Braddon_Aurora_Floyd.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS.
Faint streaks of crimson glimmer here and there
amidst the rich darkness of the Kentish woods.
Autumn's red finger has been lightly laid upon
the foliage sparingly, as the artist puts the
brighter tints into his picture : but the grandeur
of an August sunset blazes upon the peaceful
landscape, and lights all into glory.
The encircling woods and wide lawn-like mea-
dows, the stUl ponds of limpid water, the trim
hedges, and the smooth winding roads ; undu-
lating hill-tops, melting into the purple distance ;
labouring men's cottages gleaming white from the
surrounding foliage ; solitary road-side inns with
brown thatched roofs and moss-grown stacks of
VOL. L B
2 AUKORA FLOYD.
lop-sided chimneys ; noble mansions liiding be-
hind ancestral oaks ; tiny Gothic edifices ; Swiss
and rustic lodges; pillared gates surmounted by
escutcheons hewn in stone, and festooned with
green wreaths of clustering iyy ; village churches
and prim school-houses : every object in the fair
English prosj)ect is steeped in a luminous haze, as
the twilight shadows steal slowly upward from the
dim recesses of shady woodland and winding lane,
and every outline of the landscape darkens against
the deepening crimson of the sky.
Upon the broad faqade of a mighty red-brick
mansion, built in the favourite style of the early
Georgian era, the sinking sun lingers long, making
gorgeous illumination. The long rows of narrow
windows are all a-flame with the red light, and an
honest homeward-tramping villager pauses once
or twice in the roadway to glance across the
smooth width of dewy lawn and tranquil lake,
haK fearful that there must be something more
than natural in the glitter of those windows, and
that maybe Maister Floyd's house is a-fire.
The stately red-brick mansion belongs to Maister
Floyd, as he is called in the honest patois of the
Kentish rustics ; to Archibald Martin Floyd, of the
HOW A KICH BANKEK MARKIED AN ACTRESS. 3
great banking-house of Floyd, Floyd, and Floyd,
Lombard Street, City.
The Kentish rustics know very little of this City
banking-house, for Archibald Martin, the senior
partner, has long retired from any active share in
the business, which is carried on entirely by his
nephews, Andrew and Alexander Floyd, both
steady, middle-aged men, with families and
country houses ; both owing their fortune to
the rich uncle, who had found places in his
counting-house for them some thirty years be-
fore, when they were tall, raw-boned, sandy-
haired, red-complexioned Scottish youths, fresh
from some unpronounceable village north of
Aberdeen.
The young gentlemen signed their names
McFloyd when they first entered their uncle's
counting-house ; but they very soon followed that
wise relative's example, and dropped the formi-
dable prefix. " We've nae need to tell these
sootherran bodies that we're Scotche," Alick re-
marked to his brother, as he wrote his name
for the first time A. Floyd, all short.
The Scottish banking-house had thriven wonder-
fully in the hospitable English capital. Unprece-
B 2
4 AURORA FLOYD.
dented success had waited upon every enterprise
undertaken by the old-established and respected
firm of Floyd, Floyd, and Floyd. It had been
Floyd, Floyd, and Floyd for upwards of a century ;
for as one member of the house dropped off some
greener branch shot out from the old tree; and
there had never yet been any need to alter the
treble repetition of the well-known name upon
the brass plates that adorned the swinging ma-
hogany doors of the banking-house. To this
brass plate Archibald Martin Floyd pointed when,
some thirty years before the August evening of
which I write, he took his raw-boned nephews
for the first time across the threshold of his
house of business.
" See there, boys," he said ; " look at the three
names upon that brass plate. Your uncle George
is over fifty, and a bachelor, that's the first name ;
our first cousin, Stephen Floyd, of Calcutta, is
going to sell out of the business before long,
that's the second name ; the third is mine, and
I'm thirty-seven years of age, remember, boys,
and not likely to make a fool of myself by
marrying. Your names will be wanted by-and-
by to fill the blanks ; see that you keep them
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 5
bright ill the mean time ; for let so much as
one speck rest upon them, and they'll never be
fit for that brass plate."
Perhaps the rugged Scottish youths took this
lesson to heart, or perhaps honesty was a natural
and inborn vu'tue in the house of Floyd. Be it as it
might, neither Alick nor Andrew disgraced their
ancestry ; and when Stephen Floyd, the East-Indian
merchant, sold out, and Uncle George grew tired
of business and took to building, as an elderly,
bachelor-like hobby, the young men stepped into
their relatives' shoes, and took the conduct of the
business upon their broad northern shoulders.
Upon one point only Archibald Martin Floyd
had misled his nephews, and that point regarded
himself. Ten years after his address to the young
men, at the sober age of seven-and-forty, the
banker not only made a fool of himself by
marrying, but, if indeed such things are foolish,
sank still further fi'om the proud elevation of
worldly wisdom, by falling desperately in love
with a beautiful but penniless woman, whom he
brought home with him after a business-tour
through the manufactm-ing districts, and with
but little ceremony introduced to his relations
6 AURORA FLOYD.
and the county families round his Kentish estate
as his newly-wedded wife.
The whole affair was so sudden, that these very
county families had scarcely recovered from their
surprise at reading a certain paragraph in the
left-hand column of the ' Times,' announcing the
marriage of " Archibald Martin Floyd, banker, of
Lombard Street and Felden Woods, to Eliza, only
surviving daughter of Captain Prodder," when the
bridegroom's travelling carriage dashed past the
Gothic lodge at his gates, along the avenue and
under the great stone portico at the side of the
house, and Eliza Floyd entered the banker's man-
sion, nodding good-naturedly to the bewildered
servants, marshalled into the hall to receive their
new mistress.
The banker's wife was a tall young woman, of
about thirty, with a dark complexion, and great
flashing black eyes that lit up a face, which might
otherwise have been unnoticeable, into the splen-
dour of absolute beauty.
Let the reader recall one of those faces, whose
sole loveliness lies in the glorious light of a pair
of magnificent eyes, and remember how far they
surpass all others in their power of fascination.
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 7
The same amount of beauty frittered away upon a
well-shaped nose, rosy poutmg lips, symmetrical
forehead, and delicate complexion, would make an
ordinarily lovely woman ; but concentrated in one
nucleus, in the wondrous lustre of the eyes, it
makes a divinity, a Circe. You may meet the
first any day of your life ; the second, once in a
lifetime.
Mr. Floyd introduced his wife to the neighbour-
ing gentry at a dinner-party which he gave soon
after the lady's arrival at Felden Woods, as his
country seat was called ; and this ceremony very
briefly despatched, he said no more about his
choice either to his neighbours or his relations,
who would have been very glad to hear how this
unlooked-for marriage had come about, and who
hinted the same to the happy bridegroom, but
without effect.
Of course this very reticence on the part of
Archibald Floyd himself only set the thousand
tongues of rumour more busily to work. Round
Beckenham and West Wickham, near which
villages Felden Woods was situated, there was
scarcely any one debased and degraded station of
life from which Mrs. Floyd was not reported to have
8 AtTRORA FLOYD.
sprung. She had been a factory-girl, and the silly
old banker had seen her in the streets of Man-
chester, with a coloured handkerchief on her head,
a coral necklace round her throat, and shoeless
and stockingless feet tramping in the mud: he
had seen her thus, and had fallen incontinently in
love with her, and offered to marry her there and
then. She was an actress, and he had seen her
on the Manchester stage ; nay, lower still, she was
some poor performer, decked in dirty white muslin,
red-cotton velvet, and spangles, who acted in a
canvas booth, with a pityful set of wandering
vagabonds and a learned pig. Sometimes they
said she was an equestrian, and it was at Astley's,
and not in the manufacturing districts, that the
banker had first seen her ; nay, some there were,
ready to swear that they themselves had beheld
her leaping through gilded hoops, and dancing
the cachuca upon six bare-backed steeds, in that
sawdust-strewn arena. There were whispered
rumours that were more cruel than these ; ru-
mours which I dare not even set down here, for
the busy tongues that dealt so mercilessly with the
name and fame of Eliza Floyd were not unbarbed
by malice. It may be that some of the ladies had
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 9
personal reasons for their spite against the bride,
and that many a waning beauty, in those pleasant
Kentish mansions, had speculated upon the banker's
income, and the advantages attendant upon a
union with the owner of Felden Woods.
The daring, disreputable creature, with not
even beauty to recommend her, for the Kentish
damsels scrupulously ignored Eliza's wonderful
eyes, and were sternly critical with her low fore-
head, doubtful nose, and rather wide mouth, the
artful, designing minx, at the mature age of
nine-and-twenty, with her hair growing nearly
down to her eye-brows, had contrived to secure to
herseK the hand and fortune of the richest man in
Kent the man who had been hitherto so im-
pregnable to every assault from bright eyes and
rosy lips, that the most indefatigable of manoeuvring
mothers had given him up in despair, and ceased to
make visionary and Alnaschar-like arrangements of
the furniture in Mr. Floyd's great red-brick palace.
The female portion of the community wondered
indignantly at the supineness of the two Scotch
nephews, and the old bachelor brother, George
Floyd. Why did not these people show a little
spirit institute a commission of lunacy, and shut
10 AURORA FLOYD.
their crazy relative in a madhouse ? He deserved
it.
The ruined noblesse of the Faubourg St.-G-ermain
could not have abused a wealthy Bonapartist with
more vigorous rancour than these people employed
in their ceaseless babble about the banker's wife.
Whatever she did was a new subject for criticism ;
even at that first dinner-party, though Eliza had
no more ventured to interfere with the arrange-
ments of the man-cook and housekeeper than if
she had been a visitor at Buckingham Palace, the
angry guests found that everything had degene-
rated since " that woman " had entered the house.
They hated the successful adventuress, hated her
for her beautiful eyes and her gorgeous jewels, the
extravagant gifts of an adoring husband, hated
her for her stately figure and graceful movements,
which never betrayed the rumoured obscurity of
her origia, hated her, above all, for her insolence
in not appearing in the least afraid of the lofty
members of that new circle in which she found
herself.
If she had meekly eaten the ample dish of
humble-pie which these county families were pre-
pared to set before her, if she had licked the
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 11
dust from their aristocratic shoes, courted their
patronage, and submitted to be " taken up " by
them, they might perhaps in time have forgiven
her. But she did none of this. If they called
upon her, well and good; she was franldy and
cheerfully glad to see them. They might find her
in her gardening-gloves, with rumpled hair and a
watering-pot in her hands, busy amongst her con-
servatories; and she would receive them as se-
renely as if she had been born in a palace, and ac-
customed to homage from her very babyhood. Let
them be as frigidly polite as they pleased, she was
always easy, candid, gay, and good-natured. She
would rattle away about her " dear old Archy," as
she presumed to call her benefactor and husband ;
or she Avould show her guests some new picture
he had bought, and would dare the impudent,
ignorant, pretentious creature ! to talk about
Art, as if all the high-sounding jargon with wliich
they tried to crush her was as familiar to her
as to a Koyal Academician. When etiquette
demanded her returning these stately visits, she
would drive boldly up to her neighbours' doors in
a tiny basket-carriage, drawTi by one rough pony ;
for it was a whim of this desisnins: woman to
12 AURORA FLOYD.
affect simplicity in her tastes, and to abjure all
display. She would take all the grandeur she met
with as a thing of course, and chatter and laugh,
with her flaunting theatrical animation, much to
the admiration of misguided young men, who
could not see the high-bred charms of her de-
tractors, but who were never tired of talking of
Mrs. Floyd's jolly manner and glorious eyes.
I wonder whether poor Eliza Floyd knew all
or half the cruel things that were said of her ! I
shrewdly suspect that she contrived somehow or
other to hear them all, and that she rather
enjoyed the fun. She had been used to a life
of excitement, and Felden Woods might have
seemed dull to her but for these ever fresh
scandals. She took a malicious delight in the
discomfiture of her enemies.
" How badly they must have wanted you for a
husband, Archy," she said, " when they hate me
so ferociously ! Poor portionless old maids, to
think that I should snatch their prey from them !
I know they think it a hard thing that they can't
have me hanged, for marrying a rich man."
But the banker was so deeply wounded when
his adored wife repeated to him the gossip which
HOW A RICH BAJS^KER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 13
slie had heard from her maid, who was a stanch
adherent to a kind, easy mistress, that Eliza ever
afterwards withheld these reports from him. They
amused her; but they stung him to the quick.
Proud and sensitive, like almost all very honest
and conscientious men, he could not endure that
any creature should dare to befoul the name of
the woman he loved so tenderly. What was the
obscurity from which he had taken her to him ?
Is a star less bright because it shines on a gutter
as well as upon the purple bosom of the midnight
sea ? Is a virtuous and generous-hearted woman
less worthy because you find her making a scanty
living out of the only industry she can exercise ;
and acting JuKet to an audience of factory-hands,
who give tlu-eepence apiece for the privilege of
admiring and applauding her ?
Yes, the murder must out ; the malicious were
not altogether wrong in their conjectures : Eliza
Prodder was an actress ; and it was on the dirty
boards of a second-rate theatre in Lancashire that
the wealthy banker had first beheld her. Ai'chi-
bald Floyd nourished a traditional, passive, but
sincere admfration for the British Drama. Yes,
the British Drama; for he had lived in a day
J 4 AURORA FLOYD.
when the drama was British, and when ' George
Barnwell' and 'Jane Shore' were amongst the
favourite works of art of a play-going public.
How sad that we should have degenerated since
those classic days, and that the graceful story of
Milwood and her apprentice-admirer is now so
rarely set before us ! Imbued, therefore, with this
admiration for the drama, Mr. Floyd, stopping
for a night at this second-rate Lancashire town,
dropped into the dusty boxes of the theatre to
witness the performance of ' Borneo and Juliet ;'
the heiress of the Capulets being represented by
Miss Eliza Percival, alias Prodder.
I do not believe that Miss Percival was a good
actress, or that she would ever have become
distinguished in her profession; but she had a
deep melodious voice, which rolled out the words
of her author in a certain rich though rather
monotonous music, pleasant to hear; and upon
the stage she was very beautiful to look at, for
her face lighted up the little theatre better than
all the gas that the manager grudged to his
scanty aucUences.
It was not the fashion in those days to make
" sensation " dramas of Shakespeare's plays.
HOW A RICH BANKEE MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 15
There was no ' Hamlet ' with the celebrated water-
scene, and the Danish prince taking a " header "
to save poor weak-witted Ophelia. In the little
Lancashu'e theatre it would have been thought a
terrible sin against aU canons of dramatic art, had
Othello or his Ancient attempted to sit down
during any part of the solemn performance. The
hope of Denmark was no long-robed Norseman
with flowing flaxen hair, but an individual who
wore a short rusty black, cotton-velvet garment,
shaped Hke a child's frock, and trimmed with
bugles, which dropped off and were trodden upon
at intervals throughout the performance. The
simple actors held, that tragedy, to be tragedy,
must be utterly unlike anything that had ever
happened beneath the sun. And Eliza Prodder
patiently trod the old and beaten track, far too
good-natured, light-hearted, and easy-going a
creature to attempt any foolish interference with
the crookedness of the times, which she was not
born to set right.
"What can I say, then, about her performance
of the impassioned Italian girl ? She wore white
satin and spangles, the sj)angles sewn upon the
dirty hem of her di'ess, in the firm belief.
16 AURORA FLOYD.
common to all provincial actresses, that spangles
are an antidote to dirt. She was laughing and
talking in the white-washed little green-room the
very minute before she ran on to the stage to wail
for her murdered kinsman and her banished lover.
They tell us that Macready began to be Richelieu
at three o'clock in the afternoon, and that it was
dangerous to approach or to speak to him
between that hour and the close of the perform-
ance. So dangerous, indeed, that surely none
but the daring and misguided gentleman who
once met the great tragedian in a dark passage,
and gave him " Good morrow, ' Mac,' " would
have had the temerity to attempt it. But Miss
Percival did not take her profession very deeply
to heart ; the Lancashire salaries barely paid for
the physical wear and tear of early rehearsals and
long performances ; how then, for that mental
exhaustion of the true artist who lives in the
character he represents ?
The easy-going comedians with whom Eliza
acted made friendly remarks to each other on
their private affairs in the intervals of the most
vengeful discourse; speculated upon the amount
of money in the house in audible undertones
HOW A EICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 17
during the pauses of the scene ; and when
Hamlet wanted Horatio down at the footlights to
ask him if he "marked that," it was likely
enough that the prince's confidant was up the
stage telling Polonius of the shameful way in
which his landlady stole the tea and sugar.
It was not, therefore. Miss Percival's acting that
fascinated the banker. Archibald Floyd knew
that she was as bad an actress as ever played the
leading tragedy and comedy for five-and-twenty
shillings a week. He had seen Miss O'Neil in
that very character, and it moved him to a pity-
ing smile as the factory-hands applauded poor
Eliza's poison scene. But for all this he fell in
love with her. It was a repetition of the old story.
It was Arthur Pendennis at the little Chatteris
theatre bewitched and bewildered by Miss
Fotheringay all over again. Only that instead of
a fickle, impressionable boy, it was a sober,
steady-going business-man of seven-and-forty, who
had never felt one thrill of emotion in looking on
a woman's face until that night, until that night,
and from that night the world only held for hiui
one being, and life only had one object. He
went the next evening, and the next ; and then
VOL. I. C
18 AURORA FLOYD.
contrived to scrape acquaintance with some of
the actors at a tavern next the theatre. They
sponged upon him cruelly, these seedy comedians,
and allowed him to pay for unlimited glasses of
brandy-and-water, and flattered and cajoled him,
and plucked out the heart of his mystery ; and
then went back to Eliza Percival, and told her
that she had dropped into a good thing, for that
an old chap with no end of money had fallen over
head and ears in love with her, and that if she
played her cards well, he would marry her to-
morrow. They pointed him out to her through a
hole in the green curtain, sitting almost alone in
the shabby boxes, waiting for the play to begin,
and for her black eyes to shine upon him once
more.
Eliza laughed at her conquest ; it was only one
amongst many such, which had all ended alike,
leading to nothing better than the purchase of a
box on her benefit night, or a bouquet left for her
at the stage-door. She did not know the power of
first love upon a man of seven-and-forty. Before
the week was out, Archibald Floyd had made her
a solemn offer of marriage.
He had heard a great deal about her from her
HOW A EICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 19
fellow-performers, and had heard nothing but good.
Temptations resisted ; insidious proffers of jewels
and gewgaws indignantly declined ; graceful acts of
gentle womanly charity done in secret ; independ-
ence preserved through all poverty and trial ; they
told him a hundred stories of her goodness, that
brought the blood to his face with proud and gene-
rous emotion. And she herself told him the simple
history of her life : told him that she was the
daughter of a merchant-captain called Prodder ;
that she was born at Liverpool ; that she remem-
bered little of her father, who was almost always at
sea nor of a brother, three years older than her-
self, who quarrelled with his father, the merchant-
captain, and ran away, and was never heard of
again nor of her mother, who died when she,
Eliza, was fom' years old. The rest was told in a
few words. She was taken mto the family of an
aunt who kept a grocer's shop in Miss Prodder's
native to-wn. She learnt artificial flower-making,
and did not take to the business. She went often
to the Liverpool theatres, and thought she would
like to go upon the stage. Being a daring and
energetic young person, she left her aunt's house
one day, walked straight to the stage-manager of
c 2
20 AUROKA FLOYD.
one of the minor theatres, and asked him to let
her appear as Lady Macbeth. The man laughed
at her, but told her that, in consideration of her
fine figure and black eyes, he would give her fif-
teen shillings a week to " walk on," as he techni-
cally called the business of the ladies who wander
on to the stage, sometimes dressed as villagers,
sometimes in com-t costume of calico trimmed with
gold, and stare vaguely at whatever may be taking
place in the scene. From "walking on," Eliza
came to play minor parts, indignantly refused by
her superiors ; from these she plunged ambitiously
into the tragic lead, and thus for nine years pm'-
sued the even tenour of her way ; until, close upon
her nine-and-twentieth birthday, Fate threw the
wealthy banker across her pathway, and in the
parish church of a small town in the Potteries the
black-eyed actress exchanged the name of Prodder
for that of Floyd.
She had accepted the rich man partly because,
moved by a sentiment of gratitude for the gene-
rous ardour of his affection, she was inclined to
like him better than any one else she knew ; and
partly in accordance with the advice of her thea-
trical friends, who told her, with more candour
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 21
than elegance, that she would be a jolly fool to let
such a chance escape her ; but at the time she
gave her hand to Archibald Martin Floyd, she had
no idea whatever of the magnitude of the fortune
he had invited her to share. He told her that he
was a banker, and her active mind immediately
evoked the image of the only banker's wife she had
ever known : a portly lady, who wore silk gowns,
lived in a square stuccoed house with green blinds,
kept a cook and housemaid, and took three box-
tickets for Miss Percival's benefit.
When, therefore, the doting husband loaded his
handsome bride with diamond bracelets and neck-
laces, and with sUks and brocades that were stifi
and immanageable from their very richness, when
he carried her straight from the Potteries to the
Isle of Wight, and lodged her in spacious apart-
ments at the best hotel in Eyde, and flung his
money here and there, as if he had carried the
lamp of Aladdin in his coat-pocket, EHza remon-
strated with her new master, fearing that his love
had driven him mad, and that this alarming extra-
vagance was the first outburst of insanity.
It seemed a repetition of the dear old Burleigh
story when Archibald Floyd took his wife into the
22 AURORA FLOYD.
long picture-gallery at Felden Woods. She clasped
her hands for frank womanly joy as she looked at
the magnificence about her. She compared her-
self to the humble bride of the earl, and fell
on her knees and did theatrical homage to her
lord. " Archy," she said, " it is all too good for
me ! I am afraid I shall die of my grandeur, as
the poor girl pined away at Burleigh House."
In the full maturity of womanly loveliness, rich
in health, freshness, and high spirits, how little
could Eliza dream that she would hold even a
briefer lease of these costly splendours than the
Bride of Burleigh had done before her !
Now the reader, being acquainted vnth. Eliza's
antecedents, may perhaps find in them some clue
to the insolent ease and well-bred audacity with
which Mrs. Floyd treated the second-rate county
families, who were bent upon putting her to con-
fusion. She was an actress : for nine years she
had lived in that ideal world in which dukes and
marquises are as common as butchers and bakers
in work-a-day life ; in which, indeed, a nobleman is
generally a poor mean-spirited individual, who gets
the worst of it on every hand, and is contemptu-
ously entreated by the audience on account of his
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 23
rank. How sliould she be abashed on entering the
drawing-rooms of these Kentish mansions, when
for nine years she had walked nightly on to a stage
to be the focus of every eye, and to entertain her
guests the evening through ? Was it likely she
was to be over-awed by the Lenfields, who were
coachbuilders in Park Lane, or the Miss Manderlys,
whose father had made liis money by a patent for
starch, she, who had received King Duncan at the
gates of her castle, and had sat on a rickety throne
dispensing condescending hospitality to the obse-
quious Thanes at Dunsinane ? So, do what they
would, they were unable to subdue this base in-
truder ; while, to add to their mortification, it every
day became more obvious that Mr. and Mrs. Floyd
made one of the happiest couples who had ever
worn the bonds of matrimony, and changed them
into garlands of roses. If this were a very romantic
story, it would be perhaps only proper for Eliza
Floyd to pine in her gilded bower, and misapply
her energies in weeping for some abandoned lover,
deserted in an evil hour of ambitious madness.
But as my story is a true one, not only true in a
general sense, but strictly true as to the leading
facts which I am about to relate, and as I could
24 AURORA FLOYD.
point out, in a certain county, far nortliward of tlie
lovely Kentish woods, the very house in which the
events I shall describe took place, I am bound also
to be truthful here, and to set down as a fact that
the love which Eliza Floyd bore for her husband
was as pui'e and sincere an affection as ever man
need hope to win from the generous heart of a
good woman. What share gratitude may have
had in that love, I cannot tell. If she lived in a
handsome house, and was waited on by attentive
and deferential servants; if she ate of delicate
dishes, and drank costly wines ; if she wore rich
dresses and splendid jewels, and lolled on the
downy cushions of a carriage, drawn by high-met-
tled horses, and driven by a coachman with pow-
dered hair ; if, wherever she went, all outward
semblance of homage was paid to her ; if she had
but to utter a wish, and, swift as the stroke of some
enchanter's wand, that wish was gratified, she
knew that she owed all to her husband, Archibald
Floyd ; and it may be that she grew not unna-
turally to associate him with every advantage she
enjoyed, and to love him for the sake of these
things. Such a love as this may appear a low
and despicable affection Avhen compared to the
HOW A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 25
noble sentiment entertained by the Nancys of
modem romance for the Bill Sykeses of their
choice ; and no doubt Eliza Floyd ought to have
felt a sovereign contempt for the man who watched
her every whim, who gratified her every caprice,
and who loved and honoured her as much, ei-devant
provincial actress though she was, as he could have
done had she descended the steps of the loftiest
throne in Christendom to give him her hand.
She was grateful to him, she loved him, and
she made liim perfectly happy ; so happy that the
strong-hearted Scotchman was sometimes almost
panic-stricken at the contemplation of his own
prosperity, and would fall down on his knees and
pray that this blessing might not be taken from
him ; that, if it pleased Providence to afflict him,
he might be stripped of every shilhng of his wealth,
and left penniless, to begin the world anew,
but with her. Alas, it was this blessing, of all
others, that he was to lose I
For a year Eliza and her husband lived this
happy life at Felden Woods. He wished to take
her on the Continent, or to London for the sea-
son ; but she could not bear to leave her lovely
Kentish home. She was happier than the day
26 AURORA FLOYD.
was long amongst her gardens, and pineries, and
graperies, her dogs and horses, and her poor. To
these last she seemed an angel, descended from
the skies to comfort them. There were cottages
from which the prim daughters of the second-rate
county families fled, tract in hand, discomfited
and abashed by the black looks of the half-starved
inmates ; but upon whose doorways the shadow
of Mrs. Floyd was as the shadow of a priest in
a Catholic country always sacred, yet ever wel-
come and familiar. She had the trick of making
these people like her before she set to work to re-
form their evil habits. At an early stage of her ac-
quaintance with them, she was as blind to the dirt
and disorder of their cottages as she would have been
to a shabby carpet in the drawing-room of a poor
duchess ; but by-and-by she would artfully hint at
this and that little improvement in the menages of
her pensioners, until in less than a month, without
having either lectured or offended, she had worked
an entire transformation. Mrs. Floyd was fright-
fully artful in her dealings with these erring
peasants. Instead of telling them at once in a
candid and Christian-like manner that they were
all dirty, degraded, ungrateful, and irreligious, she
now A RICH BANKER MARRIED AN ACTRESS. 27
diplomatized and finessed with them as if she had
been canvassing the county. She made the gu-ls
regular in their attendance at church by means of
new bonnets and smartly bound prayer-books ; she
kept married men out of the public-houses by bribes
of tobacco to smoke at home, and once (oh, horror !)
by the gift of a bottle of gin for moderate and social
consumption m the family circle. She cured a dirty
chimney-piece by the present of a gaudy china vase
to its proprietress, and a slovenly hearth by means
of a brass fender. She repaired a shrewish temper
with a new gown, and patched up a family breach
of long standing with a chintz waistcoat. But
one brief year after her marriage, while busy land-
scape-gardeners were working at the improvements
she had planned ; while the steady process of re-
formation was slowly but surely progressing amongst
the grateful recipients of her bounty; while the
eager tongues of her detractors were still waging
war upon her fair fame ; while Ai-chibald Floyd re-
joiced as he held a baby-daughter in his arms,
without one forewarning symptom to break the force
of the blow, the hght slowly faded out of those glo-
rious eyes, never to shine again on this side of eter-
nity, and Archibald Martin Floyd was a widower.
28 AUROKA FLOYD.
CHAPTER II.
AURORA.
The child which Eliza Floyd left behind her,
when she was so suddenly taken away from all
earthly prosperity and happmess, was christened
Aurora. The romantic-sounding name had been
a fancy of poor Eliza's ; and there was no caprice
of hers, however trifling, that had not always been
sacred with her adoring husband, and that was not
doubly sacred now. The actual intensity of the
widower's grief was known to no creature in this
lower world. His nephews and his nephews' wives
paid him pertinacious visits of condolence ; nay,
one of these nieces by marriage, a good motherly
creature, devoted to her husband, insisted on seeing
and comforting the stricken man. Heaven knows
whether her tenderness did convey any comfort to
that shipwrecked soul ! She found him like a man
who had suffered from a stroke of paralysis, tor-
AURORA. 29
pid, almost imbecile. Perhaps she took the wisest
course that could possibly have been taken. She
said little to him upon the subject of his affliction ;
but visited him frequently, patiently sitting op-
posite to him for hours at a time, he and she
talking of all manner of easy conventional topics,
the state of the country, the weather, a change
in the ministry, and such subjects as were so far
remote from the grief of his life, that a less care-
ful hand than Mrs. Alexander Floyd's could have
scarcely touched upon the broken chords of that
ruined instrument, the widower's heart.
It was not until six months after Eliza's death
that Mrs. Alexander ventured to utter her name ;
but when she did speak of her, it was with no
solemn hesitation, but tenderly and familiarly, as
if she had been accustomed to talk of the dead.
She saw at once that she had done right. The
time had come for the widower to feel relief in
speaking of the lost one ; and from that hour ]\Irs.
Alexander became a favourite with her uncle.
Years after, he told her that, even in the sullen
torpor of his grief, he had had a dim consciousness
that she pitied him, and that she was " a good
woman." This good woman came that very even-
80 AURORA FLOYD.
ing into the big room, where the banker sat by
his lonely hearth, with a baby in her arms, a
pale-faced child, with great wondering black eyes,
which stared at the rich man in sombre astonish-
ment ; a solemn-faced, ugly baby, which was to
grow by-and-by into Aurora Floyd, the heroine of
my story.
That pale, black-eyed baby became henceforth
the idol of Archibald Martin Floyd, the one object
in all this wide universe for which it seemed worth
his while to endure life. From the day of his
wife's death he had abandoned all active share in
the Lombard-Street business, and he had now nei-
ther occupation nor delight, save in waiting upon
the prattlings and humouring the caprices of this
infant daughter. His love for her was a weak-
ness, almost verging upon a madness. Had his
nephews been very designing men, they might
perhaps have entertained some vague ideas of
that commission of lunacy for wliich the out-
raged neighbours were so anxious. He grudged
the hired nurses their offices of love about the
person of liis child. He watched them furtively,
fearful lest they should be harsh with her. All
the ponderous doors in the great house at Felden
AURORA. 31
Woods could not drown the feeblest murmur of
that infant voice to those ever-anxious, loving ears.
He "watched her growth as a child watches an
acorn it hopes to rear to an oak. He repeated
her broken baby-syllables till people grew weary
of his babble about the child. Of course the end
of all this was, that, in the common acceptation
of the term, Aurora was spoiled. We do not say
a flower is spoiled because it is reared in a hot-
house where no breath of heaven can visit it too
roughly ; but then, certainly, the bright exotic is
trimmed and pruned by the gardener's merciless
hand, while Aurora shot whither she would, and
there was none to lop the wandering branches of
that luxuriant nature. She said what she pleased ;
thought, spoke, acted as she pleased ; learned what
she pleased ; and she grew into a bright impetuous
being, affectionate and generous-hearted as her
mother, but with some touch of native fire blended
in her mould that stamped her as original. It is
the common habit of ugly babies to grow into hand-
some women, and so it was with Aurora Floyd. At
seventeen she was twice as beautiful as her mother
had been at nine-and-twenty, but with much the
same u-regular features, lighted up by a pair of eyes
32 AUROKA FLOYD.
that were like the stars of heaven, and by two
rows of peerlessly white teeth. You rarely, in
looking at her face, could get beyond these eyes
and teeth ; for they so dazzled and blinded you
that they defied you to criticise the doubtful little
nose, or the width of the smiling mouth. What if
those masses of blue-black hair were brushed away
from a forehead too low for the common standard
of beauty ? A phrenologist would have told you
that the head was a noble one; and a sculptor
would have added that it was set ui)on the thi'oat
of a Cleopatra.
Miss Floyd knew very little of her poor mother's
history. There was a picture in crayons hanging
in the banker's sanctum sanctorum wliich repre-
sented Ehza in the full flush of her beauty and
prosperity ; but the portrait told nothing of the
history of its original, and Aurora had never
heard of the merchant-captain, the poor liiver-
pool lodging, the grim aunt who kept a chandler's
shop, the artificial flower-making, and the pro-
vincial stage. She had never been told that her
maternal grandfather's name was Prodder, and
that her mother had played Juliet to an audience
of factory hands, for the moderate and sometimes
AURORA. 33
uneertaiu stipend of four-and-twopence a night.
The county families accepted and made much of
the rich banker's heiress ; but they were not slow
to say that Am'ora was her mother's own daughter,
and had the taint of the play-acting and horse-
riding, the spangles and the sawdust, strong in
her natm-e. The truth of the matter is, that
before Miss Floyd emerged from the nursery she
evinced a very decided tendency to become what
is called " fast." At six years of age she rejected
a doll, and asked for a rocking-horse. At ten
she could converse fluently upon the subject of
pointers, setters, fox-hounds, harriers, and beagles,
though she drove her governess to the verge of
despair by persistently forgetting under what
Eoman emperor Jerusalem was destroyed, and
who was legate from the Pope at the time of
Catherine of Arragon's divorce. At eleven she
talked unreservedly of the horses in the Lenfield
stables as a pack of screws ; at twelve she con-
tributed her half-crown to a Derby sweepstakes
amongst her father's servants, and triumphantly
drew the winning horse ; and at thirteen she rode
across country with her cousin Andrew, who was
a member of the Croydon hunt. It was not with-
VOL. I. , D
34 AURORA FLOYD.
out grief that the banker watched his daughter's
progress iu these doubtful accomplishments ; but
she was so beautiful, so frank and fearless, so
generous, affectionate, and true, that he could not
bring himself to tell her that she was not all he
could desire her to be. If he could haye governed
or directed that impetuous nature, he would have
had her the most refined and elegant, the most
perfect and accomplished of her sex ; but he could
not do this, and he was fain to thank God for her
as she was, and to indulge her every whim.
Alexander Floyd's eldest daughter, Lucy, first
cousin, once removed, to Aurora, was that young
lady's friend and confidante, and came now and
then from her father's villa at Fulham to spend a
month at Felden Woods. But Lucy Floyd had
half a dozen brothers and sisters, and was brought
up in a very different manner to the heiress. She
was a fair-faced, blue-eyed, rosy-lipped, golden-
haired little girl, who thought Felden Woods a
paradise upon earth, and Aurora more fortunate
than the Princess Eoyal of England, or Titania,
Queen of the Fairies. She was direfully afraid of
her cousin's ponies and Newfoundland dogs, and
had a firm conviction that sudden death held his
AunoRA. 35
throne witliin a certain radius of a horse's lieels ;
but she loved and admired Aurora, after the
manner common to these weaker natures, and
accepted Miss Floyd's superb patronage and pro-
tection as a thmg of course.
The day came wheA some dark but undefined
cloud hovered about the narrow home-circle at
Felden Woods, There was a coolness between
the banker and his beloved child. The young
lady spent half her time on horseback, scouring
the shady lanes round Beckenham, attended only
by her gToom a dashing young fellow, chosen
by Mr. Floyd on account of. his good looks for
Aurora's especial service. She dined in her omti
room after these long, lonely rides, leaving her
father to eat his solitary meal in the vast dining-
room, vrhich seemed to be fully occupied when
she sat in it, and desolately empty Avithout her.
The household at Felden Woods long remem-
bered one particular June evening on which
the storm burst forth betAveen the father and
daughter.
Aurora had been absent from two o'clock in the
afternoon until sunset, and the banker j^J^ced
the long stone terrace Avith his watch in his hand,
D 2
36' AURORA FLOYD.
the figures on the dial-plate barely distinguish-
able in the twilight, waiting for his daughter's
coming home. He had sent liis dinner away
untouched; his newspapers lay uncut upon the
table, and the household spies, we call servants,
told each other how his hand had shaken so
violently that he had spilled half a decanter of
wine over the polished mahogany in attempting
to fill his glass. The housekeeper and her satel-
lites crept into the hall, and looked through the
half-glass doors at the anxious watcher on the
terrace. The men in the stables talked of " the
row," as they called this terrible breach between
father and child ; and when at last horses' hoofs
were heard in the long avenue, and ]\liss Floyd
reined in her thorough-bred chestnut at the foot
of the terrace-steps, there was a lurking audience
hidden here and there in the evening shadow,
eager to hear and see.
But there was very little to gratify these prying
eyes and ears. Aurora sprang lightly to the
ground before the groom could dismount to assist
her, and the chestnut, with heaving and foam-
flecked sides, was led off to the stable.
]\Ii-. Floyd watched the groom and the two
AURORA. 37
Jiorses as they disappeared through the great
gates leading to the stable-yard, and then said
very quietly, "You don't use that animal well,
Aurora. A six hours' ride is neither good for her
nor for you. Your groom should have known
better than to allow it." He led the way into his
study, telling his daughter to follow him, and they
were closeted together for upwards of an hour.
Early the next morning Miss Floyd's governess
departed from Felden Woods, and between break-
fast and luncheon the banker paid a visit to the
stables, and examined his daughter's favourite
chestnut mare, a beautiful filly all bone and
muscle, that had been trained for a racer. The
animal had strained a sinew, and walked lame.
Mr. Floyd sent for his daughter's groom, and
paid and dismissed him on the spot. The young
fellow made no remonstrance, but went quietly to his
quarters, took off his livery, packed a carpet-bag,
and walked away from the house without bidding
good-bye to his fellow-servants, who resented the
affront, and pronounced him a surly brute who
had always been too high for this business.
Three days after this, upon the 14th of June,
1856, Mr. Floyd and his daughter left Felden
38 AURORA FLOYD.
Woods for Paris, where Aurora was placed at a
very expensive and exclusive Protestant finisliing
school, kept by the Demoiselles Lespard, in a
stately mansion entre cour et jardin in the Eue
Saint-Dominique, there to complete her very im-
perfect education.
For a year and two months Miss Floyd has
been away at this Parisian finishing school ; it is
late in the August of 1857, and again the banker
walks upon the long stone terrace in front of the
narrow windows of his red-brick mansion, this
time waiting for Aurora's arrival from Paris. The
servants have expressed considerable wonder at
his not crossing the Channel to fetch his daughter,
and they think the dignity of the house some-
what lowered by Miss Floyd travelling unat-
tended.
" A poor dear young thing, that knows no more
of this wicked world than a blessed baby," said
the housekeeper, "all alone amongst a pack of
moustachioed Frenchmen !"
Archibald Martin Floyd had grown an old man
in one day that terrible and unexpected day of
his wife's death ; but even the grief of that
bereavement had scarcely seemed to affect him so
AUROKA. 39
strongly as tlie loss of his daughter Aurora during
the fourteen months of her absence from Felden
Woods.
Perhaps it was that at sixty-five years of age he
was less able to bear even a lesser grief ; . but those
who watched him closely, declared that he seemed
as much dejected by his daughter's absence as he
could well have been by her death. Even now,
that he paces up and down the broad terrace, with
the landscape stretching wide before him, and melt-
ing vaguely away under that veil of crimson glory
shed upon all things by the sinking sun; even
now that he hourly^ nay, almost momentarily, ex-
pects to clasp his only child in liis arms, Archibald
Floyd seems rather nervously anxious than joyfully
expectant.
He looks again and again at his watch, and
pauses in his walk to listen to Beckenham church
clock striking eight ; his ears ave preternaturally
alert to every sound, and give him instant warning
of carriage-wheels far off upon the wide high-road.
All the agitation and anxiety he has felt for the
last week has been less than the concentrated
fever of this moment. Will it pass on, that car-
riage, or stop at the lodge-gates ? Surely his heart
40 AURORA FLOYD.
could never beat so loud save by some wondrous
magnetism of fatherly love and hope. The car-
riage stops. He hears the clanking of the gates ;
the crimson-tinted landscape grows dim and blurred
before his eyes, and he knows no more till a pair
of impetuous arms are twined about his neck, and
Aurora's face is hidden on his shoulder.
It was a paltry hired carriage which ]\Iiss Floyd
arrived in, and it drove away as soon as she had
alighted, and the small amount of luggage she
brought had been handed to the eager servants.
The banker led his child into the study, where
they had held that long conference fourteen
months before. A lamp bm-ned upon the library
table, and it was to this light that Archibald
Floyd led his daughter.
A year had changed the girl to a woman a
woman with great hollow black eyes, and pale
haggard cheeks. The course of study at the
Parisian finishing school had evidently been too
hard for the spoiled heiress.
" Am'ora, Aurora," the old man cried piteously,
" how ill you look ! how altered ! how "
She laid her hand lightly yet imperiously upon
his lips.
AURORA. 41
"Don't speak of me," she said, "I shall re-
cover; but you you, father you too are
changed."
She was as tall as her father, and, resting her
hands upon his shoulders, she looked at him long
and earnestly. As she looked, the tears welled
slowly up to her eyes which had been dry before,
and poured silently down her haggard cheeks.
" My father, my devoted father," she said in a
broken voice, " if my heart was made of adamant,
I think it might break when I see the change in
this beloved face."
The old man checked her with a nervous gesture,
a gesture almost of terror.
" Not one word, not one word, Aurora," he said
hurriedly ; "at least, only one. That person he
is dead?"
"He is."
42 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER III.
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAIMOND BRACELET. '
Aurora's relatives were not slow to exclaim
upon the change for the Avorse which a twelve-
month in Paris had made in then- young kins-
woman. I fear that the Demoiselles Lespard
suffered considerably in reputation amongst the
circle round Felden Woods from Miss Floyd's im-.
paired good looks. She was out of spirits too, had
no appetite, slept badly, was nervous and hys-
terical, no longer took any interest in her dogs
and horses, and was altogether an altered creature.
Mrs. Alexander Floyd declared it was perfectly
clear that these cruel Frenchwomen had worked
poor Aurora to a shadow : the girl was not used to
study, she said ; she had been accustomed to exer-
cise and open air, and no doubt had pined sadly in
the close atmosphere of a schooh-oom.
But Aurora's was one of those impressionable
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 43
natures which quickly recover from any depressing
influence. Early in September Lucy Floyd camo
to Felden Woods, and found her handsome cousin
almost entirely recovered from the drudgery of the
Parisian jyension, but still very loth to talk much
of that seminary. She answered Lucy's eager
questions very curtly; said that she hated the
Demoiselles Lespard and the Eue Saint-Dominique,
and that the very memory of Paris was disagree-
able to her. Like most young ladies Avith black
eyes and blue-black hair. Miss Floyd was a good
hater ; so Lucy forbore to ask for more informa-
tion upon what was so evidently an unpleasant
subject to her cousin. Poor Lucy had been merci-
lessly well educated; she spoke half a dozen
languages, knew all about the natm-al sciences,
had read Gibbon, Niebuhr, and Arnold, from the
title-page to the printer's name, and looked upon
the heiress as a big brilliant dunce ; so she quietly
set down Aurora's dislike to Paris to that young
lady's distaste for tuition, and thought little more
about it. Any other reasons for Miss Floyd's almost
shuddering horror of her Parisian associations lay
far beyond Lucy's simple power of penetration.
The fifteenth of September was Aurora's birth-
44 AUKOKA FLOYD.
day, and Archibald Floyd determined upon this,
the nineteenth anniversary of his daugliter's first
appearance on this mortal scene, to give an enter-
tainment, whereat his county neighbours and town
acquaintance might alike behold and admire the
beautiful heiress.
Mrs. Alexander came to Felden Woods to super-
intend the preparations for this birthday ball.
She drove Aurora and Lucy into to^^n to order the
supper and the band, and to choose dresses and
wreaths for the young ladies. The banker's heiress
was sadly out of place in a milliner's showroom ;
but she had that rapid judgment as to colom^, and
that perfect taste in form, which bespeak the soul
of an artist ; and while poor mild Lucy was giving
endless trouble, and tumbling innumerable boxes
of flowers, before she could find any head-dress in
harmony with her rosy cheeks and golden hair,
Aurora, after one brief glance at the hright parterres
of painted cambric, pounced upon a crown-shaped
garland of vivid scarlet berries, with drooping and
tangled leaves of dark shining green, that looked
as if they had been just plucked from a running
streamlet. She watched Lucy's perplexities with
a half-compassionate, half-contemptuous smile. ,
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 45
"Look at that poor bewildered child," she
said; "I know that she would like to put pink
and yellow against her golden hair. Why, you
silly Lucy, don't you know that yours is the beauty
which really does not want adornment? A few
pearls or forget-me-not blossoms, or a crown of
water-lilies and a cloud of white areophaue, would
make you look a sylphide ; but I dare say you
would like to wear amber satin and cabbage-roses."
From the milliner's they drove to Mr. Gunter's
in Berkeley Square, at which world-renowned
establishment Mrs. Alexander commanded those
preparations of turkeys preserved in jelly, hams
cunningly embalmed in rich wines and broths, and
other specimens of that sublime art of confectionery
which hovers midway between sleight-of-hand and
cookery, and in which the Berkeley Square prO"
fessor is without a rival. When poor Thomas
Babington Macaulay's New-Zealander shall come
to ponder over the ruins of St. Paul's, perhaps he
will visit the remains of this humbler temple in
Berkeley Square, and wonder at the ice-pails and
jelly-moulds, the refi-igerators and stewpans, the
hot plates long cold and unheeded, and all tlie
mysterious paraphernalia of the dead art.
46 AURORA FLOYD.
From tlie West End Mrs. Alexander drove to
Charing Cross ; she had a commission to execute
at Dent's, the purchase of a watch for one of her
boys, who was just off to Eton.
Aurora threw herself wearily back in the carriage
while Mrs. Alexander and Lucy stopped at the
watchmaker's. It was to be observed that, although
Miss Floyd had recovered much of her old brilliancy
and gaiety of temper, a certain gloomy shade would
sometimes steal over her countenance when she
was left to herself for a few minutes ; a darkly
reflective expression quite foreign to her face.
This shadow fell upon her beauty now as she
looked out of the open window, moodily watching
the passers-by. Mrs. Alexander was a long time
making her purchase ; and Aurora had sat nearly
a quarter of an hour blankly staring at the shift-
ing figures in the crowd, when a man hurrying by
was attracted by her face at the carriage window,
and started, as if at some great surprise. He
passed on, however, and walked rapidly towards
the Horse Guards ; but before he turned the corner,
came to a dead stop, stood still for two or three
minutes scratching the back of his head reflect-
ively with his big, bare hand, and then walked
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BKACELET. 47
slowly, back towards Mr. Dent's emporium. He
was a broad-shouldered, bull-necked, sandy-wliis-
kered fellow, w^earing a cut-away coat and a gaudy
neckerchief, and smoking a huge cigar, the rank
fumes of which struggled with a very powerful
odour of rum-and-water recently imbibed. This
gentleman's standing in society was betrayed by
the smooth head of a bull-terrier, whose round
eyes peeped out of the pocket of his cut-away
coat, and by a Blenheim spaniel carried under his
arm. He was the very last person, amongst all
the souls between Cockspm- Street and the statue
of King Charles, who seemed likely to have any-
tliuig to say to Miss Aurora Floyd ; nevertheless
he walked deliberately up to the carriage, and,
planting his elbow^s upon the door, nodded to her
with friendly famiharity.
" Well," he said, without inconveniencing him-
self by the removal of the rank cigar, " how do ?"
- After which brief salutation he relapsed into
silence, and rolled his great brown eyes slowly
here and there, in contemplative examination of
]\Iiss Floyd and the vehicle in which she sat ; even
carrying his powers of observation so far as to
take particular notice of a plethoric morocco-bag
48 AURORA FLOYD.
lying on the back seat, and to inquire casually
whether there was " anythink wallable in the old
party's redicule ?"
But Aurora did not allow him long for this
leisurely employment ; for looking at him with
her eyes flashing forked lightnings of womanly
fury, and her face crimson with indignation, she
asked him in a sharp spasmodic tone whether he
had anything to say to her.
He had a great deal to say to her ; but as he
put his head in at the carriage window and made
his communication, whatever it might be, in a
rum-and-watery whisper, it reached no ears but
those of Aurora herself. When he had done
whispering, he took a greasy leather-covered
account-book, and a short stump of lead-pencil,
considerably the worse for chewing, from his breast
pocket, and wrote two or three lines upon a leaf,
which he tore out and handed to Aurora. " This
is the address," he said; "you won't forget to
send?"
She shook her head, and looked away from him
-looked away with an irrepressible gesture of
disgust and loathing.
"You wouldn't like to buy a spannel dawg,"
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 49
said the man, holding the sleek, curly, black-and-
tan animal up to the carriage window ; " or a
French poodle what'll balance a bit of bread on
his nose while you count ten ? Hay ? You should
have 'em a bargain say fifteen pound the two."
"No!"
At this moment Mrs. Alexander emerged from
the watchmaker's, just in time to catch a glimpse
of the man's broad shoulders as he moved sulkily
awav from the carriage.
" Has that person been begging of you, Aurora ?"
she asked, as they drove off.
"No. I once bought a dog of him, and he
recognized me."
" And wanted you to buy one to-day ?"
"Yes."
Miss Floyd sat gloomily silent during the wliole
of the homeward drive, looking out of the carriage
window, and not deigning to take any notice
whatever of her aunt and cousin. I do not know
whether it was in submission to that palpable
superiority of force and vitality in Aurora's nature
which seemed to set her above her fellows, or
simply in that inherent spmt of toadyism common
to the best of us ; but Mrs. Alexander and her
. VOL. L E
50 AURORA FLOYD.
fair-haired daiigliter always paid mute reverence
to the banker's lieiress, and were silent when it
pleased her, or conversed at her royal will. I
verily believe that it was Aurora's eyes rather
than Archibald Martin Floyd's thousands which
overawed all her kinsfolk ; and that if she had
been a street-sweeper dressed in rags, and begging
for halfpence, people would have feared her and
made way for her, and bated their breath when
she was angry.
The trees in the long avenue of Felden Woods
were hung with sparkling coloured lamps, to
light the guests who came to Aurora's birthday
festival. The long range of Avindows on the
ground-floor was ablaze with light ; the crash of
the band burst every now and then above the
perpetual roll of carriage Avheels and the shouted
repetition of A-isitors' names, and pealed across the
silent woods : through the long vista of half a
dozen rooms opening one into another, the waters
of a fountain, sjjarkling with a hundred hues in
the light, glittered amid the dark floral wealth of
a conservatory filled with exotics. Great clusters
of tropical i)lants were grouped in the spacious
hall ; festoons of flowers hung about the vapoury
' WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 51
curtains in the arched doorways. Light and
splendour were everywhere around; and amid
all, and more splendid than all, in the dark
grandeur of her beauty, Aurora Floyd, crowned
with scarlet, and robed in white, stood by her
father's side.
Among^st the guests who arrive latest at Mr.
Floyd's ball are two officers from "Windsor, who
have driven across country in a mail-phaeton.
The elder of these two, and the driver of the
vehicle, has been very discontented and dis-
agreeable throughout the journey.
" If I'd had the remotest idea of the distance,
Maldon," he said, " I'd have seen you and your
Kentish banker very considerably inconvenienced
before I would have consented to victimize my
horses for the sake of this snobbish party."
"But it won't be a snobbish party," answered
the young man impetuously. " Arcliibald Floyd
is the best fellow in Christendom, and as for his
daughter "
" Oh, of course, a divinity, with fifty thousand
pounds for her fortune; all of which will no
doubt be very tightly settled upon herself if she
is ever allowed to marry a penniless scapegrace
E 2
52 AURORA FLOYD.
like Francis Lewis Maldon, of Her Majesty's 11th
Hussars. However, I don't want to stand in your
way, nay boy. Go in and win, and my blessing be
upon your virtuous endeavours. I can imagine
the young Scotchwoman red hair (of course
you'll call it auburn), large feet, and freckles !"
" Aurora Floyd red hair and freckles !" The
young officer laughed aloud at the stupendous
joke. " You'll see her in a quarter of an hour,
Bulstrode," he said.
Talbot Bulstrode, Captain of her Majesty's 11th
Hussars, had consented to drive his brother-officer
from Windsor to Beckenham, and to array
himself in his uniform, in order to adorn there-
with the festival at Felden Woods, chiefly because,
having at two-and-tliirty years of age run through
all the wealth of life's excitements and amuse-
ments, and finding himself a penniless spendthrift
in this species of coin, though well enough off for
mere sordid riches, he was too tired of himself
and the world to care much whither his friends
and comrades led him. He was the eldest son of
a wealthy Cornish baronet, whose ancestor had
received his title straight from the hands of
Scottish King James, when baronetcies first came
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. Do
into fashion ; the same fortunate ancestor being
near akin to a certain noble, erratic, unfortunate,
and injured gentleman called Walter Kaleigh, and
by no means too well used by the same Scottish
James. Now of all the pride which ever "swelled
the breasts of mankind, the pride of Cornishmen
is perhaps the strongest; and the Bulstrode
family was one of the proudest in Cornwall.
Talbot was no alien son of this haughty house ;
from his very babyhood he had been the proudest
of mankind. This pride had been the saving
power that had presided over his prosperous
career. Other men might have made a downhill
road of that smooth pathway which wealth and
grandeur made so pleasant; but not Talbot
Bulstrode. The vices and follies of the common
herd were perhaps retrievable, but vice or folly _^ in
a Bulstrode would have left a blot upon a hitherto
unblemished escutcheon never ^to be erased by
time or tears. That pride of birth, which was
utterly unallied to pride of wealth or station, had
a certain noble and chivalrous side, and Talbot
Bulstrode was beloved by many a parvenu whom
meaner men would have insulted. In the ordi-
nary affairs of life he was as humble as a woman
54 AUROKA FLOYD.
or a child ; it was only wlien Honour was in
question that the sleeping dragon of pride which
had guarded the golden apples of his youth,
jDurity, probity, and truth, awoke and bade
defiance to the enemy. At two-and-thirty he
was still a bachelor, not because he had never
loved, but because he had never met with a
woman whose stainless purity of soul fitted her in
his eyes to become the mother of a noble race,
and to rear sons who should do honour to the
name of Bulstrode, He looked for more than
ordinary every-day virtue in the woman of his
choice ; he demanded those grand and queenly
qualities which are rarest in womankind. Fear-
less truth, a sense of honour keen as his own,
loyalty of purjiose, unselfishness, a soul untainted
by the petty basenesses of daily life, all these he
sought in the being he loved; and at the first
warning thrill of emotion caused by a pair of
beautiful eyes, he grew critical and captious about
their owner, and began to look for infinitesimal
stains upon the shining robe of her virginity. He
would have married a beggar's daughter if she
had reached his almost impossible standard ; he
would have rejected the descendant of a race of
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 55
kings if she bad fallen one decimal part of an
inch below it. Women feared Talbot Bulstrode ;
manoeuvring mothers shrank abashed from the
cold light of those watchful gray eyes ; daughters
to marry blushed and trembled, and felt their
pretty affectations, then- ball-room properties,
di-op away from them under the quiet gaze of the
young ^officer ; till from fearing him, the lovely
flutterers grew to shun and dislike him, and to
leave Bulstrode Castle and the Bulstrode fortune
unangled for in the great matrimonial fisheries.
So at two-and-thirty Talbot wallvcd serenely safe
amid the meshes and pitfalls of Belgravia, secure
in the popular belief, that Captain Bulstrode of
the 11th Hussars was not a marrying man. This
belief was perhaps strengthened by the fact that
the Cornishman was by no means the elegant
ignoramus whoso sole accomplishments consist in
parting his hair, waxing his moustaches, and
smoking a meerschaum that has been coloured by
his valet, and who has become the accepted type
of the military man in time of peace.
Talbot Bulstrode was fond of scientific pursuits ;
he neither smoked, di-ank, nor gambled. He had
only been to the Derby once in his life, and on that
56 AUROKA FLOYD.
one occasion had walked quietly away from the
Stand wliile the great race was being run, and the
white faces Avere turned towards the fatal Corner,
and men were sick with terror and anxiety, and
frenzied with the madness of suspense. He never
hunted, though he rode as well as Mr. Assheton
Smith. He was a perfect swordsman, and one of
Mr. Angelo's pet pupils ; but he had never handled
a bilhard-cue in his life, nor had he touched a card
since the days of his boyhood, when he took a hand
at long whist with his father and mother and the
jjarson of the parish, in the south drawing-room at
Bulstrode Castle. He had a peculiar aversion to all
games of chance and skill, contending that it was be-
neath a gentleman to employ, even for amuse-
ment, the implements of the sharper's pitiful trade.
His rooms were as neatly kept as those of a woman.
Cases of mathematical instruments took the place
of cigar-boxes ; proof impressions of Eaphael
adorned the walls ordinarily covered with French
prints and water-coloured sporting-sketches from
Ackermann's emporium. He was familiar with
every turn of ex^iression in Descartes and Condillae,
but would have been sorely puzzled to translate
the argotic locutions of Monsieur de Kock, j^ere.
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 57
Those who spoke of him summed him up by saying
that he wasn't a bit like an officer ; but there was
a certain cavalry regiment, which he had com-
manded when a memorable and most desperate
charge was made against a bristling wall of Eus-
sian cannon, whose ranks told another story of
Captain Bulstrode. He had made an exchange
into the 11th Hussars on his retm-n from the
Crimea, whence, among other distinctions, he had
brought a stiff leg, which for a time disqualified
him from dancing. It was from pure benevolence,
therefore, or from that indifference to all things
which is easily mistaken for unselfishness, that
Talbot Bulstrode had consented to accept an in-
vitation to the ball at Felden Woods.
The banker's guests were not of that charmed
circle familiar to the captain of Hussars ; so Tal-
bot, after a brief introduction to his host, fell back
among the crowd assembled in one of the doorways,
and quietly watched the dancers ; not unobserved
himself, however, for he was just one of those peo-
ple who will not pass in a crowd. Tall and broad-
chested, with a pale whiskerless face, aquiline nose,
clear, cold, gray eyes, thick moustache, and black
hair, worn as closely cropped as if he had lately
58 AUROKA FLOYD.
emerged from Coldbatli Fields or Millbank prison,
he formed a striking contrast to the yellow-whis-
kered young comet who had accompanied him.
Even that stiff leg, which in others might have
seemed a blemish, added to the distinction of his
appearance, and, coupled with the glittering orders
on the breast of his uniform, told of deeds of prow-
ess lately done. He took very little delight in the
gay assembly revolving before him to one of Charles
d' Albert's waltzes. He had heard the same music
before, executed by the same band; the faces,
though imfamiliar to him, were not new: dark
beauties in pink, fan* beauties in blue ; tall dash-
ing beauties in silks, and laces, and jewels, and
splendour; modestly downcast beauties in white
crape and rose-buds. They had all been spread
for him, those familiar nets of gauze and areophane,
and he had escaped them all ; and the name of
Bulstrode might drop out of the history of Cornish
gentry to find no record save upon gravestones,
but it would never be tarnished by an unworthy
race, or dragged tln-ough the mire of a divorce
court by a guilty woman. While he lounged
against the pillar of a doorway, leaning on his cane,
and resting his lame leg, and wondering lazily
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 59
wliether there was anything upon earth that
rei^aid a man for the trouble of living, Cornet
Maldon approached him with a woman's gloved
hand lying lightly on his arm, and a divinity
walking by his side. A divinity! imperiously
beautiful in white and scarlet, painfully dazzling
to look upon, intoxicatingly brilliant to behold.
Caj^tain Bulstrode had served in India, and had
once tasted a horrible spirit called hang, which
made the men who drank it half mad ; and he
could not help fancying that the beauty of this
woman was like the strength of that alcoholic
preparation; barbarous, intoxicating, dangerous,
and maddening.
His brother-officer presented him to this wonder-
ful creature, and he found that her earthly name
was Aurora Floyd, and that she was the heiress of
Felden Woods.
Talbot Bulstrode recovered himself in a moment.
This imperious creatm-e, this Cleopatra in crino-
line, had a low forehead, a nose that deviated from
the line of beauty, and a wide mouth. What was
she but another trap set in white muslin, and
baited with artificial flowers, like the rest ? She
was to have fifty thousand pounds for her portion,
60 AURORA FLOYD.
SO she didn't want a rich husband ; but she was a
nobody, so of course she wanted position, and had
no doubt read up the Ealeigh Bulstrodes in the
sublime pages of Burke. The clear gray eyes
grew cold as ever, therefore, as Talbot bowed to
the hehess. Mr. Maldon found his partner a chair
close to the pillar against which Captain Bulstrode
had taken his stand, and Mrs. Alexander Floyd
swooping down upon the cornet at tliis very mo-
ment, with the dire intent of carrying him off to
dance with a lady who executed more of her steps
upon the toes of her partner than on the floor of
the ball-room, Aurora and Talbot were left to them-
selves.
Captain Bulstrode glanced downward at the
banker's daughter. His gaze lingered upon the
graceful head, with its coronal of shining scarlet
berries, encircling smooth masses of blue-black
hair. He expected to see the modest drooping of
the eyelids peculiar to young ladies with long
lashes, but he was disappointed ; for Aurora Floyd
was looking straight before her, neither at him,
nor at the lights, nor the flowers, nor the dancers,
but far away into vacancy. She was so young,
prosperous, admired, and beloved, that it was diffi-
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 61
cult to account for the dim shadow of trouble that
clouded her glorious eyes.
While he was wondering what he should say to
her, she lifted her eyes to his face, and asked him
the strangest question he had ever heard from
gii'lish lij)s.
" Do you know if Thunderbolt won the Leger ?"
she asked.
He was too much confounded to answer for a
moment, and she continued rather impatiently,
"They must have heard by six o'clock this even-
ing in London ; but I have asked half a dozen
people here to-night, and no one seems to know
anything about it."
Talbot's close-cropped hair seemed lifted from
his head as he listened to this terrible address.
Good heavens ! what a horrible woman ! The
hussar's vivid imagination pictured the heir of all
the Kaleigh Bulstrodes receiving his infantine
impressions from such a mother. She would teach
him to read out of the ' Eacing Calendar ;' she
would invent a royal alphabet of the turf, and tell
him that " 13 stands for Derby, old England's great
race," and " E stands for Epsom, a crack meeting-
place," &c. He told Miss Floyd that he had never
C2 AURORA FLOYD.
been to Doncaster in his life, tliat he had never
read a sporting-paper, and that he knew no more
of Thunderbolt than of King Cheops.
She looked at him rather contemptuously.
"Cheops wasn't much," she said: "he won the
Liverpool Autumn Cup in Blink Boimy's year ;
but most people said it was a fluke."
Talbot Bulstrode shuddered afresh ; but a feel-
ing of pity mingled with his horror. " If I had a
sister," he thought, "I would get her to talk to
this miserable girl, and bring her to a sense of her
iniquity."
Aurora said no more to the captain of Hussars,
but relapsed into the old far-away gaze into
vacancy, and sat twisting a bracelet round and
round upon her finely modelled ^^Tist. It was a
diamond bracelet, worth a couple of hundred
pounds, which had been given her that day by her
father. He would have invested aU his fortune in
Messrs. Hunt and Koskell's cunning handiwork, if
Am^ora had sighed for gems and gewgaws. Miss
Floyd's glance fell upon the glittering ornament,
and she looked at it long and earnestly, rather as
if she were calculating the value of the stones than
admiring the taste of the workmanship.
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. G3
While Talbot was w-atcliing Iier, full of v.'onder-
ing pity and liorror, a young man liurried up to
the spot where she was seated, and reminded her
of an engagement for the quadrille that was form-
ing. She looked at her tablets of ivory, gold, and
turquoise, and with a certain disdainful weariness
rose and took his arm. Talbot followed her reced-
ing form. Taller than most among the thi-ong,
her queenly head was not soon lost sight of.
"A Cleopatra with a snub nose two sizes too
small for her face, and a taste for horseflesh !" said
Talbot Bulstrode, ruminating upon the departed
divinity. "She ought to carry a betting-book
instead of those ivory tablets. How distrait she
was all the time she sat here ! I dare say she has
made a book for the Leger, and was calculating
how much she stands to lose. "What will this poor
old banker do with her ? put her into a madhouse,
or get her elected a member of the Jockey Club ?
With her black eyes and fifty thousand pounds,
she might lead the sporting world. There has
been a fem.ale Pope, why should there not be a
female ' Napoleon of the Turf ' ?"
Later, when the rustling leaves of tlie trees in
Beckenham Woods were shivering in that cold
64 AURORA FLOYD.
gray lioiir which precedes the advent of the dawn,
Talbot Bulstrode drove his friend away from the
banker's lighted mansion. He talked of Aurora
Floyd during the whole of that long cross-country
drive. He Avas merciless to her follies ; he ridi-
culed, he abused, he sneered at and condemned
her questionable tastes. He bade Francis Lewis
Maldon marry her at his peril, and wished him joy
of such a wife. He declared that if he had such a
woman for his sister he would shoot her, unless she
reformed and burnt her betting-book. He worked
himself up into a savage humour about the young
lady's delinquencies, and talked of her as if she had
done him an unpardonable injury by entertaining
a taste for the Turf ; till at last the poor meek
young cornet plucked up a spirit, and told his
superior officer that Aurora Floyd was a very jolly
girl, and a good girl, and a perfect lady, and that,
if she did want to know who won the Leger, it was
no business of Captain Bulstrode's, and that he,
Bulstrode, needn't make such a howling about it.
"While the two men are getting to high words
about her, Aurora is seated in her dressing-room,
listening to Lucy Floyd's babble about the ball.
" There was never such a delightful party," that
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 65
young lady said ; " and did Aurora see So-and-so,
and So-and-so, and So-and-so ? and above all,
did she observe Captain Bulstrode, who had
served all through the Crimean war, and who
walked lame, and was the son of Sir John Walter
Raleigh Bulstrode, of Bulstrode Castle, near
Camelford?"
Aurora shook her head with a weary gesture.
No, she hadn't noticed any of these people.
Poor Lucy's childish talk was stopped in a mo-
ment.
" You are tired, Aurora dear," she said : " how
cruel I am to worry you !"
Aurora threw her arms about her cousin's neck,
and hid her face upon Lucy's white shoulder.
" I am tired," she said, " very, very tired."
She spoke with such an utterly despairing
weariness in her tone, that her gentle cousin was
alarmed by her words.
" You are not unhappy, dear Aurora ?" she
asked anxiously.
" No, no only tu-ed. . There, go, Lucy. Good
night, good night."
She gently pushed her cousin from the room,
rejected the services of her maid, and dismissed
YOL. I. F
66 AURORA FLOYD.
her also. Then, tired as she was, she removed the
candle from the dressing-table to a desk on the
other side of the room, and seating herself at this
desk, unlocked it, and took from one of its inmost
recesses the soiled pencil-scrawl which had been
given her a week before by the man who tried to
sell her a dog in Cockspur Street.
The diamond bracelet, Archibald Floyd's birth-
day gift to his daughter, lay in its nest of satin
and velvet upon Aurora's dressing-table. She took
the morocco-case in her hand, looked for a few
moments at the jewel, and then shut the lid of the
little casket with a sharp metallic snap.
" The tears were in my father's eyes when he
clasped the bracelet on my arm," she said, as she
reseated herself at the desk. " If he could see me
now !"
She wrapped the morocco case in a sheet of
foolscap, secured the parcel in several places
with red wax and a plain seal, and directed it
thus :
J. C,
Care of Mr. Joseph Green,
BeU Inn,
Doncaster."
WHAT BECAME OF THE DIAMOND BRACELET. 67
Early the next morning Miss Floyd drove her
aunt and cousin into Croydon, and, leaving them
at a Berlin-wool shop, went alone to the post-office,
where she registered and posted this valuable
parcel.
F 2
68 AUEORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER IV.
AFTER THE BALL.
Two days after Aurora's birthnight festival,
Talbot Bulstrode's phaeton dashed once more
into the avenue at Felden Woods. Again the
captain made a sacrifice on the shrine of friend-
ship, and drove Francis Maldon from Windsor to
Beckenham, in order that the young cornet might
make those anxious inquiries about the health of
the ladies of Mr. Floyd's household, which, by a
pleasant social fiction, are supposed to be neces-
sary after an evening of intermittent waltzes and
quadrilles.
The junior ofiBcer was very grateful for this
kindness ; for Talbot, though the best of fellows,
was not much given to putting himself out of the
way for the pleasure of other people. It would
have been far pleasanter to the captain to dawdle
away the day in his own rooms, lolling over those
AFTER THE BALL. 69
erudite works which his brother-officers described
by the generic title of "heavy reading/' or, ac-
cording to the popular belief of those hare-brained
young men, employed in squaring the cu'cle in
the solitude of his chamber.
Talbot Bulstrode was altogether an inscrutable
personage to his comrades of the 11th Hussars.
His black-letter folios, his polished mahogany
cases of mathematical instruments, his proof-
before-letters engravings, were the fopperies of a
young Oxonian rather than an officer who had
fought and bled at Inkermann. The young men
who breakfasted with him in his rooms trembled
as they read the titles of the big books on the
shelves, and stared helplessly at the grim saints
and angular ^ngels in the pre-Eaphaehte prints
upon the walls. They dared not even propose
to smoke in those sacred chambers, and were
ashamed of the wet impressions of the rims of
the Moselle bottles which they left upon the
mahogany cases.
It seemed natural to people to be afraid of
Talbot Bulstrode, just as little boys are frightened
of a beadle, a policeman, and a schoolmaster, even
before they have been told the attributes of these
70^ AUROEA FLOYD.
terrible beings. The colonel of the 11th Hussars,
a portly gentleman, who rode fifteen stone, and
wrote his name high in the Peerage, was fright-
ened of Talbot. That cold gray eye struck a
silent awe into the hearts of men and women with
its straight penetrating gaze that always seemed
to be telling them they were found out. The
colonel was afraid to tell his best stories when
Talbot was at the mess-table, for he had a dim
consciousness that the captain was aware of the
discrepancies in those brilliant anecdotes, though
that officer had never implied a doubt by either
look or gesture. The Irish adjutant forgot to
brag about his conquests amongst the fair sex :
the younger men dropped their voices when they
talked to each other of the side-scenes at Her
Majesty's Theatre ; and the corks flew faster, and
the laughter grew louder, when Talbot left the
room.
The captain knew that he was more respected
than beloved, and like all proud men who repel
the warm feelings of others in utter despite of
themselves, he was grieved and wounded because
his comrades did not become attached to him.
"Will anybody, out of all the millions upon
AFTEK THE BALL. 71
this wide earth, ever love me ?" he thought. " No
one ever has as yet. Not even my father and
mother. They have been proud of me ; but they
never loved me. How many a young profligate
has brought his parents' gray hairs with sorrow to
the grave, and has been beloved with the last
heart-beat of those he destroyed, as I have never
been in my life ! Perhaps my mother would have
loved me better, if I had given her more trouble ;
if I had scattered the name of Bulstrode all over
London upon post-obits and dishonoured accept-
ances ; if I had been drummed out of my regiment,
and had walked down to Cornwall Avithout shoes
or stockings, to fall at her feet, and sob out
my sins and sorrows in her lap, and ask her to
mortgage her jointure for the payment of my
debts. But I have never asked anything of her,
dear soul, except her love, and that she has been
unable to give me. I suppose it is because I do
not know how to ask. How often I have sat by
her side at Bulstrode, talking of all sorts of indif-
ferent subjects, yet with a vague yearning at my
heart to throw myself upon her breast and implore
of her to love and bless her son ; but held aloof by
some icy barrier that I have been powerless all my
72 AURORA FLOYD.
life to break down ! What woman has ever loved
me ? Not one. They have tried to marry me,
because I shall be Sir Talbot Bulstrode of Bulstrode
Castle ; but how soon they have left off angling
for the prize, and shrunk away from me chilled
and disheartened! I shudder when I remember
that I shall be three-and-thirty next March, and
that I have never been beloved. I shall sell out,
now the fighting is over, for I am no use amongst
the fellows here ; and, if any good little thing
would fall in love with me, I would marry her and
take her down to Bulstrode, to my mother and
father, and turn country gentleman."
Talbot Bulstrode made this declaration in all
sincerity. He wished that some good and pure
creature would fall in love with him, in order that
he might marry her. He wanted some sponta-
neous exhibition of innocent feeling which might
justify him in saying, "I am beloved !" He felt
little capacity for loving, on his own side ; but he
thought that he would be grateful to any good
woman who would regard him with disinterested
affection, and that he would devote his life to
making her happy.
" It would be something to feel that if I were
AFTER THE BALL. 73
smashed in a railway accident, or dropped out of
a balloon, some one creature in this world would
think it a lonelier place for lack of me. I wonder
whether my children would love me ? I dare say
not. I should freeze their young affections with
the Latin grammar; and they would tremble as
they passed the door of my study, and hush their
voices into a frightened whisper when papa was
within hearing."
Talbot Bulstrode's ideal of woman was sonae
gentle and feminine creature crowned with an
aureole of pale auburn hair ; some timid soul with
downcast eyes, fringed with golden-tinted lashes ;
some shrinking being, as pale and prim as the
mediaeval saints in his pre-Raphaelite engravings,
spotless as her own white robes, excelling in all
womanly graces and accomplishments, but only
exhibiting them in the narrow circle of a home.
Perhaps Talbot thought that he had met with
his ideal when he entered the long drawing-room
at Felden Woods with Cornet Maldon on the
seventeenth of September, 1857.
Lucy Floyd was standing by an open piano, with
her white dress and pale golden hair bathed in a
flood of autumn sunlight. That sunlit figure came
74 AUKORA FLOYD.
back to Talbot's memory long afterwards, after
a stormy interval, in which it had been blotted
away and forgotten, and the long drawing-room
stretched itself out like a picture before his eyes.
Yes, this was his ideal. This graceful girl,
with the shimmering light for ever playing upon
her hair, and the modest droop in her white eye-
lids. But undemonstrative as usual, Captain Bul-
strode seated himself near the piano, after the
brief ceremony of greeting, and contemplated
Lucy with grave eyes that betrayed no especial
admiration.
He had not taken much notice of Lucy Floyd
on the night of the ball ; indeed, Lucy was
scarcely a candle-light beauty; her hair wanted
the sunshine gleaming through it to light up the
golden halo about her face, and the delicate pink
of her cheeks waxed pale in the glare of the great
chandeliers.
While Caj)tain Bulstrode was watching Lucy
with that grave contemplative gaze, trying to
find out whether she was in any way different
from other girls he had known, and whether the
purity of her delicate beauty was more than skin
deep, the window opposite to him was darkened, and
AFTER THE BALL. 75
Aurora Floyd stood between him and the sun-
shine.
The banker's daughter paused on the threshold
of the open window, holding the collar of an im-
mense mastiff in both her hands, and looking
irresolutely into the room.
Miss Floyd hated morning callers, and she was
debating within herself whether she had been
seen, or whether it might be possible to steal
away unperceived.
But the dog set up a big bark, and settled the
question.
"Quiet, Bow-wow," she said; "quiet, quiet,
boy."
Yes, the dog was called Bow-wow. He was
twelve years old, and Aurora had so christened
him in her seventh year, when he was a blun-
dering, big-headed puppy, that sprawled upon
the table dm'ing the little girl's lessons, upset
ink-bottles over her copy-books, and ate whole
chapters of Pinnock's abridged histories.
The gentlemen rose at the sound of her voice,
and Miss Floyd came into the room and sat down
at a little distance from the captain and her
cousin, twirling a straw hat in her hand and
76, AURORA FLOYD,
staring at her dog, who seated himself resolutely
by her chair, knocking double-knocks of good
temper upon the carpet with his big tail.
Though she said very little, and seated herself
in a careless attitude that bespoke complete in-
difference to her visitors, Aurora's beauty extin-
guished poor Lucy, as the rising sun extinguishes
the stars.
The thick plaits of her black hair made a great
diadem upon her low forehead, and crowned her
an Eastern empress ; an empress with a doubtful
nose, it is true, but an empress who reigned by
right divine of her eyes and hair. For do not
these wonderful black eyes, which perhaps shine
upon us only once in a lifetime, in themselves
constitute a royalty ?
Talbot Bulstrode turned away from his ideal to
look at this dark-haired goddess, with a coarse
straw hat in her hand and a big mastiff's head
lying on her lap. Again he perceived that ab-
straction in her manner wliich had puzzled him
upon the night of the ball. She listened to her
visitors politely, and she answered them when they
spoke to her ; but it seemed to Talbot as if she
constrained herself to attend to them by an effort.
AFTER THE BALL. 77
" She wishes me away, I dare say," he thought ;
" and no doubt considers me a ' slow party,' be-
cause I don't talk to her of horses and dogs."
The captain resumed his conversation with
Lucy. He found that she talked exactly as
he had heard other young ladies talk; that she
knew aU they knew, and had been to the places
they had visited. The ground they went over
was very old indeed, but Lucy traversed it with
charming propriety.
" She is a good little thing," Talbot thought ;
" and would make an admu-able wife for a country
gentleman. I wish she would fall in love with
me."
Lucy told him of some excursion in Switzerland,
where she had been during the preceding autumn
with her father and mother.
"And your cousin," he asked, "was she with
you?
" No ; Aurora was at school in Paris, with the
Demoiselles Lespard."
" Lespard, Lespard !" he repeated ; " a Protest-
ant pension in the Faubom-g Saint-Dominique.
Why, a cousin of mine is being educated there,
a Miss Trevyllian. She has been there for three
"78 AURORA FLOYD.
or four years. Do you remember Constance
Trevyllian at the Demoiselles Lespard, Miss
Floyd?" said Talbot, addressing himself to
Aurora.
" Constance Trevyllian ! Yes, I remember
her," answered the banker's daughter.
She said nothing more, and for a few moments
there was rather an awkward pause.
" Miss Trevyllian is my cousin," said the captain.
Indeed !"
'" I hope that you were very good friends."
Oh, yes."
She bent over her dog, caressing his big head,
and not even looking up as she spoke of Miss
Trevyllian. It seemed as if the subject was
utterly indifferent to her, and she disdained even
to affect an interest in it.
Talbot Bulstrode bit his lip with offended pride.
"I suppose this purse-proud heiress looks down
upon the Trevyllians of Tredethlin," he thought,
" because they can boast of nothing better than
a few hundred acres of barren moorland, some
exhausted tin-mines, and a pedigree that dates
from the days of King Arthur."
Archibald Floyd came into the drawing-room
AFTER THE BALL. 79
while the officers were seated there, and bade
them welcome to Felden Woods.
"A long drive, gentlemen," he said; "your
horses will want a rest. Of course you will dine
with us. We shall have a full moon to-night,
and you'll have it as light as day for your drive
back."
Talbot looked at Francis Lewis Maldon, who was
sitting staring at Aurora with vacant, open-
mouthed admiration. The young officer knew
that the heiress and her fifty thousand pounds
were not for him ; but it was scarcely the less
pleasant to look at her, and wish that like Captain
Bulstrode he had been the eldest son of a rich
baronet.
The invitation was accepted by Mr. Maldon as
cordially as it had been given, and with less than
his usual stiffness of manner on the part of
Talbot Bulstrode.
The luncheon-bell rang while they were talking,
and the little party adjom-ned to the dining-room,
where they found Mrs. Alexander Floyd sitting at
the bottom of the table. Talbot sat next to Lucy,
with Mr. Maldon opposite to them, while Aurora
took her place beside her father.
80 AURORA FLOYD.
The old man was attentive to his guests, but
the shallowest observer could have scarcely failed
to notice his watchfulness of Aurora. It was ever
present in his careworn face, that tender, anxious
glance which turned to her at every pause in the
conversation, and could scarcely withdi-aw itself
from her for the common courtesies of life. If
she spoke, he listened, listened as if every care-
less, half-disdainful word concealed a deeper mean-
ing which it was his task to discern and unravel.
If she was silent, he watched her still more
closely, seeking perhaps to penetrate that gloomy
veil which sometimes spread itself over her hand-
some face.
Talbot Bulstrode was not so absorbed by his
conversation with Lucy and Mj's. Alexander as to
overlook this peculiarity in the father's manner
towards his only child. He saw too that when
Aurora addressed the banker, it was no longer
with that listless indifi'erence, half weariness, half
disdain, which seemed natural to her on other
occasions. The eager watchfulness of Archibald
Floyd was in some measure reflected in his
daughter; by fits and starts, it is true, for she
generally sank back into that moody abstraction
AFTER THE BALL. 81
which Captain Biilstrode had observed on the
night of the ball ; but still it was there, the same
feeling as her father's, though less constant and
intense. A watchful, anxious, half-sorrowful affec-
tion, which could scarcely exist except under
abnormal circumstances. Talbot Bulstrode was
vexed to find himself wondering about this, and
growing every moment less and less attentive to
Lucy's simple talk.
" What does it mean ?" he thought ; " has she
fallen in love with some man whom her father has
forbidden her to marry, and is the old man trying
to atone for liis severity ? That's scarcely likely.
A woman with a head and throat like hers could
scarcely fail to be ambitious ambitious and re-
vengeful, rather than over-susceptible of any tender
passion. Did she lose half her fortune upon that
race she talked to me about? I'll ask her pre-
sently. Perhaps they have taken away her
betting-book, or lamed her favourite horse, or
shot some pet dog, to cure him of distemper.
She is a spoiled child, of course, this heiress, and
I dare say her father would try to get a copy of
the moon made for her, if she cried for that
planet."
VOL. I. G
82 AURORA FLOYD.
After luncheoii, the banker took his guests into
the gardens that stretched far away upon two sides
of the house ; the gardens which poor Eliza Floyd
had helped to plan nineteen years before.
Talbot Bulstrode walked rather stiffly from his
Crimean wound, but Mrs. Alexander and her
daughter suited their pace to his, while Aurora
w^alked before them with her father and Mr.
Maldon, and with the mastiff close at her side.
"Your cousin is rather proud, is she not?"
Talbot asked Lucy, after they had been talking of
Aurora.
" Aurora proud ! oh, no, indeed : perhaps, if she
has any fault at all (for she is the dearest girl that
ever lived), it is that she has not sufficient pride ;
I mean with regard to servants, and that sort of
people. She would as soon talk to one of those
gardeners as to you or me ; and you would see no
difference in her manner, except that perhaps it
would be a little more cordial to them than to us.
The poor people round Felden idolize her."
"Aurora takes after her mother," said Mrs.
Alexander ; " she is the living image of poor Eliza
Floyd."
" Was Mrs. Floyd a countrywoman of her hus-
AFTER THE BALL. 83
band's?" Talbot asked. He was wondering bow
Aurora came to bave tbose great, brilliant, black
eyes, and so raucli of tbe south in her beauty.
" No ; my uncle's wife belonged to a Lancashire
family."
A Lancashire family ! If Talbot Ealeigh Bul-
strode could have kno\vn that the family name was
Prodder ; that one member of the haughty house
bad passed his youth in the pleasing occupa-
tions of a cabin-boy, maldng thick coffee and
toasting greasy herrings for the matutinal meal
of a surly captain, and receiving more corporal
correction from the sturdy toe of his master's boot
than sterling copper coin of the realm ! If he
could have known that the great aunt of this dis-
dainful creature, walking before him in all the
majesty of her beauty, had once kept a chandler's
shop in an obscure street in Liverpool, and for
aught any one but the banker knew, kept it still !
But this was a knowledge which had wisely been
kept even from Aurora herself, who knew little
except that, despite of having been born with that
allegorical silver spoon in her mouth, she was
poorer than other girls, inasmuch as she Avas
motherless.
G 2
84 AURORA FLOYD.
]\Lrs. Alexander, Lucy, and the captain overtook
the others upon a rustic bridge, where Talbot
stopped to rest. Aurora was leaning over the
rough wooden balustrade, looking lazily at the
water.
" Did your favourite win the race, Miss Floyd ?"
he asked, as he watched the effect of her profile
against the sunhght ; not a very beautiful profile
certainly, but for the long black eyelashes, and
the radiance under them, which their darkest
shadows could never hide.
" "V\Tiich favourite ?" she said.
" The horse you spoke to me about the other
night, Thunderbolt ; did he win ?"
" No." f
" I am very sorry to hear it."
Aurora looked up at him, reddening angrily.
" Why so ?" she asked.
" Because I thought you were interested in his
success."
As Talbot said this, he observed, for the first
time, that Archibald Floyd was near enough to
overhear their conversation, and, furthermore that
he was regarding his daughter with even more
than his usual watchfulness.
AFTER THE BALL. 85
" Do not talk to me of racing ; it annoys papa,"
Aurora said to the captain, dropping her voice.
Talbot bowed. " I was right, then," he thouglit ;
** the turf is the skeleton. I dare say Miss Floyd
has been doing her best to drag her father's name
into the ' Gazette,' and yet he evidently loves her
to distraction ; while I " There was some-
thing so very pharisaical in the speech, that
Captain Bulstrode would not even finish it mentally.
He was thinking, "This girl, who, perhaps, has
been the cause of nights of sleepless anxiety and
days of devouring care, is tenderly beloved by her
father ; while I, who am a model to all the elder
sons of England, have never been loved in my
life."
At half-past six the great bell at Felden Woods
rang a clamorous peal that went shivering above
the trees, to tell the country-side that the family
were going to dress for dinner ; and another peal
at seven, to tell the villagers round Beckenham
and West Wickham that Maister Floyd and his
household were going to dine ; but not altogether
an empty or discordant peal, for it told the hungry
poor of broken victuals and rich and delicate
meats to be had almost for asking in the servants'
86 AURORA FLOYD.
offices ; shreds of fricandeaux and patches of
dainty preparations, quarters of chickens and
carcasses of pheasants, which would have gone to
fatten the pigs for Cliristmas, but for Archibald
Floyd's strict commands that all should be given
to those who chose to come for it.
Mr. Floyd and his visitors did not leave the
gardens till after the ladies had retired to dress.
The dinner-party was very animated, for Alexander
Floyd drove down from the City to join his wife
and daughter, bringing with him the noisy boy
who was just going to Eton, and who was passion-
ately attached to his cousin Aurora ; and whether
it was owing to the influence of this young gentle-
man, or to that fitfulness which seemed a part of
her nature, Talbot Bulstrode could not discover,
but certain it was that the dark cloud melted
away from Miss Floyd's face, and she abandoned
herself to the joyousness of the hour with a radiant
grace, that reminded her father of the night when
Eliza Percival played Lady Teazle for the last
time, and took her farewell of the stage in the
little Lancashire theatre.
It needed but this change in his daughter
to make Archibald Floyd thoroughly happy.
AFTER THE BALL, 87
Aurora's smiles seemed to slied a revivifying in-
fluence upon the whole circle. The ice melted
away, for the sun had broken out, and the winter
was gone at last. Talbot Bulstrode bewildered
his brain by trying to discover why it was that
this woman was such a peerless and fascinating
creature. Why it was that, argue as he would
against the fact, he was nevertheless allowing
himself to be bewitched by this black-eyed siren ;
freely drinking of that cup of hang which she
presented to hun, and rapidly becoming intoxicated.
" I could almost fall in love with my fair-haired
ideal," he thought, "but I cannot help admiring
this extraordinary girl. She is like Mrs. Nisbett
in her zenith of fame and beauty ; she is like
Cleopatra sailing down the Cydnus; she is like
Nell Gwjmne selling oranges; she is like Lola
Montes giving battle to the Bavarian students;
she is like Charlotte Corday with the knife in her
hand, standing behind the friend of the people in
his bath ; she is like everythmg that is beautiful,
and strange, and wicked and unwomanly, and
bewitching ; and she is just the sort of creature
that many a fool would fall in love with."
He put the length of the room between himself
88 AURORA FLOYD.
and the enchantress, and took his seat by the
grand piano, at which Lucy Floyd was playing
slow harmonious symphonies of Beethoven. The
drawing-room at Felden Woods was so long, that,
seated by this piano, Captain Bulstrode seemed
to look back at the merry group about the heiress
as he might have looked at a scene on the stage
from the back of the boxes. He almost wished
for an opera-glass as he watched Aurora's graceful
gestures and the play of her sparkling eyes ; and
then turning to the piano, he listened to the
drowsy music, and contemplated Lucy's face,
marvellously fair in the light of that full moon of
which Archibald Floyd had spoken, the glory of
which, streaming in from an open window, put out
the dim wax-candles on the piano.
All that Aurora's beauty most lacked was richly
possessed by Lucy. Delicacy of outline, per-
fection of feature, purity of tint, all were there ;
but while one face dazzled you by its shining
splendour, the other impressed you only with a
feeble sense of its charms, slow to come and quick
to pass away. There are so many Lucys but so
few Auroras; and while you never could be
critical with the one, you were merciless in your
AFTER THE BALL.
89
scrutiny of the otlier. Talbot Bulstrode was
attracted to Lucy by a vague notion that slie was
just the good and timid creature who was destined
to make him happy ; but he looked at her as
calmly as if she had been a statue, and was as fully
aware of her defects as a sculptor who criticises
the work of a rival.
But she was exactly the sort of woman to make
a good wife. She had been educated to that end
by a careful mother. Pm-ity and goodness had
watched over her and hemmed her in from her
cradle. She had never seen imseemly sights, or
heard unseemly sounds. She was as ignorant as a
baby of all the vices and horrors of this big world.
She was lady-like, accomplished, well informed;
and if there were a great many others of precisely
the same type of graceful womanhood, it was cer-
tainly the highest type, and the holiest, and the best.
Later in the evening, when Captain Bulstrode' s
phaeton was brought round to the flight of steps
in front of the great doors, the little party assem-
bled on the terrace to see the two officers depart,
and the banker told liis guests how he hoped this
visit to Felden would be the beginning of a lasting
acquaintance.
90 AUROKA FLOYD.
" I am going to take Aurora and my niece to
Brigliton for a mouth or so," he said, as he shook
hands with the captain ; " but on our return you
must let us see you as often as possible."
Talbot bowed, and stammered his thanks for the
banker's cordiality. Aurora and her cousin Percy
Floyd, the young Etonian, had gone down the steps,
and were admiring Captain Bulstrode's thorough-
bred bays, and the captain was not a little dis-
tracted by the picture the group made in the moon-
light.
He never forgot that picture. Aurora, with her
coronet of plaits dead black against the pm-ple air,
and her silk dress shimmering in the uncertain
light, the delicate head of the bay horse visible
above her shoulder, and her ringed wliite hands
caressing the animal's slender ears, while the pur-
blind old mastiff, vaguely jealous, whined com-
plainingly at her side.
How marvellous is the sympathy which exists
between some people and the brute creation ! I
think that horses and dogs understood every word
that Aurora said to them, ^that they worshipped
her from the dim depths of their inarticulate souls,
and would have willingly gone to death to do her
AFTER THE BALL. 91
service. Talbot observed all tbis witb an uneasy-
sense of bewilderment.
"I wonder whether these creatures are wiser
than we?" he thought; "do they recognize some
higher attributes in this girl than we can perceive,
and worship their sublime presence ? If this ter-
rible woman, with her unfeminine tastes and mys-
terious propensities, were mean, or cowardly, or
false, or impure, I do not think that mastiff would
love her as he does ; 1 do not think my thorough-
breds would let her hands meddle with their bridles :
the dog would snarl, and the horses would bite, as
such animals used to do in those remote old days
when they recognized witchcraft and evil spirits,
and were convulsed by the presence of the uncanny.
I dare say this Miss Floyd is a good, generous-
hearted creature, the sort of person fast men
would call a glorious girl, but as well read in the
'Eacing Calendar' and 'Buff's Guide' as other
ladies in Miss Yonge's novels. I'm really sorry for
her."
92 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTEE y.
JOHN HELLISH.
The house which the banker hired at Brighton
for the month of October was perched high lip on
the East Cliff, towering loftily above the wind-
driven waves ; the purple coast of Shoreham was
dimly visible from the upj)er windows in the clear
autumn mornings, and the Chain Pier looked like
a strip of ribbon below the cliff. A pleasanter
situation to my mind than those level terraces to-
wards the west, from the windows of which the sea
appears of small extent, and the horizon within
half a mUe or so of the Parade.
Before Mr. Floyd took his daughter and her
cousin to Brighton, he entered into an arrangement
which he thought, no doubt, a very great evidence
of his wisdom ; this was the engagement of a lady,
who was to be a compound governess, companion,
and chaperon to Aurora, who, as Mrs. Alexander
JOHN MELLISH. 93
said, was sadly in need of some accomplished and
watchful person, whose care it would be to train and
prune those exuberant branches of her nature which
had been suffered to grow as they would from her in-
fancy. The beautiful shrub was no longer to trail
its wild stems along the ground, or shoot upward
to the blue skies at its own sweet will ; it was to be
trimmed and clipped and fastened primly to the
stony wall of society with cruel nails and galling
strips of cloth. In other words, an advertisement
was inserted in the 'Times' newspaper, setting forth
that a lady, by birth and education, was required
as finishing governess and companion in the house-
hold of a gentleman, to whom salary was no object,
provided the aforesaid lady was perfect mistress of
all the accomplishments under the sun, and was
altogether such an exceptional and extraordinary
being as could only exist in the advertising columns
of a popular jom-nal.
But if the world had been filled with exceptional
beings, Mr. Floyd could scarcely have received
more answers to his advertisement than came pelt-
ing in upon the unhappy little postmaster at Beck-
enham. The man had serious thoughts of hiring
a cart, in which to convey the letters to Felden.
94 AUKORA FLOYD.
If the banker had advertised for a wife, and had
stated the amount of his income, he could scarcely
have had more answers. It seemed as if the
female population of London, with one accord, was
seized with the desire to improve the mind and
form the manners of the daughter of the gentleman
to whom terms were no object. Officers' widows,
clergymen's widows, lawyers' and merchants'
widows, daughters of gentlemen of high family but
reduced means, orphan daughters of all sorts of
noble and distinguished people, declared them
selves each and every one to be the person who,
out of all living creatures upon this earth, was best
adapted for the post. Mrs. Alexander Floyd se-
lected six letters, threw the rest into the waste-
paper basket, ordered the banker's carriage, and
drove into to\vn to see the six writers thereof. She
was a practical and energetic woman, and she put
the six applicants through their facings so severely,
that w^hen she returned to Mr. Floyd it was to
announce that only one of them was good for any
thing, and that she was coming down to Felden
Woods the next day.
The chosen lady was the widow of an ensign
who had died within six months of his marriage,
JOHN MELLISH. 95
and about an liour and a half before he would
have succeeded to some enormous property, the
particulars of which were never rightly understood
by the friends of his unfortunate relict. But
vague as the story might be, it was quite clear
enough to establish Mrs. Walter Powell in life as
a disappointed woman. She was a woman with
straight light hau', and a lady-like droop of the
head. A woman who had left school to marry,
and after sis months' wedded life had gone back
to the same school as instructress of the junior
pupils. A woman whose whole existence had
been spent in teaching and being taught ; who had
exercised in her earlier years a species of hand-to-
mouth tuition, teaching in the morning that which
she learnt over-night; who had never lost an
opportunity of improving herself; who had grown
mechanically proficient as a musician and an
artist, who had a certain parrot-Kke skill in foreign
languages, who had read all the books incumbent
upon her to read, and who knew all the things
imperative for her to know, and who, beyond all
this, and outside the boundary of the schoolroom
wall, was ignorant and soulless and low-minded
and vulgar. Aurora swallowed the bitter pill as
96 AURORA FLOYD.
best slie might, and accepted Mrs. Powell as the
person chartered for her improvement : a kind of
ballast to be flung into the wandering bark, to
steady its erratic course and keep it off rocks and
quicksands.
" I must put up with her, Lucy, I suppose," she
said ; " and I must consent to be improved and
formed by the poor faded creature. I wonder
whether she will be like Miss Drummond, who
used to let me off from my lessons, and read novels
while I ran wild in the gardens and stables. I can
put up with her, Lucy, as long as I have you with
me ; but I think I should go mad, if I were to be
chained up alone with that grim, pale-faced watch-
dog."
Mr. Floyd and his family drove from Felden to
Brighton in the banker's roomy travelling-carriage,
with Aurora's maid in the rumble, a pile of impe-
rials upon the roof, and Mrs. Powell, with her
young charges, in the interior of the vehicle.
Mrs. Alexander had gone back to Fulham, having
done her duty, as she considered, in securing a
protectress for Aurora ; but Lucy was to stay with
her cousin at Brighton, and to ride with her on
the doNATis. The saddle-horses had gone down the
JOHN MELLISH. 97
day before with Aurora's groom, a gray-haired and
rather surly old fellow who had served Archibald
Floyd for thirty years ; and the mastiff called
Bow-wow travelled in the carriage with his mis-
tress.
About a week after the arrival at Brighton,
Aurora and her cousin were walking together on
the West Cliff, when a gentleman with a stiff leg-
rose from a bench upon which he had been seated
listening to the band, and slowly advanced to
them. Lucy dropped her eyelids with a faint
blush ; but Am'ora held out her hand in answer to
Captain Bulstrode's salute.
" I thought I should be sure to meet you down
here. Miss Floyd," he said. "I only came this
morning, and I was going to call at Folthorpe's
for your papa's address. Is he quite well ?"
" Quite yes, that is pretty well." A shadow
stole over her face as she spoke. It was a wonder-
ful face for fitful lights and shades. " But we did
not expect to see you at Brighton, Captain Bul-
strode ; we thought your regiment was still quar-
tered at Windsor."
" Yes, my regiment that is, the Eleventh is
still at Windsor ; but I have sold out."
VOL. I. H
98 AURORA FLOYD.
"Sold out!" Both. Aurora and lier cousin
opened their eyes at tliis intelligence.
" Yes ; I was tired of the army. It's dull work
now the fighting is all over. I might have ex-
changed and gone to India, certainly," he added,
as if in answer to some argument of his own ; " but
I'm getting middle-aged, and I am tired of roam-
ing about the world."
"I should like to go to India," said Aurora,
looking seaward as she spoke.
" You, Aurora ! but why ?" exclaimed Lucy.
" Because I hate England."
" I thought it was France you disliked."
^' I hate them both. What is the use of this big
world, if we are to stop for ever in one place,
chained to one set of ideas, fettered to one narrow
circle of people, seeing and hearing of the persons
we hate for ever and ever, and unable to get
away from the odious sound of their names ? I
should like to turn female missionary, and go
to the centre of Africa with Dr. Livingstone
and his family ; and I would go if it wasn't for
papa."
Poor Lucy stared at her cousin in helpless
amazement. Talbot Bulstrode found himself fall-
JOHN MELLISH. 99
ing back into that state of bewilderment in wliicli
this girl always threw him. What did she mean,
this heiress of nineteen' years of age, by her fits of
despondency and outbursts of bitterness ? Was it
not perhaps, after all, only an affectation of singu-
larity ?
Aurora looked at him with her brightest smile
while he was asking himself this question. " You
will come and see papa ?" she said.
Captain Bulstrode declared that he desired no
greater happiness than to pay his respects to Mr.
Floyd, in token whereof he walked with the young
ladies towards the East Cliff.
From that morning, the officer became a con-
stant visitor at the banker's. He played chess
with Lucy, accompanied her on the piano when
she sang, assisted her with valuable hints when
she painted in water-coloui's, put in lights here
and glimpses of sky there, deepened autumnal
browns, and intensified horizon purples, and made
himself altogether useful to the young lady, who
was, as we know, accomj^lished in all lady-like
arts. Mrs. Powell, seated in one of the windows
of the pleasant drawing-room, shed the benignant
light of her faded countenance and pale-blue eyes
H 2
100 AUKOKA FLOYD.
upon the two young people, and represented all
the proprieties in her own person ; Aurora, when
the weather prevented her riding, occupied herself
more restlessly than profitably by taking up books
and tossing them down, pulling Bow-wow's ears,
staring out of the windows, drawing caricatures
of the promenaders on the cliff, and dragging out
a wonderful little watch, with a bunch of dangling
inexplicable golden absurdities, to see wliat
o'clock it was.
Talbot Bulstrode, while leaning over Lucy's
piano or drawing-board, or pondering about the
next move of liis queen, had ample leisure to
watch the movements of Miss Floyd, and to be
shocked at the purposeless manner in which that
young lady spent the rainy mornings. Sometimes
he saw her poring over ' Bell's Life,' much to the
horror of 31rs. AValter Powell, who had a vague
idea of the iniquitous proceedings recited in that
terrible journal, but who was afraid to stretch her
authority so far as to forbid its perusal.
Mrs. Powell looked with silent approbation
upon the growing familiarity between gentle Lucy
Floyd and the captain. She had feared at first
that Talbot was an admirer of Aurora's ; but the
JOHN MELLISH. 101
manner of the t\yo soon dispelled her alarm.
Notliing could be more cordial than Miss Floyd's
treatment of the officer; but she displayed the
same indifference to him that she did to every
thing else,_ except her dog and her father. Was it
possible that well-nigh perfect face and those
haughty graces had no charm for the banker's
daughter? Could it be that she could spend
liour after hour in the society of the handsomest
and most aristocratic man she had ever met, and
yet be as heart-whole as when the acquaintance
began ? There Avas one person in the little party
who was for ever asking that question, and never
able to answer it to her own satisfaction, and that
person was Lucy Floyd. Poor Lucy Floyd, who
was engaged, night and day, in mentally play-
ing that old German game which Faust and
Margaret played together with the full-blown rose
in the garden, " He loves me loves me not !"
Mrs. Walter Powell's shallow-sighted blue eyes
might behold in Lucy Captain Bulstrode's attrac-
tion to the East Cliff; but Lucy herself knew
tetter bitterly, cruelly better.
" Captain Bulstrode's attentions to Miss Lucy
Floyd were most evident," Mrs. Powell said one
102 AUROEA FLOYD.
day when the captain left, after a long morning's
music and singing and chess. How Lucy hated
the prim phrase ! None knew so well as she the
value of those " attentions." They had been at
Brighton six weeks, and for the last five the
captain had been with them nearly every morn-
ing. He had ridden with them on the downs,
and di-iven with them to the Dyke, and lounged
beside them listening to the band, and stood
behind them in their box at the pretty little
theatre, and crushed Avith them into the Pavilion
to hear Grisi and Mario, and Alboni and poor
Bosio. He had attended them through the whole
round of Brighton amusements, and had never
seemed weary of their companionship. But for
all this, Lucy knew what the last leaf upon the
rose would tell her, when the many petals should
be plucked away, and the poor stem be left bare.
