable
barrier; and knowing this, why should I concern myself about her
troubles, as if she and I had been on terms of equality and intimate
friendship? It would be ridiculous to do anything of the kind. Had I
not resolved before now that I would put a check upon the inclination
to be fascinated by her, of which I was conscious? Certainly I had;
and yet how was I keeping that resolution if I let myself take her
affairs to heart, and feel sorry for her, and indignant with Captain
Norroy, as I was inclined to be at that moment? Provoked to see in
myself such a disposition to be weakly sentimental, I was glad when
my common-sense and turn for ridicule bestirred themselves, and
applied mentally a douche of cold water which cooled down my first
absurd impulse to be her ardent partisan.

After all, her affairs were no business of mine, and it was mere
folly to let myself be vexed about them in any way. It could do no
possible good, and I should be simply making myself uncomfortable for
nothing. Besides, if she could see into my mind, I might be very sure
that she would not approve of her maid's presuming to take so much
interest in her affairs, and would consider me impertinent and
officious.

Sensible reflections of this kind effectually repressed my previous
tendency to a foolish soft-heartedness; and I resumed my interrupted
perusal of the newspaper, and amused myself placidly during the rest
of the afternoon till nearly dinner-time, when my mistresses
returned.

I went to dress Kitty, wondering whether or not she had yet heard of
Captain Norroy's engagement. Anyhow, if she had, it had not troubled
her at all, for she was evidently in excellent spirits; and in that
respect presented a marked contrast to her aunt, who came into her
room during toilette operations, and who--as it was easy to see--had
something on her mind which disturbed her. At first, I took it into
my head, from this uneasiness, that Mrs. Rollin must have some
suspicion of her niece's being attached to Captain Norroy, and
that, having heard of his engagement to Lady Emma, she must now be
worrying herself as to how Kitty would take the news, and as to the
unhappiness the girl might suffer on account of it. But, from what
was said, I speedily discovered that Mrs. Rollin's disquietude arose
from a very different cause--neither more nor less than a pair of
stays.

"Do you know, Kitty," she said, "that I've been thinking, ever since
we left Jarrot's, of your flat refusal to have anything to do with
that pair of stays she wanted you to wear. I cannot feel satisfied
that you decided wisely. It's still not too late to change your mind,
you know. Are you _sure_ you won't give them a trial, and see how you
like them?"

Kitty laughed as if the scene at the dressmaker's was an amusing one
to recollect.

"Yes, I'm quite positive I won't," she answered; "they were at least
three inches too small for me, and I really _couldn't_ consent to
such a wholesale diminution of the circumference of my waist! I
suppose you are moved to plead for them by the recollection of
Jarrot's horror and distress when she found my objection to them was
quite invincible. Really I don't wonder. Her look of shocked and
surprised grief would have been pathetic if the cause hadn't made it
comic; and I was quite sorry to have to wound her feelings so
deeply."

"Oh no, my dear, of course, it isn't _that_," returned Mrs. Rollin,
somewhat pettishly; "what have I got to do with a dressmaker's
feelings? But what I was thinking of was, her declaring that small
waists are becoming so much the rage as to be almost indispensable;
and that no lady who cares to be _bien mise_ ever _thinks_ of
objecting to have her waist reduced to the smallest size possible.
Jarrot is safe to be a good authority on the subject, because she is
employed by quite the _crème de la crème_ of society. I am afraid you
think only of what you like; and forget that people who don't do the
same as their fellows are sure to be rash, even if not wrong."

"Only, then, one must draw a line somewhere," replied Kitty; "and
I draw it at having my internal arrangements shoved out of their
places. Not even to possess a small waist will I endure that! Jarrot
regarded it as a mere temporary inconvenience, to which I should soon
get reconciled, because she thought that what is comfortable is
simply whatever one was used to. But there I don't agree with her. It
amused me to see how confidently she quoted _il faut souffrir pour
être belle_, as if that must certainly settle the question. Somehow
or other, even that argument failed to persuade me to make myself
ill, though I am not a whit more deficient in vanity and care for my
personal appearance than the rest of my sex."

Mrs. Rollin sighed. "If you won't, you won't, of course," she said;
"still I should have thought you might have made the attempt to do as
others do, just for a little bit, as she wanted you to."

"You see I'm too fond of my precious comfort," answered Kitty,
merrily; "and, do you know, aunty, I've a great idea that I'm not
the only person in the family with that weakness, and that you, too,
sometimes like to go your own way, even if it isn't exactly the
cut-and-dried path followed by every one else."

"Kitty, Kitty, you shouldn't say things like that," expostulated her
aunt; "you know that I consider being different from other people to
be a proof of an ill-regulated mind; and that, therefore, to accuse
me of eccentric tastes is equivalent to saying I deserve blame.
Please remember that I _strongly_ object to your speaking in such a
most inconsiderate manner."

"All right, aunt," said Kitty, good humouredly; "I'm sorry I vexed
you--I'll be more careful another time. I didn't for a moment mean to
imply that you aren't all you should be, you know."

But though she said this, I don't think it followed that she believed
Mrs. Rollin's mind to be always in absolute conformity with its own
standard of perfection. Anyhow, there was a twinkle in Kitty's eye,
which made me doubtful on the subject.

Their toilettes being now completed, they descended to dinner,
leaving me quite satisfied that Kitty had no secret grief oppressing
her. It must be one of two things, then, I thought, as I watched her
going downstairs: either my theory is wrong from beginning to end, or
else she as yet knows nothing of this approaching marriage. However,
it is very likely that she may not have had time to look at the
papers yet, as they had only just come before she went out.

When next I saw her it was very different; and I no longer doubted
that I had been right in thinking she cared for Captain Norroy. About
an hour after dinner was over I was in her room arranging some
clothes, when the door opened, and she entered. Her head was
drooping, instead of being carried proudly thrown back as usual;
her face was deadly pale, and wore an expression of misery. On seeing
her like this, I felt sure that she must have just read the paragraph
concerning him, and had rushed off to be alone, so that she might be
relieved from the irksome restraint imposed by the presence of other
people, and might let her features relax for a while into whatever
expression of pain came natural to them.

In taking refuge in her own room she had evidently forgotten the
possibility of any one being there; for as soon as she saw me she
started violently, and seemed to strive to replace the mask, and look
the same as usual for a few moments longer.

"You can leave those things for the present, Jill," she said,
controlling her voice with an effort; "I have come to lie down, as I
have rather a bad headache."

I saw she longed to have me gone, and as I did not want to add to her
troubles, I prepared to take myself off as quickly as possible. But I
was bound to play my part of lady's-maid; and as I knew that it would
be an unheard-of solecism for such an official not to profess
sympathy--whether she really felt it or not--with her mistress'
ailments, I was obliged to pause a moment before departing, that I
might express concern for her headache, and ask if I should bring her
a cup of tea or coffee, or if there was anything else I could do for
her. My offer, however, was not accepted.

"All I want is to be left quiet," she said, rather impatiently; "if I
want you I will ring."

I withdrew accordingly. She stayed in her room by herself during the
remainder of the evening, saying that her headache was still bad.
At bedtime she summoned me to assist her as usual, and I thought
she looked perfectly wretched. She meant, however, to keep up
appearances, for when her aunt came in to inquire how she was, and
say good night, she exerted herself to seem as lively as usual. She
declared that her headache was all the fault of those stays Jarrot
had wanted her to have. The mere idea of such an enormity of tininess
had so shocked her nerves, liver, lungs, brain, and organs in
general, that they had felt bound to make some forcible demonstration
of disgust; and the demonstration had taken the shape of a headache.
A night's rest would put her all right, she said, if she did not
dream about those horrid stays; but if she were to have a nightmare
about wearing them, she really could not say _what_ might be the
consequences to her health. This nonsense was uttered with enough of
her customary vivacity to deceive Mrs. Rollin, who went away, quite
satisfied that there was nothing the matter except an ordinary
headache. But _I_ thought differently. I had seen Kitty's lips
quivering while she spoke, and had seen unmistakable traces of tears
in her eyes; I had felt that her head was burning hot, and the rest
of her body like ice; and these things made me believe that there was
something more amiss with her than a mere commonplace headache.

When I had performed my duties for the night, and gone to my own
room, my heart _would_ keep aching for her, in spite of my efforts to
restore it to its habitual condition of sensible hardness. Our recent
adventures in Corsica had taught me that she would face death and
danger unflinchingly; and I knew her to be exceptionally proud,
strong, and brave. Yet for all her strength, courage, and pride, she
seemed to be almost broken down to-night. And it naturally moves one
more to see such a person as that give way than to witness the
upsetting of a weaker mortal.

Anxiety about her, as I pictured to myself her solitary suffering,
and longed to be able to comfort her, kept me awake and restless.
What if she were to have a brain fever, or a nervous fever, or some
other kind of illness such as I had heard of being brought on by a
sudden mental shock? Perhaps at that very moment she was ill, and in
need of assistance. So uneasy did I become, that at last I could stay
away from her no longer, but determined to relieve my mind by going
at once to assure myself of her well-being.

I got up accordingly, put on a dressing-gown, and stole quietly to
the door of her room, where I stood listening for a minute, and
wondering whether she had had the good fortune to fall asleep. No;
for I heard a deep sigh, followed by an inarticulate, moaning sound,
which--though so low as to be hardly audible--had something about it
that seemed to me unutterably sad and forlorn. An incontrollable
impulse seized me to go to her and try if I could not find some way
of being of use or comfort to her. But I could not enter the room
unless she choose to admit me, for she always kept her door locked at
night when in a hotel. I knocked gently, and she responded, "_Qui
est-ce_?"

"It is Jill," I replied; "may I come in? I came to see if your head
is still bad? and if so, if I shall bathe it with eau de cologne, or
fetch you anything, or try and read you to sleep, or do anything else
for you?"

"Oh no, thanks," she answered in a weary voice; "pray go to bed and
leave me, for I am better to be quite alone. You know if I want
anything I can ring."

Was the reminder of the bell intended as a gentle hint that it was
officious to disturb her with an offer of services which she could
command if she required them? That was the light in which I regarded
it, at all events; and I left her door, feeling that I had been a
fool for my pains, and richly deserved the snub I had received. I
asked myself scornfully what had made me try to obtain admittance
into the room? what good it could have been? and what I supposed I
should have done had she opened the door to me? Should I have flung
my arms around her, and told her that I knew all, and was come
to comfort her, or behaved in some similarly gushing manner?
Most certainly not! I knew better than to imagine that an absurd
demonstration of that kind would gratify her from any one, and, least
of all, from a servant. Besides, when she was doing all she could to
keep her trouble and its cause a profound secret, it would hardly
have been a happy method of consolation to go and inform her that her
efforts had failed, and that her secret was no secret at all. What,
then, _should_ I have done? I had not the remotest notion, and was
forced to confess that my impulse to be with her had been simply a
piece of sentimental, impractical folly, which it was very lucky I
had not been able to indulge. I could not possibly have done anything
to help her, and it would clearly have been wiser and kinder of me to
have left her in peace; and, laughing at myself bitterly, and feeling
decidedly small and ridiculous in my own eyes, I retired to bed.




                            CHAPTER VI.

                          NOTICE TO QUIT.


My fears lest Kitty's health might be affected by what had happened
proved unfounded. By next morning she had got herself once more in
hand, and I did not again see the expression of utter abandonment to
misery which had been visible on her face the previous night at the
moment when she entered her room, and before she was aware of my
presence there. If ever she allowed herself to look like that again,
I expect it was not until she had made quite sure first that there
was no human being within reach to see what her countenance might
betray.

_Some_ change in her, however, it was impossible that there should
not be, after the great and sudden mental commotion which she had
experienced. I observed that she was paler than her wont, and had
black marks under her eyes, which, when commented on by her aunt, she
accounted for as being the results of her violent headache. I saw,
too, that when she was not laughing or talking, and her features
were in repose, they settled into a hard stern expression which they
had not worn before; and that there was in her eyes a new look of
haughty defiance, as though they were challenging the whole world to
penetrate one hair's-breadth further than she chose into the locked
casket of her inner self. In other respects she was outwardly
unaltered, and went about and conducted herself in much the same way
as usual. The first shock of the blow had made her stagger for an
instant, but she had never broken down altogether, and was now
prepared to stand firm, and give no sign of pain. Natures like
hers, endowed with strength, pluck, and indomitable pride, are
generally more likely to be embittered than crushed when trouble and
disappointment comes upon them.

Just at this period my studies of Kitty's character were cut short
abruptly, and my own concerns forced themselves unpleasantly into the
foreground, and demanded exclusive attention.

Whilst I had been abroad my mind had been fully occupied with the
various incidents of our travels, and I had forgotten all about my
quondam-admirer Perkins, Lord Mervyn's valet. Unluckily, however,
he had not been equally oblivious of me; for, in rejecting his
attentions and causing the loss of his cherished whiskers, I had
inflicted an injury that he could neither forgive nor forget, and
for which he had vowed vengeance. When, therefore, chance unkindly
enabled him to discover an opportunity for doing me a bad turn, he
lost no time in profiting by it; and the effect which his malice had
upon my fortunes I was now to experience.

The day before we were to leave Paris and return to England, I was up
in my room, beginning to pack my box, when a housemaid came to tell
me to go to Kitty, who was in her bedroom, and wished to see me. I
obeyed the summons immediately, without a suspicion of impending
trouble ; but my tranquillity vanished as soon as I reached her room,
and caught sight of her face. She was sitting by the writing-table,
and looked up at me, on my entrance, with an air of cold dignified
displeasure, which showed me plainly there was something wrong, and
that I was in her black books for some cause or other. What the
dickens is the matter? I thought. I began hastily considering what
recent actions of mine to which she was likely to object could
have come to her ears; but I could not recollect any misdemeanour
important enough to make her look so displeased. I wished I could
guess what sort of accusation was going to be brought against me, so
that I might know whether to prepare denial, excuse, or frank
confession. For which of these three would be the best defence for
me to offer must obviously depend upon what likelihood there was that
the real truth would be ascertained.

"I have to speak to you, Jill," she said, "about a most disagreeable
matter. A letter which I have just received from my mother tells me
that she has seen Sir Bartholomew Brown, who has lately returned to
London, and that when she questioned him about you he denied all
knowledge of any one of your name, or answering to your description;
declared that no such person had ever been in his service; and that
the character, purporting to have been written by him, which you
produced in applying for our situation, was a forgery. What have you
to say to this?"

That was just what I did not know myself; for I was completely
dumbfoundered by this sudden attack from a quarter where I had
anticipated no danger. Why on earth could not Sir Bartholomew have
stayed in the East, as he had been supposed to be going to do?
In vain did I rack my brains for some way of extricating myself
from this dilemma. Not a single idea would occur to me, so I
simply remained silent--a course which had, at all events, the
recommendation of not committing me one way or other.

Kitty waited for a little while; and then, perceiving that I did not
intend to answer, she said:

"Am I to understand by your silence that you are unable to contradict
the truth of what Sir Bartholomew said?"

"Oh, if you _choose_ to understand it so, m'm, of course I can't help
that," replied I, shrugging my shoulders, and still evading a direct
admission of the charge which it was evidently useless for me to
dispute.

"I do not choose it at all," she returned quickly; "on the contrary,
I should greatly prefer to find that you are able to clear yourself.
But I wish to have a definite answer from you, either yes or no, when
I ask--Is the thing true?"

I hesitated for a moment. Then, seeing that I could gain nothing by
denying, and that to tell a lie about it would only sink me yet lower
in her eyes without doing me the least good, I replied desperately,
"Well--yes."

For a few minutes she did not speak, and sat with her head resting
on her hand, and apparently reflecting about something. At last she
said:

"I have been considering what to do. My mother thinks that you should
at once be given in charge of the police; but that I do not feel
inclined to do, after what we went through together in Corsica the
other day, and the way in which you behaved then. Besides, I have
had no cause of complaint since you have been with me, and I think
you have served _me_ well--whatever you may have done elsewhere.
Therefore, though of course I dismiss you, yet I wish to treat you
with no needless harshness. I propose, then, that you should continue
to be my maid for a day longer, so as not to leave me till we arrive
in London. Thus you will not be turned adrift in a foreign country,
as would be the case if I discharged you here, on the spot; you will
also have been brought back to whence you came, and be left in no
worse position than you were before entering our service. As for your
wages, I shall, of course, pay them to you fully. If you like this
arrangement--which is, I think, as favourable a one as you can
expect--I am quite willing to make it. I daresay some people would
say I ought not to let you stay an hour longer in my service; and
that all the thanks I shall get is to be laughed at, and perhaps
robbed, by a person who has already shown herself to be a forger. But
I would rather take my chance of that than have to reproach myself
with having wronged you."

I did not like her to think worse of me than I deserved, and for a
moment I felt very much inclined to tell her who I was, in order
that she might see that circumstances had really _compelled_ me to
act as I had done. For if I had not forged a character to start with,
how could I ever have obtained a chance of earning one honestly? I
think I should inevitably have yielded to the inclination, and
imparted my history to her there and then, if there had been anything
in her manner to make me believe that I had won a footing, however
low down, in her affection--that she cared about me just one little
bit. But there was no such indication. She would not defraud me of
one atom that might be due for the services I had rendered, because
it would have wounded her own self-respect to do that. But I saw (or
imagined myself to see) that the consideration she showed for me was
dictated solely by a sense of justice, and not by any softer feeling;
and the rising impulse to confide in her was frozen back by the cold,
haughty severity of her demeanour towards one whom she regarded as a
mere common cheat and forger. Consequently I only replied stiffly
that I was much obliged for her offer, which I should be glad to
accept; and that she might depend upon it I would not give her cause
to repent of her kindness.

"Very well," she returned, "then we will consider the matter settled
so, and you will leave me when we get to Charing Cross. By the by, I
may as well let you know that I have not told my aunt of what I heard
to-day, and that I shall not do so till after you have left. It would
only fuss her needlessly."

Then I withdrew, feeling extremely provoked at the turn affairs had
taken, and heartily anathematising Sir Bartholomew for having come
back to England so inopportunely, instead of staying in the East, as
he had been expected to do. How unlucky, too, that Lady Mervyn should
have happened to meet him, and to have had nothing better to talk
about than _me_! The more I thought about it, the more extraordinary
did it seem that she should have ever troubled herself to mention me
to him: for, from what I knew of her ladyship, I should have thought
that a lady's-maid was far too insignificant to be honoured by being
made a topic of her conversation with a stranger--that is to say,
unless there had been some special reason for it; and I did not think
any such reason was likely to have existed in this instance. Very
likely the letter she had written to Kitty about me would contain
some enlightenment on this point. If only I could get hold of that
document, I would see; but the chances were that I should not be able
to lay hands on it, as Kitty rarely left correspondence about--a
carefulness which deprived her maids of a good deal of the amusement
they might otherwise have had. On this occasion, however, fortune
favoured my desires. When Kitty changed her dress that evening, in
taking her handkerchief, purse, and other et-ceteras out of her
pocket, she dropped a letter on the floor without noticing its fall;
I, who was standing close by and helping her, instantly covered it
with my dress, in hopes it might be the epistle I wanted to see; I
managed to keep it under my feet and dress till she was looking in
another direction, and then shoved it under the skirts of the
toilette-table, where it was safely out of sight. She finished
dressing, and went down to dinner, without having perceived the loss;
and as soon as the coast was clear, I rushed to the table, and
extracted the letter, which I had hidden there. On opening it, I
found, to my delight, that it was the one from Lady Mervyn about me;
the contents sufficiently explained why she should have condescended
to discuss so humble an individual as myself with Sir Bartholomew,
showing that it was all owing to the interference of Perkins, and
that I had only him to thank for the misfortune by which I was now
overtaken. After relating what I already had heard from Kitty, Lady
Mervyn went on to say:

"It was only by the merest accident that we came to hear anything
about the matter. Your father's valet, Perkins, is member of some
club or other (fancy one's servants having clubs, like gentlemen! I
can't think why parliament doesn't make them illegal), to which a man
who used to be with Sir Bartholomew belongs also. With this man
Perkins happened to make acquaintance, and, on hearing where he had
been in service, asked him if he knew Lady Brown's last maid, Jill,
who was now abroad with you."