She knew how often he forgot to tm-u over the
leaf in the Beethoven sonatas ; how often he put
streaks of green into an horizon that should have
been purple, and touched up the trees in her
foreground with rose-pink, and suffered himself to
be ignominiously checkmated from sheer inatten-
tion, and gave her wandering, random answers
JOHN MELLISH. 103
when she spoke to him. She knew how restless
he was when Aurora read ' Bell's Life,' and how the
very crackle of the newspaper made him wince
with nervous pain. She knew how tender he was
of the purblind mastiff, how eager to be friends
with him, how almost sycophantic in his atten-
tions to the big stately animal, Lucy knew, in
short, that which Talbot as yet did not know him-
self : she knew that he was fast falling over head
and ears in love with her cousin, and she had at
the same time a vague idea that he would much
rather have fallen in love with herself, and that
he was blindly struggling with the growing
passion.
It was so ; he was falling in love with Aurora.
The more he protested against her, the more de-
terminedly he exaggerated her follies, and argued
with himself upon the folly of loving her, so much
the more surely did he love her. The very battle
he was fighting kept her for ever in his mind,
until he grew the veriest slave of the lovely
vision, which he only evoked in order to endea-
vour to exorcise.
"How could he take her down to Bulstrode,
and introduce her to his father and mother ?" he
104 AUROKA FLOYD.
tliought ; and at the tliought she appeared to him
illuminating the old Cornish mansion by tlie
radiance of her beauty, fascinating his father,
bemtching his mother, riding across the moorland
on her thorough-bred mare, and driving all the
parish mad with admiration of her.
He felt that his visits to Mr. Floyd's house were
fast compromising him in the eyes of its inmates.
Sometimes he felt himself bound in honour to
make Lucy an offer of his hand ; sometimes he
argued that no one had any right to consider his
attentions more particular to one than to the
other of the young ladies. If he had known of
that weary game which Lucy was for ever
mentally inlaying with the imaginary rose, I am
sure he would not have lost an hour in proposing
to her ; but Mrs. Alexander's daughter had Ijeen
far too well educated to betray one emotion of her
heart, and she bore her girlish agonies, and
concealed her hourly tortures, with the quiet
patience common to these simple womanly
martyrs. She knew that the last leaf must soon
be plucked, and the sweet pain of uncertainty be
for ever ended.
Heaven knows how long Talbot Bulstrode
JOHN MELLI8H. 105
might have done battle with his growing passion,
had it not been for an event wliich put an end
to his indecision and made him desperate. This
event was the appearance of a rival.
He was walking with Am-ora and Lucy upon
the West Cliff one afternoon in November, when a
mail-phaeton and pair suddenly drew up against
the railings that separated them from the road,
and a big man, with huge masses of Scotch plaid
twisted about liis waist and shoulders, sprang out
of the vehicle, splashing the mud upon his legs,
and rushed up to Talbot, taking off his hat as
he approached, and bowing apologetically to the
ladies.
''Why, Bulstrode," he said, "who on earth
would have thought of seeing you here ? I heard
you were in India, man ; but what have you done
to your leg ?"
He was so breathless with hurry and excitement,
that he was utterly indifferent to punctuation ;
and it seemed as much as he could do to keep
silence while Talbot introduced him to the ladies
as Mr. Mellish, an old friend and school-fellow.
The stranger stared with such open-mouthed ad-
miration at Miss Floyd's black eyes, that the
106 AUKORA FLOYD.
captain turned round upon liim almost savagely,
as he asked what had brought Mm to Brighton.
" The hunting season, my boy. Tired of York-
shire ; know every field, ditch, hedge, pond, sunk
fence, and scrap of timber in the three Ridings.
I'm staying at the Bedford; I've got my stud
with me give you a mount to-morrow morning if
you like. Harriers meet at eleven Dyke Eoad.
I've a gray that'll suit you to a nicety carry my
weight, and as easy to sit as your arm-chau\"
Talbot hated his friend for talking of horses;
he felt a jealous terror of him. This, perhaps,
was the sort of man whose society would be agree-
able to Aurora, this big, empty-headed York-
shireman, with his babble about his stud and
hunting appointments. But turning sharply
round to scrutinize Miss Floyd, he was gratified
to find that young lady looking vacantly at the
gathering mists upon the sea, and apparently
unconscious of the existence of Mr. John Mellish,
of Mellish Park, Yorkshire.
This John Mellish was, I have said, a big man,
looking even bigger than he was by reason of
about eight yards' length of thick shepherd's
plaid twisted scientifically about his shoulders.
JOHN HELLISH. 107
fle was a man of thirty years of age at least,
but having withal such a boyish exuberance
in his manner, such a youthful and innocent
joyousness in his face, that he might have been
a youngster of eighteen just let loose from some
public academy of the muscular Christianity
school. I tliink the Eev. Charles Kingsley would
have delighted in this big, hearty, broad-chested
young Englishman, with brown hau' brushed
away from an open forehead, and a thick auburn
moustache bordering a mouth for ever ready to
expand into a laugh. Such a laugh, too ! such a
hearty and sonorous peal, that the people on the
Parade tm-ned round to look at the owner of those
sturdy lungs, and smiled good-natm-edly for very
sympathy with his honest merriment.
Talbot Bui strode would have given a hundred
pounds to get rid of the noisy Yorkshireman.
What business had he at Brighton? Wasn't
the biggest county in England big enough to
hold him, that he must needs bring his north-
country bluster to Sussex, for the annoyance of
Talbot's friends ?
Captain Bulstrode was not any better pleased
when, strolling a little further on, the party met
108 AURORA FLOYD.
with. Archibald rioyd, who liad come out to look
for his daughter. The old man begged to be
introduced to Mv. Mellish, and invited the honest
Yorkshii-eman to dine at the East Cliff that very
evening, much to the aggravation of Talbot, who
fell sulkily back, and allowed John to make the
acquaintance of the ladies. The familiar brute
ingratiated himself into their good graces in about
ten minutes ; and by the time they reached the
banker's house was more at his ease with Aurora
than Avas the heir of Bulstrode after two months'
acquaintance. He accompanied them to the door-
step, shook hands with the ladies and Mr. Floyd,
patted the mastiff Bow-wow, gave Talbot a playful
sledge-hammer-like slap upon the shoulder, and
ran back to the Bedford to dress for dinner. His
spirits were so high that he knocked over little
boys and tumbled against fashionable young men,
Vt^ho drew themselves up in stiff amazement as the
big fellow dashed past them. He sang a scrap of
a hunting-song as he ran up the great staircase to
his eyrie at the Bedford, and chattered to liis
valet as he dressed. He seemed a creature especi-
ally created to be prosperous; to be the owner
and dispenser of wealth, the distributor of good
JOHN' MELLISH. 109
things. People who were strangers to him ran
after and served him on speculation, knowing
instinctively that they would get ample reward
for then- trouble. Waiters in a coffee-room de-
serted other tables to attend upon that at which
he was seated. Box-keepers would leave parties
of six shivering in the dreary corridors while they
found a seat for John Mellish. ]\Iendicants picked
him out from the crowd in a busy thoroughfare,
and hung about him, and would not be driven
away without a dole from the pocket of his roomy
waistcoat. He was always spending his money
for the convenience of other people. He had au
army of old servants at MolHsh Park, who adored
him and tyrannized over him after the manner of
their kind. His stables were crowded with horses
that were lame, or wall-eyed, or otherwise dis-
qualified for service, but that lived on his bounty
like a set of jolly equme paupers, and consumed
as much corn as would have supplied a racing
stud. He was perpetually paying for things he
neither ordered nor had, and was for ever beino-
cheated by the dear honest creatures about him,
who, for all they did their best to ruin him, would
have gone through typical fire and water to serve
110 AURORA FLOYD
liim, and would have clung to him, and worked for
him, and supported him out of those very savings
for Avliich they had robbed him, when the ruin
came. If " Muster John " had a headache, every
creature in that disorderly household was unhappy
and uneasy till the ailment was cured ; every lad
in the stables, every servant-maid in the house,
was eager that his or her remedy should be tried
for his restoration. If you had said at Mellish
Park that John's fair face and broad shoulders
were not the highest forms of manly beauty and
grace, you would have been set down as a creature
devoid of all taste or judgment. To the mind of
that household, John Mellish in " pink " and pipe-
clayed tops was more beautiful than the Apollo
Belvidere, whose bronze image in little adorned a
niche in the hall. If you had told them that
fourteen-stone weight was not indispensable to
manly perfection, or that it was possible there
were more lofty accomplishments than driving
unicorn or shooting forty-seven head of game in
a morning, or pulling the bay mare's shoulder into
joint that time she got a sprain in the hunting-
field, or vanquishing Joe Millings, the East
Eiding smasher, without so much as losing breath.
JOHN MELLISH. Ill
those simple-hearted Yorkshire servants would
liave fairly laughed ia your face. Talbot Bul-
strode complained that everybody respected him,
and nobody loved him. John Mellish might have
uttered the reverse of this complaint, had he been
so minded. WHio could help lovmg the honest,
generous squii-e, whose house and purse were open
to all the country-side ? Who could feel any
chilling amount of respect for the friendly and
familiar master who sat upon the table in the big
kitchen at MeUish Park, with his dogs and
servants round him, and gave them the history
of the day's adventures in the hunting-field, till
the old blind fox-hound at his feet lifted his big
head and set up a feeble music ? No ; John
Mellish was -well content to be beloved, and
never questioned the quality of the affection
bestowed upon him. To him it was all the
purest virgin gold ; and you might have talked
to him for twelve hours at a sitting without con-
vincing him that men and women were vile and
mercenary creatures, and that if his servants, and
his tenantry, and the poor about his estate, loved
him, it was for the sake of the temporal benefits they
received of him. He was as unsuspicious as a
child, who believes that the fairies in a pantomime
112 AURORA FLOYD.
are fairies for ever and ever, and that the harlequin
is born in patches and a mask. Jle was as open to
flattery as a school-girl who distributes the con-
tents of her hamper among a circle of toadies.
When people told him he was a fine fellow, he
believed them, and agreed with them, and thought
that tlie world was altogether a hearty, honest
place, and that everybody was a fine fellow.
Never having an arriere pensee himself, he looked
for none in the Mords of other people, but thought
that every one blurted out their real opinions, and
offended or pleased their fellows, as frankly and
blunderingly as himself. If he had been a
vicious young man, he would no doubt have gone
altogether to the bad, and fallen among thieves.
But being blest with a nature that was inherently
pure and innocent, his greatest folHes were no
worse than those of a big school-boy who errs
from very exuberance of spirit. He had lost his
mother in the first year of his infancy, and his
father had died some time before Ms majority ; so
there had been none to restrain his actions, and it
was something at thii-ty years of age to be able to
look back upon a stainless boyhood and youth,
which might have been befouled with the sUme
of the gutters, and infected with the odour of
JOHN MELLISH. 113
villauous haunts. Had he not reason to be proud
of this ?
Is there anything, after all, so grand as a pure
and unsullied life a fair picture, with no ugly
shadows lurking in the background a smooth
poem, with no crooked, halting line to mar the
verse a noble book, with no unholy page a
simple story, such as om- children may read?
Can any greatness be greater ? can any nobility be
more truly noble ? "NATien a whole nation mourned
with one voice but a few months since ; when we
drew down om* blinds and shut out the dull light
of the December day, and listened sadly to the ir
booming of the guns ; when the poorest put aside
their work-a-day troubles to weep for a widowed
Queen and orphaned chikben in a desolate palace ;
when rough omnibus-drivers forgot to blaspheme
at each other, and tied decent scraps of crape upon
their whips, and went sorrowfully about their com-
mon business, thinking of that great sorrow at
Windsor, the words that rose simultaneously to
every lip dwelt most upon the spotless character of
him who was lost ; the tender husband, the watchful
father, the kindly master, the liberal patron, the
temperate adviser, the stainless gentleman.
VOL. I. I
114 AUKORA FLOYD.
It is many years since England mourned for
another royal personage wIlo was called a " gentle-
man." A gentleman who played practical jokes,
and held infamous orgies, and persecuted a wretched
foreign woman, whose chief sin and misfortune it
was to be his wife ; a gentleman who cut out his
own nether garments, and left the companion of
his gayest revels, the genius whose brightness had
flung a spurious lustre upon the dreary saturnalia
of vice, to die destitute and despairing. Surely
there is some hope that we have changed for the
better within the last thirty years, inasmuch as we
attach a new meaning to-day to this simple title
of " gentleman." I take some pride, therefore,
in the two young men of whom I write, for tlie
simple reason that I have no dark patches to gloss
over in the history of either of them. I may fail
in making you like them ; but I can promise that
you shall have no cause to be ashamed of them.
Talbot Bulstrode may offend you with his sulky
pride; John Mellish may simply impress you as
a blundering countrified ignoramus ; but neither
of them shall ever shock you by an ugly word or
an unholy thought.
115
CHAPTER VI.
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED.
The dinner-party at Mr. Floyd's was a very merry
one ; and when John Mellish and Talbot Bulstrode
left the East Cliff to walk westward, at eleven
o'clock at night, the Yorkshireman told his friend
that he had never enjoyed himself so much in his
life. This declaration must, however, be taken
with some reserve ; for it was one which John was
in the habit of making about three times a week :
but he really had been very happy in the society
of the banker's family ; and, what was more, he
was ready to adore Aiu-ora Floyd without any
further preparation whatever.
A few bright smiles and sparkling glances, a
little animated conversation about the hunting-field
and the race-course, combined with half a dozen
glasses of those effervescent wines which Archibald
Floyd imported from the fan- Moselle country, had
I 2
116 AURORA FLOYD.
been quite enough to turn the head of John Hel-
lish, and to cause him to hold wildly forth in the
moonlight upon the merits of the beautiful heiress,
" I verily believe I shall die a bachelor, Talbot,"
-lie said, " unless I can get that girl to marry me.
I've only known her half a dozen hours, and I'm
^head-over-heels in love with her already. What
-is it that has knocked me over like this, Bulstrode ?
Tve seen other girls with black eyes and hair,
and she knows no more of horses than half the
women in Yorkshire ; so it isn't that. What is
it, then, hey?"
He came to a full stop against a lamp-post, and
stared fiercely at his friend as he asked this ques-
tion.
Talbot gnashed his teeth in silence.
It was no use battling with his fate, then, he
thought ; the fascination of this woman had the
same effect upon others as upon himself; and
while he was arguing with, and protestmg against,
liis passion, some brainless fellow, like tliis Mellish,
would step in and win the prize.
He wished his friend good night upon the steps
of the Old Ship Hotel, and walked straight to his
room, where he sat with his window open to the
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 117
mild November niglit, staring out at the moon-lit
sea. He determined to propose to Aurora Floyd
before twelve o'clock the next day.
Why should he hesitate ?
He had asked himself that question a hundred
times before, and had always been unable to
answer it ; and yet lie had hesitated. He could
not dispossess himself of a vague idea that there
was some mystery in this girl's life ; some secret
known only to herself and her father ; some one
spot upon the history of the past which cast a
shadow on the present. And yet, how could that
be ? How could that be, he asked himself, when
her whole life only amounted to nineteen years,
and he had heard the history of those years over
and over again? How often he had artfully led
Lucy to tell him the simple story of her cousin's
girlhood ! The governesses and masters that had
come and gone at Felden Woods. The ponies
and dogs, and puppies and kittens, and petted
foals ; the little scarlet riding-habit that had been
made for the heiress, when she rode after the
hounds with her cousin Andrew Floyd. The
worst blots that the officer could discover in those
early years were a few broken china vases, and a
118 AUEORA FLOYD.
great deal of ink spilt over badly-written French
exercises. And after being educated at home
until she was nearly eighteen, Aurora had been
transferred to a Parisian finishing-school ; and
that was all. Her life had been the every-day
life of other girls of her own position, and she
dififered from them only in being a great deal
more fascinating, and a httle more wilful, than
the majority.
Talbot laughed at himseK for his doubts and
hesitations. "What a suspicious brute I must
be," he said, " when I imagine I have fallen upon
the clue to some mystery simply because there is
a mournful tenderness in the old man's voice
when he speaks to his only child! If I were
sixty-seven years of age, and had such a daughter
as Aurora, would there not always be a shuddering
terror mingled with my love, a horrible dread
that something would happen to take her away
from me? I will propose to Miss Floyd to-
morrow."
Had Talbot been thoroughly candid with him-
self, he would perhaps have added, " Or John
Mellish will make her an offer the day after."
Captain Bulstrode presented himself at the
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 119
house on the East Cliff some time before noon on
the next day ; but he found Mr. Mellish on the
door-step, talking to Miss Floyd's groom and in-
specting the horses, which were waiting for the
young ladies ; for the young ladies were going to
ride, and John Mellish was going to ride with
them.
"But if you'll join us, Bulstrode," the York-
shireman said, good-natm-edly, " you can ride the
gray I spoke of yesterday. Saunders shall go
back and fetch him."
Talbot rejected this offer rather sulkily. " I've
my own horses here, thank you," he answered.
" But if you'll let your groom ride down to the
stables and tell my man to bring them up, I shall
be obliged to you."
After which condescending request Captain
Bulstrode turned his back upon his friend, crossed
the road, and folding his arms upon the railings,
stared resolutely at the sea. But in five minutes
more the ladies appeared upon the door-step, and
Talbot, turning at the sound of their voices, was
fain to cross the road once more for the chance of
taking Aurora's foot in his hand as she sprang
into her saddle ; but John Mellish was before him
120 AUKORA FLOYD.
again, and Miss Floyd's mare was curveting under
the toueli of her light hand before the captain
could interfere. He allowed the groom to attend
to Lucy, and, mounting as quickly as his stiff leg
would allow him, he prepared to take his place by
Aurora's side. Again he was too late ; Miss Floyd
had cantered down the hill attended by Mellish,
and it was impossible for Talbot to leave poor
Lucy, who was a timid horsewoman.
The captain never admired Lucy so little as on
horseback. His pale saint with the halo of golden
hair seemed to him sadly out of place in a side-
saddle. He looked back at the day of his morning
visit to Felden, and remembered how he had
admired her, and how exactly she corresponded
with liis ideal, and how determined he was to
be bewitched by her rather than by Aurora. " K
she had fallen in love with me," he thought, *' I
would have snapped my fingers at the black-
browed heiress, and manied this fair-haired angel
out of hand. I meant to do that when I sold my
commission. It was not for Aurora's sake I left
the army, it was not Aurora whom I followed
down here. Which did I follow? What did I
follow, I wonder ? My destiny, I suppose, which
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 121
is leading me through snch a witch's dance as
I never thought to tread at the sober age of three-
and-thirty. If Lucy had only loved me, it might
have been all different."
He was so angry with himself, that he was half
inclined to be angry with poor Lucy for not extri-
cating him from the snares of Aurora. If he
could have read that innocent heart, as he rode in
sulky silence across the stunted turf on the wide
downs ! If he could have known the slow sick
pain in that gentle breast, as the quiet gu-ll^y his
side liftedjier blue eyes every now and then to
steal a glance at his hard profile and moody brow !
If he could have read her secret later, when,
talking of Aurora, he for the first time clearly
betrayed the mystery of his own heart ! If he
could have known how the landscape gi-ew dim
before her eyes, and how the brown moorland
reeled beneath her horse's hoofs until they seemed
going down, down, down into some fathomless
depth of sorrow and despair ! But he knew
nothing of this ; and he thought Lucy Floyd a
pretty, inanimate girl, who would no doubt be
delighted to wear a becoming dress as bridesmaid
at her cousin's wedding".
122 AUROKA FLOYD.
There was to be a dinner-party that evening
upon the East Cliff, to which both John Mellish
and Talbot were invited ; and the captain savagely-
determined to bring matters to an issue before
the night was out.
Talbot Ealeigh Bulstrode would have been very-
angry with you, had you watched him too closely
that evening as he fastened the golden solitaire
in his narrow cravat before his looldng-glass in
the bow-window at the Old Ship. He was
ashamed of himself for being causelessly savage
with his valet, whom he dismissed abruptly before
he began to dress ; and had not the courage to call
the man back again when his own hot hands
refused to do their office. He spilt half a bottle-
ful of perfume upon his varnished boots, and
.smeared his face with a scented waxy compound
bought of Monsieur Eugene 'Eimmel, which
promised to lisser sans graisser his moustache.
He broke one of the crystal-boxes in his dress-
ing-case, and put the bits of broken glass in
his waistcoat-pocket from sheer absence of mind.
He underwent semi-strangulation with the unbend-
ing circular collar in which, as a gentleman, it
was his duty to invest himseK; and he could
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 123
have beaten the ivory backs of liis bruslies upon
his head in blind execration of that short, stubborn
black hau', which only curled at the other ends ;
and when at last he emerged from his room, it
was with a spiteful sensation that every waiter in
the place knew his secret, and had a perfect
knowledge of every emotion in his breast, and
that the very Newfoundland dog lying on the
door-step had an inkling of the truth, as he lifted
np his big head to look at the captain, and then
dropped it again with a contemptuously lazy yawn.
Captain Bulstrode offered a handful of broken
glass to the man who drove him to the East Cliff,
and then confusedly substituted about fifteen
shillings worth of silver coin for that abnormal
species of payment. There must have been two
or three earthquakes and an eclipse or so going on
in some part of the globe, he thought, for this jog-
trot planet seemed all tumult and confusion to
Talbot Bulstrode. The world was all Brighton,
and Brighton was all blue moonlight, and steel-
coloured sea, and glancing, dazzhng gas-light, and
hare-soup and cod and oysters, and Aurora Floyd.
Yes, Am-ora Floyd, who wore a white silk dress,
and a thick chclet of dull gold upon her hair,
124 AURORA FLOYD.
who look more like Cleopatra to-niglit than
ever, and who suffered Mr. John Mellish to take
her down to dinner. How Talbot hated the York-
shireman's big fair face, and blue eyes, and white
teeth, as he watched the two young people across
a phalanx of glass and silver, and flowers and
wax-candles, and pickles, and other Fortnum-and-
Mason ware! Here was a golden opportunity
lost, thought the discontented captain, forgetful
that he could scarcely have proposed to Miss
Floyd at the dinner-table, amidst the jingle of
glasses and popping of corks, and with a big
powdered footman charging at him with a side-
dish or a sauce-tureen while he put the fatal
question. The desired moment came a few hours
afterwards, and Talbot had no longer any excuse
for delay.
The November evening was mild, and the three
windows in the drawing-room were open from
floor to ceiling. It was pleasant to look out from
the hot gas-light upon that wide sweep of moon-
lit ocean, with a white sail glimmering here and
there agamst the purple night. Captain Bulstrode
sat near one of the open windows, watching that
tranquil scene, witli, I fear, very little appreciation
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 125
of its beauty. He was wishing that the people
would drop off and leave him alone with Aurora.
It was close upon eleven o'clock, and liigh time
they went. John Mellish would of course insist
upon waiting for Talbot; this was what a man
had to endure on account of some old school-boy
acquaintance. All Eugby might tiu-n up against
liim in a day or two, and dispute with him for
Aurora's smiles. But John Mellish was engaged
in a very animated conversation with Archibald
Floyd, having contrived ^vith consummate artifice
to ingratiate himself in the old man's favom*, and
the visitors having one by one dropped off, Aurora,
with a listless yawn that she took little pains to
conceal, strolled out on to the broad iron balcony.
Lucy was sitting at a table at the other end of the
room, looking at a book of beauty. Oh, my poor
Lucy ! how much did you see of the Honourable
Miss Brownsmith's high forehead and Koman
nose ? Did not that young lady's handsome face
stare up at you dimly through a blinding mist of
tears that you were a great deal too well educated
to shed ? The chance had come at last. If life
had been a Haymarket comedy, and the entrances
and exits arranged by Mr. Buckstone himself, it
126 AUEOEA FLOYD.
could have fallen out no better than this. Talbot
Bulstrode followed Aurora on to the balcony;
John Mellish went on with his story about the
Beverley foxhounds ; and Lucy, holding her breath
at the other end of the room, knew as well
what was going to happen as the captain him-
self.
Is not life altogether a long comedy, with Fate
for the stage-manager, and Passion, Inclination,
Love, Hate, Kevenge, Ambition, and Avarice by
turns in the prompter's box ? A tiresome comedy
sometimes, with di-eary, talkee-talkee front scenes
which come to nothing, but only serve to make
the audience more impatient as they wait while
the stage is set and the great people change
their dresses ; or a " sensation " comedy, with
unlooked-for tableaux and unexpected denoue-
ments; but a comedy to the end of the chapter,
for the sorrows which seem tragic to us are very
funny when seen from the other side of the foot-
lights ; and our friends in the pit are as much
amused with our trumpery griefs as the Hay-
market Jiabitues when Mr. Box finds his gridiron
empty, or Mr. Cox misses his rasher. What can
be funnier than other people's anguish ? Why do
EEJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 127
we enjoy Mr. Maddison Morton's farces, and laugh
till the tears run down our cheek at the comedian
who enacts them? Because there is scarcely a
farce upon the British stage which is not, from'
the rising to the dropping of the curtain, a record
of human anguish and undeserved misery. Yes,
undeserved and unnecessary torture there is the
special charm of the entertainment. If the man
who was weak enough to send his wife to Cam-
berwell had crushed a baby behind a chest of
drawers, his sufferings wouldn't be haK so delight-
ful to an intellectual audience. If the gentleman
who became embroiled with his laundress had
murdered the yoimg lady in the green boots,
where would be the fun of that old Adelphi farce
in which poor Wright was wont to delight us?
And so it is with our friends on the other side of
the footlights, who enjoy our troubles all the more
because we have not always deserved them, and
whose sorrows we shall gloat over by-and-by,
when the beU for the next piece begins, and it is
their turn to go on and act.
Talbot Bulstrode went out on to the balcony, and
the earth stood still for ten minutes or so, and
every steel-blue star in the sky glared watchfully
128 AURORA FLOYD.
down upon the young man in this the supreme
crisis of his life.
Am-ora was leaning against a slender iron
pilaster, looking aslant into the town and across
the town to the sea. She was wrapped in an
opera cloak; no stiff, embroidered, yomig-lady-
fied garment ; but a voluminous drapery of soft
scarlet woollen stuff, such as Semiramide herself
might have worn. " She looks like Semiramide,"
Talbot thought. "Hoav did this Scotch banker
and his Lancashire wife come to have an Assyrian
for then- daughter ?"
He began brilliantly, this young man, as lovers
generally do.
" I am afraid you must have fatigued yourself
this evening, Miss Floyd," he remarked.
Aurora stifled a yawn as she answered him.
" I am rather tired," she said.
It wasn't very encouraging. How Avas he to
begin an eloquent speech, when she might fall
asleep in the middle of it? But he did; he
dashed at once into the heart of his subject, and
he told her how he loved her ; how he had done
battle with this passion, which had been too strong
for him ; how he loved her as he never thought
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 129
to love any creatm-e upon this eartli ; and liow lie
cast himself before her in all humility to take liis
sentence of life or death from her dear lips.
She was silent for some moments, her profile
sharply distinct to him in the moonlight, and
those dear lips trembling visibly. Then, with a
half-averted face, and in words that seemed to
come slowly and painfully from a stifled throat,
she gave him his answer.
That answer was a rejection!
Not a young lady's No, which means Yes to-
morrow ; or which means perhaps that you have
not been on yom* knees in a passion of despaii',
]ike Lord Edward Fitz-Morkysh in Miss Oderose's
last novel. Nothing of tliis kind; but a calm
negative, carefully and tersely worded, as if she
feared to mislead him by so much as one syllable
that could leave a looj)liole tlirough wliich hope
might creep into his heart. He was rejected.
For a moment it was quite as much as he could
do to believe it. He was inclined to imagine that
the signification of certain words had suddenly
changed, or that he had been in the habit of mis-
taking them all liis life, rather than that those
words meant this hard fact ; namely, that he,
VOL. I. K
130 AURORA FLOYD.
Talbot Ealeigli Biilstrode, of Bulstrode Castle,
and of Saxon extraction, had been rejected by the
daughter of a Lombard-Street banker.
He paused for an hour and a haK or so, as it
seemed to him in order to collect himself before
he spoke again.
"May I venture to inquire," he said, how
horribly commonplace the phrase seemed! he
could have used no worse had he been inquuing
for furnished lodgings, "may I ask if any prior
attachment to one more worthy "
" Oh, no, no, no !"
The answer came upon liim so suddenly, that
it almost startled him as much as her rejection.
" And yet your decision is irrevocable ?"
" Quite irrevocable."
" Forgive me if I am intrusive ; but but Mr.
Floyd may perhaps have formed some higher
views "
He was interrupted by a stifled sob as she
clasped her hands over her averted face.
" Higher views !" she said ; " poor dear old man !
no, no, indeed."
" It is scarcely strange that I bore you with
these questions. It is so hard to think that,
EEJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 131
meeting you with your affections disengaged, I have
yet been utterly unable to win one shadow of regard
upon which I might build a hope for the future.'
Poor Talbot ! Talbot, the splitter of meta-
physical straws and chopper of logic, talking of
building hopes on shadows, with a lover's delirious
stupidity.
" It is so hard to resign every thought of your
ever coming to alter your decision of to-night,
Aurora," he lingered on her name for a moment,
&st because it was so sweet to say it, and secondly,
in the hope that she would speak, " it is so hard
to remember the fabric of happiness I had dared to
build, and to lay it down here to-night for ever."
Talbot quite forgot that, up to the time of the
arrival of John Mellish, he had been perpetually
arguing against his passion, and had declared to
himself over and over again that he would be a
consummate fool if he was ever beguiled into
making Am'ora his wife. He reversed the parable
of the fox; for he had been inclined to make
faces at the grapes while he fancied them Avithin
his reach, and now that they were removed from
his gTasp, he thought that such delicious fruit had
never grown to tempt mankind.
K 2
132 AURORA FLOYD.
" If if," lie said, " my fate had been happier,
I know how proud my father, poor old Sir John,
would have been of his eldest son's choice."
How ashamed he felt of the meanness of this
speech ! The artful sentence had been constructed
in order to remind Am-ora whom she was refusing.
He was trying to bribe her with the baronetcy
which was to be his in due time. But she made
no answer to the pitiful appeal. Talbot was al-
most choked with mortification. " I see I see,"
he said, "that it is hopeless. Good night, Miss
JFloyd."
She did not even turn to look at him as he left
the balcony ; but with her red drapery wrapped
tightly round her, stood shivering in the moon-
light, with the silent tears slowly steaKug down
her cheeks.
"Higher views!" she cried bitterly, repeating
a phrase that Talbot used, " higher views ! (xod
help him !"
" I must wish you good-night and good-bye at
the same time," Captain Bulstrode said, as he
shook hands with Lucy.
"Good-bye?"
" Yes ; I leave Brighton early to-morrow."
EEJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 133
"So suddenly?"
" Why, not exactly suddenly. I always meant
to travel this winter. Can I do anytliing for you
at Cairo?"
He was so pale and cold and wretched-looking,
that she almost pitied him ^pitied him in spite of
the wild joy growing up in her heart. Aurora
had refused him it was perfectly clear refused
1dm I The soft blue eyes filled with tears at the
thought that a demigod should have endured such
humiKation. Talbot pressed her hand gently in
his own clammy palm. He could read pity in
that tender look, but possessed no lexicon by which
he could translate its deeper meaning.
" You will wish your uncle good-bye for me, Lucy,"
ho said. He called her Lucy for the first time ;
but what did it matter now ? His great afiliction
set him apart from his fellow-men, and gave him
dismal privileges. "Good-night, Lucy; good-
night and good-bye. I I shall hope to see you
again in a year or two."
The pavement of the East Cliff seemed so
much air beneath Talbot Bulstrode's boots as he
strode back to the Old Ship ; for it is pecuKar
to us, in our moments of supreme trouble or joy.
134 AURORA FLOYD.
to lose all consciousness of the earth we tread, and
to float upon an atmosphere of subKme egotism.
But the captain did not leave Brighton the next
day on the first stage of his Egyptian journey.
He stayed at the fashionable watering-place ; but
he resolutely abjm-ed the neighbourhood of the
East Cliff, and, the day being wet, took a pleasant
walk to Shoreham through the rain ; and Shore-
ham being such a pretty place, he was no doubt
much enlivened by that exercise.
Ketm-ning through the fog at about fom' o'clock,
the captaia met Mr. John Mellish close against
the turnpike outside Cliftonville.
The two men stared aghast at each other.
" Why, where on earth are you going ?" asked
Talbot.
" Back to Yorkshire by the first train that leaves
Brighton."
" But tliis isn't the way to the station !"
" No ; but they're putting the horses in my
portmanteau, and my shirts are going by the
Leeds cattle-traia ; and "
Talbot Bulstrode burst into a loud laugh, a harsh
and bitter cachinnation, but affording wondrous
relief to that gentleman's overcharged breast.
REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 135
" Jolin Mellish," lie said, " you have been pro-
posing to Aurora Floyd."
The Yorkshireman turned scarlet. "It it
wasn't honourable of her to tell you," he stam-
mered.
"Miss Floyd has never breathed a word to me
upon the subject. I've just come from Shoreham,
and you've only lately left the East Cliff. You've
proposed, and you've been rejected."
" I have," roared John ; " and it's deuced hard
when I promised her she should keep a racing
stud if she liked, and enter as many colts as she
pleased for the Derby, and give her own orders to
the trainer, and I'd never interfere ; and and
Mellish Park is one. of the finest places in the
county ; and I'd have won her a bit of blue ribbon
to tie up her bonny black hair."
"That old Frenchman was right," muttered
Captain Bulstrode : " there is a great satisfaction
in the misfortime of others. If I go to my dentist,
I like to iind another wretch in the waiting-room ;
and I like to have my tooth extracted fii'st, and to
see him glare enviously at me as I come out of the
torture chamber, knowing that my troubles are
over, while his are to come. Good-bye, John Mel-
136 AURORA FLOYD.
lish, and God bless you. You're not such a bad
fellow after all."
Talbot felt almost cheerful as he walked back to
the Ship, and he took a mutton cutlet and tomata
sauce, and a pint of Moselle for his dinner : and
the food and wine warmed him ; and not having
slept a wink on the previous night, he fell into a
heavy indigestible slumber, with his head hang-
ing over the sofa-cushion, and dreamt that he was
at Grand Cairo (or at a place which would have
been that city had it not been now and then Bul-
strode Castle, and occasionally chambers in the
Albany) ; and that Aurora Floyd was with him,
clad in imperial purple, with hieroglyphics on the
hem of her robe, and wearing a clown's jacket of
white satin and scarlet spots, such as he had once
seen foremost in a great race. Captain Bui strode
arose early the next morning, with the full inten-
tion of departing from Sussex by the 8.45 express ;
but suddenly remembering that he had but poorly
acknowledged Archibald Floyd's cordiality, he de-
termined on sacrificing his inclinations on the
shrine of courtesy, and calling once more at the
East Cliff to take leave of the banker. Having
once resolved upon this line of action, the captain
' REJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 137
would faiu have hurried that moment to ]\Ir. Floyd's
house ; but finding that it was only half-past seven,
he was compelled to restrain his impatience and
await a more seasonable hour. Could he go at
nine? Scarcely. At ten? Yes, surely, as he
could then leave by the eleven o'clock train. He
sent his breakfast away untouched, and sat looking
at his watch in a mad hurry for the time to pass,
yet growing hot and uncomfortable as the hour
drew near.
At a quarter to ten he put on his hat and left
the hotel. Mr. Floyd was at home, the servant
told him upstairs in the little study, he thought.
Talbot waited for no more. "You need not
announce me," he said ; " I know where to find
your master."
The study was on the same floor as the drawing-
room ; and close against the di-aAving-room door
Talbot paused for a moment. The door was open ;
the room empty ; no, not empty : Aurora Floyd was
there, seated with her back towards him, and her
head leaning on the cushions of her chair. He-
stopped for another moment to admu-e the back
view of that small head with its crown of lustrous
raven hair, then took a step or two in the direction
138 AUROKA FLOYD.
of the banker's study ; then stopped again, then
turned back, went into the drawing-room, and shut
the door behind him.
She did not stir as he approached her, nor
answer when he stammered her name. Her face
was as white as the face of a dead woman, and her
nerveless hands hung over the cushions of the arm-
chair. A newspaper was lying at her feet. She
had quietly swooned away sitting there by her-
self, with no one by to restore her to conscious-
ness.
Talbot flung some flowers from a vase on the
table, and dashed the water over Aurora's fore-
head ; then wheeling her chair close to the open
window, he set her with her face to the wind. In
two or three moments she began to shiver vio-
lently, and soon afterwards oi^ened her eyes, and
looked at him ; as she did so, she put her hands to
her head, as if trying to remember something.
"Talbot!" she said, "Talbot!"
She called him by his Christian name, she who
five-and-thirty hours before had coldly forbidden
him to hope.
" Aurora," he cried, " Aurora, I thought I came
here to wish your father good-bye ; but 1 deceived
EEJECTED AND ACCEPTED. 139
myself. I came to ask you once more, and once
for all, if your decision of the night before last
was irrevocable."
" Heaven knows I thought it was when I uttered
it."
" But it was not ?"
" Do you wish me to revoke it ?"
"Do I wish? do I "
" Because if you really do, I will revoke it ; for
you are a brave and honourable man, Captain
Bulstrode, and I love you very dearly."
Heaven knows into what rhapsodies he might
have fallen, but she put up her hand, as much as
to say, "Forbear to-day, if you love me," and
hm-ried from the room. He had accepted the cup
of hang which the siren had offered, and had
drained the very di-egs thereof, and was drunken.
He dropped into the chair in which Am'ora had
sat, and, absent-minded in his joyful intoxication,
picked up the newspaper that had lain at her feet.
He shuddered in spite of himself as he looked at
the title of the journal ; it was ' Bell's Life.' A
dirty copy, crumpled, and beer-stained, and emit-
ting rank odours of inferior tobacco. It was
directed to Miss Floyd, in such sprawling penman-
140 AURORA FLOYD.
ship as might have disgraced the potboy of a
sporting public-house :
" Miss Floid,
fell dun wodes,
kent."
The noAVspaper had been redii*ected to Aurora
by the housekeeper at Felden. Talbot ran his eye
eagerly over the front page ; it was almost en-
tirely filled with advertisements (and such adver-
tisements !), but in one column there was an ac-
count headed, "Frightful Accident in Ger-
many : AN English Jockey killed."
Captain Bulstrode never knew why he read of
this accident. It was in no way interesting to him,
being an account of a steeple-chase in Prussia, in
which a heavy English rider and a crack French
horse had been killed. There was a great deal of
regret expressed for the loss of the horse, and none
for the man who had ridden him, who, the reporter
stated, was very little known in sporting circles ;
but in a paragraph lower doAvn was added this infor-
mation, evidently procured at the last moment:
" The jockey's name was Conyers."
141
CHAPTEE VII.
aueora's strange pensioner.
Archibald Floyd received the news of his
daughter's choice with evident pride and satisfac-
tion. It seemed as if some heavy burden had
been taken away, as if some cruel shadow had
been lifted from the lives of father and daughter.
The banker took his family back to Felden
Woods, with Talbot Bulstrode in his train ; and
the chintz rooms pretty, cheerful chambers, with
bow-windows that looked across the well-kept
stable-yard into long glades of oak and beech
were prepared for the ex-hussar, who was to spend
his Christmas at Felden.
Mrs. Alexander and her husband were established
with lier family in the western wing; Mr. and
Mrs. Andrew were located at the eastern angle ;
for it was the hospitable custom of the old banker
142 AUKORA FLOYD.
to summon his kinsfolk about liim early in Decem-
ber, and to keep tbem with him till the bells of
picturesque Beckenham church had heralded in
the New Year.
Lucy Floyd's cheeks had lost much of their
delicate colour when she returned to Felden, and
it was pronounced, by all who observed the change,
that the air of the East Cliff, and the autumn winds
drifting across the bleak downs, had been too much
for the young lady's strength.
Aurora seemed to have burst forth into some
new and more glorious beauty since the morning
upon which she had accepted the hand of Talbot
Bulstrode. There was a proud defiance in her
manner, which became her better than gentleness
becomes far lovelier women. There was a haughty
insouciance about this young lady which gave new
brilliancy to her great black eyes, and new music
to her joyous laugh. She was like some beautiful
noisy, boisterous waterfall ; for ever dancing, rush-
ing, sparkling, scintillating, and utterly defying
you to do anything but admire it. Talbot Bul-
strode, having once abandoned himself to the spell
of the siren, made no further struggle, but fairly
fell into the pit-falls of her eyes, and was entangled
aueoea's strange pensioner. 143
in the meshy network of her blue-black hah-. The
greater the tension of the bow-string, the stronger
the rebound thereof ; and Talbot Bulstrode was as
weak to give way at last as he had long been
powerful to resist. I must Avrite his story in the
commonest words. He could not help it! He
loved her ; not because he thought her better, or
wiser, or lovelier, or more suited to him than many
other women, indeed he had grave doubts upon
every one of these points, but because it was his
destiny, and he loved her.
What is that hard word which M. Victor Hugo
puts into the mouth of the priest in ' The Hunch-
back of Notre Dame ' as an excuse for the darkness
of his sin ? 'ANATKH ! It was his fate ! So he
wrote to his mother, and told her that he had chosen
a wife, who was to sit in the halls of Bulstrode, and
whose name was to be interwoven with the chro-
nicles of the house ; told her, moreover, that Miss
Floyd was a banker's daughter, beautiful and fas-
cinating, with big black eyes, and fifty thousand
pounds for her dowry. Lady Kaleigh Bulstrode
answered her son's letter upon a quarter of a quii-e
of note-paper, filled with fearful motherly prayers
and suggestions ; anxious hopes that he had chosen
144 AUKORA FLOYD.
wisely; questionings as to the opinions and
religious principles of the young lady, much
indeed that Talbot would have been sorely puzzled
to answer. Enclosed in this was a letter to Aurora,
a womanly and tender epistle, in which pride Avas
tempered with love, and which brought big tears
welling up to Miss Floyd's eyes, until Lady Bul-
strode's firm penmanship grew blotted and blurred
beneath the reader's vision.
And wliither went poor slaughtered John Mellish ?
He returned to Mellish Park, carrying with him his
dogs, and horses, and grooms, and phaeton, and
paraphernalia ; but his gi'ief having unluckily
come upon him after the racing season was too
much for him, and he fled away from the roomy old
mansion, with its pleasant surroundings of park
and woodland ; for Aurora Floyd was not for him,
and it was all flat, stale, and unjDrofitable. So he
went to Paris, or Parry, as he called that imperial
city, and established himself in the biggest cham-
bers at Meurice's, and went backwards and forwards
between that establishment and Galignani's ten
times a day, in quest of the English papers. He
dined drearily at Vefour's, Philippe's, the Trois
Freres, the Maison Doree, and the Cafe de Paris.
aurora's strange pensioner. 145
His big voice was heard at every expensive dining
place in Paris, ordering " Toos hilly ar de mellyour :
vous savez ;" but he sent the daintiest dishes away
untasted, and would sit for a quarter of an hour
counting the toothpicks in the tiny blue vases, and
thinking of Aurora. He rode dismally in the Bois
de Boulogne, and sat shivering in cafes chantants,
listening to songs that always seemed set to the
same melody. He haunted the circuses, and was
wellnigh in love with a fair manege rider, who had
black eyes, and reminded him of Aurora ; till,
upon buying the most powerful opera-glass that
the Eue de Rivoli could aflbrd, he discovered that
the lady's face was an inch deep in a certain white
wash called blanc rosati, and that the chief glory
of her eyes were the rings of Indian ink which
sm-rounded them. He could have dashed that
double-barrelled truth-revealer to the ground, and
trodden the lenses to powder with his heel, in his
passion of despair : better to have been for ever
deceived, to have gone on believing that woman
to be like Aurora, and to have gone to that cii-cus
every night until his hair grew white, but not with
age, and until he pined away and died.
The party at Felden Woods was a very joyous
VOL. I. L
146 AURORA FLOYD.
one. The voices of cliilch-en made the house
pleasant ; noisy lads from Eton and Westminster
clambered about the balustrades of the staircases,
and played battledore-and-shuttlecock upon the
long stone terrace. These young people were all
cousins to Am-ora Floyd, and loved the banker's
daughter with a childish worship, which mild Lucy
could never insphe. It was pleasant to Talbot
Bulstrode to see that wherever his future wife trod,
love and admiration waited upon her footsteps.
He was not singular in his passion for this glorious
creature, and it could be, after all, no such terrible
foUy to love one who was beloved by all who knew
her. So the proud Cornishman was happy, and
gave himself up to his happiness without further
protest.
Did Aurora love him ? Did she make him due
return for the passionate devotion, the blind adora-
tion ? She admired and esteemed him ; she was
proud of him proud of that very pride in his
nature which made him so different to lierself ; and
she was too impulsive and truthful a creatm-e to
keep this sentiment a secret from her lover. She
revealed, too, a constant desire to please her be-
trothed husband, suppressing at least ail outward
aukora's strange pensioner. 147
token of the tastes that were so unpleasant to him.
No more copies of ' Bell's Life ' littered the ladies'
morning-room at Felden ; and when Andrew
Floyd asked Am-ora to ride to meet with him, his
cousin refused the offer which would once have
been so welcome. Instead of following the Croy-
don hounds, Miss Floyd was content to drive Tal-
bot and Lucy in a basket-carriage through the
frost-bespangled country-side. Lucy was always
the companion and confidante of the lovers ; it was
hard for her to hear their happy talk of the bright
future stretching far away before them stretching
down, down the shadowy aisles of Time, to an es-
cutcheoned tomb at Bulstrode, where husband and
wife would lie down, full of years and honours, in
the days to come. It was hard to have to help
them plan a thousand schemes of pleasure, in which
Heaven pity her ! she was to join. But she
bore her cross meekly, this pale Elaine of modern
days ; and she never told Talbot Bulstrode that she
hadigone mad and loved him, and was fain to die.
Talbot and Aurora were both concerned to see
the pale cheeks of their gentle companion ; but
everybody M^as ready to ascribe them to a cold, or
& cough, or constitutional debility, or some other
L 2
148 AURORA FLOYD.
bodily evil, wliicli was to be cm*ed by drugs and
boluses ; and no one for a moment imagined that
anything could possibly be amiss with a young
lady who lived in a luxurious house, Avent shopping
in a carriage and pair, and had more pocket-money
than she cared to spend. But the Lily Maid of
Astolat lived in a lordly castle, and had doubtless
ample pocket-money to buy gorgeous silks for her
embroidery, and had little on earth to wish for,
and nothing to do ; whereby she fell sick for love
of Sir Lancelot, and pined and died. .
Surely the secret of many sorrows lies in this.
How many a grief has been bred of idleness and
leisure ! How many a Spartan youth has nursed
a bosom-devouring fox for very lack of better em-
ployment ! Do the gentlemen who write the
leaders in our daily journals ever die of grief?
Do the barristers whose names appear in almost
every case reported in those journals go mad for
love unrequited ? Did the Lady with the lamp
cherish any foolish passion in those days and sights
of ceaseless toil, in those long watches of jDatient
devotion far away in the East ? Do the curates of
over-crowded parishes, the chaplains of gaols and
convict-ships, the great medical attendants in the
aurora's strange pensioner. 149
wards of hospitals do tbey make for themselves
the griefs that kill ? Sm-ely not. With the busiest
of us there may be some holy moments, some sacred
hour snatched from the noise and confasion of the
revolving wheel of Life's machinery, and offered
up as a sacrifice to sorrow and care ; but the in-
terval is brief, and the great wheel rolls on, and
we have no time to pine or die.
So Lucy Floyd, having nothing better to do,
nm-sed and made much of her hopeless passion.
She set up an altar for the skeleton, and worshipped
at the shrine of her grief; and when people told
her of her pale face, and the family doctor won-
dered at the failure of his quinine mixture, per-
haps she nourished a vague hope that before the
spring-time came back again, bringing with it the
wedding-day of Talbot and Am-ora, she would have
escaped from all this demonstrative love and hap-
piness, and be at rest.
Am-ora answered Lady Kaleigh Bulstrode's
letter with an epistle expressive of such gratitude
and humihty, such earnest hope of winning the
love of Talbot's mother, mmgied with a dim fear-
fulness of never being worthy of that affection, as
won the Cornish lady's regard for her futm-e daugh-
150 AURORA FLOYD.
ter. It was difficult to associate the impetuous
girl with that letter, and Lady Bulstrode made an
image of the writer that very much differed from
the fearless and dashing original. She wrote Au-
rora a second letter, more affectionately worded
than the first, ,and promised the motherless girl
a daughter's welcome at Bulstrode.
" Will she ever let me caU her ' mother,' Tal-
bot ?" Aurora asked, as she read Lady Bulstrode's
second letter, to her lover. " She is very proud, is
aha not? proud of your ancient descent? My
fether comes from a Glasgow mercantile family,
and I do not even know anything about my
mother's relations."
Talbot answered her with a grave smile.
"She will accept you for your native worth,
dearest Aurora," he said, " and will ask no foolish
questions about the pedigree of such a man as
Archibald Floyd ; a man whom the proudest aristo-
crat in England might be glad to call his father-
in-law. She will reverence my Aurora's transpa-
rent soul and candid nature, and will bless me for
the choice I have made."
" I shall love her very dearly if she will only let
me. Should I have ever cared about horse-racing.
auroka's strange pensioner. 151
and read sporting-papers, if I could have called a
good woman ' mother ?' "
She seemed to ask this question rather of her-
self than of Talbot,
Complete as was Archibald Floyd's satisfaction
at his daughter's disposal of her heart, the old man
could not calmly contemplate a separation from
this idolized daughter ; so Am-ora told Talbot that
she could never take up her abode in Cornwall
during her father's Lifetime; and it was finally
arranged that the young couple were to spend
half the year in London, and the other half at Fel-
den Woods. What need had the lonely widower
of that roomy mansion, with its long pictm^e-gal-
lery and snug suites of apartments, each of them
large enough to accommodate a small family?
What need had one solitary old man of that re-
tinue of servants, the costly stud in the stables,
the new-fangled vehicles in the coach-houses, the
hot-house flowers, the pines and grapes and peaches,
cultivated by three Scottish gardeners? What
need had he of these things ? He lived princi-
pally in the study ia which he had once had a
stormy interview with his only child ; the study in
which hung the crayon portrait of Eliza Floyd :
152 AURORA FLOYD.
the room whicli contained an old-fashioned desk
he had bought for a guinea in his boyhood, and in
which there were certain letters written by a
hand that was dead, some tresses of purple-black
hair cut from the head of a corpse, and a paste-
board ticket, printed at a little town in Lancashire,
calling upon the friends and patrons of Miss Eliza
Percival to come to the theatre, for her especial
benefit, upon the night of August 20, 1837.
It was decided, therefore, that Felden Woods
was to be the country residence of Talbot and
Aurora, till such time as the young man should
succeed to the baronetcy and Bulstrode Castle,
and be required to live upon his estate. In the
mean time the ex-hussar was to go into Parliament,
if the electors of a certain little borough in Corn-
wall, which had always sent a Bulstrode to West-
minster, should be pleased to return him.
The marriage was to take place early in IMay,
and the honeymoon was to be spent in Switzerland
and at Bulstrode Castle. Mrs, Walter Powell
thought that her doom was sealed, and that she
would have to quit those pleasant pastures after
the wedding-day ; but Aiu-ora speedily set the
mind of the ensign's widow at rest by telling her
aukora's strange pensioner. 153
that as she, Miss Floyd, was utterly ignorant
of housekeeping, she would be happy to retain her
services after marriage as guide and adviser in
such matters.
The poor about Beckenham were not forgotten
in Aurora Floyd's morning drives with Lucy and
Talbot. Parcels of grocery and bottles of wine
often lurked beneath the crimson-lined leopard-
skin carriage-rug ; and it was no uncommon thing
for Talbot to fmd himself making a footstool of a
liuge loaf of bread. The poor were very hungry
in that bright December weather, and had all
manner of complaints, which, however otherwise
dissimilar, were all to be benefited by one esj)ecial
treatment; namely, half-sovereigns, old brown
sherry, French brandy, and gunpowder tea. Wlie-
ther the daughter was dying of consumption, or
the father laid up with the rheumatics, or the
husband in a raging fever, or the youngest boy
recovering from a fall into a copper of boiling
water, the above-named remedies seemed alike
necessary, and were far more popular than the
chicken-broths and cooling fever-drinks prepared
by the Felden cook. It pleased Talbot to see his
betrothed dispensing good tilings to the eager
154 AURORA FLOYD.
recipients of her bounty. It pleased liim to think
how even his mother must have admired tliis high-
spu'ited girl, content to sit do^vn in close cottage
chambers and talk to rheumatic old women. Lucy-
distributed little parcels of tracts prepared by
Mrs. Alexander, and flannel garments made by
her own white hands ; but Aurora gave the half-
sovereigns and the old sherry ; and I'm afraid
these simple cottagers liked the heiress best;
although they were wise enough and just enough
to know that each lady gave according to her
means.
It was in returning from a round of these
charitable visits that an adventure befel the
little party, which was by no means pleasing to
Captain Bulstrode.
Am'ora had driven further than usual, and it was
striking fom- as her ponies dashed past Becken-
ham chm-ch and down the hill towards Felden
Woods. The afternoon was cold and cheerless ;
light flakes of snow drifted across the hard road,
and hung here and there upon the leafless hedges,
and there was that inky blackness in the sky
which presages a heavy fall. The woman at the
lodge ran out with her apron over her head to
aueora's strange pensioner. 155
open the gates as JMiss Floyd's ponies approaclied,
and at the same moment a man rose from a bank
by the roadside, and came close up ^ to the little
carriage.
He was a broad-shouldered, stout-built fellow,
wearing a shabby velveteen cut-away coat, slashed
about with abnormal pockets, and white and greasy
at the seams and elbows. His chin was muffled
in two or three yards of dirty woollen comforter,
after the fashion of his kind ; and the band of his
low-crowned felt hat was ornamented with a short
clay pipe, coloured of a respectable blackness.
A dingy white dog, with a brass-collar, bow legs,
a short nose, blood-shot eyes, one ear, a hanging
jaw, and a generally supercilious expression of
countenance, rose from the bank at the same
moment with his master, and gi'owled ominously at
the elegant vehicle and the mastiff Bow-wow
trotting by its side.
The stranger was the same individual who had
accosted Miss Floyd in Cockspur Street three
months before.
I do not know whether Aurora recognized
this person ; but I know that she touched her
ponies' ears with the whip, and that the spirited
156 AURORA FLOYD.
animals had daslied past the man, and through the
gates of Felden, when he sprang forward, caught
at their heads, and stopped the light basket-
carriage, wliich rocked under the force of his
strong hand.
Talbot Bulstrode leapt from the vehicle, heed-
less of his stiff leg, and caught the man by the
collar.
" Let go that bridle !" he cried, lifting his cane ;
" how dare you stop this lady's ponies ?"
" Because I wanted to speak to her, that's why.
Let go o' my coat, will yer ?"
The dog made at Talbot's legs, but the young
man wlurled round his cane and inflicted such
cliastisement upon the snub nose of that animal
as sent him into temporary retirement, howling
dismally.
"You are an insolent scoundrel, and I've a
good mind to "
" Yer'd be hinserlent, p'raps, if yer was hungry,"
answered the man, with a pitiful whine, which Avas
meant to be conciliating. " Such weather as this
here's all very well for young swells such as you,
as has your dawgs and guns and 'untin' ; but the
winter's tryin' to a poor man's temper, when he's
aurora's strange pensioner. 157
industrious and willin', and can't get a stroke of
honest work to do, or a mouthful of vittals. I
only want to speak to the young lady ; she knows
me well enough."
" Which young lady ?"
" Miss Floyd ; the heiress."
They were standing a little way from the pony-
carriage. Aurora had risen from her seat and
flung the reins to Lucy ; she was looking towards
the two men, pale and breathless, doubtless ter-
rified for the result of the encounter.
Talbot released the man's collar, and went back
to Miss Floyd.
" Do you know this person, Aurora ?" he asked,
f "Yes."
" He is one of yom- old pensioners, I suppose ?"
" He is ; do not say anything more to him,
Talbot. His manner is rough, but he means no
harm. Stop with Lucy while I speak to him."
Eapid and impetuous in all her movements,
she sprang from the carriage and joined the man
beneath the bare branches of the trees before
Talbot could remonstrate.
The dog, which had crawled slowly back to his
master's side, fawned upon her as she approached,
158 xYUEORA FLOYD.
and was driven away by a fierce growl from Bow-
wow, who was little likely to brook any such
vulgar rivalry.
The man removed his felt hat, and tugged
ceremoniously at a tuft of sandyish hair which
ornamented his low forehead.
" You might have spoken to a cove without all
this here row, Miss Floyd," he said, in an injured
tone.
Aurora looked at him indignantly.
" "Why did you stop me here ?" she said ; " why
couldn't you write to me ?"
" Because writin's never so much good as
speakin', and because such young ladies as you
are uncommon difficult to get at. How did I
know that your pa mightn't have put his hand
upon my letter, and there'd have been a pretty to
do ? though I dessay, as for that, if I was to go up
to the house, and ask the old gent for a trifle, he
wouldn't be back'ard in givin' it. I dessay he'd
be good for a fi'-pun note ; or a tenner, if it came
to that."
Am'ora's eyes flashed sparks of fire as she
turned upon the speaker. " If ever you dare to
annoy my father you shall pay dearly for it,
aurora's strange pensioner. 159
JMattliew Harrison," she said ; " not that I fear
anything you can say, but I will not have him
annoyed ; I will not have him tormented. He
has borne enough, and suffered enough, Heaven
knows, without that. I will not have him harassed,
and his best and tenderest feelings made a market
of, by such as you. I will not !"
She stamped her foot upon the frosty ground as
she spoke. Talbot Bulstrode saw and wondered
at the gesture. He had half a mind to leave the
carriage and join Aurora and her petitioner ; but
the ponies were restless, and he knew that it
would not do to abandon the reins to poor timid
Lucy.
" You needn't take on so, Miss Floyd," an-
swered the man, whom Am'ora had addressed as
Matthew Harrison ; " I'm sure I want to make
things pleasant to all parties. All I ask is that
you'll act a little liberal to a cove wot's come down
in the world since you see him last. Lord, wot a
world it is for ups and downs ! If it had been the
summer season, I'd have had no needs to worrit
you ; but what's the good of standin' at the top of
Regent Street such weather as this with tarrier-
pups and such likes? Old ladies has no eye for
160 AUEORA FLOYD.
dawgs in the winter; and even the gents as
cares for rat-catching is gettin' uncommon scarce.
There aint 'nothink doui' on the turf whereby a
chap can make a honest penny ; nor won't be,
come the Craven Meetin'. I'd never have come
anigh you, miss, if I hadn't been hard up ; and I
know you'll act liberal."
" Act liberally !" cried Aurora. " Good heavens !
if every guinea I have, or ever hope to have,
could blot out the business that you trade upon,
I'd open my hands and let the money run through
them as freely as so much water."
"It was only good-natur'd of me to send you
that ere paper, though, miss, eh ?" said Mr.
Matthew Harrison, plucking a dry twig from the
tree nearest him, and chewing it for his delectation.
Am-ora and the man had walked slowly onward
as they spoke, and were by this time at some dis-
tance from the pony-carriage.
Talbot Bulstrode was in a fever of restless
impatience.
"Do you know this pensioner of your cousin's,
Lucy ?" he asked.
" No, I can't remember his face. I don't think
he belongs to Beckenham."
aurora's strange pensioner. IGl
" "VVliy, if I hadn't have sent you that ere * Life/
you wouldn't have know'd ; would you now ?" said
the man.
"No, no, perhaps not," answered Aurora. She
had taken her porte-nionnaie from her pocket, and
Mr. Harrison was furtively regarding the little
morocco receptacle with glistening eyes.
" You don't ask me about any of the par-
ticklars," he said.
*' No. What should I care to know of them ?"
" No, certently," answered the man, suppressing
a chuckle ; " you know enough, if it comes to that ;
and if you wanted to know any more, I couldn't
tell you ; for them few lines in the paper is all I
could ever get hold of about the business. But I
alius said it, and I alius will ; if a man as rides
up'ards of eleven stone "
It seemed as if he were in a fair way of rambling
on for ever so long, if Aurora had not checked him
by an impatient frown. Perhaps he stopped all
the more readily as she opened her purse at the
same moment, and he caught sight of the glitter-
ing sovereigns lurking between leaves of crimson
silk. He had no very acute sense of colour ; but
I am sure that he thought gold and crimson made
VOL. I. M
162 AUKORA FLOYD.
a pleasing contrast, as lie looked at the yellow coin
in Miss Floyd's porte-monnaie. She poured the
sovereigns into her own gloved palm, and then
dropped the golden shower into Mr. Harrison's
hands, which were hollowed into a species of
horny basin for the reception of her bounty. The
great trunk of an oak screened them from the
observation of Talbot and Lucy, as Aurora gave
the man this money.
" You have no claim on me," she said, stopping
him abru]3tly, as he began a declaration of liis
gratitude, ".and I protest against your making a
market of any past events which have come under
your knowledge. Remember, once and for ever,
that I am not afraid of you ; and that if I consent
to assist you, it is because I will not have my
father annoyed. Let me have the address of some
place where a letter may always find you, you
can put it into an envelope and direct it to me
here, and from time to time I promise to send
you a moderate remittance ; sufficient to enable
you to lead an honest life, if you, or any of your
set, are capable of doing so ; but I repeat, that if
I give you this money as a bribe, it is only for my
father's sake."
Aurora's strange peksioker. 1G3
The man uttered some expression of thanks,
looking at Aurora earnestly ; but there was a
stern shadow upon the dark face that forbade any
hope of conciliation. She was tm-ning from him,
followed by the mastiff, when the bandy-legged
dog ran forward, whining and raising himself upon
his hind legs to lick her hand.
The expression of her face underwent an im-
mediate change. She shrank from the dog, and
he looked at her for a moment with a dim un-
certainty in his blood-shot eyes ; then, as convic-
tion stole upon the brute mind, he burst into a
joyous bark, frisking and capering about Miss
Floyd's silk dress, and imprinting dusty impres-
sions of his fore paws upon the rich fabric.
"The pore hanimal knows yer, miss," said the
mac, deprecatingly ; "you was never 'aughty to
'im."
The mastiff Bow-wow made as if he would have
torn up every inch of ground in Felden Woods at
this juncture ; but Aurora quieted him with a look.
" Poor Boxer !" she said ; " poor Boxer ! so you
know me. Boxer."
" Lord, miss, there's no knowin' the faithfulness
of them animals."
"'" .; M 2
164 AURORA FLOYD.
"Poor Boxer! I think I should like to have
you. Would you sell him, Harrison?"
The man shook his head.
'* No, miss," he answered, " thank you kindly ;
there aint much in the way of dawgs as I'd
refuse to make a bargain about. If you wanted a
mute spannel, or a Russian setter, or a Hile of
Skye, I'd get him for you and welcome, and ask
nothin' for my trouble ; but this here buU-tarrier's
father and mother and wife and fambly to me, and
there aint money enough in your pa's bank to buy
him, miss."
"Well, well," said Aurora, relentingly, "I
know how faithful he is. Send me the address,
and don't come to Felden again."
She returned to the carriage, and taking the
reins from Talbot's hand, gave the restless ponies
their head ; the vehicle dashed past Mr. Matthew
Harrison, who stood hat in hand, with his dog
between his legs, until the party had gone by.
Miss Floyd stole a glance at her lover's face, and
saw that Captain Bulstrode's countenance wore
its darkest expression. The officer kept sulky
silence till they reached the house, when he
handed the two ladies from the carriage and fol-
AUnORA'S STRANGE PENSIONER. 165
lowed them across the hall. Aurora was on the
lowest step of the broad staircase before he spoke.
"Aurora," he said, "one word before you go
up-stairs."
She turned and looked at him a little defiantly ;
she was still very pale, and the fire with which
her eyes had flashed upon Mr. Matthew Harrison,
dog-fancier and rat-catcher, had not yet died out
of the dark orbs. Talbot Bulstrode opened the
door of a long chamber under the picture-gallery
half billiard-room, half library, and almost the
pleasantest apartment in the house and stood
aside for Aurora to pass him.
The young lady crossed the threshold as proudly
as Marie Antoinette going to face her plebeian
accusers. The room was empty.
Miss Floyd seated herself in a low easy-chair by
one of the two great fireplaces, and looked straight
at the blaze.
" I want to ask you about that man, Aurora,"
Captain Bulstrode said, leaning over a prie-dieu
chair, and playing nervously M'ith the carved
arabesques of the walnut- wood framework.
" About which man ?"
This might have been prevarication in some
166 ' AURORA FLOYD.
women ; from Am-ora it was simply defiance, as
Talbot knew.
" The man who spoke to you in the avenue just
now. Who is he, and what was his business ydt\\
you ?" Here Captain Bulstrode fairly broke down.
He loved her, reader, he loved her, remember, and
he was a coward. A coward under the influence
of that most cowardly of all passions. Love ! the
passion that could leave a stain ujDon a Nelson's
name; the passion which might have made a
dastard of the bravest of the three hundred at
Thermopylae, or the six hundred at Balaklava.
He loved her, this unhappy young man, and he
began to stammer, and hesitate, and apologize,
shivering under the angry light in her wonderful
eyes. " Believe me, Aurora, that I would not for
the world play the spy upon your actions, or
dictate to you the objects of your bounty. No,
Aurora, not if my right to do so were stronger
than it is, and I were twenty times your husband ;
but that man, that disreputable-looking fellow who
spoke to you just now I don't think he is the
sort of person you ought to assist."
" I dare say not," she said ; " I have no doubt
I assist many people who ought by rights to die in
aurora's strange pensioner. 167
a worldiouse or drop on the high-road ; but, you
see, if I stopped to question their deserts, they
might die of starvation while I was making my
inquiries ; so perhaps it's better to throw away a
few shillings upon some unhappy creature who is
wicked enough to be hungry, and not good enough
to deserve to have anything given him to eat."
There was a recklessness about this speech that
jarred upon Talbot, but he could not very well
take objection to it ; besides, it was leading away
from the subject upon which he was so eager to be
satisfied.
" But that man, Aurora who is he?"
"A dog-fancier."
Talbot shuddered.
"I thought he was something horrible," he
murmm'cd ; "but what, in Heaven's name, could
he want of you, Aurora ?"
" What most of my petitioners want," she an-
swered ; " whether it's the curate of a new chapel
with medicBval decorations, who wants to rival our
Lady of Bons-secours upon one of the hills about
Norwood ; or a laundress, who has burnt a week's
washing, and wants the means to make it good ;
or a lady of fashion, who is about to inaugurate a
168 AURORA FLOYD.
home for the children of indigent lucifer-match
sellers ; or a lecturer upon political economy, or
Shelley and Byron, or upon Charles Dickens and
the Modern Humorists, who is going to hold forth at
Croydon : they all want the same thing ; money !
If I tell the curate that my principles are evan-
gelical, and that I can't pray sincerely if there are
candlesticks on the altar, he is not the less glad
of my hundred pounds. If I inform the lady of
fashion that I have peculiar opinions about the
orphans of lucifer-match sellers, and cherish a
theory of my own against the education of the
masses, she will shrug her shoulders deprecatingly,
but will take care to let me know that any do-
nation Miss Floyd may be pleased to afford will
be equally acceptable. If I told them that I had
committed half a dozen murders, or that I had a
silver statue of the winner of last year's Derby
erected on an altar in my dressing-room, and did
daily and nightly homage to it, they would take
my money and thank me kindly for it, as that
man did just now."
" But one word, Aurora : does the man belong
to this neighbourhood ?"
" No."
aurora's strange pensioner. 1G9
" How, then, did you come to know him ?"
She looked at liim for a moment ; steadily, un-
flinchingly, with a thoughtful expression in that
ever-changing countenance ; looked as if she were
mentally debating some point. Then rismg sud-
denly, she gathered her shawl about her, and
walked towards the door. She paused upon the
threshold, and said
" This cross-questioning is scarcely pleasant,
Captain Bulstrode. If I choose to give a five-
pound note to any person who may ask me for it,
I expect full licence to do so ; and I will not
submit to be called to account for my actions
even by you."
" Aurora !"
The tenderly reproachful tone struck her to the
heart.
"You may believe, Talbot," she said, "you
must surely believe that I know too well the value
of your love to imperil it by word or deed you
must believe this."
170 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER VIII.
POOR JOHN MELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN.
John Mellish grew weary of tlie great city of
Paris. Better love, and contentment, and a crust
in a mansarde, tlian stalled oxen or other costly
food in the loftiest saloons au premier, with the
most obsequious waiters to do us homage, re-
pressing so much as a smile at our insular idiom.
He grew heartily weary of the Rue do Rivoli, the
gilded railings of the Tuileries gardens, and the
leafless trees behind them. He was weary of the
Place de la Concorde, and the Champs Elysees,
and the rattle of the hoofs of the troop about his
Imperial Highness's carriage, when Napoleon
the Third, or the baby prince, took his airing.
The plot was yet a-hatching which was to come so
soon to a climax in the Rue Lepelletier. He was
tu*ed of the broad Boulevards, and the theatres,
POOR JOHN HELLISH COMES BACK AGAIX. 171
and the cafes, and tlie glove-shops tired of star-
ing at the jewellers' windows in the Eue de la
Paix, picturing to himself the face of Aurora
Floyd under the diamond and emerald tiaras
displayed therein. He had serious thoughts at
times of buying a stove and a basket of charcoal,
and asphyxiating himself quietly in the great
gilded saloon at Meurice's. What was the use of
his money, or his dogs, or his horses, or his broad
acres ? All these put together would not purchase
Aurora Floyd. WTiat was the good of life, if it
came to that, since the banker's daughter refused
to share it with him ? Eemember that this big,
blue-eyed, cm-ly-haired John Mellish had been
from his cradle a spoiled child, spoiled by poor
relations and parasites, servants and toadies, from
the first hour to the thirtieth year of his existence,
and it seemed such a very hard thing that this
beautiful woman should be denied to him. Had
he been an eastern potentate, he would have sent
for his vizier, and would have had that official
bow-strung before his eyes, and so made an end of
it ; but being merely a Yorkshire gentleman and
landowner, he had no more to do but to bear his
bm-den quietly. As if he had ever borne any-
172 AURORA FLOYD.
thing quietly ! He flung half the weight of his
gi-ief upon his valet; until that functionary dreaded
the sound of Miss Floyd's name, and told a fellow-
servant in confidence that his master " made such
a howling about that young woman as he offered
marriage to at Brigliton, that there was no bear-
ing him." The end of it all was, that one night
John Mellish gave sudden orders for the striking
of his tents, and early the next morning departed
for the Great Northern Railway, leaving only the
ashes of his fires behind him.
It was only natural to suppose that Mr. Mellish
would have gone straight to his country residence,
where there was much business to be done by
him : foals to be entered for coming races, trainers
and stable-boys to be settled with, the planning
and laying do^vn of a proposed tan-gallop to be
carried out, and a racing stud awaiting the eye of
the master. But instead of going from the Dover
Eailway Station to the Great Northern Hotel,
eating his dinner, and starting for Doncaster by
the express, Mr. Mellish drove to the Gloucester
Coffee-house, and there took up his quarters, for
the purpose, as he said, of seeing the Cattle-show.
He made a melancholy pretence of driving to
POOU JOHN MELLISH COMES BACK AGAIX. 173
]3aker Street in a Hansom cab, and roamed hither
and thither for a quarter of an hour, staring dis-
mally into the pens, and then fled a^Yay precipi-
tately from the Yorkshire gentlemen-farmers, wlio
gave him hearty greeting. He left the Gloucester
the next morning in a dog-cart, and drove straight
to Beckenham. Archibald Floyd, who knew no-
thing of this young Yorkshireman's declaration
and rejection, had given him a hearty invitation
to Felden Woods. Why shouldn't he go there ?
Only to make a morning call upon the hospitable
banker ; not to see Aurora ; only to take a few
long respirations of the air she breathed before he
went back to Yorkshire.
Of course he knew nothing of Talbot Bulstrode's
happiness ; and it had been one of the chief con-
solations of his exile to remember that that gen-
tleman had put forth in the same vessel, and had
been shipwTCcked along with him.
He was ushered into the billiard-room, where
he found Aurora Floyd seated at a little table
near the fire, making a pencil copy of a proof en-
graving of one of Rosa Bonheur's pictures, while
Talbot Bulstrode sat by her side preparing he
pencils.
174 AURORA FLOYD.
We feel instinctively that the man who cuts
lead-pencils, or holds a skein of silk upon his out-
stretched hands, or carries lap-dogs, opera-cloaks,
camp-stools, or parasols, is " engaged." Even
John Mellish had learned enough to know this.
He breathed a sigh so loud as to be heard by Lucy
and her mother seated by the other fireplace, a
sigh that w^as on the verge of a groan, and then
held out his hand to Miss Floyd. Not to Talbot
Bulstrode. He had vague memories of Eoman
legends floating in his brain, legends of super-
human generosity and classic self-abnegation ; but
he could not have shaken hands with that dark-
haired young Cornishman, though the tenure of the
Mellish estate had hung upon the sacrifice. He
could not do it. He seated himself a few paces
from Aurora and her lover, twisting his hat about
in his hot, nervous hands until the brim was well-
nigh limp ; and was powerless to utter one
sentence, . even so much as some poor pitiful re-
mark about the weather.
He was a great spoiled baby of thirty years of
age ; and I am afraid that, if the stern truth must
be told, he saw Aurora Floyd aci'oss a mist, that
blurred and distorted the briglit face before his
rOOU JOHN MELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 175
eyes. Lucy Floyd came to his relief, by carrying
him off to introduce him to her mother ; and kind-
hearted Mrs, Alexander was delighted with his
frank, fair English face. He had the good fortune
to stand with his back to the light, so that neither
of the ladies detected that foolish mist in liis blue
eyes.
Archibald Floyd would not hear of his visitor's
returning to town either that night or the next
day.
" You must spend Christmas with us," he said,
" and see the New Year in, before you go back to
Yorkshire. I have all my children about me at
this season, and it is the only time that Felden
seems like an old man's home. Your friend Bul-
strode stops with us" (Mellish winced as he
received this intelligence), " and I sha'n't think it
friendly if you refuse to join our party."
What a pitiful coward tliis John Mellish must
have been to accept the banker's invitation, and
send the Newport Pagnell back to the Grioucester,
and suffer himself to be led away by Mr. Floyd's
own man to a pleasant chamber, a few doors from
the chintz-rooms occupied by Talbot ! But I have
said before, that love is a cowardly passion. \ It is
176 AURORA FLOYD.
like the toothache ; the bravest and strongest suc-
cumb to it, and howl aloud under the torture. I
don't suppose the Iron Duke would have been
ashamed to own that he objected to having his
teeth out. I have heard of a great fighting man
who could take punishment better than any other
of the genii of the ring, but who fainted away at
the first grip of the dentist's forceps. John Mellish
consented to stay at Felden, and he went between
the lights into Talbot's dressing-room, to expostu-
late with the captain upon his treachery.
Talbot did his best to console his doleful visi-
tant.
" There are more women than one in the world,"
he said, after John had unbosomed himself of his
grief he didn't think this, the hypocrite, though
he said it " there are more women than one, my
dear Mellish ; and there are many very charming
and estimable girls, who would be glad to win the
affections of such a fellow as you."
"I hate estimable girls," said Mr. Mellish;
" bother my affections ! nobody will ever win my
affections; but I love her, I love that beautiful
black-eyed creature down-stairs, who looks at you
with two flashes of lightning, and rides like young
POOR JOHX HELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 177
Challoner in a cloth habit ; I love her, Bulstrode,
and you told me that she'd refused you, and that
you were going to leave Brighton by the eight
o'clock express, and you didn't ; and you sneaked
back and made her a second offer, and she ac-
cepted you, and, damme, it wasn t fair play."
Having said which, Mr. Mellish flimg himself
upon a chair, wliich creaked under his weight, and
fell to poking the fire furiously.
It was hard for poor Talbot to have to excuse
himseK for having won Aurora's hand.^ He could
not very well remind John Mellish that if Miss
Floyd had accepted him, it was perhaps because
she preferred him to the honest Yorkshiremau.
To John the matter never presented itself in this
light. The spoiled child had been cheated out of
that toy above all other toys, upon the possession
of which he had set his foolish heart. It was as if
he had bidden for some crack horse at Tattersall's,
in iair and open competition with a friend, who
had gone back after the sale to outbid him in some
underhand fashion. He could not understand that
there had been no dishonesty in Talbot's conduct,
and he was highly indignant when that gentleman
ventured to hint to him that perhaps, on the
VOL. I. N
178 AURORA FLOYD. '
whole, it would have been wiser to have kept away
from Felden Woods.
Talbot Bulstrode had avoided any further allu-
sion to Mr. Matthew Harrison the dog-fancier ; and
this, the first dispute between the lovers, had
ended in the triumph of Aurora.
Miss Floyd was not a little embarrassed by the
presence of John Mellish, who roamed disconso-
lately about the big rooms, seating himself ever
and anon at one of the tables to peer into the
lenses of ^ stereoscope, or to take up some gor-
geously-bound volume and drop it on the carpet
in gloomy absence of mind, and who sighed
heavily wlien spoken to, and was altogether far
from pleasant company. Am-ora's warm heart
was touched by the piteous spectacle of this re-
jected lover, and she sought him out once or
twice, and talked to him about his racing stud,
and asked him how he liked the hunting in
Surrey ; but John changed from red to white,
and from hot to cold, when she spoke to him, and
fled away from her with a scared and ghastly
aspect, which would have been grotesq[ue had it
not been so painfully real.
But by-and-by John found a more pitiful
POOR JOHN MELLISII COMES BACK AGAIN. 179
listener to liis sorrows than ever Talbot Bulstrode
had been; and this gentle and comijassionate
listener was no other than Lucy Floyd, to whom
the biix Yorkshireman turned in his trouble. Did
he know, or did he guess, by some wondrous
clairvoyance, that her griefs bore a common like-
ness to his own, and that she was just the one
person, of all others at Felden Woods, to be
pitiful to him and patient with him ? He was by
no means proud, this transparent, boyish, babyish
good fellow. Two days after his arrival at Felden,
he told all to poor Lucy.
"I suppose you know. Miss Floyd," he said,
" that 'your cousin rejected me. Yes, of course
you do ; I believe she rejected Bulstrode about
the same time ; but some men haven't a ha'porth
of pride : I must say I think the captain acted
like a sneak."
A sneak! Her idol, her adored, her demi-god,
her dark-haired and gray-eyed divinity, to be
spoken of thus ! She turned upon Mr. Mellish
with her fair cheeks flushed into a pale glow of
anger, and told him that Talbot had a right to do
what he had done, and that whatever Talbot did
was right.
N 2
180 AURORA FLOYD.
Like most men whose reflective faculties are
entii'ely undeveloped, John Mellish was blessed
with a sufficiently rapid perception ; a perception
sharpened just then by that peculiar sympathetic
prescience, that marvellous clairvoyance of which
I have spoken ; and in those few indignant words,
and that angry flush, he read poor Lucy's secret :
she loved Talbot Bulstrode as he loved Aurora
hopelessly.
How he admired this fragile girl, who was
frightened of horses and dogs, and who shivered if
a breath of the winter air blew across the heated
hall, and who yet bore her burden with this quiet,
uncomplaining patience! while he, who weighed
fourteen stone, and could ride forty miles across
country with the bitterest blasts of December
blowing in his face, was powerless to endure his
affliction. It comforted him to watch Lucy, and
to read in those faint signs and tokens, which had
escaped even a mother's eye, the sad history
of her unrequited affection.
Poor John was too good-natured and unselfish
to hold out for ever in the dreary fortress of
despair which he had built up for his habitation ;
and on Christmas-eve, when there were certain
POOR JOHN jMELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 181
rejoicings at Felden, held in especial honour of
the younger visitors, he gave way, and joined in
their merriment, and was more boyish than the
youngest of them, burning his fingers with blazing
raisins, suffering his eyes to be bandaged at the
will of noisy little players at blindman's-buff,
undergoing ignominious penalties in their games
of forfeits, performing alternately innkeepers,
sherifiTs officers, pohcemen, clergymen, and
justices, in the acted charades, lifting the little
ones who wanted to see " de top of de Kitmat
tee " in his sturdy arms, ard making himself
otherwise agreeable and useful to young people of
from three to fifteen years of age ; until at last,
under the influence of all this juvenile gaiety, and
perhaps two or three glasses of Moselle, he boldly
kissed Aurora Floyd beneath the branch of
mistletoe, hanging, "for this night only," in the
great hall at Felden Woods.
And having done this, Mr. Mellish fairly lost
his wits, and was " off his head " for the rest of
the evening ; making speeches to the little ones
at the supper-table, and proposing Mr. Archibald
Floyd and the commercial interests of Great
Britain, with three times thi-ee ; leading the
182 AURORA FLOYD.
chorus of those tiny [treble yoices with liis own
sonorous bass; and weeping freely he never
quite knew why behind his table-naphin. It
was through an atmosphere of tears, and spark-
ling wines, and gas, and hot-house flowers, that he
saw Aurora Floyd, looking, ah, how lovely ! in those
simple robes of white which so much became her,
and with a garland of artificial holly round her
head. The spiked leaves and the scarlet berries
formed themselves into a crown I think, indeed,
that a cheese-plate would have been transformed
into a diadem, if Miss Floyd had been pleased to
put it on her head and she looked like the
genius of Christmas : something bright and beau-
tiful ; too beautiful to come more than once a
year.
When the clocks were striking 2 a.m., long
after the little ones had been carried away
muffled up in opera-cloaks, terribly sleepy, and
I'm afraid in some instances under the influence
of strong drink, when the elder guests had aU
retired to rest, and the lights, with a few excep-
tions, were fled, the garlands dead, and all but
Talbot and John Mellish departed, the two young
men walked up and down the long billiard-room.
POOR JOHX MELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN". 183
in tlie red glow of the two declining fires, and
talked to each other confidentially. It was the
morning of Christmas-day, and it would have been
strange to be unfriendly at such a time.
" If you'd fallen in love with the other one, Bul-
strode," said John, clasping his old schoolfellow
by the hand, and staring at him pathetically, " I
could have looked upon you as a brother ; she's
better suited to you, twenty thousand times better
adapted to you, than her cousin, and you ought to
have married her in common courtesy I mean
to say as an honourable having very much com-
promised yourself by your attentions Mrs. Whats-
hername the companion Mrs. Powell said so
you ought to have married her."
*' Married her ! Married whom ?" cried Talbot
rather savagely, shaking off his friend's hot gTasp,
and allowing Mr. Mellish to sway backward upon
the heels of liis varnished boots in rather an
alarming manner. " Who do you mean ?"
" The sweetest gu-1 in Christendom except
one," exclaimed John, clasping his hot hands and
elevating his dim blue eyes to the ceiling ; " the
loveliest gfrl in Christendom, except one Lucy
Ployd." ^
184 AURORA FLOYD.
"Lucy Floyd!"
" Yes, LiTcy ; the sweetest girl in "
" Who says that I ought to marry Lucy Floyd I'*
" She says so no, no, I don't mean that ! I
mean," said Mr. Mellish, sinking his voice to a
solemn whisper, " I mean that Lucy Floyd loves
you ! She didn't tell me so oh, no, bless your
soul, she never uttered a word upon the subject ;
but she loves you. Yes," continued John, pushing
his friend away from him with both hands, and
staring at him as if mentally taking his pattern
for a suit of clothes, " that girl loves you, and has
loved you all along. I am not a fool, and I give
you my word and honour that Lucy Floyd loves
you."
"Not a fool!" cried Talbot; "you're worse
than a fool, John Mellish you're drunk !"
He turned upon his heel contemptuously, and
taking a candle from a table near the door, lighted
it, and strode out of the room.
John stood rubbing his hands through his curly
hair, and staring helplessly after the captain.
" This is the reward a fellow gets for doing a
generous thing," he said, as he thrust his own
candle into the burning coals, ignoring any easier
POOR JOHN MELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 185
mode of lighting it. " It's hard, but I suppose it's
human nature."
Talbot Bulstrode went to bed in a very bad
humour. Could it be true that Lucy loved him ?
Could this chattering Yorkshireman have dis-
covered a secret wliich had escaped the captain's
penetration ? He remembered how, only a short
time before, he had wished that this fair-haired
girl might fall in love witli him, and now all was
trouble and confusion. Guinevere was lady of his
heart, and poor Elaine was sadly in the way.
Mr. Tennyson's wondi'ous book had not been
given to the world in the year fifty-seven, or no
doubt poor Talbot v/ould have compared himself
to the knight whose " honour rooted in dishonour
stood." Had he been dishonourable? Had he
compromised himself by his attentions to Lucy ?
Had he deceived that fair and gentle creature ?
The down pillows in the chintz chamber gave no
rest to his Aveary head that night ; and when he
fell asleep in the late daybreak, it was to dream
horrible dreams, and to see in a vision Aurora
Floyd standing on the brink of a clear pool of
water in a woody recess at Felden, and pointing
down through its crystal surface to the corpse of
ISG AURORA FLOYD.
Lucy, lying pale and still amidst lilies and cluster-
ing aquatic plants, whose long tendrils entwined
themselves with the fair golden hair.
He heard the splash of the water in that terrible
dream, and awoke, to find his valet breaking the
ice- in his bath in the adjoining room. His per-
plexities about poor Lucy vanished in the broad
daylight, and he laughed at a trouble which must
have grown out of liis o^vn vanity. What was he,
that young ladies should fall in love with him?
"What a weak fool he must have been to have
believed for one moment ui the drunken babble
of John Mellish ! So he dismissed the image of
Aurora's cousin from his mind, and had eyes, ears,
and thought only for Am^ora herself, who drove
him to Beckenham church in her basket-carriage,
and sat by his side in the banker's great square pew.
Alas, I fear he heard very little of the sermon
. hat was preached that day ; but, for all that, I
declare that he was a good and devout man : a
man whom God had blest with the gift of earnest
belief; a man who took all blessings from the
hand of God reverently, almost fearfully ; and as
he bowed his head at the end of that Christmas
service of rejoicing and thanksgiving, he thanked
POOR JOHN HELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 187
Heaven for his overflowing cup of gladness, and
prayed that he might become wortliy of so much
hapj)iness. j
He had a vague fear that he was too happy ;
too much bound up heart and soul iii the dark-
eyed woman by his side. If she were to die ! If
she were to be false to him ! He turned sick and
dizzy at the thought; and even in that sacred
temple the Devil whispered to him that there
were still pools, loaded pistols, and other certain
remedies for such calamities as those, so wicked
as well as cowardly a passion is this terrible fever,
Love !^
The day was bright and clear, the light snow
whitening the ground; every Ime of hedge-top
and tree cut sharply out against the cold blue of
the winter sky. The banker proposed that they
should send home the carriages, and walk dowiD
the hill to Felden; so Talbot Bulstrode offered
Aurora his arm, only too glad of the chance of a
tete-a-tete with his betrothed.
John Mellish walked with Archibald Floyd,
with whom the Yorkshireman was an especial
favom-ite; and Lucy was lost amid a group of
brothers, sisters, and cousins.
188 AURORA FLOYD.
" We were so busy all yesterday witli the little
people," said Talbot, "that I forgot to tell you,
Aurora, that I had had a letter from my mother."
Miss Floyd looked up at him with her brightest
glance. She was always pleased to hear anything
about Lady Bulstrode.
" Oh course there is very little news in the
letter," added Talbot, "for there is rarely much
to tell at Bulstrode. And yet ^yes there is one
piece of news which concerns yourself." ^
" Which concerns me ?"
"Yes. You remember my cousin, Constance
TrevyUian ?"
Y-es "
"She has returned from Paris, her education
finished at last, and she, I believe, all-accomplished,
and has gone to spend Christmas at Bulstrode.
Good heavens, Aurora ! what is the matter ?"
Nothing very much, apparently. Her face had
grown as white as a sheet of letter-paper ; but the
hand upon his arm did not tremble. Perhaps,
had he taken especial notice of it, he would have
found it preternaturally still.
" Aurora, what is the matter ?"
" Nothing. Why do you ask ?"
POOR JOHN MELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 189
" Your face is as pale as-
*' It is the cold, I suppose," she said, shivering.
" Tell me about your cousin, this Miss Trevyllian ;
when did she go to Bulstrode Castle ?"
"She "vvas to arrive the day before yesterday.
My mother was expecting her when she wrote."
" Is she a favourite of Lady Bulstrode's ?"
*' No very especial favourite. My mother likes
her well enough ; but Constance is rather a frivo-
lous girl"
" The day before yesterday," said Aurora ;
**Miss Trevyllian was to arrive the day before yes-
terday. The letters from Cornwall are delivered
at Felden early in the afternoon ; are they not ?"
" Yes, dear."
" You will have a letter from your mother to-
day, Talbot?"
" A letter to-day ! oh, no, Aurora, she never
writes two days running; seldom more than once
a week."
Miss Floyd did not make any answer to this,
nor did her face regain its natural hue during the
whole of the homeward walk. She was very
silent, only replying in the briefest manner to
Talbot's inquiries.
190 " AURORA FLOYD.
r^ " I am sure that you are ill, Aurora," lie said,
as they ascended the terrace steps.
'' I am ill."
"But, dearest, what is it? Let me tell Mrs.
Alexander, or Mrs. Powell. Let me go back to
Beckenham for the doctor."
She looked at him with a mournful earnestness
in her eyes.
" My foolish Talbot," she said, " do you remem-
ber what ]\Iacbeth said to his doctor ? There are
diseases that cannot be ministered to. Let me
alone ; you will know soon enough you will
know very soon, I dare say."
" But, Aurora, what do you mean by this ?
What can there be upon yom- mind ?"
" Ah, what indeed ! Let me alone, let me
alone, Captain Bulstrode."
He had caught her hand ; but she broke from
him, and ran up the staircase, in the direction of
her own apartments.
Talbot hurried to Lucy, with a pale, frightened,
face.
"Your cousin is ill, Lucy," he said; "go to
her, for Heaven's sake, and see what is wrong."
Lucy obeyed immediately ; but she found the
rOOR JOHN HELLISH COMES BACK AGAIN. 191
door of Miss Floyd's room locked against her;
and when she called to Aurora, and implored to be
admitted, that young lady cried out
" Go away, Lucy Floyd ! go away, and leave
me to myself, unless you want to drive me mad !"
192 AUEOEA FLOYD.
CHAPTER IX.
HOW TALBOT BULSTRODE SPENT HIS CHRISTMAS.
There was no more ha23pmess for Talbot Bulstrode
that day. He wandered from room to room, till
he was as weary of that exercise as the young
lady in Monk Lewis's ' Castle Spectre ;' he roamed
forlornly hither and thither, hoping to iind Aurora,
now in the billiard-room, now in the drawing-
room. He loitered in the hall, upon the shallow
pretence of looking at barometers and thermo-
meters, in order to listen for the opening and
shutting of Aurora's door. All the doors at Felden
Woods were perpetually opening and shutting
that afternoon, as it seemed to Talbot Bulstrode.
He had no excuse for passing the doors of Miss
Floyd's apartments, for his own rooms lay at the
opposite angle of the house ; but lie lingered on
the broad staircase, looking at the furniture-
pictures upon the walls, and not seeing one line in
TALBOT BULSTRODE^ CHRISTMAS. 193
hese Wardour-Street productions. He had hoped
that Aurora would appear at hmcheon ; but that
dismal meal had been eaten without her ; and the
merry laughter and pleasant tails: of the family
assembly had sounded far away to Talbot's ears
far away across some wide ocean of doubt and
confusion.
He passed the afternoon in this wretched man-
ner, unobserved by any one but Lucy, who watched
him furtively from her distant seat, as he roamed
in and out of the drawing-room. Ah, how many
a man is watched by loving eyes whose light he
never sees ! How many a man is cared for by a
tender heart whose secret he never learns ! A
little after dusk, Talbot Bulstrode went to his
room to dress. It was some time before the bell
would ring ; but he would dress early, he thought,
so as to make sure of being in the drawing-room
when Aurora came down.
He took no light with him, for there were
always wax-candles upon the chimney-piece in his
room.
It was almost dark in that pleasant chintz
chamber, for the fire had been lately rej)lenished,
and there was no blaze ; but he could just distin-
VOL. L Q
194 AURORA FLOYD.
gvdsh. a white patch upon the green-cloth cover of
the writing-table. The white patch was a letter.
He stirred the black mass of coal in the grate,
and a bright flame went dancing up the chimney,
making the room as light as day. He took the
letter in one hand, while he lighted one of the
candles on the chimney-piece with the other.
The letter was from his mother. Am-ora Floyd
liad told him that he would receive such a letter.
What did it all mean ? The gay flowers and birds
upon the papered walls spun round him as he tore
open the enveloj)e. I firmly believe that we have
a semi-supernatural prescience of the coming of
all misfortune ; a prophetic instinct, which tells
us that such a letter, or such a messenger, carries
evil tidings. Talbot Bulstrode had that prescience
as he mifolded the paper in his hands. The
horrible trouble was before him ; a brooding
shadow, with a veiled face, ghastly and unde-
fined ; but it was there.
" My dear Talbot, I know that the letter I
am about to write will distress and perplex you ;
but my duty lies not the less plainly before me.
I fear that your heart is much involved in your
engagement to Miss Floyd." The evil tidings
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S CHRISTMAS. 195
concerned Aurora, then ; the brooding shadow was
slowly lifting its dark veil, and the face of her he
loved best on earth appeared behind it. " But I
know," continued that pitiless letter, "that the
sense of hoiiour is the strongest part of your nature,
and that, however you may have loved this girl "
(0 God, she spoke of his love in the past !), " you
will not suffer yourself to be entrapped into a
false position through any weakness of affection.
There is some mystery about the life of Aurora
Floyd."
This sentence was at the bottom of the first
page ; and before Talbot Bulstrode's shaking hand
could tm-n the leaf, every doubt, every fear, every
presentiment he had ever felt, flashed back uj)on
liim with preternatural distinctness.
" Constance Trevyllian came here yesterday ;
and you may imagine that in the course of the
evening you were spoken of, and your engagement
discussed."
A curse upon their frivolous women's gossip!
Talbot crushed the letter in his hand, and was
about to fling it from him; but, no, it must be
read. The shadow of doubt must be faced, and
wrestled with, and vanquished, or there was no
2
196 AUEOKA FLOYD.
more peace upon this earth for him. He went on
reading the letter.
"I told Constance that Miss Floyd had been
educated in the Eue St.-Domiaique, and asked if
she remembered her. * What !' she said, ' is it the
Miss Floyd whom there was such a fuss about ? the
Miss Floyd who ran away from school ?' And
she told me, Talbot, that a Miss Floyd was brought
to the Desmoiselles Lespard by her father last
June twelvemonth, and that less than a fortnight
after arriving at the school she disappeared ; her
disappearance of course causing a great sensation
and an immense deal of talk among the other
pupils, as it was said she had 7'un aivay. The
matter was Inished up as much as possible ; but you
know that girls will talk, and from what Constance
tells me, I imagine that very unpleasant things
were said about Miss Floyd. Now you say that
the banker's daughter only returned to Felden
Woods in September last. Where was she in the
interval f'
He read no more. One glance told him that
the rest of the letter consisted of motherly cau-
tions, and admonitions as to how he was to act in
this perplexing business. ;
TALBOT BULSTRODE's CHRISTMAS. 197
He tlirust the crumpled paper into bis bosom,
and dropped into a cbair by the hearth.
It was so, then ! There was a mystery in the
life of this woman. The doubts and suspicions,
the undefined fears and perplexities, which had
held him back at the first, and caused him to
wrestle against his love, had not been unfounded.
There was good reason for them all, ample reason
for them ; as there is for every instinct which
Providence puts into our hearts. A black wall
rose up round about him, and shut him for ever
from the woman he loved ; this woman whom he
loved, so far from wisely, so fearfully well ; this
woman, for whom he had thanked God in the
church only a few hours before. And she was to
have been his wife ; the mother of his children,
perhaps. He clasped his cold hands over his face
and sobbed aloud. Do not despise him for those
drops of anguish : they were the virgin tears of his
manhood. Never since infancy had his eyes been
wet before. God forbid that such tears as those
should be shed more than once in a lifetime ! The
agony of that moment was not to be lived through
twice. The hoarse sobs rent and tore his breast as
if his flesh had been hacked by a rusty sword ; and
198 AURORA FLOYD.
wlien lie took his wet hands from his face, he won-
dered that they were not red ; for it seemed to him
as if he had been weeping blood. What should
he do?
Go to Aurora, and ask her the meaning of that
letter? Yes; the com^se was plain enough. A
tumult of hope rushed back upon him, and swept
away his terror. Why^was he so ready to doubt
her? What a j)itiful coward he was to suspect
her to suspect this girl, whose transparent soul
had been so freely unveiled to him ; whose every
accent was truth ! For in his intercom-se with
Aurora, the quality which he had learned most to
reverence in her natm-e was its sublime candour.
He almost laughed at the recollection of his
mother's solemn letter. It was so like these
simple country people, whose lives had been
bounded by the narrow limits of a Cornish village
it was so like them to make mountains out of
the veriest mole-hills. What was there so wonder-
ful in that which had occurred? The spoiled
child, the wilful heiress, had grown tired of a
foreign^school, and had run away. Her father,
not wishing the girlish escapade to be known, had
placed her somewhere else, and had kept her folly
TALBOT BULSTRODE's CHRISTMAS. 199
a secret. What was there from first to last in the
whole affair that was not perfectly natural and
probable, the exceptional ch-cumstances of the
case duly considered ?
He could fancy Aurora, with her cheeks in a
flame, and her eyes flashing lightning, flinging a
page of blotted exercises into the face of her
French master, and running out of the school-
room, amid a tumult of ejaculatory babble. The
beautiful, impetuous creatm-e ! There is nothing
a man cannot admu^e in the woman he loves, and
Talbot was half inclined to admhe Aurora for
having rim away from school.
The first dinner-bell had rung during Captain
Bulstrode's agony; so the corridors and rooms
were deserted when he went to look for Aurora,
with his mother's letter in his breast.
She was not in the billiard-room or the draw-
ing-room, but he found her at last in a little inner
chamber at the end of the house, with a bay-
window looking out over the park. The room
was dimly lighted by a shaded lamp, and Miss
Floyd was seated in the uncm-tained window, with
her elbow resting on a cushioned ledge, looking
out at the steel-cold wintry sky and the whitened
200 AURORA FLOYD.
landscape. She was dressed in black ; her face,
neck, and arms gleaming marble-white against the
sombre hue of her dress ; and her attitude was as
still as that of a statue.
She neither stirred nor looked round when
Talbot entered the room.
"My dear Aurora," he said, "I have been look-
ing for you everywhere."
She shivered at the sound of his voice.
*' You wanted to see me ?"
"Yes, dearest. I want you to explain some-
thing to me. A foolish business enough, no
doubt, my darhng, and, of course, very easily ex-
plained; but, as your future husband, I have a
right to ask for an explanation ; and I know,
I know, Aurora, that you will give it in all
candour."
She did not speak, although Talbot paused for
some moments, awaiting her answer. He could
only see her profile, dimly liglited by the wintry
sky. He could not see the mute pain, the white
anguish, in that youthful face.
"I have had a letter from my mother, and
there is something in that letter which I wish you
to explain. Shall I read it to you, dearest?"
!
TALBOT BULSTRODE's CHRISTMAS. 201
His voice feltered upon tlie endearing ex-
pression, and he remembered afterwards that it
was the last time he had ever addressed her with
a lover's tenderness. The day came when she
had need of his compassion, and when he gave it
freely ; but that moment sounded the death-knell
of Love. In that moment the gulf yawned, and
the cliffs were rent asunder.
" Shall I read you the letter, Aurora ?"
" If you please."
He took the crumpled epistle from his bosom,
and, bending over the lamp, read it aloud to
Aurora. He fully expected at every sentence that
she would interrupt him with some eager ex-
planation ; but she was silent until he had finished,
and even then she did not speak.
" Aurora, Aurora, is this true ?" . ' '.
"Perfectly true."
"But why did you run away from the Eue
St.-Dominique." , ;
" I cannot tell you."
" And where were you between the month of
June in the year fifty-six and last September?"
" I cannot tell you, Talbot Bulstrode. This is
my secret, which I cannot tell you.''
202 AUEOEA FLOYD.
" You cannot tell me ! There is upwards of a
year missing from yom* life ; and you cannot tell
me, your betrothed husband, what you did with
that year ?"
" I cannot."
" Then, Aurora Floyd, you can never be my
wife."
He thought that she would turn upon him,
sublime in her indignation and fury, and that the
explanation he longed for would burst from her
lips in a passionate torrent of angry words ; but
she rose from her chair, and, tottering towards
him, fell upon her knees at his feet. No other
action could have struck such terror to his heart.
It seemed to him a confession of guilt. But what
guilt ? what guilt ? What was the dark secret of
this young creature's brief life ?
" Talbot Bulstrode," she said, in a tremulous
voice, which cut him. to the soul, " Talbot Bul-
strode, Heaven knows how often I have foreseen
and dreaded this horn-. Had I not been a coward,
I should have anticipated this explanation. But
I thought I thought the occasion might never
come ; or that when it did come you would be
generous and trust me. If you can trust me.
TALBOT bulstrode's curistmas. 203
Talbot ; if you can believe tbat this secret is not
utterly shameful "
"Not utterly shameful!" he cried. "0 God!