Ah, thought I, when I had read so far, I can quite believe that that
spiteful wretch Perkins, directly he thought he had met an old
fellow-servant of mine, lost no time in going spying and sniffing
about, and trying to rake up some ill-natured story against me! _I_
know his tricks and his manners, as the doll's dressmaker in _Our
Mutual Friend_ used to say.

"When Perkins said that, however," continued the letter, "the man
stared at him, and declared he was talking nonsense. Lady Brown's
last maid, the man asserted, had been called Smith; had married a man
named Roberts soon after her mistress's death; and had then gone with
her husband to live at Liverpool, where she had been ever since, to
his positive knowledge. This seemed very odd to Perkins, and made him
suspect there was something amiss, so he, very properly, told me of
what he had heard. As it happened that Sir Bartholomew had returned
to England, I had no difficulty in learning the truth from the
fountainhead; and now that I have just had an interview with him, I
write at once to tell you the result. _Of course_ you will not lose a
moment about handing the odious woman over to the police as a forger
and impostor. I shan't be a bit surprised to find that they want her
already, and know lots of other things against her; goodness only
knows what she is--thief, coiner, swindler, incendiary, or anything!
It is so lucky that we should have found her out in time. Mind that
you see all your things are quite right, and if they are not, have
her boxes searched. Don't pay her anything, by the by. I should not
think a person who gets a situation as she has done can claim
wages--it would be getting money under false pretences, I fancy. At
any rate, there's no need to hurry about paying until we find out
whether we are legally bound to or not."

Having perused the letter I folded it up, and replaced it where
Kitty had let it fall on the floor, so that she might find it there
whenever she missed it, and went to search for it.

One thing, at all events, the letter proved clearly, and that was
that Lady Mervyn's servants had spoken with perfect truth when they
said she was mean; for how contemptibly mean and petty was her
suggestion about withholding my wages! It seemed to me that as I had
earned them honestly I was unquestionably entitled to them, whatever
my character might be. And I might conclude that Kitty, who was not
so little-minded as her mother, and whose pride made her incapable of
an ignoble action, took the same view of the matter that I did; for I
knew that if she had intended obeying her mother's instructions about
dismissing me unpaid, she would certainly not have mentioned, as she
had done, that I was to receive the full amount due to me. Honour and
truth were integral parts of her character, and apparent in all her
dealings; and though I was not myself sensitively particular about
those things, yet I could not help admiring them in her all the same.

Well, I had not deserved badly of her, I thought; and in reviewing my
past conduct it seemed to me that, on the whole, she had not much
reason to complain of me. No doubt, my acquisition of her purse at
the railway station had been somewhat questionable; but, after all,
it had only been picked up--not stolen; and my subsequent retention
of it had been caused chiefly by pique, because my feelings had been
hurt for the moment, when I found that she had forgotten me. Since I
had been her maid I had, I considered, served her faithfully enough;
and so I would continue to do during the short remaining period of
being in her service. This resolution, be it said, was prompted by
no ulterior views of self-interest, as I was quite aware of the
impossibility of my ever referring to her for a character. But she
had declined to rob me of my wages and send me to prison, as her
mother would have had her do, and had also troubled herself to soften
the dismissal in some way, and I wished to show that I appreciated
the consideration with which she had treated me, and was not
ungrateful for it. Consequently I omitted nothing that it was in my
power to do for her comfort on the journey back to England, and
performed my duties as her maid up to the last moment of quitting her
every bit as zealously as though I had hoped to gain some advantage
by my attentions.

At Charing Cross Station we separated, to the intense astonishment of
her aunt, who as yet knew nothing of what had taken place. They went
one way and I went another; and thus I was cut off from the first
person I had ever come across who possessed the gift of arousing the
sluggish capacity for affection which lay dormant in my cold-blooded
nature. Our being parted was entirely the doing of that abominable
Perkins; and, as I looked after her with a sigh, I relegated him to
the same place as my stepmother amongst my enemies, and regarded him
with sentiments of similar detestation.




                            CHAPTER VII.

                           A DOGGY PLACE.


When first cut adrift from Kitty, I felt disgusted with service and
had a great mind not to be a maid again, because I knew I should hate
waiting on any other mistress. But people who have to earn their own
living cannot afford to be fanciful, and reflection soon showed me
the unwisdom of throwing up in a pet a profession in which I had now
acquired some little experience; so, within a couple of days after
my return to London, I was once more advertising for a place as
travelling-maid.

The next consideration was how I was to get myself a character, as I
certainly could not apply to my late employers for one. Of course it
was open to me to supply myself with it in the same way I had done
before; but though I had then thought it a good joke and laughed at
the deception I practised, yet somehow I did not find myself taking
to the idea nearly as kindly now. I had been in the habit of making
fools of people for the mere fun of the thing, and had regarded a
falsehood much as the historian Green says that Queen Elizabeth did,
_i.e._ as an intellectual means of meeting a difficulty. But my views
seemed to have undergone an alteration of late, and I was conscious
of a certain amount of repugnance for what was untrue, which perhaps
showed that my intercourse with Kitty had had some effect in
educating my conscience, and that I had imbibed something of her
contempt for lies. Therefore I hesitated about writing a false
character; and no doubt my scruples were all the more lively in
consequence of my recent detection and narrow escape of prosecution
for forgery; for I had a horror of going to prison.

Consider as I might, however, I could see no honest way out of the
difficulty. A character I _must_ have, as without one I had no chance
of a situation, and without a situation I should starve. And as I had
no one to give me a character, I was bound to give it myself.
So--with a sigh for my own roguery--I took a pen and indited an
epistle, highly recommending Caroline Jill, from a lady with whom she
had lived two years and eight months, and who, before departing for
the Cape (where she did not want to be accompanied by a maid) had
written this character for the aforesaid Jill. I flatter myself it
was an artistic composition, decidedly complimentary, and yet not
ascribing to me such perfection as might arouse suspicion by its
incompatibility with the frailty of human nature.

After waiting for two or three weeks without receiving a single
answer to my advertisement, and searching the papers diligently
during that time without discovering any place advertised of the kind
that I wanted, I came to the conclusion that travelling-maids were at
a discount just at present. Living in lodgings and earning nothing
was too expensive a process to be continued long, so it seemed to me
that I had better alter my plans, and try and be something which was
_not_ at a discount. Should I go in for being a shopwoman? But that
was a monotonous existence, I thought, with not enough chance of
variety and amusement to suit me. And then it struck me that I might
let my talents as courier-maid lie idle for a while, and try for an
ordinary lady's-maid's situation. I knew that my lack of dressmaking
knowledge was much against that scheme; but still I _might_ have the
luck to meet with one of those ladies who always have their dresses
made out. At any rate I determined to make the attempt.

As soon as possible next morning I procured one or two newspapers,
copied the addresses of as many advertisers for ladies-maids as I
should be able to go and see in the day, and set off to call upon
these ladies. At every place, however, I found that dressmaking was
an indispensable qualification, and I returned to my lodgings weary
and unsuccessful. Next day I repeated the process with no better
result; and on the third day also it was just the same story over
again. Wherever I went there was a universal demand for dressmaking
on the part of the maid; and I began to wonder if, in all England,
there existed such a person as a struggling dressmaker; and if so,
why she did not instantly take to lady's-maiding.

Though discouraged by these repeated failures, I thought I would
still persevere a little longer before giving up, and accordingly
started on a fourth day's round as before. In the course of them I
came to the house of a Mrs. Torwood, who lived in Chester Square. My
ring at her bell was not answered for several minutes, and I was
thinking of repeating it when a noise something like a miniature
steam-engine approaching from within the house made me pause to see
what was coming. Directly afterwards the door was opened, and I
perceived that the pulling and blowing I had heard proceeded from a
fat, apoplectic-looking man-servant, to whom stairs were evidently
antipathetic, and who was panting tremendously after his ascent from
the inferior regions to the front-door. Being too much out of breath
to waste words, he only nodded affirmatively when I inquired whether
his mistress was at home and disengaged.

"Then please will you go and tell her," I said, "that I have called
about the maid's place, and ask if she can see me now?"

By this time he had recovered sufficiently to be able to speak.

"Why it's _hanother_ of 'em! Is this hever going to hend?" he groaned
in a melancholy voice, when he heard what my errand was. Then, some
happy thought seemed to occur to him, for his face brightened, and he
muttered to himself, "But why shouldn't she and me settle it? _I'll_
soon see if it's hany good her going further." And without stirring
from the spot, or giving the slightest indication of any intention of
taking my message, he addressed me thus:

"'Scuse me hasking, miss, but was your father, or hany near
rela_tive_ of yours, a 'untsman?"

"No," I answered, whereupon his countenance fell a little, and he
resumed:

"Or a gamekeeper, p'raps?"

I repeated the negative, and he looked still more disappointed, but
continued:

"No hoffence, miss, if I hasks one more question, and that is, 'ave
you hever, in hany way, bin abitooally brought in contack with
kennels, or packs of 'ounds?"

I shook my head; feeling not a little astonished at all this
questioning.

"Hah, then there's not a ghost of a chance as you'll take the place,"
he exclaimed regretfully, "and you may as well say good day, for I
can't in conshence hadvise you to go a wasting of your valuable time
with seeing the missis! I'm sorry--very; for I'm quite sick of a
hopening this old door to maids come about the sitooation, and I did
'ope as you might 'ave done, and put a bend to it. But its no use;
from what you've told me, I can see plainly as you won't do."

That the man was a character was evident; but as I was getting tired
of standing talking to him, and did not at all wish to receive his
confidences about his employers, I politely reiterated my former
request that he would go and find out if his mistress would see me.

"Well; but 'aven't I just _told_ you as it's no good?" he returned,
looking at me with an air of aggrieved surprise. "When I tells you as
I _knows_ as you hain't the individooal for the place, can't you go
hoff agin quietly, without a giving no more trouble? If you 'aven't
no considerashin for yourself, you might 'ave some for _me_, and not
give me all the wear and tear of toiling hup a lot of steps just for
nothing."

The seriousness with which he seemed to expect that I should accept
his opinion, and be satisfied to go away without having seen the lady
of the house, was intensely ludicrous, and I had some difficulty in
keeping my countenance.

"I am quite grieved to be so troublesome," I said, "but I have a
strange fancy for always making sure for myself whether a place will
suit me or not, and I'm afraid I really must ask you to be so good as
to let the lady know I am here."

He did not at all resent this (to him, probably, incomprehensible)
pertinacity on my part, but only put on a sort of resigned-martyr
air, saying:

"Come halong then, since you hinsists hupon it. But you'll soon find
as I was right, and p'raps that'll make you less hinkredulous of my
words hanother time. If you honly knowed what a lot of maids I've a
took hup these 'ere blessid stairs and down hagain, all for nothing!
Putting a hunfair strain hupon a man's lungs, _I_ considers it; but
there!--people _are_ so thoughtless."

He took care to reduce the strain upon his lungs to a minimum by
making me accompany him as far as the first landing on the stairs,
and wait there whilst he proceeded to the drawing-room. Thus, when he
had ascertained that his mistress would see me, it was only necessary
for him to lean over the banisters and beckon, whereby he avoided
having to descend any steps to fetch me, and could wait placidly till
I joined him on the first floor to be ushered into Mrs. Torwood's
presence.

There were dogs dispersed about the room in all directions, and my
entrance was the signal for a sudden chorus of sharp barks, which
gave me some clue to a comprehension of the butler's enigmatical
allusions to a kennel. It would have been impossible to hear oneself
speak had the clamour continued; but it subsided as quickly as it had
arisen, and, with two exceptions, the dogs took no more notice of me.
One exception was a terrier, who uttered subdued yaps at intervals,
as if half-ashamed of it; and the other was a collie, who thought he
would like my umbrella (which I held in my hand), and who kept
sidling up with an innocent air, and giving unobtrusive tugs at the
coveted object from time to time, apparently in hopes of getting
possession of it at some unguarded moment when I might be too much
engrossed in talking to his mistress to notice his proceedings. The
rest of the dogs, however, evidently thought that they had done their
duty conscientiously when they had proclaimed my advent, and that
there was no need to pursue the subject further. Very possibly they
considered barking to be the proper canine equivalent to the human
practice of announcing a visitor's name, which is only done on the
visitor's entrance, and not repeated afterwards.

Mrs. Torwood looked to me pretty, elegantly dressed, and silly, and
I guessed her age to be about thirty. She began by asking me my
name; after I had told her that, I expected the usual queries as to
qualifications would follow, and waited with dread for the mention of
that abominable dressmaking which had so often been my rock ahead.
But her next remark was quite unlike anything I had anticipated. She
hesitated a moment, and then said:

"You see these dogs of mine? Well, I can assure you that they are the
nicest, best-behaved darlings possible, and not a bit of trouble. Why
any one should mind doing anything for them, I can't conceive; but so
many maids _do_ object to it, for some unaccountable reason or other,
that I had better tell you at once that I expect my maid to brush and
comb these dogs every morning and take them out walking, besides
washing them once a week. So if you would dislike that, of course it
is no use my thinking of engaging you."

Certainly this was rather a variety on the ordinary ideas of what a
lady's-maid's duties would be; but as I had always been fond of
animals, I did not feel averse to the notion. Still, as Mrs. Torwood
evidently thought it likely that I should make difficulties about
undertaking the dogs, I would not be in too great a hurry to consent,
and would appear to make rather a favour of it. So I paused to
consider, and then asked: "How many dogs are there to look after,
m-m?"

"There are six at present," she replied; "but of course, if I were to
get any new ones, you would have them also."

It flashed upon me that here was an excellent opportunity for
escaping the demand for dressmaking which had hitherto been my
stumbling-block at every place for which I had applied.

"I have never been expected to take care of any lower animals
before," I said, speaking as like a dignified lady's-maid as I
could; "still, I would not object to oblige you by doing so, provided
no dressmaking is required."

"Why not?" she inquired, looking surprised.

"Because I know I should not have time for it," I answered.

"Oh, but the dogs won't take you the whole day," she returned. "I
don't say you would have time for a great deal of dressmaking. But
surely you might manage just a little--especially if you weren't
hurried about it?"

"There will be you to wait upon, and your clothes to keep in order,
m-m," said I, "and that, with washing, combing, and taking out six
dogs, is quite as much as I could _think_ of undertaking to get
through in the day; because if I undertook anything more, I know I
should only fail to give you satisfaction."

She hesitated. She had, however, met with so many maids who had from
the first moment flatly refused to have to do with her pets, that one
like me, who had no objection to them, seemed to her a _rara avis_.
Besides, her present maid was just going away, and she was in a hurry
to secure another. And therefore, after a little more opposition, my
firmness carried the day, and the obnoxious dressmaking was conceded.
Then we discussed other details, and I had to produce the character
with which I was provided. This, and the account of myself which I
gave, being deemed satisfactory, the interview terminated in my
engagement as her maid--upon which office I was to enter in another
three days.

She rang the bell when I left the room, and in the hall I found the
fat butler waiting to see that I left the premises without committing
any depredations on the plate or other portable property.

"Well; so now you knows as I was right, I s'pose, and that you might
as well 'ave gone away at once when I told you," he observed.

"Not exactly," I returned, "seeing that I have taken the situation."

"You don't say so!" he cried joyfully, elevating his eyebrows in
extreme surprise. "Thank goodness for that; and I honly 'opes as
you'll keep it, so as I shan't 'ave no more worrit with maids coming
about the place! What haggeravated me, you see, was knowing all the
time as they was _sure_ not to take it, and that I was just a
trotting hup and down them beastly old stairs, all for nothing. A man
doesn't like to think as he's being sackerificed in vain; and that
there's no hobjeck in heggsershuns sitch as may land him in a
consumpshun or a hastma."

"But you made sure once too often," I said, laughing; "you declared
that it was no use showing _me_ upstairs, and yet you were wrong, you
see."

"Not a bit of it," he retorted severely; "no young 'ooman need think
as she'll make me out wrong so heasy as all that. Did you never 'ear
tell of the eggsepshun as proves the rule? Because that's what _you_
are, let me tell you; and I doesn't form my judgment by eggsepshuns
but by rules! Precious slow those eggsepshuns are in showing
theirselves, too, sometimes. I've known one keep a man waiting till
he's just wore out, instead of 'urrying to the fore sharp when 'twas
wanted, as it _might_ 'a done."

Having thus refuted the charge of error, and given me a pretty broad
hint that I--by not making my appearance on the scene sooner--had
incurred the responsibility of his numerous needless journeys up and
downstairs on behalf of aspirant maids, he relaxed his severity, and
bid me good-bye with a graciousness which showed he bore no malice
for the injuries I had done him.

I returned his farewell civilly, little dreaming that this man would
ever give me a means of annoying my hated step-mother; then I went
straight to buy a dog-whistle, which seemed to me a most essential
article for Mrs. Torwood's maid to possess.

It was on that same day, I remember, that the papers announced the
engagement of the Hon. K. Mervyn to Lord Clement. I had not expected
it to come quite so soon, but otherwise was not at all surprised; for
I had never doubted that the Earl's chance of winning her would go up
as soon as Captain Norroy was out of the question.




                           CHAPTER VIII.

                            A DISCOVERY.


Mrs. Torwood was lady-like, good-natured, indolent, rather foolish,
easily-influenced, not difficult to get on with, and thinking more of
her clothes, her appearance, and her dogs, than anything else. She
spoilt these last terribly, and let them do whatever they pleased.
But I liked them for all that; indeed, if it had not been for them, I
doubt whether I should not have found myself too much bored in the
situation to stay there, for their mistress was very uninteresting
in my eyes, and did not move about enough to please me. Her pets,
however, had considerably more individuality than she had, and
afforded me sufficient amusement and occupation to keep me contented.
As my ignorance of dressmaking had prevented me from getting other
places that I had tried for, and as it was through the dogs that I
had at last surmounted that obstacle, mere gratitude would have
prompted me to do well by them, even if the work of looking after
them had been distasteful to me. But this was not the case, thanks to
my fondness for animals; and it was not long before they and I were
on the best of terms together.

In some respects, however, they caused me a good deal of anxiety. The
chief of these causes was the daily airing which it was my duty to
give them; and I was always thankful to find myself safely at home
again without either of my charges being lost or stolen, or having
got into any mischief. I used to take them out singly and in a chain
just at first; and as soon as our acquaintance was sufficiently
advanced for me to discard the chain, I took them two at a time. But
I did not venture to go beyond that number when in town, as all the
dear creatures had some little characteristic peculiarity or other,
which made it necessary to keep a sharp look-out upon each individual
during the whole walk, if one did not want to lose them or get into a
scrape. If I enumerate these little peculiarities, I think it will be
evident that my precaution of not taking more than two together was
not uncalled-for.

I will begin with Dart, a terrier whose mouth always watered after
the calves of children's legs, though he only wanted to enjoy the
feel of the flesh between his teeth, and had not the least wish to do
any real harm. As soon as he saw a pair of these tempting objects
anywhere near, he would go and join the owner, wagging his tail,
smoothing back his ears, smiling, wriggling his body, and altogether
looking sweet enough to inspire confidence in the breast of the most
distrustful infant. Then, turning his head insidiously as he walked
along, he would seize the nearest calf, give it a good squeeze, and
depart hastily, leaving the victim more frightened than hurt, howling
dismally, kicking, and struggling. Of course it was easy to prevent
the catastrophe by recalling him the instant he assumed an expression
of extra-amiability, and set off in the direction of a barelegged
child; but, as barelegged children are plentiful in London, it was
obviously well for whoever had charge of Dart to keep an eye upon him
constantly.

Yarrow, again, was a collie who had a rooted conviction that his
constitution required carriage exercise, and who never failed to
do his best to give effect to that idea by trying to get into any
carriage, cab, or 'bus whose door he saw open. This habit of his
sometimes gave rise to laughable scenes, as, for instance, one day
when he skipped up the steps of an extremely grand barouche, just as
the gorgeously-apparelled footman was holding the door open for his
mistress to get in, whilst a dignified butler, and a couple more men
in gorgeous liveries were respectfully attending her to the door of
the house she was leaving. The flunkey at the carriage nearly fell
backwards with horror, but did not venture to interfere with the
audacious intruder, so Yarrow settled himself in triumph on the
front seat, and sat there at ease with his tongue hanging out, and
shedding drops on the smart cushions which he was profaning. He
looked blandly at the dismayed servants--not one of whom dared lay a
finger on him--and at the lady standing laughing on the doorstep of
the house; and how the scene would have terminated if I had not
arrived to the rescue and dislodged him, I cannot imagine. He was
complete master of the situation as far as the servants were
concerned; but I suppose one of them would eventually have called a
policeman if I had not intervened.

A third member of my pack was Royal, a fat King Charles, who always
made me wish I had eyes in the back of my head. He was the veriest
dawdle that ever existed, and was possessed with the idea that
whoever took him out was walking too fast, and that it was his duty
to protest against such haste; therefore, no matter how slowly one
went, he was sure to lag far behind. His dilatoriness was especially
provoking, because of his being so handsome and well-bred as to be
unusually attractive to dog-stealers; and many a collision have I had
with other street passengers in consequence of walking backwards so
as not to lose sight of that precious animal.

I come next to Sue, a spaniel of inordinate appetite, who, like
Royal, kept me in a continual state of alarm during her walks lest
she should be stolen. As she _never_ thought she had had enough to
eat, she was sure to follow any one who carried food, and would also
constantly stop to sniff about in the gutter in search of something
to satisfy her cravings; for she was not in the least dainty, and
devoured everything edible with relish. She was a shocking thief,
too; and now and then, before I could stop her, she would manage to
whip a beef-steak or mutton-chop off some butcher's tray that had
been left unguarded by the area-rails whilst the butcher was below
enjoying a gossip with the cook. On these occasions I felt a little
puzzled how to act. To let Sue carry off her prize quietly would be
robbing the butcher, and I did not want to be dishonest if I could
help it. Yet, if the man knew what had happened, he would probably
make a bother and claim damages, and I did not want that either. So I
adopted the middle course of running after Sue, taking the meat from
her and restoring it to the tray, and getting clear off from the
spot as quickly as possible before the return of the owner. This
arrangement seemed to me fair to all parties, as it saved me from
unpleasantness, and, at the same time, did no wrong to the butcher.
No doubt his customers would not buy the meat if they knew it had
been in the dog's mouth, and would declare it to be disgusting and
uneatable; but then the idea is everything in matters of taste; and
as the little accident with Sue would be unknown, the meat would be
eaten without a qualm, and was therefore undeteriorated in value, I
argued; for I was sure it was not _really_ any the worse. Sue often
aggravated me also in respect of poor working men eating an _al
fresco_ breakfast or dinner. As soon as ever she saw one of these
men, off she would go, and sit up on her hind-legs in front of him,
begging with glistening eyes, slobbering mouth, and an eagerness that
might have made one think she was starving, if her sleek sides had
not told a different tale. Her beseeching face and manner generally
produced an effect, and I have seen many a man, who looked ill able
to afford a morsel out of his scanty meal, throw her a scrap. I
always interfered with this little game of hers, and prevented her
from being given anything if I could get to the spot in time; for I
felt quite ashamed to be in charge of an evidently well-fed dog like
her, who went sponging upon poor people who probably had not enough
for themselves--I almost wondered she had not too much self-respect
to do it.

Chose was a light-hearted French poodle, with a strong taste for
sport, which had, unluckily, never been developed in the right
direction. Sheep appeared to him to be quite legitimate game, and he
never could see them without trying to sneak off in their direction,
with a drooping tail and general air of depression, which may have
been caused by a consciousness of wrongdoing, or else by fear of
being recalled before he was out of reach, and thus deprived of the
_chasse_ on which his heart was set. As for birds, he considered all
to be fair game alike, and rushed madly after any feathered creature
that was sitting or running on the ground, or flying low anywhere
near him. Repeated failure did not discourage him; he evidently
believed it to be his mission to catch birds, and dashed off
accordingly in frantic pursuit of rooks, swallows, chaffinches,
sparrows, and other birds on the wing, though he had no more chance
of catching them than he had of jumping over the moon. This was all
very well when he hunted wild birds that could fly away; but it was a
more serious matter when poultry were concerned, and the scrapes he
got into with ducks and chickens in the course of his career would
require a chapter to enumerate.

Finally, I come to Jumbo, a diminutive terrier, with a mania for
digging, who was the abomination of all the gardeners in his
neighbourhood. Soft, freshly-turned earth was an irresistible
temptation to him; and if not watched carefully, he was sure to slip
off to the nearest flower-bed in park, square, or garden, and there
dig gigantic graves in a surprisingly short space of time. I expect
he thought that, considering what a lot of moles, rabbits, rats, and
mice had holes underground, he must infallibly light upon some one of
these creatures at last, if he persevered in his researches long
enough. He had also a weakness for flowers, and liked to pick them
for himself; so, altogether, I don't wonder he was not loved by
gardeners, one of whom once remarked to me indignantly:

"That 'ere dawg o' yourn is the werry wusstest little beast I
ever see! I'd just like to take and give 'im to one o' them 'ere
willysectin doctors, _that_ I would!"

Well, those six dogs gave me a good bit of trouble in one way or
other, no doubt; and all the more because their mistress spoilt them,
and did not try to get them out of their bad ways, and they were not
with me long enough for me to be able to undo the effect of her
spoiling. But they amused me and I liked them, notwithstanding their
troublesomeness; and when I went near them it pleased me to hear the
thump thump of tails against the ground, which showed that I was
welcome.

The Torwoods kept no indoor man-servant except the butler already
mentioned, who rejoiced in the name of Eliezer Scroggins; and as he
was a respectable, steady-going married man, I found, to my great
satisfaction, that I was in no danger of suffering from persecutions
like those of the detestable Perkins. I got on very well with
Scroggins, and was often amused by his peculiarities; for he was (as
I had guessed at first) somewhat of a character, though a very good
sort of fellow, for all that. His prejudices were very strong, and
he was sure to cling with pigheaded obstinacy to whatever idea he had
taken into his head. I soon discovered that amongst his pet aversions
were people who, in his opinion, gave themselves airs, and presumed
to push their way up to a station above that in which they had been
born. Such people he hated as he hated stairs--perhaps more; and no
matter whether they moved in his mistress's sphere of life or his
own, they irritated him as the proverbial red rag does the bull.
Indeed, I rather suspect that he sometimes had premeditated accidents
when any of these objects of his dislike were dining at the Torwoods,
and that any visitor of theirs who was considered by him to be what
he called a "parvenyoo" was not at all unlikely to receive a bath of
soup, sauce, tea, coffee, or wine, or to suffer from some similar
misadventure, caused by the intentional clumsiness of the butler.

His bitterness on the subject of people who had risen above their
natural position was so great that I had little doubt of there being
some particular reason for it; and idle curiosity moved me to try and
find out what that reason was, though I never for an instant supposed
that the history could be one in any way specially concerning _me_.
However, he did not choose to confide his private family affairs to a
complete stranger; and so, though he dropped occasional dark hints,
whence I concluded that he had a step-sister whom he detested, yet it
was not till I had been nearly a year in Mrs. Torwood's service that
I at last was permitted to know the cause of his inveterate spite
against the whole race of parvenus.

His mother, it appeared, had been twice married, and he was her child
by the second marriage. Her first husband was a clerk named Brown,
who had died before he was thirty, leaving only one child, a daughter
named Mary. He had had rather exalted ideas about education, and had
no opinion of home teaching, and consequently had sent his daughter
to a cheap boarding-school as soon as ever she was old enough to
leave home.

After Brown's death his young widow had married into a social
position a shade below that of the clerk, and become the spouse of a
grocer in the East End, named Joshua Scroggins, to whom in due time
she presented my friend Eliezer, and sundry other children.

On the second marriage the grocer, a good-hearted conscientious man,
had declared that it would be a shame for her daughter Mary not to
have the same education as her own father would have given her, so he
generously went on paying for her at the school where she had been
already placed. Here the girl picked up a fair education, and also
many ridiculous and fine ideas. She took to spell her name with an
"e" at the end; would sooner have died than let her school-fellows
know that she was connected with a small retail shopkeeper bearing a
name so odiously vulgar as Scroggins; and brooded over the grievance
of having so unpresentable a step-father, until she became convinced
he had done her a mortal injury by marrying her mother, and got into
the habit of disliking and despising him in spite of the kindness and
liberality with which he always treated her. Now Scroggins was an
honest hard-working man, who minded his shop in person, with the
assistance of his wife and children; though he had managed to defray
Mary's schooling, yet the expense had now and then pressed on him a
little heavily, and he had not the least intention of keeping her as
an idle fine lady when she left school for good and came to live at
home, but expected her to take her turn in the shop, as the rest of
the household did. Her disgust at this was intense, and she showed it
by doing her work as badly as she dared, scolding and flouncing about
the house, and losing no opportunity of making herself generally
disagreeable.

The Scroggins family--consisting of father and mother, and four
children, of whom my friend Eliezer was the eldest--had hitherto
lived in unbroken peace and harmony, and now groaned sorely under the
infliction of the new-comer, with her airs and graces and tantrums.
The recollection of her being fatherless kept them from resenting her
nonsense as it deserved, and made them more gentle and patient with
her than they would perhaps have been otherwise; but it was felt by
all to be a blessed relief when the disturbing element was removed by
marriage to a city gent. He was in business, but did not keep a shop,
and so she graciously condescended to accept him as a means of escape
from the intolerable humiliation of serving behind her step-father's
counter. The city gent proved a good speculation. A few lucky
ventures gave him a rise in the world; and when, in the course of
years, he left her a widow, her social position was very considerably
better than it had been when she first became his wife. By the time
he died, all intercourse between her and the Scrogginses had long
been at an end. Though she had not hesitated to receive a dowry from
her step-father, yet she had never evinced the smallest gratitude for
that, or any of the numerous other benefits he had bestowed upon her.
On the contrary, she took no trouble to conceal her aversion to him;
declared that vulgarity was necessarily attached to such a name as
Scroggins; and, after her marriage, saw less and less of the family,
and rudely checked all friendly advances on their part, till at last
she succeeded in altogether cutting the connection. Mrs. Scroggins--a
peace-loving, kindly soul, who could not bear to be mixed up in any
kind of dissension--was grieved by this, and by the separation from
her daughter, though it was no fault of hers, and she could not
possibly help it. But she bore no malice, and when the news came of
her son-in-law's death, she thought only of her daughter's present
distress, and forgot the many slights and insults that had been cast
upon her and hers. Full of unaffected hearty sorrow and sympathy, she
set off immediately to visit the bereaved Mary, hoping to be able to
comfort her and be of use to her. What took place on the occasion of
this visit Eliezer never exactly knew. But he knew well that the
reception of his good-hearted and forgiving mother must have been
both unseemly and unpleasant, when he saw her return home in tears,
thoroughly upset, and saying that she could not have believed any
woman would have behaved so rudely to her own mother; and that,
unless she was sent for, she would _never_ again try to see Mary.
This had made a deep impression on Eliezer, who adored his mother;
and the bitter enmity he had ever since cherished against the person
who had treated her so badly, and whom he regarded as an upstart, had
extended to the whole race of "parvenyoos."

"Do you know what has become of your step-sister?" I asked carelessly;
"and do you ever see her?"

"See 'er!" he ejaculated wrathfully; "not if I knows it. I'm none so
fond of raising my corruption by looking at what I 'ates! But I 'ears
tell on 'er now and agin; she married some swell with a 'andle to 'is
name some years back. Mary Grove's clever enough--you may trust 'er
to do well for 'erself wherehever she is."

In telling his tale he had not before mentioned the name of his
step-sister's husband; but when he spoke of Mary Grove, I pricked up
my ears with a sudden recollection that that had been the name of my
step-mother. "Was Grove the name of the city gent?" I enquired
eagerly.

Scroggins nodded.

"Had they any children?" I continued.

"A couple o' gals named Jane and Margret there was," he returned; "I
don't know what they be like now, for I ain't seen 'em--not since
they was little mites o' things."

Jane and Margaret! these had been the names of my step-sisters, and
I felt almost sure that his step-sister and my step-mother must be
one and the same person. One more question would make the matter
absolutely certain, so I said: "What was the name of Mary Grove's
second husband--do you know it?"

"Oh yes, I knows it; but I can't lay tongue to it at this moment.
What hever is it now? Sir Hanthony something or other--I should know
it if I was to 'ear it."

"Was it anything like----" I began, and then paused. Never once had
my own name passed my lips since I left home, and somehow now, when I
tried to say it, it seemed to stick in my throat. Overcoming this
feeling, however, I completed my sentence--"like Trecastle?" It was
strange how, in spite of my first hesitation about uttering the word,
yet when once it was out, my tongue clung lovingly to it, and I
should have liked to repeat it over and over again. I thought it
sounded better than any other name I had ever heard, and felt a
thrill of pride to think that it was mine by right.

"That's the very thing!" he exclaimed triumphantly; "Sir Hanthony
Trecassel, and I wishes 'im joy of 'is bargain! 'Ow hever did you
come to think of 'im?"

"Oh, I had heard of a Sir Anthony Trecastle before," I replied, "and
so when you started me with the first name, the second suggested
itself quite naturally."

Here our conversation was interrupted, and I retired to meditate
complacently on the means of being revenged on my step-mother, which
fortune had so kindly thrown in my way. There was nothing _really_
to be ashamed of in such a connection as the Scrogginses, who were
evidently highly respectable and excellent individuals. Yet few
people in society would altogether enjoy having a mother named
Scroggins, who sold soap and tallow candles in the East End; and,
least of all, the former Mary Brown, who had striven so indefatigably
and successfully to cut herself free from every trace of the grocer's
shop. It would be gall and wormwood to her to have her secret
revealed; and I chuckled with delight to think that it had fallen
into my hands, and that the whole world would know it when I chose.

But I would not be in too great a hurry with my vengeance. I
would take time about it--prolong her torment by keeping her in
suspense, and letting her see the blow coming before it actually
fell. Therefore I commenced operations by posting to her an
anonymous letter in a feigned hand, stating that the writer was
a benevolent individual to whom the spectacle of domestic discord
was inexpressibly shocking, and who was much inclined to undertake
the good work of endeavouring to bring about a public reconciliation
between the Scrogginses and one of their family who had long been
estranged from them.

This would suffice to alarm her and make her anxious as to what the
writer's real intentions were. Perhaps she would think he meant only
to extort money--from which idea her parsimonious soul would shrink
with horror; or perhaps she would think that he meant to execute his
threat, which she would regard as a still more terrible possibility.
Either way she would be made miserable, and so my object would be
gained.

After leaving some weeks for the digestion of this missive, I
despatched another, stating that the writer considered it part of a
wife's duty to introduce her husband to her parents; and that if any
wife failed to perform that duty, it behoved some one else to do it
in her place.

This I presently followed by a third and still more menacing letter,
so as continually to increase her terrors, and keep her perpetually
with a sword hanging over her head. At every epistle I sent off I
gloated over the thought of the state of disquietude in which she
must be; and as I remembered how uncomfortable she had once made me,
I regretted that I could not be present when the letters arrived, so
as to have the pleasure of seeing my shafts take effect and wound
her. The execution of the threats should come soon, I thought. My
intention was to play with her and keep her on tenterhooks for a
while, and then to send anonymous letters containing information of
her antecedents to my father, his family, the county people, and
others with whom she had formerly been intimate. I should of course
give the address of the Scroggins' shop, so that it would be easy for
the recipients of the letters to verify my statement if they cared to
do so; and there could be little doubt that all her bosom friends
would give themselves that much trouble, even if mere chance
acquaintances did not think it worth while. Therefore there was no
danger of the history being hushed up and kept quiet, and of her
being spared the humiliation she dreaded.

Before, however, I had brought my operations to a climax, they were
interrupted by an unforeseen event, which must be related in the next
chapter.




                            CHAPTER IX.

                        THE LAST OF PERKINS.


I daresay my readers will take it for granted that I adopted a fresh
name when I went into Mrs. Torwood's service. So I most certainly
_ought_ to have done after my previous forgery of a character having
been detected. But sometimes one is astonishingly stupid; and
the idea of making that very necessary alteration never entered
my head. Caroline Jill I had dubbed myself when I dropped the
secretly-venerated name of Trecastle, and Caroline Jill I--like an
idiot--continued to be, without having the wits to see how foolish it
was of me to stick to a name upon which I had brought discredit. I
was now to feel the consequences of this imprudence, the penalty
being brought about, indirectly, by three of the dogs under my care.

One morning when I went as usual to call Mrs. Torwood, she said she
should stay in bed a little longer, as she had a headache, and that I
was to leave her to sleep till half-past ten, when she meant to get
up. It so happened that I was particularly desirous of getting
through my work early on that day, and as by taking out the six dogs
in two instead of three detachments, I should have just time to give
the whole lot their daily airing before the hour when I was to return
to my mistress, I determined to break my rule for once, and take
them out three together, instead of in couples, as usual.

Behold me, then, sallying forth at about 9.30 A.M., accompanied by
the greedy Sue, the vivacious and sport-loving Chose, and the
dawdling Royal. Our progress was characteristic of my three
companions. First went Chose, trotting ahead of us, and keeping a
bright look-out for a chance of a _chasse_. Next came Sue and I--she
making occasional foraging excursions into the gutter, and I
continually walking backwards and wringing my neck, in order not to
lose sight of Royal. Finally came Royal, lagging far behind, with his
customary leisurely imperturbability. All went well till we came to
where a footman had lounged out from his master's house, leaving the
front door open behind him, and was standing a few yards off chatting
with a friend. I and my pack had passed there before often enough for
the footman to know us by sight; and I knew him in the same way, and
knew also that his employers had a pet in the shape of a magnificent
Persian cat. Now this cat had taken advantage of the open door to
come out upon the pavement, where she was sunning herself tranquilly
when Chose, who, as I have mentioned, headed our party, drew near to
that spot. At sight of puss he stopped short with uplifted paw and
quivering tail, and for a second or so the two animals stood
motionless and gazing at each other. Then the cat, distrusting his
appearance, whisked round, and flew like lightning up the doorsteps
into the house. Had she stayed still, Chose might very likely have
let her alone; but the instant he saw her run he became convinced she
was game, and therefore to be hunted. I whistled and called to him in
vain; without a moment's hesitation, and paying no attention to me,
he dashed after her in hot pursuit across the hall and up the front
staircase. Of course it would never do to have him hunting a pet cat
all over its owner's house; so I said to the footman, who was looking
on and laughing without seeming to think there was any need for him
to interfere: "I'd better run in and fetch the dog back, hadn't I?"

"All right," answered he, knowing that I was not to be suspected of
designs on the spoons; and in I went without more ado.