Aurora, that I should ever hear you talk like
this ! Do you think there are any degrees in
these things ? There must be 7io secret between
my wife and me ; and the day that a secret, or
the shadow of one, arises between us, must see us
part for ever. Rise from your knees, Aurora;
you are killing me with this shame and humili-
ation. Rise from your knees ; and if we are to
part this moment, tell me, tell me, for pity's sake,
that I have no need to despise myself for having
loved you mth an intensity which has scarcely
been manly."
She did not obey him, but sank lower in her
half-kneeling, half-crouching attitude, her face
buried in her hands, and only the coils of her
black hau' visible to Captain Bulstrode.
" I was motherless from my cradle, Talbot," she
said, in a half-stifled voice. " Have pity upon me."
"Pity!" echoed the captain ; ''pity! Wliy do
you not ask me for justice ? One question, Am-ora
Floyd; one more question; perhaps the last I
ever may ask of you. Does your father know why
204 AURORA FLOYD.
you left that scliool, and wliere you were during
that twelvemonth ?"
" He does."
"Thank God, at least, for that! Tell me,
Aurora, then only tell me this, and I will believe
your simple word as I would the oath of another
woman. Tell me if he approved of your motive
in leaving that school; if he approved of the
manner in which your life was spent during that
twelvemonth. If you can say yes, Aurora, there
shall be no more questions between us, and I can
make you without fear my loved and honoured
wife."
"I cannot," she answered. "I am only nine-
teen ; but witliin the two last years of my life I
have done enough to break my father's heart ; to
break the heart of the dearest father that ever
breathed the breath of life."
" Then all is over between us. God forgive
you, Aiu-ora Floyd ; but by your own confession
you are no fit wife for an honourable man. I shut
my mind against all foul suspicions ; but the past
life of my wife must be a white unblemished page,
which all the world may be free to read."
He walked towards the door, and then, return-
TALBOT BULSTRODE's CHRISTMAS. 205
ing, assisted the wretched girl to rise, and led her
back to her seat by the window, courteously, as if
she had been his partner at a ball. Theii* hands
met with as icy a touch as the hands of two
corpses. Ah, how much there was of death in
that touch ! How much had died between those
two within the last few horn's ! hoj)e, confidence,
security, love, happiness ; all that makes life worth
the holding.
Talbot Bulstrode paused upon the threshold of
the little chamber, and spoke once more.
" I shall have left Felden in half an hoiu-, Miss
Floyd," he said ; " it will be better to allow your
father to suppose that the disagreement between
us has arisen from something of a trifling nature,
and that my dismissal has come from you. I shall
write to Mr. Floyd from London, and, if you
please, I will so word my letter as to lead him to
think this."
" You are very good," she answered. " Yes, I
would rather he should tliink that. It may spare
him pain. Heaven knows I have cause to be
grateful for anything that will do that."
Talbot bowed and left the room, closing the
door behind him. The closina: of tliat door had a
206 AURORA FLOYD.
dismal sound to his ear. He tliought of some
frail young creature abandoned by her sister nuns
in a living tomb. He thought that he would
rather have left Aurora lying rigidly beautifiil in
her coffin than as he was leaving her to-day.
The jangling, jarring sound of the second
dinner-bell clanged out, as he went from the semi-
obscurity of the corridor into the glaring gaslight
of the billiard-room. He met Lucy Floyd coming
towards him in her rustling silk dinner-ch-ess, with
fringes and laces and ribbons and jewels fluttering
and sparkling about her ; and he almost hated her
for looking so bright and radiant, remembering, as
he did, the ghastly face of the stricken creature
he had just left. We are apt to be horribly un-
just in the hour of supreme trouble ; and I fear
that if any one had had the temerity to ask
Talbot Bulstrode's opinion of Lucy Floyd just at
that moment, the captain would have declared
her to be a mass of frivolity and affectation. If
you discover the worthlessness of the only woman
you love upon earth, you will perhaps be apt to
feel maliciously disposed towards the many esti-
mable people about you. You are savagely in-
clined, when you remember that they for whom
TALBOT BULSTRODE's CHRISTMAS. 207
you care nothing are so good, while she on whom
you set your soul is so 'svicked. The vessel which
you freighted with every hope of your heart has
gone down ; and you are^ angry at the very sight
of those other ships riding so gallantly before the
breeze. Lucy recoiled at the aspect of the young
man's face.
" What is it ?" she asked ; " what has happened,
Captain Bulstrode ?"
" Nothing I have received a letter from Corn-
wall which obliges me to "
His hollow voice died away into a hoarse whisper
before he could finish the sentence.
" Lady Bulstrode or Sir John is ill perhaps ?"
hazarded Lucy.
Talbot pointed to his white lips and shook his
head. The gesture might mean anything. He
could not speak. The hall was full of visitors and
children going into dinner. The little people
were to dine with their seniors that day, as an
especial treat and privilege of the season. The
door of the dining-room was open, and Talbot saw
the gray head of Archibald Floyd dimly visible at
the end of a long vista of lights and silver and glass
and evergreens. The old man had his nei^hews
208 AURORA FLOYD.
and nieces and tlieir children grouped about him ;
but the place at his right hand, the place Aurora
was meant to fill, was vacant. Captain Bulstrode
turned away from that gaily-lighted scene and ran
up the stau'case to his room, where he found his
servant waiting with his master's clothes laid out,
wondering why he had not come to dress.
, The man fell back at the sight of Talbot's face,
ghastly in the light of the wax-candles on the
dressing-table.
" I am going away, Philman," said the captain,
speaking very fast, and in a thick indistinct voice.
" I am going down to Cornwall by the express to-
night, if I can get to Town in time to catch the
train. Pack my clothes and come after me. You
can join me at the Paddington Station. I shall
walk up to Beckenham, and take the first train
for Town. Here, give this to the servants for me,
will you ?"
He took a confused heap of gold and silver from
his pocket, and dropped it into the man's hand.
" Nothing wrong at Bulstrode, I hope, sir ?" said
the servant. " Is Sir John ill ?"
" No, no ; I've had a letter from my mother I
you'U find me at the Great Western."
TALBOT bulstrode's chkistmas. 209
He snatched up his hat, and was hurrying from
the room; but the man followed him with liis
greatcoat.
, " You'll catch your death, sir, on such a night as
this," the servant said, in a tone of respectful
remonstrance.
The banker was standing at the door of the
dining-room when Talbot crossed the hall. He
was telling a servant to look for his daughter.
" We are all waiting for Miss Floyd," the old
man said ; " we cannot begin dinner without Miss
Floyd."
Unobserved in the confusion, Talbot opened the
great door softly, and let himself out into the cold
winter's night. The long terrace was all ablaze
with the lights in the high narrow windows, as
upon the night when he had first come to Felden ;
and before him lay the park, the trees bare and
leafless, the ground white with a thin coating of
snow, the sky above gray and starless, a cold and
desolate expanse, in dreary contrast with the
warmth and brightness behind. All this was
typical of the crisis of his life. He was leaving
warm love and hope, for cold resignation or icy
despau*. He went do^Yn the terrace-steps, across
VOL. I. p.
210 AURORA FLOYD.
the trim garden-walks and out into that wide,
mysterious park. The long avenue was ghostly in
the gray light, the tracery of the interlacing
branches above his head making black shadows,
that flickered to and fro upon the whitened ground
beneath his feet. He walked for a quarter of a
mile before he looked back at the lighted Avindows
behind him. He did not turn, imtil a bend in the
avenue had brought him to a spot from which he
could see the dimly lighted bay-window of the room
in which he had left Am'ora. He stood for some
time looking at this feeble glimmer, and thinking
thinking of all he had lost, or all he had perhaps
escaped thinking of what his life was to be hence-
forth without that woman thinkiug that he would
rather have been the poorest ploughboy in Becken-
ham parish than the heir of Bulstrode, if he could
have taken the girl he loved to his heart, and
believed in her truth.
211
CHAPTER X.
FIGHTING THE BATTLE.
The new year began in sadness at Felden Woods,
for it found Ai-cliibald Floyd watching in the sick-
room of his only daughter.
Aurora had taken her place at the long dinner-
table upon the night of Talbot's departure ; and
except for being perhaps a little more vivacious
and brilliant than usual, her manner had in no way
changed after that terrible interview in the bay-
windowed room. She had talked to John MeUish,
and had played and sung to her younger cousins ;
she had stood behind her father, looking over his
cards through all the fluctuating fortunes of a
rubber of long whist ; and the next morning her
maid had found her in a raging fever, with burning-
cheeks and blood-shot eyes, her long purple-black
hair all tumbled and tossed about the pillows, and
her diy hands scorching to the touch. The tele-
p 2
212 AURORA FLOYD.
graph brouglit two grave London physicians to
Felden before noon ; and the house was clear of
visitors by nightfall, only Mrs. Alexander and
Lucy remaining to assist in nursing the invalid.
The West-End doctors said very little. This fever
^as as other fevers to them. The young lady had
'caught a cold perhaps ; she had been imprudent,
as these young people will be, and had received
some sudden chill. She had very likely over-
heated herself with dancing, or had sat in a
draught, or eaten an ice. There was no im-
mediate danger to be apprehended. The patient
had a superb constitution ; there was wonderful
vitality in the system ; and with careful treatment
she would soon come round. Careful treatment
meant a two-guinea visit every day from each of
these learned gentlemen ; though, perhaps, had
they given utterance to their inmost thoughts, they
would have owned that, for all they could tell to
the contrary, Aurora Floyd wanted nothing but to
be let alone, and left in a darkened chamber to
fight out the battle by herself. But the banker
would have had all Saville Row summoned to the
sick-bed of liis child, if he could by such a measure
have saved her a moment's pain ; and he implored
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 213
the two physicians to come to Felclen twice a day
if necessary, and to call in other physicians if
they had the least fear for their patient. Aurora
was delirious ; but she revealed very little in that
delirium. I do not quite believe that people often
make the pretty, sentimental, consecutive confes-
sions under the influence of fever which are so
freely attributed to them by the writers of
romances. We rave about foolish things in those
cruel moments of feverish madness. We are
wretched because there is a man with a wliite hat
on in the room ; or a black cat upon the counter-
pane ; or spiders crawling about the bed-curtains ;
or a coal-heaver who will put a sack of coals on
our chest. Our deHrious fancies are like our
dreams, and have very little connection with the
sorrows or joys which make up the sum of our lives.
So Aurora Floyd talked of horses and dogs, and
masters and governesses ; of childish troubles that
had afflicted her years before, and of girlish plea-
sures, wliich, in her normal state of mind, had been
utterly forgotten. , She seldom recognized Lucy or
Mrs. Alexander, mistaking them for all kinds of
unlikely people ; but she never entirely forgot her
father, and, indeed, always seemed to be conscious
214 AURORA FLOYD.
of liis presence, and was perpetually appealing to
him, imploring him to forgive her for some act of
childish disobedience committed in those departed
years of which she talked so much.
John Mellish had taken up his abode at the
Grayhound Inn, in Croydon High Street, and
drove every day to Felden Woods, leaving his
phaeton at the park-gates, and walking up to the
house to make his inquiries. The servants took
notice of the big Yorkshireman's pale face, and
set him down at once as "sweet" upon their
young lady. They Hked him a great deal better
than Captain Bulstrode, who had been too " 'igli "
and "'aughty" for them. John flung his half-
sovereigns right and left when he came to the
hushed mansion in which Aurora lay, with loving
fiiends about her. He held the footman who
answered the door by the button-hole, and would
have gladly paid the man half-a-crowii a minute
for his time while he asked anxious questions about
Miss Floyd's health. Mr. Mellish was warmly
sympathized with, therefore, in the servants' hall
at Felden. His man had informed the banker's
household how he was the best master in England,
and how Mellish Park was a species of terrestrial
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 215
Paradise, maintained for the benefit of tiTLstworthy
retainers ; and Mi*. Floyd's servants expressed a
wash that their young lady might get well, and
marry the " fair one," as they called John. They
came to the conclusion that there had been "what
they called "a spht" between Miss Floyd and
the captain, and that he had gone off in a huff;
which was like his impudence, seeing that their
young lady would have hundreds of thousands of
pounds by-and-by, and was good enough for a duke
instead of a beggarly officer.
Talbot's letter to Mr. Floyd reached Felden
Woods on the 27th of December ; but it lay for
some time unopened upon the library table. Archi-
bald had scarcely heeded his intended son-in-law's
disappearance, iu his anxiety about Aurora. When
he did open the letter, Captain Bulstrode's words
were almost meaningless to him, though he was just
able to gather that the engagement had been broken,
by his daughter's wish, as Talbot seemed to infer.
The banker's reply to this communication was
very brief ; he wrote :
" My dear Sir, Your letter arrived here some
days since, but has only been opened by me this
morning. I have laid it aside, to be replied to.
21 fi AURORA FLOYD.
D.V., at a future time. At present I am unable to
attend to anything. My daughter is seriously ill.
" Yours obediently,
" Archibald Floyd."
"Seriously ill!" Talbot Bulstrode sat for
nearly an horn- with the banker's letter in his
hand, looking at those two words. How much or
how little might the sentence mean? At one
moment, remembering Arcliibald Floyd's devotion
to his daughter, he thought that this serious
illness was doubtless some very trifling business,
some feminine nervous attack, common to young
ladies upon any hitch in their love affairs ; but
five minutes afterwards he fancied that those
words had an awful meaning that Aurora was
dying ; dying of the shame and anguish of tliat
interview in the little chamber at Felden.
Heaven above ! what had he done ? Had he
murdered this beautiful creature, whom he loved a
million times better than himself? Had he killed
lier with those impalpable weapons, those sharp
and cruel words which he had spoken on the
25th of December? He acted the scene over
again and again, until the sense of outraged
honour, then so strong upon him, seemed to grow
FIGHTING THE BATTLE, 217
dim and confused ; and he began almost to wonder
why he had quarrelled with J Aurora. What if,
after all, this secret involved only some school-
girl's folly ? No ; the crouching figure aiid
ghastly face gave the lie to that hope. The
secret, whatever it might be, was a matter of life
and death to Aurora Floyd. He dared not try to
guess what it was. He strove to close his mind
against the surmises that would arise to him. In
the first days that succeeded that terrible Christ-
mas he determined to leave England. He would
try to get some Government appointment that
would take him away to the other end of the
world, where he could never hear Aurora's name
never be enlightened as to the mystery that
had separated them. But now, now that she was
ill, in danger, perhaps, how could he leave the
country ? How could he go away to some place
where he might one day open the English news-
papers and see her name among the list of deaths ?
Talbot was a di-eary guest at Bulstrode Castle.
His mother and his cousin Constance respected
his pale face, and held themselves aloof from him
in fear and trembling ; but his father asked what
the deuce was the matter with the boy, that he
218 AUEORA FLOYD.
looked so chapfallen, and why he didn't take his
gim and go out on the moors, and get an appetite
for his dinner, hke a Clmstian, instead of moping in
his own rooms all day long, biting his fingers' ends.
Once, and once only, did Lady Bulstrode allude
to Aurora Floyd.
" You asked Miss Floyd for an explanation, I
suppose, Talbot ?" she said.
" Yes, mother."
*' And the result ?"
"Was the termination of our engagement. I
had rather you would not speak to me of this
subject again, if you please, mother."
Talbot took his gun, and went out upon the
moors, as his father advised ; but it was not to
slaughter the last of the pheasants, but to think in
peace of Aurora Floyd, that the young man went
out. The low-lying clouds upon the moorlands
seemed to shut him in like prison-walls. How
many miles of desolate country lay between the
dark expanse on which he stood and the red-brick
mansion at Felden! how many leafless hedge-
rows ! how many frozen streams ! It was only a
day's journey, certainly, by the Great Western;
but there was something cruel in the knowledge
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 219
that half the length of England lay between the
Kentish woods and that far angle of the British
Isles upon which Castle Bulstrode reared its
weather-beaten walls. The wail of mourning
voices might be loud in Kent, and not a whisper
of death reach the listening ears in Cornwall.
How he envied the lowest servant at Felden, who
knew day by day and hour by hour of the progress
of the battle between Death and Aurora Floyd !
And yet, after all, what was she to him ? What
did it matter to him if she were well or ill ?
The grave could never separate them more utterly
than they had been separated from the very
moment in which he discovered that she was not
worthy to be his wife. He had done her no
wrong ; he had given her a full and fair oppor-
tunity ' of clearing herself from the doubtful
shadow on her name ; and she had been unable
to do so. Nay, more, she had given him every
reason to suppose, by her manner, that the shadow
was even a darker one than he had feared. Was
he to blame, then ? Was it his fault if she were
ill ? Were his days to be misery, and his nights
a burden because of her ? He struck the stock of
his gun violently upon the ground at the thought.
220 AURORA FLOYD.
and thrust the ramrod down the barrel, and loaded
his fowling-piece furiously with nothing ; and
then, casting himself at full length upon the
stunted turf, lay there till the early dusk closed
in about him, and the soft evening dew saturated
his shooting-coat, and he was in a fair way to be
stricken with rheumatic fever.
I might fill chapters with the foolish sufferings
of this young man; but I fear he must have
become very wearisome to my afflicted readers;
to those, at least, who have never suffered from this
fever. The sharper the disease, the shorter its
continuance ; so Talbot will be better by-and-by,
and will look back at his old self, and laugh at his
old agonies. Surely this inconstancy of ours is
the worst of all this fickleness, by reason of
which we cast off our former selves with no more
compunction than we feel in flinging away a worn-
out garment. Our poor threadbare selves, the
shadows of what we were ! With what sublime,
patronizing pity, with what scornful compassion,
we look back upon the helpless dead and gone
creatures, and wonder that anything so foolish
could have been allowed to cumber the earth!
Shall I feel the same contempt ten years hence
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 221
for myself as I am to-day, as I feel to-day for
myself as I was ten years ago? Will tlie loves
and aspirations, the beliefs and desires of to-day,
appear as pitiful tlien as the dead loves and
dreams of the bygone decade ? Shall I look back
in pitying wonder, and think what a fool that
young man was, although there was something
candid and innocent in his very stupidity, after
all ? Who can w onder that the last visit to Paris
killed Voltaire ? Fancy the octogenarian looking
round the national theatre, and seeing himself,
through an endless vista of dim years, a young
man again, paying his court to a " goat-faced car-
dinal," and being beaten by De Rohan's lackeys
in broad^daylight.
Have you ever visited some still country town
after a lapse of years, and wondered, fast-Hving
reader ! to find the people you knew in your last
visit still ahve and thriving, with hau* unbleached
as yet, although you have lived and suffered whole
centuries since then ? Sm-ely Providence gives us
this sublimely egotistical sense of Time as a set-off
against the brevity of our lives ! I might make
this book a companion in butk to the Catalogue
of the British Museum, if I were to tell all that
222 AUROKA FLOYD.
Talbot Bulstrode felt and suffered in the month, of
January, 1858, if I were to anatomize the doubts
and confusions and self-contradictions, the mental
resolutions made one moment to be broken the
next. I refrain, therefore, and wiU set down
nothing but the fact, that on a certain Sunday
midway in the month, the captain, sitting in the
family pew at Bulstrode chm-ch, directly facing
the monument of Admiral Hartley Bulstrode, who
fought and died in the days of Queen Elizabeth,
registered a silent oath that, as he was a gentleman
and a Christian, he would henceforth abstain from
holding any voluntary communication with Aurora
Floyd. But for this vow he must have broken
down, and yielded to his yearning fear and love,
and gone to Felden Woods to throw himself, blind
and unquestioning, at the feet of the sick woman.
The tender green of the earliest leaflets was
breaking out in bright patches upon the hedge-
rows round Felden Woods ; the ash- buds were no
longer black upon the front of March, and jaale
violets and primroses made exquisite tracery in
the shady nooks beneath the oaks and beeches.
All nature was rejoicing in the mild April weather,
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 223
when Aurora lifted her dark eyes to her father's
face with something of their old look and familial-
light. The battle had been a long and severe one ;
but it was well-nigh over now, the physicians said.
Defeated Death di-ew back for a while, to waitfa
better opportunity for making his fatal spring) and
the feeble victor was to be carried down-stairs to
sit in the drawing-room for the first time since the
night of December the 25th.
John Mellish, happening to be at Felden that
day, was allowed the supreme privilege of carrying
the fragile burden in his strong arms, from the
door of the sick chamber to the great sofa by the
fire in the drawing-room ; attended by a procession
of happy people bearing shawls and pillows, vinai-
grettes and scent-bottles, and other invalid para-
phernalia. Every creatm-e at Felden was devoted
to this adored convalescent. Archibald Floyd
lived only to minister to her ; gentle Lucy waited
on her night and day, fearful to trust the service
to menial hands ; Mrs. Powell, like some pale and
quiet shadow, Im'ked amidst the bed-cmlains,
soft of foot acd watchful of eye, invaluable in the
sick-chamber, as the doctors said. Throughout
her Qlness, Aurora had never mentioned the name
224 AUEORA FLOYD.
of Talbot Bulstrode. Not even when tlie fever
was at its worst, and the brain most distraught,
liad that familiar name escaped her lips. Other
names, strange to Lucy, had been repeated by her
again and again : the names of places and hoi'ses
and slangy technicalities of the turf, had inter-
larded the poor girl's brain-sick babble ; but what-
ever were her feelings with regard to Talbot, no
word had revealed theh depth or sadness. Yet
I do not think that my poor dark-eyed heroine
was utterly feelingless upon tliis point. When
they first spoke of cariying her down-stau'S, Mrs.
Powell and Lucy proposed the little bay-mndowed
chamber, which was small and snug, and had a
southern aspect, as the fittest place for the invalid ;
but Aurora cried out shuddering, that she would
never enter that hateful chamber again.
As soon as ever she was strong enough to bear
the fatigue of the journey, it was considered ad-
visable to remove her from Felden ; and Leaming-
ton was suggested by the doctors as the best place
for the change. A mild climate and a pretty
inland retreat, a hushed and quiet town, peculiarly
adapted to invahds, being almost deserted by other
visitors after the hunting season.
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 225
Shakespeare's birthday had come and gone, and
the high festivals at Stratford were over, when
Archibald Floyd took his pale daughter to Lea-
mington. A furnished cottage had been engaged
for them a mile and a half out of the town ; a
pretty place, half villa, half farmhouse, with walls
of white plaster chequered with beams of black
wood, and Avell-nigh buried in a luxuriant and
trimly-kept flower-garden ; a jfleasant place, form-
ing one of a little cluster of rustic buildings
crowded about a gray old church in a nook of the
roadway, where two or three green lanes met, and
went branching off between overhanging hedges ;
a most retired spot, yet clamorous with that noise
which is of all others cheerful and joyous, the
hubbub of farmyards, the cackle of poultry, the
cooing of pigeons, the monotonous lowing of lazy
cattle, and the squabbling grunt of quarrelsome
pigs. Archibald could not have brought his
daughter to a better place. The chequered farm-
house seemed a haven of rest to this poor weary
girl of nineteen. It was so pleasant to lie wi-apped
in shawls, on a chintz-covered sofa, in the open
\v-indow, listening to the rustic noises in the straw-
littered yard upon the other side of the hedge,
VOL. I. Q
226 AURORA FLOYD.
with her faithful Bow-wow's big fore-paws resting
on the cushions at her feet. The sounds in the
farmyard were pleasanter to Aurora than the
monotonous inflections of Mrs. Powell's voice ;
but as that lady considered it a part of her duty
to read aloud for the invalid's delectation, Miss
rioyd was too good-natm-ed to own how tired she
was of ' Marmion ' and ' Childe Harold,' ' Evan-
geline,' and 'The Queen of the May,' and how
she would have preferred in her present state of
mind to listen to a lively dispute between a brood
of ducks round the pond in the farmyard, or a
trifling discussion in the pigsty, to the sublimest
lines ever penned by poet, living or dead. The
poor girl had suffered very much, and there was a
certain sensuous, lazy pleasure in this slow re-
covery, this gradual return to strength. Her own
nature revived in unison with the bright revival of
the genial summer weather. As the trees in the
garden put forth new strength and beauty, so the
glorious vitality of her constitution returned with
much of its wonted power. The bitter blows had
left their scars beliind them, but they had not
killed her, after all. They had not utterly
changed her even, for glimpses of the old Aurora
FIGHTING THE BATTLE, 227
appeared day by day in the pale convalescent;
and Archibald Floyd, whose life was at best but
a reflected existence, felt his hopes revive as he
looked at his daughter. Lucy and her mother
had gone back to the villa at Fulliam, and to
their own family duties ; so the Leamington party
consisted only of Aurora and her father, and that
pale shadow of propriety, the ensign's light-haired
widow. But they were not long without a visitor.
John MelKsh, artfully taking the banker at a dis-
advantage in some moment of flurry and confusion
at Felden Woods, had extorted from him an in-
vitation to Leamington ; and a fortnight after
their arrival he presented his stalwart form and
fair face at the low wooden gates of the chequered
cottage. Aurora laughed (for the first time since
her illness) as she saw that faithful adorer come,
carpet-bag in hand, through the labyrinth of grass
and flower-beds towards the open window at which
she and her father sat ; and Archibald, seeing that
first gleam of gaiety in the beloved face, could
have hugged John Mellish for being the cause of
it. He would have embraced a street tumbler,
or the low comedian of a booth at a fair, or a
troop of performing dogs and monkeys, or any-
Q 2
228 . AURORA FLOYD.
thing upon earth that could win a smile from his
sick child. Like the Eastern potentate in the
fairy tale, who always offers half his kingdom and
his daughter's hand to any one who can cure the
princess of her bilious headache, or extract her
carious tooth, Archibald would have opened a
banking account in Lombard Street, with a fabu-
lous sum to start with, for any one who could give
pleasure to this black-eyed girl, now smiling, for
the first time in that year, at sight of the big fau'-
faced Yorkshireman coming to pay his foolish
worship at her shrine.
It was not to be supposed that Mr. Floyd had
felt no wonder as to the cause of the rupture of
his daughter's engagement to Talbot Bulstrode.
The anguish and terror endured by him during
her long illness had left no room for any other
thought ; but since the passing away of the danger,
he had pondered not a little upon the abrupt
rupture between the lovers. He ventured once,
in the first week of their stay at Leamington, to
speak to her upon the subject, asking why it was
she had dismissed the captain. Now if there was
one thing more hateful than another to Aurora
Floyd, it was a lie. I do not say that she had
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 229
never told one in the course of her life. There
are some acts of folly which carry falsehood and
dissimulation at their heels as certainly as the
shadows which follow us when we walk towards the
evening sun ; and we very rarely swerve from the
severe boundary-line of right without being dragged
ever so much farther than we calculated upon
across the border. Alas ! my heroine is not fault-
less. She would take her shoes off to give them
to the barefooted poor ; she would take the heart
from her breast, if she could by so doing heal the
wounds she has inflicted upon the loving heart of
her father. But a shadow of mad folly has blotted
her motherless youth, and she has a terrible har-
vest to reap from that lightly-sown seed, and a
cruel expiation to make for that unforgotten
wrong. Yet her natm-al disposition is all truth
and candour ; and there are many young ladies,
whose lives have been as primly ruled and ordered
as the fan- pleasure-gardens. of a Tyburnian square,
who could tell a falsehood with a great deal better
grace than Am-ora Floyd. So when her father
asked her why she had dismissed Talbot Bulstrode,
she made no answer to that question ; but simply
told him tliat the quarrel had been a very painful
230 AUKORA FLOYD.
one, and that she hoped never to hear the cap-
tain's name agam : although at the same time she
assured Mr. Floyd that her lover's conduct had
been in nowise unbecoming a gentleman and a
man of honour. Archibald implicitly obeyed his
daughter in this matter, and the name of Talbot
Bulstrode never being spoken, it seemed as if the
young man had dropped out of their lives, or as if
he had never had any part in the destiny of Aurora
Floyd. Heaven knows what Aurora herself
felt and suffered in the quiet of her low-roofed,
white-curtained little chamber, with the soft May
moonlight stealing in at the casement-windows,
and creeping in wan radiance about the walls.
Heaven only knows the bitterness of the silent
battle. Her vitality made her strong to suffer;
her vivid imagination intensified every throb of
pain. In a dull and torpid soul grief is a slow
anguish ; but with her it was a fierce and tem-
pestuous emotion, in which past and future seemed
rolled together with the present to make a con-
centrated agony. But, by an all-wise dispensation,
the stormy sorrow wears itself out by reason of its
very violence, while the dull woe drags its sIoav
length sometimes through weary years, becomin
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 231
at last engrafted in the very nature of the patient
sufferer, as some diseases become part of our con-
stitutions. Aurora was fortunate in being per-
mitted to fight her battle in silence, and to suffer
unquestioned. If the dark hollow rings about her
eyes told of sleepless nights, Archibald Floyd
forbore to torment her with anxious speeches and
trite consolations. The clairvoyance of love told
him that it was better to let her alone. So the
trouble hanging over the little circle was neither
seen nor spoken of. Aurora kept her skeleton in
some quiet corner, and no one saw the grim skull,
or heard the rattle of the dry bones. Archibald
Floyd read his newspapers, and wrote his letters ;
Mrs. Walter Powell tended the convalescent, who
reclined during the best part of the day on the
sofa in the open window; and John Mellish
loitered about the garden and the farmyard, leaned
on the low white gate, smoking his cigar, and
talking to the men about the place, and was in
and out of the house twenty times in an hour. The
banker pondered sometimes in serio-comic per-
plexity as to what was to be done with this big
Yorkshireman, who hung upon him like a good-
natured monster of six feet two, conjured into
232 AURORA FLOYD.
existence by the hospitality of a modem Franken-
stein. He had invited him to dinner, and, lo, he
appeared to be saddled with him for life. He
could not tell the friendly, generous, loud-spoken
creature to go away. Besides, Mr. Mellish was
on the whole very useful, and he did much to-
wards keeping Am-ora in apparently good spirits.
Yet, on the other hand, was it right to tamper
with this great loving heart ? Was it just to let
the young man linger in the light of those black
eyes, and then send him away when the invalid
was equal to the effort of giving him his conge ?
Archibald Floyd did not know that John had been
rejected by his daughter on a certain autumn
morning at Brighton. So he made up his mind
to speak frankly, and sound the depths of liis
visitor's feelings.
Mrs. Powell was making tea at a little table
near one of the windows; Aurora had fallen
asleep with an open book in her hand ; and the
banker walked with John Mellish up and down an
espaliered alley in the golden sunset.
Archibald freely communicated his perplexities
to the Yorkshireman. " I need not tell you, my
dear Mellish," he said, " how pleasant it is to me
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 233
to have you here. I never had a son ; but if it
had pleased God to give me one, I could have
wished him to be just such a frank, noble-hearted
fellow as yourself. I'm an old man, and have
seen a great deal of trouble the sort of trouble
which strikes deeper home to the heart than any
sorrows that begin in Lombard Street or on
'Change ; but I feel younger in your society, and
I find myself clinging to you and leaning on you
as a father might upon his son. You may believe,
then, that I don't wish to get rid of you."
" I do, Mr. Floyd ; but do you think that any
one else wishes to get rid of me ? Do you think
I'm a nuisance to Miss Floyd ?"
"No, Mellish," answered the banker energeti-
cally. " I am sure that Aurora takes pleasure in
your society, and seems to treat you almost as if
you were her brother; but but I know your
feelings, my dear boy, and what I fear is, that you
may perhaps never inspire a warmer feeling in her
heart."
"Let me stay and take my chance, Mr. Floyd,"
cried John, tlu'owing his cigar across the espaliers,
and coming to a dead stop upon the gravel-walk
in the warmth of his enthusiasm. " Let me stay
234 AUEOKA FLOYD.
and take my chance. If there's any disappoint-
ment to be borne, I'll bear it like a man ; I'll go
back to the Park, and you shall never be bothered
with me again. Miss Floyd has rejected me once
already ; but perhaps I was in too great a hurry.
I've grown wiser since then, and I've leamt to
bide my time. I've one of the finest estates in
Yorkshire ; I'm not worse looking than the gene-
rality of fellows, or worse educated than the
generality of fellows. I mayn't have straight
hair, and a pale face, and look as if I'd walked
out of a three-volume novel, like Talbot Bul-
strode. I may be a stone or two over the correct
weight for winning a young lady's heart ; but I'm
sound, wind and Kmb. I never told a lie, or com-
mitted a mean action ; and I love your daughter
Avith as true and pure a love as ever man felt for
woman. May I try my luck once more ?"
" You may, John."
"And have I, thank you, sir, for calling me
John, have I your good wishes for my success ?"
The banker shook Mr. Mellish by the hand as
he answered this question.
" You have, my dear John, my best and heartiest
wishes."
FIGHTING THE BATTLE. 235
So tliere were three battles of the heart being
fought m that spring-tide of iifty-eight. Aurora
and Talbot, separated from each other by the
length and breadth of half England, yet united by
an impalpable chain, were struggling day by day
to break its links ; while poor John Mellish quietly
waited in the background, fighting the stm-dy
fight of the strong heart, which very rarely fails to
win the prize it is set upon, howcA-er high or far
away that prize may seem to be.
236 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER XI.
AT THE CHATEAU d'ARQUES.
John Mellish made himself entirely at home in
the little Leamington circle after this interview
with Mr. Floyd. No one could have been more
tender in his manner, more respectful, untiring,
and devoted, than was this rough Yorksliireman
to the broken old man. Archibald must have
been less than human had he not in somewise
returned this devotion, and it is therefore scarcely
to be wondered that he became very warmly
attached to his daughter's adorer. Had John
Mellish been the most designing disciple of
Macchiavelli, instead of the most transparent and
candid of living creatures, I scarcely think he
could have adopted a truer means of making
for himself a claim upon the gratitude of Aurora
Floyd than by the affection he evinced for her
father. And this affection was as genuine as all
AT THE CHATEAU D'ARQUES, 237
else iu tliat simple nature. How could he do
otherwise than love Aurora's father ? He was her
father. He had a sublime claim upon the devo-
tion of the man who loved her ; who loved her
as John loved, unreservedly, undoubtingiy, child-
ishly ; with such blind, unquestioning love as an
infant feels for its mother. There may be better
women than that mother, perhaps ; but who shall
make the child believe so ?
John Mellish could not argue with himself upon
his passion, as Talbot Bulstrode had done. He
could not separate himself from his love, and
reason with the wild madness. How could he
divide himself from that which was himself ; more
than himself; a diviner self? He asked no ques-
tions about the past life of the woman he loved.
He never sought to know the secret of Talbot's
departm-e from Felden. He saw her, beautiful,
fascinating, perfect; and he accepted her as a
great and wonderful fact, like the round midsummer
moon shining down on the rustic flower-beds and
espaliered garden-walks in the balmy June nights.
So the tranquil days glided slowly and monoto-
nously past that quiet circle. Aurora bore lier
silent burden ; bore her trouble with a gTand
238 AURORA FLOYD.
courage, peculiar to such rich organizations as her
own; and none knew whether the serpent had
been rooted from her breast, or had made for
himself a permanent home in her heart. The
banker's most watchful care could not fathom the
womanly mystery; but there were times when
Archibald Floyd ventured to hope that his daugh-
ter was at peace, and Talbot Bulstrode well-nigh
forgotten. In any case, it was wise to keep her
away from Felden Woods ; so Mr. Floyd proposed
a tour through Normandy to his daughter and
Mrs. Powell., Aurora consented, with a tender
smile and gentle pressure of her father's hand.
She divined the old man's motive, and recognized
the all-watchful love which sought to carry her
from the scene of her trouble. John Mellish, who
was not invited to join the party, burst forth into
such raptures at the proposal, that it would have
required considerable hardness of heart to have
refused his escort. He knew every inch of Nor-
mandy, he said, and promised to be of infinite use
to Mr. Floyd and his daughter; which, seeing
that his knowledge of Normandy had been acquired
in his attendance at the Dieppe steeple-chases,
and that his acquaintance with the French Ian-
AT THE chAteau d'arques. 239
guage was very limited, seemed rather doubtful.
But for all this he contrived to keep his word.
He went up to Town and hired an all-accomplished
cornier, who conducted the little party from town
to village, from church to ruin, and who could
always find relays of Normandy horses for the
banker's roomy travelling-carriage. The little
party travelled from place to place until pale
gleams of colour returned in transient flushes to
Aurora's cheeks. Grief is terribly selfish. I fear
that Miss Floyd never took into consideration the
havoc that might be going on in the great honest
heart of John Mellish. I dare say that if she had
ever considered the matter, she would have thought
that a broad-shouldered Yorkshireman of sis feet
two could never suffer seriously from such a passion
as love. She grew accustomed to his society;
accustomed to have his strong arm handy for her
to lean ujjon when she grew tired ; accustomed to
his carrying her sketch-book and shawls and camp-
stools ; accustomed to be waited upon by him all
day, and served faithfully by him at every tm^n;
taking his homage as a thing of course, but making
him superlatively and dangerously happy by her
tacit acceptance of it.
240 AURORA FLOYD,
September was half gone when they bent their
way homeward, lingering for a few days at Dieppe,
where the bathers were splashing about in semi-
theatrical costume, and the Etablissement des
Bains was all aflame with coloured lanterns, and
noisy with nightly concerts.
The early autumnal days were glorious in their
balmy beauty. The best part of a year had
gone by suice Talbot Bulstrode had bade Aurora
that adieu which, in one sense at least, was to be
eternal. They two, Aurora and Talbot, might
meet again, it is true. They might meet, ay, and
even be cordial and friendly together, and do
each other good service in some dim time to
come ; but the two lovers who had parted in the
little bay-windowed room at Felden Woods could
never meet again. Between them there was death
and the grave.
Perhaps some such thoughts as these had their
place in the breast of Aurora Floyd as she sat,
with John Mellish at her side, looking down upon
the varied landscape from the height upon which
the ruined walls of the Chateau d'Arques still
rear the proud memorials of a day that is dead.
I don't suppose that the banker's daughter troubled
AT THE ChAtEAU d'AEQUES. 241
herself much about Henry the Fourth, or any
other dead-and-gone celebrity who may have left
the impress of his name upon that spot. She felt
a tranquil sense of the exquisite purity and soft-
ness of the air, the deep blue of the cloudless sky,
the spreading woods and grassy plains, the
orchards, where the trees were rosy with their
plenteous burden, the tiny streamlets, the white
villa-like cottages and straggling gardens, out-
spread in a fan- panorama beneath her. Carried
out of her sorrow by the sensuous rapture we
derive from nature, and for the first time discover-
ing in herself a vague sense of happiness, she
began to wonder how it was she had outlived her
grief by so many months.
She had never during those weary months heard
of Talbot Bulstrode, Any change might have
come to him without her knowledge. He might
have married ; might have chosen a prouder and
worthier bride to share his lofty name. She might
meet him on her return to England with that
happier woman leaning upon his arm. Would
some good-natured friend tell the bride how
Talbot had loved and wooed the banker's daughter ?
Aurora foimd herself pitying this happier woman,
VOL. I. R
242 AURORA FLOYD.
who would, after all, win but the second love of
that proud heart ; the pale reflection of a sun that
has set ; the feeble glow of expiring embers when
the great blaze has died out. They had made her
a couch with shawls and carriage-rugs, outspread
upon a rustic seat, for she was still far from
strong ; and she lay in the bright September sun-
shine, looking down at the fair landscape, and
listening to the hum of beetles and the chirp of
grasshoppers upon the smooth turf.
Her father had walked to some distance with
Mrs. Powell, who explored every crevice and
cranny of the ruins with the dutiful perseverance
peculiar to commonplace people ; but faithful
John Mellish never stirred from Aurora's side. He
was watching her musing face, trying to read its
meaning trying to gather a gleam of hope from
some chance expression flitting across it. Neither
he nor she knew how long he had watched her
thus, when, turning to speak to him about the
landscape at her feet, she found him on his knees
imploring her to have pity upon him, and to love
him, or to let him love her ; which was much the
same.
" 1 don't expect you to love me, Aurora," he
AT THE CHATEAU D'ARQUES. 243
said passionately; "bow should you? "What is
there in a big clumsy fellow like me to win your
love ? I don't ask that. I only ask you to let
me love you, to let me worship you, as the people
we see kneeling in the churches here worshiP
their saints. You won't drive me away from you,
will you, Aurora, because I presume to forget
what you said to me that cruel day at Brighton?
You would never have suffered me to stay with you
so long, and to be so happy, if you had meant to
drive me away at the last ! You never could have
been so cruel !"
Miss Floyd looked at him with a sudden terror
in her face. What was this? What had she
done ? More wrong, more mischief ? Was her
life to be one of perpetual wrong-doing? Was
she to be for ever bringing sorrow upon good
people? Was this John Mellish to be another
sufferer by her folly ?
" Oh, forgive me !" she cried, "forgive me! I
never thought "
"You never thought that every day spent by
your side must make the anguish of parting from
you more cruelly bitter. Aurora, women should
think of these things ! Send me away from you,
R 2
244 AURORA FLOYD.
and what shall I be for the rest of my life ? a
broken man, fit for nothing better than the race-
course and the betting-rooms ; a reckless man,
ready to go to the bad by any road that can take
me there ; worthless alike to myself and to others.
You must have seen such men, Aurora ; men
whose unblemished youth promised an honour-
able manhood ; but who break up all of a sudden,
and go to ruin in a few years of mad dissipation.
Nine times out of ten a woman is the cause of
that sudden change. I lay my life at your feet,
Aurora ; I offer you more than my heart
I offer you my destiny. Do Avith it as you
will."
He rose in his agitation, and walked a few
paces away from her. The grass-grown battlements
sloped away from his feet ; an outer and inner
moat lay below him, at the bottom of a steep
declivity. What a convenient place for suicide,
if Aurora should refuse to take pity upon him !
The reader must allow that he had availed him-
seK of considerable artifice in addressing Miss
Floyd. His appeal had taken the form of an
accusation rather than a prayer, and he had duly
impressed upon this poor girl the responsibility
AT THE CHATEAU D'ARQUES. 245
she would incur in refusing him. And this, I
take it, is a meanness of which men are often
guilty in their dealings with the weaker sex.
Miss Floyd looked up at her lover with a quiet,
half-mournful smUe.
" Sit down there, Mr, Mellish," she said, point-
ing to a camp-stool at her side.
John took the indicated seat, very much with
the air of a prisoner in a criminal dock about to
answer for his life.
"Shall I tell you a secret?" asked Aurora,
looking compassionately at his pale face.
" A secret ?"
" Yes ; the secret of my parting with Talbot
Bulstrode. It was not I who dismissed him from
Felden ; it was he who refused to fulfil his en-
gagement with me."
She spoke slowly, in a low voice, as if it were
painful to her to say the words which told of so
much humiliation.
" He did !" cried John Mellish, rising, red and
furious, from his seat, eager to run to look for
Talbot Bulstrode then and there, in order to in-
flict chastisement upon him.
" He did, John Mellish, and he was justified in
246 AURORA FLOYD.
doing so," answered Aurora, gi*avely. "You
would have done the same."
" O Aurora, Aurora !"
" You would. You are as good a man as he, and
why should your sense of honour be less strong than
his ? A barrier arose between Talbot Bulstrode
and me, and separated us for ever. That barrier
was a secret."
She told him of the missing year in her young
life ; how Talbot had called upon her for an ex-
planation, and how she had refused to give it.
John listened to her with a thoughtful face, which
broke out into sunshine as she turned to him and
said
" How would you have acted in such a case,
Mr. Hellish?"
" How should I have acted, Aurora ? I should
have trusted you. But I can give you a better
answer to your question, Aurora. I can answer
it by a renewal of the prayer I made you five
minutes ago. Be my wife."
" In spite of this secret ?"
" In spite of a hundred secrets. I could not
love you as I do, Aurora, if I did not believe you
to be all that is best and purest in woman. I
AT THE CHATEAU d'ARQUES. 247
cannot believe this one moment, and doubt you
the next. I give my life and honour into your
hands. I would not confide them to the woman
whom I could insult by a doubt."
His handsome Saxon face was radiant with love
and trustfulness as he spoke. All his patient
devotion, so long unheeded, or accepted as a
thing of course, recurred to Aurora's mind. Did
he not deserve some reward, some requital for all
this? But there was one who was nearer and
dearer to her, dearer than even Talbot Bulstrode
had ever been ; and that one was the white-haii-ed
old man pottering about amongst the ruins on the
other side of the grassy platform.
" Does my father know of this, Mr. Mellish ?"
she asked.
"He does, Aurora. He has promised to accept
me as his son ; and Heaven knows I will try to
deserve that name. Do not let me distress you,
dearest. The murder is out now. You know that
I still love you ; still hope. Let time do the rest."
She held out both her hands to him with a
tearful smile. He took those little hands in his
own broad palms, and bending down kissed them
reverently.
248 AUKORA FLOYD.
" You are right," she said ; " let time do the
rest. You are worthy of the love of a better
woman than me, John Mellish ; but, with the
help of Heaven, I will never give you cause to
regret having trusted me."
249
CHAPTER XII.
STEEVE HAKGKAVES, THE "SOFTY."
Eaely in October Aurora Floyd returned to
Felden Woods, once more "engaged." The
county families opened their eyes when the re-
port reached them that the banker's daughter was
going to be married, not to Talbot Bulstrode, but
to Mr. John Hellish, of Mellish Park, near Don-
caster. The unmarried ladies rather hanging on
hand about Beckenham and West Wickliam did
not approve of all this chopping and changing.
They recognized the taint of the Prodder blood in
this fickleness. The spangles and the sawdust were
breaking out, and Aurora was, as they had always
said, her mother's o^vn daughter. She was a very
lucky young woman, they remarked, in being able,
after jilting one rich man, to pick up another ;
but of course a young person whose father could
give her fifty thousand pounds on her wedding-
250 AUROEA FLOYD.
day might be permitted to play fast and loose
with the male sex, while worthier Marianas moped
in their moated granges till gray hairs showed
themselves in glistening bandeaux, and cruel
crow's feet gathered about the comers of bright
eyes. It is well to be merry and wise, and honest
and true, and to be off with the old love, &o. ;
but it is better to be Miss Floyd, of the senior
branch of Floyd, Floyd, and Floyd, for then you
need be none of these things. At least to such
effect was the talk about Beckenham when Archi-
bald brought his daughter back to Felden Woods ;
and a crowd of dressmakers and milliners set to
work at the marriage garments as busily as if
Miss Floyd had never had any clothes in her life
before.
Mrs. Alexander and Lucy came back to Felden
to assist in the preparations for the wedding.
Lucy had improved very much in appearance
since the preceding winter ; there was a happier
light in her soft blue eyes, and a healthier hue in
her cheeks; but she blushed crimson when she
first met Am-ora, and hung back a little from
Miss Floyd's caresses.
The weddmg was to take place at the end of
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 251
November. The bride and bridegi'ooni were to
spend the winter in Paris, where Archibald Floyd
was to join them, and return to England, "' in time
for the Craven Meeting," as John MelKsh said,
for I am sorry to say that, having been so happily
successfal in his love-affair, this young man's
thoughts returned into their accustomed channels ;
and the creatm-e he held dearest on earth next to
Miss Floyd and those belonging to her, was a bay
filly called Am-ora, and entered for the Oaks and
Leger of a future year.
Ought I to apologize for my heroine, because
she has forgotten Talbot Bulsti-ode, and that she
entertains a grateful affection for this adoring
John Mellish? She ought, no doubt, to have
died of shame and sorrow after Talbot's cruel
desertion ; and Heaven knows that only her youth
and vitality carried her through a very severe
battle with the grim rider of the pale horse ; but
having once passed through that dread encounter,
she was, however feeble, in a fair way to recover.
These passionate griefs, to kill at all, must kill
suddenly. The lovers who die for love in om-
tragedies die in such a vast hurry, that there is
generally some mistake or misapprehension about
252 AURORA FLOYD.
the business, and the tragedy might have been a
comedy if the hero or heroine had only waited for
a quarter of an hour. If Othello had but lingered
a little before smothering his wife, Mistress Emilia
might have come in and sworn and protested ; and
Cassio, with the handkerchief about his leg, might
have been in time to set the mind of the valiant
Moor at rest, and put the Yenetian dog to confu-
sion. How happily Mr. and Mrs. Romeo Montague
might have lived and died, thanks to the dear
good friar, if the foolish bridegroom had not been
in such a hurry to swallow the vile stuff from the
apothecary's ! and as people are, I hope and
believe, a little wiser in real life than they appear
to be upon the stage, the worms very rarely get an
honest meal off men and women who have died
for love. So Aurora walked through the rooms at
Felden in which Talbot Bulstrode had so often
walked by her side ; and if there was any regret
at her heart, it was a quiet sorrow, such as we
feel for the dead, a sorrow not unmingled with
pity, for she thought that the proud son of Sir
John Ealeigh Bulstrode might have been a
happier man if he had been as generous and
trusting as John Mellish. Perhaps the healthiest
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 253
sign of the state of her heart was, that she could
speak of Talbot freely, cheerfully, and without a
blush. She asked Lucy if she had met Captain
Bulstrode that year ; and the little hypocrite told
her cousin, Yes ; that he had spoken to them one
day in the Park, and that she beheved he had
gone into Parliament. She believed! Why, she
knew his maiden speech by heart, though it was
on some hopelessly uninteresting bill in which the
Cornish mines were in some vague manner in-
volved with the national sm'vey; and she could
have repeated it as correctly as her youngest
brother could declaim to his "Romans, country-
men and lovers." Aurora might forget him, and
basely marry a fair-haired Yorkshireman ; but for
Lucy Floyd earth only held this dark knight, mth
the severe gray eyes and the stiff leg. Poor Lucy,
therefore, loved and was gi-ateful to her brilliant
cousin for that fickleness which had brought about
such a change in the progi'amme of the gay
wedding at Felden Woods. The fair young con-
fidante and bridesmaid could assist in the cere-
monial now with a good grace. She no longer
walked about like a " corpse alive ;" but took a
hearty womanly interest in the whole afiair, and
254 AURORA FLOYD,
was very much concerned in a discussion as to tlie
merits of pink versus blue for the bonnets of the
bridesmaids.
The boisterous happiness of John Melhsh seemed
contagious, and made a genial atmosphere about
the great mansion at Felden. Stalwart Andrew
Floyd was delighted with his young cousin's
choice. No more refusals to join him in the hunt-
ing-field; but half the county breakfasting at
Felden, and the long terrace and garden lumi-
nous with " pink."
Not a ripple disturbed the smooth current of
that brief courtship. The Yorkshireman con-
trived to make himself agreeable to everybody
belonging to his dark-eyed divinity. He flattered
their weaknesses, he gratified their caprices, he
studied their wishes, and paid them all such
insidious court, that I'm afraid invidious compari-
sons were drawn between John and Talbot, to the
disadvantage of the proud young oflicer.
It was impossible for any quarrel to arise
between the lovers, for John followed his mistress
about like some big slave, who only lived to do
her bidding; and Aurora accepted his devotion
with a Sultana-like grace, which became her
STEEVE HARGEAVES, THE "SOFTY." 255
amazingly. Once more she visited the stables
and inspected her father's stud, for the first time
since she had left Feklen for the Parisian finishing
school. Once more she rode across country, wear-
ing a hat which provoked considerable criticism,
a hat which was no other than the now uni-
versal turban, or pork-pie, but which was new to
the world in the autumn of fifty-eight. Her
earlier girlhood appeared to retm-n to her once
more. It seemed almost as if the two years and
a half in which she had left and retm-ned to her
home, and had met and parted with Talbot Bul-
strode, had been, blotted from her life, leaving h^r
spirits fresh and bright as they were before that
stormy interview in her father's study in the June
of fifty-six.
The county families came to the wedding at
Beckenham church, and were fain to confess that
Miss Floyd looked woudrously handsome in her
virginal crown of orange buds and flowers, and her
voluminous Mechlin veil ; she had pleaded hard to
be married in a bonnet, but had been overruled
by a posse of female cousins. Mr. Eichard Gunter
provided the marriage feast, and sent a man down
to Felden to superintend the arrangements, who
256 AURORA FLOYD.
was more dashing and splendid to look upon than
any of the Kentish guests. John Mellish alter-
nately laughed and cried throughout that eventful
morning. Heaven knows how many times he
shook hands with Arcliibald Floyd, carrying the
banker off into solitary corners, and swearing, with
the tears running down his broad cheeks, to be a
good husband to the old man's daughter ; so that
it must have been a relief to the white-haired old
Scotchman when Aurora descended the staircase,
rustling in violet moire antique, and surrounded by
her bridesmaids, to take leave of this dear father
before the prancing steeds carried Mr. and IVIrs.
Mellish to that most prosaic of hymenial stages,
the London Bridge Station.
Mrs. Mellish ! Yes, she was Mrs. Mellish now.
Talbot Bulstrode read of her marriage in that very
column of the newspaper in which he had thought
perhaps to see her death. How flatly the romance
ended ! With what a dull cadence the storm died
out, and what a commonplace gray, e very-day sky
succeeded the terrors of the lightning ! Less than
a year since, the globe had seemed to him to col-
lapse, and creation to come to a standstill because
of his trouble ; and he was now in Parhament, legis-
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 257
lating for the Cornish miners, and getting stout,
his ill-natured friends said; and she she who
ought, in accordance Avith all dramatic propriety,
to have died out of hand long before this, she had
married a Yorkshu-e landowner, and would no
doubt take her place in the county and play My
Lady Bountiful in the village, and be chief pa-
troness at the race-balls, and live happily ever
afterwards. He crumpled the ' Times ' newspaper,
and flung it from him in his rage and mortification.
" And I once thought that she loved me !" he cried.
And she did love you, Talbot Bulstrode ; loved
you as she can never love this honest, generous,
devoted John l^Iellish, though slie may by-and-by
bestow upon him an affection which is a great deal
better worth having. She loved you with the girl's
romantic fancy and reverent admiration ; and tried
humbly to fashion her very nature anew, that she
might be worthy of your sublime excellence. She
loved you as women only love in their first youth,
and as they rarely love the men they ultimately
marry. The tree is perhaps all the stronger when
these first frail branches are lopped away to give
place to strong and spreading arms, beneath which
a husband and children may shelter.
VOL. I. s
258 ' AUKORA FLOYD.
But Talbot could not see all this. He saw no-
thing but that brief announcement in the ' Times :'
"John Mellish, Esq., of Mellish Park, near
Doncaster, to Aurora, only daughter of Archibald
Floyd, Banker, of Felden Woods, Kent." He was
angry with liis sometime love, and more angry with
himself for feeling that anger; and he plunged
furiously into blue-books, to prepare himself for the
coming session ; and again he took his gun and
went out upon the " barren, barren moorland," as
he had done in the first violence of his grief, and
wandered down to the dreary sea-shore, where he
raved about his " Amy, shallow-hearted," and tried
the pitch of his voice against the ides of February
should come round, and the bill for the Cornish
miners be laid before the Speaker.
Towards the close of January, the servants at
Mellish Park prepared for the advent of Master
John and his bride. It was a work of love in that
disorderly household, for it pleased them that mas-
ter would have some one to keep him at home, and
that the county would be entertained, and festi-
vals held in the roomy rambling mansion. Archi-
tects, upholsterers, and decorators had been busy
through the short winter days preparing a suite of
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 259
apartments for Mrs. Mellish ; and the western, or
as it was called tlie Gothic, wing of the house had
been restored and remodelled for Aurora, until the
oak-roofed chambers blazed with rose-colom- and
gold, like a mediseval chapel. If John could have
expended half his fortune in the purchase of a roc's
egg to hang in these apartments, he would have
gladly done so. He was so proud of his Cleopatra-
like bride, his jewel beyond all parallel amid all
gems, that he fancied he coidd not build a shrine
rich enough for his treasure. So the house in which
honest country squires and then' sensible motherly
wives had lived contentedly for nearly three cen-
turies was almost pulled to pieces, before John
thought it worthy of the banker's daughter. The
trainers and grooms and stable-boys shrugged their
shoulders superciliously, and spat fragments of
straw disdainfully upon the paved stable-yard, as
they heard the clatter of the tools of stonemasons
and glaziers busy about the facade of the restored
apartments. The stable would be naught now, they
supposed, and Muster Mellish would be always tied
to his wife's apron-string. It was a relief to them
to hear that Mrs. Mellish was fond of riding and
hunting, and would no doubt take to horse-racing
s 2
260 AURORA FLOYD.
in due time, as tlie legitimate taste of a lady of
position and fortune.
The bells of the village church rang loudly and
joyously in the clear winter air as the carriage-and-
four which had met John and his bride at Doncas-
ter, dashed into the gates of Mellish Park and up
the long avenue to the semi-Gothic, semi-barbaric
portico of the great door. Hearty Yorkshire voices
rang out in loud cheers of welcome as Aurora
stepped from the carriage, and passed under the
shadow of the porch and into the old oak hall,
which had been hung with evergreens and adorned
with floral devices; amongst which figured the
legend, "Welcom toMelish!" and other such
friendly inscriptions, more conspicuous for their
kindly meaning than their strict orthography. The
servants were enraptured with their master's choice.
She was so brightly handsome, that the simple-
hearted creatures accepted her beauty as we accept
the sunlight, and felt a genial Avarmth in that
radiant loveliness, which the most classical perfec-
tion could never have inspired. Indeed, a Grecian
outline might have been thrown away upon the
Yorkshhe servants, wliose uncultivated tastes were
a great deal more disposed to recognize splendour
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 261.
of colour tlian purity of form. They could not
choose but admire Aurora's eyes, which they unani-
mously declared to be " regular shiners ;" and the
flash of her white teeth, glancing between the full
crimson lips ; and the bright flush which lighted
up her pale olive skin ; and the purple lustre of
her massive coronal of plaited hair. Her beauty
M'as of that luxuriant and splendid order which has
always most effect ujjon the masses, and the fasci-
nation of her manner was almost akin to sorcery
in its power over simple people. I lose myself
M'hen I try to describe the feminine intoxications,
the wonderful fascination exercised by this dark-
eyed siren. Surely the secret of her power to
charm must have been the wonderful vitality of
her nature, by virtue of which she carried life and
animal spii'its about with her as an atmosphere,
till dull people grew merry by reason of her con-
tagious presence ; or perhaps the true charm of
her manner was that childlike and exquisite un-
consciousness of self which made her for ever a
new creature ; for ever impulsive and sympathetic,
acutely sensible of all sorrow in others, though of
a nature originally joyous in the extreme.
Mrs. Walter Powell had been transferred from
262 AURORA FLOVD.
Felden Woods to Mellisli Park, and was comfort-
ably installed in her prim apartments when the
bride and bridegroom arrived. The Yorkshire
housekeeper was to abandon the executive power
to the ensign's widow, who was to take all trouble
of administration o& Aurora's hands.
" Heaven help your friends if they ever had to
eat a dinner of my ordering, John," Mrs. Melhsh
said, making free confession of her ignorance ; " I
am glad, too, that we have no occasion to turn the
poor soul out upon the world once more. Those
long columns of advertisements in the ' Times '
give me a sick pain at my heart when I think of
what a governess must have to encounter. I can-
not loll back in my carriage and be ' grateful for
my advantages,' as Mrs. Alexander says, when I
remember the sufferings of others. I am rather
inclined to be discontented with my lot, and to
think it a poor thing, after all, to be rich and happy
in a world where so many must sufi'er ; so I am
glad we can give Mrs. Powell something to do at
Mellish Park."
The ensign's widow rejoiced very much in that
she was to be retained in such comfortable quarters ;
but she did not thank Aurora for the benefits
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 263
received from the open hands of the banker's daugh-
ter. She did not thank her, because she hated
her. AVhy did she hate her ? She hated her for the
very benefits she received, or rather because she,
Aurora, had power to bestow such benefits. She
hated her as such slow, sluggish, narrow-minded
creatures always hate the frank and generous ;
hated her as envy will for ever hate prosperity ; as
Haman hated Mordecai from the height of his
throne ; and as the man of Haman nature would
hate, were he supreme in the universe. If Mrs.
Walter Powell had been a duchess, and Aurora a
crossing-sweeper, she would still have envied her ;
she would have envied her glorious eyes and flash-
ing teeth, her imperial carriage and generous soul.
This pale, whity-brown-haired woman felt herself
contemptible in the presence of Aurora, and she
resented the |^bounteous vitahty of this nature
which made her conscious of the sluggishness of
her own. She detested Mrs. Mellish for the pos-
session of attributes which she felt were richer gifts
than all the wealth of the house of Floyd, Floyd,
and Floyd melted into one mountain of ore. But
it is not for a dependent to hate, except in a
decorous and gentlewomanly manner secretly, in
264 AURORA FLOYD.
the dim recesses of her soul ; while she dresses her
face with an unvarying smile a smile which she
puts on every morning with her clean collar, and
takes off at night when she goes to bed.
Now as, by an all-wise dispensation of Providence,
it is not possible for one person so to hate another
without that other having a vague consciousness
of the deadly sentiment, Aurora felt tliat Mrs.
Powell's attachment to her was of no very profound
nature. But the reckless girl did not seek to
fathom the depth of any inimical feeling which
might lurk in her dependent's breast.
" She is not very fond of me, poor soul !" she
said ; " and I dare say I torment and annoy her
with my careless follies. If I were like that dear
considerate little Lucy, now " And with a shrug
of her shoulders, and an unfinished sentence such
as this, Mrs. Mellish dismissed the insignificant
subject from her mind.
You cannot expect these grand, courageous
creatures to be frightened of quiet people. And
yet, in the great dramas of life, it is the quiet
people who do the mischief. lago was not a noisy
person ; though, thank Heaven ! it is no longer the
fasliion to represent him as an oily sneak, whom
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE " SOFTY." 2G5
even the most foolish of Moors could not have
trusted.
Aurora was at peace. The storms that had so
nearly shipwrecked her young life had passed
away, leaving her upon a fair and fertile shore.
Whatever griefs she had inflicted upon her fatlier's
devoted heart had not been mortal ; and the old
banker seemed a very happy man when he came,
in the bright April weather, to see the young-
couple at Mellish Park. Amongst all the hangers-
on of that large establishment there was only one
person who did not join in the general voice when
Mrs. Mellish was spoken of, and that one person
was so very insignificant that his fellow-servants
scarcely cared to ascertain his opinion. He was a
man of about forty, who had been born at Mellisli
Park, and had pottered about the stables from his
babyhood, doing odd jobs for the grooms, and
being reckoned, although a little " fond " upon
common matters, a very acute judge of horse-flesh.
This man was called Stephen, or, more commonly,
Steeve Hargraves. He was a squat, broad-shoul-
dered fellow, with a big head, a pale haggard face,
a face whose ghastly pallor seemed almost un-
natural, reddish-brown eyes, and bushy, sandy
266 AURORA FLOYD.
eyebrows, wliicli formed a species of pentliouse
over tliose sinister-looking eyes. He was the sort
of man who is generally called repulsive, a man
from whom you recoil w ith a feeling of instinctive
dislike, which is, no doubt, both wicked and unjust ;
for we have no right to take objection to a man
because he has an ugly glitter in his eyes, and
shaggy tufts of red hair meeting on the bridge of
his nose, and big splay feet, which seem made to
crush and destroy whatever comes in their way.
This was what Aurora Mellish thought when,
a few days after her arrival at the Park, she saw
Steeve Hargraves for the first time, coming out of
the harness-room with a bridle across his arm. She
was angry with herself for the involuntary shudder
with which she drew back at the sight of this man,
who stood at a little distance polishing the brass
ornaments upon a set of harness, and furtively re-
garding Mrs. Mellish as she leaned on her husband's
arm, talking to the trainer about the foals at grass
in the meadows outside the Park.
Aurora asked who the man was.
" Why, his name is Hargraves, ma'am," answered
the trainer; "but we call him Steeve. He's a
little bit touched in the upper story, a little bit
STEEVE HARGKAVES, THE "SOFTY." 2G7
* fond,' as we call it here ; but he's useful about
the stables when he pleases ; that arnt always
though, for he's rather a queer temper, and there's
none of us has ever been able to get the upper
hand of him, as master knows."
John Mellish laughed.
" No," he said ; " Steeve has pretty much his
own way in the stables, I fancy. He was a
favourite gToom of my father's twenty years ago ;
but he got a fall in the hunting-field, which did
him some injury about the head, and he's never
been quite right since. Of course this, with my
poor father's regard for him, gives him a claim
upon us, and we put up with his queer ways, don't
we, Langley?"
"Well, we do, sir," said the trainer; "though,
upon my honour, I'm sometimes half afraid of him,
and begin to think he'll get up in the middle of
the night and murder some of us."
"Not till some of you have won a hatful of
money, Langley. Steeve's a little too fond of the
brass to murder any of you for nothing. You shall
see his face light up presently, Aurora," said John,
beckoning to the stable-man. " Come here, Steeve.
Mrs. Mellish wishes you to drink her health."
268 AURORA FLOYD.
He dropped a sovereign into the man's broad
muscular palm, the hand of a gladiator, with
horny flesh and sinews of iron. Steeve's red eyes
glistened as his fingers closed upon the money.
" Thank you kindly, my lady," he said, touching
his cap. ~ .
He spoke in a low subdued voice, which con-
trasted so strangely with the physical power mani-
fest in his appearance that Aurora drew back with
a start.
Unhappily for this poor " fond " creature, whose
person was in itself repulsive, there was something
in this inward, semi-whispering voice which gave
rise to an instinctive dislike in those who heard
him speak for the first time.
He touched his greasy woollen cap once more,
and ^vent slowly back to his work.
" HoAV white his face is !" said Aurora. " Has
he been ill ?"
" No. He has had that pale face ever since his
fall. I was too young when it happened, to
remember much about it ; but I have heard my
father say, that when they brought the poor crea-
ture home, his face, which had been florid before,
was as white as a sheet of writing-paper, and his
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 269
voice, until that period strong and gruff, was
reduced to the lialf-whisper in which he now
speaks. The doctors did all they could for him,
and carried him through an awful attack of brain-
fever ; but they could never bring back his voice,
nor the colour to his cheeks."
"Poor fellow!" said Mrs. Mellish gently; "he
is very much to be pitied."
She was reproaching herself, as she said this,
for that feeling of repugnance which she could not
overcome. It was a repugnance closely allied to
terror ; she felt as if she could scarcely be haj)py
at Mellish Park while that man was on the
l^remises. She was half inclined to beg her in-
dulgent husband to pension him off, and send him
to the other end of the county ; but the next
moment she was ashamed of her childish folly,
and a few hours afterwards had forgotten Steeve
Hargi-aves, the " Softy," as he was politely called
in the stables.
Eeader, when any creature inspires you with
this instinctive unreasoning abhorrence, avoid that
creature. He is dangerous. Take warning, as
you take warning by the clouds in the sky, and
the ominous stillness of the atmosphere when
270 . ' AUEOKA FLOYD.
tliere is a storm coming. Natm-e cannot lie ; and
it is nature which has planted that shuddering
terror in your breast ; an instinct of self-preserva-
tion rather than of cowardly fear, wliich at the
first sight of some fellow-creature tells you more
plainly than words can speak, " That man is my
enemy
Had Aurora suffered herself to be guided by
this instinct, had she given way to the impulse
which she despised as childish, and caused Stephen
Hargraves to be dismissed from Mellish Park,
what bitter misery, what cruel anguish, might have
been spared to herself and others !
The mastiff Bow-wow had accompanied his
mistress to her new home ; but Bow-wow's best
days were done. A month before Aurora's mar-
riage he had been run over by a pony-carriage in
one of the roads about Felden, and had been con-
veyed, bleeding and disabled, to the veterinary
surgeon's, to have one of his hind-legs put into
splints, and to be carried through his sufferings by
the highest available skill in the science of dog-
doctoring. Am-ora drove every day to Croydon to
see her sick favourite ; and at the worst Bow-wow
was always well enough to recognize his beloved
STEEVE HARGKAVES, THE *' SOFTY." 271
mistress, and roll his listless, feverish tongue over
her white hands, in token of that unchanging
brute affection which can only perish with life.
So the mastiff was quite lame as well as half blind
when he arrived at Mellish Park, with the rest of
Aurora's goods and chattels. He was a privileged
creature in the roomy mansion ; a tiger-skin was
spread for him upon the hearth in the di-awing-
room, and he spent his declining days in luxurious
repose, basking in the fire-light or sunning himself
in the windows, as it pleased his royal fancy ; but,
feeble as he was, always able to limp after Mrs.
Mellish when she walked on the lawn or in the
woody shrubberies which skirted the gardens.
One day, when she had returned from her
morning's ride with John and her father, who
accompanied them sometimes upon a quiet gray
cob, and seemed a younger man for the exercise,
she lingered on the lawn in her riding-habit after
the horses had been taken back to the stables, and
Mr. Mellish and his father-in-law had re-entered
the house. The mastiff saw her from the drawing-
room window, and crawled out to welcome her.
Tempted by the exquisite softness of the atmo-
sphere, she strolled, with her riding-habit gathered
272 AURORA FLOYD.
under her arm and her whip in her hand, looking
for primroses under the ckimps of trees upon the
lawn. She gathered a cluster of wild-flowers, and
Avas returning to the house, when she remembered
some directions respecting a favourite pony that
Avas ill, which she had omitted to give to her
groom.
She crossed the stable-yard, followed by Bow-
wow, found the groom, gave him her orders, and
went back to the gardens. While talking to the
man, slie had recognized the white face of Steeve
Hargraves at one of the windows of the harness-
room. He came out while she was giving her
directions, and carried a set of harness across to a
coach-house on the opposite side of the quad-
rano-le. Aurora was on the threshold of the ffates
opening from the stables into the gardens, when
she was arrested by a howl of pain from the mastiff
Bow-wow. Bapid as lightning in every move-
ment, she turned round in time to see the cause of
tliis cry. Steeve Hargraves had sent the animal
reeling away from him with a kick from his iron-
bound clog. Cruelty to animals was one of the
failings of the " Softy." He was not cruel to the
Mellish horses, for he had sense enough to know
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 273
that his daily bread depended upon his attention
to them ; but Heaven help any outsider that came
in his way! Aurora sprang upon him like a
beautiful tigress, and catchmg the collar of his
fustian jacket in her slight hands, rooted him to
the spot upon which he stood. The grasp of those
slender hands, convulsed by passion, was not to be
easily shaken off; and Steeve Hargraves, taken
completely off his guard, stared aghast at his
assailant. Taller than the stable-man by a foot
and a half, she towered above him, her cheeks
white with rage, her eyes flashing fury, her hat
fallen off, and her black hair tumbling about her
shoulders, sublime in her passion.
The man crouched beneath the grasp of the im-
perious creature.
"Let me go !" he gasped, in his inward whisper,
which had a hissing sound in his agitation; "let
me go, or you'll be sorry ; let me go !"
" How dared you !" cried Aurora, "how dared
you hurt him ? My poor dog ! My poor lame,
feeble dog ! How dared you to do it ? You cow-
ardly dastard ! you "
She disengaged her right hand from his collar
and rained a shower of blows upon his clumsy
VOL. I. T
274 AURORA FLOYD.
slioulclers with her slender whip ; a mere toy, Avith
emeralds set in its golden head, but stinging like
a rod of flexible steel in that little hand.
" How dared you !" she repeated again and
again, her cheeks changing from white to scarlet
in the eifort to hold the man with one hand. Her
tangled hair had fallen to her waist by this time,
and the whip was broken in half a dozen places.
John Mellish, entering the stable-yard by chance
at this very moment, turned white with horror at
beholding the beautiful fury.
"Auroral Aurora!" he cried, snatching the
man's collar from her grasp, and hurling him
half a dozen paces off. " Aurora, what is it ?"
She told him in broken gasps the cause of her
indignation. He took the splintered whip from
her hand, picked up her hat, which she had
trodden upon in her rage, and led her across the
yard towards the back entrance to the house. It
was such bitter shame to him to tliink that this
peerless, tliis adored creature should do anything
to bring disgrace, or even ridicule, upon herself.
He would have stripped off his coat and fought
with half a dozen coal-heavers, and thought no-
tliing of it ; but that she
STEEVE I-IAEGRAYES, THE "SOFTY." 275
" Go in, go in, my darling girl," he said, ATitli
sorrowful tenderness ; *' the servants are peeping
and prying about, I dare say. You should not
have done this ; you should have told me."
"I should have told you!" she cried impatiently.
" How could I stop to tell you when I saw him
strike my dog, my poor lame dog ?"
" Go in, darhng, go in ! There, there, calm
yourself, and go in."
He spoke as if he had been trying to soothe an
agitated child, for he saw by the convulsive heav-
ing of her breast that the violent emotion would
terminate in hysteria, as all womanly fury must,
sooner or later. He half led, half carried her up a
back stah'case to her own room, and left her lying
on a sofa in her riding-habit. He thi'ust the
broken whip into his pocket, and then, setting his
strong ^vhite teeth and clenching his fist, went
to look for Stephen Hargraves. As he crossed
the hall in his way out, he selected a stout leather-
thonged hunting-whip from a stand of formidable
implements. Steeve, the " Softy," was sitting on a
horse-block when John re-entered the stable-yard.
He was rubbing his shoulders with a very doleful
face, while a couple of grinning stable-boys, who
T 2
276 AURORA FLOYD.
hai perhaps witnessed liis chastisement, watched
him from a respectful distance. They had no
inclination to go too near him just then, for the
" Softy " had a playful habit of brandishing a big
clasp-knife wlien he felt himself aggrieved ; and
the bravest lad in the stables had no wish to die
from a stab in the abdomen, with the pleasant
conviction that his murderer's heaviest punish-
ment might be a fortnight's imprisonment, or an
easy fine,
" Now, Mr. Hargraves," said John MeUish, lift-
ing the " Softy " off the horse-block and planting
him at a convenient distance for giving full play to
the hunting-whip, " it wasn't Mrs. Mellish's busi-
ness to horsewhip you, but it was her duty to let
me do it for her ; so take that, you coward."
The leathern thong whistled in the air, and
curled about Steeve's shoulders; but John felt
there was something despicable in the unequal
contest. He threw the whip away, and still hold-
ing him by the collar, conducted the " Softy " to
the gates of the stable-yard.
" You see that avenue," he said, pointing down
a fair glade that stretched before them; "it leads
pretty straight out of the Park, and I strongly
STEEVE HARGRAVES, THE "SOFTY." 277
recommend you, Mr. Stephen Hargraves, to get to
the end of it as fast as ever you can, and never to
show your ugly white face upon an inch of ground
belonging to me again. D'ye hear ?"
" E-es, sir."
" Stay ! I suppose there's wages or something
due to you." He took a handful of money from
his waistcoat-pocket and threw it on the ground,
sovereigns and half-crowns rolling hither and
thither on the gravel-path; then turning on his
heel, he left the ''' Softy " to pick up the scattered
treasure. Steeve Hargraves dropped on his
knees, and groped about till he had found the last
coin ; then, as he slowly counted the money from
one hand into the other, his white face relapsed
into a grin : John Mellish had given him gold and
silver amounting to upwards of two years of his
ordinary wages.
He walked a few paces down the avenue, and
then looking back shook his fist at the house he
was leaving behind him.
"You're a line-spirited madam, ]\Irs. John
Mellish, sure enough," he muttered ; " but never
you give me a chance of doing you any mischief,
or by the Lord, fond as I am, I'll do it ! They
278 AUKOEA FLOYD.
think the ' Softy's ' up to naught, perhaps. Wait
a bit."
He took his money from his pocket again, and
connted it once more, as he walked slowly towards
the gates of the Park.
It will be seen, therefore, that Aurora had two
enemies, one without and one within her pleasant
home : one for ever brooding discontent and
hatred within the holy circle of the domestic
hearth; the other plotting ruin and vengeance
without the walls of the citadel.
179
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SPKING MEETING.
The early spring brought Lucy Floyd on a visit
to Iter cousin, a wondering witness of the happi-
ness that reigned at Mellish Park.
Poor Lucy had expected to find Aurora held as
somethiug better than the dogs, and a little
higher than the horses, in that Yorkshire house-
hold ; and was considerably surprised to find her
dark-eyed cousin a despotic and capricious sove-
reign, reigning with undisputed sway over every
creature, biped or quadruped, upon the estate.
She was surprised to see the bright glow in her
cheeks, the merry sparkle in her eyes ; surprised
to hear the light tread of her footstep, the gushing
music of her laugh ; surprised, in fact, to discover
that, instead of weeping over the dry bones of her
dead love for Talbot Bulstrode, Am-ora had
learned to love her husband.
2S0 AURORA FLOYD.
Have I any need to be ashamed of my heroine
in that she had forgotten her straight-nosed, gray-
eyed Cornish lover, who had set his pride and his
pedigree between himself and his affection, and
had loved her at best with a reservation, although
Heaven only knows how dearly he had loved
her ? Have I any cause to blush for this poor,
impetuous girl, if, turning in the sickness of her
sorrowful heart with a sense of relief and grati-
tude to the honest shelter of John's love, she had
quickly learnt to feel for him an affection which
rej)aid him a thousandfold for his long-suffering
devotion ? Surely it would have been impossible
for any true-hearted woman to withhold some
such repayment for such a love as that which in
every word, and look, and thought, and deed,
John Mellish bestowed upon his wife. How
could she be for ever his creditor for such a bound-
less debt ? Are hearts like his common amongst
our clay ? Is it a small thing to be beloved with
this loyal and pure affection ? Is it laid so often
at the feet of any mortal woman that she should
spurn and trample upon the holy offering ?
He had loved ; and more, he had trusted her.
He had trusted her,. when the man who passion-
THE SPRING MEETING. 281
ately loved her had left her in an agony of doubt
and despair. The cause of this lay in the differ-
ence between the two men. John Mellish had
as high and stern a sense of honour as Talbot
Bulstrode ; but while the proud Cornishman's
strength of brain lay in the reflective faculties,
the Yorkshireman's acute intellect was strongest
in its powder of perception. Talbot drove himself
half mad with imagining what might be; John
saw what was; and he saw, or fancied he saw%
that the woman he loved was worthy of all love ;
and he gave his peace and honour freely into her
keeping.
He had his reward. He had his reward in her
frank womanly affection, and in the delight of
seeing that she was happy ; no cloud upon her
face, no shadow on her life, but ever-beaming joy
in her eyes, ever-changing smiles upon her lips.
She was happy in the calm security of her home,
happy in that pleasant stronghold in which she
"was so fenced about and guarded by love and
devotion. I do not know that she ever felt any
romantic or enthusiastic love for this big York-
shireman ; but I do knoAV that from the first hour
in which she laid her head upon his broad breast
282 AURORA FLOYD.
slie was true to him true as a wife sliould be ;
true in every thought ; true in the merest shadow
of a thought. A wide gulf yawned around the
altar of her home, separating her from every
other man in the universe, and leaving her alone
with that one man whom she had accepted as her
husband. She had accepted him in the truest
and purest sense of the word. She had accepted
him from the hand of God, as the protector and
shelterer of her life; and morning and night,
upon her knees, she thanked the gracious Creator
who had made this man for her help-meet.
But after duly setting down all this, I have to
confess that poor John Mellish was cruelly hen-
pecked. Such big, blustering fellows are created
to be the much-enduring subjects of petticoat
government; and they carry the rosy garlands
untU their dying hour with a sublime unconscious-
ness that those floral chains are not very easy to
be broken. Your little man is self-assertive, and
for ever on his guard against womanly domination.
All tyrannical husbands on record have been little
men, from Mr. Daniel Quilp upwards ; but who
could ever convince a fellow of six foot two in his
stockings that he was afraid of his wife ? He
THE SPEING MEETING. 283
submits to tlie pretty tyrant with a quiet smile of
resignation. What does it matter? She is so
little, so fragile ; he could break that tiny wrist
with one twist of his big thumb and finger ; and
in tlie mean time, till affairs get desperate, and
such measm-es become necessary, it's as well to
let her have her own way.
John Mellish did not even debate the point.
He loved her, and he laid himself down to be
trampled upon by her gracious feet. Whatever
she did or said was charming, bewitching, and
wonderful to him. If she ridiculed and laughed
at him, her laughter was the sweetest harmony in
creation ; and it pleased him to think that his
absurdities could give bu-th to such music. If she
lectured him, she arose to the sublimity of a
priestess, and he listened to her and worshipped
her as the most noble of living creatm-es. And
with all this, his innate manhness of character
preserved liim from any taint of that quality our
argot has christened spooneyism. It was only
those who knew him well and watched him closely
who could fathom the full depths of his tender
weakness. The noblest sentiments ai^proach most
nearly to the universal, and this love of John's
2S4 AURORA FLOYD.
"was in a manner universal. It was the love of
husband, father, mother, brother, melted into one
comprehensive affection. He had a mother's weak
pride in Aurora, a mother's foolish vanity in the
wonderful creature, the rara avis he had won from
her nest to be his M'ife. If Mrs. Mellish was com-
plimented while John stood by, he simpered like
a school-girl who blushes at a handsome man's first
flatteries. I'm afraid he bored his male acquaint-
ance about " my wife :" her marvellous leap over
the bullfinch ; the plan she drew for the new
stables, *' which the architect said was a better
plan than he could have drawn himself, sir, by
Gad " (a clever man, that Doncaster architect) ; the
surprising way in which she had discovered the
fault in'the chestnut colt's off fore-leg ; the pencil
sketch she had made of her dog Bow-wow (" Sir
Edwin Landseer might have been proud of such
spirit and dash, sir"). All these things did the
county gentlemen hear, until, perhaps, they grew
a shade weary of John's talk of " my wife." But
they were never weary of Aurora herself. She
took her place at once among them ; and they
bowed down to her and worshipped her, envying
Julm Mellish the ownership of such a high-bred
THE SriilXG MEETING. 285
filly, as I fear they were but likely, unconsciously,
to designate my black-eyed heroine.
The domain over Avhich Aurora found herself
empress was no inconsiderable one. John Mellish
had inherited an estate which brought him an
income of something between sixteen and seven-
teen thousand a year. Far-away farms, upon wide
Yorkshire wolds and fenny Lincolnshire flats,
owned him master ; and the intricate secrets of
his possessions were scarcely known to himself,
known, perhaps, to none but his land-steward and
solicitor, a grave gentleman who lived in Don-
caster, and drove about once a fortnight down to
Mellish Park, much to the horror of its light-
hearted master, to whom " business " was a terrible
bugbear. Not that I would have the reader for a
moment imagine John Mellish an empty-headed
blockhead, with no comprehension save for his
own daily ^jleasures. He was not a reading man,
nor a business ipan, nor a politician, nor a student
of the natural sciences. There was an observatory
in the Park ; but John had fitted it up as a
smoking-room, the revolving openings in the roof
being very convenient for letting out the efiluvia
of his guests' cheroots and Havanas ; Mr. Mellish
2S6 AURORA FLOYD.
caring for the stars very nmcli after the fashion
of that Assyrian monarch who was content to
see them shine, and thank their ]\Iaker for tlieir
beanty. He was not a spiritualist ; and unless
one of the tables at Mellish could have given him
" a tip " for the " Sellinger," or Great Ebor, he
would have cared very little if every inch of
walnut and rosewood in his house had grown
oracular. But for all this he was no fool ; he had
that brightly clear intellect which very often
accompanies perfect honesty of purpose, and which
is the very intellect of all others most successful
in the discomfiture of all knavery. He was not a
creature to despise, for his very weaknesses were
manly. Perhaps Aurora felt this, and that it was
something to rule over such a man. Sometimes,
m an outburst of loving gratitude, she would
nestle her handsome head upon his breast, tall
as she was, she was only tall enough to take
shelter under his wing, and tell him that he was
the dearest and the best of men, and that, although
she might love him to her dying day, she could
never, 7iever never love him half as much as he
deserved. After which, half ashamed of herself
for the sentimental declaration, she would alter-
THE SPRING MEETING. 287
nately ridicule, lecture, and tyrannize over liim
for the rest of the day.
Lucy beheld this state of things with silent
bewilderment. Could the woman who had once
been loved by Talbot Bulstrode sink to this?
The happy wife of a fau--haired Yorkshireman ;
with her fondest wishes concentred in her name-
sake the bay filly, which was to run \\\ a weight-
for-age race at the York Spring, and was entered
for the ensuing Derby ; interested in a tan gallop,
a new stable ; talking of mysterious but evidently
all-important creatures, called by such names as
Scott and Fobert and Chifney and Challoner ; and
to all appearance utterly forgetful of the fact that
there existed upon the earth a divinity with fathom-
less gray eyes, known to mortals as the heir of
Bulstrode. Poor Lucy was Hke to have been driven
well-nigh demented by the talk about this bay
filly, xlurora, as the Spring Meeting drew near.
She was taken to see her every morning by Aurora
and John, who, in their anxiety for the improve-
ment of their favourite, looked at the animal upon
each visit as if they expected some wonderful
physical transformation to have occurred in the
stiUness of the night. The loose box in which the
288 AURORA FLOYD.
filly was lodged was watched night and day by an
amateur detective force of stable-boys and han-
gers-on ; and John Mellish once went so far as to
dip a tumbler into the pail of water provided for
the bay filly, Aurora, to ascertain, of his own expe-
rience, that the crystal fluid was innocuous; for
he grew nervous as the eventful day drew nigh,
and was afraid of lurking danger to the filly from
dark-minded touts who might have heard of her
in London. I fear the touts troubled their heads
very little about this graceful two-year old,
though she had the blood of Old Melbourne and
West Australian in her veins, to say nothing of
other aristocracy upon the maternal side. The
suspicious gentlemen hanging about York and
Doncaster in those early April days were a great
deal too much occupied with Lord Glasgow's lot,
and John Scott's lot, and Lord Zetland's and
Mr. Merry's lot, and other lots of equal distinction,
to have much time to prowl about Mellish Park,
or peer into that meadow which the young man
had caused to be surrounded by an eight-foot
fence for the privacy of the Derby winner in
futuro. Lucy declared the filly to be the loveliest
of creatures, and safe to win any number of cups
THE SPRING MEETING. 289
and plates that might be offered for equine com-
petition ; but she was always glad, when the daily
visit was over, to find herself safely out of reach of
those high-bred hind-legs, which seemed to possess
a faculty for being in all four corners of the loose-
box at one and the same moment.
The first day of the Meeting came, and found
half the Mellish household established at York :
John and his family at an hotel near the betting-
rooms ; and the trainer, his satellites, and the filly ,
at a little inn close to the Enavesmire. Arclii-
bald Floyd did his best to be interested in the
event which was so interesting to his children ;
but he freely confessed to his grandniece, Lucy,
that he heartily wished the Meeting over, and the
merits of the bay filly decided. She had stood
her trial nobly, John said ; not winning with a
rush, it is true ; in point of fact, being in a manner
beaten ; but evincing a power to stay, which pro-
mised better for the future than any two-year-old
velocity. When the saddling-bell rang, Aurora,
her father, and Lucy were stationed in tlie balcony,
a crowd of friends about them ; Mrs. Mellish, with
a pencil in her hand, putting down all manner of
impossible bets in her excitement, and making
VOL. I. u
290 AURORA FLOYD.
sucli a book as might have been preserved as a
curiosity in sporting annals. John was pushing in
and out of the ring below ; tumbling over small
book-men in his agitation ; dashing from the ring
to the weighing-house ; and hanging about the
small pale-faced boy who was to ride the filly as
anxiously as if the jockey had been a prime
minister, and John a family-man with half a dozen
sons in need of Government appointments. I
tremble to think how many bonuses, in the Avay of
five-pound notes, John promised this pale-faced
lad, on condition that the stakes (some small
matter amounting to about sixty pounds) were
pulled off pulled off where, I wonder ? by the
bay filly Aurora. If the youth had not been Ox
that 23reternatural order of beings Avho seem born
of an emotionless character to wear silk for the
igood of their fellow-men, his brain must certainly
have been dazed by the variety of conflicting
directions Avhich John Mellish gave him within
the critical last quarter of an hour; but having
received his orders early that morning from the
trainer, accompanied with a warning not to suffer
himself to be tewed (Yorkshire patois for worried)
by anything Mr. Mellish might say, the sallow-
''IfciJpW
THE SPRING MEETING. 291
complexioned lad walked about in the calm
serenity of innocence, there are honest jockeys
in the world, and took his seat in the saddle with
as even a pulse as if he had been about to ride
in an omnibus.
There were some people upon the Stand that
morning who thought the face of Aurora Mellish
as pleasant a sight as the smooth greensward of the
Knavesmire, or the best horse-flesh in the county
of York. All forgetful of herself in her excite-
ment, with her natm-al vivacity multiplied by the
animation of the scene before her, she was more
than usually lovely ; and Archibald Floyd looked
at her with a fond emotion, so intermingled with
gratitude to Heaven for the happiness of his
daughter's destiny as to be almost akin to pain.
She was happy ; she was thoroughly happy at last,
this cliild of his dead Eliza, this sacred charge
left to him by the woman he had loved ; she was
happy, and she was safe; he could go to his
grave resignedly to-morrow, if it pleased God,
knowing this. Strange thoughts, perhaps, for a
crowded race-course ; but our most solemn fancies
do not come always in solemn places. Nay, it
is often m the midst of crowds and confusion that
u 2
292 AURORA FLOYD.
our souls wing their loftiest flights, and the saddest
memories return to us. You see a man sitting at
some theatrical entertainment, with a grave,
abstracted face, over which no change of those
around him has any influence. He may be think-
ing of his dead wife, dead ten years ago ; he may
be acting over well-remembered scenes of joy and
sorrow ; he may be recalling cruel words, never
to be atoned for upon earth, angry looks gone to be
registered against him in the skies ; while his chil-
dren are laughing at the clown on the stage below
him. He may be moodily meditating inevitable
bankruptcy or coming ruin, holding imaginary
meetings with his creditors, and contemplating
prussic acid upon the refusal of his certificate,
while his eldest daughter is crying with Pauline
Deschappelles. So Archibald Floyd, while the
numbers were going up, and the jockeys being
weighed, and the book-men clamouring below him,
leaned over the broad ledge of the stone balcony,
and, looking far away across the grassy amphi-
theatre, thought of the dead wife who had be-
queathed to him this precious daughter.
The bay filly, Aurora, was beaten ignominiously.
Mrs. Mellish turned white with despair as she saw
THE SPRIXG MEETING. 293
the amber jacket, black belt, and blue cap crawling
in at the heels of the ruck, the jockey looking pale
defiance at the bystanders : as who should say that
the filly had never been meant to win, and that
the defeat of to-day was but an artfully-concocted
ruse whereby fortunes were to be made in the
future? John Mellish, something used to such
disappointments, crept away to hide his discom-
fiture outside the ring ; but Aurora dropped her
card and pencil, and, stamping her foot upon the
stone flooring of the balcony, told Lucy and the
banker that it was a shame, and that the boy
must have sold the race, as it was impossible the
filly could have been fairly beaten. As she turned
to say this, her cheeks flushed with passion, and
her eyes flashing bright indignation on any one
who might stand in the Avay to receive the angry
electric light, she became aware of a pale face and
a pair of gray eyes earnestly regarding her from
the threshold of an open window two or three
paces off; and in another moment both she and
her father had recognized Talbot Bulstrode.
The young man saw that he was recognized,
and approached them, hat in hand, very, very
pale, as Lucy always remembered, and, with a
294 AURORA FLOYD.
voice that trembled as lie spoke, wished the banker
and the two ladies " Good day."
And it was thus that they met, these two who
had '* parted in silence and tears," more than
" half broken-hearted," to sever, as they thought,
for eternity ; it was thus upon tliis commonplace,
prosaic, half-guinea Grand Stand that Destiny
brought them once more face to face.
A year ago, and how often |in the spring
twilight Aurora Floyd had pictured her possible
meeting with Talbot Bulstrode ! He would come
upon her suddenly, perhaps, in the still moonlight,
and she would swoon away and die at liis feet of
the unendurable emotion. Or they would meet
in some crowded assembly; she dancing, laughing
N\ith hollow, simulated mirth; and the shock of
one glance of those eyes would slay her in her
painted glory of jewels and grandeur. How often,
ah, how often she had acted the scene and felt the
anguish ! only a year ago, less than a year ago,
ay, even so lately as on that balmy September
day when she had lain on the rustic couch at the
Chateau d'Arques, looking down at the fair Nor-
mandy landscape, with faithful John at watch by
her side, the tame goats browsing upon the grassy
THE SPRING MEETING. 295
platform behind her, and preternaturally ancient
French children teasing the mild, long-suftering
animals. And to-day she met him with her thoughts
so full of the horse which had just been beaten, that
she scarcely knew what she said to her sometime
lover. Aurora Floyd was dead and bm-ied, and
Aurora Mellish, looking critically at Talbot Bul-
strode, wondered how any one could have ever
gone near to the gates of death for the love of
him.
It was Talbot who grew pale at this unlooked-
for encounter ; it was Talbot whose voice was
shaken in the utterance of those few every-day
syllahles which common courtesy demanded of
him. The captain had not so easily learned to
forget. He was older than Am'ora, and he had
reached the age of two-and-thuty without having
ever loved woman, only to be the more desperately
attacked by the fatal disease when his time came.
He suffered acutely at that sudden meeting.
Wounded in his pride by her serene indifference,
dazzled afresh by her beauty, mad with jealous
fury at the thought that he had lost her. Captain
Bulstrode's feelings were of no very enviable
nature ; and if Aurora had ever wished to avenge
296 AURORA FLOYD.
tliat cruel scene at Felden Woods, her hour of
vengeance had most certainly come. But she was
too generous a creature to have harboured such a
thought. She had submitted in all humility to
Talbot's decree; she had accepted his decision,
and had believed in its justice ; and seeing his
agitation to-day, she was sorry for him. She
pitied him, with a tender, matronly compassion ;
such as she, in the safe harbour of a happy home,
might be privileged to feel for this poor wanderer,
still at sea on life's troubled ocean. Love, and
the memory of love, must indeed have died before
we can feel like this.' The terrible passion must
have died that slow and certain death, from the
grave of which no haunting ghost ever returns to
torment the survivors. It was, and it is not.
Aurora might have been shipwrecked and cast on
a desert island with Talbot Bulstrode, and might
have lived ten years in his company, without ever
eelingfor ten seconds as she had felt for him once.
With these impetuous and impressionable people,
who live quickly, a year is sometimes as twenty
years ; so Aurora looked back at Talbot Bulstrode
across a gulf which stretched for weary miles be-
tween them, and wondered if they had really ever
THE SPRING MEETING. 297
stood side by side, allied by Hope and Love, in
the days that were gone.
While Aurora was thinking of these things, as
well as a httle of the bay filly, and while Talbot,
half choked by a thousand confused emotions,
tried to appear preternaturally at his ease, John
Mellish, having refreshed his spirits with bottled
beer, came suddenly upon the party, and slapped
the captain on the back.
He was not jealous, this happy John. Secure
in his wife's love and truth, he was ready to face
a regiment of her old admirers ; indeed, he rather
delighted in the idea of avenging Aurora upon
this cowardly lover. Talbot glanced involuntarily
at the members of the York constabulary on the
com'se below; wondering how they would act if
he were to fling John Mellish over the stone
balcony, and do a murder then and there. He
was thinking this while John was nearly wringing
off his hand in cordial salutation, and asking
what the deuce had brought him to the York
Spring.
Talbot explained rather lamely that, being
knocked up by his Parliamentary work, he had
come down to spend a few days with an old
298 AURORA FLOYD.
brother-officer, Captain Hunter, who had a place
between York and Leeds.
Mr. Mellish declared that nothmg could be
more lucky than this. He knew Hunter well;
the two men must join them at dinner that day ;
and Talbot must give them a week at the Park
after lie left the captain's place.
Talbot murmured some vague protestation of
the impossibility of this, to which John paid no
attention whatever, hustling his sometime rival
away from the ladies in his eagerness to get back
to the ring, where he had to complete his book for
the next race.
So Captain Bulstrode was gone once more, and
throughout the brief interview no one had cared to
notice Lucy Floyd, who had been pale and red by
turns half a dozen times within the last ten minutes.
John and Talbot returned after the start, with
Captain Hunter, who was brought on to the stand
to be presented to Aurora, and who immediately
entered into a very animated discussion upon the
day's racing. How Captain Bulstrode abhorred
this idle babble of horse-flesh ; this perpetual
jargon, alike in every mouth from Aurora's rosy
Cupid's bow to the tobacco-tainted lips of the
THE SPKING MEETING. 299
book-men in the ring ! Thank Heaven, this was
not Ids wife who knew all the slang of the course,
and, with lorgnette in hand, was craning her swan-
like throat to catch sight of a bend in the Knaves-
mire and the horse that had a lead of half a mile.
Why had he ever consented to come into this
accursed horse-racing county? Why had he
deserted the Cornish miners, even for a week?
Better to be wearing out his brains over Dryasdust
pamphlets and Parliamentary minutes than to be
here ; desolate amongst this shallow-minded, cla-
morous multitude, who have notliing to do but to
throw up caps and cry huzza for any winner of any
race. Talbot, as a bystander, could not but remark
this, and draw from this something of a philoso-
phical lesson on life. He saw that there was
always the same clamour and the same rejoicing
in the crowd, whether the winning jockey wore
blue and black belt, yellow and black cap, white
vv^ith scarlet spots, or any other variety of colom-,
even to dismal sable ; and he could but wonder
how tliis was. Did the unlucky speculators run
away and hide themselves while the uplifted voices
were rejoicing ? When the welkin was rent with
the name of Caractacus or Tim WhifSer, where
800 AUKORA FLOYD.
were the men who had backed Buckstone or the
Marquis unflinchingly up to the dropping of the
flag and the ringing of the bell ? When Thormanby
came in Avith a rush, where were the wretched
creatures whose fortunes hung on " the Yankee " or
Wizard ? They were voiceless, these poor unlucky
ones, crawling away with sick white faces to gather
in grouj)s, and explain to each other, with stable
jargon intermingled with oaths, how the victory
just over ought not to have been, and never could
have been, but for some un-looked-for and prepos-
terous combination of events never before witnessed
upon any mortal course. How little is ever seen of
the losers in any of the great races run upon this
earth ! For years and years the name of Louis
Napoleon is an empty sound, signifying nothing ;
when, lo, a few master strokes of policy and finesse,
a httle juggling with those pieces of pasteboard out
of which are built the shaky card-palaces men call
empires, and creation rings with the same name ;
the outsider emerges from the ruck, and the purple
jacket spotted with golden bees is foremost in the
mighty race.
Talbot Bulstrode leaned with folded arms upon
the stone balustrade, looking down at the busy
THE SPRING MEETING, 301
life below bim, and thinking of these things.
Pardon him for his indulgence in dreary platitudes
and worn-out sentimentalities. He was a desolate,
purposeless man; entered for no race himself;
scratched for the matrimonial stakes ; embittered
by disappointment ; soured by doubt and suspicion.
He had spent the dull winter months upon the
Continent, having no mind to go down to Bul-
strode to encounter his mother's sympathy and his
cousin Constance Trevyllian's chatter. He was
unjust enough to nourish a secret dislike to tliat
young lady for the good service she had done him
by revealing Aurora's flight.
Are we ever really grateful to the people who
tell us of the iniquity of those we love ? Are we
ever really just to the kindly creatures who give
us friendly warning of our danger ? No, never !
We hate them ; always involuntarily reverting to
them as the first causes of our anguish ; always
repeating to ourselves that, had they been silent,
that anguish need never have been ; always ready
to burst forth in our wild rage with the mad cry,
that " it is better to be much abused than but to
know't a little." When the friendly Ancient
drops his poisoned hints into poor Othello's ear, it
302 AURORA FLOYD.
is not Mistress Desdemona, but lago liimself,
wliom the noble Moor first has a mind to strangle.
If poor innocent Constance Trevyllian had been
born the veriest cur in the county of Cornwall,
she would have had a better chance of winning
Talbot's regard than she had now.
Why had he come into Yorkshire ? I left that
question unanswered just now, for I am ashamed
to tell the reasons which actuated this unhappy
man. He came, in a paroxysm of curiosity, to
learn what kind of life Aurora led with her hus-
band, John Mellish. He had suffered horrible
distractions of mind upon this subject ; one moment
imagining her the most despicable of coquettes,
ready to marry any man who had a fair estate and
a gOod position to offer her, and by-and-by depict-
ing her as some wliite-robed Iphigenia, led a
passive victim to the sacrificial shrine. So, when
happening to meet liis goodnatured brother-ofBcer
at the United Service Club, he had consented
to run down to Captain Hunter's country place,
for a brief respite from Parliamentary minutes and
red-tape, the artful hypocrite had never owned to
himself that he was burnino; to hear tidiu2:s of
his false and fickle love, and that it was some
THE SPRING MEETING, 303
lingering fumes of the old intoxication that carried
him down to Yorkshire. But now, now that he
met her met her, the heartless, abominable
creature, radiant and happy mere simulated
happiness and feverish mock radiance, no doubt,
but too well put on to be quite pleasing to him,
now he kneiu her. He knew her at last, the wicked
enchantress, the soulless siren. He knew that
she had never loved him; that she was of course
powerless to love ; good for nothing but to WTeath
her white arms and flash the dark splendour of
her eyes for weak man's destruction ; fit for nothing
but to float in her beauty above the waves that con-
cealed the bleached bones of her victims. Poor
John Mellish ! Talbot reproached himself for his
hardness of heart in nourishing one spiteful feeling
towards a man who was so deeply to be pitied.
When the race was done. Captain Bulstrode
turned, and beheld the black-eyed sorceress in
the midst of a group gathered about a grave Patri-
arch with gi'ay hair and the look of one accustomed
to command.
Tliis grave Patriarch was John Pastern.
I write his name with respect, even as it was
reverentially whispered there, till, travelling from
lip to lip, every one present knew that a great man
304 AUROKA FLOYD.
was amongst them. A very quiet, unassuming
veteran, sitting with his womankind about him,
his wife and daughter, as I think, self-possessed
and grave, while men were busy with his name in
the crowd below, and while tens of thousands were
staked in trusting dependence on his acumen.
What golden syllables might have fallen from those
oracular lips, had the veteran been so pleased!