The family to whom the house belonged would doubtless have been
considerably astonished to see a stranger invading their premises in
this unceremonious manner; but luckily they were still in their
bedrooms, and I met with none of them as I rushed after my truant. I
followed him upstairs, through the drawing-room, and into a little
boudoir on the first floor. Here I found him standing on his hind
legs upon a light-blue satin sofa (which bore marks of his dirty
feet), and vainly endeavouring to get to the top of a high cabinet
where puss had taken refuge. She, feeling herself in security, was
indulging in a candid and emphatic expression of opinion respecting
her pursuer by growling, spitting, arching her back, swelling out her
tail to three or four times its usual size, and now and then striking
viciously in his direction with her paw. I imagine this last action
was merely meant to relieve her feelings in the same way that
fist-shaking relieves those of human beings, for she must have been
perfectly well aware that the poodle was quite out of reach from her
perch.

Chose was one of those dogs who are always completely subdued
directly they find themselves captured, so I had no more trouble with
him now that I had come to close quarters; he followed me downstairs
unresistingly, feebly wagging the very tip of his tail, and looking a
touching picture of apologetic meekness and penitence.

That smell-feast of a Sue meanwhile had profited by the commotion to
get into a little mischief on her own account. Having accompanied me
as far as the hall, she had then immediately sniffed out the
dining-room, and turned in there in preference to going on with me
upstairs, and I, having my head full of Chose, did not attend to
her proceedings. In the dining-room there were preparations for
breakfast, and Sue's nose guided her unerringly to a side-table
whereon some cold meat had been set out. By help of a conveniently
placed chair she speedily mounted on to this table, took up a cold
chicken of which she thought she could fancy a morsel, jumped down
again to the floor, and made off for some safer place where she might
hope to enjoy her fowl peacefully.

The footman, thinking it time to go and see what was taking place
indoors, bade adieu to his friend, and entered the house just as Sue
was in the act of issuing from the dining-room door with the bird in
her mouth. He immediately armed himself with a riding whip that lay
in the hall, barred her exit from the house, and tried to make her
give up what she had stolen. In this, however, he was unsuccessful;
for though he hit her smartly enough to make her squeak, yet she
still clung resolutely to her booty. Consequently, when I came
downstairs with the recently-disobedient but now abjectly-submissive
Chose at my heels, congratulating myself on being out of this bother,
the first thing I saw was Sue, carrying a chicken, scrimmaging from
side to side of the hall, and endeavouring to avoid the footman's
whip and dodge past him in the street. Very much disgusted at her
having thus got into mischief the instant my attention was taken off,
I swooped down upon her from the rear; and as she was only thinking
of the foe in front and did not notice my approach, I was easily able
to catch hold of her, and enforce the surrender of the bird.

Provoked as I felt with these two dogs for their bad behaviour, I
could not stop to scold them much at that moment; for I was disturbed
by the possibility that Royal, too, might have taken it into his head
to get into a scrape on this unlucky morning, and I wanted to have
him safe under my wing again as soon as possible. Hastily telling the
footman that I hoped the chicken was not much the worse, and that I
was sorry the dogs had been so troublesome, I hurried off to look for
the King Charles. Even such a slow-coach as Royal had had plenty of
time to overtake us by now, and it would not be at all like him to
exert himself needlessly by going an inch along the road in advance
of the person who had taken him out. Therefore, as he had not made
his appearance in the house, I made sure that he must be waiting for
me outside.

To my dismay, however, he was nowhere to be seen; look which way I
would, not a hair of the precious animal was visible. "Did ever any
one see such a handful as these dogs are?" ejaculated I mentally;
"and oh, what a fool I was to take out more than two of them at a
time!"

I had not the slightest idea in which direction to look for Royal,
and was wondering what I had better do, when a ragged little girl
whom I had not before observed, ran up and said:

"Please, 'as yer losted suthin?"

"Yes; a little dog," I returned; "can you tell me where it is?"

"I seed a man pick'n hup and put'n in a bastik, and I thought it
warn't hisn, neither," she exclaimed, pointing down the street; "he'm
jest gone 'long the fust turn to the right there. Run quick and
you'll ketch 'im p'raps."

I delayed not a moment, but set off at full speed; and the two dogs
ran with me, greatly excited at my sudden haste, and mystified as to
the cause of it. As for Chose, he forgot all about his penitence,
was immediately in the highest spirits, and bounded along with an
up-in-the-air, elastic, springing action which implied an unlimited
stock of suppressed energy ready to display itself the instant he
should succeed in discovering what game I was in pursuit of, and he
was to go for.

On reaching the turning indicated, I saw a respectably dressed man
with a basket on his arm at some little distance off. When first I
saw him he was walking fast in the same direction as I was; at the
sound of my footsteps he looked round, and then began to run. Close
to the other end of the street was a crowded thoroughfare where it
would be easy enough for him to give me the slip; so I strained every
nerve to come up with him before he could get out of the street in
which we then were. But it was not an equal race between us; for he
had a start and was quite fresh, whilst I was already a little bit
out of breath with running; and I soon perceived that he would escape
unless I could procure assistance.

Thinking Chose might be useful, I tried to incite him to rush on and
tackle the man. But he only responded by barking, springing higher
than ever in the air, and looking wildly about to find out what he
was being set at. Evidently it never entered his head that he could
be meant to hunt a human being.

Two or three times I called out "Stop thief!" But that was mere waste
of breath, for the street was empty, and though the cry attracted
some of the inhabitants to their doors and windows to see what was
going on, no one made any attempt to come to my aid. I suppose they
wanted to know the rights of the matter first--and I had not time to
stop and explain it just then.

The man had almost gained the end of the street, and I was giving up
all hopes of success, when, in the very nick of time, a policeman
came in sight just in front of him. My shouts and gesticulations made
the policeman comprehend that I wanted the runner stopped. The latter
tried to bolt past the official, but was foiled; and, to my joy, I
beheld the fugitive captured and held fast. When I came up, I found
him expostulating with his captor with an assumption of much virtuous
indignation, declaring that he was hurrying to catch a train, that it
would be ruin to him to miss it, and that he should hold any one who
stopped him responsible for whatever loss he had to suffer in
consequence.

"Please look in his basket," I panted to the policeman, "and see if
there isn't a King Charles spaniel in it that he has just stolen."

"In _corse_ there's a dawg," exclaimed the fugitive with an air of
injured innocence, whilst the policeman lifted up the lid of the
basket, and discovered Royal ensconced underneath, "and why not? It's
my own dawg as I'm a takin' with me, and 'as I'm 'bliged to carry
when I'm in a 'urry cos he can't go fast enough to keep hup. Does
the good lady think as no vun 'as a right to 'ave a dawg besides
'erself?"

"Certainly not," replied I, "but that dog is not yours for all that,
as you know well enough. He belongs," I continued, addressing the
policeman, "to a lady living in Chester Square, whose maid I am. Come
there with me, and you will soon see whether this man's story is true
or not."

"Oh, hof corse you sez that," grumbled the thief, "when I've
jest a told you as I can't hafford to miss my train, not on no
consideration! But there! what's the lost of a dawg to the lost of a
fortin? Take 'im, then, since you hinsists! Do hanythink you pleases,
honly don't keep me 'ere no longer."

But the policeman was not to be gammoned. He said we must both go
along with him to Chester Square to find out if my story was true;
and added with gentle satire, that as the man claimed the dog and
was so unwilling to be parted from it, he might have the pleasure
of continuing to carry it in the basket till the real ownership
should be proved. And so we all set out together for the Torwood's
house, notwithstanding the prisoner's fluent remonstrances and
protestations.

As I rather prided myself on being habitually wide-awake and capable
of performing whatever I undertook to do, I should have felt it was a
disgrace to me to lose one of the dogs; and therefore I was sincerely
thankful to the little girl by whose means I had been saved from
incurring such a slur. I saw her loitering at the end of the street,
watching the result of my chase; and as we passed back that way, I
went up to thank her for her timely information. So grateful did I
feel, that I was pulling out my purse to express my sentiments in a
substantial form, when, to my surprise, she stopped me by saying:

"Don't do that! I 'on't take nothin' for tellin' what you wanted to
know, cos I was honly payin' a debt as I've oweded you this long
time."

Seeing my look of astonishment, she continued:

"'Twas you as bought flowers off o' me so as I could get brexhus, one
mornin' two years back and more, when I was that 'ungry I didn't know
what to do; and I've hoften thought as I'd like to pay you back for
it, and wondered if I should hever get a chance. When I seen the chap
grab the dawg I didn't mean to say nothin' 'bout it at fust--for I
doesn't never care to go gettin' coves into trouble; but then I see
you come out o' the 'ouse, lookin' like as you'd losted suthin; and I
'membered your face all of a suddint, and I thought if the dawg was
yours, I'd tell you where 'twas gone, to pay back what you done for
me afore."

I recollected the girl now, and saw she was the same whose
breakfastless condition had excited my compassion one day long ago,
just after I had run away from home and come to London. Certainly she
more than repaid what I had done for her then. Value for value, I
should have had very much the best of the bargain if the dog had--as
she supposed--belonged to me; for I knew that £30 had been offered
and refused for Royal, whereas the amount that I had given her was
only a shilling. "I should like to be able to invest all my shillings
at that rate of interest!" thought I, as I nodded good-bye to her,
and hurried to join the policeman and his prisoner.

Mrs. Torwood regarded dog-stealers with much the same antipathy that
some sporting squires seem to feel towards poachers--deeming them
natural enemies to the common weal, who might advantageously be
extirpated, root and branch. She had, therefore, no idea of letting
slip the excellent opportunity which now presented itself for the
punishment of one of these abominated miscreants, and the prosecution
of Royal's thief was a matter of course. When the trial came on,
naturally I was a principal witness; and thus the police reports in
the paper contained the name of "Caroline Jill, lady's-maid to Mrs.
Torwood, of -- Chester Square," as having given evidence in a
dog-stealing case.

As luck would have it, this caught the eye of my old enemy Perkins,
and set him wondering whether the person referred to could be the
same individual who had once presumed to reject his advances so
rudely. Though he had already been the means of turning me out of one
place, yet still his spite was not satisfied; so (as I suppose) he
hung about Chester Square till he had seen me pass, and ascertained
my identity; then he came to our house, and had an interview with
Mrs. Torwood.

It happened that I was looking out of the window when he left the
house. I was extremely astonished to see him, and still more
astonished at the state he was in, for he looked deadly pale, and all
wild and frightened, and was shaking visibly. The sight of him made
me uneasy; for though I had no notion of the object of his visit,
still I was sure that his appearance in my vicinity was not likely to
bode any good to me.

I took the first opportunity of trying to find out from my friend
Eliezer, what the man's business with our mistress had been. But
Eliezer could tell me nothing about it; all he knew was that the
party had asked to speak to her, saying that he had something
important to say, and that he had left her again after a not very
long interview.

"She must have frightened him pretty well, whatever it may have been
about," said I; "he looked worse than if he'd seen a ghost, when he
went away."

"Ah, he did that," returned Eliezer, chuckling at the remembrance,
"but it was, so to say, hisself as he was 'feared on. I never see
sitch a coward in hall my born days, 'afore."

This naturally excited my curiosity, and I made Eliezer tell me what
had taken place to give Perkins a fright, which, I need scarcely say,
was not an unpleasant hearing to one who owed him a grudge, as I did.

The collie Yarrow, it appeared, had been lying on a mat in the hall
when the visitor departed; and the latter, not seeing the dog, had
inadvertently trodden heavily on his toe. Now Yarrow's temper was,
like that of many collies, a little uncertain; and as, furthermore,
he had always a particular objection to have his toes walked upon or
hurt, he lost not an instant in retaliating by biting his injurer in
the leg. Perkins, startled at first to find himself stumbling over a
dog which he had not seen, seemed completely overcome by terror when
the stumble was followed promptly by a severe bite; he staggered back
against the wall, turning as pale as ashes, and hardly able to speak.
When he had recovered himself a little, Eliezer discovered that the
cause of this great fright was, that Perkins had a sort of craze
about hydrophobia, and held it in such intense horror that he was
really not capable of being reasonable where it was concerned.

Eliezer being the only person handy at the moment, was besieged by
Perkins with flurried questions. Wasn't it as bad to be bitten by an
animal that was angry as by one that was mad? How long was it before
madness showed in a person who had been bitten by a mad dog? Was it a
_certain_ cure to have the place burnt out? Was there any other less
painful remedy? It would be so horrid to have one's flesh burnt! but
still--hydrophobia would be worse. Whatever should he do?

These and similar questions were poured into the ears of Eliezer as
though he had been an authority upon madness, because Perkins was in
that state of absurd panic which made him long to hear a word of
comfort from any one--no matter who. But he did not get any
consolation from Eliezer, who had a hearty contempt for cowards, and
rarely lost a chance of tormenting them by playing upon their
weakness. Therefore the butler carefully abstained from saying
anything reassuring, shook his head and sighed, and affected to think
the bite an extremely serious matter. Finally, the victim departed in
a state of the utmost disquietude, divided between anxiety to try and
put himself in safety by undergoing cauterisation, and fear of the
pain which it would cause him.

Whichever way he settled it, he was sure to make himself miserable
lest he was going mad for a very long while to come, Eliezer opined,
laughing contemptuously at the idea of a man's torturing himself
gratuitously in that ridiculous fashion. And my anxiety as to what
had brought Perkins there did not prevent my joining in the laugh at
his absurd terror and folly.

A day or so elapsed, during which I heard nothing unpleasant from
Mrs. Torwood, and I began to hope that, after all, the visit that
had alarmed me might have had nothing to do with my affairs. This,
however, was not the case. Perkins had told her that I was an
impostor, who had been dismissed from my last place because the
character with which I obtained it was a forgery. But she was
reluctant to have to part with a maid who suited her and got on
with the dogs as well as I did, and was not inclined to credit so
startling an accusation brought against me by a man whom she had
never seen before and knew nothing of. When her husband came home,
however, she told him what she had heard, and was advised by him to
wait, and say nothing about the matter, till Lady Mervyn had been
communicated with to find out whether the story was true or not. That
lady, of course, confirmed it entirely; and as the date of my being
sent away by her was only a few weeks before I had entered the
service of my present mistress, it was very evident to the Torwoods
that my second character was as unreliable as my first one, and that
the lady who had recommended Caroline Jill before going to the Cape
had had no existence save in my own imagination.

Thereupon my fancied security was scattered rudely to the winds. Mrs.
Torwood at once informed me of what she had discovered, and said it
was impossible that she should allow me to remain in the house a day
longer. Her husband, she added, had thought she ought to prosecute
me; but she refused to do that, because during the whole time I had
been with her (over a year) I had given her no cause of complaint,
and had always taken excellent care of the dogs. Therefore she should
content herself with insisting on my immediate departure.

It was hopeless for me to deny the misdeeds with which I was charged,
so there was nothing for it but to pack up my things and take myself
off as soon as might be.

Really, I thought, as I made the requisite preparations, it is very
provoking that my employers will not be satisfied to judge me by
their own personal knowledge! First there was Kitty, and now there's
Mrs. Torwood. I am sure they both of them were well-disposed in my
favour, and believed that I served them satisfactorily. Yet they let
their own experience go for nothing, and are afraid to keep me in
their service, just because I am not provided with the proper
conventional, often quite unreliable, certificate of somebody else's
opinion of me! I call it very silly of people to have so little
confidence in their own judgment.

As for Eliezer, he was aghast at my sudden flitting, and began
ruefully anticipating the many futile journeys up and down stairs
that would probably be inflicted upon his cherished lungs before a
satisfactory successor to me would be found.

I confess I thought his anticipations very likely to be realised;
for though the place suited _me_ well enough, it was not one that
many maids would care to take. The general run of abigails study
dressmaking as an art, are ambitious of displaying their skill in
that line, and naturally turn up their noses at the idea of throwing
away their talents by spending the best part of their time in
attending to dogs. Whereas I, who had neither taste nor capacity for
any form of millinery, regarded the animals as far the most congenial
and interesting occupation of the two.

As I reflected indignantly on the behaviour of the mean, spiteful,
meddlesome, cowardly Perkins, who had thus a second time been the
means of turning me adrift, I rejoiced to think that dear Yarrow had
avenged me to _some_ extent at all events, though not perhaps as
completely as I could have wished. The pain of a bite was not much of
a set-off against the harm he had done me, to be sure; but then I
might add to his sufferings an unknown amount of terror, because of
his being such an abject coward as he was; and there was the chance
too of his having thought it necessary to have the bitten place
cauterised. Altogether, I thought Yarrow was a most discriminating
dog, and my last act before leaving the house was to caress him and
give him one of his favourite biscuits.

It proved, however, that he had avenged me more thoroughly than I had
imagined, and that Perkins' interference was to cost him his life.
His horror of hydrophobia made him take a hot poker and try to burn
the bite on his leg; but his dread of pain made him timid and clumsy,
and, letting the poker slip accidentally, he inflicted a really very
severe burn upon himself. Being in a bad state of blood at the time,
the wound would not heal; and after a good deal of festering and
inflammation, blood poisoning set in, and finally caused his death.

I learnt these particulars from the newspapers, which reported the
inquest that was held upon him; and as this was not till some time
after I was dismissed by Mrs. Torwood, I am anticipating the proper
course of events by introducing it here. But I do so because I think
that this is the best place to relate what eventually became of him,
and in the next chapter I will return to an account of my proceedings
in due chronological order.




                             CHAPTER X.

                            AN ACCIDENT.


Evidently the first thing to be done when I was turned out of the
Torwood's house was to find a habitation for myself somewhere else;
and the search for a suitable lodging occupied me till late in the
evening. When at last I had succeeded, I told the landlady that my
name was Charlotte Jackson; for I had learnt wisdom by experience,
and, having now perceived the folly of continuing to call myself
Caroline Jill, I substituted for it the first name that occurred to
me whose initials would correspond to the C. J. with which my linen
was marked.

By the time I had taken possession of my new quarters I felt quite
ready for supper, and betook myself, therefore, to a neighbouring
coffee-tavern, where, for the sum of twopence, I procured a
satisfying and not extravagant meal, consisting of a large hunch of
good bread and a basin of thick pea-soup, which--though perhaps
somewhat coarsely flavoured--was undeniably savoury and nourishing.
Then I returned to my lodging and composed another of the anonymous
letters with which I was harassing my stepmother. I took especial
pains to make it as unpleasant and likely to alarm her as I could,
because it was the last that I intended sending her. I meant to let
about a week more elapse, and then to put my threats into execution
and proceed to the final act of vengeance, by making known to her
husband and friends the whole history of her Scroggins connection.

Having written this letter and directed it all ready to post next
day, I proceeded to consider my present situation, and what my next
effort for a livelihood should be. But I suppose the pea-soup must
have been indigestible, for I was out of sorts somehow, took a gloomy
view of things in general, and was unwontedly dispirited about my
prospects. My mind seemed to have no elasticity or variety, and
would keep reverting to the difficulty of getting a place without a
character, and the impossibility of getting a character without
forging it. The pitcher that goes often to the well gets broken at
last, thought I; and though, hitherto, the detection of my forgeries
has brought no worse consequences than dismissal from my situations,
yet I cannot reckon on always escaping so easily. If I do not mind
what I am about, I may find myself in prison some fine day; and to
_that_ I should object most strongly. It would be too horribly
disgraceful; I should never be able to hold up my head again
afterwards!

I could arrive at no settled determination whatever, and finally went
to bed in a very bad humour with myself for being so irresolute and
inclined to be disheartened.

When I woke next morning I was more cheerfully disposed, and thought
I would get a newspaper and give a look at the advertisements. There
could be no reason why I should not do that, at all events, as
reading them did not by any means necessarily involve answering them.
Accordingly I procured a newspaper and proceeded to study it. Here a
temptation to recklessness at once presented itself in the shape of a
notice setting forth that excellent situations for courier-maids were
to be heard of on application to Mrs. Asterisk's registry office. The
idea of going abroad again made my mouth water; and, putting aside
the character difficulty for future consideration, I proceeded
immediately to Mrs. Asterisk's, paid the preliminary fee without
which her lips were sealed, received in return the addresses of a
couple of ladies in want of travelling-maids, and set off to call at
one of these addresses.