"V\Tiat hundreds would have been freely bidden for
a word, a look, a nod, a wink, a mere significant
pursing-up of the lips from that great man ! What
is the fable of the young lady who discoursed
pearls and diamonds to a truth such as this ?
Pearls and diamonds must be of large size which
would be worth the secrets of those Richmond
stables, the secrets which Mr. Pastern might tell
if he chose. Perhaps it is the knowledge of
this which gives him a calm, almost clerical,
gravity of manner. People come to him and fawn
upon him, aud tell him that such and such a horse
from his stable has won, or looks safe to win ; and
he nods pleasantly, thanking them for the kind
information ; while perhaps his thoughts are far
away on Epsom Downs or Newmarket Heath, win-
ning future Derbys aud Two Thousands with colts
that are as yet unfoaled.
THE SPEING MEETING. 305
Jolin Mellisli is on intimate terms with tlie great
man, to whom he presents Aurora, and of whom
he asks advice upon a matter that has been
troubling him for some time. His trainer's health
is ftiiling him, and he wants assistance in the
stables ; a younger man, honest and clever. Does
J\li-. Pastern know such a one ?
The veteran tells him, after due consideration,
that he does know of a young man ; honest, he
beKeves, as times go, who was once employed in
the Eichmond stables, and who had written to him
only a few days before, asking for his influence in
getting him a situation. " But the lad's name has
slipped my memory," added Mr. Pastern; "he
was but a lad when he was with me ; but, bless my
soul, that's ten years ago ! I'll look up his letter,
when I go home, and write to you about him. I
know he's clever, and I believe he's honest ; and
I shall be only too happy," concluded the old
gentleman, gallantly, " to do anything to oblige
Mrs. Mellish."
VOLUME 2
CHAPTER 1
" LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME, AND TURNED
IT IN HIS GLOWING HANDS."
Talbot Bulstrode yielded at last to John's re-
peated invitations, and consented to pass a couple
of days at Mellish Park.
He despised and hated himself for the absurd
concession. In what a |)itiful farce had the tragedy
ended ! A visitor in the house of his rival. A
calm spectator of Aurora's every-day, common-
place happiness. For the space of two days he
had consented to occupy this most preposterous
position. Two days only; then back to the Cornish
miners, and the desolate bachelor's lodgings in
Queen's Square, Westminster ; back to his tent in
life's Great Sahara. He could not for the very
VOL. IL B
Z AURORA FLOYD.
soul of him resist the temptation of beholding the
inner life of that Yorkshire mansion. He wanted
to know for certain what was it to him, I wonder?
whether she was really happy, and had utterly
forgotten him. They all returned to the Park
together, Aurora, John, Archibald Floyd, Lucy,
Talbot Bulstrode, and Captain Hunter. The last-
named officer was a jovial gentleman, with a hook
nose and auburn whiskers ; a gentleman whose
intellectual attainments were of no very oppressive
order, but a hearty, pleasant guest in an honest
country mansion, where there is cheer and welcome
for all.
Talbot could but inwardly confess that Aurora
became her new position. How everybody loved
her! What an atmosphere of happiness she
created about her wherever she went ! How joy-
ously the dogs barked and leapt at sight of her,
straining their chains in the desperate efibrt to
approach her ! How fearlessly the thorough-bred
mares and foals ran to the paddock-gates to bid
her welcome, bending down their velvet nostrils to
nestle upon her shoulder, responsive to the touch
of her caressing hand ! Seeing all this, how could
Talbot refrain from remembering that this same
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 6
sunlight might have shone upon that dreary castle
far away by the surging western sea ? She might
have been his, this beautiful creature ; but at
what price ? At the price of honour ; at the price
of every principle of his mind, which had set up
for himself a holy and perfect standard a pure
and spotless ideal for the wife of his choice. For-
bid it, manhood ! He might have weakly yielded ;
he might have been happy, with the blind happi-
ness of a lotus-eater, but not the reasonable bliss
of a Christian. Thank Heaven for the strength
which had been given to him to escape from the
silken net ! Thank Heaven for the power which
had been granted to him to fight the battle !
Standing by Aurora's side in one of the wide
windows of Mellish Park, looking far out over the
belted lawn to the glades in which the deer lay
basking drowsily in the April sunlight, he could
not repress the thought uppermost in his mind.
" I am very glad to see you so happy, Mrs.
Mellish."
She looked at him with fi-ank, truthful eyes,
in whose brightness there was not one latent
shadow.
' Yes," she said, " I am very, very happy.
B 2
4 AURORA FLOYD.
My husband is very good to me. He loves and
trusts me."
She could not resist that one little stab the
only vengeance she ever took upon him ; but a
stroke that pierced him to the heart.
" Aurora ! Aurora ! Aurora !" he cried.
That half-stifled cry revealed the secret of
wounds that were not yet healed. Mrs. Mellish
turned pale at the traitorous sound. This man
must be cured. The happy wife, secure in her
own stronghold of love and confidence, could not
bear to see this poor fellow still adrift.
She by no means despau-ed of his cure, for ex-
perience had taught her, that although love's
passionate fever takes several forms, there are very
few of them incurable. Had she not passed safely
through the ordeal herself, without one scar to
bear witness of the old wounds ?
She left Captain Bulstrode staring moodily out
of the window, and went away to plan the saving
of this poor shipwrecked soul.
She ran in the first place to tell Mr. John
Mellish of her discovery, as it was her custom to
carry to him every scrap of intelligence great and
small.
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 5
" ]My dearest old Jack," she said it was auotlier
of her customs to address him by every species of
exaggeratedly endearing appellation ; it may be
that she did this for the quieting of her o^nl
conscience, being well aware that she tyrannized
over him " my darling boy, I have made a dis-
covery."
"About the fiUy?"
"About Talbot Bulstrode."
John's blue eyes twinkled maliciously. He was
evidently half prepared for what was coming.
" What is it, Lolly ?"
Lolly was a corruption of Aurora, devised by
John Mellish.
" Why, I'm really afraid, my precious darling,
that he hasn't quite got over "
" My taking you away from him !" roared John.
" I thought as much. Poor devil poor Talbot ! '
1 could see that he would have liked to fight me
on the stand at York. Upon my word, I pity
him !" and in token of his compassion Mr. Mellish
burst into that old joyous, boisterous, but musical
laugh, which Talbot might almost have heard at
the other end of the house.
This was a favourite delusion of John's. He
6 AURORA FLOYD.
firmly believed that he had -won Aurora's affec-
tion in fair competition with Captain Bulstrode ;
pleasantly ignoring that the captain had resigned
all pretensions to Miss Floyd's hand nine or ten
months before his own offer had been accepted.
The genial, sanguine creature had a habit of
deceiving himself in this manner. He saw all
things in the universe just as he wished to see
them ; all men and women good and honest ; life
one long, pleasant voyage in a well-fitted ship,
with only first-class passengers on board. He was
one of those men who are likely to cut their
throats or take prussic acid upon the day they
first encounter tlie black visage of Care.
" And what are we to do with this poor fellow,
Lolly?"
" Marry him !" exclaimed Mrs, Mellish.
" Both of us ?" said John simply.
"My dearest pet, what an obtuse old darling
you are ! No ; many him to Lucy Floyd, my
first cousin once removed, and keep the Bulstrode
estate in the family."
" Marry him to Lucy !"
" Yes ; why not ? She has studied enough, and
learnt history, and geography, and astronomy, and
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 7
botany, and geology, and concliology, and ento-
mology enough; and she has covered I don't
know how many China jars ^N-ith impossible birds
and flowers ; and she has illuminated missals, and
read High-Church novels. So the next best thing
she can do is to marry Talbot Bulstrode."
John had his own reasons for agreeing with
Am-ora in this matter. He remembered that
secret of poor Lucy's, which he had discovered more
than a year before at Felden Woods : the secret
which had been revealed to him by some mys-
terious sympathetic power belonging to hopeless
love. So Mr. Melhsh declared his hearty concur-
rence in Aurora's scheme, and the two amateur
match-makers set to work to devise a complicated
man-trap, in the which Talbot was to be en-
tangled ; never for a moment imagining that,
while they were racking their brains in the en-
deavour to bring this piece of machinery to per-
fection, the intended victim was quietly strolling
across the sunlit lawn towards the very fate they
desu-ed for him.
Yes, Talbot Bulstrode lounged with languid step
to meet his Destiny, in a wood upon the borders
of the Park ; a part of the Park, indeed, inasmuch
'8 AUROKA FLOYD.
as it was within the boundary-fence of John's
domain. The wood-anemones trembled in the
spring breezes, deep in those shadowy arcades ;
pale primroses showed their mild faces amid their
sheltering leaves ; and in shady nooks, beneath
low-spreading boughs of elm and beech, oak and
ash, the violets hid their purple beauty from the
vulgar eye. A lovely spot, soothing by its har-
monious influence ; a very forest sanctuary, with-
out whose dim arcades man cast his burden down,
to enter in a child. Captain Bulstrode had felt in
no very pleasant humour as he walked across the
lawn ; but some softening influence stole upon
him, on the threshold of that sylvan shelter, which
made liim feel a better man. He began to ques-
tion himself as to how he was playing his part in
the great drama of life.
"Good heavens!" bethought, "what a shame-
ful coward, what a negative wretch, I have become
by this one grief of my manhood ! An indifferent
son, a careless brother, a useless, purposeless
creatm*e, content to dawdle away my life in feeble
pottering with political economy. Shall I ever be
in earnest again ? Is this dreary doubt of every
living creature to go with me to my grave ? Less
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 9
than two years ago my heart sickened at the
thought that I had lived to two-and-thirty years of
age, and had never been loved. Since then
since tlien since then I had lived through life's
brief fever ; I have fought manhood's worst and
sharpest battle, and find myself where ? Exactly
where I was before ; still companionless upon the
dreary journey ; only a little nearer to the end."
He walked slowly onward into the woodland
aisle, other aisles branching away from him right
and left into deep glades and darkening shadow.
A month or so later, and the mossy ground beneath
his feet would be one purple carpet of hyacinths,
the very air thick with a fatal-scented vapour from
the perfumed bulbs.
" I asked too much," said Talbot, in that voice-
less argument we are perpetually carrying on with
ourselves ; " I asked too much ; I yielded to the
spell of the siren, and was angry because I missed .
the white wings of the angeL I was bewitched by
the fascinations of a beautiful woman, when I
should have sought for a noble-minded wife."
He went deeper and deeper into the wood, going
to his fate, as another man was to do before the
coming summer was over : but to what a different
10 AURORA FLOYD.
fate ! The long arcades of beech and elm had
reminded him from the fu-st of the solemn aisles
of a cathedral. The saint was only needed.
And coming suddenly to a spot where a new
arcade branched off abruptly on his right hand,
he saw, in one of the sylvan niches, as fair a saint
as had ever been modelled by the hand of artist
and believer, the same golden-haired angel he
had seen in the long drawing-room at Felden
Woods, Lucy Floyd, with the pale aureola about
her head, her large straw-hat in her lap filled with
anemones and violets, and the third volume of a
novel in her hand.
How much in life often hangs, or seems to us to
hang, upon what is called by playwrights, "a
situation !" But for this sudden encounter, but for
thus coming upon this pretty picture, Talbot Bul-
strode might have dropped into his grave ignorant
to the last of Lucy's love for him. But, given a
sunshiny April morning (April's fairest bloom,
remember, when the capricious nymph is mending
her manners, aware that her lovelier sister May is
at hand, and anxious to make a good impression
before she drops her farewell curtsy, and weeps
her last brief shower of farewell tears) given a
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 11
balmy spring morning, solitude, a wood, wild-
flowers, golden hair and blue eyes, and is the
result difficult to arrive at ?
Talbot Bulstrode, leaning against the broad
trunk of a beech, looked down at the fair face,
which crimsoned under his eyes; and the first
glimmering liint of Lucy's secret began to dawn
upon him. At that moment he had no thought of
profiting by the discovery, no thought of what he
was afterwards led on to say. His mind was filled
with the storm of emotion that had burst from
him in that wdld cry to Aurora. Eage and
jealousy, regret, despair, envy, love, and hate,
all the conflicting feelings that had struggled like
so many demons in his soul at sight of Aurora's
happiness, were still striving for mastery in his
breast ; and the first words he spoke revealed the
thoughts that were uppermost.
"Your cousin is very happy in her new life,
Miss Floyd?" he said.
Lucy looked up at him with sm-prise. It was
the first time he had spoken to her of Aurora.
" Yes," she answered quietly, " I think she is
happy."
Captain Bulstrode whisked the end of his cane
12 AURORA FLOYD.
across a group of anemones, and decapitated the
tremulous blossoms. He was thinking, rather
savagely, what a shame it was that this glorious
Aurora could be happy with big, broad-shouldered,
jovial-tempered John Mellish. He could not un-
derstand the strange anomaly ; he could not
discover the clue to the secret ; he could not
comprehend that the devoted love of this sturdy
Yorkshireman was in itself strong; enouoh to
conquer all difficulties, to outweigh all difierences.
Little by little, he and Lucy began to talk of
Aurora, until Miss Floyd told her companion all
about that dreary time at Felden Woods, during
which the life of the heiress was well-nigh de-
spaired of. So she had loved him truly, then,
after all ; she had loved, and had suffered, and
had lived down her trouble, and had forgotten
him, and was happy. The story was all told in
that one sentence. He looked blankly back at
the irrecoverable past, and was angry with the
pride of the Bulstrodes, which had stood between
himself and his happiness.
He told sympathizing Lucy something of his
sorrow ; told lier that misapprehension mistaken
pride had parted him from Aurora. She tried.
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TBIE. 13
in her gentle, innocent fashion, to comfort tho
strong man in his weakness, and in trying re-
vealed ah, how simply and transparently ! the
old secret, Avhich had so long been hidden from
him.
Heaven help the man whose heart is caught at
the rebound by a fair-haired divinity, with dove-
like eyes, and a low tremulous voice softly attuned
to his grief. Talbot Bulstrode saw that he was
beloved; and, in very gratitude, made a dismal
offer of the ashes of that fire which had burnt so
fiercely at Aurora's shrine. Do not despise this
poor Lucy if she accepted her cousin's forgotten
lover with humble thankfulness ; nay, with a
tumult of wild delight, and with joyful fear and
trembling. She loved him so well, and had loved
him so long. Forgive and pity her, for she was
one of those pure and innocent creatures whose
whole being resolves itself into affection; to
whom passion, anger, and pride are unknown ;
who live only to love, and who love until death.
Talbot Bulstrode told Lucy Floyd that he had
loved Aurora with the whole strength of his soul,
but that, now the battle was over, he, the stricken
warrior, needed a consoler for his declining days :
14 ' AURORA FLOYD.
would she, could she, give her hand to one who
would strive to the uttermost to fulfil a husband's
duty, and to make her happy ? Happy ! She
would have been happy if he had asked her to be
his slave ; happy if she could have been a scullery-
maid at Bulstrode Castle, so that she might have
seen the dark face she loved once or twice a
day thi-ough the obscure panes of some kitchen
window.
But she was the most undemonstrative of
women, and, except by her blushes, and her
drooping eyelids, and the tear-drop trembling
upon the soft auburn lashes, she made no reply to
the captain's appeal, until at last, taking her
hand in his, he won from her a low-consenting
murmur which meant Yes.
Good heavens ! how hard it is upon such women
as these that they feel so much and yet display so
little feeling! The dark-eyed, impetuous crea-
tures, who speak out fearlessly, and tell you that
they love or hate you flinging their arms round
your neck or throwing the carving-knife at you, as
the case may be get full value for all their emo-
tion ; but these gentle creatures love, and make
no sign. They sit, like Patience on a monument,
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 15
smiling at grief ; and no one reads the mournful
meaning of that sad smile. Concealment, like the
worm i' the bud, feeds on their damask cheeks ;
and compassionate relatives tell them that they
are bilious, and recommend some homely remedy
for their pallid complexions. They are always at
a disadvantage. Their inner life may be a tra-
gedy, all blood and tears, while their outer exist-
ence is some duU domestic drama of every-day
life. The only outward sign Lucy Floyd gave of
the condition of her heart was that one tremulous,
half-whispered affirmative; and yet what a tem-
pest of emotion was going forward within ! The
muslin folds of her dress rose and fell with the
surging billows ; but, for the very life of lier, she
could have uttered no better response to Talbot's
pleading.
It was only by-and-by, after she and Captain
Bulstrode had wandered slowly back to the house,
that her emotion betrayed itself. Aurora met her
cousm in the corridor out of which their rooms
opened, and, drawing Lucy into her own dressing-
room, asked the truant where she had been.
"Where have you been, you runaway girl?
John and I have wanted you half a dozen times."
16 AURORA FLOYD.
Miss Lucy Floyd explained tliat she bad been in
the wood with the last new novel, a High-Church
novel, ia which the heroine rejected the clerical
hero because he did not perform the service ac-
cording to the Rubric. Now Miss Lucy Floyd
made this admission with so much confusion and
so many blushes, that it would have appeared as if
there were some lurking criminality in the fact of
spending an April morning in a wood ; and being
further examined as to why she had stayed so
long, and whether she had been alone all the time,
poor Lucy fell into a pitiful state of embarrass-
ment, declaring that she had been alone ; that is
to say, part of the time or at least most of the
time ; but that Captain Bulstrode
But in trying to pronounce his name, this
beloved, this sacred name, Lucy Floyd's utter-
ance failed her ; she fairly broke down, and burst
into tears.
Aurora laid her cousin's face upon her breast,
and looked do^^^l, with a womanly, matronly
glance, into those tearful blue eyes.
*' Lucy, my darling," she said, " is it really
and truly as I think as I wish : Talbot loves
you?"
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 17
" He has asked me to many him," Lucy whis-
pered.
" And you you have consented you love
him?"
Lucy Floyd only answered by a new burst of
tears.
" Why, my darling, how this surprises me !
How long has it been so, Lucy ? How long have
you loved him ?"
"From the hour I first saw him," murmured
Lucy ; " from the day he first came to Felden.
Aurora ! I know how foolish and weak it was ;
1 hate myself for the folly ; but he is so good, so
noble, so "
"My silly darling; and because he is good and
noble, and has asked you to be Ms wife, you shed
as many tears as if you had been asked to go to
his funeral. Mj loving, tender Lucy, you loved
him all the time, then ; and you were so gentle
and good to ^e to me, who was selfish enough
never to guess My dearest, you are a hundred
times better suited to him than ever I was, ani
you will be as happy as happy as I am with that
ridiculous old John."
Aurora's eyes filled with tears as she spoke
VOL. n. c
18 AURORA FLOYD.
She wfis truly and sincerely glad that Talbot was
in a fair way to find consolation, still more glad
that her sentimental cousin was to be made happy.
Talbot Bulstrode lingered on a few days at
Mellish Park ; happy ah ! too happy days for
Lucy Floyd and then departed, after receiving
the congratulations of John and Aurora.
He was to go straight to Alexander Floyd's villa
at Fulham, and plead his cause with Lucy's
father. There was little fear of his meeting other
than a favourable reception ; for Talbot Bulstrode
of Bulstrode Castle was a very great match for a
daughter of the junior branch of Floyd, Floyd, and
Floyd, a young lady whose expectations were con-
siderably qualified by half a dozen brothers and
sisters.
So Captain Bulstrode went back to London as
the betrothed lover of Lucy Floyd ; went back
with a subdued gladness in his heart, all unlike the
stormy joys of the past. He was happy in the
choice he had made calmly and dispassionately.
Jle had loved Aurora for her beauty and her fasci-
nation ; he was going to marry Lucy because he
had seen much of her, had observed her closely,
and believed her to be all that a woman should be .
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 19
Perhaps, if stern truth must be told, Lucy's chief
charm in the captain's eyes lay in that reverence
for himself which she so naively betrayed. He
accepted her worship with a quiet, unconscious se-
renity, and thought her the most sensible of women.
Mrs. Alexander was utterly bewildered when
Aurora's sometime lover pleaded for her daughter's
hand. She was too busy a mother amongst her
little flock to be the most penetrating of observers,
and she had never suspected the state of Lucy's
heart. She was glad, therefore, to find that her
daughter did justice to her excellent education,
and had too much good sense to refuse so advan-
tageous an offer as that of Captain Bulstrode ; and
she joined with her husband in perfect approval of
Talbot's suit. So, there being no let or hindrance,
and as the lovers had long known and esteemed
each other, it was decided, at the captain's request,
that the wedding should take place early in June,
and that the honeymoon should be spent at Bul-
strode Castle.
At the end of May, Mr. and Mrs. Mellish went
to Felden, on purpose to attend Lucy's wedding,
which took place with great style at Fulham,
Archibald Floyd presenting his grand-niece with a
c 2
20 AURORA FLOYD.
cheque for five thousand pounds after the return
from church.
Once during that marriage ceremony Talbot
Bulstrode was nigh upon rubbing his eyes, think-
ing that the pageant must be a dream. A dream
surely ; for here was a pale, fair-haired girl by his
side, while the woman he had chosen two years
before stood amidst a group behind him, and
looked on at the ceremony, a pleased spectator.
But when he felt the little gloved hand trembling
upon his arm, as the bride and bridegi-oom left
the altar, he remembered that it was no dream,
and that life held new and solemn duties for him
from that hour.
Now my two heroines being married, the reader
versed in the physiology of novel writing may
conclude that my story is done, that the green
curtain is ready to fall upon the last act of the
play, and that I have nothing more to do than
to entreat indulgence for the shortcomings of the
performance and the performers. Yet, after all,
does the business of the real life-drama always
end upon the altar-steps ? Must the play needs
be over when the hero and heroine have signed
their names in the register ? Does man cease to
LOVE TOOK UP THE GLASS OF TIME. 21
be, to do, and to suffer wlien he gets married ?
And is it necessary that the novelist, after de-
voting three volumes to the description of a court-
ship of six weeks' duration, should reserve for
himself only half a page in which to tell us the
events of two-thirds of a lifetime? Aurora is
married, and settled, and happy; sheltered, as
one would imagine, from all dangers, safe under
the wing of her stalwart adorer ; but it does not
therefore follow that the story of her life is done.
She has escaped shipwreck for a while, and has
safely landed on a pleasant shore ; but the storm
may still lower darkly upon the horizon, while the
hoarse thunder grumbles threateningly in the
distance.
22 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER II.
MR. pastern's letter.
Mr. John Mellish reserved to himself one room
upon the ground-floor of his house : a cheerful,
airy apartment, with French windows ojiening
upon the lawn ; windows that were sheltered from
the sun by a verandah overhung with jessamine
and roses. It was altogether a pleasant room for
the summer season, the floor being covered with
an India matting instead of a carpet, and many
of the chairs being made of light basket-work.
Over the chimney-piece hung a portrait of John's
father, and opposite to this work of art there was
the likeness of the deceased gentleman's favourite
hunter, surmounted by a pair of brightly polished
spurs, the glistening rowels of which had often
pierced the sides of that faithful steed. In this
chamber Mr. Mellish kept his whips, canes, foils,
single-sticks, boxing-gloves, spurs, guns, pistols,
MR. pastern's letter. 23
powder and shot flasks, fisliing-tackle, boots, and
tops ; and many happy mornings were spent by
the master of Blellish Park in the pleasing oc-
cupation of polishing, repairing, inspecting, and
otherwise setting in order, these possessions. He
had as many pairs of hunting-boots as would have
supplied half Leicestershire with tops to match.
He had whips enough for all the Melton Hunt.
Surrounded by these treasures, as it were in a
temple sacred to the deities of the race-course and
the hunting-field, Mr. John Meliish used to hold
solemn audiences with his trainer and his head-
groom upon the business of the stable.
It was Aurora's custom to peep into this
chamber perpetually, very much to the delight
and distraction of her adoring husband, who found
the black eyes of his divinity a terrible hindrance
to business ; except, indeed, when he could induce
Mrs. Meliish to join in the discussion upon hand,
and lend the assistance of her powerful intellect
to the little conclave. I believe that John
thought she could have handicapped the horses
for the Chester Cup as well as Mr. Topham him-
self. She was such a brilliant creature, that
every little smattering of knowledge she possessed
24 AUROKA FLOYD.
appeared to such good account as to make her
seem an adept in any subject of which she spoke ;
and the simple Yorkshireman believed in her as
the wisest as well as the noblest and fairest of
women.
Mr. and Mrs. Mellish returned to Yorkshire
immediately after Lucy's wedding. Poor John
was uneasy about his stables ; for his traiuer was
a victim to chronic rheumatism, and Mr. Pastern
had not as yet made any communication respect-
ing the young man of whom he had spoken on the
Stand at York.
" I shall keep Langley," John said to Aurora,
speaking of his old trainer ; " for he's an honest
fellow, and his judgment will always be of use to
me. He and his wife can still occupy the rooms
over the stables ; and the new man, whoever he
may be, can live in the lodge on the north side of
the Park. Nobody ever goes in at that gate ; so
the lodge-keeper's post is a sinecure, and the
cottage has been shut up for the last year or two.
I wish John Pastern would write."
" And I wish whatever you wish, my dearest
life," Aurora said dutifully to her happy slave.
Very little had been heard of Steeve Hargraves,
MR. pastern's letter. 25
the " Softy," since tlie day upon which John Mellish
had turned him neck and crop out of liis service.
One of the grooms had seen him in a little village
close to the Park, and Stephen had informed the
man that he was getting his living by doing odd
jobs for the doctor of the parish, and looking after
that gentleman's horse and gig ; but the " Softy "
had seemed inclined to be sulky, and had said
very little about himself or his sentiments. He
made very particular inquiries, though, about Mrs.
Mellish, and asked so many questions as to what
Aurora did and said, where she went, whom she
saw, and how she agi-eed with her husband, that
at last the groom, although only a simple country
lad, refused to answer any more interrogatories
about his mistress.
Steeve Hargi-aves rubbed his coarse, sinewy
hands, and chuckled as he spoke of Aurora.
"She's a rare proud one, a regular high-
spirited lady," he said, in that whispering voice
that always sounded strange. " She laid it on to
me with that riding-whip of hers ; but I bear no
malice I bear no malice. She's a beautiful
creature, and I wish Mr. Mellish joy of his
bargain."
26 ' AURORA FLOYD.
The groom scarcely knew how to take this, not
being fully aware if it was intended as a compli-
ment or an impertinence. So he nodded to the
" Softy," and strode off, leaving him still rubbing
his hands and whispering about Aurora Mellish,
who had long ago forgotten her encounter with
Mr. Stephen Hargraves.
How was it likely that she should remember
him, or take heed of him? How was it likely
that she should take alarm because the pale-faced
widow, Mrs. Walter Powell, sat by her hearth and
hated her ? Strong in her youth and beauty, rich
in her happiness, sheltered and defended by her
husband's love, how should she tliink of danger ?
How should she dread misfortune ? She thanked
God every day that the troubles of her youth
were past, and that her path in life led hence-
forth through smooth and pleasant, places, where
no perils could come.
Lucy was at Bulstrode Castle, winning upon
the affections of her husband's mother, who
patronized her daughter-in-law with lofty kindness,
and took the blushing timorous creature under
her sheltering wing. Lady Bulstrode was very
well satisfied with her son's choice. He might
' MR. pastern's letter. 27
have done better, certainly, as to position and
fortune, the lady hinted to Talbot; and in her
maternal anxiety, she would have preferred his
marrying any one rather than the cousin of that
Miss Floyd who ran away from school, and caused
such a scandal at the Parisian seminary. But
Lady Bulstrode's heart warmed to Lucy, who was
so gentle and humble, and who always spoke of
Talbot as if he had been a being far " too bright
and good," &c., much to the gratification of her
ladyship's maternal vanity.
" She has a very proper affection for you,
Talbot," Lady Bulstrode said, " and, for so young
a creature, promises to make an excellent wife ;
far better suited to you, I am sure, than her
cousin could ever have been."
Talbot turned fiercely upon his mother, very
much lo the lady's surprise.
" Why will you be for ever bringing Aurora's
name into the question, mother?" he cried.
" Why cannot you let her memory rest ? You
parted us for ever, you and Constance, and is
not that enough? She is married, and she and
her husband are a very happy coui^le, A man
might have a worse wife than Mrs. Mellish, I can
28 AUKORA FLOYD.
tell you ; and John seems to appreciate her value
in his rough way."
" You need not be so violent, Talbot," Lady
Bulstrode said, witli offended dignity. "I am
very glad to hear that Miss Floyd has altered
since her school-days, and I hope that she may
continue to be a good wife," she added, with an
emphasis which insinuated that she had no very
great hopes of the continuance of Mr. Mellish's
happiness.
" My poor mother is offended with me," Talbot
thought, as Lady Bulstrode swept out of the room.
"I know I am an abominable bear, and that
nobody will ever truly love me so long as I live.
]\Iy poor little Lucy loves me after her fashion ;
loves me in fear and trembling, as if she and I
belonged to different orders of beings ; very much
as the flying woman must have loved my country-
man, Peter Wilkins, I think. But, after all,
perhaps my mother is right, and my gentle little
wife is better suited to me than Aurora would
have been."
So we dismiss Talbot Bulstrode for a while,
moderately happy, and yet not quite satisfied.
What mortal ever was quite satisfied in this world ?
MR, pastern's letter. 29
It is a part of our earthly nature always to find
something wanting, always to have a vague, dull,
ignorant yearning which cannot be appeased.
Sometimes, indeed, we are happy ; but in our
wildest happiness we are still unsatisfied, for it
seems then as if the cup of joy were too full, and
we grow cold with terror at the thought that,
even because of its fulness, it may possibly be
dashed to the ground. What a mistake this life
would be, what a wild feverish dream, what an
unfinished and imperfect story, if it were not a
prelude to something better ! Taken by itself, it
is all trouble and confusion ; but taking the
future as the keynote of the present, how won-
drously harmonious the whole becomes ! How
little does it signify that our joys here are not
complete, our wishes not fulfilled, if the comple-
tion and the fulfilment are to come hereafter !
Little more than a week after Lucy's wedding,
Aurora ordered her horse immediately after
breakfast, upon a sunny summer morning, and,
accompanied by the old groom who had ridden
behind John's father, went out on an excursion
amongst the villages round Mellish Park, as it
was her habit to do once or twice a week.
30 AURORA FLOYD.
The poor in the neighbourhood of the York-
shire mansion had good reason to bless the coming
of the banker's daiis-hter. Am-ora loved nothins;
better than to ride from cottage to cottage,
chatting with the simple villagers, and finding out
their wants. She never found the worthy crea-
tures very remiss in stating their necessities, and
the housekeeper at Mellish Park had enough to
do in distributing Aurora's bounties amongst the
cottagers who came to the servants' hall with
pencil orders from Mrs. Mellish. Mrs. Walter
Powell sometimes ventured to take Aurora to task
on the folly and sinfulness of what she called in-
discriminate almsgiving ; but Mrs. Mellish would
pour such a flood of eloquence upon her antago-
nist, that the ensign's widow was always glad to
retire from the unequal contest. Nobody had
ever been able to argue with Archibald Floyd's
daughter. Impulsive and impetuous, she had
always taken her own course, whether for weal or
woe, and nobody had been strong enough to
hinder her.
Returning on this lovely June morning from
one of these charitable expeditions, Mrs. Mellish
dismounted from her horse at a little turnstile
MR. pastern's letter, 31
leading into the wood, and ordered the groom to
take the animal home.
" I have a fancy for walking through the wood,
Joseph," she said ; " it's such a lovely morning.
Take care of Mazeppa ; and if you see Mr. Mellish,
tell him that I shall be home directly."
The man touched his hat, and rode off, leadimr
Aurora's horse.
Mrs. Mellish gathered up the folds of her habit,
and strolled slowly into the wood, under whose
shadow Talbot Bulstrode and Lucy had wandered
on that eventful April day which sealed the young
lady's fate.
Now Aurora had chosen to ramble homewards
through this wood because, being thorouglily happy,
the warm gladness of the summer weather filled
her with a sense of delight which she was loth to
curtail. The drowsy hum of the insects, the rich
colouring of the woods, the scent of wild-flowers,
the ripple of water, all blended into one delicious
whole, and made the earth lovely.
There is something satisfactory, too, in the
sense of possession ; and Aurora felt, as she looked
down tlie long avenues, and away tlirough distant
loopholes in the wood to the wide expanse of park
32 AUROKA FLOYD.
and lawn, and the picturesque, irregular pile of
building beyond, haK Gothic, half Elizabetlian, and
so lost in a rich tangle of ivy and bright foliage as
to be beautiful at every point, she felt, I say,
that all the fair picture was her own, or her
husband's, which was the same thing. She had
never for one moment regretted her marriage with
John Mellish. She had never, as I have said
already, been inconstant to him by one thought.
In one part of the wood the ground rose con-
siderably ; so that the house, which lay low, was
distinctly visible whenever there was a break in
the trees. Tliis rising ground was considered the
prettiest spot in the wood, and here a summer-
house had been erected : a fragile, wooden build-
ing, which had fallen into decay of late years, but
which was still a pleasant resting-place upon a
summer's day, being furnished with a wooden table
and a broad bench, and sheltered from the sun and
wind by the lower branches of a magnificent beech.
A few paces away from this summer-house there
was a pool of water, the surface of which was so
covered with lilies and tangled weeds as to have
beguiled a short-sighted traveller into forgetfulness
of the danger beneath. Aurora's way led her
1
^ MR. pastern's letter. 33
past this spot, and she started with a momentary
sensation of terror on seeing a man lying asleep by
the side of the pool. She quickly recovered her-
self, remembering that John allowed the public
to use the footpath through the wood; but she
started again when the man, who must have been
a bad sleeper to be aroused by her light footstep,
lifted his head, and displayed the white face of the
" Softy."
He rose slowly from the ground upon seeing
Mrs. Mellish, and crawled away, looking at her as
he went, but not making any acknowledgment of
her presence.
Aurora could not repress a brief terrified
shudder ; it seemed as if her footfall had startled
some viperish creature, some loathsome member of
the reptile race, and scared it from its Im-king-
place.
. Steeve Hargraves disappeared amongst the trees
as Mrs. Mellish Avalked on, her head proudly erect,
but her cheek a shade paler than before this imex-
pected encounter with the " Softy."
Her joyous gladness in the bright summer's day
had forsaken her as suddenly as she had met
Stephen Hargraves ; that bright smile, which was
VOL. IL D
34 AURORA FLOYD.
even brighter tlian the morning sunshine, faded
out, and left her face unnaturally grave.
" Good heavens !" she exclaimed, " how foolish
I am ! I am actually afraid of that man, afraid of
that pitiful coward who could hurt my feeble old
dog. As if such a creature as that could do one
any mischief!"
Of course this was very wisely argued, as no
coward ever by any chance worked any mischief
upon this earth since the Saxon prince was stabbed
in the back while drinking at his kinswoman's gate,
or since brave King John and his creature plotted
together what they should do with the little boy
Arthur.
Aurora walked slowly across the lawn towards
that end of the house at wliich the apartment
sacred to Mr. Mellish was situated. She entered
softly at the open window, and laid her hand upon
John's shoulder, as he sat at a table covered with
a litter of account-books, racing-lists, and disorderly
papers.
He started at the touch of the familiar hand.
"My darling, I'm so glad you've come in.
How long you've been !"
She looked at her little jewelled watch. Poor
MR. pastern's letter. 35
John had loaded her with trinkets and gewgaws.
His chief grief was that she was a wealthy heiress,
and that he could give her nothing but the adora-
tion of his simple, honest heart.
"Only half-past one, you silly old John," she
said. " What made you think me late ?"
" Because I wanted to consult you about some-
thing, and to tell you something. Such good
news !"
"About what?"
" About the trainer."
She shrugged her shoulders, and pursed up her
red lips with a bewitching little gesture of indiffer-
ence.
" Is that all ?" she said.
" Yes ; but aint you glad we've got the man at
last the very man to suit us, I think ? A^Tiere's
John Pastern's letter ?"
Mr. Mellish searched amongst the litter of
papers upon the table, while Aurora, leaning
against the framework of the open window,
watched him, and laughed at his embarrassment.
She had recovered her spirits, and looked the
very picture of careless gladness as she leaned
in one of those graceful and unstudied attitudes
D 2
36 AURORA FLOYD.
peculiar to lier, supported by the framework of the
window, and with the trailing jessamine waving
round her in the soft summer breeze. She lifted
her ungloved hand, and gathered the roses above
her head as she talked to her husband.
" You most disorderly and unmethodical of
men," she said, laughing ; " I wouldn't mind bet-
ting five to one you won't find it."
I'm afraid that Mr. Mellish muttered an oath as
he tossed about the heterogeneous mass of papers
in his search for the missing document.
"I had it five minutes before you came in,
Aurora," he said, " and now there's not a sign of
it Oh, here it is !"
Mr. Mellish unfolded the letter, and, smoothing
it out upon the table before him, cleared his throat
preparatory to reading the epistle. Aurora still
leaned against the window-frame, half in and half
out of the room, singing a snatch of a popular
song, and trying to gather an obstinate half-blown
rose which grew provokingly out of reach.
"You're attending, Aurora?"
" Yes, dearest and best."
"But do come. in. You can't hear a word
there."
MR. pastehn's lettek. 37
Aurora shrugged her shoulders, as who should
say, *'I submit to the comraand of a tyrant,"
and advanced a couple of paces from the window ;
then looking at John with an enchantingly inso-
lent toss of her head, she folded her hands behind
her, and told him she would "be good." She
was a careless, impetuous creature, dreadfully for-
getful of what Mrs. AValter Powell called her
"responsibilities;" every mortal thing by turns,
and never any one thing for two minutes together ;
^appy, generous, affectionate; taking life as a
glorious summer's holiday, and thanking God for
the bounty which made it so pleasant to her.
Mr. John Pastern began his letter with an
apology for having so long deferred writing. He
had lost the address of the person he had wished
to recommend, and had waited until the man
wrote to him a second time.
" I think he will suit you very well," the letter
went on to say, " as he is well up in his business,
having had plenty of experience, as groom, jockey,
and trainer. He is only thirty years of age, but
met with an accident some time since, wliieh
lamed him for life. He was half killed in a
steeple-chase in Prussia, and was for upwards of a
38 AUEORA FLOYD.
year in a hospital at Berlin. His name is James
Conyers, and lie can have a character from "
The letter dropped out of John Mellish's hand
as he looked up at his wife. It was not a scream
which she had uttered. It was a gasping cry,
more terrible to hear than the shrillest scream
that ever came from the throat of woman iu all the
long history of Avomanly distress.
" Aurora ! Aurora !"
He looked at her, and his own face changed
and whitened at the sight of hers. So terrible a
transformation had come over her dming the
reading of that letter, that the shock could not
have been greater had he looked up and seen
another person in her place.
" It's wrong ; it's wrong !" she cried hoarsely ;
" you've read the name wrong. It can't be
that !"
" What name ?"
"What name?" she echoed fiercely, her face
flaming up with a wild fury, " that name ! I tell
you, it cant be. Give me the letter."
He obeyed her mechanically, picking uj) the
paper and handing it to her, but never removing
his eyes from her face.
MR. pastern's letter. 39
She snatched it from him ; looked at it for a few
moments, with her eyes dilated and her lips apart ;
then, reeling back two or three paces, her knees
bent under her, and she fell heavily to the
ground.
40 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTEE in.
MR. JAMES CONYERS.
The first week in July brought James Conyers,
the new trainer, to Mellish Park. John had
made no particular inquiries as to the man's cha-
racter of any of his former employers, as a word
from Mr, Pastern was all-sufScient.
Mr. Mellish had endeavoured to discover the
cause of Aurora's agitation at the reading of John
Pastern's letter. She had fallen like a dead crea-
tm-e at his feet ; she had been hysterical through-
out the remainder of the day, and delirious in the
ensuing night, but she had not uttered one word
calculated to throw any light upon the secret of
her strange manifestation of emotion.
Her husband sat by her bedside upon the day
after that on which she had fallen into the death-
like swoon; watching her wth a grave, anxious
MR. JAMES CONYEllS. 41
face, and earnest eyes that never wandered from
lier own.
He was suffering very mueli the same agony
that Talbot Bulstrode had endm-ed at Felden on
the receipt of his mother's letter. The dark wall
was slowly rising and separating him from the
w^oman he loved. He was now to discover the
tortm-es known only to the husband whose wife is
parted from him by that which has more power to
sever than any width of land or wide extent of
ocean a secret.
He watched the pale face lying on the piUoAv ;
the large, black, haggard eyes, wide open, and
looking blankly out at the far-away purple tree-
tops in the horizon ; but there was no clue to the
mystery in any line of that beloved countenance ;
there was little more than an expression of weari-
ness, as if the soul, looking out of that wdiite
face, was so utterly enfeebled as to have lost all
power to feel anything but a vague yearning for
rest.
The wide casement window^s were open, but the
day was hot and oppressive oppressively still and
sunny ; the landscape sw^eltering under a yellow
haze, as if the very atmosjihere had been opaque
42 AURORA FLOYD.
Avitli molten gold. Even the roses in tlie garden
seemed to feel tlie influence of the blazing summer
sky, dropping their heavy heads like human suf-
ferers from headache. The mastiff Bo^Y-wow, lying
under an acacia upon the lawn, was as peevish as
any captious elderly gentleman, and snapped
spitefully at a frivolous butterfly that wheeled,
and spun, and thi-ew somersaults about the dog's
head. Beautiful as was this summer's day, it was
one on which people are apt to lose their tempers,
and quarrel with each other, by reason of the
heat ; every man feeling a secret conviction that
his neighbour is in some way to blame for the sul-
triness of the atmosphere, and that it would be
cooler if he were out of the way. It was one of
those days on which invalids are especially frac-
tious, and hospital nurses murmur at tlieir voca-
tion ; a day on which tliu-d-class passengers travel-
ling long distances by excursion train are savagely
clamorous for beer at every station, and hate each
other for the narrowness and hardness of the car-
riage seats, and for the inadequate means of venti-
lation provided by the railway company; a day
on which stem business men revolt against the
ceaseless grinding of the wheel, and, suddenly
MU. JAJIES COXYERS. 43
reckless of consequences, rush wildly to tlie Crown
and Sceptre, to cool tlieir overheated systems with
vrater soucliy and still hock; an abnormal day,
upon ^^'liich the machinery of every-day life gets
out of order, and runs riot throughout twelve suffo-
cating hours.
John Mellish, sitting patiently by liis wife's side,
thought very little of the summer weather. I
doubt if he knew whether the month was January
or June. For him earth only held one creature,
and she was ill and in distress distress from which
he was powerless to save her- distress the very
nature of which he was ignorant.
His voice trembled when he spoke to her.
"My darling, you have been very ill," he said.
She looked at him with a smile so unlike her
own that it was more painful to him to see than
the loudest agony of tears, and stretched out her
hand. He took the burning hand in his, and held
it while he talked to her.
" Yes, dearest, you have been ill ; but Morton
says the attack was merely hysterical, and that
you will be yourself again to-morrow, so there's no
occasion for anxiety on that score, "\^"hat grieves
me, darling, is to see that there is sometliing on
44
AURORA FLOYD.
your miud; something wliicli 1ms been the real
cause of your illness."
She turned her face upon the pillow, and tried
to snatch her hand from his in her impatience, but
he held it tightly in both his own.
" Does my speaking of yesterday distress you,
Aurora ?" he asked gravely.
" Distress me ? Oh, no !"
"Then tell me, darling, why the mention of
that man, the trainer's name, had such a terrible
effect upon you."
" The doctor told you that the attack was hys-
terical," she said coldly ; " I suppose I was hys-
terical and nervous yesterday."
" But the name, Aurora, the name. This James
Conyers who is he ?" He felt the hand he held
tighten convulsively upon his own, as he mentioned
the trainer's name.
"Who is this man? Tell me, Aurora. For
God's sake, tell me the truth."
She turned her face towards him once more, as
he said this.
" If you only want the truth from me, John, you
must ask me nothing. Eemember what I said to
you at the Chateau d'Arques. It was a secret that
MR. JAMES CONYERS. 45
parted me from Talbot Bulstrode. You trusted
me then, John, you must trust me to the end ;
if you cannot trust me " she stopped suddenly,
and the tears welled slowly up to her large, mourn-
ful eyes, as she looked at her husband.
"What, dearest?"
" We must part ; as Talbot and I parted."
" Part !" he cried ; " my love, my love ! Do
you think there is anything upon this earth
strong enough to part us, except death ? Do you
think that any combination of circumstances,
however strange, however inexplicable, would ever
cause me to doubt your honoiu* ; or to tremble
for my own ? Could I be here if I doubted you ?
could I sit by your side, asking you these questions,
if I feared the issue ? Nothing shall shake my
confidence ; nothing can. But have pity on me ;
think how bitter a grief it is to sit here, with your
hand in mine, and to know that there is a secret
between us. Aurora, tell me, this man, this
Conyers, what is he, and who is he ?"
" You know that as well as I do. A gi'oom
once ; afterwards a jockey ; and now a trainer."
" But you know him ?"
"I have seen him."
46 AUKOKA FLOYD.
"When?"
" Some years ago, when he was in my father's
service."
John Mellish breathed more freely for a moment.
The man had been a gi'oom at Felden Woods, that
was all. This accounted for the fact of Aurora's re-
cognizing his name ; but not for her agitation. He
was no nearer the clue to the mystery than before.
" James Conyers was in your father's service,"
he said thoughtfully ; " but why should the men-
tion of his name yesterday have caused you such
emotion ?"
" I cannot tell you,"
" It is another secret, then, Aurora," he said
reproachfully ; "or has this man anything to do
with the old secret of which you told me at the
Chateau d'Arques ?"
She did not answer him.
" Ah, I see ; I understand, Aurora," he added,
after a pause. " This man was a servant at Felden
Woods ; a spy, perhaps ; and he discovered the
secret, and traded upon it, as servants often have
done before. This caused yom* agitation at hearing
liis name. You were afraid that he would come
here and annoy you, making use of this secret to
MR. JAMES CONYERS. 47
extort money, and keeping you in perpetual terror
of liim. I tliink I can understand it all. I am
right ; am I not ?"
She looked at him with something of the expres-
sion of a hunted animal that finds itself at bay.
" Yes, John."
"This man this groom knows sometliing of
of the secret."
. " He does."
John Mellish turned away his head, and buried
his face in his hands. What cruel anguish ! what
bitter degradation ! This man, a groom, a ser-
vant, was in the confidence of his wife ; and had
such power to harass and alarm her, that the very
mention of his name was enough to cast her to the
earth, as if stricken by sudden death. What, in
the name of heaven, could this secret be, which
was in the keeping of a servant, and yet could
not be told to him ? He bit his lip till his strong
teeth met upon the quivering flesh, in the silent
agony of that thought. What could it be ? He
had sworn, only a minute before, to trust in her
blindly to the end ; and yet, and yet His mas-
sive frame shook from head to heel in that noise-
less struggle; doubt and despair rose like twin-
48 AUEORA FLOYD.
demons in Ins soul ; but he wrestled with them,
and overcame them ; and, turning with a wliite
face to his wife, said quietly
" I will press these painful questions no further,
Aurora. I will write to Pastern, and teU him
that the man will not suit us ; and "
He was rising to leave her bedside, when she
laid her hand upon his arm.
" Don't write to Mr. Pastern, John," she said ;
'' the man will suit you very well, I dare say. I
had rather he came."
" You wish him to come here ?"
" Yes."
*' But he will annoy you ; he will try to extort
money from you."
"He would do that in any case, since he is
alive. I thought that he was dead."
" Then you really wish him to come here ?"
"I do."
John Mellish left his wife's room inexpressibly
relieved. The secret could not be so very terrible
after all, since she was willing that the man wlio
knew it should come to MeUish Park ; where there
was at least a remote chance of his revealing it to
lier husband. Perhaps, after all, this mystery
:\IR. JAMES CONYERS. 49
involved others rather than herself, lier father's
commercial integrity her mother ? He had heard
very little of that mother's histor}'- ; perhaps she
Pshaw ! why weary himself with speculative sur-
mises ? He had promised to trust her, and the hour
had come in Avliich he was called upon to keep his
promise. He wrote to Mr. Pastern, accepting his re-
commendation of James Conyers, and waited rather
impatiently to see what kind of man the trainer was.
He received a letter from Conyers, very well
^vl'itten and worded, to the effect that he would
arrive at Mellish Park upon the 3rd of July.
Aurora had recovered from her brief hysterical
attack when this letter arrived ; but as she was
still weak and out of spirits, her medical man
recommended change of air ; so Mr. and Mrs.
Mellish drove off to Harrogate upon the 28th of
Jime, leaving Mrs. Powell behind them at the Park.
The ensign's widow had been scrupulously kept
out of Aurora's room during her short illness ;
being held at bay by John, who coolly shut the
door in the lady's sympathetic face, telling her
that he'd wait upon his wife himself, and that
when he wanted female assistance he would ring
for ]Mrs. Mellish's maid.
VOL. II. E
50 AURORA FLOYD.
Now Mrs. Walter Powell, being afflicted witli
that ravenous curiosity common to people who
live in other people's houses, felt herself deeply
injured by this line of conduct. There were mys-
teries and secrets afloat, and she was not to be
allowed to discover them ; there was a skeleton in
the house, and she was not to anatomize the bony
horror. She scented trouble and sorrow as car-
nivorous animals scent their prey; and yet she
who hated Aurora was not to be allowed to riot at
the unnatural feast.
"Why is it that the dependents in a household
are so feverishly inquisitive about the doings and
sayings, the manners and customs, the joys and
sorrows, of those who employ them ? Is it that,
having abnegated for themselves all active share
in life, they take an unhealthy interest in those
who are in the thick of the strife ? Is it because,
being cut off in a great measure by the nature of
their employment from family ties and family
pleasures, they feel a malicious delight in all
family trials and vexations, and the ever-recurring
breezes which disturb the domestic atmosjDnere ?
Remember this, husbands and wives, fathers and
sons, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters,
MR. JAMES COXYEKS. 51
when you quarrel. Four servants enjoy the fun.
Surely that recollection ought to be enough to
keep you for ever peaceful and friendly. Your
servants listen at your doors, and repeat your spite-
ful speeches in the kitchen, and watch you while
they wait at table, and understand every sarcasm,
every innuendo, every look, as well as those at
whom the cruel glances and the stinging words are
aimed. They understand your sulky silence, your
studied and over-acted politeness. The most
polished form your hate and anger can take is as
transparent to those household spies as if you thi-ew
knives at each other, or pelted your enemy with
the side-dishes and vegetables, after the fashion of
disputants in a pantomime. Nothing that is done
in the parlour is lost upon these quiet, well-behaved
watchers from the kitchen. They laugh at you ;
nay worse, they pity you. They discuss your
affairs, and make out your income, and settle what
you can afford to do and what you can't afford to
do ; they prearrange the disposal of yom' wife's
fortune, and look prophetically forward to the day
Avhen you will avail yourself of the advantages of
the new Bankruptcy Act. They know why you
live on bad terms with your eldest daughter, and
E 2
62 AURORA FLOYD.
why your favourite son was turned out of doors ;
and they take a morbid interest in every dismal
secret of your life. You don't allow them fol-
lowers ; you look blacker than thunder if you see
Mary's sister or John's poor old mother sitting
meekly in yom* hall ; you are surprised if the post-
man brings them letters, and attribute the fact
to the pernicious system of over-educating the
masses ; you shut them from their homes and
their kindred, their lovers and then- friends ; you
deny them books; you grudge them a peep at
your newspaper ; and then you lift' up your eyes
and M'onder at them because they are inquisitive,
and because the staple of their talk is scandal
and gossip.
Mrs. Walter Powell, having been treated by
most of her employers, as a species of upper ser-
vant, had acquired all the instincts of a servant ;
and she determined to leave no means untried in
order to discover the cause of Aurora's illness,
which the doctor had darkly hinted to her had
more to do with the mind than the body.
John Mellish had ordered a carpenter to repair
the lodge at the north gate, for the accommoda-
tion of James Conyers; and John's old trainer.
MR. JAMES CONYERS. Do
Langley, was to receive his colleague and intro-
duce him to the stables.
The new trahier made his appearance at the
lodge-gates in the glowing July sunset ; he was
accompanied by no less a person than Steeve Har-
gi'aves the " Softy," who had been lurking about
the station upon the look out for a job, and who
had been engaged by Mr, Conyers to carry his
portmanteau.
To the surprise of the trainer, Stephen Har-
graves set do\vn liis burden at the park gates.
" You'll have to find some one else to carry it
th' rest 't' ro-ad," he said, toucliing liis greasy cap,
and extending his broad palm to receive the
expected payment.
Mr. James Conyers was rather a dashing fellow,
with no small amount of that quality Avhich is
generally termed " swagger," so he turned sharply
round upon the " Softy " and asked him what the
devil he meant.
" I mean that I mayn't go inside yon geates,"
muttered Stephen Hargraves ; " I mean that I've
been toorned oot of yon pleace that I've lived in,
man and boy, for forty year, toorned oot like a
dog, neck and crop."
54 AURORA FLOYD.
Mr. Conyers threw away the stump of his cigar
and stared superciliously at the " Softy."
*' What does the man mean ?" he asked of the
woman who had opened the gates.
" Why, poor fellow, he's a bit fond, sir, and him
and Mrs. Mellish didn't get on very well : she has
a rare spirit, and I have heard that she horsewhipped
him for beating her favourite dog. Any ways,
master turned him out of his service."
"Because my lady had horsewhipped him.
Servants'-hall justice all the world over," said the
trainer, laughing, and lighting a second cigar from
a metal fusee-box in his waistcoat pocket.
" Yes, that's joostice, aint it ?" the " Softy " said
eagerly. " You wouldn't like to be* toorned oot of
a pleace as you'd lived in forty year, would you ?
But Mrs. Mellish has a rare spirit, bless her pretty
feace !"
The blessing enunciated by ]\Ir. Stephen Har-
graves had such a very ominous sound, that the
new trainer, who was evidently a shrewd, observant
fellow, took his cigar from his mouth on pm-pose
to stare at him. The white face, lighted up by a
pair of red eyes with a dim glimmer in them, was
by no means the most agreeable of countenances ;
MK. JAMES COXi'ERS. 55
but Mi\ Conyers looked at tlie man for some mo-
ments, holding him by the collar of his coat hi
order to do so with more deliberation : then pushmo-
the " Softy " away with an affably contemptuous
gesture, he said, laughing
" You're a character, my friend, it strikes me ;
and not too safe a character either. I'm dashed if
I should like to offend you. There's a' shilling for
your trouble, my man," he added tossing the
money into Steeve's extended palm with careless
dexterity.
" I suppose I can leave my portmanteau here
till to-morrow, ma'am?" he said, turning to the
woman at the lodge. " I'd carry it down to the
house myself if I wasn't lame."
He was such a handsome fellow, and had such
an easy, careless manner, that the simple York-
shu-e woman was quite subdued by his fascinations.
"Leave it here, sir, and welcome," she said,
curtsying, "and my master shall take it to the
house for you as soon as he comes in. Beo-o'ino-
your pardon, sir, but I suppose you're the new
gentleman that's expected in the stables ?"
" Precisely."
" Then I was to tell you, sir, that they've fitted
56 AUROEA FLOYD.
up the nortli lodge for you : but you was to please
go straight to the house, and the housekeeper was
to make you comfortable and give you a bed for
to-night."
Mr. Conyers nodded, thanked her, wished her
good night, and limped slowly away, through the
shadows of the evening, and under the shelter of
the over-arohing trees. He stepped aside from
the broad carriage-drive on to the dewy turf that
bordered it, choosing the softest, mossiest places
with a sybarite's instinct. Look at him as he
takes his slow way under those glorious branches,
in the holy stillness of the summer sunset, his
face sometimes lighted by the low, lessening rays,
sometimes darkened by the shadows of the leaves
above his head. He is AvonderfuUy handsome
wonderfully and perfectly handsome the very
perfection of jihysical beauty; faultless in pro-
portion, as if each line in his face and form had
been measured by the sculptor's rule, and carved
by the sculptor's chisel. He is a man about whose
beauty there can be no dispute, whose perfection
servant-maids and duchesses must alike confess
albeit they are not bound to admire ; yet it is
rather a sensual tjpe of beauty, this splendour of
MR. JAMES CONYERS. 57
form and colour, miallied to any special charm of
exjDression. Look at him now, as he stops to rest,
leaning against the trunk of a- tree, and smoking
his big cigar with easy enjoyment. He is think-
ing. His dark-blue eyes, deeper in colour by
reason of the thick black lashes which fringe
them, are half closed, and have a dreamy, semi-
sentimental expression, which might lead you to
suppose the man was musing upon the beauty of
the summer sunset. He is thinking of his losses
on the Chester Cup, the wages he is to get from
John Mellish, and the perquisites likely to apper-
tain to the situation. You give him credit for
thoughts to match with his dark, violet-hued eyes,
and the exquisite modelling of his mouth and chin ;
you give him a mind as sesthetically perfect as his
face and figure, and you recoil on discovering
what a vulgar, every-day sword may liu-k under
that beautiful scabbard. Mr. James Conyers is,
perhaps, no worse than other men of his station ;
but he is decidedly no better. He is only very
much handsomer; and you have no right to be
angry with him because his opinions and senti-
ments are exactly what they would have been if
he had had red hair and a pug nose. ^Yith what
5S AURORA FLOYD.
wonderful Ayisdoni has George Eliot told us that
people are not any better because they have long
eyelashes! Yet it must be that there is some-
thing anomalous in this outward beauty and in-
ward ugliness ; for, in spite of all experience, we
revolt against it, and are incredulous to tlie last,
believing that the palace v.'hich is ontwardly so
splendid can scarcely be ill furnislicd within.
Heaven help the woman who sells her heart for
a handsome face, and awakes when the bargain
has been struck, to discover the foolishness of such
an exchange !
It took Mr. Conyers a long while to walk from
the lodge to the house. I do not know how, tech-
nically, to describe his lameness. He had fallen,
with his horse, in the Prussian steeple-chase, which
had so nearly cost him his life, and his left leg
had been terribly injured. The bones had been
set by wonderful German surgeons, wlio put the
shattered les; together as if it had been a Chinese
puzzle, but who, with all their skill, could not
prevent the contraction of the sinews, which had
left the jockey lamed for life, and no longer fit to
ride in any race whatever. He was of the middle
height, and weighed something over eleven stone.
MR. JAMES COX VERS. 59
and had never ridden except in Continental steeple-
chases.
Mr. James Conyers paused a few paces from the
house, and gravely contemplated the irregular pile
of buildings before him.
"A snug crib," he muttered; "plenty of tin
hereabouts, I should think, from the look of the
place."
Being ignorant of the geography of tlio neigh-
bourhood, and being, moreover, by no means
afflicted by an excess of modesty, Mr." Conyers
went straight to the principal door, and rang the
bell sacred to visitors and the family.
He was admitted by a grave old man-servant,
who, after deliberately inspecting his brown shoot-
ing-coat, coloured shirt-front, and felt hat, asked
him, with considerable asperity, what he was
pleased to want.
Mr. Conyers explained that he was the new
trainer, and that he wished to see the house-
keeper; but he had hardly finished doing so,
when a door in an anole of the hall was softlv
opened, and Mrs. Walter Powell peeped out of
the snug little apartment sacred to her hours of
privacy.
CO AURORA FLOYD.
" Perhaps tlie young man will be so good as to
step in here," she said, addressing herself appa-
rently to space, but indirectly to James Conyers.
The young man took off his hat, uncovering a
mass of luxuriant brown curls, and limped across
the hall in obedience to Mrs. Powell's invitation.
" I dare say I shall be able to give you any in-
formation you require."
James Conyers' smiled, wondering whether the
bilious-looking party, as he mentally designated
Mrs. Powell, could give him any information
about the York Summer Meeting ; but he bowed
jDolitely, and said he merely Avanted to know
where he was to hang out he stopped and
apologized where he was to sleep that night, and
whether there were any letters for him. But
Mrs. Powell was by no means inclined to let him
off so cheaply. She set to work to pump him,
and laboured so assiduously that she soon ex-
hausted that very small amount of intelligence
which he was disposed to afford her, being per-
fectly aware of the process to which he was sub-
jected, and more than equal to the lady in dexterity.
The ensign's widow, therefore, ascertained little
more than that Mr. Conyers was a perfect stranger
-MR. JAMES CONYERS. 61
to Jolin Mellisli and liis wife, neither of whom he
had ever seen.
Having failed to gain much by tliis interview,
Mrs. Powell was anxious to bring it to a speedy
termination.
" Perhaps you would like a glass of wine after
your walk?" she said ; " I'll ring for some, and I
can inquire at the same time about your letters.
I dare say you are anxious to hear from the rela-
tives you have left at home."
Mr. Conyers smiled for the second time. He
had neither had a home nor any relatives to speak
of, since the most infantine period of his existence ;
but liad been thrown upon the world a sharp-witted
adventurer at seven or eight years old. The
" relatives " for whose communication he was look-
ing out so eagerly were members of the humbler
class of book-men with whom he did business.
The servant despatched by Mrs. Powell returned
with a decanter of sherry and about half a dozen
letters for Mr. Conyers.
" You'd better bring the lamp, William," said
Mrs. Powell, as the man left the room ; " for I'm
sm-e you'll never be able to read your letters by
this light," she added politely to Mr. Conyers.
62 AURORA. FLOYD.
The fact was, tliat Mrs. Powell, afflicted by that
diseased curiosity of which I have spoken, wanted
to know what kind of correspondents these were
whose letters the trainer was so anxious to receive,
and sent for the lamp in order that she might get
the full benefit of any scraps of information to be
got at by rapid glances and dexterously stolen
peeps.
The servant brought a brilliant camphine-lamp,
and Mr. Conyers, not at all abashed by Mrs.
Powell's condescension, drew his chaii* close to the
table, and after tossing off a glass of sherry, settled
himself to the perusal of his letters. ,
The ensign's widow, with some needlework in
her hand, sat directly opposite to him at the small
round table, with nothing but the pedestal of the
lamp between them.
James Conyers took up the first letter, examined
the superscription and seal, tore open the envelope,
read the brief communication upon half a sheet of
note-paper, and thrust it into his waistcoat-pocket.
Mrs. Powell, using her eyes to the utmost, saw
nothing but a few lines in a scratchy plebeian
handwriting, and a signature which, seen at a
disadvantage upside-do'VYU, didn't look unlike
MK. JAMES COXYERS. 63
" Jolinson." The second envelope contained onlv
a tissue-paper betting-list ; the tliii-d held a dirty
.scrap of paper with a few words scrawled in pencil ;
but at sight of the uppermost, envelope of the
remaining tlii'ee Mr. James Conyers started as if
he liad been shot. Mrs. Powell looked from the
face of the trainer to the superscription of the
letter, and was scarcely less surprised than Mr.
Conyers. The superscription was in the hand-
writing of Aurora Mellish.
It was a peculiar hand ; a hand about which
there could be no mistake ; not an elegant Itahan
hand, sloping, slender, and feminine, but large and
bold, with ponderous up-strokes and down-strokes,
easy to recognize at a greater distance than that
which separated Mrs. Powell from the trainer.
There was no room for any doubt. J^Irs. Mellish
had written to her husband's servant, and the man
was evidently familiar with her hand, yet surprised
at receiving her letter.
He tore open the envelope, and read the con-
tents eagerly twice over, frowning darkly as he
read.
Mrs. Powell suddenly remembered that she had
left part of her needlework upon a cheffonier
04 AUllOUA FLOYU.
behind the young man's chair, and rose quietly to
fetch it. He was so much engrossed by the letter
in his hand that he was not aware of the pale face
which peered for one brief moment over his
shoulder, as the faded, hungry eyes stole a glance
at the writing on the page.
The letter was written on the first side of a
sheet of note-paper, with only a few words carried
over to the second page. It was this second page
which Mrs. Powell saw. The words written at the
top of the leaf were these : " Above all, express
no surprise. A."
There was no ordinary conclusion to the letter ;
no other signature than thLs big capital A.
65
CHAPTEE IV.
THE trainer's MESSENGER.
3IR. James Conyers made himself very much at
home at Mellish Park. Poor Langley, the invalid
trainer, who was a Yorkshireman, felt himself
almost bewildered by the easy insolence of his town-
bred successor. Mr. Conyers looked so much too
handsome and dashing for his office, that the grooms
and ""^table-boys bowed down to him, and paid
court to liim as they had never done to simple
Langley, who had been very often obliged to
enforce his commands with a horsewhip or a ser-
viceable leather strap. James Conyers's handsome
face was a capital with which that gentleman laiew
very well how to trade, and he took the full
amount of interest that was to be got for it without
compimction. I am sorry to be obliged to confess
that this man, who had sat in the artists' studios
and the life academies for Apollo and Antinous,
VOL. II. F
66 AUKOEA FLOYD.
was selfish to tlie backbone ; and so long as he was
well fed and clothed and housed and provided for,
cared very little whence the food and clothing
came, or who kept the house that sheltered him,
or filled the purse which he jingled in his trousers-
pocket. Heaven forbid that I should be called
upon for his biography. I only know that he
sprang from the mire of the streets, like some male
Aphrodite rising from the mud; that he was a
blackleg in the gutter at four years of age, and a
" welsher " in the matter of marbles and hardbake
before his fifth bhthday. Even then he was for
ever reaping the advantage of a handsome face ;
for tender-hearted matrons, who would have been
deaf to the cries of a snub-nosed urchin, petted
and comjDassionated the pretty boy.
In his earliest childhood he learned therefore
to trade upon his beauty, and to get the most that
he could for that merchandise ; and he grew up
utterly unprincipled, and carried his handsome
face out into the world to help him on to fortime.
He was extravagant, lazy, luxurious, and selfish ;
but he had that easy indifferent grace of manner
which passes with shallow observers for good-
nature. He would not have gone three paces out
THE trainer's MESSENGER. 67
of liis way to serve liis best friend ; but he smiled
and showed liis handsome white teeth with equal
liberality to all his acquaintance ; and took credit
for being a frank, generous-hearted fellow on the
strength of that smUe. He was skilled in the
uses of that gilt gingerbread of generosity which
so often passes current for sterling gold. He was
dexterous in the handling of those cogged dice
which have all the rattle of the honest ivories. A
slap on the back, a hearty shake of the hand,
often went as far from him as the loan of a sove-
reign from another man, and Jim Conyers was
firmly believed in by the doubtful gentlemen with
whom he associated, as a good-natured fellow who
was nobody's enemy but his own. He had that
superficial Cockney cleverness which is generally
called knowledge of the world ; knowledge of the
worst side of the world, and utter ignorance of
all that is noble upon earth, it might perhaps be
more justly called. He had matriculated in the
streets of London, and graduated on the race-
course ; he had never read any higher literature
than the Sunday papers and the ' Eacing Calendar,'
but he contrived to make a very little learning-
go a long way, and was generally spoken of by his
F 2
68 AURORA FLOYD.
employers as a superior young man, considerably
above his station.
Mr. Conyers expressed bimself very well con-
tented with the rustic lodge which had been
chosen for his dwelling-house. He condescendingly
looked on while the stable-lads carried the furni-
ture, selected for him by the housekeeper from
the spare servants' rooms, from the house to the
lodge, and assisted in the arrangement of the tiny
rustic chambers, limping about in his shirt-sleeves,
and showing himself wonderfully handy with a
hammer and a pocketful of nails. He sat upon
a table and drank beer with such charming affa-
bility, that the stable-lads were as grateful to him
as if he had treated them to that beverage.
Indeed, seeing the frank cordiality with which
James Conyers smote the lads upon the back, and
prayed them to be active with the can, it was
almost difficult to remember that he was not the
giver of the feast, and that it was Mr. John
Mellish who would have to pay the brewer's bill.
What, amongst all the virtues, which adorn this
earth, can be more charming than the generosity
of upper servants ? With what hearty hospitality
they pass the bottle! how liberally they tlirow
THE trainer's MESSENGER. 69
the seven-shilliug gunpowder into the teapot !
how unsparingly they spread the twenty-penny
fresh butter on the toast! and what a glorious
welcome they give to the droppers-in of the
servants' hall ! It is scarcely wonderful that the
recipients of their bounty forget that it is the
master of the household who will be called upon
for the expenses of the banquet, and who will
look ruefully at the total of the quarter's house-
keeping.
It was not to be supposed that so dashing a
fellow as Mr. James Conyers could, in the lodg-
inghouse-keepers' patois, " do for " himself. He
required a humble drudge to black his boots,
make his bed, boil his kettle, cook his dinner,
and keep the two little chambers at the lodge in
decent order. Casting about in a reflective m,ood
for a fitting person for this office, his recreant
fancy hit upon Steeve Hargraves the " Softy." He
was sitting upon the sill of an open window in the
little parlour of the lodge, smoking a cigar and
drinking out of a can of beer, when this idea
came into his head. He was so tickled by tlie
notion, that he took his cigar from his mouth in
order to lauffh at his ease.
70 AURORA FLOYD.
" The man's a character," he said, still laughing,
" and I'll have him to wait upon me. He's been
forbid the place, has he ? Tm-ned out neck and
crop because my Lady Highropes horsewhipped
him. Never mind that ; Til give him leave to
come back, if it's only for the fun of the thing."
He limped out upon the high-road half an hour
after this, and went into the village to iind Steeve
Hargraves. He had little difficulty in doing this,
as everybody knew the " Softy," and a chorus of
boys volunteered to fetch him from the house of
the doctor, in whose service he did odd jobs, and
brought him to Mr. Conyers five minutes after-
wards, looking very hot and dirty, but as pale of
complexion as usual.
Stephen Hargraves agreed very readily to
abandon his present occupation and to wait upon
the trainer, in consideration of five shillings a
week and his board and lodging ; but his counte-
nance fell when he discovered that Mr. Conyers
was in the service of John Mellish, and lived on
the outskirts of the park.
" You're afraid of setting foot upon his estate,
are you ?" said the trainer, laughing. " Never
mind, Steeve, / give you leave to come, and I
THE trainer's MESSENGER. 71
should like to see ihe man or woman in that
house who'll interfere with any whim of mine. I
give you leave. You understand."
The " Softy " touched his cap and tried to look
as if he understood ; but it was very evident that
he did not understand, and it was some time
before Mr. Conyers could persuade him that his life
would be safe within the gates of Mellish Park.
But he was ultimately induced to trust himself at
"the north lodge, and promised to present himself
there in the course of the evening.
Now Mr. James Conyers had exerted himself as
much in order to overcome the cowardly ob-
jections of tliis rustic clown as he could have done
if Steeve Hargraves had been the most accom-
plished body servant in the three Eidings. Per-
haps there was some deeper motive than any
regard for the man himself in this special pre-
ference for the " Softy ;" some lurking malice, some
petty spite, the key to which was hidden in his own
breast. If, while standing smoking in the village
street, chaffing the " Softy " for the edification of the
lookers-on, and taking so much trouble to secure
such an ignorant and brutish esquire, if one
shadow of the future, so very near at hand, could
72 AURORA FLOYD.
have fallen across his path, purely he would have
instinctively recoiled from the striking of that ill-
omened bargain.
But James Conyers had no superstition ; indeed,
he was so pleasantly free from that weakness as
to be a disbeliever in all things in heaven and on
earth, except himself and his own merits ; so ho
hired the " Softy," for the fun of the thing, as he
called it, and walked slowly back to the park
gates to watch for the return of Mr. and Mrs.
Mellish, who were exjoected that afternoon.
The woman at the lodge brought him out a
chair, and begged him to rest himself under the
portico. He thanked her with a pleasant smile,
and sitting down amongst the roses and honey-
suckles, Hghted another cigar.
" You'll find the north lodge dull, I'm thinking,
sir," the woman said, from the open window,
where she had reseated herself with her needlework.
" Well, it isn't very lively, ma'am, certainly,"
answered Mr. Conyers, " but it serves my pur230se
well enough. The jDlace is lonely enough for a
man to be murdered there and nobody be any the
wiser; but as I have nothuig to lose, it wiU
answer well enough for me."
TPIE TRAINER S MESSENGER. To
He might perhaps have said a good deal more
about the place, but at this moment- the sound of
wheels upon the high-road announced the return
of the travellers, and two or three minutes after-
wards the carriage dashed through the gate, and
past Mr. James Conyers.
Whatever power this man might have over
Aurora^ whatever knowledge of a compromising
secret he might have obtained and traded ujjon,
the fearlessness of her nature showed itself now as
always, and she never flinched at the sight of him.
If he had placed himself in her way on purpose to
watch the effect of his presence, he must surely
have been disappointed ; for except that a cold
shadow of disdain passed over her face as the
carriage drove by him, he might have imagined
himself unseen. She looked pale and careworn,
and her eyes seemed to have grown larger, since
her illness ; but she held her head as erect as
ever, and had still the air of imperial grandeur
which constituted one of her chief charms.
" So that is Mr. Mellish," said Conyers, as the
carriage disappeared. "He seems very fond of
his wife."
" Ay, sure ; and he is too. Fond of her !
74 AURORA FLOYD.
Wliy they say there isn't another such couple in
all Yorkshire. And she's fond of him, too, bless
her handsome face ! But who wouldn't be fond of
Master John ?"
Mr. Conyers shrugged his shoulders ; these
patriarchal habits and domestic virtues had no
particular charm for him.
" She had plenty of money, hadn't she ?" he
asked, by way of bringing the conversation into a
more rational channel.
" Plenty of money ! 1 should think so. They
say her pa gave her fifty thousand pounds down
on her wedding-day ; not that our master wants
money ; he's got enough and to spare."
" Ah, to be sure," answered Mr. Conyers ;
" tliat's always the way of it. The banker gave
her fifty thousand, did he ? If Miss Floyd had
married a poor devil, now, I don't suppose her
father would have given her fifty sixpences."
" Well, no ; if she'd gone against liis wishes, I
don't suppose he would. He was here in the
spring, a nice, white-haired old gentleman ; but
failing fast."
" Failing fast. And Mrs. Mellish will come
into a quarter of a million at his death, I suppose.
1
THE TRAINEES MESSENGER. iO
Good afternoon, ma'am. It's a queer world."
Mr. Conyers took up liis stick, and limped away
under the trees, repeating this ejaculation as he
went. It was a habit with this gentleman to
attribute the good fortune of other people to some
eccentricity in the machinery of life, by which he,
the only really deserving person in the world, had
been deprived of his natural rights. He went
through the wood into a meadow where some of
the horses under his charge were at grass, and
spent upwards of an hour lounging about the
hedgerows, sitting on gates, smoking his pipe, and
staring at the animals, which seemed about the
hardest work he had to do in his capacity of
trainer. "It isn't a very hard life, when all's said
and done," he thought, as he looked at a group
of mares and foals, who, in their eccentric diver-
sions, were performing a species of Sir Eoger de
Coverley up and down the meadow. " It isn't a
very hard life ; for as long as a fellow swears hard
and fast at the lads, and gets rid of plenty of oats,
he's right enough. These country gentlemen
always judge a man's merits by the quantity of
corn they have to pay for. Feed theii- horses as
fat as pigs, and never enter 'em except among
76 AURORA FLOYD.
sucli a set of screws as an active pig could beat ;
and they'll swear by you. They'd think more of
having a horse win the Margate Plate, or the Hamp-
stead Heath Sweepstakes, than if he ran a good
fourth in the Derby. Bless their innocent hearts !
I should think fellows with plenty of money and
no brains must have been invented for the good of
fellows with plenty of brains and no money ; and
that's how we contrive to keep our equilibrium in
the universal see-saw."
Mr. James Conyers, puffing lazy clouds of
transparent blue smoke from his lips, and ponder-
ing thus, looked as sentimental as if he had l^een
ruminating upon the last three pages of the ' Bride
of Abydos,' or the death of Paul Dombey. He
had that romantic style of beauty peculiar to
dark-blue eyes and long black lashes ; and he
could not wonder what he should have for dinner
without a di'eamy pensiveness in the purple
shadows of those deep-blue orbs. He had found
the sentimentality of his beauty almost of greater
use to him than the beauty itself. It was this
sentimentality which always put him at an advan-
tage with his employers. He looked like an
exiled prince doing menial service in bitterness of
THE TRAINERS MESSENGER. 77
spirit and a turned-down collar. He looked like
Lara returned to his ovm. domains to train the
horses of a usurper. He looked, in short, like
any tiling but what he was, a selfish, good-for-
nothing, lazy scoundrel, who was well up in the
useful art of doing the minimum of work, and
getting the maximum of wages.
He strolled slowly back to his rustic habitation,
where he found the " Softy " waiting for him ; the
kettle boiling upon a handful of briglit fire, and
some tea-things laid out upon the little round
table. Mr. Conyers looked rather contemptuously
at the humble preparations.
" I've mashed the tea for 'ee," said the
"Softy;" "I thought you'd like a coop."
The trainer shrugged his shoulders.
" I can't say I'm particular attached to the
cat-lap," he said, laughing; "I've had rather too
much of it when I've been in training, half-and-
half, warm tea and cold-di-awn castor-oil. I'll
send you into Doncaster for some spirits to-
morrow, my man : or to-night, perhaps," he added
reflectively, resting his elbow upon the table and
liis chin in the hollow of his hand.
He sat for some time in this thoughtful attitude,
78 AURORA FLOYD.
his retainer Steeve Hargraves watching him
intently all the while, with that half-wondering,
half-admiring stare with which a very ugly crea-
ture a creature so ugly as to know it is ugly
looks at a very handsome one.
At the close of his reverie, Mr. Conyers took
out a clumsy silver watch, and sat for a few
minutes staring vacantly at the dial.
" Close upon six," he muttered at last. " What
time do they dine at the house, Steeve ?"
" Seven o'clock," answered the " Softy."
" Seven o'clock. Then you'd have time to run
there with a message, or a letter, and catch 'em
just as they're going in to dinner."
The " Softy " stared aghast at his new master.
"A message or a letter," he repeated; "for
Mr. Mellish?"
"No; for Mrs. Mellish."
"But 1 daren't," exclaimed Stephen Har-
graves ; " I daren't go nigh the house ; least of all
to speak to her. I don't forget the day she horse-
wliipped me. I've never seen her since, and I
don't want to see her. You think I am a coward,
don't 'ee ?" he said, stopping suddenly, and look-
ing at the trainer, whose handsome lips were
THE trainer's MESSENGER. 79
curved into a contemptuous smile. " You think
I'm a coward, don't 'ee, now ?" lie repeated.
"Well, I don't think you are over- valiant,"
answered Mr. Conyers, " to be afraid of a woman,
though she was the veriest devil that ever played
fast and loose with a man."
" Shall I tell you what it is I am afraid of?"
said Steeve Hargraves, hissing the words through
his closed teeth in that unpleasant whisper
pecuhar to him. "It isn't Mrs. Mellish. It's
myself. It's tJiis," he grasped something in the
loose pocket of his trousers as he spoke, "it's
this. I'm afraid to trust myself a-nigh her, for
fear I should spring upon her, and cut her thi-o-at
from ear to ear. I've seen her in my dreams
sometimes, with her beautiful white thro-at laid
open, and streaming oceans of blood ; but, for all
that, she's always had the broken whip in her
hand, and she's always laughed at me. I've had
many a dream about her ; but I've never seen her
dead or quiet; and I've never seen her without
the whip."
The contemptuous smile died away from the
trainer's lips as Steeve Hargraves made this reve-
lation of his sentiments, and gave place to a
80 AURORA FLOYD.
darkly thouglitful expression, which overshadowed
the whole of his face.
" I've no such wonderful love for Mrs. Mellish
myself," he said ; " but she might live to be as
old as Methuselah, for aught I care, if she'd "
He muttered something between his teeth, and
walked up the little staircase to liis bedroom,
whistling a popular tune as he went.
He came down again with a dirty-looking
leather desk in his hand; which he flung care-
lessly on to the table. It was stuffed with crum-
pled untidy-looking letters and papers, from
among which he had considerable difficulty in
selecting a tolerably clean sheet of note-paper.
"You'll take a letter to Mrs. Mellish, my
friend," he said to Stephen, stooping over the
table and writing as he spoke ; " and you'll please
to deliver it safe into her owr hands. The
windows will all be open this sultry weather, and
you can watch till you see her in the drawing-
room ; and when you do, contrive to beckon her
out, and give her this."
He had folded the sheet of paper by this time,
and had sealed it carefully in an adhesive enve-
lope.
THE trainer's MESSENGER. 81
" There's no need of any address," lie said, as
he handed the letter to Steeve Hargraves ; " you
know who it's for, and you won't give it to any-
body else. There, get along with you. She'll
say nothing to you, man, when she sees who the
letter comes from."
The "Softy" looked darkly at his new em-
ployer ; but Mr. James Conyers rather piqued him-
self upon a quality which he called determination,
but which his traducers designated obstinacy, and
he made up his mind that no one but Steeve
Hargraves should carry the letter.
" Come," he said, " no nonsense, Mr. Stephen !
Remember this : if I choose to employ you, and if
I choose to send you on any errand whatsoever,
there's no one in that house will dare to question
my right to do it. Get along with you !"
He pointed, as he spoke, with the stem of his
pipe, to the Gothic roof and ivied chimneys of the
old house gleaming amongst a mass of fohage.
" Get along with you, Mr. Stephen, and bring me
an answer to that letter," he added, lighting, his
pipe and seating himself in his favom^ite attitude
Tipon the window-sill, an attitude which, like
everything about him, was a half-careless, half-
VOL. II. G
82 AURORA TLOYD.'
defiant protest 'of .his superiority to his position.
" You needn't wait for a written answer. Yes or
No will be quite enough, you may" tell Mrs.
MeUish."
The " Softy " whispered something, half inau-
dible, between liis teeth ; but he took the letter,
and pulling his shabby rabbit-skin cap over his eyes,
walked slowly off in the direction to which Mr.
Conyers had pointed, with a half-contemptuous
action, a few moments before.,
"A queer fish," muttered the trainer, lazily
watching the awkward figure of his attendant;
" a queer fish ; but it's rather hard if I can't
manage him. I've twisted his betters round my
little finger before to-day."
Mr. Conyers forgot that there are some natures
which, although inferior in everything else, are
strong by reason of their stubbornness, and not to
be twisted out of their natural crookedness by any
trick of management or skilfulness of handling.
The evening was sunless but sultry ; there was
a lowering darkness in the leaden sky, and an
unnatural stillness in the atmosphere that prophe-
sied the coming of a storm. The elements were
taking breatli for the struggle, and lying silently
THE TRAINER S MESSENGER. 83
in wait against the breaking of their fury. It
Avoukl come by-and-by, the signal for the outburst,
in a long, crackling peal of thunder that would
shake the distant Mils and flutter every leaf in the
wood.
The trainer looked with an indiiBferent eye at
the ominous aspect of the heavens. "I must go
down to the stables, and send some of the boys to
get the horses under cover," he said ; " there'll
be a storm before long." He took his stick and
limped out of the cottage, still smoking ; indeed,
there were very few hours ui the day, and not
many during the night, in which Mr. Conyers was
unprovided with his pipe or cigar.
Steeve Hargraves walked very slowly along the
narrow pathway which led across the park to the
flower-garden and lawn before the house. This
north side of the park was wilder and less well
kept than the rest; but the thick undergrowth
swarmed with game, and the young hares flew
backwards and forwards across the pathway, start-
led by the " Softy's " shambling tread, while every
now and then the partridges rose in pairs from the
tangled grass, and skimmed away under the low
roof of folia2:e.
G 2
84 AURORA FLOYD.
" If I was to meet Mr. Mellisli's keeper here,
he'd look at me black enough, I dare say," mut-
tered the " Softy," " though I aint after the game.
Lookin' at a pheasant's high treason in his mind,
curse him!"
He put his hands low down in his pockets, as if
scarcely able to resist the temptation to wring the
neck of a splendid cock-pheasant that was strut-
ting through the high grass, vdih a proud serenity
of manner that implied a knowledge of the game-
laws. The trees on the north side of the Park
formed a species of leafy wall which screened the
lawn, so that, coming from this northern side, the
" Softy " emerged at once from the shelter into the
smooth grass bordering this lawn, which was sepa-
rated from the Park by an invisible fence.
As Steeve Hargraves, still sheltered from obser-
vation by the trees, approached the place, he saw
that his errand was shortened, for Mrs. Mellish
was leaning upon a low iron gate, with the dog-
Bow-wow, the dog that he had beaten, at her
side.
He had left the narrow pathway and struck in
amongst the undergrowth, in order to make a
shorter cut to the flower-garden, and as he came
THE trainer's MESSENGER. 85
from under the shelter of the low branches which
made a leafy cave about him, he left a long track
of parted grass behind him, like the track of the
footstep of a tiger, or the trail of a slow, ponderous
serpent creeping towards its prey.
Aurora looked up at the sound of the shambling
footstep, and, for the second time since she had
beaten him, she encountered the gaze of the
" Softy." She was very pale, almost as pale as her
white di-ess, which was unenlivened by any scrap
of colour, and which hung about her in loose folds
that gave a statuesque grace to her figure. She
was dressed with such evident carelessness that
every fold of muslin seemed to tell how far away
her thoughts had been when that hasty toilette
was made. Her black brows contracted as she
looked at the Softy."
" I thought Mr. Mellish had dismissed you," she
said, " and that you had been forbidden to come
here ?"
" Yes, ma'am. Muster Mellish did turn me out
of the house I'd lived in, man and boy, nigh upon
forty year ; but I've got a new pleace now, and my
new master sent me to you with a letter."
Watching the effect of his words, the " Softy" saw
86 AUKORA FLOYD.
a leaden cliange come over tlie pale face of his lis-
tener.
" What new master ?" she asked.
Steeve Hargi-aves lifted his hand and pointed
across his shoulder. She watched the slow motion
of that clumsy hand, and her eyes seemed to grow
larger as she saw the direction to which it pointed.
"Your new master is the trainer, James Con-
yers, the man who lives at the north lodge ?" she
said.
" Yes, ma'am."
" What does he want with you ?" she asked.
" I keep his place in order for him, ma'am, and
run errands for him ; and I've brought a letter."
" A letter ? Ah, yes, give it me."
The " Softy " handed her the envelope. She took
it slowly, without removing her eyes from his face,^
but watching him with a fixed and earnest look
that seemed as if it would have fathomed some-
thing beneath the dull red eyes which met hers.
A look that betrayed some doubtful terror hidden
in her own breast, and a vague desire to penetrate
the secrets of his.
She did not look at the letter, but held it half
crushed in the hand hauging by her side.
THE trainer's MESSENGER, 87
" You can go," slie said.
" I was to wait for an answer."
The black brows contracted again, and this
time a bright gleam of fury kindled in the great
black eyes.
" There is no answer," she said, thrusting the
letter into the bosom of her dress, and tm^ning to
leave the gate ; " there is no answer, and there
shall be none till I choose. Tell yoiu' master
that."
" It wasn't to be a written answer," persisted
the " Softy ;" " it was to be Yes or No, that's all ;
but I was to be sure and wait for it."
The half-witted creature saw some feeling of
hate and fury in her face beyond her contemp-
tuous hatred of himself, and took a savage plea-
sure in tormenting her. Slie struck her foot im-
patiently upon the grass, and plucking the letter
from her breast, tore open the envelope, and read
the few lines it contained. Fev*^ as they were, she
stood for nearly five minutes with the open letter
in her hand, separated from the " Softy " by the iron
fence, and lost in thought. The silence was only
broken during this pause by an occasional growl
from the mastiff, who lifted his heavy lip, and
88 AURORA FLOYD.
showed his feeble teeth for the edification of his
old enemy.
She tore the letter into a hundred morsels, and
flung it from her before she spoke. " Yes," she
said at last ; " tell your master that."
Steeve Hargraves touched his cap and went back
tlu-ough the grassy trail he had left, to carry this
message to the trainer.
" She hates me bad enough," he muttered, as
he stopped once to look back at the quiet white
figure on the la\vn, " but she hates t'oother chap
worse."
89
CHAPTER V.
.OUT IN THE EAIN.
The second dmuer-bell rang five minutes after the
" Softy " had left Aurora, and Mr. John Mellish came
out upon the lawn to look for his wife. He came
whistling across the grass, and whisking the roses
with his pocket-handkerchief in very gaiety of
heart. He had quite forgotten the anguish of that
miserable morning after the receipt of Mr. Pas-
tern's letter. He had forgotten all but that his
Aurora was tlie loveliest and dearest of women,
and that he trusted her with the boundless faith
of his big, honest heart. " Why should I doubt
such a noble, impetuous creature ?" he thought ;
" doesn't every feeling and every sentiment write
itself upon her lovely, expressive face in characters
the veriest fool could read ? If I please her, what
bright smiles light up in her black eyes ! If I vex
her, as I do, poor awkward idiot that I am, a
90 AURORA FLOYD.
hundred times a day, bow the two black arches
contract over her pretty impertment nose, while
the red lips pout defiance and disdain ! Shall I
doubt her because she keeps one secret from me,
and freely tells me I must for ever remain igno-
rant of it ; when an artful woman would try to set
my mind at rest with some shallow fiction invented
to deceive me ? Heaven bless her ! no doubt of
her shall ever darken my life again, come what
may."
It was easy for Mr. Mellish to make this mental
vow, believing fully that the storm was past, and
that lasting fair weather had set in.
" Lolly darling," he said, winding his great arm
round his wife's waist, " I thought I had lost you."
She looked up at him with a sad smile.
" Would it grieve you much, John," she said in
a low voice, " if you were really to lose me ?"
He started as if he had been struck, and looked
anxiously at her pale face.
" Would it grieve me, Lolly !" he repeated ;
^' not for lono- ; for the people who came to your
funeral would come to mine. But, my darling,
my darling, what can have made you ask this
question ? Ave you ill, dearest ? You have been
OUT IN THE RAIN. 91
looking pale and tired for the last few days, and I
have thought nothing of it. What a careless
wretch I am !"
" No, no, John," she said ; " I don't mean that.
I know you would grieve, dear, if I were to die.
But suppose something were to happen which
would separate us for ever, something which
would compel me to leave this place never to re-
turn to it, what then ?"
"What then, Lolly?" answered her husband
gravely. " I would rather see your coffin laid in
the empty niche beside my mother's in the vault
yonder," he pointed in the direction of the parish
church, which was close to the gates of the park,
"than I would part Avith you thus. I would
rather know you to be dead and happy tlian I
would endure any doubt about your fate. Oh, my
darling, why do you speak of these things ? I
couldn't part with you I couldn't ! I would
rather take you in my arms and plunge with you
into the pond in the wood ; I would rather send a
bullet into your heart, and see you lying murdered
at my feet."
"John, John, my dearest and truest!" she said,
her face lia-htinir nn with a new bris-htness, like
92 AURORA FLOYD.
the sudden breaking of the sun through a leaden
cloud, " not another word, dear : we will never
part. Whj should we ? There is very little upon
this wide earth that money cannot buy ; and it
shall help to buy our happiness. We will never
part, darKng ; never."
She broke into a joyous laugh as she watched
his anxious, half-wondering face.
"Why, you foolish John, how frightened you
look!" she said. "Haven't you discovered yet
that I like to torment you now and then with such
questions as these, just to see your big blue eyes
open to their widest extent ? Come, dear ; Mrs.
Powell Avill look white thunder at us when we go
in, and make some meek conventional reply to our
apologies for this delay, to the effect that she
doesn't care in the least how long she waits for
dinner, and that on the whole she would rather
never have any dinner at all. Isn't it strange,
John, how that woman hates me ?"
" Hates you, dear, when you're so kind to her !"
"But she hates me for being kind to her, John.
If 1 were to give her my diamond-necklace, she'd
hate me for having it to give. She hates us be-
cause we're rich and yoimg and handsome," said
OUT IN THE RAIN. 93
Aurora, laughing ; " and the very opposite of her
namby-pamby, pale-faced self."
It was strange that from this moment Am-ora
seemed to regain her natm-al gaiety of spirits, and
to be what she had been before the receipt of
Mr. Pastern's letter. AVhatever dark cloud had
hovered over her head, since the day upon which
that simple epistle had caused such a terrible effect,
seemed to have been suddenly removed. Mrs.
"Walter Powell was not slow to perceive this
change. The eyes of love, clear-sighted though
they may be, are dull indeed beside the eyes of
hate. Tlwse are never deceived. Aurora had
wandered out of the drawing-room, listless and
dispirited, to stroll wearily upon the lawn ;
Mrs. Powell, seated in one o the windows, had
watched her every movement, and had seen
her in the distance speaking to some one (she had
been unable to distinguish the " Softy " from her post
of observation) ; and this same Aurora returned
to the house almost another creature. There Avas
a look of determination about the beautiful mouth
(which female critics called too wide), a look not
usual to the rosy lips, and a resolute brightness in
the eyes, which had some significance surely, I\Ii'S.
94 AURORA FLOYD.
Powell thought, if she could only have found the
key to that liidden meaning. Ever since Aurora's
brief illness, the poor woman had been groping for
this key groping in mazy darknesses which baf-
fled her utmost powers of penetration. Who and
what was this groom, that Aurora should write to
him, as she most decidedly had written ? Why
was he to express no. surprise, and what cause
could there be for his expressing any surprise in
the simple economy of Mellish Park ? The mazy
darknesses were more impenetrable than the black-
est niglit, and Mrs. Powell wellnigh gave up all
hope of ever finding any clue to the mystery. And
now behold a new complication had arisen in Au-
rora's altered spirits. John Mellish was delighted
with this alteration." He talked and laughed until
the glasses near him vibrated with his noisy mirth.
He drank so much sparkling Moselle that his but-
ler Jar\ds (who had grown gray in the service of
the old squu'e, and had poured out Master John's
first glass of champagne) refused at last to furnish
him with any more of that beverage ; offering him
in its stead some very expensive hock, the name
of which was in fourteen unpronounceable sylla-
bles, and which John tried to like, but didn't.
OUT IN THE RAIN. 95
" We'll fill the house with visitors for, the shoot-
ing season, Lolly, darling," said Mr. Mellish. " If
they come on the 1st of September, they'll all bo
comfortably settled for the Leger. The dear old
Dad will come of course, and trot about on his
white pony Kke the best of men and bankers in
Chi-istendom. Captain and Mrs. Bulstrode will
come too ; and we shall see how our little Lucy
looks, and whether solemn Talbot beats her in
the silence of the matrimonial chamber. Then
there's Hunter, and a liost of fellows ; and you
must write me a list of any nice people you'd like
to ask down here ; and we'll have a glorious
autumn ; won't we, Lolly ?"
"I hope so, dear," said Mrs. Mellish, after a
little pause, and a repetition of John's eager
question. She had not been listening very atten-
tively to John's plans for the future, and she
startled him rather by asking him a question very
wide from the subject upon which he had been
S23eaking.
" How long do the fastest vessels take going to
Australia, John ?" she asked quietly.
Mr. Mellish stopped with his glass in his hand
to stare at his wife as she asked this question.
96 AUKOEA FLOYD.
" How long do the fastest vessels take to go to
Australia ?" lie repeated. " Good gracious me,
Lolly, how should I know ? Three weeks or a
month no, I mean three months ; but, in mercy's
name, Aurora, why do you want to know ?"
" The average length of the voyage is, I believe,
about three months ; but some fast-sailing packets
do it in seventy, or even in sixty-eight days," in-
terposed Mrs. Powell, looking sharply at Aurora's
abstracted face from under cover of her white
eyelaslies.
" But why, in goodness name, do you want to
know, Lolly ?" repeated John Mellish. " You
don't want to go to x\ustralia, and you don't
know anybody who's going to Australia."
"Perhaps Mrs. Mellish is interested in the
Female Emigration movement," suggested BIrs.
Powell : " it is a most delightful work."
Aurora replied neither to the dhect nor the
indirect question. The cloth had been removed
(for no modern customs had ever disturbed the
conservative economy of Mellish Park), and Mrs.
Mellish ^t, with a cluster of pale cherries in her
hand, looking at the reflection of her own face in
the depths of the shining mahogany.
OUT IN THE RAIN. 97
" Lolly !" exclaimed John Mellish, after watch-
iug liis wife for some minutes, " you are as grave
as a judge. What can you be thinking of ?"
She looked up at him with a bright smile, and
rose to leave the dining-room.
" I'll tell you one of these days, John," she said.
" Are you coming with us, or are you going out
upon the lawn to smoke ?"
"If you'll come with me, dear," he answered,
returning her smile with the frank glance of
unchangeable affection which always beamed in
his eyes when they rested on his wife. " I'll go
out and smoke a cigar, if you'll come with me,
LoUy."
"You foolish old Yorksliireman," said Mrs.
Mellish, laughing, " I verily believe you'd like me
to smoke one of yom* choice cigars, by way of
keeping you company."
. " No, darling, I'd never wish to see you do any-
thing that didn't square that wasn't compatible,"
interposed Mr. Mellish, gravely, " with the man-
ners of the noblest lady, and the duties of the
truest wife in England. If I love to see you ride
across country with a red feather in your hat, it
is because I think that the good old sport of
VOL. ^. H
98 AURORA FLOYD.
Englisli gentlemen was meant to be shared by
their wives, rather than by people whom I would
not like to name ; and because there is a fair
chance that the sight of your Spanish hat and
scarlet plume at the meet may go some way
towards keeping Miss Wilhelmina de Lancy (who
was born plain Scroggins, and christened Sarah)
out of the field. I think our British wives and
mothers might have the battle in their own hands,
and win the victory for themselves and their
daughters, if they were a little braver in standing
to their ground ; if they were not quite so tenderly
indulgent to the sins of eligible young noblemen,
and, in their estimate of a man's qualifications for
the marriage state, were not so entirely guided by
the figures in his banker's book. It's a sad world,
Lolly ; but John Mellish, of Mellish Park,^^ was
never meant to *set it right."
Mr. Mellish stood on the threshold of a glass-
door which opened on to a flight of steps leading
to the lawn, as he delivered himself of tliis homily,
the gravity of which was quite at variance with
the usual tenour of his discourse. He had a cigar
in his hand, and was going to light it, when Aurora
stopped him.
OUT IX THE EAIX, ' 9^
" Jolin, dear," slie said, " my most unbusiness-
like of darlings, have you forgotten that poor
Langley is so anxious to see you, that he may
give you up the old accounts before the new
trainer takes the stable business into his hands ?
He was here half an hour before dinner, and
begged that you would see him to-night."
Mr. Mellish shrugged his shoulders.
" Langley's as honest a fellow as ever breathed,"
he said. " I don't Avant to look into his accounts.
I know what the stable costs me yearly on an
average, and that's enough."
" But for his satisfaction, dear."
" Well, well, Lolly, to-morrow morning, then."
" No, dear, I want you to ride out Avitli me to-
morrow."
" To-morrow evening."
" You ' meet the Captains at the Citadel,' " said
Aurora, laughing; "that is to say, you dine at
Holmbush with Colonel Pevensey. Come, darling,
I insist on your being business-like for once in a
way ; come to your sanctum sanctorum, and we'll
send for Langley, and look into the accounts."
The pretty tyrant linked her arm in his, and
led him to the other end of the house, and into
H 2
100 AUiiORA FLOYD.
tliat very room in -which she had swooned away at
the hearing of Mr. Pastern's letter. She looked
thoughtfully out at the dull evening sky as she
closed the windows. The storm had not yet comes
but the ominous clouds still brooded low over the
earth, and the sultry atmosphere was heavy and
airless. Mrs. Mellish made a wonderful show of
her business habits, and appeared to be very much
interested in the mass of cornchandlers,' veterinary
surgeons', saddlers', and harness-makers' accounts
with which the old trainer respectfully bewildered
his master. But about ten minutes after John
had settled himself to his weary labour, Aurora
tlu-ew down the pencil with which she had been
working a calculation (by a process of so wildly
original a nature, as to utterly revolutionize
Cocker, and annihilate the hackneyed notion
that twice two are four), and floated lightly out
of the room, with some vague promise of coming
back presently, leaving Mr. Mellish to arithmetic
and despair.
Mrs. Walter Powell was seated in the drawing-
room reading, w^hen Aurora entered that apart-
ment with a large black-lace shawl wrapped about
her head and shoulders. Mrs. Mellish had evi-
OUT IN THE RAIN", 101
dently expected to find the room empty ; for she
started and drew back at the sight of the pale-
faced widow, who was seated in a distant window,
making tlie most of the last faint rays of summer
twilight. Aurora paused for a moment a few
paces within the door, and then walked deliberately
across the room towards the furthest window fi'om
that at which Mrs. Powell was seated.
"Ai-e you going out in the garden this dull
evening, ]\lrs. Mellish ?" asked the ensign's widow.
Aurora stopped half-way between the window
and the door to answer her.
" Yes," she said coldly.
" Allow me to advise you not to go far. We
are going to have a storm."
" I don't think so."
"What, my dear Mrs. Mellish, not with that
thunder-cloud yonder?"
" I wiU take my chance of being caught in it^
then. The weather has been threatening all the
afternoon. The house is insupportable to-night."
" But you will surely not go far ?"
Mrs. Mellish did not appear to hear this last
remonstrance. She hm-ried through the open
window, and out upon the lawn, striking north-
102 AUEOEA FLOYD.
wards towards that little iron gate across which
she had talked to the " Softy."
The arch of the leaden sky seemed to contract
above the tree-tops 'in the park, shutting in the
earth as if with a roof of hot iron, after the fashion
of those cunningly-contrived metal torture-cham-
bers which we read of; but the rain had not yet
come.
"What can take her into the garden on such
an evening as this?" thought Mrs. Powell, as she
watched the white dress receding in the dusky
twilight. " It will be dark in ten minutes, and
she is not usually so fond of going out alone."
The ensign's widow laid down the book in
which she had appeared so deeply interested, and
went to her own room, where she selected a com-
fortable gray cloak from a heap of primly folded
garments in her capacious wardrobe. Slie muffled
herself in this cloak, hurried down stairs with a
soft but rapid step, and went out into the garden
through a Httle lobby near John Mellish's room.
The blinds in the squire's sanctum were not drawn
down, and Mrs. Powell could see the master of the
house bending over his paper under the light of
a reading lamp, with t]ie rheumatic trainer seated
OUT IN" THE KALN". 103
by his side. It was by tliis time quite dark, but
Aiu'ora's white dress was faintly visible upon the
other side of the lawn.