The way to this place took me near the chief approach to a large
railway station, whence a train was shortly about to start; and I
had to pause before crossing the road in order to let a string of
luggage-laden cabs and carriages go past. In the line of vehicles
coming towards where I stood, there was a brougham which exhibited
signs of wealth combined with perfect taste, which made me notice it
particularly, and wonder who the fortunate owners could be. The
colouring, liveries, etc., were as quiet as possible, and there was
nothing showy about the turn-out except the splendid pair of
high-stepping horses by which it was drawn. But, though not showy,
none the less was every detail of its appointments faultless, and I
lingered to see if the occupants were as well worth looking at as
their equipage was. As the fiery horses came slowly abreast of me,
tossing their heads, snorting, and champing their bits with
impatience at being delayed, I saw that there was an earl's coronet
on the harness, and that a lady and gentleman were in the carriage.
In a moment more it was near enough for me to recognise who they
were, and then I saw that they were Lord and Lady Clement.

I had not before set eyes on Kitty since I parted from her at Charing
Cross; but I had often and often thought of her, and wondered whether
her marriage had brought her happiness; and now I gazed at her
eagerly, trying to guess this from her countenance. Impossible,
however, to read the secrets of a face as impenetrable as hers! All I
could tell was, that she looked handsomer than ever, and just a
trifle more stern; and I had an idea, too, that the haughty immovable
expression which had been always somewhat characteristic of her had
become intensified. Her husband addressed some remark to her, and she
answered him promptly with a gracious pleasant smile, that showed
them to be on thoroughly good terms together. Yet I fancied it was a
smile of conventionality rather than of affection; it seemed only to
come from the lips--the eyes and rest of the face had nothing to do
with it; and I hardly thought it was such a smile as a young wife
would be likely to bestow upon a husband who possessed her heart. Yet
after all, what did I know of the matter? It would be absurd for me
to think I could form any opinion as to her happiness from a mere
glimpse of her like this.

It was strange how the old charm which she had always had for me
reasserted itself the instant I beheld her again. In her I seemed to
recognise the sole human being in the world whose affection I would
have taken trouble to obtain; and as I looked wistfully after her,
thinking that I might possibly have had a chance of it, if it had
not been for my stepmother and Perkins, I felt a fresh access of
resentment towards them. My stepmother, by making home intolerable,
had exiled me from the sphere of life where I could, perhaps, have
made friends with Kitty as an equal; and Perkins, by spitefully
driving me out of her service, had deprived me of the opportunities I
might have had of winning her regard as an inferior. How curious it
was that, notwithstanding what untoward circumstances had done to
separate us, there yet existed between her and me the sort of
half-bond which is involved in the possession of a mutual secret.
For had not I discovered the love for Captain Norroy which she had
striven zealously to conceal? and did not I know that about her which
she believed herself to have kept secret from the whole world?

The carriage went on into the station, and I continued my course
without dreaming that the trivial incident of waiting to see Kitty
Clement drive by had affected my destiny materially. Such, however,
was in truth the case; and the way in which it happened was this:

The sight of Kitty had, as I have just said, reminded me of my
stepmother; and that made me think of the letter I had written on
the previous night. I had put it in my pocket when I came out, and
afterwards forgotten all about it till the present moment. Now,
however, that I had remembered it, I thought I would post it at once
so as to make sure of not forgetting it again, and accordingly looked
about for a post-office. At the corner of a small side street was a
pillar-box, which was only a few steps out of my way, so I walked up
to it and posted the letter there.

Near by a groom was capering and careering about on an obstreperous
horse; and just as I turned away from the box, the steed sprang on to
the pavement in spite of all the rider's efforts to restrain him.
There he set to plunging and kicking so close to me, that I was
obliged to jump hastily into the road in order to get out of reach of
his hoofs. Thinking only of the danger from the animal prancing on
the pavement, I did not observe a hansom that was dashing up the
side street. It came shaving round the corner at full speed, and in
another instant I was knocked down, run over, and stunned.

Then comes a confused recollection of acute pain which made me groan;
of being moved; of wishing to know what was happening to me, and
feeling absolutely incapable of rousing myself sufficiently to find
out. And then I must have lost consciousness altogether; for the next
thing I remember is, becoming gradually aware that I was in bed. That
one fact was as much as my mind was equal to take in at first; I was
not altogether sure of my own identity, and recollected nothing
whatever of the accident. After lying thus inert for a short time, I
opened my eyes and looked at as much as was to be seen without moving
my head, which I felt far too languid to do. The result of my
observations was, that there were other beds near me, and that I was
in a large airy room; I perceived also a prevailing odour of carbolic
acid in the place. Had I been in my ordinary condition of energy, I
should have been wild to know where I was, and how I came there; but,
as it was, I was too limp both in body and mind to be curious or
astonished at anything. Therefore I reclosed my eyes with a vague
impression that there was something a little odd about my situation;
but that as long as I could lie still and do nothing I had all that I
desired.

This transient dream of consciousness was succeeded by an interval
during which I can only recollect nightmarish visions and miseries.
The next thing that my memory recalls definitely is a short
conversation between two people whose voices sounded to me as though
coming from some remote distance, though in reality, as I knew
afterwards, they were close to my bedside.

"What is this case?" said the first voice.

"It's a woman who was run over by a cab," replied the second; "her
leg is broken, and she has other injuries also. She was brought in
yesterday morning, and hasn't recovered her senses properly yet."

"Indeed!" returned the former speaker. "How did you find out her
name, then? I see you've got it stuck up over the bed."

"Oh, there was an envelope in her pocket addressed to Caroline Jill,
No. -- Chester Square," was the answer. "We sent to the address to
ask if she was known there, and to say she had been brought to the
hospital. It appeared that she had been lady's-maid at the house, and
been dismissed the day before, and they knew nothing of who her
belongings were, or where she lived, or anything about her."

As I heard no more, I conclude that here the speakers moved away
from my bed. The few words they had said, however, had sufficed to
enlighten my cloudy state of mind. At first I had listened without
having an idea that _I_ could be the person referred to; but when the
name of Caroline Jill was spoken I remembered all about myself, knew
clearly who I was, and realised what had occurred to me. Yes; I had
gone to a pillar-box to post the letter to my stepmother, and there
had been an unmanageable horse to be avoided. Then there had come
suddenly a rattle, a violent concussion, confusion, pain, and utter
blank; and I comprehended that I had been run over and brought to the
accident ward of a hospital. I recollected, too, my prudent design of
dropping the name of Jill; and as I realised that that intention was
frustrated for the present, I felt a faint trace of amusement at the
persistency with which the old childish name had stuck to me.

Was it true that my leg was broken, as those two people had just
said? Very likely. Anyhow I would take their word for it, for I
certainly did not feel inclined to stir hand or foot to verify the
statement. And as my head ached, and I was quite exhausted with the
effort of so much consecutive thought, I speedily relapsed into my
former comatose condition.

When next I recovered my senses, my head was clear; I remembered
directly how I came to be in a hospital, and looked around me. It was
night, and by the dim light of a shaded lamp I could see the nurse
in charge of the ward sitting in an upright-backed wooden chair,
where she had fallen fast asleep notwithstanding the hardness and
discomfort of her seat. I could see, too, a glass containing
lemonade standing on a table near the head of my bed, and, as I was
parching with thirst, I managed slowly, and with difficulty, to draw
one hand out from under the bed-clothes, and stretch it out towards
the tempting drink. Alas! the glass was out of my reach. The sight
of the delicious liquid made my thirst grow worse and worse, till it
seemed quite unendurable, and I was impelled to try and wake the
nurse, to ask her to give it to me. Accordingly I called out to her
as loudly as I could. But my utmost efforts produced only a wheezing
feeble sound, which was powerless to produce any impression on her
slumbers. The amount of fatigue which it cost me to uplift my voice
was quite disproportionate to the insignificance of the result, and
I was so tired with the attempt to make myself heard, and the
exertion of getting my hand out of bed and reaching after the glass
of lemonade, that I realised it was useless to think of waking the
nurse, and that I must resign myself to bear the thirst as best
I could, till she should wake of herself. Mortification at my
helplessness, and profound pity for my poor dear self, caused tears
to rise to my eyes and moisten my cheeks. I lay still and watched her
so anxiously that one might almost have thought the mere ardour of my
gaze ought to have disturbed her repose. Still she slumbered on
blissfully. Oh, why would not she wake when I was so very very
thirsty!

Suddenly I heard a door open at the other end of the room, and, on
looking round, saw a woman enter whose dress showed her to belong
to some Sisterhood. I had never thought well of Sisters in my life.
They always had seemed to me to be useless, so eccentric as to be
well-nigh mad, and--though otherwise harmless--yet objectionable on
the ground that their mere existence conveyed a continual tacit
reproach and assumption of superiority to more self-indulgent
mortals, who shrank from the strictness and hardness which the
Sisters imposed upon themselves voluntarily. Hence the fact of the
new-comer's wearing a Sister's habit sufficed to prejudice me against
her; and on an ordinary occasion I should not have spoken to--far
less asked a favour of--her.

But the present was _not_ an ordinary occasion. All I cared for
was to have the thirst that tormented me relieved with the least
possible delay; and no sooner did I see her than I made a frantic
effort to call out loud enough for her to hear. The cry, feeble as
it was, reached her ears; and as she was not sure from which bed it
proceeded, she advanced slowly up the room, saying, in a low voice,
"Who called me?"

I held up my hand to show it was I who had summoned her; she came
straight to the bedside and asked what I wanted. "Drink!" I gasped,
with some difficulty; for my throat was so dry that I could scarcely
articulate the word intelligibly.

With one hand she took up the coveted draught, and, putting the other
arm under my pillow, raised me to exactly the right height at which I
could drink comfortably, and then held the glass to my lips. Never
was nectar more delicious and refreshing than that lemonade tasted to
me! When I had drained the last drop I begged eagerly for more, and
she quickly replenished the tumbler from a jug on the table, and
again gave me the liquid for which I craved. At last my burning
thirst was quenched, and when she had gently restored me to my former
position in the bed, I could not help feeling beholden to her,
notwithstanding that it was a shock to my previous notions to think a
Sister could be useful, and notwithstanding, also, that one never
altogether relishes the upsetting of any of one's preconceived
cherished ideas.

I could speak better now, so I said: "Thank you. I am sorry to have
troubled you, but I was so dreadfully thirsty, and the glass was out
of my reach."

"No trouble," she replied kindly; "the only object of my being here
is to help people if I can. But why didn't you call to the nurse in
charge of this ward? She would have attended to you at once."

"I did call to her more than half an hour ago by the clock," I
replied, "but I couldn't call loud enough to wake her."

In consequence of my having drawn the Sister's attention to myself
directly she entered the room, she had not yet noticed that the nurse
was asleep. Now, however, she perceived it. A look of displeasure
came over her face, and she at once proceeded to wake the sleeper,
who was evidently much disconcerted at having been caught napping,
and started up with a great pretence of liveliness when she saw the
Sister standing by her.

"This is against all rules, Nurse Mary, as you know very well," said
the Sister; "it is a serious offence for a nurse to sleep when on
duty, and I shall have to report you."

"I knew it was very wrong, Sister, and I'm quite shocked that I
should have been so careless," replied the culprit. "But indeed you
mustn't think as there's any harm done. It was only five minutes back
as I was going about, and seeing as every one was all right; and then
I sat down and dropped off into a bit of a doze somehow. I wasn't
reg'larly asleep--only dozing so light that I should have heard
d'rectly if any one made a sound."

"Don't make your fault worse by falsehood," said the Sister severely;
"I found the woman over there," pointing to me, "in great want of
something to drink; and she told me she had been thirsty for a long
time, and unable to wake you when she tried. You must attend to your
duty better than this. If I find you asleep again when I visit your
ward, you must expect to be dismissed."

The Sister continued her rounds through the hospital to see that
everything was right; and as soon as she was gone the nurse came
towards me. I regarded her approach with awe. I saw by her face that
she did not feel particularly amiable towards the individual who had
been the means--however innocent--of procuring her a wigging; and as
a nurse has it in her power to make a patient very miserable if she
chooses, I was naturally dismayed at having been so unlucky as to
get into her black books. The desire which I felt at that moment to
ingratiate myself with her, if possible, was quite degrading; and
when she rebuked me sharply for having got part of one arm uncovered,
and told me not to do so again, I promised obedience with the most
servile meekness, though I was quite sure that there was no real harm
whatever in what I had done. My bedclothes were as tidy as need be;
but she pretended to think they wanted straightening, and twitched
them about in a vigorous and jerky manner which was not comfortable,
and kept me alarmed all the time lest I should be hurt. When she had
completed this unnecessary process, she left me alone, to my great
relief, and nothing short of the extremest necessity would have
induced me to recall her to my bed. I felt frightened, helpless,
and in the power of a person who had taken a dislike to me; and
the only comfort I had was to think that the Sister's protecting
influence would perhaps save me from anything more serious than
petty annoyances. But even petty annoyances are bad enough in all
conscience when one is as sick, weak, and miserable as I was then.




                            CHAPTER XI.

                            IN HOSPITAL.


Certainly nursing is very far superior, now-a-days, to what it was in
the _régime_ of the untrained Sairey Gamp confraternity; but while
gladly recognising that fact, I am inclined to think that there is
still some room for improvement. For one thing, I doubt whether any
particular care is taken to impress upon nurses the important fact
that no two human beings are exactly the same; and that people's
characteristic peculiarities are never in greater need of being
studied and humoured, than when pain and sickness have weakened the
will and rendered the nerves unwontedly sensitive and irritable. If
this were insisted upon as it might be in the training of nurses, I
do not imagine it would be as common as it is to find them performing
their duties mechanically, and apparently regarding patients as
machines to be wound up, regulated, and treated according to fixed
principles applying to all alike, instead of as living men and women,
possessing widely-differing peculiarities of both mind and body. I
think that one or two of my own experiences whilst at the hospital
will show that there is some reason for this criticism.

The prolonged thirst from which I had suffered, and the exertion
involved in my endeavour to relieve it, fatigued me greatly in
my enfeebled condition. Then came the mental wear and tear of
terror which I underwent during Nurse Mary's alarmingly vigorous
bedclothes-straightening process; and thus, what with one thing and
another, by the time she left me to myself again I felt completely
worn out, and anxious for nothing so much as sleep. In vain, however,
did I try to compose myself to slumber. I was feverish; I ached all
over; and, turn which way I would, I could get no ease. Each new
position that I tried seemed more uncomfortable than the last; and
though the cradle in which my broken leg was fixed prevented me
from moving far, yet within the narrow space to which I was thus
restricted, I kept shifting my place, and twisting to and fro
incessantly.

Of course this restlessness was by no means conducive to my welfare;
and when the doctor visited me in the morning he pronounced me to be
in a very exhausted state, and said I was to have nourishment and
stimulants every two hours.

I cannot say that I took kindly to the idea of being stuffed like
this; for I was so far from being hungry that my gorge rose at the
mere thought of food. And when the nurse who had succeeded Nurse Mary
in charge of the ward came up to me with a cup of broth in her hand,
I had about the same amount of inclination for it that fair Rosamond
may be supposed to have had for the potion presented to her by Queen
Eleanor.

But I had fully made up my mind to get well as soon as possible, and
had the sense to know that I certainly could not recover without
eating, so I struggled to overcome the internal rising of which I was
conscious. Perhaps, too, the broth would tempt my appetite, so that
after I had got down a mouthful or so, I should find the aversion to
food pass away, and be able to go on eating easily. And thus resolved
to do my best to obey the doctor's orders, I took a sip out of the
cup.

But the first taste was a shock to me. It was not in the least like
what I expected, somehow, though I was not just then clear-headed
enough to discover immediately what was wrong with it. I did not
believe it was broth at all; at all events, if it was, it was the
nastiest that I had ever tasted in my life. I could hardly swallow
even the small quantity I had taken; and as for getting down any more
of it--pah! the thing was impossible. My loathing for food became
more violent than ever, and I pushed away the cup feebly, saying:
"Take the nasty stuff away! I _can't_ eat it; and it'll only make me
sick to try."

"Nasty indeed!" returned the nurse; "why, what better would you have
than beautiful chicking-broth like this? You can drink it well enough
if you like; it's only your fancy as you can't."

"I don't think it beautiful at all," replied I; "indeed, indeed, it's
nasty. Do pray let me alone; perhaps I shall be hungrier by and by."

"Rubbish!" she answered, again advancing the cup towards me; "its the
doctor's orders for you to be fed, and fed you shall be--even if I
have to drench you. Come now; down with it!"

At this moment, when I was ruefully contemplating the broth and
wondering if it would be anyhow possible for me to gulp it down, the
Sister whom I had seen in the night came into the room. She was
general superintendent of the nursing all through the hospital, and
had a keen eye for anything amiss. My unhappy look at once attracted
her attention, and she came to us and asked the nurse what she was
giving me.

"Chicking broth, with a tablespoon of whisky in it, Sister,"
responded the woman; "that's what the doctor ordered for her. But
she's making as much fuss as if it was--I don't know what, and
declaring as it'll make her sick."

"I can quite understand your objecting to eat," said the Sister,
addressing me gently; "people so often do when they're ill. But it's
the beginning is the great difficulty with them, and after that they
generally get on much better; I daresay you'll find it so if you try.
Or is broth a thing to which you have any special dislike? and do you
think you would fancy some other kind of food more?"

"No; I like broth well enough in general," answered I, "and I _have_
tried to eat what the nurse brought me. But I couldn't, indeed--it is
too nasty."

"Well, suppose I see if _I_ can find anything the matter with it,"
she said, taking the cup from the nurse. "Why! did you ask to have it
cold?"

"No," replied I.

"Did the doctor say it was to be given cold?" she inquired, turning
to the nurse.

"He didn't say nothing one way or other," answered the latter; "and
as I had a jugful cold, ready by me, I just took and poured some into
the cup to give as it was--not thinking as it mattered."

"Oh, but it does matter, very much," returned the Sister; "broth is
far nicer hot than cold. Go and warm this, and then see if the
patient doesn't find it easier to get down. And don't forget in
future that broth should always be given hot, unless there are
special orders to the contrary."

Now surely the woman might have known that of herself, if she had
taken the trouble to think for a moment, and might have perceived
that cold chicken broth, with whisky in it, was a thing that no
ordinary human palate could be expected to relish. But no; the doctor
had not specified it was to be hot; she had some cold to hand; the
question of trying to make it palatable never entered her head; and
therefore, though the warming would have been but very little
trouble, she just brought it me as it was. In that condition I doubt
whether I could possibly have eaten it; when warmed, however, I was
able to get through the requisite portion--though even then not
without considerable difficulty, in consequence of my aversion to
food of any kind.

Thus a second time was the conviction forced upon me that the
existence in the world of Sisters might perhaps not be so altogether
devoid of utility as I had previously imagined.

I daresay the food did me good; but yet it did not procure me the
rest for which I craved, and I had to endure hours more of miserable
tossing about before my weary body at last hit upon the posture which
would best accommodate its numerous aches and bruises. With a sigh of
satisfaction I gave myself up to repose, intending not to stir hand
or foot as long as I remained comfortable, lest, if I once lost the
position which had been so hard to find, I might not again succeed in
discovering it. Soon a delicious sense of drowsiness stole over me,
and I was on the point of falling sound asleep, when I was aroused by
the voice of a nurse, telling me it was time to feed again. If my
repugnance to eating had made all the previous feeding-times during
the day objectionable to me, it may be imagined that the present
summons was doubly odious, coming at the very moment when I could not
bear the idea of stirring so much as a hair's-breadth from where I
lay, and would have given the world to be left in peace. Dismayed
at the prospect of immediate movement, and loath to be parted from
the long-sought rest which I had at length attained, I appealed
for a reprieve--however brief. I was so _very_ tired of being
uncomfortable, I said. I had had such a weary tossing about all night
and all day till now. And now that I had at last found some comfort,
might not I stay as I was for just five minutes more?