Mrs. Mellish was standing beside the little iron
gate when the ensign's widow emerged from the
house. The white dress was motionless' for some
time, and the pale watcher, lurking under the
shade of a long verandah, began to think that her
trouble was wasted, and that perhaps, after all,
Aurora had no special purpose in this evening
ramble.
Mrs. Walter Powell felt cruelly disappointed.
Always on the watch for some clue to the secret
whose existence she had discovered, she had fondly
hoped that even this unseasonable ramble might
be some link in the mysterious chain she was so
anxious to fit together. But it appeared that she
was mistaken. The unseasonable ramble was very
likely nothing more than one of Aurora's caprices
a womanly foolishness signifying nothing.
No ! The white dress was no lonirer motionless,
and in the unnatural stillness of the hot night
Mrs. Powell heard the distant scrooping noise of
a hinge revolving slowly, as if guided by a cautious
hand. Mrs. Mellish had opened the iron gate,
104 AUEORA FLOYD.
and had passed to the other side of the invisible
barrier which separated the gardens from the
Park. In another moment she had disappeared
under the shadow of the trees which made a belt
about the lawn.
Mrs. Powell paused, almost terrified by her
unlooked-for discovery.
Wliat, in the name of all that was darkly mys-
terious, could Mrs. Mellish have to do between
nine and ten o'clock on the north side of the Park
the wildly kept, deserted north side, in which,
from year's end to year's end, no one but the
keepers ever walked ?
The blood rushed' hotly up to Mrs. Powell's
pale face, as she suddenly remembered that the
disused, dilapidated lodge upon this north side
had been given to the new trainer as a residence.
Eemembering this was nothing, but remembering
this in connection with that mysterious letter
signed "A." was enough to send a thrill of
savage, horrible joy through the dull veins of
the dependent. What should she do? Follow
Mrs. Mellish, and discover where she was going?
How far would this be a safe thing to attempt ?
She turned back and looked once more through
OUT IN THE RAIN. 105
the window of John's room. He was still bending
over the papers, still in as apparently hopeless
confusion of mind. There seemed little chance
of his business being finished very quickly. The
starless night and her dark dress alike sheltered
the spy from observation.
"If I were close behind her, she would never
see me," she thought.
She struck across the lawn to the iron gate and
passed into the Park. The brambles and the
tangled undergrowth caught at her dress as she
paused for a moment looking about her in the
summer night.
There was no trace of Aurora's wliite figure
among the leafy alleys stretching in wild dis-
order before her.
" I'll not attempt to find the path she took,"
thought Mrs. Powell ; "I know where to find
her."
She gi'oped her way into the narrow footpath
leading to the lodge. She was not sufficiently
familiar with the place to take the short cut
which the " Softy " had made for himself through
the grass that afternoon, and she was some time
M'alking from the iron gate to the lodge.
106 AUROKA FLOYD.
The front windows of this rustic lodge faced
a road that led to the stables ; the back of the
building looked towards the path down wliich
Mrs. Powell went, and the two small windows in
this back wall were both dark.
The ensign's widow crept softly round to the
front, looked about her cautiously, and listened.
There was no sound but tlie occasional rustle of
a leaf, tremulous even in the still atmosphere, as
if by some internal prescience of the coming
storm. AVith a slow, careful footstep, she stole
towards tlie little rustic window and looked into
the room within.
She had not been mistaken when she had said
that she knew where to find Aurora.
Mrs. Mellish was standing with her back to
the window. Exactly opposite to her sat James
Conyers the trainer, in an easy attitude, and Avitli
liis pipe in his mouth. The little table was be-
tween them, and the one candle which lighted
the room was drawn close to Mr. Conyers's elbow,
and had evidently been used by him for the
lighting of his pipe. Aurora was speaking. The
eager listener could hear her voice, but not her
words; and she could see by the trainer's face
OUT IN THE EAIX. - 107
that he was listening intently. He was listening
intently, but a dark fro^\Ti contracted his hand-
some eyebrows, and if was very evident that he
was not too well satisfied with the bent of the
conversation.
He looked up when Aurora ceased spealdng,
shrugged his shoulders, and took his pipe out of
his mouth. Mrs. Powell, with her pale face close
against the window-pane, watched him intently.
He pointed with a careless gesture to an empty
chair near Aurora, but she shook her head con-
temptuously, and suddenly turned towards the
window ; so suddenly, that Mrs. Powell had
scarcely time to recoil into the darkness before
Aurora had unfastened the iron latch and fluns:
the narrow casement open.
"I cannot endure this intolerable heat," she
exclaimed, impatiently; "I have said all I have
to say, and need only wait for your answer."
"You don't give me much time for considera-
tion," he said, with an insolent coolness which was
in strange contrast to the restless vehemence of her
manner. " What sort of answer do you want ?"
" Yes or No."
" Notliino; more ?"
108 AURORA FLOYD.
" No, nothing more. You know my conditions ;
tliey are all written here," she added, putting her
hand upon an open paper which lay upon the
table ; " they are all written clearly enough for a
child to understand. Will you accept them?
Yes or No?"
" That depends upon circumstances," he an-
swered, filling his pipe, and looking admiringly
at the nail of his little finger, as he pressed the
tobacco into the bowl.
"Upon what circumstances ?"
"Upon the inducement which you offer, my
dear Mrs, Mellish."
" You mean the price ?"
"That's a low expression," he said, laughing;
" but I suppose we both mean the same thing.
The inducement must be a strong one which will
make me do all that," he pointed to the written
paper, " and it must take the form of solid cash.
How much is it to be ?"
" That is for you to say. Eemember what I
have told you. Decline to-night and I telegraph
to my father to-morrow morning, tellmg him to
alter his will."
" Suppose the old gentleman should be carried
OUT IX THE IIAIX. 1U9
off in the interim, and leave that pleasant sheet of
parchment standing as it is. I hear that he's old
and feeble ; it might be worth while calculating
the odds upon such an event. I've risked my
money on a Avorse chance before to-night."
She turned upon him with so dark a froAvii as
he said this, that the insolently heartless words
died upon his lips and left him looking at her
gravely.
"Egad," he said, "you're as gi-eat a devil as
ever you were. I doubt if that isn't a good offer
after all. Give me two thousand down, and I'll
take it."
" Two thousand pounds !"
" I ought to have said twenty, but I've always
stood in my own light."
Mrs. Powell, crouching down beneath the open
casement, had heard every word of this brief
dialogue ; but at tliis juncture, half-forgetful of
aU danger in her eagerness to listen, she raised
her head until it was nearly on a level with the
window-sill. As she did so, she recoiled with a
sudden thrill of terror. She felt a puff of hot breath
upon her cheek, and the garments of a man rus-
tling against her own.
110 AURORA FLOYD.
She was not the only listener.
The second spy was Stephen Hargi-aves the
"Softy."
"Hush!" he whispered, grasping Mrs. Powell
by the wrist, and pinning her in her crouching
attitude by the muscular force of his horny hand ;
" it's only me ; Steeve the ' Softy,' you know ; the
stable-helper that s7ie " (he hissed out the personal
pronoun with such a furious impetus that it
seemed to whistle sharply through the stillness),
" the fondy that she horsewhipped. I know you,
and I know you're here to listen. He sent me
into Doncaster to fetch this" (he pointed to a
bottle under his arm) ; " he thought it would
take me four or five hours to go and get back ;
but I ran all the way, for I knew there was soom-
mat oop."
He wiped his streaming face with the ends of
his coarse neckerchief as he finished speaking.
His breath came in panting gasps, and Mrs. Powell
could hear the laborious beating of his heart in the
stillness.
" I won't tell o' you," he said, " and you won't
tell o' me. I've got the stripes upon my shoulder
where she cut me with the whip to this day. I
OUT IX THE EAIX, 111
look at 'em sometimes, and tliey help to keep me
in mind. She's a fine madam, aint she, and a
great lady too ? Ay, sure she is ; but she comes
to meet her husband's servant on the sly, after
dark, for all that. ]\raybe the day isn't far off
when shell be turned from these gates, and warned
off this ground ; and the merciful Lord send that
I live to see it. Hush !"
With her wrist still pinioned in his strong grasp,
he motioned her to be silent, and bent his pale face
forward ; every feature rigid, in the listening ex-
pectancy of his hungry gaze.
" Listen," he whispered ; " listen ! Every fresh
word damns her deeper than the last."
The trainer was the first to speak after this
pause in the dialogue within the cottage. He
had quietly smoked out his pipe, and had emptied
the ashes of his tobacco upon the table before he
took up the thread of the conversation at the point
at which he had di-oi^ped it.
" Two thousand pounds," he said, " that is the
offer, and I think it ought to be taken freely. Two
thousand do^^^l, in Bank-of-England notes (fives
and tens, higher figures might be awkward), or
sterling coin of the realm. You understand ; two
112 AURORA FLOYD.
thousand down. That's my alternative ; or I
leave this place to-morrow morning with all
belonging to me."
" By which course you would get nothing," said
Mrs. John Mellish, quietly.
" Shouldn't I ? What does the chap in the play
ofet for his trouble when the blackamoor smothers
his wife ? I should get nothing but my revenge
upon a tiger-cat, Avhose claws have left a mark
upon me that I shall carry to my grave." He
lifted his hair with a careless gesture of his hand,
and pointed to a scar upon his forehead, a white
mark, barely visible in the dim light of the
tallow-candle. "I'm a good-natured, easy-going
fellow, Mrs. John Mellish, but I don't forget.
Is it to be the two thousand pounds, or war to
the knife ?"
Mrs. Powell waited eagerly for Aurora's an-
swer; but before it came, a round heavy rain-
drop pattered upon the light hair of the ensign's
Avidow. The hood of her cloak had fallen back,
leaving her head uncovered. This one large drop
Avas the warning of the coming storm. The
signal peal of thunder rumbled slowly and
hoarsely in the distance, and a pale flash of
OUT IN THE RAIN. 113
lightning trembled on the white faces of the two
listeners.
" Let me go," whispered Mrs. Powell, " let me
go ; I must get back to the house before the rain
begins."
The " Softy " slowly relaxed his iron grip upon
her wrist. He had held it unconsciously, in his utter
abstraction to all things except the two speakers
in the cottage.
Mrs. Powell rose from her knees, and crept
noiselessly away from the lodge. She remem-
bered the vital necessity of getting back to the
house before Aurora, and of avoiding the shower.
Her wet garments would betray her if she did not
succeed in escaping the coming storm. She was
of a spare, wizen figure, encumbered with no
superfluous flesh, and she ran rapidly along the
narrow sheltered pathway leading to the iron gate
through which she had followed Aurora.
The heavy rain-drops fell at long intervals
upon the leaves. A second and a third peal of
thunder rattled along the earth, like the horrible
roar of some hungry animal creeping nearer and
nearer to its prey. Blue flashes of faint light-
ning lit up the tangled intricacies of the wood, but
VOL. II. I
114 AUEORA FLOYD.
tlie fullest fury of tlie storm had not yet burst
forth.
The rain-drops came at shorter intervals as Mrs.
Powell passed out of the wood, through the little
iron gate; faster still as she hurried across the
lawn ; faster yet as she reached the lobby-door,
which she had left ajar an hour beforehand sat
down panting upon a little bench within, to
recover her breath before she went any further.
She was still sitting on this bench, when the
fourth peal of thunder shook the low roof above
her head, and the rain dropped from the starless
sky with such a rushing impetus, that it seemed
as if a huge trap-door had been opened in the
heavens, and a celestial ocean let down to ilood
the earth.
" I think my lady will be nicely caught," mut-
tered Mrs. Walter Powell.
She threw her cloak aside upon the lobby
bench, and went through a passage leading to
the hall. One of the servants was ^^shutting the
hall-door.
" Have you shut the drawing-room windows,
Wilson ?" she asked.
" No, ma'am ; I am afraid Mrs. MeUish is out
OUT IX THE EAIX. 115
ia tlie rain, Jarvis is getting ready to go and
look for her, with a lantern and the gig-umbrella."
" Then Jarvis can stop where he is ; Mrs. MeUish
came in half an hour ago. You may shut all the
window^3, and close the house for the night."
" Yes, ma'am."
" By-the-by, what o'clock is it, Wilson ? My
watch is slow."
" A quarter past ten, ma'am, by the dining-room
clock."
The man locked the hall-door, put up an im-
mense iron bar, which worked with some rather
complicated machinery, and had a bell hanging at
one end of it, for the frustration of all bm-glarious
and designing ruffians.
From the hall the man went to the drawing-
room, where he carefully fastened the long range
of windows ; from the drawing-room to the lobby ;
and fi'om the lobby to the dining-room, where he
locked the half-glass door opening into the garden.
This being done, all communication between the
house and the garden was securely shut off.
" He shall know of her goings-on, at any rate,"
thought Mrs. Powell, as she dogged the footsteps
of the servant to see that he did his work. The
I 2
116 AURORA FLOYD. .
Mellish household did not take very kindly to this
deputy mistress ; and when the footman went back
to the servants' hall, he informed his colleagues
that SHE was pryin' and pokin' about sharper than
hever, and watchin' of a feller like a old 'ouse-cat.
Mr. Wilson was a cockney, and had been newly-
imported into the establishment.
When the ensign's widow had seen the last bolt
driven home to its socket, and the last key tm'ned
in its lock, she went back to the drawing-room
and seated herself at the lamp-lit table, with some
delicate morsel of old-maidish fancy-work, wliich
seemed to be the converse of Penelope's em-
broidery, as it appeared to advance at night, and
retrograde by day. She had hastily smoothed her
hair and rearranged her dress, and she looked as
uncomfortably neat as when she came down to
breakfast in the fresh primness of her matutinal
toilette.
She had been sitting at her work for about ten
minutes when John Mellish entered the room,
emerging weary but triumphant from his struggle
with" the simple rules of multiplication and sub-
traction. Mr. Mellish had evidently suffered
severely in the contest. His thick brown hair
OUT IN THE RAIN. 117
was tumbled into a rough mass that stood nearly-
upright upon his head, his cravat was untied, and
his shirt-collar thrown open for the relief of his
capacious throat ; and these and many other marks
of the struggle he bore upon him when he entered
the drawing-room.
" I've broken loose from school at last, Mrs.
Powell," he said, flinging his big frame upon one
of the sofas, to the imminent peril of the German-
spring cushions ; " I've broken away before the
flag drojDped, for Langley would have liked to
keep me there till midnight. He followed me to
the door of this room with fom-teen bushels of oats
that was down in the cornchandler's account and
was not do^\^l in the book he keeps to check the
cornchandler. Why the deuce don't he put it
down in his book and make it right, then, I ask,
instead of bothering me ? What's the good of his
keeping an account to check the cornchandler if
he don't make his account the same as the corn-
chandler's ? But it's all over !" he added, with a
great sigh of reKef, " it's all over ! and all I can
say is, I hope the new trainer isn't honest."
"Do you know much of the new trainer, Mr.
Mellish ?" asked Mrs, Powell, blandly ; rather as if
118 AUKORA FLOYD.
she wished to amuse her employer by the exertion
of her conversational powers than for the gratifica-
tion of any mundane curiosity.
"Deuced little," returned John, indifferently.
*' I haven't even seen the fellow yet ; but John
Pastern recommended him, and he's sm^e to be all
right ; besides, Aurora knows the man : he was in
her father's service once."
" Oh, indeed !" said Mrs. Powell, giving the two
insignificant words a significant little jerk ; " oh,
indeed ! Mrs. 3Iellish knows him, does she ? Then
of course he's a trustworthy person. He's a re-
markably handsome young man."
"Eemarkably handsome, is he?" said Mr.
Mellish, with a careless laugh. " Then I suppose
aU the maids will be falling in love with him, and
neglecting their work to look out of the windows
that open on to the stable-yard, hey ? That's the
sort of thing when a man has a handsome groom,
aint it ? Susan and Sarah, and all the rest of 'em,
take to cleaning the windows, and wearing new
ribbons in their caps ?"
" I really don't know anything about that, Mr.
Mellish," answered the ensign's widow, simpering
over her work as if the question they were dis-
OUT IX THE RAIN. 119
cussing was so veiy far away that it was impos-
sible for her to be serious about it ; " but my ex-
perience has throAvn me into a very large number
of families." (She said this with perfect truth, as
she had occupied so many situations that her
enemies had come to declare she was unable to
remain in any one household above a twelve-
month, by reason of her employers' discovery of
her real ^ature.) " I have occupied positions of
trust and confidence," continued Mrs. Powell,
*'and I regret to say that I have seen much
domestic misery arise from the employment of
handsome servants, whose appearance and man-
ners are superior to their station. Mr. Conyers is
not at all the sort of person I should like to see in
a household in which I had the charge of young
ladies."
A sick, half-shuddering faintness crept through
John's herculean frame as Mrs. Powell expressed
herself thus ; so vague a feeling that he scarcely
knew whether it was mental or physical, any
better than he knew what it was that he disliked
in this speech of the ensign's widow. The feeling
was as transient as it was vague. John's honest
blue eyes looked wonderingly round the room.
120 AURORA FLOYD.
" Where's Aurora ?" he said ; " gone to bed?"
"I believe Mrs. Mellish has retired to rest,"
Mrs. Powell answered.
"Then I shall go too. The place is as dull
as a dungeon without her," said Mr. Mellish, with
agreeable candour. "Perhaps you'll be good
enough to make me a glass of brandy-and-water
before I go, Mrs. Powell, for I've got the cold
shivers after those accounts."
He rose to ring the bell; but before he had
gone three paces from the sofa, an impatient
knocking at the closed outer shutters of one of
the windows arrested his footsteps.
" Who, in mercy's name, is that ?" he ex-
claimed, staring at the direction from which the
noise came, but not attempting to respond to the
summons.
Mrs. Powell looked up to listen, with a face
expressive of nothing but innocent w^onder.
The knocking was repeated more loudly and
impatiently than before.
"It must be one of the servants," muttered
John ; " but why doesn't he go round to the back
of the house ? I can't keep the poor devH out
upon such a night as this, though," he added
OUT IN THE EAIN. 121
good-naturedly,' unfastening the Avindow as he
spoke. The saslies opened inwards, the Venetian
shutters outwards. He pushed these shutters
open, and looked out into the darkness and the
rain.
Aurora, shivering in her drenched garments,
stood a few paces from him, with the rain beating
down straight and heavily upon her head.
Even in that obscurity her husband recognized
her.
" My darling," he cried, " is it you ? You out at
such a time, and on such a night ! Come in,
for mercy's sake ; you must be drenched to the
skin."
She came into the room ; the wet hanging in
her muslin dress streamed out upon the carpet on
which she trod, and the folds of her lace shawl
clung tightly about her figure.
" Why did you let them shut the windows ?"
she said, turning to Mrs. Powell, who had risen,
and was looking the picture of ladylike uneasiness
and sympathy. " You knew that I was in the
garden."
" Yes, but I thought you had returned, my dear
Mrs. Mellish," said the ensign's widow, busyuig
122 AURORA FLOYD.
herself with Aurora's wet shawl, which she at-
tempted to remove, but which Mrs. Mellish plucked
impatiently away from her. " I saw you go out,
certainly ; and I saw you leave the lawn in the
direction of the north lodge ; but I thought you
had returned some time since."
The colour faded out of John MelHsli's face.
"The north lodge !" he said. "Have you been
to the north lodge ?"
" I have been in the direction of tJie north lodge^^
Aurora answered, with a sneering emphasis upon
the words. " Yom- information is perfectly cor-
rect, Mrs. Powell, though I chd not know you had
done me the honour of watching my actions."
Mr. Mellish did not appear to hear this. He
looked from his wife to his wife's companion with
a half-bewildered expression an expression of
newly-awakened doubt, of dim, struggling per-
plexity that was very painful to see.
"The north lodge!" he repeated; "what were
you doing at the north lodge, Am'ora ?"
" Do you Mash me to stand here in my wet
clothes while I tell you ?" asked Mrs. Mellish,
her great black eyes blazing up with indignant
pride. "If you want an explanation for Mrs.
OUT IN THE iix\m. 123
Powell's satisfaction, I can give it liere ; if ouly
for your own, it will do as well ujostairs."
She swept towards the door, trailing her wet
shawl after her, but not less queenly, even in her
dripping garments ; Semiramide and Cleopatra
may have been out in wet weather. ' On the
threshold of the door she paused and looked back
at her husband.
"I shall want you to take me to London to-
morrow, Mr. Mellish," she said. Then with one
haughty toss of her beautiful head, and one bright
flash of her glorious eyes, which seemed to say,
" Slave, obey and tremble !" she disappeared, leav-
ing ]\Ir. Mellish to follow her, meekly, wouder-
ingly, fearfully ; with terrible doubts and anxieties
creeping, like venomous living creatures, stealthily
into his heart.
124 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER VI.
MONEY MATTERS.
Archibald Floyd was very lonely at Felden
Woods without his daughter. He took no pleasure
in the long drawing-room, or the billiard-room and
library, or the pleasant galleries, in Avhich there
were all manner of easy corners, with abutting
bay-windows, damask-cushioned oaken benches,
china vases as high as tables, all enlivened by the
alternately sternly masculine and simperingly
feminine faces of those ancestors whose painted
representations the banker had bought in Wardour
Street. (Indeed, I fear those Scottish warriors,
those bewigged worthies of the Northern Circuit,
those taper-waisted ladies witli pointed stomachers,
tucked-up petticoats, pannier-hoops, and blue-
ribbon bedizened crooks, had been painted to
order, and that there were such items in the
account of the "Wardour Street rococo merchant
MONEY MATTERS. 125
as, " To one knight banneret, killed at Boswortli
251. 5s.") The old banker, I say, grew sadly
weary of his gorgeous mansion, which was of little
avail to him without Am-ora.
People are not so very much happier for living
in handome houses, though it is generally con-
sidered such a delightful thing to occupy a man-
sion which would be large enough for a hospital,
and take your simple meal at the end of a table
long enough to accommodate a board of railway
directors. Archibald Floyd could not sit beside
both the fireplaces in his long drawing-room, and
he felt strangely lonely looking from the easy-
chair on one hearth-rug, through a vista of velvet-
pile and satin-damask, walnut-wood, buhl, mala-
chite, china, parian, crystal, and ormolu, at that
solitary second hearth-rug and those empty easy-
chairs. He shivered in his dreary grandem-. His
five-and-forty by thirty feet of velvet-pile miglit
have been a patch of yellow sand in the Great
Sahara for any pleasure he derived from its
occupation. The billiard-room, perhaps, was worse ;
for the cues and balls were every one made pre-
cious by Am^ora's touch ; and there was a great
fine-drawn seam upon the green cloth, AYhich
12G AURORA FLOYD,
marked the spot wliere Miss Floyd had ripped it
open that time she made her first juvenile essay
at a cannon.
The banker locked the doors of both these
splendid apartments, and gave the keys to his
housekeeper.
"Keep the rooms in order, Mrs. Eichardson,"
he said, " and keep them thoroughly aired ; but
I shall only use them when Mr. and Mrs. Mellish
come to me."
And having shut up these haunted chambers,
Mr. Floyd retired to that snug little study in
which he kept his few relics of the sorrowful
past.
It may be said that the Scottish banker was
a very stupid old man, and that he might have
invited the county families to his gorgeous man-
sion ; that he might have summoned his nephews
and their wives, with all grand nephews and nieces
appertaining, and might thus have made the
place merry with the sound of fresh young voices,
and the long corridors noisy with the patter of
restless little feet. He might have lured literary
and artistic celebrities to his lonely hearth-rug,
and paraded the lions of the London season upon
MONEY MATTERS. 127
his velvet-pile. He miglit have entered the po-
litical arena, and have had himself nominated
for Beckenham, Croydon, or West Wickham.
He might have done almost anything; for he
had very nearly as much money as Aladdin, and
could have carried dishes of uncut diamonds to
the father of any princess whom he might take
it into his head to marry. He might have done
almost anything, this ridiculous old banker; yet
he did nothing but sit brooding over his lonely
hearth for he was old and feeble, and he sat by
the lire even in the bright summer weather
thinking of the daughter who was far away.
He thanked God for her happy home, for her
devoted husband, for her secure and honourable
position ; and he would have given the last drop
of liis blood to obtain for her these advantages ;
but he was, after all, only mortal, and he would
rather have had her by his side.
Why did he not surround himself with society,
as brisk Mrs. Alexander urged, when she found
him looking pale and care-worn ?
Why ? Because society was not Aurora. Be-
cause all the brightest hon-mots of all the literary
celebrities who have ever walked this earth
128 AURORA FLOYD.
seemed dull to him wlien compared with his
daughter's idlest babble. Literary lions ! Politi-
cal notabilities ! Out upon them ! When Sir
Edward Buhver Lytton and Mr. Charles Dickens
should call in Mr. Makepeace Thackeray and Mr.
Wilkie Collins, to assist them in writing a work,
iu fifteen volumes or so, about Aurora, the banker
would be ready to offer them a handsome sum
for the copyi'ight. Until then, he cared very
little for the best book in Mr. Mudie's collection.
When the members of the legislature should
bring their political knowledge to bear upon
Aurora, Mr. Archibald Floyd would be happy
to hsten to them. In the interim, he would have
yawned in Lord Palmerston's face or turned his
back upon Earl Russell.
The banker had been a kind uncle, a good
master, a warm friend, and a generous patron;
but he had never loved any creatm-e except his
wife Eliza and the daughter she had left to liis
care. Life is not long enough to hold many such
attachments as these ; and the peoi3le who love
very intensely are apt to concentrate the full force
of their affection upon one object. For twenty
years this black-eyed girl had been the idol before
MONEY MATTERS. 129
which the old man had knelt ; and now that the
divinity is taken away from him, he falls prostrate
and desolate before the empty shrine. Heaven
knows how bitterly this beloved child had made
him suffer, how deeply she had plunged the reck-
less dagger to the very core of his loving heart,
and how freely, gladly, tearfully, and hopefully
he had forgiven her. But she had never atoned
for the past. It is poor consolation which Lady
Macbeth gives to her remorseful husband when
she tells him that "what's done cannot be un-
done ;" but it is painfully and terribly true.
Aurora could not restore the year which she had
taken out of her father's life, and which his
anguish and despair had multiplied by ten. She
could not restore the equal balance of the mind
which had once experienced a shock so dreadful
as to shatter its serenity, as we shatter the
mechanism of a watch when we let it fall violently
to the ground. The watchmaker patches up the
damage, and gives us a new Avheel here, and a
spring there, and sets the hands going again ; but
they never go so smoothly as when the watch was
fresh from the hands of the maker, and they are
apt to stop suddenly with no shadow of warning.
VOL. ir. K
130 AURORA FLOYD.
Aurora could not atone. Whatever the nature of
that girlish error which made the mystery of her
life, it was not to be undone. She could more
easily have baled the ocean dry with a soup-ladle,
and I dare say she would gladly have gone to
work to spoon out the salt water, if by so doing
she could have undone that bygone mischief.
But she could not ; she could not ! Her tears,
her penitence, her affection, her respect, her
devotion, could do much ; but they could not do
this.
The old banker invited Talbot Bui strode and
his young wife to make themselves at home at
Felden, and drive down to the Woods as freely as
if the place had been some country mansion of
their own. They came sometimes, and Talbot
entertained his great uncle-in-law with the troubles
of the Cornish miners, while Lucy sat listening to
her husband's talk with unmitigated reverence and
delight. Archibald Floyd made his guests very
welcome upon these occasions, and gave orders
that the oldest and costliest wines in the cellar
should be brought out for the captain's entertain-
ment, but sometimes in the very middle of
Talbot's discourses upon political economy the
MONEY MATTERS. 131
old man would sigh wearily, and look with a dimly
yearning gaze far away over the tree-tops in a
northward direction, towards that distant York-
shire household in which his daughter was the
queen.
Perhaps Mr. Floyd had never quite forgiven
Talbot Bulstrode for the breaking off of the match
between him and Aurora. The banker had cer-
tainly of the two suitors preferred John Mellish ;
but he would have considered it only correct if
Captain Bulstrode had retired fi'om the world upon
the occasion of Am'ora's marriage, and broken his
heart in foreign exile, rather than advertising his
indifference by a union with poor little Lucy.
Archibald looked wonderingly at his fair-haired
niece, as she sat before him in the deep bay-
window, with the sunshine upon her amber tresses
and the crisp folds of her peach-coloured dress,
looking for all the world like one of the painted
heroines so dear to the pre-Eaphaelite brotherliood,
and marvelled how it was that Talbot could have
come to admire her. She was very pretty, cer-
tainly, with pink cheeks, a white nose, and rose-
coloured nostrils, and a species of beauty which
consists in very careful finishing off and picking
K 2
132 AURORA FLOYD.
out of the features ; but, oli, liow tame, liow cold,
liow weak, beside that Egyptian goddess, that
Assyrian queen with the flashing eyes and the
serpentine coils of purple-black hah !
Talbot Bulstrode was very calm, very quiet, but
apparently sufficiently happy. I use that word
" sufficiently " advisedly. It is a dangerous 'thing
to be too happy. Your high-pressure happiness,
your sixty-miles-an-hour enjoyment, is aj^t to burst
up and come to a bad end. Better the quietest
parliamentary train, which starts very early in the
morning and carries its passengers safe into the
terminus when the shades of night come down,
than that rabid, rushing ex23ress, which does the
journey in a quarter of the time, but occasionally
tojjples over a bank, or rides pickaback upon a
luggage train, in its fiery impetuosity.
Talbot Bulstrode was substantially happier with
Lucy than he ever could have been with Am'ora.
His fair young wife's undemonstrative worship of
him soothed and flattered him. Her gentle
obedience, her entire concurrence in his every
thought and whim, set his pride at rest. She was
not eccentric, she was not impetuous. If he left
her alone all day in the snug little house in Half-
MONEY MATTERS. 133
moon Street which he had furnished before his
marriage, he had no fear of her caUing for her
horse and scampering away into Eotten Eow, ^Aith
not so much as a gi-oom to attend upon her. She
was not strong-minded. She could be happy
without the society of Newfoundlands and Skye
terriers. She did not prefer Landseer's dog-
pictures above all other examples of modern art.
She might have walked down Regent Street a
hundred times without being once tempted to
loiter upon the cm-b-stone and bargam with sus-
picious-looking merchants for a "noice leetle
dawg." She was altogether gentle and womanly,
and Talbot had no fear to trust her to her own
sweet will, and no need to impress upon her
the necessity of lending her feeble little hands to
the mighty task of sustaining the dignity of the
Ealeigh Bulstrodes.
She would chng to him sometimes half lovingly,
half timidly, and, looking up with a pretty depre-
cating smile into his coldly handsome face, ask
him, falteringly, if he was really, really happy.
"Yes," my darling girl," the Cornish captain
would answer, being very Avell accustomed to the
question, "decidedly, veiy happy."
134 AURORA FLOYD.
His calm business-like tone would rather disap-
point poor Lucy, and she would vaguely wish that
her husband had been a little more like the heroes
in the High-Church novels, and a little less devoted
to Adam Smith, McCuUoch, and the Cornish
mines.
" But you don't love me as you loved Aurora,
Talbot ?" (There were profane people who cor-
rupted the captain's Christian name into " Tal ;"
but Mrs. Bulstrode was not more likely to avail
herself of that disrespectful abbreviation than she
was to address her gracious Sovereign as " Vic")
" But you don't love me as you loved Aurora,
Talbot dear ?" the pleading voice would urge, so
tenderly anxious to be contradicted.
" Not as I loved Am-ora, perhaps, darling."
"Not as much?"
"As much and better, my pet; with a more
enduring and a wiser love."
If this was a little bit of a fib when the captain
first said it, is he to be utterly condemned for the
falsehood ? How could he resist the loving blue
eyes so ready to fill with tears if he had answered
coldly; the softly pensive voice, tremulous with
emotion; the earnest face; the caressing hand
MONEY MATTERS. 135
laid so lightly upon his coat-collar? He must
have been more than mortal had he given any but
loving answers to those loving questions. The
day soon came when his answers were no longer
tinged with so much as the shadow of falsehood.
His little wife crept stealthily, almost imper-
ceptibly, into his heart ; and if he remembered
the fever-dream of the past, it was only to rejoice
in the tranquil security of the present.
Talbot Bulstrode and his wife were staying at
Felden Woods for a few days dui-ing the burning
July weather, and sat down to dinner with Mr.
Floyd upon the day succeeding the night of the
storm. They were disturbed in the very midst of
that dinner by the unexpected arrival of IVIr. and
Mrs. Mellish, who rattled up to the door in a hired
vehicle just as the second course was being placed
upon the table.
Archibald Floyd recognized the first murmur of
his daughter's voice, and ran out into the hall to
welcome her.
She showed no eagerness to throw herself into
her father's arms, but stood lookius: at John
Mellish with a weary, absent expression, wliile the
stalwart Yorkshii-eman allowed himself to be
136 AURORA FLOYD.
gradually disencumbered of a cliaotic load of
travelling-bags, sun-umbrellas, shawls, magazines,
newspapers, and over-coats.
"My darling, my darling!" exclaimed the
banker, " what a happy surprise, what an unex-
pected pleasure !"
She did not answer him, but, with her arms
about liis neck, looked mournfully into his face.
" She would come," said John MelKsh, addressing
himself generally ; " she would come. The deuce
knows w^hy ! But she said she must come, and
what could I do but bring her ? If she asked me
to take her to the moon, what could I do but take
her? But she wouldn't bring any luggage to
speak of, because we're going back to-moiTow."
" Going back to-morrow !" repeated Mr. Floyd ;
" impossible !"
" Bless your heart !" cried John, " what's im-
possible to Lolly? If she [wanted to go to the
moon, she'd go, don't I tell you ? She'd have a
special engine, or a special balloon, or a special
something or other, and she'd go. When we were
in Paris she wanted to see the big fountains play ;
and she told me to WTite to the Emperor and ask him
to have them set going for her. She did, by Jove !"
MONEY MATTEES. 137
Lucy Bulstrocle came forward to bid lier cousin
welcome ; but I fear that a sharp jealous pang
thrilled through that innocent heart at the thought
that those fatal black eyes were again brought to
bear upon Talbot's life.
Mrs. Mellish put her arms about her cousin as
tenderly as if she had been embracing a child.
" You here, dearest Lucy !" she said. " I am
so very glad !"
" He loves me," whispered little Mrs. Bulstrode,
"and I never, never can tell you how good he
is."
" Of course not, my darling," answered Aurora,
drawing her cousin aside while Mr. Mellish shook
hands with his father-in-law and Talbot Bulstrode.
" He is the most glorious of princes, the most per-
fect of saints, is he not ? and you worship him all
day ; you sing silent h}Tnns in his praise, and
perform high mass in his honour, and go about
telling his virtues upon an imaginary rosary. Ah,
Lucy, how many kinds of love there are ! and who
shall say which is the best or highest ? I see
plain, blundering John Mellish yonder, with un-
prejudiced eyes ; I know his every fault, I laugh
at his every awkwardness. Yes, I laugh now, for
138 AURORA FLOYD.
he is dropping those things faster than the
servants can pick them up."
She stopped to point to poor John's chaotic
burden.
" I see all this as plainly as I see the deficiencies
of the servant who stands behind my chair ; and
yet I love him with all my heart and soul, and I
would not have one fault corrected, or one virtue
exajxfrerated, for fear it should make him different
to what he is."
Lucy Bulstrode gave a little half-resigned sigh.
"Wliat a blessing that my poor cousin is
happy !" she thought ; " and yet how can she be
otherwise than miserable with that absurd John
MeUish?"
What Lucy meant, perhaps, was this : How
could Aurora be otherwise than wretched in the
companionship of a gentleman who had neither a
straight nose nor dark hair. Some women never
outlive that school -ghl infatuation for straight
noses and dark hah? Some girls would have
rejected Napoleon the Great because he wasn't
" tall," or would have turned up their noses at the
author of ' Cliilde Harold ' if they had happened
to see bim in a stand-up collar. K Lord Byron
MONEY MATTERS. 139
had never turned down his collars, would his
poetry have been as popular as it was ? If Mr.
Alfred Tennyson were to cut his hau", would that
operation modify our opinion of ' The Queen of
the May ' ? Where does that marvellous power of
association begin and end ? Perhaps there may
have been a reason for Aurora's contentment with
her commonplace, prosaic husband. Perhaps she
had learned at a very early period of her life that
there are qualities even more valuable than ex-
quisitely-modelled features or clustering locks.
Perhaps, having begun to be foolish very early,
she had outstripped her contemporaries in the
race, and had earlier learned to be wise.
Archibald Floyd led his daughter and her
husband into the dining-room, and the dinner-
party sat down again with the two unexpected
guests, and the luke-warm salmon brought in
again for Mr. and Mrs. Mellish.
Aurora sat in her old place on her father's right
hand. In the old girlish days Miss Floyd had
never occupied the bottom of the table, but had
loved best to sit close to that foolishly-doting
parent, pouring out his wine for him in defiance
of the servants, and doing other loving offices
140 AURORA FLOYD.
whicli were deliciously inconvenient to tlie old
man.
To-day Aurora seemed especially affectionate.
That fondly-clinging manner had all its ancient
charm to the banker. He put doAvn his glass
with a tremulous hand to gaze at his darling
child, and was dazzled with her beauty, and
drunken with the happiness of having her near
him.
"But, my darling," he said, by-and-by, "what
do you mean by talking about going back to
Yorkshire to-morrow ?"
" Nothing, papa, except that I must go,"
answered Mrs. Mellish, determinedly.
''But why come, dear, if you could only stop
one night ?"
"Because I wanted to see you, dearest father,
and talk to you about about money matters."
"That's it," exclaimed John Mellish, with his
mouth half full of salmon and lobster-sauce.
"That's it! Money matters! That's all I can
get out of her. She goes out late last night, and
roams about the garden, and comes in wet through
and through, and says she must come to London
about money matters. AMiat should she want
MONEY MATTERS. 141
with money matters ? If slie wants money, she
can have as much as she wants. She shall write
the figures, and I'll sign the cheque ; or she shall
have a dozen blank cheques to fill in just as she
pleases. What is there upon this earth that I'd
refuse her ? If she dipped a little too deep, and
put more money than she could afford upon the
bay filly, why doesn't she come to me instead of
bothering you about money matters ? You know
I said so in the train, Aurora, ever so many times.
Why bother your poor papa about it ?"
The poor papa looked wonderingly from his
daughter to his daughter's husband. What did it
all mean ? Trouble, vexation, weariness of spirit,
humiliation, disgrace ?
Ah, Heaven help that enfeebled mind whose
strength has been shattered by one great shock !
Archibald Floyd dreaded the token of a" coming
storm in every chance cloud on the summer's
sky.
" Perhaps I may prefer to spend my oion money,
Mr. John Mellish," answered Aurora, "and j^ay
any foolish bets I have chosen to make out of my
oivn purse, without being under an obligation to
any one."
142 AURORA FLOYD.
Mr. Mellisli returned to liis salmon in silence.
"There is no occasion for a great mystery,
papa," resumed Aurora ; " I want some money
for a particular purpose, and I Lave come to con-
sult witli you about my affairs. There is nothing
very extraordinary in that, I suppose ?"
Mrs. John Mellish tossed her head, and flung
this sentence at the assembly, as if it had been a
challenge. Her manner was so defiant, that even
Talbot and Lucy felt called upon to respond with
a gentle dissenting murmur.
" No, no, of course not ; nothing more natural,"
muttered the captain; but he was thinking all
the time, " Thank God I married the other one."
After dinner the little party strolled out of the
drawing-room windows on to the lawn, and away
towards that iron bridge upon which Aurora had
stood, with her dog by her side, less than two
years ago, on the occasion of Talbot Bulstrode's
second visit to Felden Woods. Lingering upon
that bridge on this tranquil summer's evening,
what could the captain do but think of that Sep-
tember day, barely two years agone ? Barely two
years ! not two years ! And how much had been
done and thouo;ht and suffered since ! How con-
MONEY MATTERS. 143
temptible was the narrow space of time! yet
what terrible eternities of anguish, what centuries
of heart-break, had been compressed into that
pitiful sum of days and weeks ! When the frau-
dulent partner in some house of business puts
the money which is not his own upon a Derby
favourite, and goes home at night a loser, it is
strangely diflScult for that wretched defaulter to
believe that it is not twelve hours since he tra-
velled the road to Epsom confident of success,
and calculating how he should invest his winnings.
Talbot Bulstrode was very silent, thinking of the
influence which this family of Felden Woods had
had upon his destiny. His little Lucy saw that
silence and thoughtfulness, and, stealing softly to
her husband, linked her arm in his. She had a
right to do it now. Yes, to pass her little soft
white hand under his coat-sleeve, and even look
up, almost boldly, in his face.
" Do you remember when you first came to
Felden, and we stood upon this very bridge ?" she
asked : for she too had been thinking of that far-
away time in the bright September of '57. " Do
you remember, Talbot dear ?"
She had drawn him away from the banker and
144 . AUEORA FLOYD.
liis children, in order to ask this all-important
question.
" Yes, perfectly, darling. As "well as I remem-
ber your graceful figiu-e seated at the piano in
the long drawing-room, with the sunshine on your
hair."
"You remember that! you remember me!"
exclaimed Lucy, rapturously.
" Very well, indeed."
"But I thought that is, I know that you
were in love with Aurora then."
"I think not."
" You only tlunk not ?"
"How can I tell!" cried Talbot. "I freely
confess that my first recollection connected with
this place is of a gorgeous black-eyed creatm-e,
with scarlet in her hau'; and I can no more
disassociate her image from Felden Woods than I
can, with my bare right hand, pluck up the trees
wliich give the place its name. But if you enter-
tain one distrustful thought of that pale shadow of
the past, you do yourself and me a grievous
wrong. I made a mistake, Lucy ; but, thank
Heaven ! I saw it in time."
It is to be observed that Captain Bulstrode was
MONEY MATTERS. 145
always peculiarly demonstrative in his gratitude to
Providence for his escape from the bonds which
were to have united him to Aurora. He also
made a gi-eat point of the benign compassion in
which he held John Mellish. But in despite
of this, he was apt to be rather captious and
quarrelsomely disposed towards the Yorkshireman ;
and I doubt if John's little stupidities and weak-
ness were, on the whole, very displeasing to him.
There are some wounds which never quite heal.
The jagged flesh may reunite ; cooling medicines
may subdue the inflammation ; even the scar
left by the dagger-tlirust may wear away, until it
disappears in that gi-adual transformation which
every atom of us is supposed by physiologists to
undergo ; but the wound has been, and to the
last hour of our lives there are unfavourable winds
which can make us wince with the old pain.
Aurora treated her cousin's husband with the
calm cordiality which she might have felt for a
brother. She bore no grudge against him for the
old desertion ; for she was happy with her hus-
band. She was happy with the man who loved
and believed in her, Avith a strength of confidence
which had survived every trial of his simple faith.
VOL. II. L
146 AURORA FLOYD.
Mrs. Melllsh and Lucy wandered away among the
flower-beds by the water-side, leaving the gentle-
men on the bridge.
" So you are very, very happy, my Lucy ?" said
Aurora.
" Oh, yes, yes, dear. How could I be otherwise ?
Talbot is so good to me. I know, of course, that
he loved you first, and that he doesn't love me
quite in the same way, you know perhaps, in
fact not as much." Lucy Bulstrode was never
tired of harping on this unfortunate minor string.
" But I am very happy. You must come and see
us, Aurora dear. Our house is so pretty !"
Mrs. Bulstode hereupon entered into a detailed
descrij)tion of the furniture, and decorations in
Halfmoon Street, which is perhaps scarcely worthy
of record. Aurora listened rather absently to the
long catalogue of upholstery, and yawned several
times before her cousin had finished.
" It's a very pretty house, I dare say^ Lucy,"
she said at last, " and John and I will be very
glad to come and see you some day. I wonder,
Lucy, if I were to come in any trouble or dis-
grace to your door, whether you would tm-n me
away i
MONEY MATTERS. 147
" Trouble ! disgrace !" repeated Lucy looking
frightened.
"You wouldn't turn me away, Lucy, would
you ? No ; I know you better than that. You'd
let me in secretly, and hide me away in one of
the servants' bedrooms, and bring me food by
stealth, for fear the captain should discover the
forbidden guest beneath his roof. You'd serve
two masters, Lucy, in fear and trembhng."
Before Mrs. Bulstrode could make any answer -
to this extraordinary speech the approach of the
gentlemen interrupted the feminine conference.
It was scarcely a lively evening, this July
sunset at Felden Woods. Ai'chibald Floyd's
gladness in his daughter's presence was something
damped by the peculiarity of her visit ; John
Mellish had some shadowy remnants of the
previous night's disquietude hanging about him ;
Talbot Bulstrode was thoughtful and moody ; and
poor little Lucy was tortured by vague fears of
her brilliant cousin's influence. I don't suppose
that any member of that " attenuated " assembly
felt very much regret when the great clock in
the stable-yard struck eleven, and the jingling
bedroom candlesticks were brought mto the room.
L 2
148 AURORA FLOYD.
Talbot and his wife were the first to say good,
night. Aurora: lingered at her father's side, and
John Mellish looked doubtfully at his dashing
white sergeant, waiting to receive the word of
command.
"You may go, John," she said; "I want to
speak to papa."
" But I can wait, Lolly."
"On no account," answered Mrs. Mellish
sharply. " I am going into papa's study to have
a quiet confabulation with him. What end
would be gained by your waiting ? You've been
yawning in our faces all the evening. You're
tired to death, I know, John ; so go at once, my
precious pet, and leave papa and me to discuss
om- money matters." She pouted her rosy lips,
and stood upon tiptoe, while the big Yorkshireman
kissed her.
"How you do henpeck me, Lolly!" he said
rather sheepishly. " Good-night, sir. God bless
you! Take care of my darling."
He shook hands with Mr. Floyd, parting from
him with that half-affectionate, half-reverent
manner which he always displayed to Aurora's
father. Mrs. Mellish stood for some moments
MONEY MATTERS. 149
silent and motionless, looking after her husband ;
while her father, watching her looks, tried to
read their meaning.
How quiet are the tragedies of real life I That
tbeadful scene between the Moor and his Ancient
takes place in the open street of Cyprus, according
to modern usage. I can scarcely fancy Othello and
lago debating about poor Desdemona's honesty in
St. Paul's Churchyard, or even in the market-
place of a country town ; but perhaps the Cyprus
street was a dull one, a cul-de-sac, it may be, or at
least a deserted thoroughfare, something like that
in which Monsieur Melnotte falls upon the shoulder
of General Damas and sobs out his lamentations.
But our modern tragedies seem to occur indoors,
and in places where we should least look for scenes
of horror. Who can forget that tempestuous
scene of jealous fury and mad violence Avhich
took place in a second floor in Northumberland
Street, while the broad daylight was streaming
in through the dusty windows, and the common
London cries ascending from the pavement
below ?
Any chance traveller driving from Beckenham
to West Wickham would have looked, perhaps
150 AURORA FLOYD.
enviously, at the Felden mansion, and sighed to
be lord of that fair expanse of park and garden ;
yet I doubt if in the county of Kent there was any
creature more disturbed in mind than Archibald
Floyd the banker. Tliose few moments during
which Aurora stood in thoughtful silence were as
so many hours to his anxious mind. At last she
spoke.
" Will you come to the study, papa ?" she
said ; " this room is so big, and so dimly
lighted. I always fancy there are listeners in the
corners."
She did not wait for an answer ; but led the way
to a room upon the other side of the hall, the
room in which she and her father had been so long
closeted together upon the night before her de-
parture for Paris. The crayon portrait of Eliza
Floyd looked down upon Archibald and his
daughter. The face wore so bright and genial a
smile that it was difficult to believe that it was the
face of the dead.
The banker was the first to speak.
"My darling girl," he said, "what is it you
want with me ?"
" IMoney, papa. Two thousand pounds."
MONEY MATTERS. 151
She checked his gesture of surprise, and re-
sumed before he could interrupt her.
" The money you settled upon me on my mar-
riage with John Mellish is invested in our own
bank, I know. I know, too, that I can draw upon
my account when and how I please ; but I thought
that if I wrote a cheque for two thousand pounds
the unusual amount might attract attention, and
it might possibly fall into your hands. Had this
occurred you would perhaps have been alarmed, at
any rate astonished. I thought it best, therefore,
to come to you myself and ask you for the money,
especially as I must have it in notes."
Archibald Floyd grew very pale. He had been
standing while Aurora spoke ; but as she finished
he dropped into a chair near his little office table,
and resting his elbow upon an open desk leaned
his head on his hand.
" What do you want money for, my dear ?" he
asked gravely.
" Never mind that, papa. It is my money, is it
not ; and I may spend it as I please ?"
"Certainly, my dear, certainly," he answered,
with some slight hesitation. "You shall spend
whatever you please. I am rich enough to indulge
152 AUROEA FLOYD.
any whim of yours, however foolish, however ex-
travagant. But your marriage settlement was
rather intended for the benefit of your children
than than for anything of this kind; and I
scarcely know if you are justified in touching it
without your husband's permission ; especially as
your pin-money is really large enough to enable
you to gratify any reasonable wish."
The old man pushed his gTay hair away from
his forehead with a weary action and a tremulous
hand. Heaven knows that even in that desperate
moment Aurora took notice of the feeble hand and
the whitening hair.
" Give me the money, then, papa," she said.
" Give it me from your own purse. You are rich
enough to do that."
"Eich enough ! Yes, if it were twenty times the
sum," answered the banker slowly. Then, with a
sudden bm-st of passion, he exclaimed, " Am'ora,
Am-ora ! why do you treat me so badly ? Have I
been so cruel a father that you can't confide in me ?
Aurora, why do you want this money ?"
She clasped her hands tightly together, and
stood looking at him for a few moments ii-reso-
lutely. - _.
MONEY MATTERS. 153
" I cannot tell you," she said, with grave deter-
mination. " If I were to tell you what what I
think of doing, you might thwart me in my pur-
l^ose. Father ! father !" she cried, with a sudden
change in her voice and manner, " I am hemmed
in on every side by difficulty and danger; and
there is only one way of escape except death.
Unless I take that one way, I must die. I am
very young, too young and happy, perhaps, to
die willingly. Give me the means of escape."
" You mean this sum of money ?"
"Yes."
" Y^'ou have been pestered by some connection
some old associate of his ?"
"No!"
"What then?"
" I cannot tell you."
They were silent for some moments. Archibald
Floyd looked imploringly at his child, but she did
not answer that earnest gaze. She stood before
him with a proudly downcast look : the eyelids
drooping over the dark eyes, not in shame, not in
humiliation; only in the stern determination to
avoid being subdued by the sight of her father's
distress.
154 AURORA FLOYD.
** Aurora," he said at last, "why not take the
wisest and the safest step ? Why not tell Jolm
Mellish the truth ? The danger would disappear ;
tlie difficulty would be overcome. If you are per-
secuted by this low rabble, who so fit as he to act
for you ? Tell liim, Aurora tell him all !"
" No, no, no !"
She lifted her hands and clasj)ed them upon her
pale face.
" No, no ; not for all this wide world !" she
cried.
" Aurora," said Archibald Floyd, with a gather-
ing sternness upon his face, which overspread the
old man's benevolent countenance like some dark
cloud, " Aurora, God forgive me for saying such
words to my own child, but I must insist upon
your telling me that this is no new infatuation, no
new madness, which leads you to " He was
unable to finish his sentence.
Mrs. Mellish dropped her hands from before her
face, and looked at him with her eyes flashing fire,
and her cheeks in a crimson blaze.
" Father," she cried, " how dare you ask me such
a question? New infatuation! New madness!
Have I suffered so little, do you think, from the
MONEY MATTERS. 155
folly of my youth ? Have I paid so small a price
for the mistake of my girlhood, that you should
ha\e cause to say these words to me to-night ?. Do
I come of so bad a race," she said, pointing indig-
nantly to her mother's portrait, " that you should
think so vilely of me ? Do I "
Her tragical appeal was rising to its climax, when
she dropped suddenly at her father's feet, and burst
into a tempest of sobs.
" Papa, papa, pity me !" she cried ; " pity me !"
He raised her in his arms, and drew her to him,
and comforted her, as he had comforted her for the
loss of a Scotch terrier-pup twelve years before,
when she Avas small enough to sit on his knee, and
nestle her head in his waistcoat.
" Pity you, my dear !" he said. " What is there
I would not do for you to save you one moment's
sorrow ? If my worthless life could help you ;
if "
"You will give me the money, papa?" she
asked, looking up at him half coaxingly through
her tears.
*' Yes, my darling ; to-morrow morning."
"In bank-notes?"
*' In any manner you please. But, Aurora, why
156 AUROEA FLOYD.
see these people ? Why listen to their disgraceful
demands ? Why not tell the truth ?"
" Ah, why, indeed !" she said thoughtfully.
" Ask me no questions, dear papa ; but let me
have the money to-morrow, and I promise you that
this shall be the very last you hear of my old
troubles."
She made this promise with such, perfect confi-
dence that her father was inspired with a faint ray
of hope.
" Come, darling papa," she said ; " your room is
near mine ; let us go up-stairs together."
She entwined her arm in his, and led him up
the broad staircase ; only parting from him at the
door of his room.
Mr. Floyd summoned his daughter into the study
early the next morning, while Talbot Bulstrode
was opening his letters, and Lucy strolling up and
down the terrace with John Mellish.
" I have telegraphed for the money, my dar-
ling," the banker said. " One of the clerks will be
here with it by the time we have finished breakfast."
Mr. Eloyd was right, A card inscribed with the
name of a Mr. George Martin was brought to him
during: breakfast.
MONEY MATTERS. 157
" Mr. Martin "will be good enough to wait in my
study," he said.
Aurora and her father found the clerk seated at
the open window, looking admiringly through
festoons of foliage, which clustered round the frame
of the lattice, into the richly-cultivated garden.
Felden Woods was a sacred spot in the eyes of the
junior clerks in Lombard Street, and a drive to
Beckenham in a Hansom cab on a fine summer's
morning, to say nothing of such chance refresh-
ment as pound-cake and old Madeira, or cold fowl
and Scotch ale, was considered no small treat.
Mr. George Martin, who was labom-ing under
the temporary affliction of being only nineteen
years of age, rose in a confused flutter of respect
and surprise, and blushed very violently at sight of
Mrs. Mellish.
Aurora responded to his reverential salute with
such a pleasant nod as she miglit have bestowed
upon the younger dogs in the stable-yard, and
seated herself opposite to him at the little table by
the window. It was such an excruciatingly narrow
table that the crisp ribbons about xiurora's muslin
dress rustled against the drab trousers of the
junior clerk as IVIrs. Mellish sat down.
158 AURORA FLOYD.
The young man unlocked a little morocco pouch
which he wore suspended from a strap across his
shoulder, and produced a roll of crisp notes ; so
crisp, so white and new, that, in their unsullied
freshness, they looked more like notes on the
Bank of Elegance than the circulating medium of
this busy, money-making nation.
" I have brought the cash for which you tele-
graphed, sir," said the clerk.
" Very good, Mr. Martin," answered the banker.
" Here is my cheque ready written for you. The
notes are ?"
" Twenty fifties, twenty-five twenties, fifty tens,"
the clerk said glibly.
Mr. Floyd took the little bundle of tissue-paper,
and counted the notes with the professional rapidity
which he still retained.
" Quite correct," he said, ringing the bell,
which was speedily answered by a simpering foot-
man. " Give this gentleman some lunch. You
will find the Madeu-a very good," he added kindly,
turning to the blushing junior ; " it's a wine that
is dying out ; and by the time you're my age, Mr.
Martin, you won't be able to get such a glass as I
can offer you to-day. Good morning."
MONEY MATTERS. 159
Mr. George Martin clutched liis hat nervously
from the empty chair on which he had placed it,
knocked down a heap of papers with his elbow,
bowed, blushed, and stumbled out of the room,
imder convoy of the simpering footman, who
nourished a profound contempt for the young men
from the " hoffice."
"Now, my darling," said Mr. Floyd, "here is
the money. Though, mind, I protest against "
" No, no, papa, not a word," she interrupted ;
" I thought that was all settled last night."
He sighed with the same weary sigh as on the
night before, and seating himself at his desk,
dipped a pen into the ink.
" What are you going to do, papa ?"
" I'm only going to take the numbers of the
notes."
" There is no occasion."
" There is always occasion to be business-like,"
said the old man firmly, as he checked the num-
bers of the notes one by one upon a sheet of paper
with rapid precision.
Aurora paced up and down the room impatiently
while this operation was going forward.
" How difficult it has been to me to get this
160 AURORA FLOYD.
money !" she exclaimed. " If I had been the wife
and daughter of two of the poorest men in Chris-
tendom, I could scarcely have had more trouble
about this two thousand pounds. And now you
keep me here while you number the notes, not
one of which is likely to be exchanged in this
country."
" I learnt to be business-like when I was very
young, Aurora," answered Mr. Floyd, " and I have
never been able to forget my old habits."
He completed his task in defiance of his daugh-
ter's impatience, and handed her the packet of
notes when he had done.
" I will keep the list of numbers, my dear," he
said. "If I were to give it to you, you would
most likely lose it."
He folded the sheet of paper and put it iu a
drawer of his desk.
" Twenty years hence, Aurora," he said, " should
I live so long, I should be able to produce this
paper, if it were wanted."
"Which it never will be, you dear methodical
papa," answered Aurora. " My troubles are ended
now. Yes," she added, in a graver tone, " I pray
God that my troubles may be ended now."
MONEY MATTERS. 161
She encircled her arms about her father's neck,
and kissed him tenderly. .
" I mnst leave you, dearest, to-day," she said ;
"you must not ask me why, you must ask
me nothing ! You must only love and trust me,
as my poor John trusts me, faithfully, hope-
fully, through everything."
VOL. IL ai
162 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER VII.
CAPTAIN PRODDER.
While the Doncaster express was carrying Mr.
and Mrs. ]\Iellisli nortliwards, another express
journeyed from Liverpool to London with its load
of passengers.
Amongst these passengers there was a certain
broad-shouldered and rather bull-necked indivi-
dual, who attracted considerable attention during
the journey, and was an object of some interest to
his fellow-travellers and the railway officials at
the two or three stations where the train stopped.
He was a man of about fifty years of age, but
his years were worn very lightly, and only recorded
by some wandering streaks and patches of gray
amongst his thick blue-black stubble of hair.
His complexion, naturally dark, had become of
such a bronzed and coppery tint by perpetual
exposure to meridian suns, tropical hot winds, the
CAPTAIN_ PEODDER. 163
fiery Lrcatli of the simoom, and the many other
trifling inconveniences attendant upon an out-door
life, as to cause him to be frequently mistaken for
the inhabitant of some one of those countries in
which the complexion of the natives fluctuates
between burnt sienna, Indian red, and Vandyke
brown. But it was rarely long before he took an
opportunity to rectify this mistake, and to express
that hearty contempt and aversion for all furrmers
which is natural to the unspoiled and unsophisti-
cated Briton.
Upon this particular occasion he had not been
half an hour in the society of his fellow-passengers
before he had informed them that he was a native
of Liverpool, and the captain of a merchant vessel
trading, in a manner of speaking, he said, every-
where ; that he had run away from his father and
his home at a very early period of his life; and
had shifted for himself in different parts of the
globe ever since: that his Christian name was
Samuel and his surname Prodder, and that his
father had been, hke himself, a captain in the
merchant's service. He chewed so much tobacco
and drank so much fiery Jamaica rum from a
pocket-pistol in the intervals of his conversation,
M 2
IGi AUROEA FLOYD.
that the first-class compartment in which he sat
was odorous with the compound perfume. But he
was such a hearty, loud-spoken fellow, and there
was such a pleasant twinkle in his black eyes,
that the passengers (with the exception of one
crusty old lady) treated him with great good-
humour, and listened very patiently to his talk.
I " Chewin' aint smokin', you know, is it ?" he
said, with a great guffaw, as he cut himself a
terrible block of Cavendish ; " and railway com-
panies aint got any laws against that. They can
put a fellow's pipe out, but he can chew his quid
in their faces ; though I won't say which is wust
for their carpets, neither."
I am sorry to be compelled to confess that this
brown-visaged merchant-captain, who said wust,
and chewed Cavendish tobacco, was uncle to Mi-s.
John ]\Iellisli of Mellish Park ; and that the
motive for this very journey was neither more nor
less than his desire to become acquainted with
his niece.
He imparted this fact as well as much other
information relating to himself, his tastes, habits,
adventures, opinions, and sentiments to his tra-
velling companions in the course of the journey.
CAPTAIN PRODDER. 165
" Do you know for wliy I'm going to London by
tliis identical train ?" lie asked generally, as the
passengers settled themselves into their places
after taking refreshment at Engby.
The gentlemen looked over their newspapers at
the talkative sailor, and a young lady looked up
from her book ; but nobody volunteered to specu-
late an opinion upon the mainspring of Mr. Prod-
der's actions.
" I'll tell you for why," resumed the merchant
captain, addressing the assembly, as if in answer
to their eager questioning. "I'm gomg to see
my niece, which I have never seen before. When
I ran away from father's ship, the Veiitur' some,
nigh upon forty year ago, and went aboard the
craft of a captain by the name of Mobley, which
was a good master to me for many a day, I had
a little sister as I had left behind at Liverpool,
which was dearer to me than my Ufe." He
paused to refresh himself with rather a demonstra-
tive sip from the pocket-pistol. " But ii you," he
continued generally, " if you had a father that'd
fetch you a clout of the head as soon as look at
you, yoiid run away perhaps ; and so did I. I
took the opportunity to be missin' one night as
166 AURORA FLOYD.
father was settin' sail from Yarmoutli Harbour;
and not settin' that wonderful store by me which
some folks do by their only sons, he shipped his
anchor without stoppin' to ask many questions,
and left me hidin' in one of the little alleys which
cut the Town of Yarmouth through and across,
like they cut the cakes they make there. There
was many in Yarmouth that knew me, and there
wasn't one that didn't say, ' Sarve him right,'
when they heard how I'd given father tlie slip ;
and the next day Cap'en Mobley gave me a berth
as cabin-boy aboard the Mariar Anne.''
Mr. Prodder again paused to partake of refresh-
ment from his portable spirit-store, and this time
politely handed the pocket-pistol to the company.
" Now perhaps you'll not believe me," he re-
sumed, after his friendly offer had been refused,
and the wicker-covered vessel replaced in his
capacious pocket, "you won't perhaps believe
me when I tell you, as I tell you candid, that up
to last Satiu-day week I never could find the time
nor the opportunity to go back to Liverpool, and
ask after the little sister that I'd left no higher
than the kitchen table, and that had cried fit to
break her poor little heart when I went away.
CAPTAIN PIIODDER. 167
But whether you believe it or whether you don't,
it's as true as gospel," cried the sailor, thumping
his ponderous fist upon the padded elbow of the
compartment in which he sat; "it's as true as
gospel, I've coasted America, North and South ;
I've carried West-Indian goods to the East Indies,
and East-Indian goods to the AVest Indies; I've
traded in Norwegian goods between Norway and
Hull; I've carried Sheffield goods from Hull to
South America ; I've traded between all manner
of countries and all manner of docks ; but some-
how or other I've never had the time to spare to
go on sliore at Livei-pool, and find out the narrow
little street in which I left my sister Eliza, no
liigher than the table, more than forty years ago,
until last Saturday was a Aveek. Last Satm-day
was a week I touched at Liver23ool with a cargo of
furs and poll-parrots, what you may call fancy
goods ; and I said to my mate, I said, ' I'll tell
you what I'll do, Jack ; I'll go ashore, and see my
little sister Eliza.' "
He paused once more, and a softening change
came over the brightness of his black eyes. This
time he did not apply himself to the pocket-pistol.
This time he brushed the back of his brown hand
1C8 AUr.ORA FLOYD.
across his eye-laslies, and brought it away with
a drop or two of moisture glittering upon the
bronzed sldn. Even his voice ^^ as changed when
he continued, and had mellowed to a richer and
more mournful depth, until it very much resem-
bled the melodious utterance which twenty-one
years before had assisted to render Miss Eliza
Percival the popular tragedian of the Preston and
Bradford circuit.
" God forgive me," continued the sailor, in that
altered voice ; " but throughout my voyages I'd
never thought of my sister Eliza but in two ways ;
sometimes one, sometimes t'other. One way of
thinking of her, and expecting to see her, was
as the little sister that I'd left, not altered by
so much as one lock of her hair being changed
from the identical curl into which it was twisted
the morning she cried and clung about me on
board the Veiitur'some, having come aboard to
Avish father and me good-bye. Perhaps I oftenest
thought of her in this way. Anyhow, it was
in this way, and no other, that I always saw
her in my dreams. The other way of tliiiiking
of her, and expectin' to see her, was as a hand-
some, full-grown, buxom, married woman, with
CAPTAIN PKODDER. 169
a troop of saucy children hanging on to her apron-
string, and every one of em askin' what Uncle
Samuel had brought 'em from foreign parts. Of
course this fancy was the most rational of the
two ; but the other fancy, of the little child with
the long black curly hair, would come to me very
often, especially at night when all was quiet
aboard, and Avhen I took the wheel in a spell
while the helmsman turned in. Lord bless you,
ladies and gentlemen ! many a time of a starlight
night, when we've been in them latitudes where
the stars are brighter than common, I've seen
the floathig mists upon the water take the very
shape of that light figure of a little girl in a
white pinafore, and come skipping towards me
across the waves. I don't mean that I've seen
a ghost, you know ; but I mean that I could have
seen one if I'd had the mind, and that I've seen
as much of a one as folks ever do see u23on this
earth : the ghosts of their own memories and
their own sorrows, mixed up with the mists of
the sea or the shadows of the trees wavin' back-
'ards and for'ards in the moonlight, or a white
curtain agen a wdndow, or something of that sort.
AYell, I was such a precious old fool with these
170 AURORA FLOYD.
fancies and fantigs," Mr. Samuel Prodder seemed
rather to pride himself npon the latter Avord, as
something out of the common, "that when I
went ashore at Liverjoool, last Saturday was a
week, I couldn't keep my eyes off the little girls
in white pinafores as passed me by in the streets,
thinkin' to see my Eliza skippin' along, with her
black curls flyin' in the Avind, and a bit of chalk,
to play hop-scotch with, in her hand ; so I was
obliged to say to myself, quite serious, ' Now,
Samuel Prodder, the little girl you're a lookin'
for must be fifty years of age, if she's a day,
and it's more than likely that she's left off playin'
hop-scotch and wearin' white pinafores by this
time.' If I hadn't kept repeatin' this, internally
like, all the way I went, I should have stopped
half the little girls in Liverpool to ask 'em if
their name was Eliza, and if they'd ever had
a brother as ran away and was lost. I had only
one thought of how to set about findin' her,
and that was to walk straight to the back street
in which I remembered leavin' her forty years
before. I'd no thought that those forty years
could make any more change than to change
her from a girl to a woman, and it seemed almost
CAPTAIN PRODDER. 171
strange to me that tliey could make as much
change as tliat. There was one thing I never
thought of ; and if my heart beat loud and quick
when I knocked at tlie little front-door of the
very identical house in Avhich we^d lodged, it was
with nothing but hope and joy. The forty years
that had sent railways spinning all over England
hadn't made much difference in the old house ;
it was forty years dirtier, j^erhaps, and forty years
shabbier, and it stood in the very heart of the
town instead of on the edge of the open country ;
but, exceptin' that, it was pretty much the same ;
and I expected to see the same landlady come
to open the door, Avith the same dirty artificial
flowers in her cap, and the same old slippers down
at heel scrapin' after her along the bit of oilcloth.
It gave me a kind of a turn when I didn't see
this identical landlady, though she'd have been
turned a hundred years old if she'd been alive ;
and I might have prepared myself for the disap-
pointment if I'd thought of that, but I hadn't ;
and when the door was opened by a young
woman with sandy hair, brushed backwards as
if she'd been a Chinese, and no eyebrows to speak
of, I did feel disappointed. The young woman
172 AUKORA FLOYD.
had a baby in her arms, a black-eyed baby, with
its eyes opened so Avide that it seemed as if it
had been very mnch surprised with the look of
things ,on iu'st comin' into the world, and hadn't
quite recovered itself yet; so I thought to myself,
as soon as I clapped eyes on the little one, why,
as sure as a gun, that's my sister Eliza's baby;
and my sister Eliza's married, and lives here
still. But the young woman had never heard
the name of Prodder, and didn't think there
was anybody in the neighbourhood as ever had.
I felt my heart, which had been beatin' louder
and quicker every minute, stop all of a sudden
when she said this, and seemed to drop down like
a dead weight; but I thanked her for her civil
answers to my questions, and went on to the next
house to inquire there. I might have saved
myself the trouble, for I made the same inquiries
at every house on each side of the street, going
straight from door to door, till the people thought
I was a sea-farin' tax-gatherer ; but nobody had
never heard the name of Prodder, and the oldest
inhabitant in the street hadn't lived there ten
years. I was quite disheartened Avhen I left
the neighbourhood, which had once been so
CAPTAIN PRODDER. 173
familiar, and -wliicli seemed so strange and small
and mean and shabby now. I'd had so little
thought of failing to find Eliza in the very lionse
in which I'd left her, that I'd made no plans
beyond. So I was brought to a dead stop ; and
I went back to the tavern where I'd left my
carpet-bag, and I had a chop brought me for
my dinner, and I sat with my knife and fork
before me thinkm' what I was to do next. When
Eliza and I had parted forty years before, I
remembered father leavin' her in charge of a
sister of my mother's (my poor mother had been
dead a year), and I thought to myself, the only
chance there is left for me now is to find Aunt
Sarah,"
By the time Mr. Prodder arrived at this stage
of his narrative his listeners had dropped off
gradually, the gentlemen returning to their news-
papers, and the young lady to her book, until
the merchant-captain found himself reduced to
communicate his adventures to one goodnatured-
looking young fellow, who seemed interested iu
the brown-faced sailor, and encouraged him every
now and then Avith an assenting nod or a friendly
" Ay, ay, to be sure."
174 AUKOEA FLOYD.
*' ' The only chance I can see,' ses I," continued
Mr. Prodder, " ' is to find aunt Sarah,' I found
aunt Sarah. She'd been keepin' a shop in the
general line when I went away forty year ago, and
she was keepin' the same shop in the general line
wlien I came back last Satm-day week ; and there
was the same flyblown handbills of shijjs that
was to sail immediate, and that ]iad sailed two
year ago, accordin' to the date upon the bills;
and tlie same wooden sugar-loaves wi-apped up
in white paper; and the same lattice-M^ork gate,
with a bell that rang as loud as if it was meant
to give the alarm to all Liverpool as well as to
my aunt Sarah in the parlour behind the shop.
The poor old soul was standing behind the coun-
ter, serving two ounces of tea to a customer, when
I went in. Forty years had made so muck
change in her, that I shouldn't have known her
if I hadn't known the shop. She wore black
curls upon her forehead, and a brooch like a
brass butterfly in the middle of the curls, where
the parting ought to have been, and she wore
a beard ; and the curls were false, but the beard
wasn't ; and her voice was very deep, and rather
manly, and she seemed to me to have grown
CArXAIN PEODDER. 175
manly altogether in the forty years that I'd been
aAvay. She tied up the two ounces of tea, and
then asked me what I pleased to want. I told
her that I was little Sam, and that I wanted my
sister Eliza."
The merchant'Captain paused, and looked out
of the "window for uj^wards of five minutes before
he resumed his story. When he did resume it,
he spoke in a very low voice, and in short
detached sentences, as if he couldn't trust himself
with long ones for fear he should break dow^n in
the middle of them.
"Eliza had been dead one-and-twenty years.
Aunt Sarah told me all about it. She'd tried
the artificial flower-makin' ; and she hadn't liked
it. And she'd turned play-actress. And when
she was nine-and-twenty, she'd married ; she'd
married a gentleman that had no end of money ;
and she'd gone to live at a fine place somewheres
in Kent. I've got the name of it wrote down in
my memorandum-book. But she'd been a good
and generous friend to aunt Sarah; and aunt
Sarah was to have gone to Kent to see her,
and to stop all the summer with her. But while
aunt was getting ready to go for that very visit,
176 . AUKOKA FLOYD.
my sister Eliza died, leaving a daughter beliind
her, which is the niece that I'm goin' to see. I
sat down upon the three-legged wooden stool
against the counter, and hid my face in my
hands ; and I thought of the little girl that I'd
seen playin' at hop-scotch forty years before,
until I thought my heart would burst ; but I
didn't shed a tear. Aunt Sarah took a big
brooch out of her collar, and showed me a ring
of black hair behind a bit of glass, with a gold
frame round it. ' Mr. Floyd had this brooch
made a purpose for me,' she said ; ' he has always
been a liberal gentleman to me, and he comes
down to Liverpool once in two or three years,
and takes tea with me in yon back parlour ; and
I've no call to keep a shop, for he allows me
a handsome income ; but I should die of the
mopes if it wasn't for the business.' There was
Eliza's name and the date of her death engraved
upon the back of the brooch. I tried to re-
member where I'd been and what I'd been doing
that year. But I couldn't, sir. All the life that
I looked back upon seemed muddled and mixed
up, like a dream ; and I could only think of the
little sister I'd said good-bye to, aboard the Ve7i'
CAPTAIN TRODDER. 177
tursome forty years before. I got round by little
and little, and I was able half an hour afterwards
to listen to aunt Sarah's talk. She was nigh
upon seventy, poor old soul, and she'd always
been a good one to talk. She asked me if it
wasn't a great tiling for the family that Eliza
had made such a match ; and if I wasn't proud
to thmk that my niece was a young heiress,
that spoke all manner of languages, and rode
in her own carriage ? and if that oughtn't to be a
consolation to me ? But I told her that I'd
rather have found my sister married to the
poorest man in Liverpool, and alive and well,
to bid me welcome back to my native town.
Aunt Sarah said if those were my religious
opinions, she didn't know what to say to me.
And she showed me a picture of Eliza's tomb
in Beckenham churchyard, that had been painted
expressly for her by Mr. Floyd's orders. Floyd
was the name of Eliza's husband. And then
she showed me a picture of Miss Floyd, the
heiresSj at the age of ten, which was the image
of Eliza all but the pinafore ; and it's that very
Miss Floyd that I'm going to see."
'' And I dare sa}^," said the Idnd listener, " that
VOL. ir. N
178 AURORA FLOYD.
Miss Floyd will be very mucli pleased to see her
sailor uncle."
"Well, sir, I think she will," answered the
captain. " I don't say it from any pride I take
in myself, Lord knows ; for I know I'm a rough
and ready sort of a chap, that 'u'd be no great
ornament in a young lady's drawing-room ; but if
Eliza's daughter's anything like Eliza, I know
what she'll say and what she'll do, as well as if I
see her saying and doing it. She'll clap her
pretty little hands together, and she'll clasp her
arms round my neck, and she'll say, ' Lor, uncle,
I am so glad to see you !' And when I tell her
that I was her mother's only brother, and that me
and her mother was verj' fond of one another,
she'll burst out a cryin', and she'll hide her pretty
face upon my shoulder, and she'll sob as if her
dear little heart was going to break for love of
the mother that she never saw. That's what she'll
do," said Captain Prodder, " and I don't think the
truest born lady that ever was could do any better."
The' goodnatured traveller heard a great deal
more from the captain of his plans for going to
Beckenham to claim his niece's affections, in spite
of all the fathers in the world.
CAPTAIN PRODDER. 179
" Mr. Floyd's a good man, I dare say, sir," ho
said ; " but he's kept liis daughter apart from lier
aunt Sarah, and it is but likely he'll try to keep
her from me. But if he does he'll find he's ffot a
toughish customer to deal with in Captain Samuel
Prodder."
The merchant-captain reached Beckenham as
the evening sliadows were deepening amongst the
Felden oaks and beeches, and the long rays of red
sunshine fading slowly out in the low skv. He
drove up to the old red-brick mansion in a hired
fly, and presented himself at the hall-door just as
Mr. Floyd was leaving the dining-room to finish
the evening in his lonely study.
The banker paused, to glance with some slight
surprise at the loosely-clad, weather-beaten look-
ing figure of the sailor, and mechanically put his
hand amongst the gold and silver in his pocket.
He thought the seafaring man had come to
present some petition for himself and his com-
rades. A life-boat was wanted somewhere on
the Kentish coast, perhaps: and this pleasant-
looking, bronze -coloured man had come to collect
funds for the charitable work.
He was thinking this, when, in reply to the
N 2
180 AURORA FLOYD.
town-bred footman's question, tlie sailor uttered
tlie name of Prodder ; and in the one moment of
its utterance his thoughts flew back over one-and-
twenty years, and he was madly in love wuth a
beautiful actress, who owned blushingly to that
plebeian cognomen. The banker's voice was faint
and husky as he turned to the captain, and bade
him welcome to Felden Woods.
" Step this way, Mr. Prodder," he said, pointing
to the open door of the study. " I am very glad
to see you. I I have often heard of you. You
are my dead wife's runaway brother."
Even amidst his sorrowful recollection of that
brief happiness of the past, some natural alloy of
pride had its part, and he closed the study-door
carefully before he said this.
" God bless you, sir," he said, holding out his
hand to tlie sailor, " I see I am riirht. Your
eyes are like Eliza's. You and yours will
always be welcome beneath my roof. Yes,
Samuel Prodder, you see I know your Christian
name ; and when I die you will find you havo
not been forgotten."
The captain thanked his brother-in-law heartily,
and told him that he neither asked or wished for
CAPTAIN PRODDEK.
anything except permission to see his niece,
Aurora Floyd.
As he made tliis request, he looked towards the
door of the little room, evidently expecting that
the heiress might enter at any moment. He
looked terribly disappointed when the banker told
him that Aurora was married, and lived near
Doncaster ; but that if he had happened to come
ten hours earlier he would have found her at
Felden Woods.
Ah ! who has not heard those common words ?
Who has not been told that, if they had come
sooner, or gone earlier, or hurried their pace, or
slackened it, or done something that they have
not done, the whole course of life would have
been otherwise? Who has not looked back
regretfully at the past, which, differently fashioned,
^^ould have made the present other than it is ?
We think it hard that we cannot take the fabric of
oiu* life to pieces, as a mantua-maker unpicks her
work, and make up the stuff another way. How much
waste we might save in the cloth, how much better a
shape we might make the garment, if we only had
the right to use our scissors and needle again, and
re-fashion the past by the experience of the present !
182 AUEOKA FLOYD.
" To tliink, now, that I should have been comin'
yesterday !" exclaimed the captain ; " but put off
my journey because it was a Friday ! If I'd only
knowed !"
Of course, Captain Prodder, if you had only
known what it was not given you to know, you
would no doubt have acted more prudently ; and
so would many other peojjle. If Mr. William
Palmer had known that detection was to dog the
footsteps of crime, and the gallows to follow at
the heels of detection, he would most likely have
hesitated long before he mixed the strychnine-
pills for the friend whom, with cordial voice, he was
entreating to be of good cheer. We spend the
best part of our lives in making mistakes, and the
poor remainder in reflecting how very easily we
might have avoided them.
]Mr. Floyd explained, rather lamely, perhaps,
how it was that the Liverjjool spinster had never
been informed of her grand-niece's marriage with
Mr. John Mellish ; and the merchant-captain an-
nounced his intention of starting for Doncaster
early the next morning.
" Don't think that I wan't to intrude upon your
daughter, sir," he said, as if perfectly acquainted
CAPTAIN PRODDER. 183
with the banker's nervous dread of such a visit.
*' I know her station's high above me, though she's
my own sister's only child ; and 1 make no doubt
that those about her would be ready enough to
turn up their noses at a poor old salt that has
been tossed and tumbled about in every variety
of weather for this forty year. I only want to see
her once in a way, and to hear her say, perhaps,
' Lor, uncle, what a rum old chap you are !'
There!" exclaimed Samuel Prodder, suddenly, "I
think if I could only once hear her call me uncle,
I could go back to sea, and die happy, though I
never came ashore again."
X84 AURORA FLOYD,
CHAPTER VIII.
"he only said, I AM A-WEARY."
Mr. James Conyers found the long summer's
days hang rather heavily upon his hands at
Mellish Park, in the society of the rheumatic
ex-trainer, the stable-boys, and Steeve Hargraves
the " Softy," and with no literary resources except
the last Saturday's ' Bell's Life,' and sundry flimsy
sheets of shiny, slippeiy tissue-paper, forwarded.
him by post from King Charles's Croft, in the
busy town of Leeds.
He might have found plenty of work to do in
the stables, perhaps, if he had had a mind to do it ;
but after the night of the storm there was a per-
ceptible change in his manner ; and the showy
pretence of being very busy, which he had made
on his fh'st arrival at the Parle, was now exchanged
for a listless and imdisguised dawdling and an
unconcerned indifference, which caused the old
"HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEAKY." 185
trainer to shake his gi'ay head, and mutter to his
hangers-on that the new chap warn't np to mooch,
and was evidently too grand for his business.
Mr. James cared very little for the opinion of
these simple Yorkshiremen ; and he yawned in
their faces, and stifled them Avith his cigar smoke,
with a dashing indifference that harmonized Avell
with the gorgeous tints of his complexion and the
lustrous splendour of his lazy eyes. He had taken
the trouble to make himself veiy agreeable on the
day succeeding his arrival, and had distributed his
hearty slaps on the shoulder and friendly digs in
the ribs, right and left, until he slapped and dug
himself into considerable popularity amongst the
friendly rustics, who were ready to bo bewitched
by his handsome face and flashy manner. But
after his interview with Mrs. Mellish in the cottage
by the north gates, he seemed to abandon all
desire to please, and to grow suddenly restless and
discontented : so restless and so discontented that
he felt inclined even to quarrel with the unhappy
" Softy," and led his red-haired retainer a sufficiently
uncomfortable life with his whims and vasfaries.
Stephen Hargraves bore this change in his new
master's manner with wonderful patience. Uather
186 AURORA FLOYD.
too patiently, perhaps ; witli that slow, dogged,
uncomplaining patience of those who keep some-
tliing in reserve as a set-off against present for-
bearance, and Avho invite rather than avoid injury,
rejoicing in anything which swells the great
account, to be squared in future storm and fury.
The " Softy " was a man who could hoard liis hatred
and vengeance, hiding the bad passions away in
the dark corners of liis poor shattered mind, and
bringing them out in the dead of the night to
" kiss and talk to," as the Moor's wife kissed and
conversed with the strawberry-embroidered cambric.
There must surely have been very little " society "
at Cyprus, or Mrs. Othello could scarcely have
been reduced to such insipid company.
However it might be, Steeve bore Mr. Conyers's
careless insolence so very meekly that the trainer
laughed at his attendant for a poor-spirited liomid,
whom a pair of flashing black eyes and a lady's
toy riding-whip could frighten out of the poor
remnant of wit left in his muddled brain. He said
something to this effect when Steeve displeased
him once, in the course of the long, temper-trying
summer's day ; and the " Softy " turned away with
something very like a chuckle of savage pleasure
"HE OXLY SAID, I AM A-\VEARY." 187
in ackuowletlgmciit of the complimeut. He was
more obsequious than ever after it, and was humbly
thankful for the ends of cigars which the trainer
liberally bestowed upon him, and went into Don-
caster for more spirits and more cigars in the course
of the day, and fetched and carried as submissively
as that craven-spirited hound to which his employer
had politely compared liim.
Mr. Conyers did not even make a pretence of
going to look at the horses on this blazing 5 th of
July, but lolled on the window-sill, with his lame
leg upon a chau-, and his back against the frame-
work of the little casement, smoking, drinking, and
reading his price-lists all through the sunny day.
The cold brandy-aud-water which he poured, with-
out half an hour's intermission, down his handsome
throat, seemed to have far less influence upon him
than the same amount of liquid would have had
upon a horse. It would have put the horse out of
condition, perhaps ; but it had no effect whatever
upon the trainer.
Mrs. Powell, walking for the benefit of her
health in the north shrubberies, and incurrins; im-
minent danger of a sun-stroke for the same praise-
worthy reason, contrived to pass the lodge, and to
188 AURORA FLOYD.
see Mr. Conyers lounging, dark and splendid, on
the window-sill, exhibiting a kit-cat of his handsome
person framed in the clustering foliage which hung
about the cottage walls. She was rather embar-
rassed by the presence of the " Softy," who was
sweeping the door-step, and who gave her a glance
of recognition as she passed, a glance which
might perhaps have said, " We know his secrets,
you and I, handsome and insolent as ho is ; we
know the paltry price at which he can be bought
and sold. But we keep our counsel ; we keep
our counsel till time ripens the bitter fruit upon
the tree, though our fingers itch to pluck it while
it is still green."
Mrs. Powell stopped to give the trainer good
day, expressing as much surprise at seeing him at
the north lodge as if she had been given to under-
stand that he was travelling in Kamschatka ; but
Mr. Conyers cut lier civilities short with a ya^vn,
and told hor with easy familiarity" that .she would
be conferring a ftivom- upon lum by sending
him that morning's ' Times ' as soon as the
daily papers arrived at the Park. The ensign's
widow was too mucli under the influence of the
graceful impertinence of liis manner to resist it as
'HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-\YEAKY." ISO
slie miglit have doue, and returned to the house,
bewildered and wondering, to comply with his
request. So through the oppressive heat of the
summer's day the trainer smoked, drank, and took
his ease, wliile his dependent and follower watched
liim with a puzzled face, revolving vaguely and
confusedly in his dull, muddled brain the events of
the previous night.
But Mr. James Conyers grew weary at last even
of his own ease; and that inherent restlessness
which caused Kasselas to tire of his happy valley,
and sicken for the free breezes on the hill-tops and
the clamour of the distant cities, arose in the bosom
of the trainer, and grew so strong that he began
to chafe at the rural quiet of the north lodge, and
to shuffle Ills poor latne leg wearily from one
position to another in sheer discontent of mind,
which, by one of those many subtle links between
spirit and matter that tell us we are mortal, com-
municated itself to liis body, and gave him that
chronic disorder which is popularly called " the
fidgets." An unquiet fever, generated amidst the
fibres of the brain, and finding its way by that
physiological telegraph, the spinal marrow, to the
remotest stations on the human railwav.
190 AURORA FLOYD.
Mr. James suffered from this common complaint
to such a degree, that as the solemn strokes of the
church-clock vibrated in sonorous music above the
tree-tops of Mellish Park in the siniiij evening-
atmosphere, he threw down his pipe with an impa-
tient shrug of the shoulders, and called to the
" Soffcv " to bring him his hat and walkino'-stick.
" Seven o'clock," he muttered, " only seven
o'clock. I think there must have been twenty-
four hours in this blessed summer's day."
He stood looking from the httle casement-
window with a discontented frown contracting his
handsome eyebrows, and a peevish expression dis-
torting his full, classically-moulded lips, as he said
this. He glanced thi-ough the little casement,
made smaller by its cluste^ng frame of roses and
clematis, jessamine and myrtle, and looking like
the port-hole of a ship that sailed upon a sea of
summer verdure. He glanced through the circular
opening left by that scented framework of leaves
and blossoms, into the long glades, where the low
sunlight was flickering upon waving fringes of fern.
He followed with his listless glance the wandering
intricacies of the underwood, until they led his
weary eyes away to distant patches of blue water.
"HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEARY." 191
slowly clianging to opal and rose-colour in the
declining light. He saw all these things with a
lazy apathy, wliich had no power to recognize their
beauty, or to insphre one latent thi-ill of gratitude
to Him who had made them. He had better have
been blind ; surely he had better have been blind.
He turned his back upon the evening sunshine,
and looked at the white face of Steeve Hargraves,
the " Softy," with every wliit as much pleasure as he
had felt in looking at nature in her loveliest
aspect.
"A long day," he said, "an infernally tedious,
wearisome day. Thank God, it's over."
Strange that, as he uttered this impious thanks-
giving, no subtle influence of the future crept
through his veins to chill the slackening pulses of
his heart, and freeze the idle words upon liis lijDs.
If he had known what was so soon to come ; if he
had known, as he thanked God for the death of
one beautiful summer's day, never to be born
again, with its twelve hours of opportunity for
good or evil, surely he would have grovelled on
the earth, stricken with a sudden terror, and wept
aloud for the shameful history of the life which lay
behind him.
1,92 AURORA FLOYD*
He had never slied tears but once since his
childliood, and then those tears were scalding drops
of baffled rage and vengeful fury at the utter
defeat of the greatest scheme of his life.
" I shall go into Doncaster to-night, Steeve," he
said to the " Softy," who stood deferentially aAvait-
ing his master's pleasure, and watching him, as he
had watched him all day, furtively but incessantly ;
" I shall spend the evening in Doncaster, and
and see if I can pick up a few wrinkles about the
September meeting ; not that there's anything
worth entering ^amongst this set of screws, Lord
knows," he added, with undisguised contempt for
poor John's beloved stable. "Is there a dog-cart,
or a trap of any kind, I can drive over in ?" he
asked of the " Softy."
Mr. Hargraves said that there was a Newport
Pagnell, which was sacred to Mr. John Melhsh,
and a gig that was at the disposal of any of the
upper servants when they had occasion to go into
Doncaster, as well as a covered van, which some
of the lads drove into the town every day for the
groceries and otlier matters requhed at the house.
" Yery good," said Mr. Conyers ; " you may run
down to tlie stables, and tell one of the boys to
"HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEARY." 193
put the fastest pony of tlie lot into the Newport
Pagnell, and to bring it up here, and to look
sharp."
" But nobody but Muster Mellish rides in the
Newport Pagnell," suggested the " Softy," with an
accent of alarm.
" What of that, you cowardly hound T cried the
trainer contemptuously. "I'm going to drive it
to-night, don't you hear? D n his Yorkshire
insolence ! Am I to be put do^vn by Mm ? It's
liis handsome wife that he takes such pride in, is
it ? Lord help him ! Whose money bought the
dog-cart, I wonder ? Aurora Floyd's, perhaps.
And I'm not to ride in it, I suppose, because it's
my lord's pleasure to drive his black-eyed lady in
the sacred vehicle. Look you here, you brainless
idiot, and understand me, if you can !" cried Mr.
James Conyers in a sudden rage, which crimsoned
his handsome face, and lit up his lazy eyes with a
new fire, "look you here, Stephen Hargraves! if
it wasn't that I'm tied hand and foot, and have
been plotted against and thwarted by a woman's
cunning, at every turn, I could smoke my pipe in
yonder house, or in a better house, this day."
He pointed with his finger to the pinnacled
VOL. II.
194 AURORA FLOYD.
roof, and the reddened windows glittering in the
evening sun, visible far away amongst the trees.
" Mr. John Mellish !" he said. " If his wife
wasn't snch a she-devil as to be too many guns for
the cleverest man in Christendom, I'd soon make
Jiim sing small. Fetch the Newport Pagnell !" he
cried suddenly, with an abrupt change of tone ;
" fetch it, and be quick ! I'm not safe to myself
when I talk of this. I'm not safe when I think
how near I was to half a million of money," he
muttered under his breath.
He limped out mto the open air, fanning him-
self with the wide brim of his felt hat, and wiping
the perspiration from his forehead.
"Be quick !" he cried impatiently to his delibe-
rate attendant, who had listened eagerly to every
word of his master's passionate talk, and who now
stood watching him even more intently than before,
'^ be quick, man, can't you ? I don't pay you five
shillings a week to stare at me. Fetch the trap !
I've worked myself into a fever, and nothing but a
rattling drive will set me right again."
The " Softy " shuffled off as rapidly as it was
within the range of his ability to walk. He had
never been seen to run in his life ; but had a slow ,
"HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEARY." 195
side-long gait, which had some faint resemblance
to that of the lower reptiles, but very little in
common Avitli the motions of his fellow-men.
Mr. James Conyers limped up and down the
little grassy lawn in front of the north lodge.
The excitement which had crimsoned his face
gradually subsided, as he vented his disquietude
in occasional impatient exclamations. " Two
thousand pounds!" he muttered; "a pitiful,
paltry two thousand ! Not a twelvemonth's in-
terest on the money I ought to have had the
money I should have had, if "
He stopped abruptly, and growled something
like an oath between his set teeth, as he struck
his stick with angry \dolence into the soft grass.
It is especially hard when we are reviling our bad
fortune, and quarrelling with our fate, to find at
last, on wandering backwards to the source of our
ill-luck, that the primary cause of all has been our
own evil-doing. It was this that made Mr.
Conyers stop abruptly in his reflections upon his
misfortunes, and break off with a smothered oath,
and listen impatiently for the wheels of the
Newport Pagnell.
The "Softy" appeared presently, leading the
2
196 AURORA FLOYD.
horse by the bridle. He had not presumed to seat
liimself in the sacred vehicle, and he stared
wonderingly at James Conyers as the trainer
tumbled about the chocolate-cloth cushions, ar-
ranging them afresh for his own ease and comfort.
Neither the bright varnish of the dark-brown
panels, nor the crimson crest, nor the glittering
steel ornaments on the neat harness, nor any of
the exquisitely-finished appointments of the light
vehicle, provoked one word of criticism from Mr.
Conyers. He mounted as easily as his lame leg
would allow him, and taking the reins from the
" Softy," lighted his cigar preparatory to starting.
" You needn't sit up for me to-night," he said,
as he drove into the dusty high road : " I shall be
late."
Mr. Hargraves shut the iron gates with a loud
clanking noise upon his new master.
"But I shall, though," he muttered, looking
askant through the bars at the fast disappearing
Newport Pagnell, which was now little more than
a black spot in a white cloud of dust ; " but I
shall sit up, though. You'll come home drunk, I
lay." (Yorkshire is so pre-eminently a horse-racing
and betting county, that even simple country folk
"HE 0:LY SAID, I AM a-wt:ary." 197
who have never wagered a sixpence in tke quiet
course of their lives say " I lay " where a
Londoner would say " I dare say.") " You'll
come home drunk, I lay ; folks generally do from
Doncaster ; and I shall hear some more of your
wild talk. Yes, yes," he said in a slow, reflective
tone ; " it's very wild talk, and I can't make top
nor tail of it yet not yet ; but it seems to me
somehow as if I knew what it all meant, only I can't
put it together I can't put it together. There's
something missin', and the want of that something
hinders me putting it together."
He rubbed his stubble of coarse red hair with
his two strong, awkward hands, as if he would fain
have 'rubbed some wantiuo; intelligence into his
head.
" Two thousand pound !" he said, walking
slowly back to the cottage. " Two thousand
pound ! It's a power of money ! Why it's two
thousand pound that the wduner gets by the great
race at Newmarket, and there's all the gentlefolks
ready to give their ears for it. There's great lords
fighting and struggling against each other for it ;
so it's no wonder a poor fond chap like me thinks
summat about it."
198 AURORA FLOYD.
' He sat down upon the step of the lodge-door to
smoke the cigar-ends which his benefactor had
throAvn him in the course of the day ; but he still
ruminated upon this subject, and he still stopped
sometimes, between the extinction of one cheroot-
stump and the illuminating of another, to mutter,
" Two thousand pound ! Twenty hundred j)ound !
Forty times fifty pound !" with an unctuous chuckle
after the enunciation of each figure, as if it was
some privilege even to be able to talk of such vast
sums of money. So might some doating lover, in
the absence of his idol, murmur the beloved name
to the summer breeze.
The last crimson lights upon the patches of
blue water died out beneath the gathering dark-
ness ; but the " Softy " sat, still smoking, and still
ruminating, till tlie stars were high in the pm'ple
vault above his head. A little after ten o'clock
lie heard the rattling of wheels and the tramp of
horses' hoofs upon the high road, and going to the
gate he looked out through the iron bars. As the
vehicle dashed by the north gates he saw that it
was one of the Mellish-Park carriages which had
been sent to the station to meet John and his
wife.
"HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEARY." 199
" A short visit to Loon'on/'i^^he muttered. "I
lay she's been to fetch t' brass."
The greedy eyes of the half-witted groom
peered through the iron bars at the passing
carriage, as if he would have fain looked through
its opaque panels in search of that which he had
denominated " the brass." He had a vague idea
that two thousand pounds would be a great bulk
of money, and that Aurora would carry it in a
chest or a bundle that might be perceptible
through the carriage-window.
"I'll lay she's been to fetch t' brass," he
repeated, as he crept back to the lodge-door.'
He resumed his seat upon the door-step, his
cigar-ends, and his reverie, rubbing his head very
often, sometimes with one hand, sometimes with
both, but always as if he were trying to rub some
wanting sense or power of perception into his
WTetched brains. Sometimes he gave a short
restless sigh, as if he had been trying all this time
to guess some difficult enigma, and was on the
point of giving it up.
It was long after midnight when Mr. James
Conyers retm-ned, very much the worse for
brandy-and-water and dust. He tumbled over
200 AURORA FLOYD.
the " Softy," still sitting on the step of the open
door, and then cursed Mr. Hargraves for being in
the way.
"B't s'nc' y' h'v' ch's'n t' s't 'p," said the
trainer, speaking a language entirely composed of
consonants, " y' ni'y dr'v' tr'p b'ck t' st'bl's."
By which rather obscure speech he gave the
" Softy " to understand that he was to take the
dog-cart back to Mr. Mellish's stable-yard.
Steeve Hargraves did his drunken master's
bidding, and leading the horse homewards through
the quiet night, found a cross boy with a lantern
in his hand waiting at the gate of the stable-yard,
and by no means disposed for conversation,
except, indeed, to the extent of the one remark
that he, the cross boy, hoped the new trainer
wasn't going to be up to this game every night,
and hoped the mare, which had been bred for a
racer, hadn't been ill used.
All John Mellish's horses seemed to have been
bred for racers, and to have dropped gradually
from prospective winners of the Derby, Oaks,
Chester Cup, Great Ebor, Yorkshire Stakes,
Leger, and Doncaster Cup, to say nothhig of
minor victories in the way of Northumberland
" HE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEARY." 201
Plates, Liverpool Autumn Cups, and Curragli
Handicaps, through every variety of failure and
defeat, into the every-day ignominy of harness.
Even the van which carried groceries was drawn
by a slim-legged, narrow-chested, high-shouldered
animal called the "Yorkshire Childers," and
bought, in its sunny colt-hood, at a great price by
poor John.
Mr. Conyers was snoring aloud in his little
bedroom when Steeve Hargraves returned to the
lodge. The "Softy" stared wonderingly at the
handsome face brutalized by drink, and the
classical head flung back upon the crumpled pil-
low in one of those wretched positions which
intoxication always chooses for its repose. Steeve
Hargi-aves rubbed his head harder even than
before, as he looked at the perfect profile, the
red, half-parted lips, the dark fringe of lashes on
the faintly crimson-tinted cheeks.
" Perhaps I might have been good for summat
if I had been like yow," he said, with a half-savage
melancholy. " I shouldn't have been ashamed of
myself then. I shouldn't have crept into dark
corners to hide myself, and think why I wasn't
like other people, and what a bitter, cruel shame
202 AURORA FLOYD.
it was that I wasn't like 'em. You've no call to
hide yourself from other folks ; nobody tells you
to get out of the way for an ugly hound, as you
told me this morning, hang you ! The Avorld's
smooth enough for you."
So may Caliban have looked at Prospero with
envy and hate in his heart before going to his ob-
noxious tasks of dish-washing and trencher-scraping.
He shook his fist at the unconscious sleeper as
he finished speaking, and then stooped to pick up
the trainer's dusty clothes, which were scattered
upon the floor.
" I suppose I'm to brush these before I go to
bed," he muttered, " that my lord may have 'em
ready when he wakes in th' morning."
He took the clothes on his arm and the light in
his hand, and went down to the lower room,
where he found a brush and set to work sturdily,
enveloping himself in a cloud of dust, like some
ugly Arabian genii who was going to transform
himself into a handsome prince.
He stopped suddenly in his brushing, by-and-by,
and crumpled the waistcoat in his hand.
"There's some paper!" he exclaimed. "A
paper sewed up between stuff and linin'."
*'IIE ONLY SAID, I AM A-WEARY." 203
He omitted the definite article before each of
the substantives, as is a commou habit with his
countrymen when at all excited.
" A bit o' paper," he repeated, " between stuff
and linin' ! I'll rip t' waistcoat open and see
what 'tis."
He took his clasp-knife from his pocket, care-
fully unripped a part of one of the seams in the
waistcoat, and extracted a piece of paper folded
double, a decent-sized square of rather thick
paper, partly printed, partly written.
He leaned over the lis^ht with his elbows on the
table and read the contents of this paper, slowly
and laboriously, following every w^ord with his
thick forefinger, sometimes stopping a long time
upon one syllable, sometimes trying back half a
line or so, but always plodding patiently with his
ugly forefinger.
When he came to the last word, he burst
suddenly into a loud chuckle, as if he had just
succeeded in guessing that difficult enigma which
had puzzled him all the evening.
"I know it all now," he said. "I can put it
all together now. His words ; and hers ; and the
money. I can put it all together, and make out
204 AURORA FLOYD.
the meaning of it. She's going to give him the
two thousand pound to go away from here and
say nothing about this."
He refolded the paper, replaced it carefully in
its hiding-place between the stuff and lining of
the waistcoat, then searched in his capacious
pocket for a fat leathern book, in which, amongst
all sorts of odds and ends, there were some
needles and a tangled skein of black thread. Then,
stooping over the light, he slowly sewed up the
seam which he had ripped open, dexterously
and neatly enough, in spite of the clumsiness of
his big fingers.
205
CHAPTER IX.
STILL CONSTANT.
Mr. James Conyers took his breakfast in his own
apartment upon the morning after his visit to
Doncaster, and Stephen Hargraves waited upon
him ; carrying him a basin of muddy coffee, and
enduring his ill-humour with the lonfj-sufferiuir
which seemed peculiar to this hump-backed, low-
voiced stable-helper.
The trainer rejected the coffee, and called for a
pipe, and lay smoking half the summer morning,
with the scent of the roses and honeysuckle float-
ing into his close chamber, and the July sunshine
glorifying the sham roses and blue lilies that
twisted themselves in floricultural monstrosity
about the cheap paper on the walls.
The " Softy " cleaned his master's boots, set them
in the sunshine to air, washed the breakfast-things,
swept the door-step, and then seated himself upon
206 ' AUROKA FLOYD.
it to ruminate, with liis elbows on his knees and
his hands twisted in his coarse red hair. The
silence of the summer atmosphere was only-
broken by the drowsy hum of the insects in the
wood, and the occasional dropping of some early-
blighted leaf.
Mr. Conyers's temper had been in no manner
improved by his night's dissipation in the town of
Doncaster. Heaven knows what entertainment
he had found in those lonely streets, that grass-
grown market-place and tenantless stalls, or that
dreary and hermetically-sealed building, which
looks like a prison on three sides and a chapel on
the fourth, and which, during the September meet-
ing, bursts suddenly into life and light with huge
posters flaring against its gaunt walls, and a
bright blue-ink announcement of Mr. and Mrs.
Charles Mathews, or Mr. and Mrs. Charles Kean,
for five nights only. Normal amusement in the
town of Doncaster between these two oases in the
year's dreary circle, the spring and autumn meet-
ings, there is none. But of abnormal and special
entertainment there may be much ; only known
to such men as Mr. James Conyers, to whom the
most sinuous alley is a pleasant road, so long as it
STILL CONSTANT. 207
leads, directly or mdii'ectly, to the betting-man's
god Money.
However this might be, Mr. Conyers bore upon
him all the symptoms of having, as the popular
phrase has it, made a night of it. His eyes were
dim and glassy ; his tongue hot and furred, and
uncomfortably large for his parched mouth ; his
hand so shaky that the operation which he per-
formed with a razor before his looking-glass was
a toss-up between suicide and shaving. His
heavy head seemed to have been transformed into
a leaden box full of buzzing noises ; and after
getting half through liis toilet he gave it up for a
bad job, and threw himself ujjon the bed he had
just left, a victim to that biliary derangement
which inevitably follows an injudicious admixture
of alcoholic and malt liquors.
"A tumbler of Hochheimer," he muttered, " or
even the third-rate Chablis they give one at a
tahle-dlidte, would freshen me up a little ; but
there's nothing to be had in this abominable place
except brandy-and-water."
He called to the " Softy," and ordered him to
mix a tumbler of the last-named beverage, cold
and weak.
208 AURORA FLOYD.
Mr. Conyers drained the cool and lucid
draught, and flung himself back upon the pillow
with a sigh of relief. He knew that he would be
tliirsty again in five or ten minutes, and that
the respite was a brief one ; but still it was a
respite.
" Have they come home ?" he asked.
"Who?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Mellish, you idiot!" answered
the trainer fiercely. " Who else should I bother
ray head about ? Did they come home last night
while I was away ?"
The " Softy " told his master that he had seen
one of the carriages drive past the north gates at
a little after ten o'clock on the preceding night,
and that he supposed it contained Mr. and Mrs.
Mellish.
"Then you'd better go up to the house and
make sure," said Mr. Conyers ; " I want to
know."
Go up to th' house ?"
"Yes, coward! yes, sneak! Do you suppose
that IMrs. Mellish will eat you ?"
" I don't suppose nought o' t' sort," answered
the " Softy " sulkily ; " but I'drather not go."
STILL CONSTANT. 209
"But I tell you I want to know," said Mr.
Conyers ; " I want to know if Mrs. Mellish is at
home, and Avhat she's up to, and whether there
are any visitors at the house, and all about her.
Do you understand ?"
'' Yes, it's easy enough to understand, but it's
rare and difficult to do," replied Steeve Har-
graves. " How am I to iind out ? Who's to tell me ?"
"How do I know?" cried the trainer, im-
patiently; for Stephen Hargraves's slow, dogged
stupidity was tin-owing the dashing James Con-
yers into a fever of vexation. " How do I know ?
Don't you see that I'm too ill to stir- from this bed ?
I'd go myself if I wasn't. And can't you go and
do what I tell yoii without standing arguing there
until you drive me mad ?"
Steeve Hargraves muttered some sulky apology,
and shuffled out of the room. Mr. Conyers's
handsome eyes followed him with a dark frown.
It is not a pleasant state of health which succeeds
a drunken debauch ; and the trainer was angry
with himself for the weakness which had taken
him to Doncaster upon the preceding evening, and
thereby inclined to vent his anger upon other
people. ,
VOL. ir. P
210 AUROEA FLOYD.
There is a great deal of vicarious penance done
in this world. Lady's-maids are apt to suffer for
the follies of their mistresses, and Lady Clara
Vere de Vere's French Abigail is extremely
likely to have to atone for young Laurence's
death by patient endurance of my lady's ill-
temper and much unpicking and remaking of
bodices, which would have fitted her ladyship
well enough in any other state of mind than the
remorseful misery which is engendered of an
evil conscience. The ugly gash across young
Laurence's throat, to say nothing of the cruel
slanders circulated after the inquest, may make
life almost unendurable to the poor meek
nursery-governess who educates Lady Clara's
younger sisters ; and the younger sisters them-
selves, and mamma and papa, and my lady's
youtliful confidantes, and even her haughtiest
adorers, all have their share in the exj)iation of
her ladyship's wickedness. For she will not
or she cannot meekly own that she has been
guilty, and shut herself away from the world,
to make her own atonement and work her own
redemption. So she thrusts the burden of her
sins upon other people's shoulders, and travels
STILL CONSTANT. 211
the first stage to cajitious and disappointed old-
maidism.
The commercial gentlemen who make awkward
mistakes in the City, the devotees of the turf
whose misfortunes keep them away from~Mn
Tattersall's premises on a settling-day, can make
innocent women and children carry the weight of
then- sms, and suffer the penalties of their foolish-
ness. Papa still smokes his Cabanas at four-
pence-halfpenny apiece, or his mild ^Turkish at
nine shillings a pound, and still dines at the
Croym and Sceptre in the drowsy summer
weather, when the bees are asleep in the flowers
at Morden CoUege, and the fragrant hay newly
stacked in the meadows beyond Blackheath. But
mamma must wear her faded silk, or have it dyed,
as the case may be ; and the children must forego
the promised happiness, the wild delight, of sunny
rambles on a sliingly beach, bordered by yellow
sands that stretch away to hug an ever chano-eful
and yet ever constant ocean in their tawny arms.
And not only mamma and the little ones, but
other mothers and other little ones, must help in
the heavy sum of penance for the defaulter's
iniquities. The baker may have calculated upon
p 2
212 AURORA FLOYD.
receiving that long-standing account, and may
have planned a new govm for his wife, and a
summer treat for his little ones, to be paid for by
the expected money ; and the honest tradesman,
soured by the disappointment of 'having to
disappoint those he loves, is likely to be cross
to them into the bargain ; and even to grudge her
Sunday out to the household drudge who waits at
his little table. The influence of the strong man's
evil deed slowly percolates tlu'ough insidious chan-
nels of which he never knows or dreams. The
deed of folly or of guilt does its fatal work when the
sinner who committed it has forgotten his wicked-
ness. Who shall say where or when the results
of one man's evil doing shall cease ? The seed of
sin engenders no common root, shooting straight
upwards through the earth, and bearing a given
crop. It is the germ of a foul running weed,
whose straggling suckers travel underground
beyond the ken of mortal eye, beyond t]ie power
of mortal calculation. If Louis XV. had been a
conscientious man, terror and murder, misery and
confusion, might never have reigned upon the dark-
ened face of beautiful France. If Eve had rejected
the fatal fruit we might all have been in Eden to-day.
STILL CONSTANT. 213
Mr. James Conyers, then, after the manner of
mankind, vented his spleen upon the only person
who came in his way, and was glad to be able to
despatch the " Softy " upon an unpleasant errand,
and make his attendant as uncomfortable as he was
himself.
" My head rocks as if I was on board a steam-
packet," he muttered, as he lay alone in his little
bedroom, "and my hand shakes so that I can't
hold my pipe steady while I fill it. I'm in a nice
state to have to talk to her. As if it wasn't as
much as I can do at the best of times to be a match
for her."
He flung aside his pipe half filled, and turned
liis head wearily upon the pillow. The hot sun
and the buzz of the insects tormented him. There
was a big bluebottle fly blundering and wheeling
about amongst the folds of the dimity bed-curtains ;
a fly which seemed the very genius of delirium
tremens ; but the trainer was too ill to do more
than swear at his purple-winged tormentor.
He was awakened from a half-doze by the treble
voice of a small stable-boy in the room below. He
called out angrily for the lad to come up and state
his business. His business was a message from Mr.
214: AUROEA FLOYD.
John Mellish, wlio wislied to see the trainer imme-
diately,
"Mr. Mellish," muttered James Conyers to him-
self. " Tell yonr master I'm too ill to stir, but
that I'll wait upon him in the evening," he said to
the boy. " You can see I'm ill, if you've got any
eyes, and you can say that you found me in bed."
The lad departed with these instructions, and
Mr. Conyers returned to his own thoughts, which
appeared to be by no means agi'eeable to him.
To drink spirituous liquors and play all-fours in
the sanded taproom of a sporting public is no
doubt a very delicious occupation, and would be
altogether Elysian and unobjectionable if one could
always be drinking spirits and playing all-fours.
But as the finest picture ever painted by Raphael
or Rubens is but a dead blank of canvas upon the
reverse, so there is generally a disagreeable other
side to all the pleasures of earth, and a certain re-
action after card-playing and brandy-drinking
which is more than equivalent in misery to the
pleasures which have preceded it. Mr. Conyers,
tossing his hot head from side to side upon a pillow
which seemed even hotter, took a very different
view of life to that which he had expounded to
STILL CONSTANT. 215
his boon companions only the night before in the
tap-room of the Lion and Lamb, Doncaster.
" I should liked to have stopped over the Leger,"
he muttered, " for I meant to make a hatful of
money out of the Conjuror ; for if what they say
at Kichmond is anything lilvc truth, he's safe to
win. But there's no going against my lady when
her mind's made up. It's take it or leave it yes
or no and be quick about it."
Mr. Conyers garnished his speech with two or
three expletives common enough amongst the men
with whom he had lived, but not to be recorded
here ; and, closing his eyes, fell into a doze ; a
half-waking, half-sleeping torpidity ; in which he
felt as if his head had become a ton-weight of iron,
and Avas dragging him backwards through the
pillow into a bottomless abyss.
While the trainer lay in this comfortless semi-
slumber Stephen Hargraves walked slowly and
sulkily through the wood on his way to the invi-
sible fence, from w^hich point he meant to recon-
noitre the premises.
The irregular faqade of the old house fronted
liim across the smooth breadth of lawn, dotted and
broken by particoloured flower-beds; by rustio
216 AUKORA FLOYD.
clumps of gnarled oak supporting mighty clusters
of vivid scarlet geraniums, all aflame in the sun-
shine ; by trellised arches laden with trailing roses
of every varying shade, from palest blush to deepest
crimson; by groups of evergreens, whose every
leaf was rich in beauty and luxuriance, whose every
tangled garland would have made a worthy chaplet
for a king.
The "Softy," in the semi-darkness of his soul, had
some glimmer of that light which was altogether
wanting in Mr. James Conyers. He felt that these
things were beautiful. The broken lines of the
ivy-covered house-front, Gothic here, Elizabethan
tliere, were in some manner pleasant to him. The
scattered rose-leaves on the lawn ; the flickering
shadows of the evergi-eens upon the grass ; the
song of a skylark too lazy to soar, and content to
warble among the bushes ; the rippling sound of a
tiny waterfall far away in the wood, made a lan-
guage of which he only understood a few strag-
gling syllables here and there, but which was not
altogether a meanmgless jargon to him, as it was
to the trainer ; to whose mind Holborn Hill would
have conveyed as much of the subHme as the un-
trodden pathways of the Jungfrau. The " Softy "
STILL CONSTANT. 217
dimly perceived that Mellish Park was beautiful,
and he felt a fiercer hatred against the person
whose influence had ejected him from his old
home.
The house fronted the south, and the Venetian
shutters were all closed upon this hot summer's
day. Stephen Hargraves looked for his old enemy
Bow-wow, who Avas likely enough to be lying on
the broad stone steps before the hall-door ; but
there was no sign of the dog's presence anywhere
about. The hall-door was closed, and the Vene-
tian shutters, under the rose and clematis shadowed
verandah which sheltered John Mellish's room,
were also closed. The " Softy " walked round by
the fence which encircled the lawn to another iron
gate which opened close to John's room, and which
was so completely overshadowed by a clump of
beeches as to form a safe point of observation.
This gate had been left ajar by I\Ir. Mellish him-
self, most likely, for that gentleman had a happy
knack of forgetting to shut the doors and gates
which he opened ; and the " Softy," taking courage
from the stillness round and about the house, ven-
tured into the garden, and crept stealthily towards
the closed shutters before the windows of Mr. Mel-
218 ArKOEA FLOYD.
lish's apartment, with much of the manner which
might distinguish some wretched mongrel cur who
trusts himself within ear-shot of a mastiffs kennel.
The mastiff was out of the way on this occasion,
for one of the shutters was ajar ; and when
Stephen Hargraves peeped cautiously into the
room, he was relieved to find it empty. John's
elbow-chair was pushed a little way from the
table, which was laden with open pistol-cases and
breech-loading revolvers. These, with two or
three silk handkerchiefs, a piece of chamois-
leather, and a bottle of oil, bore witness that Mr.
Mellish had been beguiling the morning in the
pleasing occupation of inspecting and cleaning
the fire-arms, wliich formed the chief ornament
of his study.
It was his habit to begin this operation with
great preparation, and altogether upon a gigantic
scale ; to reject all assistance with scorn ; to put
himself in a violent perspiration at the end of
half an hour, and to send one of the servants to
finish the business, and restore the room to its old
order.
The " Softy " looked with a covetous eye at the
noble array of guns and pistols. He had that
STILL COXSTANT. 219
innate love of these things which seems to be
implanted in every breast, wliatever its owner's
state or station. He had hoarded his money once
to buy himself a gun ; but when he had saved
the five-and-thirty shillings demanded by a certain
pa^vnbroker of Doncaster for an old-fiishioned
musket, which was almost as heavy as a small
cannon, his courage failed him, and he could not
bring himself to part with the precious coins,
whose very touch could send a shrill of rapture
through the slow current of his blood. No, he
could not surrender such a sum of money to the
Doncaster pawnbroker even for the possession of
his heart's desire ; and as the stern money-lender
refused to take payment in weekly instalments of
sixpences, Stephen was fain to go without the
gun, and to hope that some day or other Mr. John
Mellish would reward his services by the gift of
some disused fowling-piece by Forsythe or Manton.
But there was no hope of such happiness now.
A new dynasty reigned at Mellish, and a black-
eyed queen, who hated him, had forbidden him to
sully her domain with the traces of his shambling
foot. He felt that he was in momentary peril
upon the threshold of that sacred chamber, which.
220 AURORA FLOYD.
during liis long service at Mellisli Park, he had
always regarded as a very temple of the beautiful ;
but the sight of fire-arms upon the table had a
magnetic attraction for him, and he drew the
Venetian shutter a little way further ajar, and
slid himself in through the open window. Then,
flushed and trembling with excitement, he dropped
into John's chair, and began to handle the precious
implements of warfare upon pheasants and par-
tridges, and to turn them about in his big, clumsy
hands.
Delicious as the guns were, and delightful
though it was to draw one of the revolvers up
to his shoulder, and take aim at an imaginary
pheasant, the pistols were even still more attrac-
tive ; for with them he could not refrain from
taking imaginary aim at his enemies. Some-
times at James Conyers, who had snubbed and
abused him, and had made the bread of depend-
ence bitter to him ; very often at Aurora ; once
or twice at poor John Mellisli ; but always with a
darkness upon his pallid face which would have
promised little mercy, had the pistol been loaded
and the enemy near at hand.
There was one pistol, a small one, and an odd
STILL CONSTANT. 221
one apparently, for he could not find its fellow,
Avhicli took a peculiar hold upon his fancy. It
was as pretty as a lady's toy, and small enough
to he carried in a lady's pocket, but the hammer
snapped upon the nipple, when the " Softy " pulled
the trigger, with a sound that evidently meant
mischief.
" To think that such a little thing as this could
kill a big man like you," muttered Mr. Hargraves,
with a jerk of his head in the direction of the
north lodge.
He had this pistol still in his hand when the
door was suddenly opened, and Aurora Mellish
stood upon the threshold.
She spoke as she opened the door, almost before
she was in the room. '
"John, dear," she said, "Mrs. Powell wants to
know whether Colonel Maddison dines here to-day
with the Lofthouses."
She drew back with a shudder that shook her
from head to foot, as her eyes met the " Softy's "
liated face instead of John's familiar glance.
In spite of the fatigue and agitation which she
had endured within the last few days, she was
not looking ill. Her eyes were unnaturally
222 .AURORA FLOYD.
bright, and a feverish colour burned in her
cheeks. Her manner, always impetuous, was
restless and impatient to-day, as if her nature
had been charged with a terrible amount of
electricity, till she were likely at any moment
to explode in some tempest of anger or woe.
" You here !" she exclaimed.
The " Softy " in his embarrassment was at a loss
for an excuse for his presence. He pulled his
shabby hair-skin cap off, and twisted it round and
round in his great hands ; but he made no other
recognition of his late master's wife.
" Who sent you to this room ?" asked Mrs.
Mellish ; "I thought you had been forbidden this
place. The house at least," she added, her face
crimsoning indignantly as she spoke, "although
]\Ir. Conyers may choose to bring you to the north,
lodge. Who sent you here ?"
"Him," answered Mr. Hargi-aves, doggedly, with
another jerk of his head towards the trainer's abode.
" James Conyers ?"
"Yes."
" Wliat does he want here, then ?"
" He told me to come doA^n t' th' house, and
see if you and master 'd come back."
STILL CONSTANT. 223
"Then you can go and tell him that we have
come back," she said contemptuously ; " and that
if he'd waited a little longer he would have had
no occasion to send his spies after me."
The " Softy " crept towards the window, feeling
that his dismissal was contained in these Avords,
and looking rather suspiciously at the array of
driving and hunting whips over the mantel-piece.
Mrs. MelKsh might have a fancy for laying one of
these about his shoulders, if he happened to offend
her.
" Stop !" she said impetuously, as he had his
hand upon the shutter to push it open ; " since you
are here, you can take a message, or a scrap of
writing," she said contemptuously, as if she could
not bring herself to call any communication
between herself and Mr. Conyers a note, or a
letter. " Yes ; you can take a few lines to your
master. Stop there while I write."
She waved her hand with a gesture which ex-
pressed plainly, "Come no nearer; you are too
obnoxious to be endured except at a distance," and
seated herself at John's writing-table.
She scratched two lines with a quill-pen upon a
slip of paper, which she folded while the ink was
224 AURORA FLOYD.
still wet. She looked for an envelope amongst
her husband's littered paraphernalia of account-
hooks, bills, receipts, and price-lists, and finding
one after some little trouble, put the folded paper
into it, fastened the gummed flap with her lips, and
handed the missive to Mr. Hargraves, who had
watched her with hungry eyes, eager to fathom
this new stage in the mystery.
Was the two thousand pounds in that envelope ?
he thought. No; surely, such a sum of money
must be a huge pile of gold and silver, a moun-
tain of glittering coin. He had seen cheques
sometimes, and bank-notes, in the hands of Langley
the trainer, and he had wondered how it was that
money could be represented by those pitiful bits of
paper.
" I'd rayther hav't i' goold," he thought : " if
'twas mine, I'd have it all i' goold and silver."
He was very glad when he fomid himself safely
clear of the whips and Mrs. Jolm ]\Iellish, and as
soon as he reached the shelter of the thiclv foliage
upon the northern side of the Park, he set to work
to examine tlie packet which had been intrusted
to him.
Mrs. Mellish had liberally moistened the adhe-
STILL CONSTANT. 225
sive fliip of the envelope, as people are apt to do
when they are in a hurry; the consequence of
which carelessness was that the gum was still so
wet that Stephen Hargraves found no difficulty in
opening the envelope without tearing it. He
looked cautiously about him, convinced himself
that he was unobserved, and then drew out the
slip of paper. It contained very little to reward
him for his trouble, only these few words, scrawled
in Aurora's most careless hand :
" Be on tlie southern side of the wood, near the
turnstile, between half-past eight and nine."
The " Softy " grinned as he slowly made himself
master of this communication.
" It's oncommon hard WToitin', t' make out th'
shapes o' th' letters," he said, as he finished his
task. "Whoy can't gentlefolks wroit hke Ned
Tiller, oop at th' Eed Lion, printin' loike ? It's
easier to read, and a deal prettier to look at."
He refastened the envelope, pressing it down
with his dirty thumb to make it adhere once more,
and not much improving its appearance thereby.
" He's one of your rare careless chaps," he
muttered as he surveyed the letter; "Ag won't
stop t' examine if it's been opened before. What'
VOL. IL Q
226 AURORA FLOYD.
insoide were hardly worth th' trouble of openin' it ;
but perhaps it's as well to know it too."
Immediately after Stephen Hargraves had dis-
appeared through the open window Aurora tm*ned
to leave the room by the door, intending to go in
search of her husband.
She was arrested on the threshold by Mrs.
Powell, who was standing at the door, with the
submissive and deferential patience of paid com-
panionship depicted in her insipid face.
'^ Does Colonel Maddison dine here, my dear
Mrs. l^Iellish ?" she asked meekly ; yet with a
pensive earnestness wliich suggested that her life,
or at any rate her peace of mind, depended -upon
the answer. "I am so anxious to know, for of
course it will make a difference with the fish,
and perhaps we ought to have some mulliga-
tawny ; or at any rate a dish of curry amongst
the entrees ; for these elderly East-Indian officers
are so "
"I don't know," answered Am-ora, curtly.
"Were you standing at the door long before I
came out, Mrs. Powell ?"
" Oh, no," answered the ensign's widow, " not
long. Did you not hear me knock ?"
STILL CONSTANT. 227
Mrs. Powell would not have allowed herself to
be betrayed into anytliing so vulgar as an ab-
breviation by the torments of the rack ; and would
have neatly rounded her periods while the awful
wheel was stretching every muscle of her agonized
frame, and the executioner waiting to give the
coup de grace.
" Did you not hear me knock ?" she asked.
" No," said Aurora ; " you didn't knock ! Did
you ?"
Mrs. Mellish made an alarming pause between
the two sentences.
"Oh, yes, too-wice," answered Mrs. Powell,
with as much emphasis as was consistent with
gentility upon the elongated word ; " I knocked
too-wice ; but you seemed so very much pre-
occupied that "
" I didn't hear you," interrupted Aurora ; " you
should knock rather louder when you want people
to hear, Mrs. Powell. I I came here to look for
John, and I shall stop and put away his guns.
Careless fellow! he always leaves them"' lying
about."
" Shall I assist you, dear Mrs. Mellish ?"
" Oh, no, thank you."
Q 2
'228 AUIIOKA FLOYD.
" But pray allow me gmis are so interestiug.
Indeed, there is very little either in art or natiu-e
which, properly considered, is not "
"You had better find Mr. Mellish, and ascer-
tain if the colonel does dine here, I think, Mrs.
Powell," interrupted Aurora, shutting the lids of
the pistol-cases, and replacing them upon tlieir
accustomed shelves.
" Oh, if you wish to be alone, certainly," said the
ensign's widow, looking furtively at Aurora's face
bending over the breech-loading revolvers, and then
walking genteelly and noiselessly out of the room.
" Who was she talking to ?" thought IMrs.
Powell. "I could hear her voice, but not the
other person's. I suppose it was Mr. Mellish ; and
yet he is not generally so quiet."
She stopped to look out of a window in the
corridor, and found the solution of her doubts
in the shambling figure of the " Softy," making his
way northwards, creeping stealthily under shadow
of the plantation that bordered the lawn. IMrs.
Powell's faculties were all cultivated to a state
of unpleasant perfection, and she was able,
actually as well as figuratively, to see a gi-eat deal
farther than most people.
STILL CONSTANT. 229
John Mellish was not to be found in the house,
and on makmg inquiries of some of the servants,
Mrs. Powell learnt that he had strolled up to the
north lodge to see the trainer, who was confined to
his bed.
"Indeed!" said the ensign's widow; "then I
think, as we really ought to know about the
colonel and the mulligatawny, I will walk to the
north lodge myself, and see Mr. Mellish."
She took a sun-umbrella from the stand in the
hall, and crossed the lawn northwards at a smart
pace, in spite of the heat of the July noontide.
" If I can get there before Hargraves," she
thought, "I may be able to find out why h&
came to the house."
The ensign's widow did reach the lodge before
Stephen Hargraves, who stopped, as we know,
under shelter of the foliage in the loneliest path-
way of the wood, to decipher Aiu-ora's scrawl.
She found John IMellish seated with the tramer,
in the httle parlour of the lodge, discussing the
stable arrangement ; the master talking with con-
siderable animation, the servant listening with
a listless nonchalance which had a certain air of
depreciation, not to say contempt, for poor John's
230 AUKORA FLOYD.
racing stud, Mr. Conyers had risen from his
bed at the sound of his employer's voice in the
little room below, and had put on a dusty shoot-
ing-coat and a pair of shabby slippers, in order
to come down and hear Avhat Mr. MeUish had
to say.
" I'm sorry to hear you're ill, Conyers," John
said heartily, with a freslmess in his strong voice
which seemed to cany health and strength in
its very tone. "As you wern't well enough to
look in at the house, I thought I'd come over
here and talk to you about business. I want to
know whether we ought to take Monte Christo
out of his York engagement, and if you tliink it
would be wise to let Northern Dutchman take
his chance for the Great Ebor. Hey ?"
Mr. Mellish's query resounded through the
small room, and made the languid trainer shudder.
Mr. Conyers had all the peevish susceptibility
to discomfort or inconvenience which go to make
a man above his station. Is it a merit to be
above one's station, I wonder, that people make
such a boast of their unfitness for honest employ-
ments, and sturdy but progressive labom- ? The
flowers in the fables, that want to be trees, always
STILL CONSTANT. 231
get the worst of it, I remember. [Perhaps that
is because they can do nothing but complain.
There is no objection to their growing into trees,
if they can, I suppose ; but a great objection
to their being noisy and disagreeable because
they can't. With the son of the simple Corsican
advocate who made himself Emperor of France
the world had every sympathy ; but with poor
Louis Philippe, who ran away from a throne at
the first shock that disturbed its equilibrium,
I fear, very little. Is it quite right to be angry
with the world because it worships success? for
is not success, in some manner, the stamp of
divinity? Self-assertion may deceive the igno-
rant for a time ; but when the noise dies away,
we cut open the drum, and find that it was
emptiness that made the music. Mr. Conyers
contented himself with declaring that he walked
on a road which was unworthy of his footsteps ;
but as he never contrived to get an inch farther
upon the great highway of life, there is some
reason to suppose that he had his opinion entirely
to himself. Mr. Mellish and his trainer were
still discussing stable matters when Mrs. Powell
reached the north lodge. She stopped for a few
232 AUROKA FLOYD.
minutes in the rustic doorway, waiting for a
pause in the conversation. She was too well bred
to interrupt Mr. Mellish in his talk, and there
was a chance that she might hear something by-
lingering. No contrast could be stronger than
that presented by the two men. John, broad-
shouldered and stalwart ; his short crisp chestnut
hair brushed away from his square forehead ; his
bright open blue eyes beaming honest sunshine
upon all they looked at ; his loose gi'ay clothes
neat and well made ; his shirt in the first fresh-
ness of the morning's toilet ; everything about
him made beautiful by the easy gTace which
is the peculiar property of the man who has been
born a gentleman, and which neither all the
cheap finery which Mr. Moses can sell, nor all
the expensive absurdities which Mr. Tittlebat
Titmouse can buy, Avill ever bestow upon the
parvenu or the vulgarian. The trainer, hand-
somer than his master by as much as Antinous
in Grecian marble is handsomer than the sub-
stantially-shod and loose-coated young squires in
Mr. MUlais' designs; as handsome as it is possible
for tliis human clay to be, with every feature
moulded to the highest type of positive beauty^
STILL CONSTANT. 233
and yet, eveiy inch of liim, a boor. His shirt
soiled and crumpled, his hair rough and un-
combed ; his unshaven chin, dark with the blue
bristles of his budding beard, and smeared with
the traces of last night's liquor ; his dingy hands,
supporting this dingy chin, and his elbows burst-
ing half out of the frayed sleeves of his shabby
shooting-jacket, leaning on the table in an attitude
of indifferent insolence. His countenance ex-
pressive of nothing but dissatisfaction with his
own lot, and contempt for the opinions of other
people. All the homilies that could be preached
upon the time-worn theme of beauty and its
worthlessness, could never argue so strongly as
this mute evidence presented by Mr. Conyers
himself in his slouching posture and his unkempt
hair. Is beauty, then, so little, one aslvS, on
looking at the trainer and his employer ? Is
it better to be clean, and well dressed, and gentle-
manly, than to have a classical profile and a thrice-
worn shirt ?
Finding very little to interest her in John's
stable-talk, Mrs. Powell made her presence known,
and once more asked the all-important question
about Colonel Maddison.
234 AURORA FLOYD.
" Yes," John answered ; " the old boy is sure
to come. Let's have plenty of chiitnee, and boiled
rice, and preserved ginger, and all the rest of the
unpleasant things that Indian officers live upon.
Have you seen Lolly ?"
Mr. Mellish put on his hat, gave a last instruc-
tion to the trainer, and left the cottage.
" Have you seen Lolly ?" he asked again.
" Ye-es," replied Mrs. Powell ; " I have only
lately left Mrs. Mellish in your room ; she had
been speaking to that half-witted person Har-
graves, I think he is caUed."
" Speaking to him .^" cried John ; " speaking to
him in my room ? Why, the fellow is forbidden
to cross the threshold of the house, and Mrs.
Mellish abominates the sight of him. Don't you
remember the day he flogged her dog, you know,
and Lolly horse had hysterics ?" added Mr.
Mellish, choking himself with one word and sub-
stituting another.
"Oh, yes, I remember that little ahem I
unfortunate occurrence perfectly," replied Mrs.
Powell, in a tone which, in spite of its amiability,
implied that Aurora's escapade was not a thing to
be easily forgotten.
STILL CONSTANT. 235
" Then it's not likely, you know, that Lolly
would talk to the man. You must be mistaken,
Mrs. Powell."
The ensign's widow simpered and lifted her
eyebrows, gently shaking her head, with a ges-
ture that seemed to say, " Did you ever find me
mistaken ?"
" No, no, my dear Mr. Mellish," she said, with
a half-playfid air of conviction, " there was no
mistake on my part. Mrs. Mellish was talking to
the half-witted person ; but you know the person
is a sort of servant to Mr. Conyers, and Mrs.
Mellish may have had a message for Mr. Conyers."
" A message for him /" roared John, stopping
suddenly and planting his stick upon the ground
in a movement of unconcealed passion ; " what
messages should she have for Jmn ? Why should
she want people fetching and carrying between
her and him ?"
Mrs. Powell's pale eyes lit up with a faint
yellow flame in then- greenish pupils as John
broke out thus. " It is coming it is coming it
is coming !" her envious heart cried, and she felt
that a faint flush of triumph was gathering in her
sickly cheeks.
236 AURORA FLOYD.
But in another moment John Mellish recovered
his self-command. He was angry with himself for
that transient passion. " Am I going to doubt her
again ?" he thought. *' Do I know so little of the
nobility of her generous soul that I am ready to
listen to every whisper, and terrify myself with
every look ?"
They had walked about a hundred yards away
from the lodge by this time. John turned irreso-
lutely, as if half inclined to go back.
" A message for Conyers," he said to Mrs.
Powell ; " ay, ay, to be sure. It's likely enough
she might waut to send him a message, for she's
cleverer at all the stable business than I am. It
was she who told me not to enter Cherry-stone for
the Chester Cup, and, egad ! I was obstinate, and
I was licked ; as I deserved to be, for not listening
to my dear girl."
Mrs. Powell would fain have boxed John's ear,
had she been tall enough to reach that organ.
Infatuated fool ! would he never open his dull
eyes and see the ruin that was preparing for
him ?
" You are a good husband, Mr. Mellish," she
said with a gentle melancholy. " Your wife ovglit
\
STILL CONSTANT. 237
to Le liappy !" she added, with a sigh which phiiiily
hinted that Mrs. Melhsh was miserable.
" A good husband !" cried John, " not half good
enougli for her. What can I do to prove that I
love her ? What can I do ? Nothing, except to
let her have her own Avay ; and wliat a little that
seems ! Why, if she wanted to set that house on
fire, for tlie pleasure of making a bonfire," he
added, pointing to the rambling mansion in which
his blue eyes had first seen the light, " I'd let her
do it, and look on with her at the blaze."
"Are you going back to the lodge?" Mrs.
Powell asked quietly, not taking any notice of
this outbreak of marital enthusiasm.
They had retraced their steps, and were within
a few paces of the little garden before the north
lodge.
" Going back?" said John ; " no yes."
Between his utterance of the negative and the
affirmative he had looked up, and seen Stephen
Hargraves entering the little garden-gate. The
" Softy " had come by the short cut through the
wood. John JMellish quickened his pace, and
followed Steeve Hargraves across the little garden
to the threshold of the door. At the threshold he
238 AURORA FLOYD.
paused. The rustic porch was thickly screened by
the spreading branches of the roses and honey-
suckle, and John was unseen by those within.
He did not himself deliberately listen ; he only
waited for a few moments, wondering what to do
next. In those few moments of indecision he
heard the trainer speak to his attendant.
" Did you see her ?" he asked.
"Ay, sure, I see her."
" And she gave you a message ?"
" No, she gave me this here."
" A letter ?" cried the trainer's eager voice ;
"give it me."
John Mellish heard the tearing of the envelope
and the crackling of the crisp paper ; and knew
that his wife had been writing to his servant.
He clenched his strong right hand until the nails
dug into the muscular palm ; then turning to
Mrs. Powell, who stood close behind him, simper-
ing meekly, as she would have simpered at an
earthquake, or a revolution, or any other national
calamity not peculiarly affecting herself, he said
quietly
"Whatever directions Mrs. Mellish has given
are sure to be rig-ht ; I won't interfere with them."
STILL CONSTANT. 239
He walked away from the north lodge as he spoke,
looking straight before him, homewards ; as if the
unchanging lode-star of his honest heart were
beckoning to him across the dreary Slough of
Despond, and bidding him take comfort.
" Mrs. Powell," he said, turning rather sharply
upon the ensign's widow, " I should be very sorry
to say an)i;hing likely to offend you, in your
character of of a guest beneath my roof; but I
shall take it as a favour to myself if you -will be so
good as to remember, that I require no informa-
tion respecting my mfe's movements from you, or
from any one. Whatever Mrs. Mellish does, she
does with my full consent, my perfect apjDrobation.
Csssar's wife must not be suspected, and by Jove,
ma'am ! you'll pardon the expression, John
Mellish's wife must not be watched."
'" Watched ! information !" exclaimed Mrs.
Powell, lifting her 'pale eyebrows to the extreme
limits allowed by nature. " My dear Mr. Mellish,
when I really only casually remarked, in reply to
a question of your own, that I beheved Mrs.
MelHsh had "
"Oh, yes," answered John, "I understand.
There are several ways by which you can go to
240 AURORA FLOYD.
Doncastcr from this house. You can go across
the fields, or round by Harper's Common, an out-
of-the-way, roundabout route, but you get there
all the same, you know, ma'am. I generally
prefer the high road. It mayn't be the shortest
way, perhaps ; but it's certainly the straightest."
The corners of Mrs. Powell's thin lower lip
dropped, perhaps the eighth of an inch, as John
made these observations; but she very quickly
recovered her habitually genteel simper, and told
Mr. Mellish that he really had such a di-oll way of
expressing himself as to make his meaning scarcely
so'clear as could be wished.
But John had said all that he wanted to say,
and walked steadily onwards; looking always
towards that quarter in which the pole-star might
be supposed to shine, guiding him back to his
home.
That home so soon to be desolate ! with such
ruin brooding above it as in his darkest doubts, his
wildest fears, he had never shadowed forth !
241
CHAPTER X.
ON THE THRESHOLD OF DARKER MISERIES.
John went straight to his own apartment to look
for his wife ; but he found the guns put back in
their usual places, and the room empty. Aurora's
maid, a smartly dressed girl, came tripping out of
the servants' hall, where the rattling of knives and
forks announced that a very substantial dinner was
being done substantial justice to, to answer John's
eager inquu-ies. She told him that Mrs. Mellish
had complained of a headache, and had gone to
her room to lie down. John went up-stairs, and
crept cautiously along the carpeted corridor, fear-
ful of every footfall which might break the repose
of his wife. The door of her dressiDg-room was
ajar : he pushed it softly open, and went in.
Aurora was lying upon the sofa, wrapped in a loose
white dressing-gown, her masses of ebon hair un-
coiled and falling about her shoulders in serpentine
VOL. II. R
242 ' AURORA FLOYD.
tresses, that looked like sliiuiug blue-black snakes
released from poor Medusa's Lead to make their
escape amid the folds of her garments. Heaven
knows what a stranger sleep may have been for
many a night to Mrs. Mellish's pillow ; but she
had fallen into a heavy slumber on this hot
summer's day. Her cheeks were flushed with a
feverish crimson, and one small hand lay under
her head twisted in the tangled masses of her
glorious hair.
John bent over her with a tender smile,
" Poor girl !" he thought ; " thank God that she
can sleep, in spite of the miserable secrets which
have come between us. Talbot Bulstrode left her
because he could not bear the agony that I am
suffering now. What cause had he to doubt her ?
What cause compared to that Avhich I have had a
fortnight ago the other night this morning ?
And yet and yet I trust her, and will trust her,
please God, to the very end."
He seated himself in a low easy-chair close
beside the sofa upon which his sleeping wife lay,
and resting his head upon his arm, watched her,
thought of her, perhaps prayed for her ; and after a
little while fell asleep himself, snoring in bass har-
ON THE THRESHOLD OF DARKER MISERIES. 243
niony with Aurora's regular Lreatliing. He slept
aiifl snored, tliis horrible man, in the hour of his
trouble, and behaved himself altogether in a
manner most unbecoming in a hero. But then he
is not a hero. He is stout and strongly built, with
a iine broad chest, and unromantically robust
health. There is more chance of liis dying of
apoplexy than of fading gracefully in a decline,
or breaking a blood-vessel in a moment of intense
emotion. He sleeps calmly, with the warm July
ah' iloating in upon him from the open window,
and comforting him with its balmy breath, and he
fully enjoys that rest of body and mind. Yet even
in his tranquil slumber there is a vague something,
some lingering shadow of the bitter memories
which sleep has put away from him, that iills his
breast with a dull pain, an oppressive heaviness,
which cannot be shaken off. He slept until
half a dozen different clocks in the rambling old
house had come to one conclusion, and declared it
to be five in the afternoon ; and he awoke with a
start to find his wife watcldng him. Heaven knows
how intently, with her black eyes filled with
solemn thought, and a strange earnestness in her
face.
r2
244 AURORA FLOYD.
" My poor John !" she said, bending her beau-
tiful head and resting her burning forehead upon
his hand ; " hoAV tired you must have been, to sleep
so soundly in the middle of the day ! I have
been awake for nearly an hour, watching you "
" Watching me, Lolly ! why ?"
" And thinking how good you are to me. Oh,
John, John ! what can I ever do what can I ever
do to atone to you for all "
" Be happy, Aurora," he said huskily, '^ be
happy, and and send that man aM'ay."
*'I wOl, John; he shall go soon, dear, to-
night !"
" What ! then that letter was to dismiss him ?"
asked Mr. Mellish.
" You know that I wrote to him ?"
" Yes, darling, it was to dismiss him, say that
it was so, Aurora. Pay him what money you like
to keep the secret that he discovered, but send him
away, Lolly, send him away. The sight of liim is
hateful to me. Dismiss him, Aurora, or I must do
so myself."
lie rose in his passionate excitement, but Aurora
laid her hand softly upon his arm.
" Leave all to me," she said quietly. " Believe
ON THE THRESHOLD OF DARKER MISEKIE3. 245
me that I will act for tlie best. For the best, at
least, if you couldn't bear to lose me ; and you
couldn't bear that, could you, John ?"
" Lose you ! My God, Aurora ! wliy do you say
such things to me ? I tvouldnt lose you. Do you
hear, Lolly ? I wouldn't. I'd follow you to the
farthest end of the universe, and Heaven take pity
upon tliose that came between us !"
His set teeth, the fierce light in liis eyes, and
the iron rigidity of liis mouth, gave an emphasis to
his words which my pen could never give if I used
every epithet in the Enghsh language.
Aurora rose from her sofa, and twisting her hail'
into a thickly-rolled mass at the back of her head,
seated herself near the window, and pushed back
the Venetian shutter.
"These people dine here to-day, John?" she
asked listlessly.
" The Lofthouses and Colonel Maddison ? Yes,
my darling ; and it's ever so much past five. Shall
1 ring for yom- afternoon cup of tea ?"
"Yes, dear; and take some with me, if you
will."
I'm afraid that in his inmost heart Mr. Melhsh
did not cherish any very great affection for the
246 AUKORA FLOYD.
decoctions of bohca and gunpowder witli -which his
wife dosed him ; but he would have dined upon
cod-liver oil had she served the banquet ; and he
strung his nerves to their extreme tension at her
supreme pleasure, and affected to highly relish the
post-meridian dishes of tea which his wife poured
out for him in the sacred seclusion of her dressing-
room.
Mrs. Powell heard the comfortable sound of the
chinking of the thin egg-shell china and the rattling
of the spoons, as she passed the half-open door on
her way to her own apartment, and was mutely
furious as she thought that love and harmony
reigned within the chamber where the husband and
wife sat at tea.
Aurora went down to the drawing-room an hour
after this, gorgeous in maize-colom-ed silk and
voluminous flouncings of black lace, with her hair
plaited in a diadem upon her head, and fastened
with three diamond stars which John had bought
for her in the I\ue de la Paix, and which were
cunningly fixed upon wire springs, which caused
them to vibrate with every chance movement of
her beautiful head. You will say, perhaps, that
she was arrayed too gaudily for the reception of
' ON THE THRESHOLD OF DARKER MISERIES. 247
an old Indian officer and a country clergyman and
his Mdfe ; but if she loved handsome dresses better
than simpler attire, it was from no taste for display,
but rather from an innate love of splendour and
expenditure, which was a part of her exjiansive
natm-e. She had always been taught to think of
herself as Miss Floyd, the banker's daughter, and
she had been taught also to spend money as a
duty -which she owed to society.
Mrs. Lofthouse was a pretty little woman, with a
pale face and hazel eyes. She was the youngest
daughter of Colonel Maddison, and was, " By bhth,
you know, my dear, far superior to poor Mrs. Mellish,
who, in spite of her wealth, is only," &c, &c. &c.,
as Margaret Lofthouse remarked to her female
acquaintance. She could not very easily forget
that her father was the younger brother of a baronet,
and had distinguished himself in some terrific
manner by bloodthirsty demolition of Sikhs, far
away in the uutractable East ; and she thought it
rather hard that Aurora should possess such cruel
advantages through some pettifogging commercial
genius on the part of her Glasgow ancestors.
But as it was impossible for honest people to
know Aurora without loving her, Mrs. Lofthouse
2-18 AUnOUA FLOYD.
heartily forgave her her fifty thousand pounds, and
declared lier to be the dearest darling in the wide
world ; wliile Mrs. Mellish freely returned her
friendliness, and caressed the little woman as she
had caressed Lucy Bulstrode, with a superb yet
affectionate condescension, such as Cleopatra may
have had for her handmaidens.
The dinner went off pleasantly enough. Colonel
Maddison attacked the side-dishes specially pro-
vided for him, and praised the Mellish-Park cook.
Mr, Lofthouse explained to Aurora the plan of a
new schoolhouse which she intended to build for
the improvement of John's native parish. She
listened patiently to the rather wearisome details,
in which a bakehouse and a washhouse and a Tudor
chimney seemed the leading features. She had
heard so much of this before ; for there was scarcely
a church, or a hospital, or a model lodging-house, or
a refuge for any misery or destitution whatever,
that had been lately elevated to adorn this earth,
for which the banker's daughter had not helped to
pay. But her heart was wide enough for them all,
and she was always glad to hear of the bakehouse
and washhouse and the Tudor chimney all over
again. If she was a little less interested upon this
ON' THE TIIIiESHOLD OF DARKEU MISERIES. 249
occasion than usnal, Mr. Loftliouse did not observe
her inattention, for in the simjole earnestness of
his own mind, he tliought it scarcely possible that
the schoolhouse topic could fail to be interest-
ing. Nothing is so difficult as to make people
imderstand that you don't care for what they
themselves especially affect. John Mellish could
not believe that the entries for the Great Ebor
were not interesting to Mr. Lofthouse, and the
country clergyman was fully convinced that the
details of his philanthropic schemes for the regene-
ration of his parish could not be otherwise than
delightful to his host. But the master of Mellish
Park Avas very silent, and sat with his glass in his
hand, looking across the dinner-table and Mrs.
Lofthouse's head, at the sunlit tree-tops between
the lawn and the north lodge. Aurora, from her
end of the table, saw that gloomy glance, and a
resolute shadow darkened her face, expressive of
the strengthening of some rooted purpose deep
hidden in her heart. She sat so long at dessert,
with her eyes fixed upon an apricot in her plate,
and the shadow upon her face deepening every
moment, that poor Mrs. Lofthouse was in utter
despair of getting the significant look which was
250 AURORA FLOYD.
to release her from the bondage of hearing her
father's stories of tiger-shooting and pig-sticking
for the two or three hundredth time. Perhaps
she never would have got tliat feminine signal, had
not Mrs. Powell, with a significant " hem !" made
some observation about the sinkins' sun.
The ensign's widow was one of those people
who declare that there is a perceptible difference
in the length of the days upon the twenty-third or
twenty-fourth of June, and who go on announcing
the same fact until the long winter evenings come
with the twenty-first of December, and it is time
for them to declare the converse of their late pro-
position. It was some remark of this kind that
aroused Mrs. Mellish from her reverie, and caused
her to start up suddenly, quite forgetful of the
conventional simpering beck to her guest.
" Past eight !" she said ; " no, it's surely not so
late ?"
"Yes, it is, Lolly," John Mellish answered,
looking at his watch ; " a quarter past."
" Indeed ! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Lofthouse ;
shall we go into the drawing-room ?"
" Yes, dear, do," said the clergyman's wife,
" and let's have a nice chat. Papa will drink too
ox THE THRESHOLD OF DARKER MISERIES. 251
mueli claret if lie tells tlie pig-sticking stories,"
she added in a confidential whisper. " Ask your
dear, kind husband not to let him have too much
claret ; because he's sure to suffer with his liver
to-morrow, and say that Lofthouse ouglit to have
restrained him. He always says that it's poor
Eeginald's fault for not restraining him."
John looked anxiously after his wife, as he
stood with the door in his hand, while the thi*ee
ladies crossed the hall. He bit his lip as he
noticed Mrs. Powell's unpleasantly-precise figure
close to Aurora's shoulder.
" I think I spoke pretty plainly, though, this
morning," he thought, as he closed the door and
returned to his friends.
A quarter-past eight ; twenty minutes past ;
five-and-twenty minutes past. Mrs. Lofthouse was
rather a brilliant pianist, and was never happier
than when interpreting Thalberg and Benedict
upon her friends' Collard-and-Collards. There
were old-fashioned people round Doncaster who
believed in Collard and CoUard, and were thankful
for the melody to be got out of a good honest
grand, in a solid rosewood case, unadorned witli
carved glorification, or ormolu fret-work. At
252 AUUOUA FLOYD.
seven -and -twenty minutes past eight Mrs. Loft-
liouse was seated at Aurora's piano, in the first
agonies of a prelude in six flats ; a prelude which
demanded such extraordinary uses of the left hand
across the right, and the right over the left, and
such exercise of the thumbs in all sorts of positions,
in which, according to all orthodox theories of
the pre-Thalberg-ite school, no pianist's thumbs
should ever be used, that Mrs. Mellish felt that
her friend's attention was not very likely to
wander from the keys.
Within the long, low-roofed drawing-room at
Mellish Park there was a snug little apartment,
hung with innocent rosebud-sprinkled chintzes,
and furnished with maple-wood chairs and tables.
Mrs. Lofthouse had not been seated at the piano
more than five minutes when Aurora strolled from
the di"awing-room to this inner chamber, leaving
her guest with no audience but Mrs. Powell. She
lingered for a moment on the threshold to look
back at the ensign's widow, who sat near the piano
in an attitude of rapt attention.
" She is watching me," thought Aurora, " though
her pink eyelids are drooping over her eyes, and
she seems to be looking at the border of her pocket-
ON THE THRESHOLD OF DARKER MISERIES. 253
handkerchief. She sees me with her chin or her
nose, perhaps. How do I know ? She is all
eyes ! Bah ! am I going to be afraid of her, when
I was never afraid of him ? What should I fear
except " (her head changed from its defiant atti-
tude to a drooping posture, and a sad smile curved
her crimson lips) " except to make you unhappy,
my dear, my hisband. Yes," with a sudden lifting
of her head, and re-assumption of its proud defiance,
" my own true husband ! the husband who has
kept his marriage-vow as unpolluted as when first
it issued from his lips !"
I am writing what she thought, remember, not
what she said ; for she was not in the habit of
thinking aloud, nor did I ever know anybody who
was.
Aurora took up a shawl that she had flung upon
the sofa, and threw it lightly over her head,
veiling herself with a cloud of black lace, tln-ough
which the restless, shivering diamonds shone out
like stars in a midnight sky. She looked like
Hecate, as she stood on the threshold of the French
window lingering for a moment with a deep-laid
purpose in her heart, and a resolute light in her
eyes. The clock in the steeple of the village-
254 AUKORA FLOYD.
cliurch struck the three-quarters after eight while
slie lingered for those few moments. As the last
chime died away in the summer air, she looked up
darkly at the evening sky, and walked with a rapid
footstep out upon the lawn towards the southern
end of the wood that bordered the Park.
255
CHAPTEE XI.
captain pkodder careies bad news to his
niece's house.
While Aurora stood upon the tliresliold of the
open window, a man was lingering upon the broad
stone steps before the door of the entrance hall,
remonstrating with one of John Mellish's servants,
who held supercilious parley with the intruder, and
kept him at arm's length with the contemptuous
indifference of a well-bred servant.
Tliis stranger was Captain Samuel Prodder, who
had arrived at Doucaster late m the afternoon, had
dined at the Reindeer, and had come over to
Mellish Park in a gig driven by a hanger-on of
that establishment. The gig and the hanger-on
were both in waiting at the bottom of the steps ;
and if there had been anything wanting to turn
the balance of the footman's contempt for Captain
Prodder's blue coat, loose shirt-collar, and silver
256 AURORA FLOYD.
watch chain, the gig from the Reindeer would
have done it.
" Yes, Mrs. Mellish is at home," the gentleman
in plush replied, after surveying the sea-captain
with a leisurely and critical air, wliich was rather
provoking to poor Samuel ; " but she's engaged."
"But perhaps she'll put off her engagements for
a bit when she hears who it is as wants to see her,"
answered the captain, diving into his capacious
pocket. " She'll tell a different story, I dare say,
when you take her that bit of pasteboard."
He handed the man a card, or rather let me
say a stiff square of thick pasteboard, inscribed
with his name, so disguised by the floiu-ishing
caprices of the engraver as to be not very easily
deciphered by unaccustomed eyes. The card
bore Captain Prodder's address as well as his
name, and informed his acquaintances that he
was part-owner of the Nancy Jane, and that all
consignments of goods were to be made to him
at &c. &c.
The footman took the document between his
thumb and finger, and examined it as minutely as
if it had been some relic of the middle ages. A
new light dawned upon him as he deciphered the
CAPTAIN TRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS, 257
information about the Nancy Jane, and lie looked
at the captain for the first time with some ap-
proach to human interest in his countenance.
"Is it cigars you want to dispose hof?" he
ashed, " or bandannas ? If it's cigars, you might
come round to our 'all, and show us the harticle."
" Cigars !" roared Samuel Prodder. " Do you
take me for a smuggler, you ?" Here followed
one of those hearty seafarmg epithets with which
polite Mr. Chucks was apt to finish his speeches.
" I'm your missus's own uncle ; leastways, I I
knew her mother when she was a little gal," he
added, in considerable confusion ; for he remem-
bered how far away his sea-captainship thrust him
from ]\Irs. Mellish and her well-born husband ;
" so just take her my card, and look sharp about
it, will you ?"
" We've a dinner-party," the footman said,
coldly, " and I don't know if the ladies have re-
turned to the drawing-room ; but if you're any-
w^ays related to missis I'll go and see."
The man strolled leisurely away, leaving poor
Samuel biting liis nails in mute vexation at having
let slip that ugly fact of her relationship,
'' That swab in the same cut coat as Lord
VOL. II. s
258 AURORA FLOYD.
Nelson wore aboard the Victory, will look down
upon her now he knows she's niece to a old sea-
captain that carries dry goods on commission, and
can't keep his tongue between his teeth," he
thought.
The footman came back while Samuel Prodder
was upbraiding himself for his folly, and informed
him that Mrs. Mellish was not to be found in the
house.
" Who's that playin' upon the pianer, then ?"
asked Mr. Prodder, with sceptical bluntness.
" Oh, that's the clugyman's wife," answered the
man, contemptuously ; " a cidd^vong guvness, I
should think, for she plays too well for a real
lady. Missus don't ]ilay leastways only pawlkers,
and that sort of think. Good night."
He closed the two half-glass doors upon Cap-
tain Prodder without further ceremony, and shut
Samuel out of his niece's house.
" To think that I played hopscotch and swopped
marbles for hardbake with this gal's mother,"
thought the captain, " and that her servant turns
up his nose at me and shuts the door in my face !"
It was in sorrow rather than in anger that the
disappointed sailor thought this. He had scarcely
CAPTAIN PKODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 259
hoped for anything better. It was only natural
that those about his niece should flout at and
contemptuously treat him. Let him get to lier
let him come only for a moment face to face
with Eliza's child, and he did not fear the issue.
" I'll Avalk tln-ough the Park," he said to the
man who had driven him from Doncaster ; " it's
a nice evenin', and there's pleasant walks under
the trees to win'ard. You can drive back into the
high road, and wait for me agen that 'ere turnstile
I took notice of as we come along,"
The driver nodded, smacked his whip, and
drove his elderly gray pony towards the Park-
gates. Captain Samuel Prodder went, slowly and
deliberately enough, the way that it was ap-
pointed for him to go. The Park was a strange
territory to him ; but while diiving past the outer
boundaries he had looked admiringly at chance
openings in the wood, revealing grassy amphi-
theatres enriched by spreading oaks, whose branches
made a shadowy tracery upon the sunlit turf.
He had looked with a seaman's wonder at the
inland beauties of the quiet domain, and had
jiondered whether it might not be a pleasant
thing for an old sailor to end his days amid such
s 2
260 AURORA FLOYD.
monotonous woodland tranquillity, far away from
the sound of wreck and tempest, and the mighty
voices of the dreadful deep; and, in his disap-
pointment at not seeing Aurora, it was some con-
solation to the captain to walk across the dewy
grass in the evening shadows in the direction
where, with a sailor's unerring topographical in-
stinct, he knew the turnstile must be situated.
Perhaps he had some hope of meeting his niece
in the pathway across the Park. The man had
told him that she was out. She could not be far
away, as there was a dinner-party at the house ;
and she was scarcely likely to leave her guests.
She was wandering about the Park, most likely,
^vith some of them.
The shadows of the trees grew darker upou the
gi-ass as Captain Prodder drew nearer to the
wood ; but it was that sweet summer-time in
which there is scarcely one positively dark hour
amongst the twenty-four; and though the village-
clock chimed the half-hour after nine as the sailor
entered the wood, he was able to distinguish the
outlines of two figures advancing towards him
from the other end of the long arcade, that led in
a slanting direction to the turnstile.
CAITAIN PKODDER CARRIES BAD KEWS. 261
The figures Avere those of a man and woman ;
the woman wearing some light-coloured dress,
which shimmered in the dusk ; the man leaning
on a stick, and obviously very lame.
" Is it my niece and one of her visitors ?" thought
the captain ; " maybe it is. I'll lay by to port of
'em, and let 'em pass me."
Samuel Prodder stepped aside under the shadow
of the trees to the left of the grassy avenue
through which the two figures were approaching,
and waited patiently until they drew near enough
for him to distinguish the woman's face. The
woman was Mrs. Mellish, and she Avas walking on
the left of the man, and was therefore nearest to
the captain. Her head was turned away from her
companion, as if in utter scorn and defiance of
him, although she was talking to him at that
moment. Her face, proud, pale, and disdainful,
was visible to the seaman in the chill, shadowy
light of the newly-risen moon. A low line of
crimson behind the black trunks of a distant
group of trees marked Avhere the sun had left its
last track, in a vivid streak that looked like
blood.
Captain Prodder gazed in loving wonder at the
262 AURORA FLOYD.
beautiful face turned towards him. He saw tlie
dark eyes, with their sombre depth, dark in anger
and scorn, and the luminous shimmer of the jewels
that shone through the black veil upon her
haughty head. He saw her, and his heart grew
chill at the sight of her pale beauty in the myste-
rious moonlight.
" It might be my sister's ghost," he thought,
'' coming upon me in this quiet jjlace ; it's a'most
difficult to believe as it's flesh and blood."
He would have advanced, perhaps, and addressed
his niece, had he not been held back by the words
which she was speaking as she passed him
words that jarred painfully upon his heart, telling,
as they did, of anger and bitterness, discord and
misery.
" Yes, hate you !" she said in a clear voice,
which seemed to vibrate sharply in the dusk,
" hate you ! hate you ! hate you !" She repeated
the hard phrase, as if there were some pleasure
and delight in uttermg it, which in her ungovern-
able anger she could not deny herself. "What
other words do you expect from me ?" she cried,
with a low mocking laugh, which had a tone of
deeper misery, and more utter hopelessness than
CAPTAIN PRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 263
finy outbreak of womanly Aveeping. " Would you
have me love you? or respect you? or tolerate
you ?" Her voice rose with each rapid question,
merging into an hysterical sob, but never melting
into tears. " Would you have me tell you any-
thing else than what I tell you to-night ? I hate
and abhor you ! I look ujion you as the primary
cause of every sorrow I have ever known, of every
tear I have ever shed, of every humiliation I
have endured ; every sleepless night, every weary
day, every despairing'!^hour, I have ever passed.
More than this, yes, a thousand, thousand times
more, I look upon you as the first cause of my
father's -wTctchedness. Yes, even before my own
mad folly in believing in you, and thinking you
what ? Claude Melnotte, perhaps ! a cm-se
upon the man who wrote the play, and the player
who acted in it, if it helped to make me what I
was when I met you ! I say again, I hate you !
your presence poisons my home, your abhorred
shadow haunts my sleep no, not my sleep, for how
should I ever sleep knowing tliat you are near ?"
Mr. Conyers, being apparently weary of walking,
leaned against the trunk of a tree to listen to the
end of this outbreak, looking insolent defiance at
264 AURORA FLOYD.
tlie speaker. But Aurora's passion had reached
that point in which all consciousness of external
things passes away in the complete egoism of
anger and hate. She did not see his superciliously
indifferent look; her dilated eyes stared straight
before her into the dark recess from which Captain
Prodder watched his sister's only child. Her
restless hands rent the fragile border of her shawl
in the strong agony of her passion. Have you
ever seen this kind of woman in a passion ? Im-
pulsive, nervous, sensitive, sanguine ; with such
a one passion is a madness brief, thank Heaven !
and expending itself in sharply cruel words, and
convulsive rendings of lace and ribbon, or coroner's
juries might have to sit even oftenei- than they do.
It is fortunate for mankind that speaking daggers
is often quite as great a satisfaction to us as using
them, and that we can threaten very cruel things
without meaning to carry them out. Like the
little children who say, " Won't I just tell your
mother !" and the terrible editors who write,
" Won't I give you a castigation in the Market-
Deeping ' Spirit of the Times,' or the ' Walton-on-
the-Naze Athenaeum !' "
*' If you are going to give us much more of this
CAPTAIN PRODDEU CARRIES BAD NEWS. 265
sort of thing," said Mr. Conyers, with aggravating
stolidity, " perhaps you won't object to my light-
ing a cigar ?"
Aurora took no notice of his quiet insolence ;
but Captain Prodder, involuntarily clenching his
list, bounded a step forward in his retreat, and
shook the leaves of the underwood about his legs.
" What's that ?" exclaimed the trainer.
" My dog, perhaps," answered Aurora ; " he's
about here with me."
*' Curse the purblind cur!" muttered Mr. Conyers,
with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. He struck
a lucifer-match against the back of a tree, and the
vivid sulphurous light shone full upon his hand-
some face.
" A rascal !" thought Captain Prodder ; " a
good-looking, heartless scoundrel ! What's this
between my niece and him ? He isn't her husband,
surely, for he don't look Hke a gentleman. But
if he aint her husband, who is he ?"
The sailor scratched his head in his bewilderment.
His senses had been almost stupefied by Aurora's
passionate talk, and he had only a confused feel-
ing that there was trouble and wretchedness of
some kind or other aromid and about his niece.
266 AURORA FLOYD.
"If I tlioiigiit he'd done anything to injure
her," he muttered, " I'd pound him into such a jeUy
that his friends would never know his handsome
face again as long as there was life in his carcass."
Mr. Conyers threw away the burning match,
and puffed at his newly-lighted cigar. He did
not trouble himself to take it from his lips as he
addressed Aurora, but spoke between his teeth,
and smoked in the pauses of his discom-se.
" Perhaps, if you've calmed yourself down a
bit," he said, " you'll be so good as to come to
business. What do you want me to do ?"
" You know as well as I do," answered Aurora.
" You want me to leave this place ?"
" Yes ; for ever."
" And to take what you give me and be satis-
fied."
"Yes."
"What if I refuse?"
She turned sharply upon him as he asked this
question, and looked at him for a few moments in
silence.
" What if I refuse ?" he repeated, still smoking.
"Look to yourself!" she cried, between her set
teeth; " that's aU. Look to yourself !"
CAPTAIN PRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 2G7
" What ! you'd kill me, I suppose ?"
"No," answered Aurora; "but I'd tell all;
and get the release which I ought to have sought
for two years ago."
"Oh, ah, to be sure!" said Mr. Conyers; "a
pleasant thing for Mr. Mellish, and our poor papa,
and a nice bit of gossip for the newspapers ! I've
a good mind to put you to the test, and see if
you've pluck enough to do it, my lady."
She stamped her foot upon the turf, and tore
the lace in her hands, throwing the fragments
away from her ; but she did not answer him.
" You'd like to stab me, or shoot me, or stran-
gle me, as I stand here ; wouldn't you, now ?"
asked the trainer, mockingly.
" Yes," cried Aurora, " I would !" She flung her
head back with a gesture of disdain as she spoke.
" Why do I waste my time in talking to you ?"
she said. " My worst words can inflict no wound
upon such a nature as yours. My scorn is no
more painful to you than it would be to any of
the loathsome creatures that creep about the
margin of yonder pool."
The trainer took liis cigar from his mouth, and
struck the ashes awaj with his little finger.
268 AURORA FLOYD.
" No," lie said with a contemptuous laugh ; " I'm
not very thin-skinned ; and I'm pretty well used
to this sort of thing, into the bargain. But
suppose, as I remarked just now, we drop this
style of conversation, and come to business.
We don't seem to be getting on very fjist this
way."
At this juncture. Captain Prodder, who, in his
extreme desire to strangle liis niece's companion,
had advanced very close upon the two speakers,
knocked off his hat against the lower branches of
the tree which sheltered him.
There was no mistake this time about the
rustling of the leaves. The trainer started,
and limped towards Captain Prodder's hiding-
place.
" There's some one listening to us," he said.
" I'm sure of it this time ; that fellow Hargraves,
perhaps. I fancy he's a sneak."
Mr. Conyers supported himself against the very
tree behind which the sailor stood, and beat
amongst the undergrowth with his stick, but did
not succeed in encountering the legs of the listener.
" If that soft-headed fool is playing the spy
upon me," cried the trainer, savagely, " he'd
CAPTAIN TRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 2G9
better not let me catch him, for I'll make him
remember it, if 1 do."
"Don't I tell you that my dog followed me
here?" exclaimed Aurora contemptuously.
A low rustling of the grass on the other side of
the avenue, and at some distance from the sea-
man's place of concealment, was heard as Mrs.
Mellish spoke.
" That's your dog, if you like," said the trainer ;
"the other was a man. Come on a little way
further, and let's make a finish of this business ;
it's past ten o'clock."
Mr. Conyers was right. The church clock had
struck ten five minutes before, but the solemn
chimes had fallen unheeded upon Am-ora's ear,
lost amid the angry voices raging in her breast.
She started as she looked around her at the sum-
mer darkness in the woods, and the flaming yel-
low moon, which brooded low upon the earth, and
shed no liglit upon the mysterious pathways and
the water-pools in the wood.
The trainer limped away, Aurora walking by
his side, yet holding herself as far aloof from him
as the grassy pathway would allow. They were
out of hearing, and almost out of sight, before the
270 AURORA FLOYD.
sea-captain could emerge from a state of utter
stupefaction so far as to be able to look at the
business in its right bearings.
" I ought to ha' knocked him down," he
muttered at last, " whether he's her husband or
whether he isn't. I ought to have knocked him
down, and I would have done it, too," added the
captain resolutely, "if it hadn't been that my
niece seemed to have a good fiery spirit of her
own, and to be able to fire a jolly good broadside
in the way of hard words. I'll find my skull-
thatcher if I can," said Captain Prodder, groping
for his hat amongst the brambles, and the long-
grass, " and then I'll just run up to the turnstile
and tell my mate to lay at anchor a bit longer
with the horse and shay. He'll be wonderin' what
I'm up to ; but I won't go back just yet, I'U keep
in the way of my niece and that swab with the
game leg."
The captain found his hat, and walked down to
the turnstile, where he found the young man from
the Keindeer fast asleep, with the reins loose
in his hands, and his head upon his knees. The
horse, with his head in an empty nose-bag, seemed
as fast asleep as the driver.
CAPTAIN PRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 271
The young man woke at the sound of the turn-
stile creaking upon its axis, and the step of the
sailor in the road.
"I aint going to get aboard just yet," said
Captain Prodder ; " I'll take another turn in the
wood as the evenin's so pleasant. I come to tell
you I wouldn't keep you much longer, for I
thought you'd think I was dead."
"I did a'most," answered the charioteer can-
didly. " My word ! aint you been a time !"
" I met Mr. and Mrs. Mellish in the wood," said
the captain, " and I stopped to have a look at 'em.
She's a bit of a spitfire, aint she ?" asked Samuel,
with affected carelessness.
The young man from the Eeindeer shook
his head dubiously.
" I doan't know about that," he said ; " she's a
rare favourite hereabouts, with poor folks and
gentry too. They dp say as she horsewhipped a
poor fond chap as they'c^got in the stables, for ill-
usin' her dog; and sarve him right too," added
the young man decisively. " Them Softies is
alius vicious."
Captain Prodder pondered rather doubtfully
upon this piece of information. He was not par-
272 AURORA FLOYD.
ticularly elated by the image of his sister's child
laying a horsewhip upon the shoulders of her half-
witted servant. This trifling incident didn't ex-
actly harmonize with his idea of the beautiful
young heiress, playing upon all manner of instru-
ments, and speaking half a dozen languages.
" Yes," repeated the driver, " they do say as
she gave t' fondy a good whopping ; and damme
if I don't admire her for it."
" Ay, ay !" answered Captain Prodder thought-
fully. " Mr. Hellish walks lame, don't he ?" he
asked, after a pause.
"Lame!" cried the driver; "Lord bless your
heart ! not a bit of it. John Mellish is as fine a
young man as you'll meet in this Eiding. Ay,
and finer too. I ought to know. I've seen him
walk into our house often enough, in the race
week."
The captain's heart sank strangely at this infor-
mation. The man with whom he had heard his
niece quarrelling was not her husband, then. The
squabble had seemed natural enough to the un-
initiated sailor while he looked at it in a matri-
monial light ; but seen from another aspect it
struck sudden teiTor to his sturdy heart, and
CAPTAIN PRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 273
blanched the ruddy hues in his brown fece.
" Who was he, then ?" he tliought ; " who was it
as iny niece was talking to after dark, alone,
a mile off her own home eh ?"
Before he could seek for a solution to the
unuttered question which agitated and alarmed
him, the report of a pistol rang sharply through
the wood, and found an echo under a distant hil].
The horse pricked up his ears, and jibbed a few
paces ; the driver gave a low whistle.
''I thought so," he said. "Poachers! This
side of the wood's chock full of game ; and though
Squire Mellish is alius threatenin' to prosecute
'em, folks know pretty well as he'll never do it."
The broad-shouldered, strong-limbed sailor
leaned against the turnstile, trembling in every
limb.
What was that which his niece said a quarter of
an hour before, when the man had asked her
whether she would like to shoot him ?
"Leave your horse," he said, in a gasping
voice ; " tie him to the stile, and come with me.
If if it's poachers, we'll we'll catch em."
The young man looped the reins across the
turnstile. He had no very great terror of any in-
VOL. II. T
274 AURORA FLOYD.
clination for fliglit latent in the gray horse from
the Eeindeer. The two men ran in the wood ;
the captain running in the direction in which liis
sharp ears told him the shot had been &ed.
The moon was slowly rising in the tranquil
heavens, but there was very little light yet in the
wood.
The captain stopped near a rustic summer-
house falling into decay, and half buried amidst
the tangled foliage that clustered about the
mouldering thatch and the dilapidated wood-
work.
" It was hereabout the shot was fired," muttered
the captain ; " about a hundred yards due nor'ard
of the stile. I could take my oath as it weren't
far from this spot I'm standin' on."
He looked about him in the dim light. He
could see no one ; but an army might liave hidden
amongst the trees that encircled the open patch of
turf on which the summer-house had been built.
He listened ; with his hat off, and his big hand
pressed tightly on his heart, as if to still its tumult-
uous beating. He listened, as eagerly as he had
often listened, far out on a glassy sea, for the first
faint breath of a rising wind ; but he could hear
CAPTAIN PRODDER CARRIES BAD KEWS. 275
nothing except the occasional croaking of the
frogs in the pond near the summer-house.
" I could have sworn it was about here the shot
was fired," he repeated. " God grant as it was
poachers, after all ! but it's given me a turn that's
made me feel like some cockney lubber aboard a
steamer betwixt Bristol and Cork. Lord, what a
blessed old fool I am !" muttered the captain,
after walking slowly round the summer-house to
convince himself that there was , no one hidden in
it. " One 'ud think I'd never heerd the sound of
a ha'p'orth of powder before to-night."
He put on his hat, and wall^ed a few paces for-
w^ard, still looking about cautiously, and still
listening ; but much easier in his mind than when
first he had re-entered the wood.
He stopped suddenly, arrested by a sound
which has of itself, without any reference to its
power of association, a mysterious and chilling-
influence upon the human heart. This sound
was the howling of a dog, the prolonged, mo-
notonous howling of a dog. A cold sweat broke
out upon the sailor's forehead. That sound,
always one of terror to his superstitious nature,
was doubly terrible to-night.
T 2
276 AURORA FLOYD.
" It means death !" he muttered, with a groan.
" No dog ever howled like that except for death."
He turned back, and looked about him. The
moonlight glimmered faintly upon the broad patch
of stagnant water near the summer-house, and
upon its brink the captam saw two figures, black
against the summer atmosphere : a prostrate
figure, lying close to the edge of the water ; and
a large dog, with his head uplifted to the sky,
howling piteously.
It was the bounden duty of poor John Mellish,
in his capacity of host, to sit at the head of his
table, pass the claret-jug, and listen to Colonel
Maddison's stories of the pig-sticking and the tiger-
hunting, as long as the Indian officer chose to talk
for the amusement of his friend and his son-in-law.
It was perhajDS lucky that patient Mr. Lofthouse
was well up in all the stories, and knew exactly
which departments of each narrative were to be
laughed at, and which were to be listened to
with silent and aAve-stricken attention ; for John
^lellish made a very bad audience upon this occa-
sion. He pushed the filberts towards the colonel
at the very moment when " the tigress was crouch-
CAPTAIiNT PRODDER CARRIES DAD NEWS. 277
ing for a spring, upon the rising ground exactly-
above us, sir, and when, by Jove ! Charley Maddison
felt himself at pretty close quarters with the enemy,
sir, and never thought to stretch his legs under
this mahogany, or any other man's, sir ;" and he
spoiled the officer's best joke by asking him for
the claret in the middle of it.
The tigers and tlie pigs were confusion and
weariness of spirit to Mr. Mellish. He was
yearning for the moment Avhen, with any show of
decency, he might make for the drawing-room,
and find out what Aurora was doing in the still
summer twilight. Wlien the door was opened and
fresh wine brought in, he heard the rattling of the
keys under Mrs. Lofthouse's manipulation, and
rejoiced to think that his wife was seated quietly,
perhaps, listening to those sonatas in C flat, which
the rector's wife delighted to interpret.
The lamps were brought in before Colonel
Maddison's stories were finished ; and when John's
butler came to ask if the gentleman would like
coffee, the worthy Indian otHcer said, " Yes, by all
means, and a cheroot with it. No smoldng in the
drawing-room, eh, Mellish ? Petticoat govern-
ment and window-curtains, I dare say. Clara
278 AUEORA FLOYD.
doesn't like my smoke at the Rectory, and poor
Loftkouse writes his sermons in the summer-
house ; for he can't write without a weed, you
know, and a volume of Tillotson, or some of these
fellows, to prig from eh, George ?" said the
facetious gentleman, digging his son-in-law in the
ribs with his fat old fingers, and knocking over
two or three wine-glasses in his ponderous jocosity.
How dreary it all seemed to John Mellish to-
night ! He wondered how people felt who had no
social mystery brooding upon their hearth; no
domestic skeleton cowering in their homely cup-
board. He looked at the rector's placid face with
a pang of envy. There was no secret kept from
him. There was no perpetual struggle rending
This heart; no dreadful doubts and fears that
would not be quite lulled to rest ; no vague terror
incessant and imreasoning ; no mute argument for
ever going forward, with plaintiff's counsel and
defendant's counsel continually pleading the same
cause, and arriving at the same result. Heaven
take pity upon those who have to suffer such
silent misery, such secret despair ! We look at
our neighbours' smiling faces, and say, in bitter-
ness of spirit, that A is a lucky fellow, and that B
CAPTAIN TRODDER CARRIES BAD NEWS. 279-
can't be as much in debt as his friends say he is ;
that C and his pretty wife are the happiest couple
"\ve know ; and to-morrow B is in the ' Gazette,'
and C is weeping over a dishonoured home, and a
group of motherless children, who wonder what
mamma has done that papa should be so sorry.
The battles are very quiet, but they are for ever
being fought. We keep the fox hidden under our
cloak, but the teeth of tlie animal are none the
less sharp, nor the pain less terrible to bear ; a
little more terrible, perhaps, for being endured
silently. John Mellish gave a long sigh of relief
when the Indian officer finished his third cheroot,
and pronounced himseK ready to join the ladies.
The lamps in the drawing-room were lighted, and
the curtains drawn before the open windows, when
the three gentlemen entered. Mrs. Lofthouse was
asleep upon one of the sofas, Avith a Book of
Beauty lying open at her feet, and Mrs. Powell,
pale and sleepless, sleepless as trouble and sorrow,
as jealousy and hate, as an}i:hing that is ravenous
and unappeasable, sat at her embroidery, work-
ing laborious monstrosities upon delicate cambric
muslin.
The colonel dropped heavily into a luxurious
280 AURORA FLOYD.
easy-chair, and quietly abandoned himself to
repose. Mr. Lofthouse awoke his wife, and con-
sulted her about the propriety of ordering the
carriage. John Mellish looked eagerly round the
room. To him it was empty. The rector and his
wife, the Indian officer, and the ensign's widow,
Avere only so many " phosphorescent spectralities,"
"phantasm captains;" in short, they were not
Aurora.
" Where's Lolly ?" he asked, looking from Mrs.
Lofthouse to Mrs. Powell ; "where's my wife ?"
''I really do not know," answered Mrs. Powell,
with icy deliberation. "I've not been watching
Mrs. Mellish."
The poisoned darts glanced away from John's
preoccupied breast. There was no room in his
wounded heart for such a petty sting as this.
" Where's my wife ?" he cried passionately ;
" you must know where she is. She's not here
Is she up-stairs ? Is she out of doors ?"
" To the best of my belief," replied the ensign's
widow, with more than usual precision, "Mrs.
Mellish is in some part of the grounds ; she has
been out of doors ever since we left the dining-
room."
CAPTAIN PRODDER CARRIES EAD NEWS. 281
The French clock upon the mantelpiece chimed
the three-quarters after ten as she finished speak-
ing : as if to give emphasis to her words and to
remind Mr. Mellish how long his ^wife had been
absent. He bit his lip fiercely, and strode towards
one of the windows. He was going to look for
his wife ; but he stopped as he flung aside the
window-curtain, arrested by Mrs. Powell's uplifted
hand.
" Hark !" she said, " there is something the
matter, I fear. Did you hear that violent rinfrinof
' DO
at the hall-door ?"
Mr. Mellish let fall the curtain, and re-entered
the room.
"It's Aurora, no doubt," he said; "they've
shut her out again, I suppose. 1 beg, Mrs. Powell,
that you will prevent this m future. Eeally,
ma'am, it is hard that my Avife should be shut out
of her own house."
He might have said much more, but he stopped,
pale and breatliless, at the sound of a hubbub
in the hall, and rushed to the room-door. He
opened it and looked out, with Mrs. Powell and
Mr. and Mrs. Lofthouse crowding behind him, and
looking over his shoulder.
282 AURORA FLOYD.
Half a dozen servants were clustered round a
roughly-dressed, seafaring-looking man, who, with
his hat off and his disordered hair falling about
his white face, was telling in broken sentences,
scarcely intelligible for the speaker's agitation,
that a murder had been done in the wood.
283
CHAPTER XII.
THE DEED THAT HAD BEEN DONE IN THE WOOD.
The bare-beaded seafaring man Avbo stood in tbe
centre of tbe ball was Captain Samuel Prodder.
Tbe scared faces of tbe servants gatbered round
bim told more plainly tban bis own words, wbicb
came boarsely from bis parcbed wbite lips, tbe
nature of tbe tidings tbat be brougbt.
Jobn Mellisb strode across tbe ball, witb an
awful calmness on bis wbite face ; and parting tbe
bustled group of servants witb bis strong arms, as
a migbty wind rends asunder tbe storm-beaten
waters, be placed bimself face to face witb Captain
Prodder.
" Wbo are you ?" be asked sternly : " and what
bas brougbt you bere ?"
Tbe Indian officer bad been aroused by tbe
clamour, and bad emerged, red and bristling witb
284 AUHORA FLOYD.
self-importance, to take his part in the business in
hand.
There are some pies in the making of which
everybody yearns to have a finger. It is a great
privilege, after some social convulsion has taken
place, to be able to say, " I was there at the time
the scene occurred, sir ;" or, " I was standing as
close to him when the blow was struck, ma'am, as
I am to you at this moment." People are apt to
take pride out of strange things. An elderly
gentleman at Doncaster, showing me his comfort-
ably-furnished apartments, informed me, with
evident satisfaction, that Mr. William Palmer had
lodged in those very rooms.
Colonel Maddison pushed aside his daughter
and her husband, and struggled out into the hall.
" Come, my man," he said, echoing John's
interrogatory, " let us hear what has brought you
here at such a remarkably unseasonable hour."
The sailor gave no direct answer to the question,
lie pointed with his thumb across his shoulder
towards tliat dismal spot in the lonely wood, which
was as present to his mental vision now as it had
been to his bodily eyes a quarter of an hour
before.
THE DEED DONE IX THE -WOOD. 285
" A man ! " he gasped ; " a man lyin' close
agen' the water's edge, shot through the heart !"
" Dead ?" asked some one, m an awful tone.
The voices and the questions came from whom they
would, in the awe-stricken terror of those first
moments of overwhelming horror and surprise.
No one knew who spoke except the speakers ;
perhaps even they were scarcely aware that they
had spoken.
" Dead ?" asked one of those eager listeners.
" Stone dead."
" A man shot dead in the wood !" cried John
Hellish; "what man?"
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the grave old
butler, laying his hand gently upon his master's
shoulder : " I think, from what this person says,
that the man who has been shot is the new
trainer, Mr. Mr. "
" Conyers !" exclaimed John. " Conyers ! who
who should shoot him ?" The question was
asked in a hoarse whisper. It was impossible for
the speaker's face to grow whiter than it had been,
from the moment in wliicli he had opened the
drawing-room door, and looked out into the hall ;
but some terrible change not to be translated into
286 ATJEORA FLOYD.
words came over it at the mention of the trainer's
name.
He stood motionless and silent, pushing his hair
from his forehead, and staring wUdly about him.
The grave butler laid his warning hand for a
second time upon his master's shoulder.
" Sir Mr. MelKsh," he said, eager to arouse the
young man from the dull, stupid quiet into which
he had fallen, " excuse me, sir ; but if my mistress
should come in suddenly, and hear of this, she
might be upset, perhaps. Wouldn't it be better
to "
" Yes, yes !" cried John Mellish, lifting his head
suddenly, as if aroused into immediate action by
the mere suggestion of his wife's name, " yes !
clear out of the hall, every one of you," he said,
addressing the eager group of pale-faced servants.
" And you, su-," he added to Captain Prodder,
" come with me."
He walked towards the dining-room door. The
saUor followed him, still bare-headed, still with a
semi-bewildered expression in his dusky face.
" It aint the first time I've seen a man shot,'
he thought ; " but it's the first time I've felt like
this."
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 287
Before Mr. Mellisli could reach the dining-room,
before the servants could disperse and return to
theu' proper quarters, one of the half-glass doors,
^yhich had been left ajar, was pushed open by the
light touch of a woman's hand, and Aurora Mellish
entered the hall.
" Ah, ha !" thought the ensign's widow, who
looked on at the scene, snugly sheltered by Mr.
and J\Irs. Lofthouse ; " my lady is caught a second
time in her evening rambles. What will he say to
her goings-on to-night, I wonder ?"
Aui'ora's manner presented a singular contrast
to the terror and agitation of the assembly in the
hall. A vivid crimson flush glowed in her cheeks
and lit up her shining eyes. She carried her head
high, in that queenly defiance which was her
peculiar grace. She walked with a light step ; she
moved with easy, careless gestures. It seemed as
if some burden which she had long carried had
been suddenly removed from her. But at sight of
the crowd m the hall she drew back with a look of
alarm.
"What has happened, John?" she cried;
" what is wrong ?"
He lifted his hand with a warning gestm-e, a,
288 AURORA FLOYD.
gesture that plainly said : Whatever trouble or
sorrow there may be, let her be spared the know-
ledge of it ; let her be sheltered from the pain.
" Yes, my darling," he answered quietly, taking
her hand and leading her into the drawing-room ;
"there is something wrong. An accident has
happened in the wood yonder ; but it concerns
no one whom you care for. Go, dear ; I will tell
you all, by-and-by. IMrs. Lofthouse, you will take
care of my wife. Lofthouse, come with me.
Allow me to shut the door, Mrs. Powell, if you
please," he added to the ensign's widow, who did
not seem inclined to leave her post upon the
threshold of the drawing-room. " Any curiosity
which you may have about the business shall be
satisfied in due time. For the present, you will
obhge me by remaining with my wife and Mrs.
Lofthouse."
He paused, with his hand upon the drawing-
room door, and looked at Aurora.
She was standing with her shawl upon her arm,
watching her husband ; and she advanced eagerly
to him as she met his glance.
"John," she exclaimed, "for mercy's sake, tell
me the truth ! What is this accident ?"
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 289
He was silent for a moment, gazing at her eager
face, that face whose exquisite mobility expressed
every thought ; then, looking at her with a strange
solemnity, he said gravely, "You were in the
wood just now, Aurora ?"
" I was," she answered ; " I have only just left
the grounds. A man passed me, running violently,
about a quarter of an hour ago. I thought he
was a poacher. Was it to him the accident
happened ?"
"No. There was a shot fired in the wood
some time since. Did you hear it ?"
" I did," replied Mrs. Mellish, looking at him
with sudden terror and surprise. " I knew there
were often poachers about near the road, and I
was not alarmed by it. Was there anything
wrong in that shot ? Was any one hurt ?"
Her eyes were fixed upon his face, dilated with
that look of wondering terror.
" Yes ; a a man was hurt."
Aurora looked at him in silence, ^looked at him
with a stony face, whose only expression was an
utter bewilderment. Every other feehng seemed
blotted away in that one sense of wonder.
John Mellish led, her to a chair near Mrs.
YOL. II. U
290 AURORA FLOYD.
Loftliouse, who had been seated, with Mrs. Powell,
at the other end of the room, close to the piano,
and too far from the door to overhear the conver-
sation which had just taken place between John
and his wife. People do not talk very loudly in
moments of intense agitation. They are liable to
be deprived of some portion of their vocal power
in the fearful crisis of terror or despair. A
numbness seizes the organ of speech; a partial
paralysis disables the ready tongue ; the trembling
lips refuse to do their duty. The soft pedal of
the human instrument is down, and the tones are
feeble and muffled, wandering into weak minor
shrillness, or sinking to husky basses, beyond the
ordinary compass of the speaker's voice. The
stentorian accents in which Claude Melnotte bids
adieu to Mademoiselle Deschappelle mingle very
effectively with the brazen clamour of the Mar-
seillaise Hymn ; the sonorous tones in which Mis-
tress Julia appeals to her Hunchback guardian are
pretty sure to bring down the approving thunder
of the eighteenpenny gallery ; but I doubt if the
noisy energy of stage-grief is true to nature, how-
ever wise in art. I'm afraid that an actor who
would play Claude Melnotte with a pre-Kaphaelite
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 291
fidelity to nature would be an insuffei-able bore,
and utterly inaudible beyond the third row in the
pit. The artist must draw his own line between
nature and art, and map out the extent of his own
territory. If he finds that cream-coloured marble
is more artistically beautiful than a rigid present-
ment of actual flesh and blood, let him stain his
marble of that delicate hue until the end of time.
If he can represent five acts of agony and despair
without once turning his back to his audience or
sitting down, let him do it. If he is conscientiously
true to his a7't, let him choose for himself how true
he shall be to nature.
John Mellish took his wife's hand in his own,
and grasped it with a convulsive pressm-e that
almost crushed the delicate fingers.
"Stay here, my dear, till I come back to you,"
he said. " Now, Lofthouse !"
Mr. Lofthouse followed his friend into the hall,
where Colonel Maddison had been making the best
use of his time by questioning the merchant-captain.
" Come, gentlemen," said John, leading the way
to the dining-room; "come, colonel, and you too,
Lofthouse ; and you, sii-," he added to the sailor,
" step this way."
u 2
292 AURORA FLOYD.
The dShris.oi the dessert still covered the table,
but the men did not advance far into the room.
John stood aside as the others went in, and enter-
ing the last, closed the door behind him, and stood
with his back against it.
" Now," he said, turning sharply upon Samuel
Prodder, " what is this business ?"
"I'm afraid it's sooicide or or murder," an-
swered the sailor gravely. "I've told this good
gentleman all about it."
This good gentleman was Colonel Maddison,
who seemed delighted to plunge into the con-
versation.
" Yes, my dear Melhsh," he said eagerly ; " our
friend, who describes himself as a sailor, and who
had come down to see Mrs. Mellish, whose mother
he knew when he was a boy, has told me all about
this shocking affair. Of course the body must be
removed immediately, and the sooner your servants
go out with lanterns for that purpose the better.
Decision, my dear Mellish, decision and prompt
action are indispensable in these sad catastrophes."
" The body removed !" repeated John Mellish ;
" the man is dead, then."
" Quite dead," answered the sailor ; " he was dead
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD, 293
when I found him, though it wasn't above seven
minutes after the shot was fired. I left a man
vnth. him a young man as drove me from
Doncaster and a dog, some big dog that watched
beside him, howling awful, and wouldn't leave
him."
" Did you see the man's face ?"
"Yes."
" You are a stranger here," said John Mellish ;
" it is useless, therefore, to ask you if you know
who the man is."
" No, sir," answered the sailor, " I didn't know
him ; but the young man from the Reindeer "
" He recognized him ?"
" Yes ; he said he'd seen the man in Doncaster
only the night before ; and that he was your
trainer, I think he called him."
"Yes, yes."
"A lame chap."
" Come, gentlemen," said John, turning to his
friends, " what are we to do ?"
"Send the servants into the wood," replied
Colonel Maddison, " and have the body carried "
"Not here," cried John Mellish, interrupting
him, " not here ; it would kill my wife."
294 AURORA FLOTD.
" Where did the man live ?" asked the colonel.
"In the north lodge. A cottage against the
northern gates, which are never used now."
" Then let the body be taken there," answered
the Indian soldier ; " let one of your people run for
the parish constable ; and you'd better send for
the nearest surgeon immediately, though, from
what our friend here says, a hundred of 'em
couldn't do any good. It's an awful business !
Some poaching fray, I suppose."
" Yes, yes," answered John quickly ; " no
doubt."
" Was the man disliked in the neighbourhood ?"
asked Colonel Maddison ; " had he made himself
in any manner obnoxious ?"
"I should scarcely think it likely. He had
only been with me about a week."
The servants, who had dispersed at John's
command, had not gone very far. They had
lingered in corridoi-s and lobbies, ready at a
moment's notice to rush out into the hall again,
and act their minor parts in the tragedy. They
preferred doing anything to returning quietly to
their own quarters.
They came out eagerly at Mr. Mellish's sum-
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 295
mons. He gave his orders briefly, selecting two
of the men, and sending the others about their
business.
" Bring a couple of lanterns," he said ; '' and
follow us across the Park towards the pond in the
wood."
Colonel Maddison, 'Mr. Lofthouse, Captain
Prodder, and John Mellish, left the house together.
The moon, still slowly rising in the broad, cloud-
less heavens, silvered the quiet lawn, and shim-
mered upon the tree-tops in the distance. The
three gentlemen walked at a rapid pace, led by
Samuel Prodder, who kept a little way in advance,
and followed by a couple of grooms, who carried
darkened stable-lanterns.
As they entered the wood, they stopped in-
voluntarily, arrested by that solemn sound which
had first drawn the sailor's attention to the
dreadful deed that had been done the howling of
the dog. It sounded in the distance Hke a low,
feeble wail : a long monotonous death-cry.
They followed that dismal indication of the spot
to which they were to go. They made their way
through the shado^vy avenue, and emerged upon
the silvery patch of turf and fern, where the
296 Aurora floyd.
rotting siimmer-liouse stood in its solitary decay.
The two figures the prostrate figure on the brink
of the water, and tlie figure of the dog with
uplifted head still remained exactly as the sailor
had left them three-quarters of an hour before.
The young man from the Keindeer stood aloof
from these two figures, and advanced to meet the
newcomers as they drew near.
; Colonel Maddison took a lantern from one of
the men, and ran forward to the water's edge.
The dog rose as he approached, and walked slowly
round the prostrate form, sniffing at it, and
whining piteously. John Mellish called the animal
away.
" This man was in a sitting posture when he was
shot," said Colonel Maddison, decisively. " He was
sitting upon this bench."
He pointed to a dilapidated rustic seat close to
the margin of the stagnant water.
"He was sitting upon this bench," repeated the
colonel ; " for he's fallen close against it, as you
see. Unless I'm very much mistaken, he was shot
from behind."
" You don't think he shot himself, then ?" asked
John Mellish.
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 297
"Shot himseK!" cried the colonel; "not a bit
of it. But we'll soon settle that. If he shot him-
self, the pistol must be close against him. Here,
bring a loose plank fi-om that summer-house, and
lay the body upon it," added the Indian officer,
speaking to the servants.
Captain Prodder and the two grooms selected the
broadest plank they could find. It was moss-
grown and rotten, and straggling wreaths of wild
clematis were entwined about it ; but it served the
purpose for which it was wanted. They laid it
upon the grass, and lifted the body of James
Conyers on to it, with his handsome face ghastly
and horrible in the fixed agony of sudden death
tm*ned upward to the moonlit sky. It was
wonderful how mechanically and quietly they went
to work, promptly and silently obeying the
colonel's orders.
John Mellish and Mr. Lofthouse searched the
slippery grass upon the bank, and groped amongst
the fringe of fern, without result. There was no
weapon to be found anywhere within a consider-
able radius of the body.
While they were searching in every dii-ection
for this missing link in the mystery of the man's
298 AUROKA FLOYD.
death, the parish-constable arrived with the ser-
vant who had been sent to summon him.
He had very little to say for himself, except
that he supposed it was poachers as had done it ;
and that he also supposed all particklars would
come out at the inquest. He was a simple rural
functionary, accustomed to petty dealings with
refractory tramps, contumacious poachers, and
impounded cattle, and was scarcely master of the
situation in any great emergency.
Mr. Prodder and the servants lifted the plank
upon which the body lay, and struck into the long
avenue leading northward, walking a little ahead
of the three gentlemen and the constable. The
young man from the Eeindeer returned to look
after his horse, and to drive round to the north
lodge, where he was to meet Mr. Prodder. All
had been done so quietly that the knowledge of
the catastrophe had not passed beyond the do-
mains of Mellish Park. In the summer evening
stillness James Conyers was carried back to the
chamber from whose narrow window he had looked
out upon the beautiful world, weary of its beauty,,
only a few hours before.
The purposeless life was suddenly closed. The
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 299
careless wanderer's journey had come to an
unthought-of end. What a melancholy record,
what a meaningless and unfinished page ! Nature,
blindly bountiful to the children whom she has
yet to know, had bestowed her richest gifts upon
this man. She had created a splendid image,
and had chosen a soul at random, ignorantly
enshrining it in her most perfectly fashioned clay.
Of all who read the story of this man's death in
the following Sunday's newspapers, there was not
one who shed a tear for him ; there was not one
who could say, " That man once stepped out of his
way to do me a kindness ; and may the Lord have
mercy upon his soul !"
Shall I be sentimental, then, because he is dead,
and regret that he was not spared a little longer,
and allowed a day of grace in which he might
repent ? Had he lived for ever, I do not think he
would have lived long enough to become that
which it was not in his nature to be. May God,
in His infinite compassion, have pity upon the
souls which He has Himself created ; and where
He has withheld the light, may He excuse the
darkness ! The phrenologists who examined the
head of William Palmer declared that he was
300 AUROEA FLOYD.
SO utterly deficient in moral perception, so entirely
devoid of conscientious restraint, tliat he could
not help being what he was. Heaven keep us
from too much credence in that horrible fatalism !
Is a man's destiny here and hereafter to depend
upon bulbous projections scarcely perceptible to
uneducated fingers, and good and evil propensities
which can be measured by the compass or weighed
in the scale ?
The dismal cortege slowly made its way under
the silver moonlight, the trembling leaves making
a murmuring music in the faint summer air, the
pale glowworms shining here and there amid the
tangled verdure. The bearers of the dead walked
Avith a slow but steady tramp in advance of the
rest. All walked in silence. What should they
say ? In the presence of death's awful mystery,
life made a pause. There was a brief interval in
the hard business of existence ; a hushed and
solemn break in the working of life's machinery.
" There'll be an inquest," thought Mr. Prodder,
"and I shall have to give evidence. I wonder
what questions they'U ask me ?"
He did not think tliis once, but perpetually ;
dwelling with a half-stupid persistence upon the
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 301
thought of that inquisition which must most infal-
libly be made, and those questions that might be
asked. The honest sailor's simple mind was east
astray in the utter bewilderment of tliis night's
mysterious horror. The story of life was changed.
He had come to play his humble part in some
sweet domestic drama of love and confidence, and
he found himself involved in a tragedy ; a horrible
mystery of hatred, secrecy, and murder ; a dread-
ful maze, from whose obscurity he saw no hope of
issue.
A beacon-light glimmered in the lower window
of the cottage by the north gates, a feeble ray,
that glittered like a gem from out a bower of
honeysuckle and clematis. The little garden-
gate was closed, but it only fastened with a latch.
The bearers of the body paused before entering
the garden, and the constable stepped aside to
speak to Mr. Mellish.
"Is there anybody lives in the cottage?" he
asked.
" Yes," answered John ; " the trainer employed
an old hanger-on of my own, a half-witted fellow
called Hargraves."
"It's him as burns the hght in there, most
302 AURORA FLOYD.
likely, then," said tlie constable. " I'll go in and
speak to liim first. Do you wait here till I come
out again," he added, turning to the men who
carried the body.
The lodge-door was on the latch. The constable
opened it softly, and went in. A rushlight was
burning upon the table, the candlestick placed in
a basin of water. A bottle half filled with brandy,
and a tumbler, stood near the light ; but the room
was empty. The constable took his shoes off, and
crept up the little staircase. The upper floor of
the lodge consisted of two rooms, one, sufficiently
large and comfortable, looking towards the stable-
gates; the other, smaller and darker, looked out
upon a patch of kitchen-garden and on the fence
whicli separated Mr. Mellish's estate from the
high road. The larger chamber was empty ; but
the door of the smaller was ajar ; and the constable,
pausing to listen at that half-open door, heard the
regular breathing of a heavy sleeper.
He knocked sharply upon the panel.
" Who's there ?" asked the person within, starting
up from a truckle bedstead. " Is't thou, Muster
Conyers ?"
" No," answered the constable. " It's me, Wil-
THE DEED DOl^ m THE WOOD. 303
liam Dork, of Little Meslingliam. Come down-
stairs ; I want to speak to you."
" Is there aught wrong ?"
"Yes."
" Poachers ?"
"That's as may be," answered Mr. Dork.
" Come down-stairs, will you ?"
Mr. Hargraves muttered something to the effect
that he would make his appearance as soon as he
could find sundry portions of his rather fragmentary
toilet. The constable looked into the room, and
watched the " Softy " groping for his garments in
the moonlight Three minutes afterwards Stephen
Hargraves slowly shambled down the angular
wooden stau-s, which wound in a corkscrew fashion,
affected by the builders of small dwellings, from
the upper to the lower floor.
"Now," said Mr. Dork, planting the "Softy"
opposite to him, with the feeble rays of the rushlight
upon his sickly face, " now then, I want you to
answer me a question. At what time did your
master leave the house ?"
"At half-past seven o'clock," answered the
" Softy," in his whispering voice ; " she was stroikin
the half-hour as he went out."
804 AUROKA FLOYD.
He pointed to a small Dutch clock in a comer
of tlie room. His countrymen always speak of a
clock as " slie."
" Oh, he went out at half-past seven o'clock, did
he ?" said the constable ; " and you haven't seen
him since, I suppose ?"
" No. He told me he should be late, and I
wasn't to sit oop for him. He swore at me last
night for sitting oop for him. But is there aught
wrong ?" asked the " Softy."
Mr. Dork did not condescend to reply to this
question. He walked straight to the door, opened
it, and beckoned to those who stood without in the
summer moonlight, patiently waiting for his sum-
mons. " You may bring him in," he said.
They carried their ghastly burden into the
pleasant rustic chamber the chamber in which
Mr. James Conyers had sat smoking and drinking
a few hours before. Mr. Morton, the surgeon
from Meslingham, the village nearest to the Park-
gates, arrived as the body was being carried in,
and ordered a temporary couch of mattresses to be
spread upon a couple of tables placed together, in
the lower room, for the reception of the trainer's
corpse.
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 305
Jolm Mellish, Samuel Prodder, and Mr. Loft-
house remained outside the cottage. Colonel
Maddison, the servants, the constable, and the
doctor, were all clustered round the corpse.
" He has been dead about an hour and a
quarter," said the doctor, after a brief inspection
of the body. " He has been shot in the back ; the
bullet has not penetrated the heart, for in that
case there would have been no haemorrhage. He
has respired after, receiving the shot ; but death
must have been almost instantaneous."
Before making his examination, the surgeon had
assisted Mr. Dork, the constable, to draw off the
coat and waistcoat of the deceased. The bosom of
the waistcoat was saturated with the blood that
had flowed from the parted lips of the dead man.
It was Mr. Dork's business to examine these
garments, in the hope of finding some shred of
evidence which might become a clue to the secret
of the trainer's death. He turned out the jjockets
of the shooting coat, and of the waistcoat ; one of
these packets contained a handful of halfpence, a
couple of shillings, a fourpenny-piece, and a rusty
watch-key ; another held a little parcel of tobacco
wrapped in an old betting-list, and a broken meer-
VOL. II. X
306 AURORA FLOYD.
schaum pipe, Mack and greasy with the essential
oil of bygone shag and bird's-eye. In one of the
waistcoat pockets Mr. Dork found the dead man's
silver watch, with a blood-stained ribbon and a
worthless gilt seal. Amongst all these tilings
there was nothing calculated to throw any light
upon the mystery. Colonel Maddison shrugged
his shoulders as the constable emptied the paltry
contents of the trainer's pockets on to a little
dresser at one end of the room.
" There's nothing here that makes the business
any clearer," he said ; " but to my mind it's plain
enough. The man was new here, and he brought
new ways with him from his last situation. The
poachers and vagabonds have been used to have it
all their owa way about Mellish Park, and they
didn't like this poor fellow's interference. He
wanted to play the tyrant, I dare say, and made
himseK obnoxious to some of the worst of the lot ;
and he's caught it hot, poor chap ! that's all I've
got to say."
Colonel Maddison, with the recollection of a
refractory Punjaub strong upon him, had no very
great reverence for the mysterious spark that lights
the human temple. If a man made himself ob-
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 307
noxious to other men, other men were very likely
to kill him. This was the soldier's simple theory ;
and, having delivered himself of his opinion
respecting the trainer's death, he emerged from
the cottage, and was ready to go home with John
Mellish, and drink another bottle of that celebrated
tawny port which had been laid in by his host's
father twenty years before.