But the nurse would not hear of such a thing. The doctor's orders,
she said, were for me to have food every two hours. The last time had
been at 1.25--there it was marked on the slate by the bed--and now it
was 3.25. Her business was to obey the doctor's orders exactly; and I
must just take what she had brought me that instant, and make no more
fuss about it.

So my appeal was disregarded, and I was, then and there, ruthlessly
routed up to be fed. And as my nervous system was by no means robust
enough at that moment to bear the shock of any abrupt disturbance, I
immediately afterwards relapsed into the same state of miserable,
feverish restlessness as before.

Now, though it seems unreasonable to blame any one for strict
obedience to orders, yet I think in a case like this the woman might
well have departed from them so far as to grant the five minutes
delay for which I pleaded. It would have softened the blow to have
time to make up my mind gradually to the moving which I dreaded; and
I think her own sense might have told her that I was in a condition
when rest was essential, and when everything unpleasant should be
smoothed over to me as much as possible. But though she was not
wilfully harsh or unkind, yet the advisability of making small
concessions to an invalid's weakness--fancifulness, as _she_ called
it--never entered her head. All she thought of was that she was there
to carry out the doctor's orders, and that provided they were obeyed
to the letter, come what might, she would have nothing to reproach
herself with. As for the idea of there being any special necessity
for a nurse to be quick in reading, understanding, and making
allowances for the fancies, infirmities, and idiosyncrasies of human
nature, because she is professionally brought into constant contact
with it when in its greatest need of sympathy--why, I do not suppose
such a notion had ever occurred to her. But might it not have formed
a part of her professional education?

I hope that my criticisms will not be misunderstood. If I venture to
point out defects which seem to me remediable, it does not therefore
follow that I fail to do justice to the enormous benefits which we
derive from trained nurses. On the contrary, when I look back upon my
sojourn at the hospital, I feel grateful for and astonished at the
punctilious care and attention which was shown towards a mere
friendless, helpless, unknown nobody such as I was, from whom no
return could be expected. It may be that I have known nurses act
hastily under provocation; that I think them apt to be hard, because
too mechanical; and that I doubt whether they always bring their
brains to bear as much as might be on the performance of their duty.
But none the less do I believe that they are, as a body, a thoroughly
conscientious, well-meaning, and valuable set of women; and that a
nurse who behaves with deliberate cruelty, or wantonly neglects a
patient, is hardly ever to be met with.

In speaking well, however, of the hospital attendants and the
treatment I received from them, I must except Nurse Mary. She was a
careless, good-for-nothing nurse, unfit for her post, constantly
asleep on duty, bad tempered to the patients, and quite regardless of
truth in what she said. I was unfortunate enough to be an especial
object of her animosity, because she had been reprimanded and fined
for her neglect of me and false excuses on the night when I had first
become acquainted with her. As it had been on account of me that she
had got into hot water, she took a dislike to me then and there,
and took advantage of our relative positions to make me feel her
displeasure. A nurse has plenty of opportunities for thwarting,
bullying, and inflicting small miseries on a patient; and Nurse Mary
always availed herself of these opportunities as freely as she dared.
Whatever she had to do for me was sure to be done as roughly and
disagreeably as possible, and I looked forward with dread to the
periods when the ward I inhabited was under her charge.

Unluckily for me, it was on one of these occasions that it fell to my
lot to have to take a dose of castor oil. Now, that is a physic to
which I have always had an intense antipathy. The mere smell of it
makes me feel qualmy, even at the best of times; and it stood to
reason that I should dislike it ten times more when my stomach was in
an unusually squeamish condition, so that I found it difficult to eat
even food that I liked. Hence I looked forward to the impending dose
with much trepidation, and reflected anxiously on the probability of
my being unable to keep down the nauseous stuff, even when swallowed.
It would evidently be a help to avoid having the nasty smell
beforehand if possible, as I knew that would make me feel poorly to
start with; so I asked Nurse Mary if she would mind pouring out the
oil at some distance off and not bringing it to my bedside till all
ready to be taken.

She refused roughly, saying she had no time to be bothered with all
kinds of fads and whims like that; and, instead of trying to spare me
any preliminary unpleasantness, she measured out the dose quite close
to my nose, so as to give me a full benefit of the odour. It seemed
to me, too, that she was purposely slow in her proceedings, and kept
the bottle uncorked for a most needless length of time--but that may
possibly have only been my excited fancy.

The oil having been poured into a glass with water in it, I was sat
up in bed, the glass was put into my hands, and I raised it towards
my mouth. Being already qualmy from the effect of the smell, and
very nervous lest I should be actually sick, I was altogether in an
unsteady condition; and just before the glass had touched my lips, an
involuntary convulsive shiver of disgust that came over me made me
for the moment unable to control my muscles. My shaky hand lost its
grasp of the glass, which toppled over, and spilled all the contents
over me and the bed.

The nurse was as indignant at this catastrophe as if I had done it
on purpose. She had not the least pity for the horrible plight I was
in, nor did it seem to occur to her how improbable it was for any
human being to bring him or herself into such a state willingly.
"Troublesome, mischievous, awkward, careless, stupid," were the
kindest and least offensive words she uttered whilst preparing a
fresh jorum of oil. As for me, I simply endured existence in silent
misery as best I could whilst the second dose was being got ready.
All I wanted was to take that, and get it over as quickly as
possible, so that everything which the filthy oil had contaminated
might be removed, and I might be washed, and made sweet, dry, and
comfortable again.

When the draught was presented to me, I made a heroic effort, flung
it down my throat, and returned the empty glass, murmuring faintly:
"Oh please, _do_ make haste to rid me of all this mess!" But what was
my dismay to find that she had no intention of doing anything of the
kind! Since I had chosen to spill the oil, she said, I might just
stop in it and see how I liked it; and perhaps that would teach
me not to play tricks of that kind again. What? fetch a clean
night-dress and sheet, and a sponge to wipe my face and chest! Not
she, indeed! She had plenty of other work to do without extras of
that kind; and she had not time to stop worritting with me any
longer--I had delayed her quite long enough, as it was. So saying,
she coolly walked away, and left me helpless in a sort of castor-oil
purgatory.

My misery may be imagined. The cold, clammy, wet linen chilled me;
every movement risked bringing me in fresh contact with the loathsome
stuff, which I could not touch without a shudder; and the surrounding
air was impregnated with its abominable smell. I would have done
anything to escape; and if my leg had not been fixed in the cradle, I
believe I should have rolled out of bed on to the floor, and as far
away as I could go from the hateful spot. But I was powerless to do
that, or to lessen my wretchedness by any other means; for I was not
strong enough even to pull off my night-dress unaided, nor yet to
fold back the wet part of the sheet, and shove it away to the far end
of the bed.

Nor was this all I had to suffer; for the smell made my qualminess
increase every minute, and I foresaw with dismay that being sick
would probably involve a repetition of the dose.

Oh, why could not I escape from this abominable odour? and could I
anyhow manage to avoid the consequences with which it threatened me?
I remembered having heard it said that sickness may sometimes be
checked by a strong effort of will. Let me see if mine would help me
in this emergency. I told myself resolutely that the unpleasant
sensations which I felt were purely imaginary, and that I need not
give way to them unless I chose. And then I tried to turn my mind to
various agreeable and interesting subjects, such as Kitty; Mrs.
Torwood's dogs; my plan for being revenged on my stepmother, and how
I would complete it as soon as I was well again;--anything under the
sun to take my thoughts off from this beastly oil! But it was no use.
The qualmy sensation forced itself to the front in spite of all I
could do; I felt that the dreaded climax was a mere matter of time,
and lay awaiting it in terror with my eyes shut. Suddenly I heard
some one say: "What a smell of castor oil! Where does it come from?"

The speaker's nose naturally answered this question, and on opening
my eyes I saw the good Sister approaching me. This sight gave me a
ray of hope that I might still be saved, and she seemed to me to be a
very guardian angel. Never would I have believed that the quaint
dress which I had often laughed at and considered ugly, obtrusive,
and absurd, could have appeared to my eyes so lovely and acceptable
as it did at that moment!

She perceived at a glance that the case was urgent, and went to work
to relieve me without an instant's delay. Instead of stopping to ask
questions (which would have been a needless prolongation of my
sufferings) as to how I came to be in such an oily plight, she
immediately despatched the nurse to fetch clean things, and herself
brought some strong aromatic vinegar and held it to my nose. This
neutralised the smell of the oil, revived me, and enabled me to
conquer the feeling of nausea. Her timely aid averted the catastrophe
I had been dreading, and in a wonderfully short space I enjoyed the
felicity of feeling myself purified, and restored to a dry, sweet,
and comfortable condition. Not till this had been accomplished did
she seem to think of anything else. But then she proceeded to
inquire how I had come to be in the state in which she had found me,
and to take the nurse to task for having left me so.

The delinquent tried to excuse herself by saying that she had been
so exceedingly busy that she had had no choice about leaving me to go
and attend to some one else. Besides that, she added spitefully, the
accident had been all my own doing, for I had deliberately upset the
glass out of mischief.

I was commencing an indignant denial of this falsehood when the
Sister interrupted me. She said it was quite immaterial whether the
glass had been overturned by accident or not, as there were no
circumstances which could justify a nurse for letting a patient
remain an instant longer than could be helped in such a state as I
had been in--all in a mess, and in wet things that might cause a
chill. The alleged press of business was no excuse either; for all
the nurses knew perfectly well that they were to ask for assistance
if they had too much to do, but were on no account to neglect a
patient. She was extremely displeased at Nurse Mary's conduct, and
proceeded to rebuke her sharply.

Considering the barbarity with which that nurse had just been
behaving to me, it will not be wondered at that to hear her being
scolded gave me a sensation of acute satisfaction.

But my gratification was speedily diminished as I recollected that
she would probably object to me more than ever, now that I had again
been the unlucky means of getting her into a scrape. I was filled
with alarm at the idea. If she had bullied me hitherto, what was she
likely to do in the future? And what chance had I of defending
myself from her malice? I would confide my troubles to the Sister who
had already befriended me so often, and ask her to take care of me, I
thought. Only I must mind not to let the nurse suspect that I was
complaining of her, or she would be still angrier than before with
me. I would wait till her turn of duty was over, and some other nurse
had taken her place.

After the next change of nurses, therefore, I watched anxiously for
the Sister to appear in our ward. At last she arrived there, and I
made signs to her to come to my bedside. Then, whispering in a very
low voice, so that no one else should hear and report what I said to
my enemy, I begged her to protect me from Nurse Mary, who hated me,
and treated me so badly that I was afraid of her.

"In what way, and on what occasions, have you been treated badly?"
asked the Sister.

It was a most natural question to ask, but it was one that I was
puzzled to answer satisfactorily. Though perfectly convinced that I
needed to be defended, yet when I began recalling to mind (in order
to tell the Sister) the numerous trifling persecutions to which I
had been subjected, I found it was by no means easy to discover any
grievance that seemed important and tangible enough to take hold of
and bring forward in support of my assertions, except the recent
castor oil affair, and that she knew of already. I could not
recollect anything else that seemed worth erecting into a formal
accusation, so I only answered that I could not think of any
particular case to mention just then, but that indeed what I had said
was true, that the nurse was unkind to me always, and that I was
afraid to see her come near me.

"Oh, if that is all," replied the Sister kindly, "I should hope your
fears have no real foundation; probably you have taken into your head
one of those prejudices that people are very apt to have when they
are ill; you must try and get over it, instead of indulging it. But,
in any case, you may be sure that I am looking after you, and will
see that no one hurts you, so don't alarm yourself about it."

Though she spoke cheerfully and pleasantly, yet still I did not
consider my complaint had met with a very encouraging reception; and
I was desperately afraid that what I had said would be altogether
forgotten, and I should be no better off than before. But she was a
person who never turned a deaf ear to any cry for help; and I soon
saw that my appeal had not passed unheeded, and that--whether
she believed me to be mistaken or not--from that time forth her
protecting wing overshadowed me with especial closeness (yet not so
ostensibly as to make the fact generally conspicuous) when my enemy
was in command of the ward. Not only did the Sister take to coming in
and out with extra frequency at these times, but I could perceive
also that I was then sure to receive a larger share of her attention
than I did on other occasions. And as this kindly, unobtrusive,
vigilance made it impossible for me to be made to suffer seriously
without her discovering it, my peace of mind was gradually restored.

Thus, thanks to the restraining presence of the Sister, Nurse Mary
could not make me as miserable as she would evidently have liked to
do; but I know very well that I should have been sadly at her mercy
if the Sister had _not_ been there to look after me, for to appeal to
the doctor would almost certainly have been worse than useless. I
have known people rash enough to do that when they were dissatisfied
with their nurses, and the result of their appeals was invariably the
same. That is to say, the patient was pooh-poohed with more or less
politeness, according to the disposition of the doctor; no attempt
was made to investigate the truth of the complaint, and things went
on exactly as before, except that the nurses certainly did not
increase in amiability towards the individuals who had presumed to
find fault with them.

I must say, I think it would be in the interests of the sick, if, in
both private and public cases, the doctors would beware of the blind
confidence which they, as a rule, are inclined to repose in nurses.
My experience is, that if a patient complains of his nurse to the
doctor for neglect, roughness, or any other fault, she is apt either
to relate what took place so as make it appear that she could not
possibly have acted otherwise than she did; or else to deny the
charge absolutely; or else to say, with affected compassion, that the
poor fellow sometimes wanders in his mind and does not know things
rightly, so that it is useless to think of attending to all he says.
And the doctor invariably accepts her version as the true one, and
takes it for granted that she is all right, and there is no necessity
for his interference.

That a doctor should trust much to a nurse is only natural, seeing
that there are cases in illness where as much depends upon her as
upon him--perhaps even more. But her importance does not make her
infallible; and though it is all very well to have confidence in her,
yet it is carrying confidence to excess to make it a rule _always_ to
think her word better than that of her patient. If a sick person's
account of his symptoms differed materially from that given by the
nurse, I suppose the doctor would hardly think it wise totally to
ignore what had been told him by the former, and to act solely upon
the information received from the latter. And ought not the same rule
to apply to other statements also?




                            CHAPTER XII.

                           SISTER HELENA.


My progress towards restored health was but slow; and poor I--an
individual who had always regarded with mortal aversion confinement
and monotony in every shape--was forced to undergo the tedium of a
protracted illness and convalescence. Terribly weary did I get of the
long days and nights as they dragged on without bringing anything to
amuse me, and to enliven the dulness of existence. Other patients had
friends and acquaintances who came to see them on visiting days, but
I had not even that mild excitement to look forward to, for I was
utterly solitary and unknown. Unluckily, too, the literary resources
of the place were but limited. For though there was a so-called
library yet its stock of books was lamentably small, and, as it
seemed to me, uninteresting. And though odd numbers of old magazines
and newspapers would drop in upon us at intervals, yet their
appearance was nothing like as regular and frequent as I should have
liked, or as I think it would have been if benevolently disposed
people had realised what a boon it is to many hospital patients to
know something of what goes on in the outside world from which they
are excluded.

My mind, then, having but few distractions, was all the more ready
to occupy itself with whatever person or thing happened to come
prominently before it. And thus I found myself continually engaged
in studying and thinking about the Sister, who, for the time being,
filled a position of conspicuous importance in my life, as a sort of
guardian angel in whom I felt a serene confidence that she would see
I was never seriously wronged or ill-used in any way.

She was the first Sister with whom I had ever come in contact,
and, by my acquaintance with her, the prejudice I had previously
entertained against all sisters was speedily swept away. Sister
Helena, as she was called, must, I think, have been between thirty
and thirty-five years old, and was tall and graceful in figure. She
had handsome features; a high broad forehead; a keen eye that seemed
to notice everything within its range; a square chin, and a firm
mouth; and no one who saw her could doubt that she possessed both
power and intelligence above the average. Her face was pale, and her
expression--except when she smiled--grave to the verge of austerity.
But it was the gravity of thoughtfulness, not of gloom and sadness;
and whatever tendency to austerity she may have had was reserved
exclusively for herself. Most certainly it was never visible in her
behaviour to the sick; for she always showed them the kindliest
sympathy and tenderness, devoting herself to them absolutely, and
treating them with a loving gentleness and tenderness that was enough
to make one suppose they were her dearest friends.

As she was general superintendent of the hospital-nursing and
arrangements for the relief of the sick, she had usually too much
to do with looking after her subordinates and seeing that they did
their duty, to be able to officiate in person as nurse. But she
was thoroughly capable of doing so in case of need, and whenever
circumstances happened to make it necessary for her to bandage, sew
up, or dress wounds, or perform any other services of the kind for
patients, she was sure to do whatever was required as gently,
skilfully, and efficiently as any one--or indeed more so.

One very marked distinction between her and the ordinary professional
nurses was, that she was unmistakably a lady by birth, and possessed
naturally--without effort or thinking about it--the subtle charm of
refinement. I--who had fondly imagined myself to be superior to the
influence of any sentimental vanity of that kind--was astonished and
disappointed to find how quickly I detected this in her, and how
attractive it was to me. I could not disguise from myself that I was
highly susceptible to the charm to which I had believed I was
indifferent; and that it was infinitely preferable to me to have to
do with the person in whom I instinctively recognised an equal than
with those who were inferiors. Refined associates were more congenial
to me than vulgar ones, in spite of all my knocking about; and even
though provoked at my own folly, I sometimes could not repress a sigh
to think that I had left my own rank of life in favour of a lower
one.

Well; the more I observed and thought about Sister Helena, the more
did I wonder what her previous history could have been. Here was a
woman, evidently well born and bred, good-looking, below middle age,
clever, amiable, sensible, capable, and in every way qualified to
make her mark and be popular in society. Why on earth, then, should
she be spending her existence in hard work amongst the painful sights
and scenes of a hospital, instead of enjoying herself in the sphere
to which she belonged naturally? For the fact that she was at the
hospital I was profoundly thankful, because I was myself a gainer by
it; but none the less was it an inexplicable mystery to me, and one
which I was constantly endeavouring to find plausible theories to
account for.

As, therefore, I was intensely curious about her, admired, liked, and
was grateful to her, and through her could enjoy the, to me, pleasant
feeling of association with a cultivated and refined lady, it
followed naturally that I sought eagerly for opportunities of having
to do with her, and never failed to profit by any excuse for making
her occupy herself about me. The pleasure her company gave me was too
evident to escape her quick observation, and when she perceived it
her kindness of heart prompted her to gratify my wishes as far as
might be; for she was one of those to whom nobody ever held out their
hands in vain. Therefore, though her multifarious avocations made it
impossible, as a rule, for her to bestow much individual attention
on any particular person whose case was not so critical and special
as to give it precedence over ordinary business, yet she would
always--unless in a _very_ great hurry--stop and say a kind word to
me in passing through the ward; and sometimes, on the rare occasions
when she had a few minutes to spare, she would even come in on
purpose to chat with me. I do not know whether or not she had the
same intuitive consciousness that I had of our both belonging to the
same social order; but, at all events, there sprung up between us by
degrees an intimacy beyond that which is ordinarily produced by the
relations of nurse and patient.