The constable stood close against a candle, that
had been hastily lighted and thrust unceremo-
niously into a disused blacking-bottle, with the
waistcoat stiU in his hands. He was turning the
blood-stained garment inside out; for while
emptying the pockets he had felt a thick substance
that seemed like a folded paper, but the where-
abouts of which he had not been able to discover.
He uttered a suppressed exclamation of surprise
presently ; for he found the solution of this diffi-
culty. The paper was sewn between the inner
lining and the outer material of the waistcoat.
He discovered this by examining the seam, a part
of which was sewn with coarse stitches and a
thread of a different colour to the rest. He ripped
open this part of the seam, and drew out the
paper, which was so much bloodstained as to be
X 2
BOS AURORA FLOYD.
undecipherable to Mr. Dork's rather obtuse vision.
" I'll say naught about it, and keep it to show to
th' coroner," he thought ; " I'll lay he'll make
something out of it." The constable folded the
document and secured it in a leathern pocket-book,
a bulky receptacle, the very aspect of which was
wont to strike terror to rustic defaulters. "I'll
show it to th' coroner," he thought ; " and if
aught particklar comes out, I may get something
for my trouble."
The village surgeon having done his duty, pre-
pared to leave the crowded little room, where the
gaping servants still lingered, as if loth to tear
themselves away from the ghastly figure of the dead
man, over which Mr. Morton had spread a patch-
work coverlet, taken from the bed in the chamber
above. The "Softy" had looked on quietly
enough at the dismal scene, w^atching the faces
of the small assembly, and glancing furtively from
one to another beneath the shadow of his bushy
red eyebrows. His haggard face, always of a sickly
white, seemed to-night no more colom-less than
usual. His slow whispering tones were not more
suppressed than they always were. If he had a
Lang-dog manner and a furtive glance, the manner
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 309
and the glance were both coramon to him. No
one looked at him ; no one heeded him. After
the first question as to the hour at which the
trainer left the lodge had been asked and answered,
no one spoke to him. If he got in anybody's
way, he was pushed aside ; if he said anything,
nobody listened to him. The dead man was the
sole monarch of that dismal scene. It was to
him they looked with awe-stricken glances ;
it was of him they spoke in subdued whispers.
All their questions, their suggestions, their conjec-
tures, were about him, and him alone. There is
this to be observed in the physiology of every
murder, that before the coroner's inquest the sol
object of public curiosity is the murdered man ;
while immediately after that judicial investigation
the tide of feeling turns ; the dead man is buried
and forgotten, and the suspected murderer becomes
the hero of men's morbid imaginations.
John Mellish looked in at the door of the cot-
tage to ask a few questions.
" Have you found anything. Dork T he asked.
" Nothing particklar, su\"
"Nothing that throws any light upon this
business?"
310 AURORA FLOYD.
"No, sir."
" You are going home, then, I suppose ?"
" Yes, sir, I must be going back now ; if you'll
leave some one here to watch "
" Yes, yes," said John ; " one of the servants
shall stay."
" Very well, then, sir ; I'll just take the names
of the witnesses that'U be examined at the inquest,
and I'll go over and see the coroner early to-mor-
row morning."
" The witnesses ; ah, to be sure. Who will you
want?"
Mr. Dork hesitated for a moment, rubbing the
bristles upon his chin.
"Well, there's this man here, Hargraves, I
think you called him," he said presently; "we
shall want him ; for it seems he was the last that
saw the deceased alive, leastways as I can hear on
yet ; then we shall want the gentleman as found the
body, and the young man as was with him when he
heard the shot : the gentleman as found the body
is the most particklar of all, and I'll speak to him
at once."
John MeUish turned round, fully expecting to
see Mr. Prodder at his elbow, where he had been
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD, 311
some time before. John had a perfect recollection
of seeing the loosely-clad seafaring figm-e standing
behind him in the moonlight ; but, in the terrible
confusion of his mind, he could not remember ex-
actly when it was that he had last seen the sailor.
It might have been only five minutes before ; it
might have been a quarter of an hour. John's
ideas of time were annihilated by the horror of the
catastrophe which had marked this night with the
red brand of murder. It seemed to him as if he
had been standing for hours in the little cottage-
garden, with Reginald Lofthouse by his side, lis-
tening to the low hum of the voices in the crowded
room, and waiting to see the end of the dreary
business.
Mr. Dork looked about him in the moonlight,
entirely bewildered by the disappearance of Samuel
Prodder.
"Why, where on earth has he gone ?" exclaimed
the constable. "We must have him before the
coroner. What'U Mr. Hay ward say to me for let-
ting him slip through my fingers ?"
" The man was here a quarter of an hour ago, so
he can't be very far off," suggested Mr. Lofthouse.
" Does anybody know who he is ?"
312 AUEORA FLOYD.
No; nobody knew anything about him. He
had appeared as mysteriously as if he had risen
from the earth, to bring terror and confusion upon
it with the evil tidings which he bore. Stay ;
some one suddenly remembered that he had been
accompanied by Bill Jarvis, the young man from
the Eeindeer, and that he had ordered the young
man to drive his trap to the north gates, and wait
for him there.
The constable ran to the gates upon receiving
this mformation ; but thei'e was no vestige of the
horse and gig, or of the young man. Samuel
Prodder had evidently taken advantage of the con-
fusion, and had driven off in the gig under cover of
the general bewilderment.
" I'll tell you what I'll do, sir," said William
Dork, addressing Mr. Mellish. "If you'll lend
me a horse and trap, I'll drive into Doncaster, and
see if this man's to be found at the Keindeer. We
must have him for a "v\itness."
John Mellish assented to this arrangement. He
left one of the grooms to keep watch in the death
chamber, in company with Stephen Hargraves the
*' Softy ;" and, after bidding the surgeon good night,
walked slowly homewards with his friends. The
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 313
chm'cli clock was striking twelve as the three gen-
tlemen left the wood, and passed through the little
iron gateway on to the lawn.
" We had better not tell the ladies more than
we are obliged to tell them about this business,"
said John Mellish, as they approached the house,
where the lights were still burning in the hall and
drawing-room ; " we shall only agitate them by
letting them know the worst."
" To be sure, to be sure, my boy," answered the
colonel. " My poor little Maggie always cries if
she hears of anything of this kind ; and Lofthouse
is almost as big a baby," added the soldier, glanc-
ing rather contemptuously at his son-in-law, who
had not spoken once dming that slow homeward
walk.
John Mellish thought very little of the strange
disappearance of Captain Prodder. The man had
objected to be summoned as a witness, perhaps, and
had gone. It was only natural. He did not even
know his name ; he only knew him as the mouth-
piece of evil tidings, which had shaken him to the
very soul. That this man Conyers this man of
all others, this man towards whom he had conceived
a deeply-rooted aversion, an unspoken horror
314 AURORA FLOYD.
should have perished in)'-steriously by an unknown
hand, was an event so strange and appalling as to
deprive him for a time of all power of thought, all
capability of reasoning. Who had killed this
man, this penniless good-for-nothing trainer?
Who could have had any motive for such a deed ?
Wlio ? The cold sweat broke out upon his
brow in the anguish of the thought.
Who had done this deed ?
It was not the work of any poacher. No. It
was very well for Colonel Maddison, in his igno-
rance of antecedent facts, to account for it in that
manner ; but John Mellish knew that he was
wrong. James Conyers had only been at the
Park a week. He had neither time nor oppor-
tunity for making himself obnoxious ; and, be3'^ond
that, he was not the man to make himself obnox-
ious. He was a selfish, indolent rascal, who only
loved his own ease, and who would have allowed
the young partridges to be wired under his very
nose. Who, then, had done this deed ?
There was only one person who had any motive
for wishing to be rid of this man. One person
who, made desperate by some great despair, en-
meshed perhaps by some net hellishly contrived
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 315
by a villain, hopeless of any means of extrication,
in a moment of madness, might have No ! In
the face of every evidence that earth could offer,
^against reason, against hearing, eyesight, judg-
ment, and memory, he would say, as he said now,
No I She was innocent I She was innocent ! She
had looked in her husband's face, the clear light
had shone from her luminous eyes, a stream of
electric radiance penetrating straight to his heart,
and he had trusted her.
" I'll trust her at the worst," he thought. " If
all living creatures upon this wide earth joined
their voices in one great cry of upbraiding, I'd
stand by her to the very end, and defy them."
Aurora and IVIi's. Lofthouse had fallen asleep
upon opposite sofas; Mrs. Powell was walking
softly up and down the long drawing-room, waiting
and watching, waiting for a fuller knowledge of
this ruin which had come upon her employer's
household.
Mrs. Mellish sprang up suddenly at the sound of
her husband's step as he entered the drawing-room.
" Oh, John !" she cried, running to him and lay-
ing her hands upon his broad shoulders, " thank
Heaven you are come back ! Now tell me all !
316 AURORA FLOYD.
Tell me all, John ! I am prepared to hear any-
thing, no matter what. This is no ordinary acci-
dent. The man who was hurt "
Her eyes dilated as she looked at him, with a
glance of intelhgence that plainly said, " I can
guess what has happened."
" The man was very seriously hurt, Lolly," her
husband answered quietly.
"Whatman?"
" The trainer recommended to me by John Pas-
tern."
She looked at him for a few moments in silence.
" Is he dead ?" she asked, after that brief pause.
"He is.".
Her head sank forward upon her breast, and she
walked away, quietly returning to the sofa fi*om
which she had arisen.
" I am very sorry for him," she said ; " he was
not a good man. I am sorry he was not allowed
time to repent of his wickedness."
" You knew him, then ?" asked Mrs. Lofthouse,
who had expressed unbounded consternation at
the trainer's death.
" Yes ; he was in my father's service some years
ago."
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 317
Mr. Lofthouse's carriage had been waiting ever
since eleven o'clock, and tlie rector's wife was only
too glad to bid her friends good-night, and to drive
away from Mellish Park and its fatal associations ;
so, though Colonel IMaddison would have preferred
stopping to smoke another cheroot while he dis-
cussed the business with John Mellish, he was fain
to submit to feminine authority, and take his seat
by his daughter's side in the comfortable landau,
which was an open or a close carriage as the con-
venience of its proprietor dictated. The vehicle
rolled away upon the smooth carriage -drive ; the
servants closed the hall-doors, and lingered about,
whispering to each other, in little groups in the
corridors and on the staircases, waiting until their
master and mistress should have retired for the
night. It was difficult to think that the business
of life was to go on just the same though a murder
had been done upon the outskirts of the Park, and
even the housekeeper, a severe matron at ordinary
times, yielded to the common influence, and forgot
to drive the maids to their dormitories in the
gabled roof.
All was very quiet in the drawing-room Avhere
the visitors had left their host and hostess to hug
318 AUROEA FLOYD.
those ugly skeletons wbicli are put away in the
presence of company. John Mellish walked slowly
up and down the room. Aurora sat staring va-
cantly at the guttering wax candles in the old-
fashioned silver branches ; and Mrs. Powell, with
her embroidery in full working order, threaded her
needles and snipped away the fragments of her
delicate cotton as carefully as if there had been no
such thing as crime or trouble in the world, and
no higher purpose in life than the achievement of
elaborate devices upon French cambric.
She paused now and then to utter some polite
commonplace. She regretted such an unpleasant
catastrophe ; she lamented the disagreeable cu'-
cumstances of the trainer's death ; indeed, she in a
manner inferred that Mr. Conyers had shown himself
wanting in good taste and respect for his employer
by the mode of his death ; but the point to which
she recurred most frequently was the fact of Aurora's
presence in the grounds at the time of the mm-der.
" I so much regret that you should have been
out of doors at the time, my dear Mrs. Mellish,"
she said ; " and, as I should imagine from the
direction which you took on leaving the house,
actually near the place where the unfortunate
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 319
person met his death. It will be so unpleasant for
you to have to appear at the inquest."
"Appear at the inquest!" cried John Mellish,
stopping suddenly, and turning fiercely upon the
placid speaker. "Who says that my wife will
have to appear at the inquest ?"
*' I merely imagined it probable that "
" Then you'd no business to imagine it, ma'am,"
retorted Mr. Mellish, with no very great show
of politeness. " My wife will not appear. Who
should ask her to do so ? "VVho should wish her
to do so? What has she to do with to-night's
business? or what does she know of it more
than you or I, or any one else in this house ?"
Mrs. Powell shrugged her shoulders.
" I thought that, from Mrs. Mellish's previous
knowledge of this unfortunate person, she might
be able to thi-ow some light upon liis habits and
associations," she suggested mildly.
" Previous knowledge !" roared John. " What
knowledge should ]VIi-s. Mellish have of her father's
grooms ? What interest should she take in their
habits or associations ?"
" Stop," said Aurora, rismg and laying her hand
lightly on her husband's shoulder. "My dear,
320 AURORA FLOYD.
impetuous John, why do you put yourself into
a passion about this business? If they choose
to call me as a witness, I will tell all I know about
this man's death; which is nothing but that I
heard a shot fired while I was in the grounds."
She was very pale ; but she spoke with a quiet
determination, a calm resolute defiance of the
worst that fate could reserve for her.
" I will tell anything that is necessary to tell,"
she said ; " I care very little what."
With her hand still upon her husband's shoul-
der, she rested her head on his breast, like some
weary child nestling in its only safe shelter.
Mrs. Powell rose, and gathered together her
embroidery in a pretty, lady-like receptacle of
fragile wicker-work. She glided to the door,
selected her candlestick, and then paused on
the threshold to bid Mr. and Mrs. Mellish good
night.
" I am sure you must need rest after this
terrible affair," she simpered ; " so I will take the
initiative. It is nearly one o'clock. Good night."
If she had lived in the Thane of Cawdor's
family, she would have wished Macbeth and his
wife a good night's rest after Duncan's murder ;
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD, 821
and would have hoped they would sleep well :
she would have curtsied and simpered amidst the
tolling of alarm-bells, the clashing of vengeful
swords, and the blood-bedabbled visages of the
drunken grooms. It must have been the Scottish
queen's companion who watched with the truckling
physician, and played the spy upon her mistress's
remorseful Avanderings, and told how it was the
conscience-stricken lady's habit to do thus and
thus; no one but a genteel mercenary would
have been so sleepless in the dead hours of the
night, lying in wait for the revelation of horrible
secrets, the muttered clues to deadly mysteries.
" Thank God, she's gone at last !" cried John
Mellisli, as the door closed very softly and very
slowly upon Mrs. Powell. *'I hate that woman,
Lolly."
Heaven knows I have never called John Mellish
a hero ; I have never set him up as a model of
manly perfection or infallible virtue ; and if he is
not faultless, if he has those flaws and blemishes
which seem a constituent part of our imperfect
clay, I make no apology for him ; but trust him
to the tender mercies ol those who, not being
quite perfect themselves, Avill, I am sui-e, be
VOL. II.
322 AURORA FLOYD.
merciful to him. He hated those who hated his
wife, or did her any wrong, however smalh He
loved those who loved her. In the great power
of his wide affection, all self-esteem was annihi-
lated. To love her was to love him ; to serve her
was to do him treble service ; to praise her was
to make him vainer than the vainest school-girl.
He freely took upon his shoulders every debt that
she owed, whether of love or of hate ; and he was
ready to pay either species of account to the
uttermost farthing, and with no mean interest
upon the sum total. " I hate that woman, Lolly,'
he repeated ; " and I sha'n't be able to stand her
much longer."
Aurora did not answer him. She was silent
for some moments, and when she did speak,
it was evident that Mrs. Powell was very far away
from her thoughts.
" My poor John !" she said, in a low soft voice,
whose melancholy tenderness went straight to her
husband's heart ; " my dear, how happy we were
together for a little time ! How very happy we
were, my poor boy !"
"Always, Lolly," he answered, "always, my
darlino-."
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 323
"No, no, no !" said Aurora suddenly ; " only for
a little while. What a horrible fatality has
pursued us ! what a frightful curse has clung to
me ! The curse of disobedience, John ; the curse
of Heaven upon my disobedience. To think that
this man should have been sent here, and that
he "
She stopped, shivering violently, and clinging to
the faithful breast that sheltered her.
John Mellish quietly led her to her dressing-
room, and placed her in the care of her maid.
" Your mistress has been very much agitated by
this night's business," he said to the girl ; " keej)
her as quiet as you possibly can."
Mrs. Mellish's bedroom, a comfortable and
roomy apartment, with a low ceiling and deep bay
windows, opened into a morning-room, in which
it was John's habit to read the newspapers and
sporting periodicals, while his wife wrote letters,
drew pencil sketches of dogs and horses, or played
with her favourite Bow-wow. They had been very
childish and idle and happy in tliis pretty cliintz-
hung chamber ; and going into it to-night in
utter desolation of heart, Mr. Mellish felt his
sorrows all the more bitterly for the remembrance
324 AURORA FLOYD.
of those bygone joys. The shaded lamp was
lighted on the morocco-covered writing-table, and
glimmered softly on the picture-frames, caressing
the pretty modern paintings, the simple, domestic-
story pictures which adorned the subdued gray
walls. This wing of the old house had been
refurnished for Aurora, and there was not a chair
or a table in the room that had not been chosen
by John Mellish with a special view to the com-
fort and the pleasure of his wife. The upholsterer
had found him a liberal employer, the painter
and the sculptor a noble patron. He had walked
about the Koyal Academy with a catalogue and
a pencil in his hand, choosing all the " pretty "
pictures for the ornamentation of his wife's rooms.
A lady in a scarlet riding-habit and three-
cornered beaver hat, a white pony, and a pack
of greyhounds, a bit of stone terrace and sloping
turf, a flower-bed, and a fountain, made poor
John's idea of a pretty picture ; and he had half
a dozen variations of such familiar subjects in his
spacious mansion. He sat down to-night, and
looked hopelessly round the pleasant chamber,
wondering whether Aurora and he Avould ever
be happy again : wondering if this dark, mysteri-
THE DEED DOXE IN THE WOOD, 325
ous, storm-threatening cloud would ever pass from
the horizon of his life, and leave the future briofht
and clear.
" I have not been good enough," he thought ;
"I have intoxicated myself with my happiness,
and have made no return for it. Wliat am I
that I should have won the woman I love for my
wife, while other men are laying down the best
desires of their hearts a willing sacrifice, and
going out to fight the battle for their fellow-men ?
What an indolent good-for-nothing wi'etch I
have been ! How blind, how ungrateful, how un-
deserving !"
John Mellish buried his face in his broad hands,
and repented of the carelessly happy life which he
had led for one-and-thirty thoughtless years.
He had been awakened from his unthinking
bliss by a thunder-clap, that had shattered the
fairy castle of his happiness, and laid it level with
the gTound; and in his simple faith he looked
into his own life for the cause of the ruin which
had overtaken him. Yes, it must be so ; he had
not deserved his happiness, he had not earned
his good fortune. Have you ever thought of this,
ye simple country squires, who give blankets and
826 AURORA FLOYD.
beef to your poor neighbours in tlie cruel winter-
time, wlio are good and gentle masters, faithful
husbands, and tender fathers, and who lounge
away your easy lives in the pleasant places of this
beautiful earth? Have you ever thought that,
when all our good deeds have been gathered
together, and set in the balance, the sum of them
will be very small when set against the benefits
you have received ? It will be a very small per-
centage which you will yield your Master for
the ten talents intrusted to your care. Remem-
ber John Howard, fever-stricken and dying ; Mrs.
Fry labom-ing in criminal prisons ; Florence
Nightingale in the bare hospital chambers, in the
close and noxious atmosphere, amongst the dead
and the dying. These are the people who return
cent, per cent, for the gifts intrusted to them.
These are the saints whose good deeds shine
amongst the stars for ever and ever ; these are
the indefatigable workers who, when the toil and
turmoil of the day is done, hear the Master's
voice in the still even-time; welcoming them to
His rest.
John Mellish, looking back at his life, humbly
acknowledged that it had been a comparatively
THE DEED DONE IN THE WOOD. 327
useless one. He had distributed happiness to
the people who had come into his way ; but he
had never gone out of his way to make people
happy. I dare say that Dives was a liberal
master to his own servants^ although he did not
trouble himself to look after the beggar who sat
at his gates. The Israelite who sought instruction
from the lips of inspu-ation was willing to do his
duty to his neighbour, but had yet to learn the
broad signification of that familiar epithet ; and
poor John, like the rich young man, was ready to
serve his Master faithfully, but had yet to learn
the manner of his service.
" If I could save her from the shadow of sorrow
or disgrace, I would start to-morrow barefoot on
a pUgi'image to Jerusalem," he thought. " What
is there that I would not do for her ? what sacri-
fice would seem too gi'eat? what burden too
heavy to bear ?"
CHAPTER I.
AT THE GOLDEN LION.
Mr. William Dork, the constable, reached
Doncaster at about a quarter-past one o'clock
upon the morning after the murder, and drove
straight to the Reindeer. That hotel had been
closed for a couple of hours, and it was only by
the exercise of his authority that Mr. Dork
obtained access, and a hearing from the sleepy
landlord. The young man who had driven Mr.
Prodder was found after considerable difficulty,
and came stumbling down the servants' staircase
in a semi-somnolent state to answer the constable's
inquiries. He had driven the seafaring gentleman,
whose name he did not know, direct to the
Doncaster station, in time to catch the mail-
train, which started at 12.50. He had parted
2 AURORA FLOYD.
with the gentleman at the door of the station
three minutes before the train started.
This was all the information that Mr. Dork
could obtain. If he had been a sharp London
detective, he might have made his arrangements
for laying hands upon the fugitive sailor at the
first station at which the train stopped ; but being
merely a simple rural functionary, he scratched
his stubbled head, and stared at the landlord of
the Reindeer in utter mental bewilderment.
" He was in a devil of a hurry, this chap," he
muttered rather sulkily. " What did he want to
coot away for ?"
The young man who had acted as charioteer
could not answer this question. He only knew
that the seafaring gentleman had promised him
half a sovereign if he caught the mail-train, and
that he had earned his reward.
"Well, I suppose it aint so very particklar,"
said Mr. Dork, sipping a glass of rum, which he
had ordered for his refreshment. "You'll have
to appear to-morrow, and you can tell nigh as
much as t'other chap," he added, turning to
the young man. " You was with him when the
shot were fired, and you warn't far when he found
the body. You'll have to appear and give evi-
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 3
dence whenever the inquest's held. I doubt if
it'll be to-morrow ; for there won't be much time
to give notice to the coroner."
Mr. Dork wrote the young man's name in his
pocket-book, and the landlord vouched for his
being forthcoming when called upon. Having done
thus much, the constable left the inn, after drink-
ing another glass of rum, and refreshing John
Mellish's horse with a handful of oats and a drink
of water. He drove at a brisk pace back to
the Park stables, delivered the horse and gig to
the lad who had waited for his coming, and re-
turned to his comfortable dwelling in the village
of Meslingham, about a mile from the Park gates.
I scarcely know how to describe that long,
quiet, miserable day which succeeded the night of
the murder. Aurora Mellish lay in a dull stupor,
not able to lift her head from the pillows upon
which it rested, scarcely caring to raise her eye-
lids from the aching eyes they sheltered. She was
not ill, nor did she affect to be ill. She lay upon
the sofa in her dressing-room, attended by her
maid, and visited at intervals by John, who
roamed hither and thither about the house and
grounds, talking to innumerable people, and
VOL. III. c
4 AURORA FLOYD.
always coming to the same conclusion, namely,
that the whole affair was a horrible mystery, and
that he heartily wished the inquest well over.
He had visitors from twenty miles round his house,
for the evil news had spread far and wide before
noon, visitors who came to condole and to
sympathize, and wonder, and speculate, and ask
questions, until they fairly drove him mad. But
he bore all very patiently. He coidd tell them
nothing except that the business was as dark a
mystery to him as it could be to them, and that
he had no hope of finding any solution to the
ghastly enigma. They one and all asked him the
same question: "Had any one a motive for killing
this man ?"
How could he answer them ? He might have
told them that if twenty persons had had a power-
ful motive for killing James Conyers, it was pos-
sible that a one-and-twentieth person who had no
motive might have done the deed. That species
of argument which builds up any hypothesis out of
a series of probabilities may, after all, lead very
often to false conclusions.
Mr. Mellish did not attempt to argue the
question. He was too weary and sick at heart,
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 5
too anxious for the inquest to be over, and be free
to carry Aurora away with him, and turn his back
upon the familiar place, which had been hateful to
him ever since the trainer had crossed its threshold.
" Yes, my darling," he said to his wife, as he
bent over her pillow, " I shall take you away to
the south of France directly this business is
settled. You shall leave the scene of all past
associations, all bygone annoyances. We will be-
gin the world afresh."
" God grant that we may be able to do so,"
Aurora answered gravely. "Ah, my dear, I
cannot tell you that I am sorry for this man's death.
If he had died nearly two years ago, when I thought
he did, how much misery he would have saved me !"
Once in the course of that long sirmmer's after-
noon Mr. Mellish walked across the park to the
cottage at the north gates. He could not repress
a morbid desire to look upon the lifeless clay of
the man whose presence had caused him such
vague disquietude, such instinctive terror. He
found the " Softy " leaning on the gate of the little
garden, and one of the grooms standing at the door
of the death-chamber.
" The inquest is to be held at the Golden Lion,
c 2
AURORA FLOYD.
at ten o'clock to-morrow morning," Mr. Mellish
said to the men. " You, Hargraves, will be wanted
as a witness."
He walked into the darkened chamber. The
groom understood what he came for, and silently
withdrew the white drapery that covered the
trainer's dead face.
Accustomed hands had done their awful duty.
The strong limbs had been straightened. The
lower jaw, which had dropped in the agony of
sudden death, was supported by a linen bandage ;
the eyelids were closed over the dark-violet eyes ;
and the face, which had been beautiful in life,
was even yet more beautiful in the still solem-
nity of death. The clay which in life had lacked
so much, in its lack of a beautiful soul to light it
from within, found its level in death. The
worthless soul was gone, and the physical per-
fection that remained had lost its only blemish.
The harmony of proportion, the exquisitely-
modelled features, the charms of detail, all were
left ; and the face which James Conyers carried
to the grave was handsomer than that which had
smiled insolent defiance upon the world in the
trainer's lifetime.
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 7
John Mellisli stood for some minutes looking
gravely at that marble face.
" Poor fellow !" thought the generous-hearted
young squire ; " it was a hard thing to die so
young. I wish he had never come here. I wish
Lolly had confided in me, and let me made a
bargain with this man to stop away and keep her
secret. Her secret! her father's secret more
likely. What secret could she have had, that a
groom was likely to discover ? It may have been
some mercantile business, some commercial trans-
action of Archibald Floyd's, by which the old man
fell into his servant's power. It would be only
like my glorious Aurora, to take the burden upon
her own shoulders, and to bear it bravely through
every trial."
It was thus that John Mellish had often
reasoned upon the mystery which divided him
from his wife. He could not bear to impute even
the shadow of evil to her. He could not endure
to think of her as a poor helpless woman en-
trapped into the power of a mean-spirited hireling,
who was only too willing to make his market out
of her secrets. He could not tolerate such an
idea as this ; and he sacrificed poor Archibald
8 AURORA FLOYD.
Floyd's commercial integrity for the preservation
of Aurora's womanly dignity. Ah, how weak and
imperfect a passion is this boundless love ! How
ready to sacrifice others for that one loved object,
which must be kept spotless in our imaginations,
though a hecatomb of her fellow-creatures are to
be blackened and befouled for her justification !
If Othello could have established Desdemona's
purity by the sacrifice of the reputation of every
lady in Cyprus, do you think he would have
spared the fair inhabitants of the friendly isle ?
No ; he would have branded every one of them
with infamy, if he could by so doing have re-
habilitated the wife he loved. John Mellish
zvould not think ill of his wife. He resolutely
shut his eyes to all damning evidence. He clung
with a desperate tenacity to his belief in her
purity, and only clung the more tenaciously as
the proofs against her became more numerous.
The inquest was held at a road-side inn, within
a quarter of a mile of the north gates a quiet
little place, only frequented on market-days
by the country people going backwards and
forwards between Doncaster and the villages
beyond Meslingham. The coroner and his jury
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 9
sat in a long bare room, in which, the frequenters
of the Golden Lion were wont to play bowls in
wet weather. The surgeon, Steeve Hargraves,
Jarvis, the young man from the Keindeer, William
Dork the constable, and Mr. Mellish, were the
only witnesses called : but Colonel Maddison and
Mr. Lofthouse were both present during the brief
proceedings.
The inquiry into the circumstances of the
trainer's death occupied a very short time. No-
thing was elicited by the brief examination of the
witnesses which in any way led to the elucidation
of the mystery. John Mellish was the last person
interrogated, and he answered the questions put
to him with prompt decision. There was one
inquiry, however, which he was unable to answer,
although it was a very simple one. Mr. Hayward,
the coroner, anxious to discover so much of the
history of the dead man as might lead eventually
to the discovery of his murderer, asked Mr.
Mellish if his trainer had been a bachelor or a
married man.
"I really cannot answer that question," said
John ; " I should imagine that he was a single
man, as neither he nor Mr. Pastern told me any-
10 AURORA FLOYD.
tiling to the contrary. Had he been married, he
would have brought his wife with him, I should
suppose. My trainer, Langley, was married when
he entered my service, and his wife and children
have occupied the premises over my stables for
some years."
" You infer, then, that James Conyers was un-
married ?"
" Most decidedly."
" And it is your opinion that he had made no
enemies in the neighbourhood ?"
"It is next to impossible that he could have done
so."
" To what cause, then, do you attribute his
death ?."
" To an unhappy accident. I can account for
it in no other way. The path through the wood
is used as a public thoroughfare, and the whole of
the plantation is known to be infested with
poachers. It was past ten o'clock at night when
the shot was heard. I should imagine that it was
fired by a poacher whose eyes deceived him in the
shadowy light."
The coroner shook his head. " You forget, Mr.
3Iellish," he said, " that the cause of death was not
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 11
an ordinary gun-shot wound. The shot heard was
the report of a pistol, and the deceased was killed
by a pistol-bullet."
John Mellish was silent. He had spoken in
good faith as to his impression respecting the
cause of the trainer's death. In the press and
hurry, the horror and confusion of the two last
days, the smaller details of the awful event had
escaped his memory.
" Do you know any one amongst your servants,
Mr. Mellish," asked the coroner, "whom you
would consider likely to commit an act of
violence of tins kind ? Have you any one of an
especially vindictive character in your house-
hold ?"
"No," answered John, decisively; "I can
answer for my servants as I would for myself.
They were all strangers to this man. What
motive could they possibly have had to seek his
death?"
Mr. Hayward rubbed his chin, and shook his
head reflectively.
" There was this superannuated trainer whom
you spoke of just now, Mr. Mellish," he said. " I
am well aware that the post of trainer in your
12 AURORA FLOYD.
stables is rather a good thing. A man may save
a good deal of money out of his wages and per-
quisites with such a master as you. This former
trainer may not have liked being superseded by
the deceased. He may have felt some animus to-
wards his successor."
" Langley !" cried John Mellish ; " he is as good
a fellow as ever breathed. He was not superseded ;
lie resigned the active part of his work at his own
wish, and he retained his full wages by mine. The
poor fellow has been confined to his bed for the
last week."
" Humph," muttered the coroner. " Then you
can throw no light upon this business, Mr.
Mellish ?"
"None whatever. I have written to Mr.
Pastern, in whose stables the deceased was em-
ployed, telling him of the circumstances of the
trainer's death, and begging him to forward the
information to any relative of the murdered man.
I expect an answer by to-morrow's post ; and I
shall be happy to submit that answer to you."
Prior to the examination of the witnesses, the
jurymen had been conducted to the north lodge,
where they had beheld the mortal remains of
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 13
James Conyers. Mr. Morton had accompanied
them, and had endeavoured to explain to them
the direction which the bullet had taken, and the
manner in which, according to his own idea, the
shot must have been fired. The jurymen who
had been empannelled to decide upon this awful
question were simple agriculturists and petty
tradesmen, who grudged the day's lost labour, and
who were ready to accept any solution of the
mystery which might be suggested to them by the
coroner. They hurried back to the Golden Lion,
listened deferentially to the evidence and to
Mr. Hayward's address, retired to an adjoining
apartment, where they remained in consultation
for the space of about five minutes, and whence
they emerged with a very rambling form of
decision, which Mr. Hayward reduced into a
verdict of wilful inurder against some person or
persons unknown.
Very little had been said about the disappear-
ance of the seafaring man who had carried the
tidings of the murder to Mr. Mellish's house.
Nobody for a moment imagined that the evidence
of this missine: witness might have thrown some
ray of light upon the mystery of the trainer's
14 AUEORA FLOYD.
death. The seafaring man had been en^asied in
conversation with the young man from the Eein-
deer at the time when the shot was fired ; he
was therefore not the actual murderer; and
strangely significant as his hurried flight might
have been to the acute intelligence of a well-
trained metropolitan police-officer, no one amongst
the rustic officials present at the inquest attached
any importance to the circumstance. Nor had
Aurora's name been once mentioned during the
brief proceedings. Nothing had transpired which
in any way revealed her previous acquaintance
with James Conyers ; and John Mellish drew a
deep breath, a long sigh of relief, as he left the
Golden Lion and walked homewards. Colonel
Maddison, Mr. Lofthouse, and two or three other
gentlemen lingered on the threshold of the little
inn, talking to Mr. Hayward, the coroner.
The inquest was terminated ; the business was
settled ; and the mortal remains of James Conyers
could be carried to the grave at the pleasure of
his late employer. All was over. The mystery
of death and the secrets of life would be buried
peacefully in the grave of the murdered man ;
and John Mellish was free to carry his wife away
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 15
with him whithersoever he would. Free, have
I said ? No ; for ever and for ever the shadow of
that bygone mystery would hang like a funeral
pall between himself and the woman he loved.
For ever and for ever the recollection of that
ghastly undiscovered problem would haunt him in
sleeping and in waking, in the sunlight and in the
darkness. His nobler nature, triumphing again
and again over the subtle influences of damning
suggestions and doubtful facts, was again and
again shaken, although never quite defeated. He
fought the battle bravely, though it was a very
hard one, and it was to endure perhaps to the
end of time. That voiceless argument was for
ever to be argued ; the spirits of Faith and In-
fidelity were for ever to be warring with each
other in that tortured breast, until the end of
life; until he died, perhaps, with his head lying
upon his wife's bosom, with his cheek fanned by
her warm breath ; but ignorant to the very last
of the real nature of that dark something, that
nameless and formless horror with which he had
wrestled so patiently and so long.
"I'll take her away with me," he thought;
" and when we are divided by a thousand miles of
16 AURORA FLOYD.
blue water from the scene of her secret, I will fall
on my knees before her, and beseech her to con-
fide in me."
He passed by the north lodge with a shudder,
and walked straight along the high road towards
the principal entrance of the Park. He was close
to the gates when he heard a voice, a strange
suppressed voice, calling feebly to him to stop.
He turned round and saw the " Softy " making
his way towards him with a slow, shambling run
Of all human beings, except perhaps that one
who now lay cold and motionless in the darkened
chamber at the north lodge, this Steeve Hargraves
was the last whom Mr. Mellish cared to see. He
turned with an angry frown upon the " Softy," who
was wiping the perspiration from his pale face with
the ragged end of his neck-handkerchief, and
panting hoarsely.
" What is the matter ?" asked John. " What
do you want with me ?"
"It's th' coroner," gasped Stephen Hargraves,
" th' coroner and Mr. Lofthouse, th' parson.
They want to speak to ye, sir, oop at the Loion."
"What about?"
Steeve Hargraves gave a ghastly grin.
AT THE GOLDEN LION. 17
" I doan't know, sir," lie whispered. " It's
hardly loikely they'd tell me. There's sunimat
oop, though, I'll lay; for Mr. Lofthouse was
as whoite as ashes, and seemed strangely oopset
about summat. Would you be pleased to step oop
and speak to 'un directly, sir ? that was my
message."
" Yes, yes ; I'll go," answered John absently.
He had taken his hat off, and w T as passing his
hand over his hot forehead in a half-bewildered
manner. He turned his back upon the " Softy,"
aud walked rapidly away, retracing his steps in
the direction of the roadside inn.
Stephen Hargraves stood staring after him
until he was out of sight, and then turned and
walked on slowly towards the turnstile leading
into the wood.
"I know what they've found," he muttered;
" and I know what they want with him. He'll
be some time oop there; so I'll slip across the
wood and tell her. Yes," he paused, rubbing
his hands, and laughing a slow voiceless laugh,
which distorted his ugly face, and made him
horrible to look upon, " yes, it will be nuts for
me to tell her."
18 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER II.
" MY WIFE ! MY WIFE ! WHAT WIFE ? I HAVE
NO WIFE."
The Golden Lion had reassumed its accustomed
air of rustic tranquillity when John Mellish re-
turned to it. The jurymen had gone back to
their different avocations, glad to have finished the
business so easily; the villagers, who had hung
about the inn to hear what they could of the
proceedings, were all dispersed; and the land-
lord was eating his dinner, with his wife and
family, in the comfortable little bar-parlour. He
put down his knife and fork as John entered the
sanded bar, and left his meal to receive such a
distinguished visitor.
" Mr. Hay ward and Mr. Lofthouse are in the
coffee-room, sir," he said. " Will you please to
step this way ?"
He opened the door of a carpeted room, fur-
"my wife! my wife! what wife?" 19
nislied with shining mahogany tables, and adorned
by half a dozen gaudily-coloured prints of the
Doncaster meetings, the great match between
Voltigeur and Flying Dutchman, and other events
which had won celebrity for the northern race-
course. The coroner was sitting at the bottom of
one of the long tables, with Mr. Lofthouse stand-
ing near him. William Dork, the Meslingham
constable, stood near the door, with his hat in his
hand, and with rather an alarmed expression
dimly visible in his ruddy face. Mr. Hayward
and Mr. Lofthouse were both very pale.
One rapid glance was enough to show all this
to John Mellish, enough to show him this, and
something more : a basin of blood-stained water
before the coroner, and an oblong piece of wet
paper, which lay under Mr. Hay ward's clenched
hand.
" What is the matter ? Why did you send for
me ?" John asked.
Bewildered and alarmed as he had been by the
message which had summoned him hurriedly
back to the inn, he was still more so by the
confusion evident in the coroner's manner as h e
answered this question.
VOL. in. D
20 AURORA FLOYD.
" Pray sit down, Mr. Mellish," lie said. " I
I sent for you at the the advice of Mr. Loft-
house, who who, as a clergyman and a family
man, thought it incumbent upon me "
Keginald Lofthouse laid his hand upon the
coroner's arm with a warning gesture. Mr. Hay-
ward stopped for a moment, cleared his throat,
and then continued speaking, but in an altered
tone.
"I have had occasion to reprehend William
Dork for a breach of duty, which, though I am
aware it may have been, as he says, purely un-
intentional and accidental "
"It was indeed, sir," muttered the constable
submissively. " If I'd ha' know'd "
" The fact is, Mr. Mellish, that on the night of
the murder, Dork, in examining the clothes of the
deceased, discovered a paper, which had been
concealed by the unhappy man between the outer
material and the lining of his waistcoat. This
paper was so stained by the blood in which the
breast of the waistcoat was absolutely saturated,
that Dork was unable to decipher a word of its
contents. He therefore was quite unaware of the
importance of the paper; and, injthe hurry and
" MY WIFE ! MY WIFE ! WHAT WIFE ?" 21
confusion consequent on the very hard duty he
has done for the last two days, he forgot to pro-
duce it at the inquest. He had occasion to make
some memorandum in his pocket-book almost
immediately after the verdict had been given, and
this circumstance recalled to his mind the exist-
ence of the paper. He came immediately to me,
and consulted me upon this very awkward busi-
ness. I examined the document, washed away a
considerable portion of the stains which had
rendered it illegible, and have contrived to de-
cipher the greater part of it."
" The document is of some importance, then ?"
John asked.
He sat at a little distance from the table, with
his head bent and his fingers [rattling nervously
against the side of his chair. He chafed horribly
at the coroner's pompous slowness. He suffered
an agony of fear and bewilderment. Why had
they called him back? What was this paper?
How could it concern him ?
" Yes," Mr. Hayward answered ; " the document
is certainly an important one. I have shown it to
Mr. Lofthouse, for the purpose of taking his
advice upon the subject. I have not shown it to
d 2
22 AUEORA FLOYD.
Dork ; but I detained Dork in order that you may
hear from him how and where the paper was
found, and why it was not produced at the in-
quest."
"Why should I ask any questions upon the
subject?" cried John, lifting his head suddenly,
and looking from the coroner to the clergyman.
" How should this paper concern me ?"
" I regret to say that it does concern you very
materially, Mr. Mellish," the rector answered
gently.
1 John's angry spirit revolted against that gentle-
ness. What right had they to speak to him like
this? Why did they look at him with those
grave, pitying faces ? Why did they drop their
voices to that horrible tone in which the bearers
of evil tidings pave their way to the announce-
ment of some overwhelming calamity ?
" Let me see this paper, then, if it concerns
me," John said very carelessly. " Oh, my God !"
he thought, " what is this misery that is coming
upon me ? What is this hideous avalanche of
trouble which is slowly descending to crush me ?"
"You do not Avish to hear anything from
Dork ?" asked the coroner.
"my wife! my wife! what wife?" 23
"No, no!" cried John savagely. "I only
want to see that paper." He pointed as he spoke
to the wet and blood-stained document under
Mr. Hayward's hand.
"You may go, then, Dork," the coroner said
quietly; "and be sure you do not mention this
business to any one. It is a matter of purely
private interest, and has no reference to the
murder. You will remember ?"
" Yes, sir."
The constable bowed respectfully to the three
gentlemen and left the room. He was very glad
to be so well out of the business.
" They needn't have called me," he thought. (To
call, in the northern patois, is to scold, to abuse.)
"They needn't have said it was repri what's its
name to keep the paper. I might have burnt it,
if I'd liked, and said naught about it."
"Now," said John, rising and walking to the
table as the door closed upon the constable, " now
then, Mr. Hayward, let me see this paper. If it
concerns me, or any one connected with me, I
have a right to see it."
" A right which I will not dispute," the coroner
answered gravely, as he handed the blood-stained
24 AURORA FLOYD.
document to Mr. Mellish. "I only beg you to
believe in my heartfelt sympathy with you in
this "
"Let me alone !" cried John, waving the speaker
away from him as he snatched the paper from his
hand ; " let me alone ! Can't you see that I'm
nearly mad ?"
He walked to the window, and with his back to
the coroner and Mr. Lofthouse, examined the
blotched and blotted document in his hands. He
stared for a long time at those blurred and half-
illegible lines before he became aware of their
full meaning. But at last the signification
of that miserable paper grew clear to him,
and with a loud cry of anguish he dropped into
the chair from which he had risen, and covered
his face with his strong right hand. He held the
paper in the left, crumpled and crushed by the
convulsive pressure of his grasp.
" My God !" he ejaculated, after that first cry
of anguish, " my God ! I never thought of this.
I never could have imagined this."
Neither the coroner nor the clergyman spoke.
What could they say to him ? Sympathetic
words could have no power to lessen such a grief
" MY WIFE ! MY WIFE ! WHAT WIFE ?" 25
as this ; they would only fret and harass the
strong man in his agony ; it was better to obey
him ; it was far better to let him alone.
He rose at last, after a silence that seemed long
to the spectators of his grief.
" Gentlemen," he said, in a loud, resolute voice
that resounded through the little room, " I give
you my solemn word of honour that when Archi-
bald Floyd's daughter married me, she believed
this man, James Conyers, to be dead."
He struck his clenched first upon the table, and
looked with proud defiance at the two men.
Then, with his left hand, the hand that grasped
the blood-stained paper, thrust into his breast, he
walked out of the room. He walked out of the
room and out of the house, but not homewards.
A grassy lane, opposite the Golden Lion, led
away to a great waste of brown turf, called
Harper's Common. John Mellish walked slowly
along this lane, and out upon this quiet common-
land, lonely even in the broad summer daylight.
As he closed the five-barred gate at the end of
the lane, and emerged upon the open waste, he
seemed to shut the door of the world that lay
behind him, and to stand alone with his great
26 AURORA FLOYD.
grief, under the low, sunless, summer sky. The
dreary scene before him, and the gray atmosphere
above his head, seemed in strange harmony with
his grief. The reedy water-pools, unbroken by a
ripple; the barren verdure, burnt a dull grayish
brown by the summer sun ; the bloomless heather,
and the nowerless rushes, all things upon which
he looked took a dismal colouring from his own
desolation, and seemed to make him the more
desolate. The spoiled child of fortune, the
popular young squire, who had never been contra-
dicted in nearly two-and-thirty years, the happy
husband, whose pride in his wife had touched
upon that narrow boundary-line which separates
the sublime from the ridiculous, ah ! whither had
they fled, all these shadows of the happy days
that were gone ? They had vanished away ; they
had fallen into the black gulf of the cruel past.
The monster who devours his children had taken
back these happy ones, and a desolate man was
left in their stead. A desolate man, who looked
at a broad ditch and a rushy bank, a few paces
from where he stood, and thought, " Was it I who
leapt that dike a month ago to gather forget-me-
nots for my wife ?"
"my wife! my wife! what wife?" 27
He asked himself that question, reader, which
we must all ask ourselves sometimes. Was he
really that creature of the irrecoverable past ?
Even as I write this, I can see that common-land
of which I write. The low sky, the sunburnt
grass, the reedy water-pools, the flat landscape
stretching far away on every side to regions that
are strange to me. I can recall every object in
that simple scene, the atmosphere of the sunless
day, the sounds in the soft summer air, the voices
of the people near me ; I can recall everytliing
except myself. This miserable ego is the one
thing that I cannot bring back ; the one thing
that seems strange to me ; the one thing that I
can scarcely believe in. If I w T ent back to that
northern common-land to-morrow, I should re-
cognize every hillock, every scrap of furze, or
patch of heather. The few years that have gone
by since I saw it will have made a scarcely per-
ceptible difference in the features of the familiar
place. The slow changes of nature, immutable in
her harmonious law, will have done their work ac-
cording to that unalterable law ; but this wretched
me has undergone so complete a change, that if
you could bring me back that alter ego of the past,
28 AURORA FLOYD.
I should be unable to recognize the strange
creature ; and yet it is by no volcanic shocks, no
rending asunder of rocky masses, no great con-
vulsions, or terrific agonies of nature, that the
change has come about ; it is rather by a slow,
monotonous wearing away of salient points; an
imperceptible adulteration of this or that con-
stituent part ; an addition here, and a subtraction
there, that the transformation takes place. It is
hard to make a man believe in the physiologists,
who declare that the hand which uses his pen to-
day is not the same hand that guided the quill
with which he wrote seven years ago. He finds
it very difficult to believe this ; but let him take
out of some forgotten writing-desk, thrust into a
corner of his lumber-room, those letters which he
wrote seven years ago, and which were afterwards
returned to him by the lady to whom they were
addressed, and the question which he will ask
himself, as he reads the faded lines, will most
surely be, " Was it I who wrote this bosh ? Was
it I who called a lady with white eyelashes ' the
guiding star of a lonely life '? Was it I who was
' inexpressibly miserable ' with one s, and looked
' forward with unutterable anxiety to the party in
" MY WIFE ! MY WIFE ! WHAT WIFE ?" 29
Onslow Square, at which I once more should look
into those soft blue eyes ?' "What party in Ons-
low Square ? Non mi recordo. ' Those soft blue
eyes ' were garnished with white lashes, and the
lady to whom the letters were written, jilted me,
to marry a rich soap-boiler." Even the law takes
cognizance of this wonderful transformation. The
debt which Smith contracts in 1850 is null and
void in 1857. The Smith of '50 may have been
an extravagant rogue ; the Smith of '57 may be
a conscientious man, who would not cheat his
creditors of a farthing. Shall Smith the second
be called upon to pay the debts of Smith the
first ? I leave that question to Smith's conscience
and the metaphysicians. Surely the same law
should hold good in breach of promise of marriage.
Smith the first may have adored Miss Brown;
Smith the second may detest her. Shall Smith
of 1857 be called upon to perform the contract
entered into by that other Smith of 1850 ? The
French criminal law goes still farther. The
murderer whose crime remains unsuspected for
ten years can laugh at the police-officers who
discover his guilt in the eleventh. Surely this
must be because the real murderer is no longer
30 AURORA FLOYD.
amenable to justice ; because the hand that struck
the blow, and the brain that plotted the deed, are
alike vanished.
Poor John Mellish, with the world of the past
crumbled at iris feet, looked out at the blank
future, and mourned for the people who were dead
and gone.
He flung himself at full length upon the
stunted grass, and taking the crumpled paper
from his breast, unfolded it and smoothed it out
before him.
It was a certificate of marriage. The certificate
of a marriage which had been solemnized at the
parish church of Dover, upon the 2nd of July, 1856,
between James Conyers, bachelor, rough-rider, of
London, son of Joseph Conyers, stage-coachman,
and Susan, his wife, and Aurora Floyd, spinster,
daughter of Archibald Floyd, banker, of Felden
Woods, Kent.
31
CHAPTER III.
aurora's flight.
Mrs. Mellish sat in her husband's room on the
morning of the inquest, amongst the guns and
fishing-rods, the riding-boots and hunting-whips,
and all the paraphernalia of sportsmanship. She
sat in a capacious wicker-work arm-chair, close to
the open window, with her head lying back upon
the chintz-covered cushions, and her eyes wander-
ing far away across the lawn and flower-beds-
towards the winding pathway by which it was
likely John Mellish would return from the inquest
at the Golden Lion.
She had openly defied Mrs. Powell, and had
locked the door of this quiet chamber upon that
lady's stereotyped civilities and sympathetic sim-
perings. She had locked the door upon the
outer world, and she sat alone in the pleasant
window, the null-blown roses showering their
32 AURORA FLOYD.
scented petals upon her lap with every breath of
the summer breeze, and the butterflies hovering
about her. The old mastiff sat by her side, with
his heavy head lying on her lap, and his big dim
eyes lifted to her face. She sat alone, I have
said ; but Heaven knows she was not companion-
less. Black care and corroding anxiety kept her
faithful company, and would not budge from her
side. What companions are so adhesive as
trouble and sorrow ? what associates so tenacious,
what friends so watchful and untiring ? This
wretched girl stood alone in the centre of a sea
of troubles, fearful to stretch out her hands to
those who loved her, lest she should drag them
into that ocean which was rising to overwhelm
her.
" Oh, if I could suffer alone !" she thought ; " if
I could suffer all this misery alone, I think I
would go through it to the last without complain-
ing ; but the shame, the degradation, the anguish,
will come upon others more heavily than upon
me. What will they not suffer ? what will they
not endure, if the wicked madness of my youth
should become known to the world ?"
Those others, of whose possible grief and shame
aurora's flight. 33
she thought with such cruel torture, were her
father and John Mellish. Her love for her hus-
band had not lessened by one iota her love for
that indulgent father, on whom the folly of her
girlhood had brought such bitter suffering. Her
generous heart was wide enough for both. She
had acknowledged no " divided duty," and would
have repudiated any encroachment of the new
affection upon the old. The great river of her
love widened into an ocean, and embraced a new
shore with its mighty tide; but that far-away
source of childhood, from which affection first
sprang in its soft infantine purity, still gushed
in crystal beauty from its unsullied spring. She
would perhaps scarcely have recognized the coldly-
measured affection of mad Lear's youngest daugh-
ter the affection which could divide itself with
mathematical precision between father and hus-
band. Surely love is too pure a sentiment to be
so weighed in the balance. Must we subtract
something from the original sum when we are
called upon to meet a new demand ? or has not
affection rather some magic power by which it
can double its capital at any moment when there
is a run upon the bank ? When Mrs. John
34 AURORA FLOYD.
Anderson becomes the mother of six children, she
does not say to her husband, " My dear John, I
shall be compelled to rob you of six-tenths of my
affection in order to provide for the little ones."
No ; the generous heart of the wife grows larger
to meet the claims upon the mother, as the girl's
heart expanded with the new affection of the wife.
Every pang of grief which Aurora felt for her
husband's misery was doubled by the image of
her father's sorrow. She could not divide these
two in her own mind. She loved them, and was
sorry for them, with an equal measure of love and
sorrow.
" If if the truth should be discovered at this
inquest," she thought, " I can never see my hus-
band again ; I can never look in Ins face any
more. I will run away to the end of the world,
and hide myself from him for ever."
She had tried to capitulate with her fate ; she
had endeavoured to escape the full measure of
retribution, and she had failed. She had done
evil that good might come of it, in the face of
that command which says that all such evil-doing
shall be wasted sin, useless iniquity. She had
deceived John Mellish in the hope that the veil
aurora's flight. 35
of deception might never be rent in twain, that
the truth might be undiscovered to the end, and
the man she loved spared from cruel shame and
grief. But the fruits of that foolish seed, sown
long ago in the day of her disobedience, had
grown up around her and hedged her in upon
every side, and she had been powerless to cut a
pathway for herself through the noxious weeds
that her own hands had planted.
She sat with her watch in her hand, and her
eyes wandered every now and then from the
gardens before her to the figures on the dial.
John Mellish had left the house at a little after
nine o'clock, and it was now nearly two. He had
told her that the inquest would be over in a
couple of hours, and that he would hurry home
directly it was finished, to tell her the result.
What would be the result of that inquest ? What
inquiries might be made ? what evidence might,
by some unhappy accident, be produced to com-
promise or to betray her ? She sat in a dull
stupor, waiting to receive her sentence. What
would it be ? Condemnation or release ? If her
secret should escape detection, if James Conyers
should be allowed to carry the story of Ins brief
VOL. III. E
36 AURORA FLOYD.
married life to the grave, what relief, what release
for the wretched girl, whose worst sin had been to
mistake a bad man for a good one ; the ignorant
trustfulness of a child who is ready to accept any
shabby pilgrim for an exiled nobleman or a prince
in disguise !
It was half-past two, when she was startled by
the sound of a shambling footstep upon the
gravelled pathway underneath the verandah. The
footstep slowly shuffled on for a few paces ; then
paused, then shuffled on again ; and at last a face
that she hated made itself visible at the angle of
the window, opposite to that against which shesat.
It was the white face of the " Softy," which was
poked cautiously forward a few inches within the
window-frame. The mastiff sprang up with a
growl, and made as if he would have flown atthat
ugly leering face, which looked like one of the
hideous decorations of a Gothic building; but
Aurora caught the animal's collar with both her
hands, and dragged Mm back.
"Be quiet, Bow-wow," she said; " t quiet, boy,
quiet."
She still held him with one firm hand, soothing
him with the other. " What do you want ?" she
Aurora's flight. 37
asked, turning upon the " Softy " with a cold icy
grandeur of disdain, which made her look like
Nero's wife defying her false accusers. "What
do you want with me ? Your master is dead, and
you have no longer an excuse for coming here.
You have been forbidden the house and the
grounds. If you forget this another time, I shall
request Mr. Mellish to remind you."
She lifted her disengaged hand and laid it upon
the window-sash ; she was going to draw it down,
when Stephen Hargraves stopped her.
" Don't be in such a hoory," he said ; " I want
to speak to you. I've coom straight from th'
inquest. I thought you might want to know all
about it. I coom out o' friendliness, though you
did pay into me with th' horsewhip."
Aurora's heart beat tempestuously against her
aching breast. Ah! what hard duty that poor
heart had done lately ! what icy burdens it had
borne, what horrible oppression of secrecy and
terror had weighed upon it, crushing out all hope
and peace ! An agony of suspense and dread con-
vulsed that tortured heart as the " Softy " tempted
her, tempted her to ask him the issue of the
inquest, that she might receive from his lips the
e2
38 AURORA FLOYD.
sentence of life or death. She little knew how
much of her secret this man had discovered ; but
she knew that he hated her, and that he suspected
enough to know his power of torturing her.
She lifted her proud head and looked at him
with a steady glance of defiance. "I have told
you that your presence is disagreeable,", she said.
" Stand aside, and let me shut the window."
The " Softy " grinned insolently, and holding the
window-frame with one of his broad hands, put
his head into the room. Aurora rose to leave the
window ; but he laid the other hand upon her
wrist, which shrunk instinctively from contact
with his hard horny palm.
" I tell you I've got summat particklar to say to
you," he whispered. "You shall hear all about
it. I was one of th' witnesses at th' inquest, and
I've been hanging about ever since, and I know
everything."
Aurora flung her head back disdainfully, and
tried to wrench her wrist from that strong grasp.
" Let me go !" she said. " You shall suffer for
this insolence when Mr. Mellish returns."
" But he won't be back just yet awhile," said
the " Softy," grinning. " He's gone back to the
aukora's flight. 39
Golden Lion. Th' coroner and Mr. Lofthouse,
th' parson, sent for him to tell him summat
sum mat about you /" liissed Mr. Stephen Har-
graves, with Ins dry white lips close to Aurora's ear.
" What do you mean ?" cried Mrs. Mellish, still
writhing- in the "Softy's" grasp, still restraining
her dog from flying at him with her disengaged
hand ; " what do you mean ?"
" I mean what I say," answered Steeve Har-
graves ; "I mean that it's all found out. They
know everything; and they've sent for Mr.
Mellish to tell him. They've sent fo# lrim to tell
him what you was to him that's dead."
A low wail broke from Aurora's lips. She had
expected to hear this, perhaps ; she had, at any
rate, dreaded it ; she had only fought against
receiving the tidings from this man ; but he had
conquered her; he had conquered her as the
dogged obstinate nature, however base, however
mean, will always conquer the generous and im-
pulsive soul. He had secured his revenge, and
had contrived to be the witness of her agony.
He released her wrist as he finished speaking, and
looked at her looked at her with an insolently
triumphant leer in his small eyes.
40 AURORA FLOYD.
She drew herself up, proudly still, proudly and
bravely in spite of all, but with her face changed
changed from, its former expression of restless
pain to the dull blankness of despair.
" They found th' certificate," said the " Softy."
" He'd carried it about with him, sewed up in's
waistco-at."
The certificate ! Heaven have pity upon her
girlish ignorance ! She had never thought of
that ; she had never remembered that miserable
scrap of paper which was the legal evidence of her
folly. She*, had dreaded the presence of that
husband who had arisen, as if from the grave, to
pursue and torment her; but she had forgotten
that other evidence of the parish register, which
might also arise against her at any moment. She
had feared the finding of something some letter
some picture some accidental record amongst the
possessions of the murdered man; but she had
never thought of this most conclusive evidence,
this most incontrovertible proof. She put her
hand to her head, trying to realize the full horror
of her position. The certificate of her marriage
with her father's groom was in the hands of John
Hellish.
aurora's flight. 41
" What will he think of me ?" she thought.
'' How would he ever believe me if I were to tell
him that I had received what I thought positive
evidence of James Conyers's death a year before
my second marriage ? How could he believe in
me ? I have deceived him too cruelly to dare to
ask his confidence."
She looked about, trying to collect herself, try-
ing to decide upon what she ought to do, and in
her bewilderment and agony forgot for a moment
the greedy eyes which were gloating upon her
miseiy. But she remembered herself presently,
and turning sternly upon Stephen Hargraves,
spoke to him with a voice which was singularly
clear and steady.
" You have told one all that you have to tell,"
she said ; "be so good as to get out of the way
while I shut the window."
The " Softy " drew back and allowed her to close
the sashes ; she bolted the window, and drew
down the Venetian blind, effectually shutting out
her spy, who crept away slowly and reluctantly
towards the shrubbery, through which he could
make his way safely out of the grounds.
"I've paid her out," he muttered, as he
42 AURORA FLOYD.
shambled off under the shelter of the young
trees ; " I've paid her out pretty tidy. It's
almost better than money," he said, laughing
silently " it's almost better than money to pay
off them kind of debts."
Aurora seated herself at John Mellish's desk,
and wrote a few hurried lines upon a sheet of
paper that lay uppermost amongst letters and bills.
" My dear Love," she wrote, " I cannot re-
main here to see you after the discovery which
has been made to-day. I am a miserable coward ;
and I cannot meet your altered looks, I cannot
hear your altered voice. I have no hope that you
can have any other feeling for me than contempt
and loathing. But on some future day, when I
am far away from you, and the bewilderment of
my present misery has grown less, I will write
and explain everything. Think of me mercifully,
if you can ; and if you can believe that, in the
wicked concealments of the last few weeks, the
mainspring of my conduct has been my love for
you, you will only believe the truth. God bless
you, my best and truest. The pain of leaving you
for ever is less than the pain of knowing that you
had ceased to love me. Good-bye.'
aurora's flight. 43
She lighted a taper, and sealed the envelope
which contained this letter.
" The spies who hate and watch me shall not
read this," she thought, as she wrote John's name
upon the envelope.
She left the letter upon the desk, and, rising
from her seat, looked round the room, looked
with a long lingering gaze, that dwelt on each
familiar object. How happy she had been
amongst all that masculine litter ! how happy
with the man she had believed to be her husband !
how innocently happy before the coming down of
that horrible storm-cloud which had overwhelmed
them both ! She turned away with a shudder.
" I have brought disgrace and misery upon all
who have loved me," she thought. "If I had
been less cowardly, if I had told the truth, all
this might have been avoided, if I had confessed
the truth to Talbot Bulstrode."
She paused at the mention of that name.
"I will go to Talbot," she thought. "He is a
good man. I will go to him ; I shall have no
shame now in telling him all. He will advise me
what to do ; he will break this discovery to my
poor father."
44 AURORA FLOYD.
Aurora had dimly foreseen this misery when
she had spoken to Lucy Bulstrode at Felden ; she
had dimly foreseen a day in which all would be
discovered, and she would fly to Lucy to ask for a
shelter.
She looked at her watch.
" A quarter past three," she said. " There is an
express that leaves Doncaster at five. I could
walk the distance in the time."
She unlocked the door, and ran up-stairs to her
own rooms. There was no one in the dressing-
room ; but her maid was in the bedroom, arrang-
ing some dresses in a huge wardrobe.
Aurora selected her plainest bonnet and a large
gray cloak, and quietly put them on before the
cheval glass in one of ftie pretty French windows.
The maid, busy with her own work, did not take
any particular notice of her mistress's actions ; for
Mrs. Mellish was accustomed to wait upon herself,
and disliked any officious attention.
" How pretty the rooms look \'\ Aurora thought,
with a weary sigh ; " how simple and countrified !
It was for me that the new furniture was chosen,
for me that the bath-room and conservatory were
built,"
aukora's flight. 45
She looked through the vista of brightly-
carpeted rooms.
Would they ever seem as cheerful as they had
ouce done to their master? Would he still
occupy them, or would he lock the doors, and
turn his back upon the old house in which he
had lived such an untroubled life for nearly two-
and-thirty years ?
" My poor boy, my poor boy !" she thought.
" Why was I ever born to bring such sorrow upon
him?"
There was no egotism in her sorrow for his
grief. She knew that he had loved her, and she
knew that his parting would be the bitterest agony
of his life ; but in the depth of mortification
which her own womanly pride had undergone, she
could not look beyond the present shame of the
discovery made that day, to a future of happiness
and release.
" He will believe that I never loved him," she
thought. " He will believe that he was the dupe
of a designing woman, who wished to regain the
position she had lost. What will he not think
of me that is base and horrible ?"
The face which she saw in the glass was very
46 AURORA FLOYD.
pale and rigid; the large dark eyes dry and
lustrous, the lips drawn tightly down over the
white teeth.
" I look like a woman who could cut her throat
in such a crisis as this, " she thought. " How
often I have wondered at the desperate deeds
done by women ! I shall never wonder again."
She unlocked her dressing-case, and took a
couple of bank-notes and some loose gold from
one of the drawers. She put these in her purse,
gathered her cloak about her, and walked towards
the door.
She paused on the threshold to speak to her
maid, who was still busy in the inner room.
"I am going into the garden, Parsons," she
said ; " tell Mr. Mellish that there is a letter for
him in his study."
The room in which John kept his boots and
racing accounts was called a "study" by the re-
spectful household.
The dog Bow-wow lifted himself lazily from his
tiger-skin rug as Aurora crossed the hall, and
came sniffing about her, and endeavoured to
follow her out of the house. But she ordered him
back to his rug, and the submissive animal
aurora's flight. 47
obeyed her, as he had often done in his youth,
when his young mistress used to throw her doll
into the water at Felden, and send the faithful
mastiff to rescue that fair-haired waxen favourite.
He obeyed her now, but a little reluctantly ; and
he watched her suspiciously as she descended the
flight of steps before the door.
She walked at a rapid pace across the lawn,
and into the slmibbery, going steadily southwards,
though by that means she made her journey
longer ; for the north lodge lay towards Doncaster.
In her way through the shrubbery she met two
people, who walked closely side by side, en-
grossed in a whispering conversation, and who
both started and changed countenance at seeing
her. These two people were the " Softy " and Mrs.
Powell.
" So," she thought, as she passed this strangely-
matched pan-, "my two enemies are laying their
heads together to plot my misery. It is time that
I left Mellish Park."
She went out of a little gate, leading into some
meadows. Beyond these meadows there was a
long shady lane that led behind the house to
Doncaster. It was a path rarely chosen by any of
48 AURORA FLOYD.
the household at the Park, as it was the longest
way to the town.
Aurora stopped at about a mile from the house
which had been her own, and looked back at the
picturesque pile of building, half hidden under
the luxuriant growth of a couple of centuries.
" G-ood-bye, dear home, in which I was an im-
postor and a cheat," she said ; " good-bye, for ever
and for ever, my own dear love."
While Aurora uttered these few words of
passionate farewell, John Mellish lay upon the
sun-burnt grass, staring absently at the still water-
pools under the gray sky, pitying her, praying
for her, and forgiving her from the depth of his
honest heart.
49
CHAPTEK IV.
JOHN HELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE.
The sun was low in the western sky, and dis-
tant village- clocks had struck seven, when John
Mellish walked slowly away from that lonely waste
of stunted ' grass called Harper's Common, and
strolled homewards in the peaceful evening.
The Yorkshire squire was still very pale. He
walked with his head bent forward upon his
breast, and the hand that grasped the crumpled
paper thrust into the bosom of his waistcoat ; but
a hopeful light shone in his eyes, and the rigid
lines of his mouth had relaxed into a tender smile
a smile of love and forgiveness. Yes, he had
prayed for her and forgiven her, and he was at
peace. He had pleaded her cause a hundred
times in the dull quiet of that summer's afternoon,
and had excused her and forgiven her. Not
lightly, Heaven is a witness ; not without a sharp
50 AUROKA FLOYD.
and cruel struggle, that had rent his heart with
tortures undreamed of before.
This revelation of the past was such bitter
shame to him; such horrible degradation; such
irrevocable infamy. His love, his idol, his
empress, his goddess it was of her he thought.
By what hellish witchcraft had she been ensnared
into the degrading alliance, recorded in this
miserable scrap of paper? The pride of five
unsullied centuries arose, fierce and ungovernable,
in the breast of the country gentleman, to resent
this outrage upon the woman he loved. O God !
had all his glorification of her been the vain-
boasting of a fool who had not known what he
talked about ? He was answerable to the world
for the past as well as for the present. He had
made an altar for his idol, and had cried aloud to
all who came near her, to kneel down and perform
their worship at her shrine ; and he was answer-
able to these people for the purity of their divinity.
He could not think of her as le&s than the idol
which his love had made her perfect, unsullied,
unassailable. Disgrace, where she was concerned,
knew in his mind no degrees.
It was not his own humiliation he thought of
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 51
when his face grew hot as he imagined the talk
there would be in the country if this fatal indis-
cretion of Aurora's youth ever became generally
known ; it was the thought of her shame that
stung him to the heart. He never once disturbed
himself with any prevision of the ridicule which
was likely to fall upon himself.
It was here that John Mellish and Talbot Bul-
strode were so widely different in their manner of
loving and suffering. Talbot had sought a wife
who should reflect honour upon himself, and had
fallen away from Aurora at the first trial of his
faith, shaken with horrible apprehensions of his
own danger. But John Mellish had submerged
Ins very identity into that of the woman he loved.
She was his faith and his worship, and it was for
her departed glory that he wept in this cruel day
of shame. The wrong which he found so hard to
forgive was not her wrong against him ; but that
other and more fatal wrong against herself. I have
said that his affection was universal, and partook
of all the highest attributes of that sublime self-
abnegation which we call Love. The agony which
he felt to-day was the agony which Archibald^Floyd
had suffered years before. It was vicarious torture,
VOL. in. F
52 AURORA FLOYD.
endured for Aurora, and not for himself; and in
his struggle against that sorrowful anger which he
felt for her folly, every one of her perfections
took up arms upon the side of indignation, and
fought against their own mistress. Had she been
less beautiful, less queenly, less generous, great
and noble, he might have forgiven her that self-
inflicted shame more easily. But she was so
perfect ; and how could she, how could she ?
He unfolded the wretched paper half a dozen
times, and read and re-read every word of that
commonplace legal document, before he could
convince himself that it was not some vile forgery,
concocted by James Conyers for purposes of ex-
tortion. But he prayed for her, and forgave
her. He pitied her with more than a mother's
tender pity, with more than a sorrowful father's
anguish.
"My poor dear!" he said, "my poor dear! she
was only a school-girl when this certificate was
first written : an innocent child ; ready to believe
in any lies told her by a villain."
A dark frown obscured the Yorkshheman's
brow as he thought this ; a frown that would have
promised no good to Mr. James Conyers, had not
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 53
the trainer passed out of the reach of all earthly
good and evil.
"Will God have mercy upon a wretch like
that ?" thought John Mellish ; " will that man be
forgiven for having brought disgrace and misery
upon a trusting girl ?"
It will perhaps be wondered at, that John
Mellish, who suffered his servants to rule in his
household, and allowed his butler to dictate to
him what wines he should drink; who talked
freely to his grooms, and bade his trainer sit in
his presence, it will be wondered at, perhaps,
that this frank, free-spoken, simple-mannered
young man should have felt so bitterly the shame
of Aurora's unequal marriage. It was a common
saying in Doncaster, that Squire Mellish of the
Park had no pride ; that he would clap poor folks
on the shoulder and give them good-day as he
lounged in the quiet street ; that he would sit
upon the cornchandler's counter, slashing his hunt-
ing-whip upon those popular tops, about which a
legend was current, to the effect that they were
always cleaned with champagne, and discussing
the prospects of the September Meeting ; and that
there was not within the three Bidings, a better
f 2
54 AURORA FLOYD.
landlord or a nobler-hearted gentleman. And all
this was perfectly true. John Mellish was en-
tirely without personal pride; but there was
another pride, which was wholly inseparable from
his education and position, and this was the pride
of caste. He was strictly conservative ; and
although he was ready to talk to his good friend
the saddler, or his trusted retainer the groom, as
freely as he would have held converse with his
equals, he would have opposed all the strength of
his authority against the saddler had that honest
tradesman attempted to stand for his native town,
i and would have annihilated the groom with one
angry flash of his bright blue eyes had the servant
infringed by so much as an inch upon the broad
extent of territory that separated him from his
master.
The struggle was finished before John Mellish
arose from the brown turf and turned towards the
home which he had left early that morning,
ignorant of the great trouble that was to fall upon
him, and only dimly conscious of some dark
foreboding of the coming of an unknown horror.
The struggle w r as over, and there was now only
hope in his heart the hope of clasping his wife to
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 55
his breast, and comforting her for all the past.
However bitterly he might feel the humiliation of
this madness of her ignorant girlhood, it was not
for him to remind her of it ; his duty was to con-
front the world's slander or the world's ridicule,
and oppose his own breast to the storm, while she
was shielded by the great shelter of his love. His
heart yearned for some peaceful foreign land, in
which his idol would be far away from all who
could tell her secret, and where she might reign
once more glorious and unapproachable. He was
ready to impose any cheat upon the world, in his
greediness of praise and worship for her for her.
How tenderly he thought of her, walking slowly
homewards in that tranquil evening ! He thought
of her waiting to hear from him the issue of the
inquest, and he reproached himself for his neglect
when he remembered how long he had been
absent.
"But my darling will scarcely be uneasy," he
thought; "she will hear all about the inquest
from some one or other, and she will think that
I have gone into Doncaster on business. She will
know nothing of the finding of this detestable
certificate. No one need know of it. Lofthouse
56 AURORA FLOYD.
and Hayward are honourable men, and they will
keep my poor girl's secret; they will keep the
secret of her foolish youth, my poor, poor girl !"
He longed for that moment which he fancied so
near ; the moment in which he should fold her in
his arms and say, " My dearest one, be at peace ;
there is no longer any secret between us. Hence-
forth your sorrows are my sorrows, and it is hard
if I cannot help you to carry the load lightly. We
are one, my dear. For the first time since our
wedding-day, we are truly united."
He expected to find Aurora in his own room,
for she had declared her intention of sitting there
all day ; and he ran across the broad lawn to the
rose-shadowed verandah that sheltered his favour-
ite retreat. The blind was drawn down and the
window bolted, as Aurora had bolted it in her wish
to exclude Mr. Stephen Hargraves. He knocked
at the window, but there was no answer.
" Lolly has grown tired of waiting," he thought.
The second dinner-bell rang in the hall while
Mr. Mellish lingered outside this darkened window.
The commonplace sound reminded him of his
social duties.
"I must wait till dinner is over, I suppose,
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 57
before I talk to my darling," he thought. "I
must go through all the usual business, for the
edification of Mrs. Powell and the servants, before
I can take my darling to my breast, and set her
mind at ease for ever."
John Mellish submitted himself to the indis-
putable force of those ceremonial laws which we
have made our masters, and he was prepared to
eat a dinner for which he had no appetite, and
wait two hours for that moment for whose comino-
his soul yearned, rather than provoke Mrs. Powell's
curiosity by any deviation from the common
course of events.
The windows of the drawing-room were open,
and he saw the glininier of a pale muslin dress at
one of them. It belonged to Mrs. Powell, who
was sitting in a contemplative attitude, gazing at
the evening sky.
She was not thinking of that western glory of
pale crimson and shining gold. She was thinking
that if John Mellish cast off the wife who had
deceived him, and who had never legally been Ins
wife, the Yorkshire mansion would be a fine place
to live in; a fine place for a housekeeper who
knew how to obtain influence over her master,
58 AURORA FLOYD.
and who had the secret of his married life and his
wife's disgrace to help her on to power.
" He's such a blind, besotted fool about her,"
thought the ensign's widow, "that if he breaks
with her to-morrow, he'll go on loving her just the
same, and he'll do anything to keep her secret.
Let it work which way it will, they're in my power
they're both in my power ; and I'm no longer
a poor dependent, to be sent away, at a quarter's
notice, when it pleases them to be tired of me."
The bread of dependence is not a pleasant diet ;
but there are many ways of eating the same food.
Mrs. Powell's habit was to receive all favours
grudgingly, as she would have given, had it been
her lot to give instead of to receive. She measured
others by her own narrow gauge, and was power-
less to comprehend or believe in the frank impulses
of a generous nature. She knew that she was a
useless member of poor John's household, and that
the young squire could have easily dispensed with
her presence. She knew, in short, that she was
retained by reason of Aurora's pity for her friend-
lessness ; and having neither gratitude nor kindly
feelings to give in return for her comfortable
shelter, she resented her own poverty of nature,
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 59
and hated her entertainers for their generosity.
It is a property of these narrow natures so to
resent the attributes they can envy, but cannot
even understand ; and Mrs. Powell had been far
more at ease in households in which she had been
treated as a lady-like drudge than she had ever
been at Mellish Park, where she was received as
an equal and a guest. She had eaten the bitter
bread upon which she had lived so long in a bitter
spirit ; and her whole nature had tinned to gall
from the influence of that disagreeable diet. A
moderately-generous person can bestow a favour,
and bestow it well; but to receive a boon with
perfect grace requires a far nobler and more
generous nature.
John Mellish approached the open window at
which the ensign's widow was seated, and looked
into the room. Aurora was not there. The long
saloon seemed empty and desolate. The decora-
tions of the temple looked cold and dreary, for the
deity was absent.
" No one here !" exclaimed Mr. Mellish, discon-
solately.
" No one here but me," murmured Mrs. Powell,
with an accent of mild deprecation.
60 AURORA FLOYD.
" But where is my wife, ma'am ?"
He said those two small words, " my wife," with
such a tone of resolute defiance, that Mrs. Powell
looked up at him as he spoke, and thought, " He
has seen the certificate."
" Where is Aurora ?" repeated John.
" I believe that Mrs. Mellish has gone out."
" Gone out ! where ?"
" You forget, ' sir," said the ensign's widow
reproachfully, " you appear to forget your special
request that I should abstain from all supervision
of Mrs. Mellish's arrangements. Prior to that
request, which I may venture to suggest was un-
necessarily emphatic, I had certainly considered
myself, as the humble individual chosen by Miss
Floyd's aunt, and invested by her with a species
of authority over the young lady's actions, in some
manner responsible for "
John Mellish chafed horribly under the merci-
less stream of long words, which Mrs. Powell
poured upon his head.
"Talk about that another time, for Heaven's
sake, ma'am," he said impatiently. " I only Avant
to know where my wife is. Two words will tell
me that, I suppose ?"
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 61
" I am sorry to say that I am unable to afford
you any information upon that subject," answered
Mrs. Powell ; " Mrs. Mellish quitted the house at
half-past three o'clock, dressed for walking. I
have not seen her since."
Heaven forgive Aurora for the trouble it had
been her lot to bring upon those who best loved
her ! John's heart grew sick with terror at this
first failure of his hope. He had pictured her
waiting to receive him, ready to fall upon his
breast in answer to his passionate cry, " Aurora,
come ! come, dear love ! the secret has been dis-
covered, and is forgiven."
" Somebody knows where my wife has gone, I
suppose, Mrs. Powell ?" he said fiercely, turning
upon the ensign's widow in his wrathful sense of
disappointment and alarm. He was only a big
child, after all, with a child's alternate hopefulness
and despair ; with a child's passionate devotion for
those he loved, and ignorant terror of danger to
those beloved ones.
" Mrs. Mellish may have made a confidante of
Parsons," replied the ensign's widow ; " but she
certainly did not enlighten me as to her intended
movements. Shall I ring the bell for Parsons ?"
62 AUEORA FLOYD.
' If you please."
John Mellisli stood upon the threshold of the
French window, not caring to enter the handsome
chamber of which he was the master. Why
should he go into the house ? It was no home for
him without the woman who had made it so dear
and sacred; dear, even in the darkest hour of
sorrow and anxiety ; sacred, even in despite of the
trouble his love had brought upon him.
The maid Parsons appeared in answer to a mes-
sage sent by Mrs. Powell ; and John strode into
the room and interrogated her sharply as to the
departure of her mistress.
The girl could tell very little, except that Mrs.
Mellish had said that she was going into the
garden, and that she had left a letter in the study
for the master of the house. Perhaps Mrs. Powell
was even better aware of the existence of this
letter than the Abigail herself. She had crept
stealthily into John's room after her interview with
the " Softy " and her chance encounter of Aurora.
She had found the letter lying on the table, sealed
with a crest and monogram that were engraved
upon a blood-stone worn by Mrs. Mellish amongst
the trinkets on her watch-chain. It was not
JOHN HELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 63
possible therefore to manipulate this letter with
any safety, and Mrs. Powell had contented her-
self by guessing darkly at its contents. The
" Softy " had told her of the fatal discovery of the
morning, and she instinctively comprehended the
meaning of that sealed letter. It was a letter of
explanation and farewell, perhaps ; perhaps only
of farewell.
John strode along the corridor that led to his
favourite room. The chamber was dimly lighted
by the yellow evening sunlight which streamed
from between the Venetian blinds, and drew
golden bars upon the matted floor. But even in
that dusky and uncertain light he saw the white
patch upon the table, and sprang with tigerish
haste upon the letter his wife had left for him.
He drew up the Venetian blind, and stood in
the embrasure of the window, with the evening
sunlight upon his face, reading Aurora's letter.
There was neither anger nor alarm visible in his
face as he read ; only supreme love and supreme
compassion.
" My poor darling ! my poor girl ! How could
she think that there could ever be such a word
as good-bye between us ! Does she think so
64 AURORA FLOYD.
lightly of my love as to believe that it could fail
her now, when she wants it most ? Why, if that
man had lived," he thought, his face darkening
with the memory of that unburied clay which yet
lay in the still chamber at the north lodge, " if
that man had lived, and had claimed her, and
carried her from me by the right of the paper in
my breast, I would have clung to her still; I
would have followed wherever he went, and would
have lived near him, that she might have known
where to look for a defender from every wrong : I
would have been his servant, the willing servant
and contented hanger-on of a boor, if I could
have served her by enduring his insolence. So,
my dear, my dear," murmured the young squire,
with a tender smile, " it was worse than foolish to
write this letter to me, and even more useless than
it was cruel to run away from the man who would
follow you to the farthest end of this wide world."
He put the letter into his pocket, and took his
hat from the table. He was ready to start he
scarcely knew for what destination ; for the end
of the world, perhaps in his search for the woman
he loved. But he was going to Felden Woods
before beginning the longer journey, as he fully
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 65
believed that Aurora would fly to her father in
her foolish terror.
" To thiuk that anything could ever happen to
change or lessen my love for her," he said ;
" foolish girl ! foolish girl !"
He rang for his servant, and ordered the hasty
packing of his smallest portmanteau. He was
going to town for a day or two, and he was going-
alone. He looked at his watch ; it was only a
quarter after eight, and the mail left Doncaster
at half-past twelve. There was plenty of time,
therefore ; a great deal too much time for the
feverish impatience of Mr. Mellish, who would
have chartered a special engine to convey him,
had the railway officials been willing. There
were four long hours during which he must wait,
wearing out his heart in his anxiety to follow the
w 7 oman he loved, to take her to his breast and
comfort and shelter her, to tell her that true love
knows neither decrease nor change. He ordered
the dog-cart to be got ready for him at eleven
o'clock. There was a slow train that left Don-
caster at ten ; but as it reached London only ten
minutes before the mail, it was scarcely desirable
as a conveyance. Yet after the hour had passed
66 AUEORA FLOYD.
for its starting, Mr. Mellish reproached himself
bitterly for that lost ten minutes, and was tor-
mented by a fancy that, through the loss of those
very ten minutes, he should miss the chance of an
immediate meeting with Aurora.
It was nine o'clock before he remembered the
necessity of making some pretence of sitting down
to dinner. He took his place at the end of the
long table, and sent for Mrs. Powell, who ap-
peared in answer to his summons, and seated
herself with a well-bred affectation of not know-
ing that the dinner had been put off for an hour
and a half.
" I'm sorry I've kept you so long, Mrs. Powell,"
he said, as he sent the ensign's widow a ladleful
of clear soup, that was of the temperature* of
lemonade. " The truth is, that I I find I shall
be compelled to run up to town by the mail."
" Upon no unpleasant business, I hope ?"
"Oh, clear no, not at all. Mrs. Mellish has
gone up to her father's place, and and has
requested me to follow her," added John, telling
a lie with considerable awkwardness, but with no
very great remorse. He did not speak again dur-
ing dinner. He ate anything that his servants
JOHN HELLISH FINDS HIS HOHE DESOLATE. 67
put before him, and took a good deal of wine ;
but he ate and drank alike unconsciously, and
when the cloth had been removed, and he was
left alone with Mrs. Powell, he sat staring at the
reflection of the wax-candles in the depths of
the mahogany. It was only when the lady gave
a little ceremonial cough, and rose with the in-
tention of simpering out of the room, that he
roused himself from Ins long reverie, and looked
up suddenly.
" Don't go just this moment, if you please,
Mrs. Powell," he said. " If you'll sit down again
for a few minutes, I shall be glad. I wished
to say a word or two to you before I leave
Mellish Park."
He rose as he spoke, and pointed to a chair.
Mrs. Powell seated herself, and looked at him
earnestly ; with an eager, viperish earnestness,
and a nervous movement of her thin lips.
"When you came here, Mrs. Powell," said
John, gravely, " you came as my wife's guest,
and as my wife's friend. I need scarcely say that
you could have had no better claim upon my
friendship and hospitality. If you had brought a
regiment of dragoons with you, as the condition of
VOL. III. G
68 AURORA FLOYD.
your visit, they would have been welcome ; for
I believed that your coming would give pleasure
to my poor girl. If my wife had been indebted
to you for any word of kindness, for any look
of affection, I would have repaid that debt a
thousand-fold, had it lain in my power to do so
by any service, however difficult. You would
have lost nothing by your love for my poor
motherless girl, if any devotion of mine could
have recompensed you for that tenderness. It
was only reasonable that I should look to you as
the natural friend and counsellor of my darling ;
and I did so, honestly and confidently. Forgive
me if I tell you that I very soon discovered how
much I had been mistaken in entertaining such a
hope. I soon saw that you were no friend to my
wife."
"Mr. Mellish!"
"Oh, my dear madam, you think because I
keep hunting-boots and guns in the room I call
my study, and because I remember no more of
the Latin that my tutor crammed into my head
than the first line of the Eton Syntax, you
think, because I'm not clever, that I must needs
be a fool. That's your mistake, Mrs. Powell ; I'm
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 69
not clever enough to be a fool, and I've just
sufficient perception to see any clanger that assails
those I love. You don't like my wife ; you
grudge her her youth and her beauty, and my
foolish love for her; and you've watched, and
listened, and plotted in a lady-like way, of course
to do her some evil. Forgive me if I speak
plainly. Where Aurora is concerned, I feel very
strongly. To hurt her little finger is to torture
my whole body. To stab her once is to stab me
a hundred times. I have no wish to be dis-
courteous to a lady; I am only sorry that you
have been unable to love a poor girl who has
rarely failed to win friends amongst those who
have known her. Let us part without animosity,
but let us understand each other for the first time.
You do not like us, and it is better that we should
part before you learn to hate us."
The ensign's widow waited in utter stupefaction
until Mr. Mellish stopped, from want of breath,
perhaps, rather than from want of words.
All her viperish nature rose in white defiance
of him as he walked up and down the room,
chafing himself into a fury with his recollection of
the wrong she had done him in not loving his wife.
G 2
70 AURORA FLOYD.
"You are perhaps aware, Mr. Mellish," she
said, after an awful pause, " that under such cir-
cumstances the annual stipend due to me for my
services cannot be expected to cease at your
caprice ; and that, although you may turn me
out of doors," Mrs. Powell descended to this
very commonplace locution, and stooped to the
vernacular in her desire to be spiteful, "you
must understand that you will be liable for my
salary until the expiration of "
" Oh, pray do not imagine that I shall repudiate
any claim you may make upon me, Mrs. Powell,"
said John, eagerly ; " Heaven knows it has been
no pleasure to me to speak as plainly as I have
spoken to-night. I will write a cheque for any
amount you may consider proper as compensation
for this change in our arrangements. I might
have been more polite, perhaps; I might have
told you that my wife and I think of travelling
on the Continent, and that we are, therefore,
breaking up our household. I have preferred
telling you the plain truth. Forgive me if I
have wounded you."
Mrs. Powell rose, pale, menacing, terrible ;
terrible in the intensity of her feeble wrath, and
JOHN MELLISH FINDS HIS HOME DESOLATE. 71
in the consciousness that she had power to stab
the heart of the man who had affronted her.
" You have merely anticipated my own intention,
Mr. Mellish," she said. " I could not possibly
have remained a member of your household after
the very unpleasant circumstances that have
lately transpired. My worst wish is, that you
may find yourself involved in no greater trouble
through your connection with Mr. Floyd's daugh-
ter. Let me add one word of warning before
I have the honour of wishing you good evening.
Malicious people might be tempted to smile at
your enthusiastic mention of your ' wife ;' remem-
bering that the person to whom you allude is
Aurora Conyers, the widow of your groom, and
that she has never possessed any legal claim to
the title you bestow upon her."
If Mrs. Powell had been a man, she would
have found her head in contact with the Turkey
carpet of John's dining-room before she could
have concluded this speech ; as she was a woman,
John Mellish stood looking her full in the face,
waiting till she had finished speaking. But he
bore the stab she inflicted without flinching
imder its cruel pain, and he robbed her of the
72 AURORA FLOYD.
gratification she had hoped for. He did not let
her see his anguish.
"If Lofthouse has told her the secret," he
cried, when the door had closed upon Mrs. Powell,
" I'll horsewhip him in the church."
73
CHAPTEE V.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOK.
Aueoea found a civil railway official at the Don-
caster station, who was ready to take a ticket for
her, and find her a comfortable seat in an empty
carriage ; but before the train started, a couple of
sturdy farmers took their seats upon the spring
cushions opposite Mrs. Mellish. They were
wealthy gentlemen, who farmed their own land,
and travelled express ; but they brought a power-
ful odour of the stable-yard into the carriage, and
they talked with that honest northern twang
which always has a friendly sound to the writer
of this story. Aurora, with her veil drawn over
her pale face, attracted very little of their atten-
tion. They talked of farming-stock and horse-
racing, and looked out of the window every now
and then to shrug their shoulders at somebody
else's agriculture.
74 AURORA FLOYD.
I believe they were acquainted with the capa-
bilities of every acre of land between Doncaster
and Harrow, and knew how it might have been
made " worth ten shillin' an acre more than it was,
too, sir," as they perpetually informed each other.
How wearisome their talk must have seemed
to the poor lonely creature who was running away
from the man she loved, from the man who
loved her, and would love to the end of time !
" I didn't mean what I wrote," she thought.
"My poor boy would never love me less. His
great heart is made up of unselfish love and gene-
rous devotion. But he would be so sorry for me ;
he would be so sorry ! He could never be proud
of me again ; he could never boast of me any
more. He would be always resenting some in-
sult, or imagining some slight. It would be too
painful for him. He would see his wife pointed
at as the woman who had married her groom. He
would be embroiled in a hundred quarrels, a
hundred miseries. I will make the only return
that I can ever make to him for his goodness t
me : I will give him up, and go away and hide
myself from him for ever."
She tried to imagine what John's life would be
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 75
without her. She tried to think of him in some
future time, when he should have worn out his
grief, and reconciled himself to her loss. But she
could not, she could not ! She could not endure
any image of him in which he was separated from
his love for her.
" How should I ever think of him without think-
ing of his love for me ?" she thought. " He loved
me from the first moment in which he saw me.
I have never known him except as a lover;
generous, pure, and true."
And in this mind Aurora watched the smaller
stations, which looked like mere streaks of whitened
woodwork as the express tore past them ; though
every one of them was a milestone upon the long-
road which, was separating her from the man she
loved.
Ah, careless wives, who think it a small thing,
perhaps, that your husbands are honest and gene-
rous, constant and true, and who are apt to
grumble because your next-door neighbours have
started a carriage, while you are fain to be content
with eighteenpenny airings in vehicles procured
at the nearest cab-stand, stop and think of
this wretched girl, who in this hour of desolation
76 AURORA FLOYD.
recalled a thousand little wrongs she had done to
her husband, and would have laid herself under
his feet to be walked over by him could she have
thus atoned for her petty tyrannies, her pretty
caprices ! Think of her in her loneliness, with her
heart yearning to go back to the man she loved,
and with her love arrayed against herself and
pleading for him. She changed her mind a hun-
dred times during that four hours' journey ; some-
times thinking that she would go back by the
next train, and then again remembering that her
first impulse had been, perhaps, after all, only too
correct, and that John Mellish's heart had turned
against her in the cruel humiliation of that morn-
ing's discovery.
Have you ever tried to imagine the anger of
a person whom you have never seen angry ?
Have you ever called up the image of a face that
has never looked on you except in love and
gentleness, and invested that familiar countenance
with the blank sternness of estrangement ? Au-
rora did this. She acted over and over again in
her weary brain the scene that might have taken
place between her husband and herself. She
remembered that scene in the hackneyed stage-
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 77
play, which everybody affects to ridicule and
secretly weeps at. She remembered Mrs. Haller
and the Stranger, the children, the Countess, the
cottage, the jewels, the parchments, and all the
old familiar properties of that well-known fifth act
in the simple, social tragedy ; and she pictured to
herself John Mellish retiring into some distant
country with his rheumatic trainer Langley, and
becoming a misanthropical hermit, after the man-
ner of the injured German.
What was her life to be henceforth ? She shut
her eyes upon that blank future.
" I will go back to my father," she thought ;
" I will go back to him again, as I went before.
But this time there shall be no falsehoods, no
equivocations ; and this time nothing shall tempt
me to leave him again."
Amid all her perplexities, she clung to the
thought that Lucy and Talbot would help her.
She would appeal to passionless Talbot Bulstrode
in behalf of her poor heart-broken John.
" Talbot will tell me what is right and honour-
able to be done," she thought. " I will hold by
what he says. He shall be the arbiter of my
future."
78 AURORA FLOYD.
I do not believe that Aurora had ever enter-
tained any very passionate devotion for the hand-
some Cornishman ; but it is very certain that she
had always respected him. It may be that any
love she had felt for him had grown out of that
very respect, and that her reverence for his charac-
ter was made all the greater by the contrast
between him and the base-born schemer for whom
her youth had been sacrificed. She had sub-
mitted to the decree which had separated her
from her affianced lover, for she had believed in
its justice ; and she was ready now to submit to
any decision pronounced by the man, in whose
sense of honour she had unbounded confidence.
She thought of all these things again and again
and again, while the farmers talked of sheep and
turnips, of Thorley's food, swedes, and beans, and
corn, and clover, and of mysterious diseases,
which they discussed gravely, under such terms
as " red gum," " finger and toe," &c. They alter-
nated this talk with a dash of turf scandal ; and
even in the all-absorbing perplexities of her do-
mestic sorrows, Mrs. Mellish could have turned
fiercely upon these innocent farmers when they
pooh-poohed John's stable, and made light of
'an unexpected visitor. 79
the reputation of her namesake the bay filly, and
declared that no horse that came out of the
squire's stables was ever anything better than a
plater or a screw.
The journey came to an end, only too quickly,
it seemed to Aurora : too quickly, for every mile
widened the gulf she had set between herself and
the home she loved ; every moment only brought
the realization of her loss more fully home to her
mind.
"I will abide by Talbot Bulstrode's advice,"
she kept saying to herself; indeed, this thought
was the only reed to which she clung in her
trouble. She was not a strong-minded woman.
She had the generous, impulsive nature winch
naturally turns to others for help and comfort.
Secretiveness had no part in her organization, and
the one concealment of her life had been a per-
petual pain and grief to her.
It was past eight o'clock when she found herself
alone amidst the bustle and confusion of the
King's Cross terminus. She sent a porter for a
cab, and ordered the man to drive to Halfmoon
Street. It was only a few days since she had
met Lucy and Talbot at Felden Woods, and she
80 AUROKA FLOYD.
knew that Mr. Bulstrode and his wife were de-
tained in town, waiting for the prorogation of the
House.
It was Saturday evening, and therefore a holi-
day for the young advocate of the Cornish miners
and their rights ; but Talbot spent his leisure
amongst Blue-books and Parliamentary Minutes,
and poor Lucy, who might have been shining, a
pale star, at some crowded conversakione, was
compelled to forego the pleasure of struggling
upon the staircase of one of those wise individuals
who insist upon inviting their acquaintances to
pack themselves into the smallest given space con-
sistent with the preservation of life, and trample
upon each other's lace flounces and varnished
boots with smiling equanimity. Perhaps, in the
universal fitness of things, even these fashionable
evenings have a certain solemn purpose, deeply
hidden under considerable surface-frivolity. It
may be that they serve as moral gymnasia, in
which the thews and sinews of social amenity
are racked and tortured, with a view to their in-
creased power of endurance. It is good for a man
to have his favourite corn trodden upon, and yet
be compelled to smile under the torture ; and a
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 81
woman may learn her first great lesson in forti-
tude from the destruction of fifty guineas' worth
of Mechlin, and the necessity of assuring the
destroyer that she is rather gratified than other-
wise by the sacrifice. Noblesse oblige. It is good
to " suffer and be strong." Cold coffee and tepid
ice-cream may not be the most strengthening or
delightful of food ; but there may be a moral diet
provided at these social gatherings which is not
without its usefulness.
Lucy willingly abandoned her own delights ;
for she had that ladylike appreciation of society
which had been a part of her education. Her
placid nature knew no abnormal tendencies. She
liked the amusements that other girls of her
position liked. She had none of the eccentric
predilections which had been so fatal to her
cousin. She was not like that lovely and illus-
trious Spanish lady who is said to love the cirque
better than the opera, and to have a more intense
appreciation of a series of flying plunges through
tissue-paper-covered hoops than of the most
elaborate fioriture of tenor or soprano. She gave
up something, therefore, in resigning the stereo-
typed gaieties of the London season. But
82 AURORA FLOYD.
Heaven knows, it was very pleasant to her to
make the sacrifice. Her inclinations were fatted
lambs, which she offered willingly upon the altar
of her idol. She was never happier than when
sitting by her husband's side, making extracts
from the Blue-books to be quoted in some pam-
phlet that he was writing ; or if she was ever
happier, it was only when she sat in the ladies'
gallery, straining her eyes athwart the floriated
iron fretwork, which screened her from any
wandering glances of distracted members, in her
vain efforts to see her husband in his place on
the Government benches, and very rarely seeing
more than the crown of Mr. Bulstrode's hat.
She sat by Talbot's side upon this evening,
busy with some pretty needlework, and listening
with patient attention to her husband's perusal
of the proof-sheets of his last pamphlet. It was a
noble specimen of the stately and ponderous style
of writing, and it abounded in crushing arguments
and magnificent climaxes, which utterly annihilated
somebody (Lucy didn't exactly make out who),
and most incontrovertibly established something,
though Mrs. Bulstrode couldn't quite understand
what. It was enough for her that he had written
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 83
that wonderful composition, and that it was his
rich baritone voice that rolled out the studied
Johnsonese. If he had pleased to read Greek
to her, she would have thought it pleasant to
listen. Indeed there were pet passages of Homer
which Mr. Bulstrode now and then loved to recite
to his wife, and which the little hypocrite pre-
tended to admire. No cloud had darkened the
calm heaven of Lucy's married life: She loved,
and was beloved: It was a part of her nature
to love in a reverential attitude, and she had no
wish to approach nearer to her idol. To sit at
. her sultan's feet and replenish his chibouque ;
to watch him while he slept, and Avave the
punkah above his seraphic head ; to love and
admire and pray for him, made up the sum of
her heart's desire.
It was close upon nine o'clock, when Mr. Bul-
strode was interrupted in the very crowning sen-
tence of his peroration by a double knock at the
street-door. The houses in Halfmoon Street are
small, and Talbot flung down his proof-sheet
with a gesture expressive of considerable irri-
tation. Lucy looked up, half sympathizing!)-,
half apologetically, at her lord and master. She
VOL. III. H
84 AURORA FLOYD.
held herself in a manner responsible for his ease
and comfort.
" Who can it be, dear ?" she murmured ; " at
such a time, too !"
" Some annoyance or other, I dare say, my
dear," answered Talbot. "But whoever it is, I
won't see them to-night. I suppose, Lucy, I've
given you a pretty fair idea of the effect of this
upon my honourable friend the member for "
Before Mr. Bulstrode could name the borough
of which his honourable friend was the representa-
tive, a servant announced that Mrs. Mellish was
waiting below to see the master of the house.
" Aurora !" exclaimed Lucy, starting from her
seat and dropping the fairy implements of her
work in a little shower upon the carpet ; " Aurora !
It can't be, surely ? Why, Talbot, she only went
back to Yorkshire a few days ago."
" Mr. and Mrs. Mellish are both below, I sup-
pose ?" Mr. Bulstrode said to^the servant.
" No, sir ; Mrs. Mellish came alone in a cab
from the station, I believe. Mrs. Mellish is in
the library, sir. I asked her to walk upstairs';
but she requested to see you alone, sir, if you
please."
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOE. 85
" I'll come directly," answered Talbot. " Tell
Mrs. Mellish I will be with her immediately."
The door closed upon the servant, and Lucy
ran towards it, eager to hurry to her cousin.
" Poor Aurora !" she said ; " there must be
something wrong, surely. Uncle Archibald has
been taken ill, perhaps ; he was not looking well
when we left Felden. I'll go to her, Talbot ; I'm
sure she'd like to see me first."
" No, Lucy ; no," answered Mr. Bulstrode,
laying his hand upon the door, and standiDg be-
tween it and his wife ; " I had rather you didn't
see your cousin until I have seen her. It will
be better for me to see her first." His face was
very grave, and his manner almost stern as he
said this. Lucy shrank from him as if he had
wounded her. She understood him, very vaguely,
it is true ; but she understood that he had some
doubt or suspicion of her cousin, and for the first
time in his life Mr. Bulstrode saw an angry light
kindled in his wife's blue eyes.
"Why should you prevent my seeing Aurora ?"
Lucy asked ; " she is the best and dearest girl in
the world. Why shouldn't I see her ?"
h 2
bb AURORA FLOYD.
Talbot Bulstrode stared in blank amazement at
his mutinous wife.
"Be reasonable, my clear Lucy," lie answered
very mildly ; " I hope always to be able to respect
your cousin as much as I respect you. But if
Mrs. Mellish leaves her husband in Yorkshire,
and comes to London without his permission,
for he would never permit her to come alone,
she must explain to me why she does so before I
can suffer my wife to receive her."
Poor Lucy's fair head drooped under this re-
proof.
She remembered her last conversation with her
cousin ; that conversation in which Aurora had
spoken of some far-off day of trouble, that might
bring her to ask for comfort and shelter in Half-
moon Street. Had the day of trouble come
already ?
" Is it wrong of Aurora to come alone, Talbot,
dear ?" Lucy asked meekly.
"Is it wrong ?" repeated Mr. Bulstrode, fiercely.
" Would it be wrong for you to go tearing from
here to Cornwall, child ?"
He was irritated by the mere imagination of
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 87
such an outrage, and lie looked at Lucy as if he
half suspected her of some such inteution.