As it was not in her nature to see any kind of suffering without
trying to relieve it, she tried to hit upon some means of varying
the unchanging sameness of life by which she perceived me to be
oppressed. It was not possible to do much for me in this way whilst I
was tied by the leg in bed, but when at last I was able to get up and
crawl about a little with the help of sticks, she asked me if I
thought I could get as far as her room, which was on the same floor
as the ward, and only a short distance from it. On my replying in
the affirmative, she filled me with delight by inviting me to go and
have tea there with her that afternoon. Oh how impatiently I counted
the minutes till tea-time came! and how welcome and refreshing was
the change to her room from the dreary old ward of which I was so
tired!

From that date our intimacy advanced much more rapidly than before;
for, as she saw how I enjoyed the visit to her room, hardly a day
passed on which I was not invited there at some time or other. It
was not often that she was able to be with me all the time, for she
was almost always called off elsewhere on business. But when this
happened she did not expect me to go back to the ward unless I chose,
and if I preferred--as I invariably did--to stay where I was, and
amuse myself with books, work, or my own thoughts whilst awaiting her
return, I was at liberty to do so. Indeed, if she had not been
willing to trust me in her room without her, it would generally not
have been worth while my going there at all; for the demands upon her
time were perpetual, and she hardly ever had any leisure. It was
Sister here and Sister there from morning till night; and, as far as
I could see, she had not a single minute in the day which she could
call her own, and reckon on as secure from interruption.

I have already said that one object which I had had for desiring to
know her was, that I wanted to learn her past history, wherein I
believed must lie some mysterious reason which had caused her to
adopt her present hard, untempting, self-denying life. But as our
acquaintance progressed and I came to know her more and more, I
perceived with surprise that there was no hidden mystery at all about
the matter, and that instead of any thrilling romance or tragedy such
as I had imagined, the reason for her life was simply the love of
God, and desire to serve Him in the best way she could. That was the
sole motive for every deed, word, and thought of hers--the one
compass by which her course was steered.

The reason why this discovery amazed me as it did was, that I had
never dreamt of its being possible for any one with respectable
mental abilities to take religion thus _au grand sérieux_. I
cannot say I had ever troubled my head much about religion at all;
but still I had a vague idea of it as a thing which people of weak
intellect sometimes made a fuss about, but which the wiser part of
the world treated as a mere unreal conventionality--a sort of outer
garment which was assumed and respected solely out of deference to
Mrs. Grundy.

It was startling to me, therefore, to meet with such a living
contradiction of this idea as Sister Helena. She was no fool, as I
knew, but very much the reverse; and in her management of the
hospital she gave daily proofs of good sense, shrewdness, and sound
judgment, which made it impossible to think she would be led away by
visionary notions, or act lightly and without due consideration. Nor
was she a person who ever bestowed a thought upon Mrs. Grundy, or who
could be suspected of any taint of humbug and unreality in either
word or deed. Yet to this sensible, intelligent, absolutely honest
woman, religion was a fact of such vital importance as to be the
mainspring of her life--the one thing to be put before everything
else! So extraordinary did it seem to me, that I should certainly
have refused to believe in the phenomenon at all if I had not beheld
it with my own eyes.

It appeared evident to me that it must need a very powerful engine
to be the motive force of such steady, self-sacrificing, practical
goodness as hers, and I thought I should like to understand somewhat
of the nature of that engine. With this object in view I directed
constant questions towards the subject that interested me, and
thus it came about that religion was the theme upon which we
conversed more frequently than any other. I do not recapitulate our
conversations, because I consider they would be out of place in a
book of this kind; but this much I will say, that they made a strong
impression on me, and caused me to think of religion very differently
from what I had done hitherto. She was the first person I had ever
met whose deeds really harmonised with her professions, and all that
she said had weight with me, because her life was an unmistakable
proof that she honestly and fully did believe the things she
professed to believe. I began to contemplate the possibility of there
being a real meaning in the creeds and prayers which I had often
heard and joined in when at church without attaching any sense at all
to them. I began, too, to have an idea that perhaps church membership
might be something more than a mere empty form, and that there might
be some real advantage in belonging to that Church of which I had
been a member all my life as a matter of course, and without ever
supposing it could make the slightest difference to me, one way or
other. And, more than all, in proportion as I became inclined to
believe in the truth and reality of religion, so also did the
conviction grow upon me that I myself was not exactly altogether what
I should be, and that it behoved me to set about reforming.

I really did want to amend what was amiss, and to become better than
I was; but still I did not want to be _too_ good. Such goodness as
Sister Helena's, for instance, was, I knew, far beyond my powers; and
besides that, my hearty admiration for it in her did not lead me to
desire it for myself, because I was quite sure that even if it
were possible for me to attain to such a pitch of self-denying
excellence, I should not enjoy it, as I was a deal too fond of
worldly comforts and joys ever to be happy without them.

Certainly it was very singular that there should be so wide a
difference between one person's sense of duty and another's. When
first this difference struck me, I was inclined to be somewhat uneasy
at the comparatively diminutive proportions of my own virtue; but
then there occurred to me a very comfortable and reassuring way of
accounting for it. People's bodies were predisposed towards measles,
whooping cough, and other illnesses in varying degrees, and had them
lightly or severely according to the extent of that predisposition;
and some people even never had these illnesses at all--being
apparently endowed with some constitutional peculiarity which acted
as an antidote to the poison of disease. And from this I argued that
probably people's minds varied in a similar fashion in regard to
virtue--some being more, and some less receptive of it. I supposed
that a person could only be affected by religion and goodness
according to the degree of his mental predisposition towards such
things, and that some people could never be influenced by them at
all. I thought this supposition a perfectly reasonable one, and
highly satisfactory also. For in that case it was obviously absurd to
expect much goodness from a person whose mind was so constituted as
to be antagonistic to virtuous influences; and of course no one could
be blamed for what was merely a natural defect.

I propounded my theory triumphantly to Sister Helena one day when
she was insisting upon the necessity of some virtue or other which I
thought ordinary mortals need not trouble themselves about. But she
refused absolutely to agree with me; declared that goodness was
equally attainable by all who chose; and laughed at the idea of
people having a natural liability towards or against it, like they
might have towards or against a fever.

"All very well for you to talk," answered I; "but I should like to
know how else it's to be accounted for that some people should be so
much better than others as to become sisters, monks, and nuns, and
all that sort of thing? I'm sure it must need a very special and
uncommon predisposition towards goodness to make any one give up
every mortal thing that can make them happy--as they do!"

"Not at all," she replied quickly; "you'll find good and earnest
people in the world, just as much as in convents. It's a question of
vocation--not of superior goodness. Some people have such a natural
inclination for a conventual life that they are happier there than
they would be in the world; and some people, on the other hand, are
happier in the world. Each set seeks happiness in its own way. And
for any one to join a religious community without having a real
vocation for it is a very great mistake, and not a good or desirable
thing at all."

"Well, then," said I, "you believe that people are born monks and
nuns, just as they are born poets, painters, musicians, or sculptors.
_Nascitur non fit_. After all, I don't see that that's so very unlike
my predisposition theory."

"Why, there's this great difference," she said smiling; "according to
_you_, some people would have no chance of goodness at all; and _I_
maintain, on the contrary, that every one has an equal chance.
Goodness certainly _manifests_ itself differently in different
individuals; but you can't argue from that that it _exists_ in them
in different degrees. Remember that it is no great hardship for a
person who doesn't care for society to give it up; and that you
mustn't judge the merit of an action by its effects, but by how much
it costs the doer."

And then a knock at the door, and an urgent request for the Sister
to go and see after something or other immediately, terminated our
conversation abruptly as usual; and I remained alone, musing on the
fresh proof I had just received of the erroneousness of my original
ideas regarding Sisters. Never for an instant had I doubted that they
enjoyed--whether legitimately or not--a profound sense of superiority
to the general run of humanity; and now that my old prejudice against
them was overcome, I had arrived at the conclusion that, as they
really _were_ immeasurably better than the rest of the world (judging
by Sister Helena), they had a perfect right to pique themselves
thereon. Yet, instead of that, Sister Helena had not only refused to
acquiesce in my ascription of honour and glory to them, but had
argued with evident sincerity to prove that there was no special
merit whatever in being a Sister! If _I_ had been one, I should not
have thought anything of the sort, I knew very well.

As the spark latent in flint needs a blow to bring it out, so, I
suppose, whatever capacity I possessed for faith and virtue must have
lain dormant in me till quickened to life by Sister Helena. They are
elements which cannot possibly begin to mix actively in any one's
existence without producing a commotion in that person's previous
ways of going on, and so I soon found myself sorely troubled in
mind respecting my uncompleted project for being revenged upon my
step-mother. Up to the present time I had only disquieted her with
threatening letters, and had not yet arrived at the finishing touch
of making known her humble origin to her husband and her friends.
That had necessarily been deferred by my being laid up in hospital;
but I had not given it up for a moment, and had meant that the
execution of my threats against her should be one of the first things
I would do when I should be able to get about again. In my opinion
she richly deserved punishment for the undutifulness to her mother,
ingratitude to her step-father, absurd vanity, and bad behaviour
in general, of which she had been guilty. And as my own personal
enmity for her gave me an especial willingness to be the instrument
whereby justice was to overtake her, I looked forward with extreme
satisfaction to the completion of my scheme, and regarded it as a
most righteous and proper proceeding.

All of a sudden, however, this pleasant prospect was disturbed by my
newly awakened conscience insisting on taking a very different view
of the matter, and declaring that as forgiveness was a duty and
revenge was wrong, therefore I ought to give up the intention that I
was cherishing. I opposed this conviction--struggled, argued, and
tried to evade the conclusion that was so distasteful to me. But it
was no use; conscience was too strong, and stuck firmly to its point,
till I was forced, at last, reluctantly to abandon my beloved scheme.

So far, therefore, virtue was victorious; but its power did not
extend far enough to prevent my regretting bitterly that I had not
fully accomplished my designs against Lady Trecastle before any new
ideas had come to interfere. Since conscience declared positively
that I ought to overcome the old grudge which I bore her, I should
have to do so; but it would now be a hard matter to accomplish,
whereas I was sure that I could have done it sweetly and with hardly
any effort at all, if only I had had the satisfaction of feeling that
my plan of revenge had been carried out fully. For forgiveness is a
duty whose performance is marvellously facilitated by the knowledge
that the offender has had to suffer in some way or other for his
wrongdoing.

I was quite in earnest about desiring to be true to such light as I
had arrived at, and therefore did not exactly wish to return to my
previous unenlightened condition. Yet I sighed as it dawned upon my
mind that these new ideas might involve new restraints, and that
perhaps henceforth I should be less my own mistress than before.

It would be so much easier to take to religion if it did not seem
likely to deprive me of freedom, thought I, ruefully.




                           CHAPTER XIII.

                           A CATASTROPHE.


At last I was pronounced fit to be discharged from the hospital, and
on the morrow I was to depart. I was still far from strong enough to
think of undertaking any employment involving hard work and exertion;
and how to keep from starving when once more turned adrift to earn my
own livelihood was a problem which I should have been puzzled to
solve if left to myself. Sister Helena, however, had come to my aid,
and procured me a light place as assistant to the owner of a small
newspaper-shop, who, on account of advancing years, wanted extra help
and was willing to engage me on her recommendation. Thus was added
another to the many benefits for which I was already indebted to that
excellent woman, whose life was one long series of acts of kindness
done, without thought of return, for whoever was in need. No wonder
that I had learnt to admire, love, trust, and look up to her as
though she had belonged to some higher order of beings! For she was
certainly immeasurably superior to any other of the human race with
whom I had ever been acquainted.

My last day, then, in hospital had arrived. The desire to have a
farewell talk with the Sister in peace and comfort had made me ask
her if she could not manage that we should have a quiet half-hour
together for once, without any of the tiresome interruptions by which
our conversations were usually cut short. She had said it was
impossible for her to promise such a thing certainly, as it must
depend on what work had to be done; but that she would do her best to
arrange matters as I wished, and if successful would come and fetch
me to her room when she was at leisure. All day, therefore, did I
hope for the expected summons, and was greatly disappointed as hour
after hour passed on without my seeing or hearing anything of her.
At last, quite late in the evening, she entered the ward looking
unusually fagged, and came and sat down by me.

"I've been so sorry not to be able to come for you as I'd hoped,"
she said kindly, "but you know business _must_ have precedence of
everything else, and I was kept so unexpectedly long with one case
that all my arrangements were upset. It was a man who was brought in
yesterday with a couple of slight scalp wounds that had to be sewn
up, and who didn't seem to have much the matter with him. But twice
to-day he got so odd that there was a doubt whether he was not going
out of his mind; and I stayed with him to see whether he was or not.
If he had been, and if he had become violent, it would have been an
awkward job to manage him, for he's immensely powerful. I never saw
any one so extraordinarily sensitive to loud sounds and commotion of
any kind as he seems to be. There was an unusually loud noise going
on both times when his oddness came on, and as the noise diminished
so did he calm down again. I'm sure he has a highly irritable nervous
system, which is excited to an almost ungovernable pitch by any fuss,
and can then only be pacified by perfect tranquillity."

"Is he all right now?" I asked.

"Yes, I hope so. The unfavourable symptoms didn't return, and the
doctor thought him going on quite satisfactorily. But I stayed with
the man a long time, because it was so important for him to be
watched attentively whilst we were uncertain about his sanity, that I
did not like to leave the responsibility to any one else. Then, when
I could trust him to a nurse alone, I had such an accumulation of
work to get through that I've been hard at it ever since, and not had
a moment to myself till now; so you see I had no choice about giving
up the quiet talk with you that we had proposed having. I'm on my way
back to him now, as I want to hear the nurse's account of him during
my absence."

"Humph!" grunted I, feeling that I need not fear saying what I
thought, now that I was on the verge of quitting the hospital; "you
won't be much the wiser for that, if it's Nurse Mary that's looking
after him. If you knew her as well as I do, and knew how sleepy she
is, how constantly she neglects her business, and what a wonderful
facility she has for inventing false excuses when she's blamed, you'd
never believe a word she tells you."

"It wasn't her I left him with, but one of the others," replied the
Sister. "To tell you the truth, I should not have trusted such a case
as that in her hands alone. For though I don't think quite so badly
of her as you do, yet still I am by no means satisfied with her. You
are not the only patient who has, either directly or indirectly,
intimated she is not what she should be; and I have myself noticed
things tending to confirm these complaints."

"Why don't you get rid of her, then, when you yourself allow that
you've no confidence in her?" asked I.

The Sister hesitated a moment, and then answered: "Had the matter
rested solely with me, I believe I should very likely have done so.
But when I told the authorities what I thought of her, the doctor
took her part so strongly that nothing came of it. He declared that
he saw no reason whatever to be dissatisfied with her; and that sick
people were always so fanciful, exacting, and peevish, that it was
ridiculous to take any notice of their imaginary grievances. And as
he was quite positive of being right, whilst I spoke more from
suspicion than actual knowledge of the woman's behaviour, he carried
the day. Perhaps it's as well so after all. To dismiss her would very
possibly have ruined her professional prospects; and I should never
forgive myself if I thought I had been the means of inflicting so
severe a penalty on any one without sufficient cause."

"Oh Sister!" exclaimed I, abruptly; "is that the man you were talking
of?"

In order to enable my readers to understand what ensued, I must delay
my narrative for a moment to explain how we were all placed.

Sister Helena and I were sitting at a table about the middle of a
very long room, having a door at each end, and beds ranged down both
sides. In the bed nearest to us was a poor woman who had been badly
burnt in an explosion; and by her side stood the nurse of the ward,
employed in changing the dressings of the burns. I was the only
patient who was still up and dressed; the rest were in bed, and one
or two of them already asleep. They were all women who had been
injured severely in some way or other; and as I, though well enough
to be discharged from the hospital, was still extremely weak after my
long illness, it will be seen that Sister Helena and the nurse were
the only two able-bodied individuals in the ward.

The cause of the exclamation I had uttered was this. I--who
was facing one of the doors towards which the Sister had her
back--suddenly saw that door pushed partially open, and a man's head
poked in as though for the purpose of reconnoitring. After a hasty
survey the owner followed his head quickly into the room, closed the
door cautiously behind him, executed a fantastic pirouette, advanced
a yard or so in a kind of polka-step, came to a stand-still by
a chair near the door, and commenced bowing and smiling with
extravagant gestures. On his shoulder he carried an implement used
for breaking and piercing ice, which was rather like a hammer, with a
sharp, triangular, steel spike at one end of the head. He was big,
broad-shouldered, and muscular; his head was bound up in bandages;
and he was clad in shirt, trousers, and socks. In consequence
of having no shoes on, his movements were noiseless; and this
noiselessness considerably enhanced the uncanny and startling effect
produced by the sudden appearance amongst us of so strange a figure,
demeaning itself in so eccentric a manner.

Sister Helena looked round at my exclamation, and a momentary
expression of horror crossed her face, and showed me that my
conjecture had been right, and that our visitor was the man of whom
she had been speaking. But that one transient look of horror was
the only sign of nervousness she gave, and she did not lose her
self-possession and composure for an instant. "Yes," she answered me
quietly, turning towards the nurse who, as I have said, was employed
not far from us. "Nurse!" she said, softly. The woman looked up from
her occupation and saw the intruder, whom she at once recognised as
the patient whose sanity had been considered doubtful. His present
appearance left very little doubt about the matter, and she was
naturally filled with consternation at the sight of an armed madman
like him in the midst of a lot of helpless women. Dropping the
dressings she had in her hand, she started violently, and was about
to break forth into exclamations, when the Sister checked her by
continuing in the same low, steady voice:

"Hush! make no fuss or he'll get worse. Go for help. As long as
you're in the ward, walk quietly, as if nothing was the matter; and
as soon as you're outside, run as fast as you can. I'll stay here,
and try to prevent his doing any harm till help comes."

"Indeed, 'tisn't safe for you to stay, Sister," whispered the
frightened nurse; "he's raving mad by the looks of him, and goodness
only knows what he mayn't do!"

"All the more reason some one should stay and take care of the sick,"
returned the other. "Off with you! mind not to hurry till you're out
of the ward; and then, the faster you go the better."

Judging by the nurse's appearance, I should say it was fortunate for
her character for obedience that she was not told to remain in the
ward instead of to leave it; for I am inclined to doubt whether any
power on earth would have induced her voluntarily to stay in so
unsafe a neighbourhood. As it was, however, her orders exactly
corresponded to her inclinations, and she promptly set out towards
the door opposite to that near which the man had taken up his
position. He had left off bowing and smiling by this time, and was
seated in the chair, leaning forward meditatively and scratching the
floor with the point of his weapon, and apparently unconscious of the
presence of any one else.

"If he'll stay like that till help comes, we shall do," whispered the
Sister to me. "I'm sure he's a man for whom quiet is _everything_;
what I dread is any fuss or noise to irritate him. It's lucky all the
patients are in bed, so that he doesn't see people moving about."

This was all very well; but then there was no _certainty_ of
his continuing to stay quiet. And supposing he were to become
mischievous, what chance had any of us in the ward of defending
ourselves against a powerful, armed madman? So strongly was this
borne in upon me that I felt an ignominious desire to get up and
follow the retreating nurse, and was only prevented from doing so by
my affection for Sister Helena. For some inexplicable reason or other
I did not like to go away and leave her in danger, even though I was
perfectly aware that I was too feeble to have a chance of being of
any assistance if the man _did_ become violent. Besides that, I saw
how anxious she was to keep everything as quiet as possible; and
perceived also that as the departure of two people would necessarily
create more disturbance than that of one, therefore my going away
must certainly be contrary to her wishes. On no account would I cause
her one atom of additional worry and annoyance; I could sit still, at
least, though there was no other way in which I could help her. So,
notwithstanding my state of inward trepidation, I stayed where I was,
and hoped that the nurse might be fortunate in meeting with succour
speedily.

Unluckily I was not the only person on whom the preservation of
tranquility in the ward depended. The other patients, having heard
nothing of the possibility of the presence of a lunatic in the
building, had at first had no suspicion of the real state of affairs
when they beheld the stranger's entrance. Still, they were uneasy,
because what was taking place was evidently altogether unusual; and
what is out of the common is, for that reason alone, presumed to be
alarming by the majority of mankind. And they found confirmation for
their apprehensions in the ominous haste with which the nurse went
out of the ward; for, in spite of the caution she had received, she
made her exit in a manner that was decidedly suggestive of flight.

From one bed after another issued whimperings, timid cries, or eager
demands to know what was the matter; and the murmurs and outcries
were rising swiftly to an uproar when they were repressed by the
Sister. Speaking loud enough to be heard by all, she said that she
would take care of every one there, but that she insisted on strict
silence. That sufficed to quell the gathering storm; for there was
not a soul in the place but had confidence in Sister Helena.

The noise made, however, had already taken effect on the maniac, and
aroused him from his previous meditative condition. Springing up and
flourishing the ice-hammer in the air wildly, he mounted upon the
seat of the chair in which he had been sitting, and began to speak.

Sister Helena had been hitherto standing quiet in pursuance of her
policy of keeping everything as absolutely still as possible. But on
seeing his increased excitement, she began to advance gently towards
him--moving slowly and apparently carelessly, but getting steadily
nearer to him. Forgetting my uselessness and my fear of the man, I
rose instinctively to accompany her when she set out; but she
motioned me back, saying quickly:

"No; stay quiet. It's _my_ business to protect the patients--not
_yours_."

All this takes time to write down; but in actual fact it occupied
very few seconds, and it was still too soon to look for succour
to arrive, unless the nurse's search for it should have been
unexpectedly fortunate.

The idea which had seized the madman appeared to be, that he was in
the middle of delivering a lecture on anatomy or some subject of that
kind; and he seemed most intent upon the theme which he imagined
himself to be pursuing, as he shouted out:

"And now, ladies and gents, I come to that wonderful horgin--the brain.
Wait one moment whilst I get one to show you; for hillustrations is
hindispersible to the lecterer!"

With these words, he jumped off the chair, brandishing his weapon,
and approached the nearest bed, wherein lay a woman whose leg and
ribs had been broken, and whose injured limb was fixed in a cradle.
She--perceiving that he had sinister designs upon her--began to
scream dismally, and to make unavailing efforts to extricate herself
from the bed and try to escape. Her screams were echoed by many
of the other patients, who, convinced they were all going to be
murdered, and filled with dismay on their own account as well as
hers, either forgot or ignored the command which had been given for
silence. Sister Helena, rushing forward to the rescue, reached the
bedside just in time to interpose herself between the shrieking,
struggling, fear-distraught woman calling piteously for help, and the
man who was on the point of attacking her.

"Get out of the way there!" exclaimed he fiercely to the Sister, "or
I'll take your brain instead. I'm bound to have one for my lecter!"

"Oh no!" she replied calmly; "the lecture is put off till to-morrow,
so you won't want a brain till then."

The tranquility of her looks and manner seemed to produce an
impression on him; for he lowered his weapon, and looked perplexed,
and as if doubting whether to believe her or not. If only the other
inmates of the ward had obeyed her instructions and kept quiet, I
think that even then she would have been able to restrain him. But
the clamour they made served to excite him afresh and add fuel to
his frenzy.

"Nonsense!" he shouted; "I'm wanted to go hon with the lecter at
once. Don't you hear 'em calling me back? If you hinder me, I'll
kill you!"

Pushing her aside so roughly that she staggered and nearly fell, he
returned to his original victim, whom he caught hold of with one
hand, while with the other he raised the hammer to strike. The
blow was about to fall when it was arrested by Sister Helena, who
recovered her equilibrium in time to spring back and seize his
uplifted arm. Shaking her off as if she had been a feather, he turned
upon her with a savage cry, and raised his weapon once more. In
another moment it descended, and was buried with all his force in the
centre of her forehead. She sunk to the ground with one shuddering
groan at the very instant that the nearest door was burst open, and
two or three men rushed in. Flinging themselves upon the maniac
before he had well realised their presence, they succeeded--after a
short furious struggle--in overpowering him and carrying him off. But
they were too late, alas, to save the life of the best and noblest
human being I have ever known; for the sharp spike of the ice-hammer
had penetrated to her brain, and killed her instantaneously. And so
ended the life of one who died as she had lived,--that is to say,
devoting herself voluntarily and unreservedly to the good of others.
Characteristic of her, also, was the manner of disposal of her body,
which was burnt in a crematorium, in accordance with her own
frequently expressed wishes on the subject. For it was horrible to
her to think that her material part might possibly, after death, be
the means of bringing death and sorrow to the fellow-creatures whom
she loved so well, by poisoning the air they breathed or the water
they drank; and, therefore, she had always been a steady upholder of
cremation.

When the history of the catastrophe which had caused her untimely end
was investigated, it came out that the person in charge of the man
when he made his escape had been Nurse Mary after all, and that what
had happened was owing to her negligence. The way of it was this: The
nurse with whom he had been left, being taken ill suddenly, and
thinking that an hour's quiet would put her right again, had had
recourse to one of her fellows to replace her whilst she went to lie
down, and that other individual had happened to be Nurse Mary. Before
going away the nurse who was ill had not neglected to caution her
substitute of the special reason that existed for watching the
patient carefully, and Nurse Mary had assured her she might be
quite easy on that score--which assurance, however, had in no wise
prevented her who gave it from acting in her usual manner, and going
to sleep when so inclined. Thus, when the man's insanity returned,
there was no one to hinder his roaming off wherever the fancy took
him. And this was how he came to arrive at our ward, armed with the
ice-hammer, which he had happened to see and pick up on the way.

Had Nurse Mary had her deserts and been dismissed from the hospital
long before, Sister Helena's life would not have been cut short by
the madman. But she was sacrificed, in my opinion, partly to the
nurse's inefficiency, and partly to the folly of the doctor, who had
refused to believe it possible for patients to have any real cause of
complaint against a nurse, and had not hesitated to condemn their
assertions as unfounded without inquiry, and had therefore opposed
the dismissal of the nurse they had complained of.

Brief as was my acquaintance with Sister Helena, it sufficed to make
an indelible impression on my life; and it is owing to her influence,
and to the seed she sowed, that I am no longer the unprincipled,
heathen, scampish individual that I was before I knew her--a woman
whose life was more in harmony with the Saviour's precept than that
of any one else whom I have ever known, "A new commandment I give
unto you, That ye love one another."




                            CHAPTER XIV.

                        A CHANGE OF FORTUNE.


On leaving the hospital I straightway entered the situation as
assistant newspaper-seller which Sister Helena had procured for me.
I did not contemplate staying there long, because, as the work was
light, the pay was proportionately small; so as soon as my health
should be thoroughly re-established, I meant to give up vending
papers, and look out for some more remunerative employment; providing
always that it was one which I could obtain honestly, for I was quite
determined not to have recourse to any more false testimonials in
future. But an undreamt of surprise was in store for me, and all my
schemes were destined to be completely altered before I had been many
weeks at my new post.

When, as sometimes happened, business was slack, I had nothing to do
but to wait idly for customers to appear; and on these occasions I
usually beguiled the time by studying some of the papers which
composed our stock in trade. One day whilst thus engaged I was
astonished to come across an advertisement commencing thus:
"Gilbertina, daughter of the late Sir Anthony Trecastle of Castle
Manor--" Having read so far, I put down the paper. The _late_ Sir
Anthony! Then my father must have died whilst I was in the hospital,
for I had heard of him as alive and well shortly before that. He and
I had never cared for one another, but notwithstanding this mutual
indifference, it gave me a shock to learn thus suddenly that he was
dead. So many thoughts and recollections of old days rushed into my
mind, that it was some little time before I remembered that I had not
yet finished reading the advertisement, and that as it began with my
name, I had probably better see what it was all about.

This was how the whole ran:--"Gilbertina, daughter of the late Sir
Anthony Trecastle of Castle Manor, is requested to communicate with
Messrs. Fox and Snail, Lincoln's Inn Fields, from whom she will hear
of something greatly to her advantage."

What could Messrs. Fox and Snail, who had been, as I knew, my
father's solicitors, have to tell me, I wondered? and should I
answer this advertisement of theirs or not? If I did, I must
evidently surrender the "incog." which I had hitherto preserved
so successfully, and in that case I saw that I could not reckon
certainly on being able to resume it again. Therefore the question
which I put before myself to be decided upon was this: Am I inclined
to take a step which may involve my leaving the independent career on
which I am launched, and going back to my original station of life?

Well! I had by this time discovered that people who were by birth and
education my equals were, as a rule, more congenial associates to me
than my inferiors; I knew, too, that I had an innate and ineradicable
prejudice in favour of the name of Trecastle, which would make it
pleasant to me once more to call myself by it openly; for even though
I had voluntarily discarded it, yet I had always felt a secret pride
in thinking that it was mine, and that I had the right to bear it if
I chose. Besides this, my experiences had taught me to appreciate
better than formerly the comfort of having my bread and butter found
for me, instead of being obliged to find it for myself, and I had
learnt that there are sometimes drawbacks attendant upon earning
one's own livelihood, notwithstanding the halo of adventure and
enterprise surrounding that process, which constituted its principal
attraction in my eyes. Furthermore, Messrs. Fox and Snail promised to
tell me of what would be greatly to my advantage, and it is not in
human nature to feel averse to hearing of anything that answers to
that description, or to learn that such information is to be had,
without being curious to know exactly what it may be. Altogether,
therefore, there was clearly a good deal to be said in favour of my
complying with the request in the advertisement, and consenting to
become Gilbertina Trecastle once more.

But then, on the other hand, it seemed to me that however desirable
this course might be in some ways, its advantages would be more than
counterbalanced if it involved anything derogatory to my dignity.
Upon no account whatever would I condescend to take any step which
could be construed into a confession of failure and defeat, or be
considered equivalent to taking cap in hand, and suing humbly for
reinstatement. No, indeed! I had supported myself by my own exertions
ever since I had left home, and saw no reason to doubt my being able
to continue to do so. Therefore I had neither failed nor been
defeated, and it was not likely that I was going to do anything to
give rise to a contrary supposition.

After careful consideration of the advertisement, however, I came
to the conclusion that there was nothing to compromise dignity in
responding to such an invitation as it contained, and that I could
do so without any fear of injuring my self-respect, or appearing to
humiliate myself either in my own eyes, or in those of other people.
And, my pride being thus satisfied, I went next day to the office in
Lincolns Inn Fields, announced who I was, and inquired what Messrs.
Fox and Snail had to tell me.

The information I received in reply was this. Before my father left
England, immediately after my mother's death, he made a will and
deposited it with his solicitors. He seems to have thought of
altering it after his second marriage, for he observed to them
casually once, that he should not wonder if he were to make a fresh
will some day or other when he had not anything else to do, and
happened to be in the humour for it. But whatever his intentions on
the subject may have been, that day was still to come when he died
suddenly. The only will he left was the one already mentioned, and
as in that he bequeathed everything he had to me, it was now only
necessary that I should prove my identity in order to enter into
possession of my inheritance without further obstacle. I had but
little difficulty in establishing satisfactorily that I really was
Gilbertina Trecastle, and as soon as that had been done, my fortunes
changed for the better as suddenly as though a benevolent magician
had waved his wand over them. Instead of being an ill-paid shop
assistant at the beck and call of an employer, I found myself raised
all at once to a position of ease and independence, with ample means,
and no one to dictate to or interfere with me. And this latter
condition was, as may be imagined, decidedly preferable to the former
one.

Considering the manner of my departure from home, and the antipathy
that had always existed between my step-mother and me, I certainly
anticipated that she would now disapprove of me more strongly than
ever, and avoid having to do with me as much as possible. But it
seemed that the transformation of my circumstances had worked an
equally marvellous transformation in her opinion of me; for the tone
she adopted towards me was totally different from what it had been in
the days of my insignificance, when I could be snubbed and bullied to
any extent with impunity. Then she had been all verjuice, gall, and
vinegar: now she was all honey, oil, and butter. Then she had
pronounced me ignorant, stupid, evil-disposed, tiresome, all that was
objectionable, and utterly unfit to be admitted into society: now she
sang my praises unweariedly whenever she had an opportunity, and
declared me to be clever, amusing, witty, agreeable, and in every way
charming and delightful. How she can have thought it likely for any
one of ordinary intelligence to be taken in by such palpable and
unblushing humbug, I cannot imagine. Certainly the chief effect it
had upon me was to make me feel more disgusted with her than ever,
and wonder whether there was _any_ limit to her capacity for toadying
and cringing when she thought it suited her game to do so.

Of course I knew very well that she would not be thus anxious to
curry favour with me for nothing; and that there was sure to be some
secret motive for all the lying compliments and fulsome flattery with
which she sought to impress me favourably, and to make me forget her
former conduct. Very soon this motive became apparent; for the hints
she gave showed plainly that, as she found Castle Manor an extremely
comfortable abode, she did not at all want to leave it, and was in
hopes of being able to establish herself there permanently.

I really must not be offended at her frankness, she said; but I had
such a place in her affection and esteem, and she was so anxious for
my welfare, that she could not resist giving me a word of advice,
even at the risk of being thought interfering. In her opinion I
was too young and inexperienced to live alone, and I should find
the management of property a great tie and worry. She did hope,
therefore, that I would get some older person to live with me, whom I
could regard as a friend; who would set me free to amuse myself by
relieving me of business cares when I liked; and who would be always
at hand to be consulted in case of need. There would certainly be
plenty of candidates for the post of companion to an individual so
attractive and popular as I was, to associate with whom would be a
constant pleasure and privilege; so I might reckon on a wide field to
choose from, as soon as I should make known what I wanted. Till then,
was there any way in which _she_ could be useful? Would I not like
her to stay for a while and help me to settle down comfortably? I had
only to say the word, and she would be most happy to fall in with any
arrangement of the kind that I might propose.

I, however, had not the slightest wish to have her as an inmate of my
house on any terms at all. To forgive her was one thing; to live with
her was another. Having learnt that it was a duty to forgive her, I
had made up my mind to do so, and had therefore renounced all
intention of revealing her early history and plebeian connections, or
making any other attempt to pay her off for past injuries. But beyond
that point, it seemed to me I was not bound to go; and I saw no kind
of necessity for inviting her to live with me. She could not be in
want of money, as she still possessed whatever she had had when she
married my father. And if she disliked solitude, she could go and
domicile herself with one of her own daughters--both of whom had got
married during my absence from home. Evidently, therefore, there was
no possible reason for me to think that I ought to inflict her
company upon myself; and I might, with a clear conscience, turn a
deaf ear to her overtures. So, instead of responding as she hoped, I
took the liberty of giving her plainly to understand that the sooner
she cleared out of Castle Manor the better, as I was in a hurry to
occupy my house, and only waited for her departure in order to do so.

I really did try hard not to do anything needlessly harsh by her. But
she would _not_ go till I put my foot down firmly and unmistakably;
and it was scarcely to be expected that I should, of my own free will
and without any feeling of obligation in the matter, ever choose to
live in the same house with her again. So I do not know that I could
well have acted otherwise than I did.

Finding that I stuck firmly to my point, she took herself off at
last; whereupon I went straight home, and have lived there the
greater part of the time since--endeavouring to the best of my
ability to perform the duties of my new position as a lady squire.
What with looking after the interests--both physical and moral--of my
tenants and poorer neighbours, and managing my house and estate, I
have plenty of occupation to keep my brain active and to interest
me; and, consequently, I have taken to this quiet country existence
much more kindly than I should have imagined possible in the days
when I had not become acquainted, by personal experience, with
the feelings of a landowner. But that does not prevent me from
contemplating another foreign trip before long; for my natural spirit
of restlessness and adventure is too vigorous to rest satisfied
without an occasional indulgence.

My present age is just twenty-four; but I often find it hard to
realise that I am not a great deal older than that, when I come in
contact with other young ladies of the same age. I seem to have
knocked about the world and seen so much more of it than they have,
as a rule, that I can hardly fancy it possible for the length of
their lives and mine to be identical--unless they have wasted their
opportunities sadly!

As Kitty Clement has played a somewhat prominent part in these pages,
it may be well that I should tell all I know of her career up to this
time. Since my restoration I have seen her several times at parties
in London, and have, on these occasions, studied her only from a
distance; because, as I am not anxious to be recognised as her
former maid, Jill, I do not intend to claim kindred, renew the old
acquaintance begun at Lugano, or do anything else that would direct
her attention to me. But the strange charm which she always had for
me is not yet wholly dead; and I still cannot help observing her
course with an interest which I do not feel in that of any one else.
Her great object evidently is, to make her husband a conspicuous
figure in the political world. She has persuaded the Premier to
appoint him to some government office of minor importance; receives
at her parties hosts of members of parliament, fashionables, and
lions, once a week regularly; and does all she can to increase the
influence and popularity of his name in every way possible. If he had
anything like her ability, strength, and wits, and were as much above
the common run of men as she is above that of women, her help would
certainly make him Prime Minister before long. But, unluckily for her
schemes, his talents are in no respect above the average; and though
he discharges the duties of his office in a most painstaking and
praiseworthy manner, yet devotion to work alone will never enable a
man to rank as a great leader. Even, however, if her ambition should
not be fully gratified, she may at all events congratulate herself on
being an extremely great lady, and enjoying a position that many
women would deem the acme of felicity. She interchanges dinners with
royalties; her parties are thronged; and as I frequently see her
goings and comings chronicled in the newspapers, I imagine that she
has attained sufficient celebrity for the general public to wish to
be informed of her movements. And what more than that does the heart
of an ordinary woman desire?

She has presented her husband with an heir to the title, and other
children also; she is spoken of as an exemplary wife and mother;
no breath of slander has ever touched her; and she is--to all
appearance--as perfectly contented with her lot as she certainly has
cause to be. As for the feeling she once had for Captain Norroy, I
have no doubt it has been crushed to nothing, and that when he and
his wife are amongst her guests, she behaves to them exactly as she
does to every one else--that is to say, with a stately graciousness
and _aplomb_ which seem as though beyond the power of human beings or
events to ruffle.

Yet the expression of her face strikes me as being strangely hard and
cold for a person so admired and popular as she is, and who is so
successful in making herself generally agreeable. It is not the look
of a woman who has all she wants, but of one who has incased herself
in impervious armour, which she never lays aside, and which no soft
emotion can penetrate either from within or from without. And
notwithstanding all her prosperity and appearance of contentment, I
cannot help doubting whether she is really and in her secret soul
happy. Does ambition fill and satisfy her life entirely? Or is there
room for any lurking regret for the dream of love that came to her
once--the romance that might have been, which is now buried far out
of sight, and can never come to life again?

And sometimes, too, I wonder, whether her nature was always as stony
as it is now (for even to her husband and children she is rather kind
than loving), whether her softness towards Captain Norroy was only
the exception that proved the rule, and whether she ever has felt or
could feel genuine, warm affection for other people. She seems
incapable of tenderness now; but I am not sure whether before her
marriage she may not have had a capacity for loving which she has now
lost--perhaps killed deliberately for fear of its proving troublesome
to her. And if so, and if in those days she and I had been thrown
together (as might very likely have happened, had it not been for my
step-mother) as equals instead of as mistress and maid, should we
have become friends, I wonder?

Who can say! Now, as always, she is an enigma hard to read.




                              THE END.




              _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._




                         TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE


Obvious printing errors have been silently corrected throughout.
Otherwise, inconsistencies and possible errors have been preserved.