" But Aurora may have had some very particular
reason, dear ?" pleaded his wife.
" I cannot imagine any reason powerful enough
to justify such a proceeding," answered Talbot ;
" but I shall be better able to judge of that when
I've heard what Mrs. Mellish has to say. Stay
here, Lucy, till I send for you."
" Yes, Talbot."
She obeyed as submissively as a child ; but she
lingered near the door after her husband had
closed it upon her, with a mournful yearning in
her heart. She wanted to go to her cousin, and
comfort her, if she had need of comfort. She
dreaded the effect of her husband's cold and pas-
sionless manner upon Aurora's impressionable
nature.
Mr. Bulstrode went down to the library to
receive his kinswoman. It would have been
strange if he had failed to remember that Christ-
mas evening, nearly two years before, upon which
he had gone down to the shadowy room at Felden,
with every hope of his heart crushed, to ask for
comfort from the woman he loved. It would
88 AURORA FLOYD.
have been straDg if, in the brief interval that
elapsed between his leaving the drawing-room and
entering the library, his mind had not flown back
to that day of desolation. If there was an infidelity
to Lucy hi that sharp thrill of pain that pierced
his heart as the old memory came back, the sin
was as short-lived as the agony which it brought
with it. He was able now to say, in all singleness
of heart, " I made a wise choice, and I shall never
repent having made it."
The library was a small apartment at the back
of the dining-room. It was dimly lighted, for
Aurora had lowered the lamp. She did not want
Mr. Bulstrode to see her face.
" My dear Mrs. Mellish," said Talbot gravely,
"I am so surprised at this visit, that I scarcely
know how to say I am glad to see you. I fear
something must have happened to cause your
travelling alone. John is ill, perhaps, or "
He might have said much more if Aurora had
not interrupted him by casting herself upon her
knees before him, and looking up at him with a
pale, agonized face, that seemed almost ghastly in
the dim lamp-light.
It was impossible to describe the look of horror
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 89
that came over Talbot Bulstrode's face as she did
this. It was the Felden scene over again. He
came to her in the hope that she would justify
herself, and she tacitly acknowledged her humilia-
tion.
She was a guilty woman, then ; a guilty crea-
ture, whom it would be his painful duty to cast
out of that pure household. She was a poor, lost,
polluted wretch, who must not be admitted into
the holy atmosphere of a Christian gentleman's
home.
"Mrs. Mellish ! Mrs. Mellish !" he cried, "what
is the meaning of this ? Why do you give me
this horrible pain again ? Why do you insist
upon humiliating yourself and me by such a
scene as this ?"
"Oh, Talbot, Talbot!" answered Aurora, "I
come to you because you are good and honourable.
I am a desolate, wretched woman, and I want your
help I want your advice. I will abide by it ; I
will, Talbot Bulstrode ; so help me, Heaven."
Her voice was broken by her sobs. In her
passionate grief and confusion she forgot that it
was just possible such an appeal as this might be
rather bewildering in its effect upon Talbo + . But
90 AURORA FLOYD.
perhaps, even amid his bewilderment, the young
Cornishman saw, or fancied he saw, something
in Aurora's manner which had no fellowship with
guilt ; or with such guilt as he had at first dreaded.
I imagine that it must have been so ; for his voice
was softer and his manner kinder when he next
addressed her.
" Aurora," he said, " for pity's sake, be calm.
Why have you left Hellish Park ? What is the
business in which I can help or advise you ? Be
calm, my dear girl, and I will try and understand
you. God knows how much I wish to be a friend to
you, for I stand in a brother's place, you know, my
dear, and demand a brother's right to question
your actions. I am sorry you came up to town
alone, because such a step was calculated to com-
promise you ; but if you will be calm and tell me
why you came, I may be able to understand your
motives. Come, Aurora, try and be calm."
She was still on her knees, sobbing hysterically.
Talbot would have summoned his wife to her
assistance, but he could not bear to see the
two women associated until he had discovered the
cause of Aurora's agitation.
He poured some water into a glass, and gave it
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 91
her. He placed her in an easy-chair near the
open window, and then walked up and down the
room until she had recovered herself.
" Talbot Bulstoode," she said quietly, after a
long pause, " I want you to help me in the crisis
of my life. I must be candid with yon, therefore,
and tell you that which I would have died rather
than tell you two years ago. You remember the
night upon which you left Felden ?"
_ r " Kemember it ? Yes, yes."
" The secret which separated us then, Talbot,
was the one secret of my life, the secret of my
disobedience, the secret of my father's sorrow.
You asked me to give you an account of that one
year which was missing out of the history of my
life. I could not do so, Talbot; I would not!
My pride revolted against the horrible humilia-
tion. If . you had discovered the secret yourself,
and had accused me of the disgraceful truth, I
would have attempted no denial ; but with my
own lips to utter the hateful story no, no, I
could have borne anything better than that. But
now that my secret is common property, in the
keeping of police-officers and stable-boys, I can
afford to tell you all. When I left the school in
92 AUKORA FLOYD.
the Rue Saint-Dominique, I ran away to marry
my father's groom !"
"Aurora!"
Talbot Bulstrode dropped into the chair nearest
him, and sat blankly staring at his wife's cousin.
Was this the secret humiliation which had pros-
trated her at his feet in the chamber at Felden
Woods ?
" Oh, Talbot, how could I have told you this ?
How can I tell you now why I did this mad and
wicked thing, blighting the happiness of my
youth by my own act, and bringing shame and
grief upon my father ? I had no romantic, over-
whelming love for this man. I cannot plead the
excuses which some women urge for then mad-
ness. I had only a school-girl's sentimental fancy
for his dashing manner, only a school-girl's frivolous
admiration of his handsome face. I married him
because he had dark-blue eyes, and long eyelashes,
and white teeth, and brown hah. He had in-
sinuated himself into a kind of intimacy with me,
by bringing me all the empty gossip of the race-
course, by extra attention to my favourite horses,
by pampering my pets. All these things brought
about association between us; he was always
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 93
ray companion in my rides ; and lie contrived,
before long, to tell me his story. Bah ! why
should I weary you with it?" cried Aurora
scornfully. " He was a prince in disguise, of
course ; he was a gentleman's son ; Iris father had
kept his hunters ; he was at war with fortune ;
he had been ill-used and trampled down in the
battle of life. His talk was something to this
effect, and I believed him. Why should I dis-
believe him ? I had lived all my life in an
atmosphere of truth. My governess and I talked
perpetually of the groom's romantic story. She
was a silly woman, and encouraged my folly ; out
of mere stupidity, I believe, and with no suspicion
of the mischief she was doing. We criticised the
groom's handsome face, his white hands, his aristo-
cratic manners. I mistook insolence for good
breeding ; Heaven help me ! And as we saw
scarcely any society at that time, I compared my
father's groom with the few guests who came to
Felden ; and the town-bred impostor profited by
comparison with rustic gentlemen. Why should I
stay to account to you for my folly, Talbot
Bulstrode ? I could never succeed in doing so,
though I talked for a week; I cannot account
94 AURORA FLOYD.
to myself for niy madness. I can only look back
to that horrible time, and wonder why I was
mad."
" My poor Aurora ! my poor Aurora !"
He spoke in the pitying tone with winch he
might have comforted her had she been a child.
He was thinking of her in her childish ignorance,
exposed to the insidious advances of an un-
scrupulous schemer, and his heart bled for the
motherless girl.
" My father found some letters written by
this man, and discovered that his daughter had
affianced herself to his groom. He made this
discovery while I was out riding with James Con-
yers, the' groom's name was Conyers, and when
I came home there was a fearful scene between
us. I was mad enough and wicked enough to
defend my conduct, and to reproach my father
with the illiberality of his sentiments. I went
even further : I reminded him that the house of
Floyd and Floyd had had a very humble origin.
He took me to Paris upon the following day. I
thought myself cruelly treated. I revolted against
the ceremonial monotony of the pension ; I hated
the studies, which were ten times more difficult
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 95
than anything I had ever experienced with my
governess ; I suffered terribly from the con-
ventual seclusion, for I had been used to perfect
freedom amongst the country roads round Felden :
and amidst all this, the groom pursued me with
letters and messages ; for he had followed me
to Paris, and spent his money recklessly in
bribing the servants and hangers-on of the school.
He was playing for a high stake, and he played
so desperately that he won. I ran away from
school, and married him at Dover, within eight
or nine hours of my escape from the Rue Saint-
Dominique."
She buried her face in her hands, and was silent
for some time.
" Heaven have pity upon my wretched igno-
rance !" she said at last ; " the illusion under
which I had married this man ended in about a
week. At the end of that time I discovered that
I was the victim of a mercenary wretch, who
meant to use me to the uttermost as a means of
wringing money from my father. For some time
I submitted, and my father paid, and paid dearly,
for his daughter's folly ;. but he refused to receive
the man I had married, or to 1 see me until I
96 AURORA. FLOYD.
separated myself from that man. He offered the
groom an income, on the condition of his going to
Australia, and resigning all association with me
for ever. But the man had a higher game to play.
He wanted to bring about a reconciliation with
my father ; and he thought that in due time that
tender father's resolution would have yielded to
the force of his love. It was little better than a
year after our marriage that I made a discovery
that transformed me in one moment from a girl
into a woman ; a revengeful woman, perhaps,
Mr. Bulstrode. I discovered that I had been
wronged, deceived, and outraged by a wretch who
laughed at my ignorant confidence in him. I had
learned to hate the man long before this oc-
curred : I had learned to despise his shallow
trickeries, his insolent pretensions ; but I do not
think I felt his deeper infamy the less keenly for
that. We were travelling in the south of France,
my husband playing the great gentleman upon
my father's money, when this discovery was made
by me or not by me ; for it was forced upon me
by a woman who knew my story and pitied me.
Within half an horn* of obtaining this knowledge,
I acted upon it. I wrote to James Conyers,
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 97
telling him I had discovered that which gave
me the right to call upon the law to release
me from him ; and if I refrained from doing" so,
it was for my father's sake, and not for his. I
told him that so long as he left me unmolested
and kept my secret, I would remit him money
from time to time. I told him that I left him to
the associations he had chosen for himself ; and
that my only prayer was, that God, in His mercy,
might grant me complete forgetfulness of him. I
left this letter for him with the concierge, and
quitted the hotel in such a manner as to prevent
his obtaining any trace of the way I had gone. I
stopped in Paris for a few days, waiting for a
reply to a letter I had written to my father,
telling him that James Conyers was dead. Per-
haps that was the worst sin of my life, Talbot. I
deceived my father; but I believed that I was
doing a wise and merciful thing in setting his
mind at rest. He would have never been happy
so long as he had believed the man lived. You
understand all now, Talbot," she said mournfully.
" You remember the morning at Brighton ?"
" Yes, yes ; and the newspaper with the marked
paragraph the report of the jockey's death."
98 AURORA FLOYD.
"That report was false, Talbot Bulstrode,"
cried Aurora. " James Conyers was not killed."
Talbot's face grew suddenly pale. He began
to understand something of the nature of that
trouble which had brought Aurora to him.
"What, he was still living, then?" he said
anxiously.
" Yes ; until the night before last."
"But where where has he been all this
time ?"
" During the last ten days at Mellish Park."
She told him the terrible story of the murder.
The trainer's death had not yet been reported
in the London papers. She told him the dreadful
story ; and then, looking up at him with an
earnest, imploring face, as she might have done
had he been indeed her brother, she entreated
him to help and counsel her in this terrible hour
of need.
" Teach me how to do what is best for my dear
love," she said. " Don't think of me or my
happiness, Talbot ; think only of him. I will
make any sacrifice ; I will submit to anything.
I want to atone to my poor dear for all the misery
I have brought upon him."
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 99
Talbot Bulstrode clid not make any reply to
this earnest appeal. The administrative powers
of his mind were at work ; he was busy summing
up facts and setting them before him, in order to
grapple with them fairly ; and he had no attention
to waste upon sentiment or emotion. He was
walking up and down the room, with his eyebrows
knitted sternly over his cold gray eyes, and his
head bent.
" How many people know this secret, Aurora ?"
he asked presently.
" I can't tell you that ; but I fear it must be
very generally known," answered Mrs. Mellish,
with a shuddering recollection of the " Softy's "
insolence. "I heard of the discovery that had
been made from a hanger-on of the stables, a man
who hates me, a man whom I had a misunder-
standing with."
" Have you any idea who it was that shot this
Conyers ?"
" No, not the least idea."
" You do not even guess at any one ?"
"No."
Talbot took a few more turns up and down the
small apartment, in evident trouble and per-
VOL. III. I
100 AURORA FLOYD.
plexity of mind. He left the room presently, and
called at the foot of the staircase :
" Lucy, my dear, come down to your cousin."
I'm afraid Mrs. Bulstrode must have been
lurking somewhere about the outside of the
drawing-room door, for she flew down the stairs
at the sound of the strong voice, and was by her
husband's side two or three seconds after he had
spoken.
"O Talbot!" she said, "how long you have
been ! I thought you would never send for me.
What has been the matter with my poor dar-
Hng?"
"Go in to her, and comfort her, my dear,"
Mr. Bulstrode answered, gravely : " she has had
enough trouble, Heaven knows, poor girl. Don't
ask her any questions, Lucy ; but make her as
comfortable as you can, and give her the best
room you can find for her. She will stay with us
as long as she remains hi town."
"Dear, dear Talbot," murmured the young
Cornishman's grateful worshipper, " how kind you
are!"
" Kind !" cried Mr. Bulstrode ; " she has need
of friends, Lucy ; and, God knows, I will act a
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 101
brother s part towards her, faithfully and bravely.
Yes, bravely !" he added, raising his head with an
almost defiant gesture as he slowly ascended the
stairs.
What was the dark cloud which he saw brood-
ing so fatally over the far horizon ? He dared
not think of what it was, he dared not even
acknowledge its ^presence ; but there was a sense
of trouble and horror in his breast that told him
the shadow was there.
Lucy Bulstrode ran into the library, and flung
herself upon her cousin's breast, and wept with
her. She did not ask the nature of the sorrow
which had brought Aurora an unexpected and
uninvited guest to that modest little dwelling-
house. She only knew that her cousin was in
trouble, and that it was her happy privilege to
offer her shelter and consolation. She would
have fought a sturdy battle in defence of this
privilege ; but she adored her husband for the
generosity which had granted it to her without a
struggle. For the first time in her life, poor
gentle Lucy took a new position with her cousin.
It was her turn to protect Aurora ; it was her turn
to display a pretty motherly tenderness for the
i 2
102 AURORA FLOYD.
desolate creature whose aching head rested on her
bosom.
The West-End clocks were striking three, in the
dead middle of the night, when Mrs. Mellish fell
into a feverish slumber, even in her sleep, even
in her sleep repeating again and again : " My
poor John ! my poor dear love ! what will become
of him ? my own faithful darling !"
103
CHAPTER VI.
TALBOT BULSTEODE's ADVICE.
Talbot Bulstrode went out early upon the
quiet Sunday morning after Aurora's arrival, and
walked down to the Telegraph Company's Office
at Charing Cross, whence he despatched a mes-
sage to Mr. John Mellish. It was a very brief
message, only telling Mr. Mellish to come to
town without delay, and that he would find
Aurora in Halfinoon Street. Mr. Bulstrode
walked quietly homewards in the morning sun-
shine, after having performed this duty. Even
the London streets were bright and dewy in that
early sunlight, for it was only a little after seven
o'clock, and the fresh morning breezes came
sweeping over the house-tops, bringing health and
purity from Shooter's Hill and Highgate, Streat-
ham and Barnsbury, Richmond and Hampstead.
The white morning mists were slowly melting
104 AURORA FLOYD.
from the worn grass in the Green Park ; and
weary creatures, who had had no better shelter
than the quiet sky, were creeping away to find
such wretched resting-places as they might, in
that free city, in which, to sit for an unreasonable
time upon a doorstep, or to ask a rich citizen for
the price of a loaf, is to commit an indictable
offence.
Surely it was impossible for any young legislator
not quite worn out by a life-long struggle with the
time which was never meant to be set right,
surely it was impossible for any fresh-hearted
prosperous young Liberal to walk through those
quiet streets without thinking of these things.
Talbot Bulstrode thought very earnestly and very
mournfully. To what end were his labours, after
all? He was fighting for a handful of Cornish
miners; doing battle with the rampant spirit of
circumlocution for the sake of a few benighted
wretches, buried in the darkness of a black abyss
of ignorance a hundred times deeper and darker
than the material obscurities in which they
laboured. He was working his hardest and his
best that these men might be taught, in some easy,
unambitious manner, the simplest elements of
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S ADVICE. 105
Christian love and Christian duty. He was work-
ing for these poor far-away creatures, in their for-
gotten comer of the earth ; and here, around and
about him, was ignorance more terrible, because,
hand-in-hand with ignorance of all good, there was
the fatal experience of all evil. The simple Cornish
miner who uses his pickaxe in the region of his
friend's skull, when he wishes to enforce an argu-
ment, does so because he knows no other species of
emphasis. But in the London universities of
crime, knavery and vice and violence and sin
matriculate and graduate day by day; to take
their degrees in the felon's dock or on the scaffold.
How could he be otherwise than sorrowful, think-
ing of these things ? Were the Cities of the Plain
worse than this city ; in which there were yet so
many good and earnest men labouring patiently
day by day, and taking little rest? Was the
great accumulation of evil so heavy that it rolled
for ever back upon the untiring 'Sisyphus ? Or
did they make some imperceptible advance towards
the mountain-top, despite of all discouragement ?
With this weary question debating itself in his
brain, Mr. Bulstrode walked along Piccadilly
towards the comfortable bachelor's quarters, whose
106 AURORA FLOYD.
most commonplace attributes Lucy had turned to
favour and to prettmess ; but at the door of the
Gloucester Coffee-house Talbot paused to stare
absently at a nervous-looking chestnut mare, who
insisted upon going through several lively perform-
ances upon her hind-legs, very much to the annoy-
ance of an unshaven ostler, and not particularly to
the advantage of a smart little dog-cart to winch
she was harnessed.
"You needn't pull her mouth to pieces, my
man," cried a voice from the doorway of the hotel ;
"use her gently, and she'll soon quiet herself.
Steady, my girl ; steady !" added the owner of
this voice, walking to the dog-cart as he spoke.
Talbot had good reason to stop short, for this
gentleman was Mr. John Mellish, whose pale face,
and loose, disordered hair betokened a sleepless
night.
He was going to spring into the dog-cart, when
his old friend tapped him on the shoulder.
" Tins is rather a lucky accident, John ; for
you're the very person I want to see," said Mr.
Bulstrode. " I've just telegraphed to you."
John Mellish stared with a blank face.
" Don't hinder me, please," he said ; " I'll talk to
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S ADVICE. 107
you by-and-by. I'll call upon you in a day or
two. I'm just off to Felden. I've only been in
town an hour and a half, and should have gone
down before, if I had not been afraid of knocking
up the family."
He made another attempt to get into the
vehicle, but Talbot caught him by the arm.
" You needn't go to Felden," he said ; " your
wife's much nearer."
"Eh?"
"She's at my house. Come and have some
breakfast."
There was no shadow upon Talbot Bulstrode's
mind as his old schoolfellow caught him by the
hand, and nearly dislocated his wrist in a paroxysm
of joy and gratitude. It was impossible for liim to
look beyond that sudden burst of sunshine upon
John's face. If Mr. Mellish had been separated
from his wife for ten years, and had just returned
from the Antipodes for the sole purpose of seeing
her again, he could scarcely have appeared more
delighted at the prospect of a speedy meeting.
" Aiuora here !" he said ; " at your house ? Mv
dear old fellow, you can't mean it ! But of course
I ought to have known she'd come to you. She
10S AURORA FLOYD.
couldn't have done anything better or wiser, after
having been so foolish as to doubt me."
" She came to me for advice, John. She wanted
me to advise her how to act for your happiness,
yours, you great Yorkshireman, and not her own."
"Bless her noble heart!" cried Mr. Mellish,
huskily. " And you told her "
" I told her nothing, my dear fellow ; but I tell
you to take your lawyer down to Doctor's Com-
mons with you to-morrow morning, get a new
licence and marry your wife for the second time,
in some quiet, little, out-of-the-way church in the
City."
Aurora had risen very early upon that peaceful
Sunday morning. The few hours of feverish and
fitful sleep had brought very little comfort to
her. She stood with her weary head leaning
against the window-frame, and looked hopelessly
out into the empty London street. She looked
out into the desolate beginning of a new life, the
blank uncertainty of an unknown future. All the
minor miseries peculiar to a toilet in a strange
room were doubly miserable to her. Lucy had
brought the poor luggageless traveller all the
paraphernalia of the toilet-table, and had arranged
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S ADVICE. 109
everything with her own busy hands. But the
most insignificant trifle that Aurora touched in her
cousin's chamber brought back the memory of
some costly toy chosen for her by her husband.
She had travelled in her white morning-dress, and
the soft lace and muslin were none the fresher for
her journey ; but as two of Lucy's dresses joined
together scarcely fitted her stately cousin, Mrs.
Mellish was fain to be content with her limp
muslin. What did it matter ? The loving eyes
which noted every shred of ribbon, every morsel of
lace, every fold of her garments, were, perhaps,
never to look upon her again. She twisted her
hair into a careless mass at the back of her head,
and had completed her toilet, when Lucy came to
the door, tenderly anxious to know how she had
slept.
" I will abide by Talbot's decision," she repeated
to herself again and again. " If he says it is best
for my dear that we should part, I will go away for
ever. I will ask my father to take me far away,
and my poor darling shall not even know where I
have gone. I will be true in what I do, and will do
it thoroughly."
She looked to Talbot Bulstrode as a wise judge,
110 AURORA FLOYD.
to whose sentence she would be willing to submit.
Perhaps she did this because her own heart kept
for ever repeating, " Go back to the man who
loves you. Go back, go back ! There is no wrong
you can do liim so bitter as to desert him. There
is no unliappiness you can bring upon him equal
to the unliappiness of losing you. Let me be your
guide. Go back, go back !"
But this selfish monitor must not be listened to.
How bitterly this poor girl, so old in experience of
sorrow, remembered the selfish sin of her mad
marriage ! She had refused to sacrifice a school-
girl's foolish delusion ; she had disobeyed the
father who had given her seventeen years of
patient love and devotion ; and she looked at all
the misery of her youth as the fatal growth of this
evil seed, so rebelliously soAvn. Surely such a
lesson was not to be altogether unheeded ! Surely
it was powerful enough to teach her the duty of
sacrifice ! It was this thought that steeled her
against the pleadings of her own affection. It was
for this that she looked to Talbot Bulstrode as the
arbiter of her future. Had she been a Eoman
Catholic, she would have gone to her confessor,
and appealed to a priest who, having no social
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S ADVICE. Ill
ties of his own, must, of course, be the best judge
of all the duties involved in domestic relations
for comfort and succour ; but being of another
faith, she went to the man whom she most 're-
spected, and who, being a husband himself, might,
as she thought, be able to comprehend the duty
that was due to her husband.
She went down-stairs with Lucy into a little
inner room upon the drawing-room floor ; a snug
apartment, opening into a mite of a conservatory.
It was Mr. and Mrs. Bulstrode's habit to breakfast
in this cosy little chamber, rather than in that
awful temple of slippery morocco, funereal bronze,
and ghastly mahogany, which upholsterers insist
upon as the only legitimate place in which an
Englishman may take his meals. Lucy loved to
sit opposite her husband at the small round table,
and minister to his morning appetite from her
pretty breakfast equipage of silver and china.
She knew to the smallest weight employed at
Apothecaries' Hall, I think how much sugar Mr.
Bulstrode liked in his tea. She poured the cream
into his cup as carefully as if she had been
making up a prescription. He took the simple
beverage in a great shallow breakfast-cup of fragile
112 AURORA FLOYD.
turquoise Sevres, that had cost seven guineas ; and
had been made for Madame du Barry, the rococo
merchant had told Talbot. (Had his customer
been a lady, I fear Marie Antoinette would have
been described as the original possessor of this
porcelain.) Mrs. Bulstrode loved to minister to
her husband. She picked the bloated livers of
martyred geese out of the Strasburg pies for Ins
delectation; she spread the butter upon his dry
toast ; and pampered and waited on him, serving
him as only such women serve their idols. But
this morning she had her cousin's sorrows to com-
fort ; and she established Aurora in a capacious
chintz-covered easy-chair on the threshold of the
conservatory, and seated herself at her feet.
"My poor pale darling!" she said, tenderly,
"what can I do to bring the roses back to your
cheeks ?"
" Love me and pity me, dear," Aurora answered,
gravely ; " but don't ask me any questions."
The two women sat thus for some time, Aurora's
handsome head bent over Lucy's fair face, and her
hands clasped in both Lucy's hands. They talked
very little, and only spoke then of indifferent
matters, or of Lucy's happiness and Talbot's par-
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S ADVICE. 113
liamentary career. The little clock over the
clmnney-piece struck the quarter before eight
they were very early, these unfashionable people
and a minute afterwards Mrs. Bulstrode heard her
husband's step upon the stairs, returning from his
ante-breakfast walk. It was his habit to take a
constitutional stroll in the Green Park, now and
then, so Lucy had thought nothing of this early
excursion.
" Talbot has let himself in with his latch-key,"
said Mrs. Bulstrode ; " and I may pour out the tea,
Aurora. But listen, dear ; I think there's some
one with him."
There was no need to bid Aurora listen ; she
had started from her low seat, and stood erect and
motionless, breathing in a quick, agitated manner,
and looking towards the door. Besides Talbot
Bulstrode's step there was another, quicker and
heavier ; a step she knew so well.
The door was opened, and Talbot entered the
room, followed by a visitor, who pushed aside his
host with very little attention to the laws of civil-
ized society, and, indeed, nearly drove Mr. Bul-
strode backwards into a gilded basket of flowers.
But this stalwart John Mellish had no intention of
114 AURORA FLOYD.
being unmannerly or brutal. He pushed aside his
friend only as he would have pushed, or tried to
push, aside a regiment of soldiers with fixed
bayonets, or a Lancaster gun, or a raging ocean,
or any other impediment that had come between
hini and Aurora. He had her in his arms before
she could -even cry Ins name aloud, in her glad
surprise ; and in another moment she was sobbing
on his breast.
"My darling ! my pet! my own!" he cried,
smoothing her dark hair with his broad hand, and
blessing her and weeping over her, " my own
love ! How could you do this ? how could you
wrong me so much ? My own precious darling !
had you learnt to know me no better than this, in
all our happy married life ?"'
" I came to ask Talbot's advice, John," she said,
earnestly ; " and I mean to abide by it, however
cruel it may seem."
Mr. Bulstrode smiled gravely, as he watched
these two foolish people. He was very much
pleased with his part in the little domestic drama ;
and he contemplated them with a sublime con-
sciousness of being the author of all this happiness.
For they were happy. The poet has said, there
TALBOT BULSTRODE'S ADVICE. 115
are some moments very rare, very precious, very
brief which stand by themselves, and have their
perfect fulness of joy within their own fleeting
span, taking nothing from the past, demanding
nothing of the future. Had John and Aurora
known that they were to be separated by the
breadth of Europe for the remainder of their
several lives, they would not the less have wept
joyful tears at the pure blissfulness of this meet-
ing.
" You asked me for my advice, Aurora," said
Talbot, "and I bring it you. Let the past die
with the man who died the other night. The
future is not yours to dispose of ; it belongs to
your husband, John Mellish."
Having delivered himself of these oracular sen-
tences, Mr. Bidstrode seated himself at the break-
fast-table, and looked into the mysterious and
cavernous interior of a raised pie, with such an in-
tent gaze, that it seemed as if he never meant to
look out of it. He devoted so many minutes to
tins serious contemplation, that by the time he
looked up again, Aurora had become quite calm,
while Mr. Mellish affected an unnatural gaiety, and
exhibited no stronger sign of past emotion than a
VOL. III. K
116 AURORA FLOYD.
certain inflamed appearance in the region of his
eyelids.
But this stalwart, devoted, impressionable York-
shireman ate a most extraordinary repast in
honour of this reunion. He spread mustard on
Iris muffins. He poured Worcester sauce into his
coffee, and cream over his devilled cutlets. He
showed his gratitude to Lucy by loading her plate
with comestibles she didn't want. He talked per-
petually, and devoured incongruous viands in
utter absence of mind. He shook hands with
Talbot so many times across the breakfast-table,
that he exposed the lives or limbs of the whole
party to imminent peril from the boiling water in
the urn. He threw himself into a paroxysm of
coughing, and made himself scarlet in the face,
by an injudicious use of cayenne pepper ; and he
exhibited himself altogether in such an imbecile
light that Talbot Bulstrode was compelled to
have recourse to all sorts of expedients to keep
the servants out of the room during the progress
of that rather noisy and bewildering repast.
The Sunday papers were brought to the master
of the house before breakfast was over ; and while
John talked, ate, and gesticulated, Mr. Bulstrode
TALBOT BULSTROEvE'S ADVICE. 117
hid himself behind the open leaves of the latest
edition of the ' Weekly Dispatch,' reading a para-
graph that appeared in that journal.
This paragraph gave a brief account of the
murder and the inquest at Mellish ; and wound
up by that rather stereotyped sentence, in which
the public are informed that " the local police are
giving unremitting attention to the affair, and we
think we may venture to affirm that they have
obtained a clue which will most probably lead
to the early discovery of the guilty party."
Talbot Bulstrode, with the newspaper still
before his face, sat for some little time frowning
darkly at the page upon which this paragraph
appeared. The horrible shadow, whose nature he
would not acknowledge even to himself, once more
lowered upon the horizon which had just seemed
so bright and clear.
" I would give a thousand pounds," he thought,
M if I could find the murderer of this man."
k 2
118 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE WATCH.
Very soon after breakfast, upon that happy Sab-
bath of reunion and contentment, John Mellish
drove Aurora to Felden Woods. It was necessary
that Archibald Floyd should hear the story of the
trainer's death, from the lips of his own children,
before newspaper paragraphs terrified him with
some imperfect outline of the truth.
The dashing phaeton in which Mr. Bulstrode was
in the habit of driving his wife was brought to the
door as the church-bells were calling devout citi-
zens to their morning duties ; and at that un-
seemly hour John Mellish smacked his whip, and
dashed off in the direction of Westminster Bridge.
Talbot Bulstrode's horses soon left London be-
hind them, and before long the phaeton was driv-
ing upon trim park-like roads, over-shadowed by
luxuriant foliage, and bordered here and there by
ON THE WATCH. 119
exquisitely-ordered "gardens and rustic villas, that
glittered whitelyin the sunshine. The holy peace
of the quiet Sabbath was upon every object that
they passed, even upon the leaves and flowers, as
it seemed to Aurora. The birds sang subdued and
murmuring harmonies ; the light summer breeze
scarcely stirred the deep grass, on winch the lazy
cattle stood to watch the phaeton dash by.
Ah, how happy Aurora was, seated by the side
of the man whose love had outlasted every trial !
How happy now that the dark wall that had
divided them was shattered, and they were indeed
united ! John Mellish was as tender and pitying
towards her, as a mother to her forgiving child.
He asked no explanations ; he sought to know
nothing of the past. He was content to believe
that she had been foolish and mistaken ; and that
the mistake and folly of her life would be buried
in the grave of the murdered trainer.
The lodge-keeper at Felden Woods' exclaimed
as he opened the gates to his master's daughter.
He was an old man, and he had opened the same
gates more than twenty years before, when the
banker's dark-eyed bride had first entered her
husband's mansion.
120 AURORA FLOYD.
Archibald Floyd welcomed his children heartily.
How could he ever be otherwise than unutterably
happy in the presence of his darling, however
often she might come, with whatever eccentricity
she might time her visits ?
Mrs. Mellish led her father into his study.
" I must speak to you alone, papa," she said ;
" but John knows all I have to say. There are no
secrets between us now. There never will be
again."
Aurora had a painful story to tell her father, for
she had to confess to him that she had deceived
him upon the occasion of her return to Felden
Woods after her parting with James Conyers.
" I told you a story, father," she said, " when I
told you that my husband was dead. But
Heaven knows, I believed that I should be for-
given the sin of that falsehood, for I thought that
it would spare you grief and trouble of mind ;
and surely anything would have been justifiable
that could have done that. I suppose good never
can come out of evil, for I have been bitterly
punished for my sin. I received a newspaper
within a few months of my return, in which there
was a paragraph describing the death of James
ON THE WATCH. 121
Conyers. The paragraph was not correct, for the
man had escaped with his life; and when I
married John Mellish, my first husband was alive."
Archibald Floyd uttered a cry of despair, and
half rose from his easy-chair ; but Aurora knelt
upon the ground by his side, with her arms about
him, soothing and comforting him.
" It is all over now, dear father," she said ; " it
is all over. The 'man is dead. I will tell you
how he died by-and-by. It is all over. John
knows all ; and I am to marry him again. Talbot
Bulstrode says that it is necessary, as our
marriage was not legal. My own dear father,
there is to be no more secrecy, no more unhap-
piness, only love, and peace, and union for all
of us."
She told the old man the story of the trainer's
death, dwelling very little upon the particulars,
and telling nothing of her own doings that night,
except that she had been in the wood at the
time of the murder, and that she had heard the
pistol fired.
It was not a pleasant story, this story of murder
and violence and treachery within the boundary
of his daughter's home. Even amid Aurora's
122 AURORA FLOYD.
assurances that all sorrow was past, that doubt
and uncertainty were to vanish away before
security and peace, Archibald Floyd could not
control this feeling. He was restless and uneasy
in spite of himself. He took John Mellish out
upon the terrace in the afternoon sunshine, while
Aurora lay asleep upon one of the sofas in the
long drawing-room, and talked to him of the
trainer's death as they walked up and down.
There was nothing to be elicited from the young
squire that threw any light upon the catastrophe,
and Archibald Floyd tried in vain to find any
issue out of the darkness of the mystery.
" Can you imagine any one having any motive
for getting rid of tins man ?" the banker asked.
John shrugged his shoulders. He had been
asked this question so often before, and had been
always obliged to give the same reply.
" No ; he knew of no motive winch any one
about Mellish could be likely to have.
" Had the man any money about him ?" asked
Mr. Floyd.
" Goodness knows whether he had or not,"
John answered carelessly ; " but I should think it
wasn't likely he had much. He had been out of
OX THE WATCH. 123
a situation, I believe, for some time before he
came to me, and he had spent a good many
months in a Prussian hospital. I don't suppose
he was worth robbing."
The banker remembered the two thousand
pounds which he had given to his daughter.
What had Aurora done with that money ? Had
she known of the trainer's existence when she
asked for it? and had she wanted it for him?
She had not explained this in her hurried story of
the murder, and how could he press her upon so
painful a subject ? Why should he not accept her
own assurance that all was over, and that nothing
remained but peace ?
Archibald Floyd and his children spent a tran-
quil day together ; not talking much, for Aurora
was completely worn out by the fatigue and ex-
citement she had undergone. What had her life
been but agitation and terror since the day upon
which Mr. John Pastern's letter had come to
Mellish to tell her of the existence of her first
husband ? She slept through the best part of the
day, lying upon a sofa, and with John Mellish
sitting by her side keeping watch over her. She
slept while the bells of Beckenham church sum-
124 AURORA FLOYD.
nioned the parishioners to afternoon service, and
while her father went to assist in those quiet de-
votions, and to kneel on his hassock in the old
square pew, and pray for the peace of his beloved
cliild. Heaven knows how earnestly the old man
prayed for his daughter's happiness, and how she
filled Ins thoughts ; not distracting him from more
sacred thoughts, but blending her image with
his worship in alternate prayer and thanksgiving !
Those who watched him as he sat, with the sun-
shine on Ins gray head, listening reverentially to
the sermon, little knew how much trouble had
been mingled with the great prosperity of his life.
They pointed him out respectfully to strangers,
as a man whose signature across a slip of paper
could make that oblong morsel of beaten rag into
an incalculable sum of money ; a man who stood
upon a golden pinnacle with the Rothschilds and
Montefiores and Couttses; who could afford to
pay the National Debt any morning that the
whim seized him ; and who was yet a plain man,
and simple as a child, as anybody might see, the
admiring parishioners would add, as the banker
came out of church shaking hands right and left,
and nodding to the charity children.
ON THE WATCH. 125
I'm afraid the children dropped lower curtsies
in the pathway of Mr. Floyd than even before the
Vicar of Beckenham ; for they had learned to as-
sociate the image of the banker with buns and
tea, with sixpences and oranges, gambols on the
smooth lawn at Felden Woods, and jovial feasts
in monster tents to the music of clashing brazen
bands, and with even greater treats in the way
of excursions to a Crystal Palace on a hill, an
enchanted fairyland of wonders, from which it
;was delicious to return in the dewy evening,
singing hymns of rejoicing that shook the vans in
which they travelled.
The banker had distributed happiness right and
left ; but the money which might have paid the
National Debt had been impotent to save the life
of the dark-eyed woman he had loved so tenderly,
or to spare him one pang of uneasiness about Ins
idolized child. Had not that all-powerful wealth
been rather the primary cause of his daughter's
trouble, since it had cast her, young, inex-
perienced, and trusting, a prey into the merce-
nary hands of a bad man, who would not have
cared to persecute her but for the money that had
made her such a golden prize for any adventurer
126 AURORA FLOYD.
who might please to essay the hazard of winning
her?
With the memory of these things always in
3iis mind, it was scarcely strange that Archibald
Floyd should bear the burden of his riches
meekly and fearfully, knowing that, whatever he
might be in the Stock Exchange, he was in the
sight of Heaven only a feeble old man, very as-
sailable by suffering, very liable to sorrow, and
humbly dependent on the mercy of the Hand
that is alone powerful to spare or to afflict, as
seemeth good to Him who guides it.
Aurora awoke out of her long sleep while her
father was at church. She awoke to find her
husband watching her ; the Sunday papers lying
forgotten on his knee, and his honest eyes fixed
on the face he loved.
" My own dear John," she said, as she lifted
lier head from the pillows, supporting herself
upon her elbow, and stretching out one hand to
Mr. Mellish, " my own dear boy, how happy we
.are together now ! Will anything ever come to
break our happiness again, my dear? Can
Heaven be so cruel as to afflict us any more ?"
The banker's daughter, in the sovereign vitality
ON THE WATCH. 127
of her nature, bad rebelled against sorrow as a
strange and unnatural part of her life. She had
demanded happiness almost as a right ; she had
wondered at her afflictions, and been unable to
understand why she should be thus afflicted.
There are natures which accept suffering with
patient meekness, and acknowledge the justice by
which they suffer; but Aurora had never done
this. Her joyous sold had revolted against sorrow,
and she arose now in the intense relief which she
felt in her release from the bonds that had been
so hateful to her, and challenged Providence with
her claim to be happy for evermore.
John Mellish thought very seriously upon this
matter. He could not forget the night of the
murder, the night upon which he had sat alone
in his wife's chamber pondering upon his un-
worthiness.
"Do you think we deserve to be happy,
Lolly ?" he said presently. " Don't mistake me,
my darling. I know that you're the best and
brightest of living creatures, tender-hearted,
loving, generous, and true. But do you think
we take life quite seriously enough, Lolly dear ?
I'm sometimes afraid that we're too much like the
128 AURORA FLOYD.
careless children in the pretty childish allegory,
who played about amongst the flowers on the
smooth grass in the beautiful garden, until* it was
too late to set out upon the long journey on the
dark road which would have led them to Paradise.
What shall we do, my darling, to deserve the
blessings God has given us so freely ; the bless-
ings of youth and strength, and love and wealth ?
"What shall we do, dear ? I don't want to turn
Mellish into a Philanstery exactly, nor to give up
my racing-stud, if I can help it," John said re-
flectively ; " but I want to do something, Lolly,
to prove that I am grateful to Providence. Shall
we build a lot of schools, or a church, or alms-
houses, or something of that sort? Lofthouse
would like me to put up a painted window in
Mellish church, and a new pulpit with a patent
sounding-board ; but I can't see that painted
windows and sounding-boards do much good in a
general way. I want to do something, Aurora, to
prove my gratitude to the Providence that has
given me the loveliest and best of women for my
true-hearted wife."
The banker's daughter smiled almost mourn-
fully upon her devoted husband.
ON THE WATCH. 129
" Have I been such a blessing to you, John,"
she said, "that you should be grateful for me?
Have I not brought you far more sorrow than
happiness, my poor dear ?"
"No," shouted Mr. Mellish emphatically. "The
sorrow you have brought me has been nothing to
the joy I have felt in your love. My own dearest
girl, to be sitting here by your side to-day, and to
hear .you tell me that you love me, is enough
happiness to set against all the trouble of mind
that I have endured since the man that is dead
came to Mellish."
I hope my poor John Mellish will be forgiven
if he talked a great deal of nonsense to the wife
he loved. He had been her lover from the first
moment in which he had seen her, darkly beauti-
ful, upon the gusty Brighton Parade ; and he was
her lover still. No shadow of contempt had ever
grown out of his familiarity with her. And
indeed I am disposed to take objection to that old
proverb ; or at least to believe thai' contempt is
only engendered of familiarity with things which
are in themselves base and spurious. The priest,
who is familiar with the altar, learns no contempt
for its sacred images ; but it is rather the ignorant
130 AURORA FLOYD.
neophyte who sneers and sniggers at things which
he cannot understand. The artist becomes only
more reverent as toil and study make him more
familiar with his art ; its eternal sublimity grows
upon him, and he worships the far-away Goddess
of Perfection as humbly when he drops his brush
or his chisel after a life of patient labour, as he
did when first he ground colour or pointed rough
blocks of marble for his master. And I cannot
believe that a good man's respect for the woman
lie loves can be lessened by that sweet and every-
day familiarity in which a hundred household
virtues and gentle beauties never dreamed of in
the ball-rooms where he first danced with an un-
known idol in gauzy robes and glimmering jewels
grow upon him, until he confesses that the wife
of ten years' standing is even ten times dearer than
the bride of a week's honeymoon.
Arcliibald Floyd came back from church, and
found his two children sitting side by side in one
of the broad windows, watching for Ins arrival,
and whispering together like lovers, as I have said
they were.
They dined pleasantly together later in the
evening ; and a little after dark the phaeton was
ON THE WATCH. 131
brought round to the terrace-steps, and Aurora
kissed her father as she wished him good night.
" You will come up to town, and be present at
the marriage, sir, I know," John whispered, as lie
took his father-in-law's hand. " Talbot Bulstrode
will arrange all about it. It is to take place at
some out-of-the-way little church in the City.
Nobody will be any the wiser, and Aurora and I
will go back to Mellish as quietly as possible.
There's only Lofthouse and Hayward know the
secret of the certificate, and they "
John Mellish stopped suddenly. He remem-
bered Mrs. Powell's parting sting. She knew the
secret. But how could she have come by that
knowledge ? It was impossible that either Loft-
house or Hayward could have told her. They
were both honourable men, and they had pledged
themselves to be silent.
Archibald Floyd did not observe his son-in-law's
embarrassment; and the phaeton drove away,
leaving the old man standing on the terrace-steps
looking after his daughter.
" I must shut up this place," he thought, " and
go to Mellish to finish my days. I cannot endure
these separations ; I cannot bear this suspense.
VOL. III. l
132 AURORA FLOYD.
It is a pitiful sham, my keeping house, and living
in all this dreary grandeur. I'll shut up the place,
and ask my daughter to give me a quiet corner in
her Yorkshire home, and a grave in the parish
churchyard."
The lodge-keeper turned out of his comfortable
Gothic habitation to open the clanking iron gates
for the phaeton ; but John drew up his horses
before they dashed into the road, for he saw that
the man wanted to speak to him.
" What is it, Forbes ?" he asked/
" Oh, it's nothing particular, sir," the man said,
"and perhaps I oughtn't to trouble you about
it; but did you expect any one down to-day,
sir?
" Expect any one here ? no !" exclaimed John.
" There's been a person inquirin', sir, this after-
noon, two persons, I may say, in a shay-cart, but
one of 'em asked particular if you was here, sir,
and if Airs. Mellish was here ; and when I said
yes, you was, the" 5 gent says it wasn't worth
troubb'n' you about the business as he'd come
upon and as he'd call another time. And he
asked me what time you'd be likely to be leavin'
the Woods ; and I said I made no doubt you'd
ON THE WATCH. 133
stay to dinner up at the house. So he says, * All
right/ and drives off."
" He left no message, then ?"
" No, sir. He said nothin' more than what I've
told you."
" Then his business could have been of no great
importance, Forbes," answered John, laughing.
" So we needn't worry our heads about him. Good-
night."
Mr. Mellish dropped a five-shilling piece into
the lodge-keeper's hand, gave Talbot's horses their
heads, and the phaeton rolled off London-wards
over the crisp gravel of the well-kept Beckenham
roads.
"Who could the man have been?" Aurora
asked, as they left the gates.
"Goodness knows, my dear," John answered
carelessly. "Somebody on racing business, per-
haps."
Eacing business seems to be in itself such a
mysterious business that it is no strange thing for
mysterious people to be always turning up in
relation to it, Aurora, therefore, was content to
accept this explanation; but not without some
degree of wonderment.
l 2
134 AURORA FLOYD.
" I can't understand the man coming to Felden
after you, John," she said. " How could he know
that you were to be there to-day ?"
" Ah, how indeed, Lolly !" returned Mr. Mellish.
"He chanced it, I suppose. A sharp customer,
no doubt ; wants to sell a horse, I dare say, and
heard I didn't mind giving a good price for a good
filing."
Mr. Mellish might have gone even further than
this, for there were many horsey gentlemen in his
neighbourhood, past masters in the art they prac-
tised, who were wont to say that the young squire,
judiciously manipulated, might be induced to give
a remarkably good price for a very bad thing ;
and there were many broken-down, slim-legged
horses in the Mellish stables that bore witness to
the same fact. Those needy chevaliers oT esprit who
think that Burke's landed gentry were created by
Providence and endowed with the goods of this
world for their especial benefit, just as pigeons are
made plump and nice-eating for the delectation of
hawks, drove a wholesale trade upon the young
man's frank simplicity and hearty belief in his
fellow-creatures. I think it is Eliza Cook who
says, " It is better to trust and be deceived, than
ON THE WATCH. 135
own the mean, poor spirit that betrays ;" and if
there is any happiness in being " done," poor John
enjoyed that fleeting delight pretty frequently.
There was a turn in the road between Becken-
ham and Norwood; and as the phaeton swept
round, a chaise or dog-cart, a shabby vehicle
enough, with a rakish-looking horse, drove close
up, and the man who was driving asked the squire
to put him in the nearest way to London. The
vehicle had been behind them all the way from
Felden, but had kept at a very respectful distance
until now.
" Do you want to get to the City or the West
End ?" John asked.
" The West End."
" Then you can't do better than follow us," an-
swered Mr. Mellish; "the road's clean enough,
and your horse seems a good one to go. You can
keep us in sight, I suppose ?"
" Yes, sir, and thank ye."
" All right, then."
Talbut Bulstrode's thorough-breds dashed off,
but the rakish-looking horse kept Ins ground
behind them. He had something of the insolent,
off-hand assurance of a butcher's horse, accustomed
136 AURORA FLOYD.
to whirl a bare-headed blue-coated master through
the sharp morning air.
" I was right, Lolly," Mr. Mellish said, as he
left the dog-cart behind.
" How do you mean, dear ?" asked Aurora.
" The man who spoke to us just now is the man
who has been inquiring for me at Felden. He's a
Yorkshneman. "
" A Yorkshireman !"
" Yes ; didn't you hear the north-country twang ?"
No : she had not listened to the man, nor
heeded him. How should she think of anything
but her new-born happiness the new-born confi-
dence between herself and the husband she loved ?
Do not think her hard-hearted or cruel if she
forgot that it was the death of a fellow-creature, a
sinful man stricken down in the prime of youth
and health, that had given her this welcome re-
lease. She had suffered so much, that the release
could not be otherwise than welcome, let it come
how it might.
Her nature, frank and open as the day, had
been dwarfed and crippled by the secret that had
blighted her life. Can it be wondered, then, that
she rejoiced now that all need of secrecy was
ON THE WATCH. 137
over, and this generous spirit might expand as it
pleased ?
It was past ten when the phaeton turned into
Halfmoon Street. The men in the dog-cart had
followed John's directions to the letter ; for it was
only in Piccadilly that Mr. Mellish had lost sight
of them amongst other vehicles travelling back-
wards and forwards on the lamp-lit thoroughfare.
Talbot and Lucy received their visitors in one
of the pretty little drawing-rooms. The young
husband and wife had spent a quiet day together ;
going to church in the morning and afternoon,
dining alone, and sitting in the twilight, talking
happily and confidentially. Mr. Bulstrode was no
Sabbath-breaker ; and John Mellish had reason to
consider himself a peculiarly privileged person, in-
asmuch as the thorough-breds had been permitted
to leave their stables for his service ; to say no-
thing of the groom, who had been absent from his
hard seat in the servants' pew at a fashionable
chapel, in order that he might accompany John
and Aurora to Felden.
The little party sat up rather late, Aurora and
Lucy talking affectionately together, side by side,
upon a sofa in the shadow of the room, while the
138 AURORA FLOYD.
two men lounged in the open window. John told
his host the history of the day, and in doing so
casually mentioned the man who had asked him
the way to London.
Strange to say, Talbot Bulstrode seemed espe-
cially interested in this part of the story. He
asked several questions about the men. He asked
what they were like ; what was said by either
of them ; and made many other inquiries, which
seemed equally trivial.
" Then they followed you into town, John ?" he
said finally.
" Yes ; I only lost sight of them in Piccadilly,
five minutes before I turned the corner of the street."
" Do you think they had any motive in follow-
ing you ?" asked Talbot.
" Well, I fancy so ; they're on the look-out for
information, I expect. The man who spoke to me
looked something like a tout. I've heard that
Lord Stamford's rather anxious about my West-
Australian colt, the Pork Butcher. Perhaps his
people have set these men to work to find out if
I'm going to run him in the Leger."
Talbot Bulstrode smiled bitterly, almost mourn-
fully, at the vanity of horse-flesh. It was painful
ON THE WATCH. 139
to see this light-hearted young squire looking in
such ignorant hopefulness towards an horizon upon
which graver and more thoughtful men could see
a dreadful shadow lowering. Mr. Bulstrode was
standing close to the balcony ; he stepped out
amongst the china boxes of mignonette, and
looked down into the quiet street. A man was
leaning against a lamp-post, some few paces from
Talbot's house, smoking a cigar, and with his face
turned towards the balcony. He finished his cigar
deliberately, threw the end into the road, and
walked away while Talbot kept watch ; but Mr.
Bulstrode did not leave his post of observation, and
about a quarter of an hour afterwards he saw the
same man lounging slowly along the pavement
upon the other side of the street. John, who sat
within the shadow of the window-curtains, lolling
against them, and creasing their delicate folds
with the heavy pressure of his broad back, was.
utterly unconscious of all this.
Early the next morning Mr. Bulstrode and Mr.
Mellish took a Hansom cab, and rattled down to
Doctors' Commons, where, for the second time in
his life, John gave himself up to be fought for by
white-aproned ecclesiastical touts, and eventually
140 AURORA FLOYD.
obtained the Archbishop of Canterbury's gracious
sanction of his marriage with Aurora, widow of
James Conyers, only daughter of Archibald Floyd,
banker. From Doctors' Commons the two gentle-
men drove to a certain quiet, out-of-the-way
church within the sound of Bow bells, but so com-
pletely hidden amongst piles of warehouses, top-
heavy chimneys, sloping roofs, and other eccen-
tricities of masonry, that any unhappy bridegroom,
who had appointed to be married there, was likely
enough to spend the whole of the wedding-day in
futile endeavours to find the church-door. Here
John discovered a mouldy clerk, who was fetched
from some habitation in the neighbourhood with
considerable difficulty, by a boy, who volunteered
to accomplish anything under heaven for a certain
copper consideration ; and to this clerk Mr. Mel-
lish gave notice of a marriage which was to take
place upon the following day, by special licence.
" I'll take my second marriage-certificate back
with me," John said, as he left the church ; " and
then I should like to see who'll dare to look me
in the face, and tell me that my darling is not my
own lawfully-wedded wife."
He was thinking of Mrs. Powell as he said this.
OX THE WATCH. 141
He was thinking of the pale, spiteful eyes that had
looked at him, and of the woman's tongue that
had stabbed him with all a little nature's great
capacity for hate. He would be able to defy her
now ; he would be able to defy every creature in
the world who dared to breathe a syllable against
his beloved wife.
Early the next morning the marriage took
place. Archibald Floyd, Talbot Bulstrode, and
Lucy were the only witnesses ; that is to say, the
only witnesses with the exception of the clerk and
the pew-opener, and a couple of men who lounged
into the church when the ceremony was half over,
and slouched about one of the side aisles, looking
at the monuments, and talking to each other in
whispers, until the parson took off his surplice,
and John came out of the vestry with his wife
upon his arm.
Mr. and Mrs. Mellish did not return to Half-
moon Street; they drove straight to the Great
Northern Station, whence they started by the
afternoon express for Doncaster. John was anxious
to return ; for remember that he had left his
household imder very peculiar circumstances, and
strange reports might have arisen in his absence.
142 AUKORA FLOYD.
The young squire would perhaps have scarcely
thought of this, had not the idea been suggested
to him by Talbot Bulstrode, who particularly
urged upon him the expediency of returning im-
mediately.
" Go back, John," said Mr. Bulstrode, " without
an hour's unnecessary delay. If by any chance
there should be some further disturbance about
this murder, it will be much better for you, and
Aurora too, to be on the spot, I will come down
to Mellish myself in a day or two, and will bring
Lucy with me, if you will allow me."
" Allow you, my dear Talbot !"
" I mil come, then. Good-bye, and God bless
you ! Take care of your wife."
143
CHAPTEK VIII.
CAPTAIN PR0DDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER.
Mr. Samuel Prodder, returning to London
after having played his insignificant part in the
tragedy at Mellish Park, found that city singu-
larly dull and gloomy. He put up at some dismal
boarding-house, situated amid a mazy labyrinth of
brick and mortar between the Tower and Wapping,
and having relations with another boarding-house
in Liverpool. He took up his abode at this place,
in which he was known and respected. He drank
rum-and-water, and played cribbage with other
seamen, made after the same pattern as himself.
He even went to an East-End theatre upon the
Saturday night after the murder, and sat out the
representation of a nautical drama, which he would
have been glad to have believed in, had it not
promulgated such wild theories in the science of
navigation, and exhibited such extraordinary ex-
144 AUEOKA FLOYD.
periinents in the manoeuvring of the man-of-war,
upon winch the action of the play took place, as to
cause the captain's hair to stand on end in the in-
tensity of his wonder. The things people did upon
that ship curdled Samuel Prodcler's blo"6d, as he sat
in the lonely grandeur of the eighteenpenny boxes.
It was quite a common thing for them to walk
unhesitatingly through the bulwarks and disappear
in what ought to have been the sea. The extent
of browbeating and humiliation borne by the cap-
tain of that noble vessel ; the amount of authority
exercised by a sailor with loose legs ; the agonies
of sea-sickness, represented by a comic country-
man, who had no particular business on board the
gallant bark ; the proportion of hornpipe-dancing
and nautical ballad-singing gone through, as com-
pared to the work that was done, all combined
to impress poor Samuel with such a novel view of
her Majesty's naval service, that he was very glad
when the captain who had been browbeaten sud-
denly repented of all liis sins, not without a
sharp reminder from the prompter, who informed
the dramatis personce in a confidential voice that it
was parst twelve, and they'd better cut it short,
joined the hands of the contumacious sailor and a
CAPTAIN PEODDEE GOES BACK TO DONCASTEE. 145
young lady in "white muslin, and begged tlieni to
be 'appy.
It was in vain that the captain sought distrac-
tion from the one idea upon which he had perpe-
tually brooded since the night of his visit to Mellish
Park. He would be wanted in Yorkshire to tell
what he knew of the dark history of that fatal
night. He would be called upon to declare at
what hour he had entered the wood, whom he had
met there, what he had seen and heard there.
They would extort from him that which he would
have died rather than tell. They would cross-
examine, and bewilder, and torment him, until he
told them everything, until he repeated, syllable
by syllable, the passionate words that had been
said, until he told them how, within a quarter of
an hour of the firing of the pistol, he had been
the witness of a desperate scene between his niece
and the murdered man, a scene in which concen-
trated hate, vengeful fury, illimitable disdain and
detestation had been expressed by her by her
alone : the man had been calm and moderate
enough. It was she who had been angry ; it was
she who had given loud utterance to her hate.
Now, by reason of one of those strange inconsis-
146 AUKORA FLOYD.
tencies common to weak human nature, the captain,
though possessed night and day by a blind terror of
being suddenly pounced upon by the minions of the
law, and compelled to betray his niece's secret,
could not rest in his safe retreat amid the laby-
rinths of Wapping, but must needs pine to return
to the scene of the murder. He wanted to know
the result of the inquest. The Sunday papers gave
a very meagre account, only hinting darkly at
suspected parties. He wanted to ascertain for
himself what had happened at the inquest, and
whether his absence had given rise to suspicion.
He wanted to see Ins niece again, to see her in
the daylight, undisturbed by passion. He wanted
to see this beautiful tigress in her calmer moods,
if she ever had any calmer moods. Heaven knows
the simple merchant-captain was well-nigh dis-
tracted as he thought of his sister Eliza's child,
and the awful circumstances of his first and only
meeting with her.
Was she that which he feared people might be
led to think her, if they heard the story of that
scene in the wood ? No, no, no !
She was his sister's child, the child of that merry,
impetuous little girl, who had worn a pinafore and
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 147
played hop-scotch. He remembered his sister
flying into a rage with one Tommy Barnes for un-
fair practices in that very game, and upbraiding
him almost as passionately as Aurora had upbraided
the dead man. But if Tommy Barnes had been
found strangled by a skipping-rope or shot dead
from a pea-shooter in the next street a quarter of
an hour afterwards, would Eliza's brother have
thought that she must needs be guilty of the boy's
murder ? The captain had gone so far as to reason
thus, in his trouble of mind. His sister Eliza's
child would be likely to be passionate and im-
petuous ; but his sister Eliza's child would be a
generous, warm-hearted creature, incapable of any
cruelty in either thought or deed. He remembered
his sister Eliza boxing his ears on the occasion of
his gouging out the eyes of her wax-doll ; but he
remembered the same dark-eyed child sobbing
piteously at the spectacle of a lamb that a heartless
butcher was dragging to the slaughter-house.
But the more seriously Captain Prodder re-
volved this question in Ins mind, the more
decidedly his inclination pointed to Doncaster ;
and early upon that very morning on which the
quiet marriage had taken place in the obscure
VOL. III. M
148 AUEOEA FLOYD.
City church, he repaired to a magnificent Israel-
itisli temple of fashion in the Minories, and there
ordered a suit of such clothes as were most
affected by elegant landsmen. The Israelitish
salesman recommended something light and
lively in the fancy-check line ; and Mr. Prodder,
submitting to that authority as beyond all question,
invested himself in a suit which he had contem-
plated solemnly athwart a vast expanse of plate-
glass, before entering the temple of the Graces.
It was " Our aristocratic tourist," at seventy-seven
shillings and sixpence, and was made of a fleecy
and rather powdery-looking cloth ; in which the
hues of baked and unbaked bricks predominated
over a more delicate hearthstone tint, which
latter the shopman declared to be a colour that
West-End tailors had vainly striven to emulate.
The captain, dressed in " Our aristocratic
tourist," which suit was of the ultra cut-away and
peg-toppy order, and with his sleeves and trousers
inflated by any chance summer's breeze, had
perhaps more of the appearance of a tombola than
is quite in accordance with a strictly artistic
view of the human figure. In his desire to make
himself utterly irrecognizable as the seafaring man
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. ]49
who had carried the tidings of the murder to
Mellish Park, the captain had tortured himself
by substituting a tight circular collar and a wisp
of purple ribbon for the honest half-yard of
snowy linen which it had been his habit to wear
turned over the loose collar of his blue coat. He
suffered acute agonies from this modern device,
but he bore them bravely ; and he went straight
from the tailor's to the Great Northern Railway
Station, where he took his ticket for Doncaster.
He meant to visit that town as an aristocratic
tourist ; he would keep himself aloof from the
neighbourhood of Mellish Park, but he would be
sure to hear the result of the inquest, and he
would be able to ascertain for himself whether any
trouble had come upon his sister's child.
The sea-captain did not travel by that express
which carried Mr. and Mrs. Mellish to Doncaster,
but by an earlier and a slower train, which
lumbered quietly along the road, conveying in-
ferior persons, to whom time was not measured by
a golden standard, and who smoked, and slept, and
ate, and drank resignedly enough, through the
eight or nine hours' journey.
It was dusk when Samuel Prodder reached the
M 2
150 AURORA FLOYD.
quiet racing-town from which he had fled away in
the dead of the night so short a time before. He
left the station, and made his way to the market-
place, and from the market-place he struck into a
narrow lane that led him to an obscure street upon
the outskirts of the town. He had a great terror
of being led by some unhappy accident into the
neighbourhood of the Reindeer, lest he should
be recognized by some hanger-on of that hotel.
Half-way between the beginning of the strag-
gling street and the point at which it dwindled and
shrank away into a country lane, the captain
found a little public-house called the Crooked
Eabbit, such an obscure and out-of-the-way place
of entertainment that poor Samuel thought him-
self safe in seeking for rest and refreshment
within its dingy walls. There was a framed-and-
glazed legend of " good beds " hanging behind an
opaque window-pane, beds for which the land-
lord of the Crooked Eabbit was in the habit of
asking and receiving almost fabulous prices during
the great Leger week. But there seemed little
enough doing at the humble tavern just now, and
Captain Prodder walked boldly in, ordered a steak
and a pint of ale, with a glass of rum-and-water,
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 151
hot, to follow, at the bar, and engaged one of the
good beds for his accommodation. The landlord,
who was a fat man, lounged with his back against
the bar reading the sporting news in the ' Man-
chester Guardian ;' and it was the landlady who
took Mr. Prodder's orders and showed him the way
into an awkwardly-shaped parlour, which was much
below the j*est of the house, and into which the
uninitiated visitor was apt to precipitate himself
head foremost, as into a well or pit. There where
several small mahogany tables in this room, all
adorned with sticky arabesques, formed by the wet
impressions of the bottom rims of pewter pots;
there were so many spittoons that it was almost
impossible to walk from one end of the room to
the other without taking unintentional foot-baths
of sawdust ; there was an old bagatelle-table, the
cloth of which had changed from green to dingy
yellow, and was frayed and tattered like a poor
man's coat ; and there was a low window, the sill
of which was almost on a level with the pavement
of the street.
The merchant-captain threw off his hat, loosened
the slip of ribbon and the torturing circular collar
supplied him by the Israelitish outfitter, aud cast
152 AUKOEA FLOYD.
himself into a shining mahogany arm-chair close
to this window. The lower panes were shrouded
by a crimson cm-tain, and he lifted this very
cautiously and peered for a few moments into the
street. It was lonely enough and quiet enough
in the dusky summer's evening. Here and there
lights twinkled in a shop window, and upon one
threshold a man stood talking to his neighbour.
With one thought always paramount in his mind,
it is scarcely strange that Samuel Prodder should
fancy these people must necessarily be talking of
the niurder.
The landlady brought the captain the steak he
had ordered, and the tired traveller seated himself
at one of the tables and discussed his simple meal.
He had eaten nothing since seven o'clock that
morning, and he made very short work of the three-
quarters of a pound of meat that had been cooked
for him. He finished his beer, drank his rum-and-
water, smoked a pipe, and then, as he had the
room still to himself, he made an impromptu couch
of Windsor chairs arranged in a row, and, in his
own 2?arlance, turned-in upon this rough hammock
to take a brief stretch.
He might have set his mind at rest, perhaps,
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 153
before this, had he chosen. He could have ques-
tioned the landlady about the minder at Mellish
Park ; she was likely to know as much as any
one else he might meet at the Crooked Babbit.
But he had refrained from doing this because he
did not wish to draw attention to himself in any
way, as a person in the smallest degree interested
in the murder. How did he know what inquiries
had possibly been made for the missing witness ?
There was perhaps some enormous reward offered
for his apprehension, and a word or a look might
betray him to the greedy eyes of those upon the
watch to obtain it.
Eemember that this broad-shouldered seafaring
man was as ignorant as a child of all things beyond
the deck of his own vessel, and the watery high-
roads he had been wont to navigate. Life along
shore was a solemn mystery to him, the law of
the British dominions a complication of inscrutable
enigmas, only to be spoken of and thought of in a
spirit of reverence and wonder. If anybody had
told him that he was likely to be seized upon as an
accessory before the fact, and hung out of hand for
his passive part in the Mellish Park catastrophe, he
would have believed them implicitly. How did he
154 AUEORA FLOYD.
know how many Acts of Parliament his conduct in
leaving Doncaster without giving his evidence
might come under? It might be high treason,
lese-majesty, anything in the world that is unpro-
nounceable and awful, for aught this simple
sailor knew to the contrary. But in all this it was
not his own safety that Captain Prodder thought
of. That was of very little moment to this light-
hearted, easy-going sailor. He had perilled his
life too often on the high seas to set any exagge-
rated value upon it ashore. If they chose to hang
an innocent man, they must do their worst ; it
would be their mistake, not his ; and he had a
simple seaman-like faith, rather vague, perhaps, and
not very reduceable to anything like thirty-nine
articles, which told him there were sweet little
cherubs sitting up aloft who would take good care
that any such sublunary mistake should be recti-
fied in a certain supernal log-book, upon whose
pages Samuel Prodder hoped to find himself set
down as an honest and active sailor, always humbly
obedient to the signals of his Commander.
It was for his niece's sake, then, that the sailor
dreaded any discovery of his whereabouts ; and it
was for her sake that he resolved upon exercising
CAPTAIN TRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 155
the greatest degree of caution of which his simple
nature was capable.
"I won't ask a single question," he thought;
" there's sure to be a pack of lubbers dropping in
here, by-and-by, and I shall hear 'em talking about
the business as likely as not. These country folks
would have nothing to talk about if they didn't
overhaul the ship's books of then betters."
The captain slept soundly for upwards of an
horn, and was awakened at the end of that time
by the sound of voices in the room, and the fumes
of tobacco. The gas was flaring high in the low-
roofed parlour when he opened his eyes, and at
first he could scarcely distinguish the occupants of
the room for the blinding glare of light.
" I won't get up," he thought ; " I'll sham asleep
for a bit, and see whether they happen to talk
about the business."
There were only three men in the room. One
of them was the landlord, whom Samuel Prodder
had seen reading in the bar ; and the other two
were shabby-looking men, with by no means too
respectable a stamp either upon their persons or
then manners. One of them wore a velveteen cut-
away coat with big brass buttons, knee-breeches,
156 AURORA FLOYD.
blue stockings, and highlows. The other was a
pale-faced man, with mutton-chop whiskers, and
dressed in a shabby-genteel costume, that gave in-
dication of general vagabondage rather than of
any particular occupation.
They were talking of horses when Captain Prod-
der awoke, and the sailor lay for some time listen-
ing to a jargon that was utterly unintelligible to
him. The men talked of Lord Zetland's lot, of
Lord Glasgow's lot, and the Leger and the Cup,
and made offers to bet with each other, and quar-
relled about the terms, and never came to an agree-
ment, in a manner that was utterly bewildering to
poor Samuel ; but he waited patiently, still feign-
ing to be asleep, and not in any way disturbed by
the men, who did not condescend to take any
notice of him.
" They'll talk of the other business presently,"
he thought ; " they're safe to talk of it."
Mr. Prodder was right.
After discussing the conflicting merits of half
the horses in the racing calendar, the three men
abandoned the fascinating subject ; and the land-
lord re-entering the room after having left it to
fetch a fresh supply of beer for his guests, asked if
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 157
either of them had heard if anything new had
turned up about that business at Mellish Park.
"There's a letter in to-day's 'Guardian,'" he
added, before receiving any reply to Ins question,
"and a pretty strong one. It tries to fix the
murder upon some one in the house, but it don't
exactly name the party. It wouldn't be safe to do
that yet awhile, I suppose."
Upon the request of the two men, the landlord
of the Crooked Eabbit read the letter in the
Manchester daily paper. It was a very clever
letter, and a spirited one, giving a synopsis of the
proceedings at the inquest, and commenting very
severely upon the manner in which that investiga-
tion had been conducted. Mr. Prodder quailed
until the Windsor chairs trembled beneath him as
the landlord read one passage, in which it was re-
marked that the stranger who carried the news of
the murder to the house of the victim's employer,
the man who had heard the report of the pistol,
and had been chiefly instrumental in the finding
of the body, had not been forthcoming at the in-
quest.
"He had disappeared mysteriously and abruptly,
and no efforts were made to find him," wrote the
158 AURORA FLOYD.
correspondent of the ' Guardian.' " What assur-
ance can be given for the safety of any man's life
when such a crime as the Mellish Park murder is
investigated in this loose and indifferent manner ?
The catastrophe occurred within the boundary of
the Park fence. Let it be discovered whether any
person in the Mellish household had a motive for
the destruction of James Conyers. The man was
a stranger to the neighbourhood. He was not
likely, therefore, to have made enemies outside the
boundary of his employer's estate, but he may
have had some secret foe within that limit. Who
was he ? where did he come from ? what were his
antecedents and associations? Let each one of
these questions be fully sifted, let a cordon be
drawn round the house, and every creature living
in it be held under the surveillance of the law
until patient investigation has done its work, and
such evidence has been collected as must lead to
the detection of the guilty person."
To this effect was the letter which the landlord
read in a loud and didactic manner, that was very
imposing, though not without a few stumbles
over some hard words, and a good deal of slap-
dash jumping at others.
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 159
Samuel Prodder could make very little of the
composition, except that it was perfectly clear he
had been missed at the inquest, and his absence
commented upon. The landlord and the shabby-
genteel man talked long and discursively upon the
matter ; the man in the velveteen coat, who was
evidently a thorough-bred cockney and only newly
arrived in Doncaster, required to be told the
whole story before he was upon a footing with the
other two. He was very quiet, and generally
spoke between his teeth, rarely taking the un-
necessary trouble of removing his short clay-pipe
from Ins mouth, except when it required refilling.
He listened to the story of the murder very
intently, keeping one eye upon the speaker and
the other on his pipe, and nodding approvingly
now and then in the course of the narrative.
He took his pipe from his mouth when the
story was finished, and filled it from an india-
rubber pouch, which had to be turned inside-out
in some mysterious manner before the tobacco
could be extricated from it. While he was pack-
ing the loose fragments of shag or bird's-eye
neatly into the bowl of the pipe with his stumpy
little finger, he said, with supreme carelessness
160 AURORA FLOYD.
" I know'd Jim Conyers."
" Did you now ?" exclaimed the landlord, open-
ing his eyes very wide.
"I know'd him," repeated the man, " as inti-
mate as I know'd my own mother ; and when I
read of the murder in the newspaper last Sunday,
you might have knocked me down with a feather.
' Jim's got it at last,' I said ; for he was one of
them coves that goes through the world cock-a-
doodling over other people to sich a extent, that
when they do drop in for it, there's not many par-
ticular sorry for 'em. He was one of your selfish
chaps, this here ; and when a chap goes through,
this life makin' it his leadin' principle to care
about nobody, he mustn't be surprised if it ends by
nobody carin' for him. Yes, I know'd Jim Conyers,"
added the man, slowly and thoughtfully, " and I
know'd him under rather pecooliar circumstances."
The landlord and the other man pricked up
their ears at this point of the conversation.
The trainer at Mellish Park had, as we know,
risen to popularity from the hour in which he had
fallen upon the dewy turf in the wood, shot
through the heart.
" If there wasn't any particklar objections," the
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 1G1
landlord of the Crooked Rabbit said, presently,
"I should oncomnionly like to hear anything
you've got to tell about the poor chap. There's a
deal of interest took about the matter in Doncas-
ter, and my customers have scarcely talked of
anything else since the inquest."
The man in the velveteen coat rubbed his chin
and smoked his pipe reflectively. He was evidently
not a very communicative man ; but it was also
evident that he was rather gratified by the distinc-
tion of his position in the little public-house parlour.
This was no other than Mr. Matthew Harrison,
the dog-fancier ; Aurora's pensioner, the man who
had traded upon her secret, and made himself the
last link between her and the low-born husband
she had abandoned.
Samuel Prodder lifted himself from the Wind-
sor chairs at this juncture. He was too much
interested in the conversation to be able to simu-
late sleep any longer. He got up, stretched his
legs and arms, made elaborate show of having
just awakened from a profound and refreshing
slumber, and asked the landlord of the Crooked
Rabbit to mix him another glass of that pine-
apple-rum grog.
162 AURORA FLOYD.
The captain lighted his pipe while his host
departed upon this errand. The seaman glanced
rather inquisitively at Mr. Harrison ; but he was
fain to wait until the conversation took its own
course, and offered him a safe opportunity of ask-
ing a few questions.
" The pecooliar circumstances under which I
know'd James Conyers," pursued the dog-fancier,
after having taken his own time and smoked out
half a pipeful of tobacco, to the acute aggravation
of his auditory, " was a woman, and a stunner
she was, too ; one of your regular spitfires, that'll
knock you into the middle of next week if you so
much as asks her how she does in a manner she
don't approve of. She was a woman, she was,
and a handsome one, too ; but she was more than
a match for James, with all his brass. Why, I've
seen her great black eyes flash fire upon him,"
said Mr. Harrison, looking dreamily before him,
as if he could even at that moment see the flash-
ing eyes of which he spoke ; "I've seen her look
at him, as if she'd wither him up from off the
ground he trod upon, with that contempt she felt
for him." ^
Samuel Prodder grew strangely uneasy as he
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 163
listened to this man's talk of flashing black eyes
and angry looks directed at James Conyers. Had
he not seen his niece's shining orbs flame fire
upon the dead man only a quarter of an hour
before he received his death-wound? Only so
long Heaven help that wretched girl! only so
long before the man for whom she had expressed
unmitigated hate had fallen by the hand of an
unknown murderer.
"She must have been a tartar, this young
woman of yours," the landlord observed to Mr.
Harrison.
" She was a tartar," answered the dog-fancier :
" but she was the right sort, too, for all that ; and
what's more, she was a kind friend to me. There's
never a quarter-day goes by that I don't have
cause to say so."
He poured out a fresh glass of beer as he spoke,
and tossed the liquor down his capacious throat
with the muttered sentiment, "Here's towards
her."
Another man had entered the room while Mr.
Prodder had sat smoking his pipe and drinking his
rum-and-water, a hump-backed, white-faced man,
who sneaked into the public-house parlour as if he
VOL. III. N
164 AUEOKA FLOYD.
had no right to be there, and seated himself noise-
lessly at one of the tables.
Samuel Prodder remembered this man. He had
seen him through the window in the lighted par-
lour of the north lodge when the body of James
Conyers had been carried into the cottage. It
was not likely, however, that the man had seen
the captain.
"Why, if it isn't Steeve Hargraves from the
Park !" exclaimed the landlord, as he looked
round and recognized the " Softy "; " he'll be able
to tell plenty, I dare say. We've been talking of
the murder, Steeve," he added, in a conciliatory
manner.
Mr. Hargraves rubbed his clumsy hands about
his head, and looked furtively, yet searchingly, at
each member of the little assembly.
" Ay, sure," he said ; " folks don't seem to me to
talk about owght else. It was bad enoogh oop at
the Park ; but it seems worse in Doncaster."
" Are you stayin' up town, Steeve ?" asked the
landlord, who seemed to be upon pretty intimate
terms with the late hanger-on of Mellish Park.
" Yes, I'm stayin' oop town for a bit ; I've been
out of jDlace since the business oop there; you
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 165
know how I was turned out of the house that had
sheltered me ever since I was a boy, and you
know who did it. Never mind that ; I'm out o '
place now, but you may draw me a mug of ale ;
I've money enough for that."
Samuel Prodder looked at the " Softy " with con-
siderable interest. He had played a small part in
the great catastrophe, yet it was scarcely likely
that he should be able to throw any light upon
the mystery. What was he but a poor half-witted
hanger-on of the murdered man, who had lost all
by his patron's untimely death ?
The " Softy " drank his beer, and sat, silent, un-
gainly, and disagreeable to look upon, amongst the
other men.
n There's a reg'lar stir in the Manchester papers
about this murder, Steeve," the landlord said, by
way of opening a conversation ; " it don't seem to
me as if the business was goin' to be let drop over-
quietly. There'll be a second inquest, I reckon,
or a examination, or a memorial to the Secretary
of State, or sumniat o' that sort, before long."
The " Softy's " face, expressionless almost always,
expressed nothing now but stolid indifference ; the
stupid indifference of a half-witted ignoramus, to
N 2
166 AURORA FLOYD.
whose impenetrable intellect even the murder of
his own master was a far-away and obscure event,
not powerful enough to awaken any effort of at-
tention.
" Yes ; I'll lay there'll be a stir about it before
long," the landlord continued. " The papers put
it down very strong that the murder must have
been done by some one in the house ; by some
one as had more knowledge of the man, and more
reason to be angry against him, than strangers
could have. Now you, Hargraves, were living at
the place ; you must have seen and heard things
that other people haven't had the opportunity to
hear. What do you think about it ?"
Mr. Hargraves scratched his head reflectively.
" The papers are cleverer nor me," he said at
last ; " it wouldn't do for a poor fond chap like me
to go agen such as them. I think what they
think. I think it was some one about the pleace
did it ; some one that had good reason to be spite-
ful again him that's dead."
An imperceptible shudder passed over the
" Softy's " frame as he alluded to the murdered
man. It was strange with what gusto the other
three men discussed the ghastly subject ; returning
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 107
to it persistently in spite of every interruption, and
in a manner licking their lips over its gloomiest
details. It was surely more strange that they
should do this, than that Stephen Hargraves
should exhibit some reluctance to talk freely upon
the dismal topic.
" And who do you think had cause to be spiteful
agen him, Steeve ?" asked the landlord. " Had
him and Mr. Mellish fell out about the manage-
ment of the stable ?"
" Him and Mr. Mellish had never had an angry
word pass between 'em, as I've heerd of," answered
the " Softy."
He laid such a singular emphasis upon the word
Mr. that the three men looked at him wonderingly,
and Captain Prodder took his pipe from his mouth
and grasped the back of a neighbouring chair as
firmly as if he had entertained serious thoughts of
flinging that trifle of furniture at the a Softy's "
head.
" Who else could it have been, then, as had a
spite against the man ?" asked some one.
Samuel Prodder scarcely knew who it was who
spoke, for his attention was concentrated upon
Stephen Hargraves ; and he never once removed
168 AURORA FLOYD.
his gaze from the white face, and dull, blinking
eyes.
"Who was it that went to meet him late at
night in the north lodge ?" whispered the " Softy."
" Who was it that couldn't find words that was
bad enough for him, or looks that was angry
enough for him ? Who was it that wrote him a
letter, I've got it, and I mean to keep it too,
askin' of him to be in the wood at such-and-such a
time upon the very night of the murder ? Who
was it" that met him there in the dark, as others
could tell as well as me ? Who was it that did this ?'
No one answered. The men looked at each
other and at the " Softy " with open mouths, but
said nothing. Samuel Prodder grasped the top-
most bar of the wooden chair still more tightly,
and his broad bosom rose and fell beneath his
tourist waistcoat like a raging sea ; but he sat in
the shadow of the queerly-shaped room, and no
one noticed him.
" Who was it that ran' away from her own
home and hid herself, after the inquest ?" whis-
pered the " Softy." " W T ho was it that was afraid
to stop in her own house, but must run away to
London without leaving word where she was gone
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 169
for anybody ? Who was it that was seen upon
the mornin' before the niurder, meddlin' with her
husband's guns and pistols, and was seen by more
than me, as them that saw her will testify when
the time comes ? Who was this ?"
Again there was no answer. The raging sea
laboured still more heavily under Captain Prod-
der's waistcoat, and his grasp tightened, if it
could tighten, on the rail of the chair ; but he
uttered no word. There was more to come, per-
haps, yet ; and he might want every chair in the
room as instruments with which to appease his
vengeance.
"You was talkin', when I just came in, a
while ago, of a young woman in connection with
Mr. James Conyers, sir," said the " Softy," turn-
ing to Matthew Harrison ; " a black-eyed woman,
you said ; might she have been his wife ?"
The dog-fancier started, and deliberated for a
few moments before he answered.
" Well, in a manner of speaking, she was his
wife," he said at last, rather reluctantly.
" She wasfa bit above him, loike wasn't she ?"
asked the " Softy." " She had more money than
she knew what to do with eh ?"
170 AUROEA FLOYD.
The dog-fancier stared at the questioner.
" You know who she was, I suppose ?" he said
suspiciously.
"I think I do," whispered Stephen Har-
graves. "She was the daughter of Mr. Floyd,
the rich banker oop in London ; and she married
our squire while her first husband was alive ; and
she wrote a letter to him that's dead, askin'
of him to meet her upon the night of the
murder."
Captain Prodder flung aside the chair. It was
too poor a weapon with which to wreak his wrath ;
and with one bound he sprang upon the " Softy,"
seizing the astonished wretch by the throat, and
overturning a table, with a heap of crashing
glasses and pewter pots, that rolled away into the
corners of the room.
" It's a lie !" roared the sailor ; " you foul-
mouthed hound ! you know that it's a lie ! Give
me something," cried Captain Prodder ; " give me
something, somebody, and give it quick, that I
may pound this man into a mash as soft as a
soaked ship's biscuit ; for if I use my- fists to him
I shall murder him, as sure as I stand here. It's
my sister Eliza's child you want to slander, is it ?
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 171
You'd better have kept your mouth shut while
you was iu her own uncle's company. I meant
to have kep' quiet here," cried the captain, with
a vague recollection that he had betrayed himself
and his purpose ; " but was I to keep quiet and
hear lies told of my own niece ? Take care," he
added, shaking the " Softy," till Mr. Hargraves's
teeth chattered in his head, " or I'll knock those
crooked teeth of yours down your ugly throat, to
hinder you from telling any more lies of my dead
sister's only child."
" They weren't lies," gasped the " Softy," dog-
gedly ; " I said I've got the letter, and I have got
it. Let me go, and I'll show it to you."
The sailor released the dirty wisp of cotton
neckerchief by which he had held Stephen Har-
graves ; but he still retained a grasp upon his
coat-collar.
"Shall I show you the letter?" asked the
"Softy."
"Yes."
Mr. Hargraves fumbled in his pockets for some
minutes, and ultimately produced a dirty scrap of
crumpled paper.
It was the brief scrawl which Aurora had
172 AURORA FLOYD.
written to James Conyers, telling him to meet
her in the wood. The murdered man had thrown
it carelessly aside after reading it, and it had been
picked up by Stephen Hargraves.
He would not trust the precious document out
of his own clumsy hands, but held it before
Captain Prodder for inspection.
The sailor stared at it, anxious, bewildered,
fearful ; he scarcely knew how to estimate the
importance of the wretched scrap of circum-
stantial evidence. There were the words, cer-
tainly, written in a bold, scarcely feminine, hand.
But these words in themselves proved nothing
until it could be proved that his niece had written
them.
" How do I know as my sister Eliza's child
wrote that ?" he asked.
" Ay, sure ; but she did though," answered the
" Softy." " But, coom, let me go now, will you ?"
he added, with cringing civility ; " I didn't know
you was her uncle. How was I to know owght
about it ? I don't want to make any mischief
agen Mrs. Mellish, though she's been no friend to
me. I didn't say anything at the inquest, did I ?
tnougrh I might have said as much as I've said to-
CAPTAIN PRODDER GOES BACK TO DONCASTER. 173
night, if it comes to that, and have told no lies.
But when folks bother me about him that's dead,
and ask this and that and t'oother, and go on as if
I had a right to know all about it, I'm free to tell
my thoughts, I suppose ? surely I'm free to tell
my thoughts ?"
"I'll go straight to Mr. Mellish, and tell him
what you've said, you scoundrel!" cried the
captain.
"Ay, do," whispered Stephen Hargraves mali-
ciously ; " there's some of it that'll be stale news
to liim, anyhow."
174 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER IX.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON WITH WHICH
JAMES CONYERS HAD BEEN SLAIN.
Mr. and Mrs. Mellish returned to the house in
which they had been so happy ; but it is not to be
supposed that the pleasant country mansion could
be again, all in a moment, the home that it had
been before the advent of James Conyers the
trainer, and the acting of the tragedy that had so
abruptly concluded his brief service.
No ; every pang that Aurora had felt, every
agony that John had endured, had left a certain
impress ujon the scene in which it had been
suffered. The subtle influences of association
hung heavily about the familiar place. We are
the slaves of such associations, and we are power-
less to stand against their silent force. Scraps of
colour and patches of gilding upon the walls will
bear upon them, as plainly as if they were covered
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON. 175
with hieroglypliical inscriptions, the shadows of the
thoughts of those who have looked upon them.
Transient and chance effects of light or shade will
recall the same effects, seen and observed as
Fagin observed the broken spike upon the guarded
dock in some horrible crisis of misery and despair.
The commonest household goods and chattels will
bear mute witness of your agonies : an easy-chair
will say to you, " It was upon me you cast yourself
in that paroxysm of rage and grief;" the pattern
of a dinner-service may recall to you that fatal day
on which you pushed your food untasted from you,
and turned your face, like grief-stricken King
David, to the wall. The bed you lay upon, the
curtains that sheltered you, the pattern of the
paper on the walls, the common every-day sounds
of the household, coming muffled and far-away to
that lonely room in which you hid yourself, all
these bear record of your sorrow, and of that
hideous double action of the mind which impresses
these things most vividly upon you at the very
time when it would seem they should be most
indifferent.
But every sorrow, every pang of wounded love,
or doubt, or jealousy, or despair, is a fact a fact
176 AURORA FLOYD.
once, and a fact for ever ; to be outlived, but very
rarely to be forgotten ; leaving such an impress
upon our lives as no future joys can quite wear
out. The murder has been done, and the hands
are red. The sorrow has been suffered ; and how-
ever beautiful Happiness may be to us, she can
never be the bright virginal creature she once was ;
for she has passed through the valley of the shadow
of death, and we have discovered that she is not
immortal.
It is not to be expected, then, that John Mellish
and his wife Aurora could feel quite the same in
the pretty chambers of the Yorkshire mansion as
they had felt before the first shipwreck of their
happiness. They had been saved from peril and
destruction, and landed, by the mercy of Pro-
vidence, high and dry upon the shore that seemed
to promise them pleasure and security henceforth.
But the memory of the tempest was yet new to
them ; and upon the sands that were so smooth to-
day they had seen yesterday the breakers beating
with furious menace, and hurrying onward to
destroy them.
The funeral of the trainer had not yet taken
place, and it was scarcely a pleasant thing for
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON. 177
Mr. Mellish to remember that the body of the
murdered man still lay, stark and awful, in the
oak coffin that stood upon trestles in the rustic
chamber at the north lodge.
"I'll pull that place down, Lolly," John said,
as he turned away from an open window, through
which he could see the Gothic chimneys of the
trainer's late habitation glimmering redly above
the trees. " 111 pull the place down, my pet.
The gates are never used, except by the stable-
boys ; I'll knock them down, and the lodge too,
and build some loose boxes for the brood-mares
with the materials. And we'll go away to the
south of France, darling, and run across to Italy, if
you like, and forget all about this horrid busi-
ness."
" The funeral will take place to-morrow, John,
will it not ?" Aurora asked.
" To-morrow, dear ! to-morrow is Wednesday,
you know. It was upon Thursday night that "
"Yes, yes," she answered, interrupting him
" I know ; I know."
She shuddered as she spoke, remembering the
ghastly circumstances of the night to which he
alluded; remembering how the dead man had
178 AURORA FLOYD.
stood before her, strong in health and vitality, and
had insolently defied her hatred. Away from
Mellish Park, she had only remembered that the
burden of her life had been removed from her,
and that she was free. But here here upon
the scene of the hideous story she recollected
the manner of her release ; and that memory
oppressed her even more terribly than her old
secret, her only sorrow.
She had never seen or known in this man, who
had been murdered, one redeeming quality, one
generous thought. She had known him as a liar, a
schemer, a low and paltry swindler, a selfish spend-
thrift, extravagant to wantonness upon himself, but
meaner than words could tell towards others ; a
profligate, a traitor, a glutton, a drunkard. This is
what she had found behind her school-girl's fancy
for a handsome face, for violet-tinted eyes, and soft-
brown curling hair. Do not call her hard, then, if
sorrow had no part in the shuddering horror she
felt as she conjured up the image of him in his
death-hour, and saw the glazing eyes turned
angrily upon her. She was little more than
twenty ; and it had been her fate always to take
the wrong step, always to be misled by the vague
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON. 17!)
finger-posts upon life's high-road, and to choose
the longest, and crookedest, and hardest way to-
wards the goal she sought to reach.
Had she, upon the discovery of her first
husband's infidelity, called* the law to her aid,
she was rich enough to command its utmost help,
though Sir Cresswell Cresswell did not then keep
the turnpike upon such a royal road to divorce as
he does now, she might have freed herself from
the hateful chains so foolishly linked together, and
might have defied this dead man to torment or
assail her.
But she had chosen to follow the counsel of
expediency, and it had led her upon the crooked
way through which I have striven to follow her.
I feel that there is much need of apology for her.
Her own hands had sown the dragon's teeth, from
whose evil seed had sprung up armed men, strong-
enough to rend and devour her. But then, if she
had been faultless, she could not have been the
heroine of this story ; for I think some wise man
of old remarked, that the perfect women were
those who left no histories behind them, but went
through life upon such a tranquil course of quiet
well-doing as left no footprints on the sands of
vol. in. o
180 .. * AURORA FLOYD.
time ; only mute records hidden here and there,
deep in the grateful hearts of those who had been
blest by them.
The presence of the dead man within the
boundary of Mellish Park made itself felt through-
out the household that had once been such a
jovial one. The excitement of the catastrophe
had passed away, and only the dull gloom remained
a sense of oppression not to be cast aside. It
was felt in the servants' hall, as well as in Aurora's
luxurious apartments. It was felt by the butler as
well as by the master. No worse deed of violence
than the slaughter of an unhappy stag, who had
rushed for a last refuge to the Mellish Park flower-
garden, and had been run down by furious hounds
upon the velvet lawn, had ever before been done
within the boundary of the young squire's home.
The house was an old one, and had stood, gray and
ivy-shrouded, through the perilous days of civil
war. There were secret passages, in which loyal
squires of Mellish Park had hidden from ferocious
Boundheads bent upon riot and plunder. There
were broad hearth-stones, upon which sturdy
blows had been given and exchanged by strong
men in leathern jerkins and clumsy iron-heeled
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON. 181
boots ; but the Eoyalist Mellish had always ulti-
mately escaped, up a chimney, or down a cellar,
or behind a curtain of tapestry ; and the wicked
Praise-the-Lord Thompsons, and Smiter-of-the-
rhilistines Joneses, had departed after plundering
the plate-chest and emptying the wine-barrels.
There had never before been set upon the place in
which John Mellish had first seen the light, the red
hand of Murder.
It was not strange, then, that the servants sat
long over their meals, and talked in solemn
whispers of the events of the past week. There
was more than the murder to talk about. There
was the flight of Mrs. Mellish from beneath her
husband's roof upon the very day of the inquest.
It was all very well for John to give out that his
wife had gone up to town upon a visit to her
cousin, Mrs. Bulstrode. Such ladies as Mrs. Mel-
lish do not go upon visits without escort, without a
word of notice, without the poorest pretence of bag
and baggage. No ; the mistress of Mellish Park
had fled away from her home under the influence
of some sudden panic. Had not Mrs. Powell said
as much, or hinted as much ? for when did that
lady-like creature ever Vulgarize her opinions by
o 2
182 AURORA FLOYD.
stating thein plainly? The matter was obvious.
Mr. Mellish had taken, no doubt, the wisest
course : he had pursued his wife and had brought
her back, and had done his best to hush up the
matter ; but Aurora's departure had been a flight,
a sudden and unpremeditated flight.
The lady's-maid, ah, how many handsome
dresses, given to her by a generous mistress, lay
neatly folded in the girl's boxes on the second
story ! told how Aurora had come to her room,
pale and wild-looking, and had dressed herself
unassisted for that hurried journey, upon the day of
the inquest. The girl liked her mistress, loved
her, perhaps ; for Aurora had a wondrous and
almost dangerous faculty for winning the love of
those who came near her ; but it was so pleasant to
have something to say about this all-absorbing
topic, and to be able to make oneself a feature in
the solemn conclave. At first they had talked
only of the murdered man, speculating upon his
life and history, and building up a dozen theo-
retical views of the murder. But the tide had
turned now, and they talked of their mistress ; not
connecting her in any positive or openly expressed
manner with the murder," but commenting upon
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON". 183
the strangeness of her conduct, and dwelling
much upon those singular coincidences by which
she had happened to be roaming in the park upon
the night of the catastrophe, and to run away from
her home on the day of the inquest.
"It was odd, you know," the cook said; "and
them black-eyed women are generally regular
spirity ones. J shouldn't like to offend Master
John's wife. Do you remember how she paid
into t" Softy'?"
" But there was naught o' sort between her and
the trainer, was there ?" asked some one.
"I don't know about that. But 'Softy' said
she hated him like poison, and that there was no
love lost between 'em."
But why should Aurora have hated the dead
man ? The ensign's widow had left the sting of
her venom behind her, and had suggested to these
servants, by hints and innuendos, something so far
more base and hideous than the truth, that I will
not sully these pages by recording it. But Mrs.
Powell had of course done this foul thing without
the utterance of one ugly word that could
have told against her gentility, had it been
repeated aloud in a crowded drawing-room. She
184 AURORA FLOYD.
had only shrugged her shoulders, and lifted her
straw-coloured eyebrows, and sighed half regret-
fully, half deprecatingly ; but she had blasted the
character of the woman she hated as shamefully
as if she had uttered a libel too gross for Holywell
Street. She had done a wrong that could only
be undone by the exhibition of the blood-
stained certificate in John's keeping, and the reve-
lation of the whole story connected with that
fatal scrap of paper. She had ^done this before
packing her boxes ; and she had gone away
from the house that had sheltered her, well-
pleased at having done this wrong; and com-
forting herself yet further by the intention of
doing more mischief through the medium of the
penny post.
It is not to be supposed that the Manchester
paper, which had caused so serious a discussion
in the humble parlour of the Crooked Rabbit, had
been overlooked in the servants' hall at Mellish
Park. The Manchester journals were regularly
forwarded to the young squire from that metro-
polis of cotton-spinning and horse-racing; and
the mysterious letter in the ' Guardian ' had been
read and commented upon. Every creature in
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON. 185
that household, from the fat housekeeper, who had
kept the keys of the store-room through nearly
three generations, to the rheumatic trainer,
Langley, had a certain interest in the awful
question. A nervous footman turned pale as that
passage was read which declared that the murder
had been committed by some member of the
household ; but I think there were some younger
and more adventurous spirits especially a pretty
housemaid, who had seen the thrilling drama of
' Susan Hopley ' performed at the Doncaster theatre
during the spring meeting who would have
rather liked to be accused of the crime, and to
emerge spotless and triumphant from the judicial
ordeal, through the evidence of an idiot, or a
magpie, or a ghost, or some other witness common
and popular in criminal courts.
Did Aurora know anything of all tins ? No ;
she only knew that a dull and heavy sense of
oppression in her own breast made the very
summer atmosphere floating in at the open
windows seem stifling and poisonous; that the
house, which had once been so dear to her, was as
painfully and perpetually haunted by the ghastly
presence of the murdered man, as if the dead
186 AURORA FLOYD.
trainer had stalked palpably about the corridors
wrapped in a blood-stained winding-sheet.
She dined with her husband alone in the great
dining-room. They were very silent at dinner, for
the presence of the servants sealed their lips upon
the topic that was uppermost in their minds. John
looked anxiously at his wife every now and then,
for he saw that her face had grown paler since her
arrival at Mellish ; but he waited until they were
alone before he spoke.
" My darling," he said, as the door closed behind
the butler and his subordinate, " I am sure you
are ill. This business has been too much for
you."
"It is the air of this house that seems to
oppress me, John," answered Aurora. " I had for-
gotten all about this dreadful business while I was
away. Now that I have come back, and find that
the time which has been so long to me so long
in misery and anxiety, and so long in joy, my own
dear love, through you is in reality only a few
days, and that the murdered man still lies near us,
I ; I shall be better when when the funeral is
over, John."
" My poor darling, I was a fool to bring you
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEAPON. 187
back. I should never have done so, but for
Talbot's a vice. He urged me so strongly to
come back directly. He said that if there should
be any disturbance about the murder, we ought to
be upon the spot."
"Disturbance! What disturbance?" cried
Aurora.
Her face blanched as she spoke, and her heart
sank within her. What further disturbance could
there be ? Was the ghastly business as yet un-
finished, then ? She knew alas ! only too well
that there could be no investigation of this matter
which would not bring her name before the world
linked with the name of the dead man. How
much she had endured in order to keep that
shameful secret from the world ! How much she
had sacrificed in the hope of saving her father
from humiliation ! And now, at the last, when
she had thought that the dark chapter of her
life was finished, the hateful page blotted out,
now, at the very last, there was a probability
of some new disturbance which would bring: her
name and her history into every newspaper in
England.
" Oh, John, John !" she cried, bursting into a
188 AUEORA FLOYD.
passion of hysterical sobs, and covering her face
with her clasped hands ; "am I never to hear the
last of this? Am I never, never, never to be
released from the consequences of my miserable
folly?"
The butler entered the room as she said this ;
she rose hurriedly, and walked to one of the
windows, in order to conceal her face from the
man.
" I beg your pardon, sir," the old servant said ;
" but they've found something in the park, and I
thought perhaps you might like to know "
" They've found something ! What ?" ex-
claimed John, utterly bewildered between his
agitation at the sight of his wife's grief and his
endeavour to understand the man.
" A pistol, sir. One of the stable-lads found it
just now. He went to the wood with another boy
to look at the place where the the man was
shot ; and he's brought back a pistol he found
there. It was close against the water, but hid
away among the weeds and rushes. Whoever
threw it there, thought, no doubt, to throw it
in the pond ; but Jim, that's one of the boys,
fancied he saw something glitter, and sure
THE DISCOVERY OF THE WEArON". 189
enough it was the barrel of a pistol ; and I think
must be the one that the trainer was shot with,
Mr. John."
" A pistol !" cried Mr. Mellish ; " let me see it."
His servant handed him the weapon. It was
small enough for a toy, but none the less deadly
in a skilful hand. It was a rich man's fancy,
deftly carried out by some cunning gunsmith, and
enriched by elaborate inlaid work of purple steel
and tarnished silver. It was rusty, from exposure
to rain and dew ; but Mr. Mellish knew the pistol
well, for it was his own.
It was his own ; one of his pet playthings ; and
it had been kept in the room which was only
entered by privileged persons, the room in winch
his wife had busied herself with the rearrange-
ment of his guns upon the clay of the murder.
190 AURORA FLOYD,
CHAPTER X.
UNDER A CLOUD.
Talbot Bulstrode and his wife came to Mellish
Park a few days after the return of John and
Aurora. Lucy was pleased to come to her
cousin ; pleased to be allowed to love her without
reservation ; grateful to her husband for his
gracious goodness in setting no barrier between
her and the friend she loved.
And Talbot, who shall tell the thoughts that
were busy in his mind, as he sat in a corner of
the first-class carriage, to all outward appearance
engrossed in the perusal of a ' Times ' leader?
I wonder how much of the Thunderer's noble
Saxon English Mr. Bulstrode comprehended that
morning ! The broad white paper on which the
' Times ' is printed serves as a convenient screen
for a man's face. Heaven knows what agonies
have been sometimes endured behind that printed
UNDER A CLOUD. 101
mask ! A woman, married, and a happy mother,
glances carelessly enough at the Births and
Marriages and Deaths, and reads perhaps that
the man she loved, and parted with, and broke
her heart for, fifteen or twenty years before, has
fallen, shot through the heart, far away upon an
Indian battle-field. She holds the paper firmly
enough before her face ; and her husband goes on
with his breakfast, and stirs his coffee, or breaks
his egg, while she suffers her agony, while the
comfortable breakfast-table darkens and goes
away from her, and the long-ago day comes back
upon which the cruel ship left Southampton, and
the hard voices of well-meaning friends held forth
monotonously upon the folly of improvident
marriages. Would it not be better, by-the-by,
for wives to make a practice of telling their
husbands all the sentimental little stories con-
nected with the pre-matrimonial era ? Would it
not be wiser to gossip freely about Charles's dark
eyes and moustache, and to hope that the poor
fellow is getting on well in the Indian service,
than to keep a skeleton, in the shape of a
phantom ensign in the 87th, hidden away in some
dark chamber of the feminine memory ?
192 AURORA FLOYD.
But other than womanly agonies are suffered
behind the 'Times.' The husband reads bad
news of the railway company in whose shares he
has so rashly invested that money which his wife
believes safely lodged in the jog-trot, three-per-
cent.-yielding Consols. The dashing son, with
Newmarket tendencies, reads evil tidings of the
horse he has backed so boldly, perhaps at the
advice of a Manchester prophet, who warranted
putting his friends in the way of winning a hatful
of money for the small consideration of three-
and-sixpence in postage-stamps. Visions of a
book that it will not be very easy to square ; of a
black list of play or pay engagements ; of a crowd
of angry book-men clamorous for their dues, and
not slow to hint at handy horse-pouds, and
possible tar and feathers, for defaulting swells and
sneaking " welshers" ; all these things flit across
the disorganized brain of the young man, while
his sisters are entreating to be told whether the
' Crown Diamonds ' is to be performed that night,
and if " dear Miss Pyne " will warble Bode's air
before the curtain falls. The friendly screen hides
his face ; and by the time he has looked for the
Covent Garden advertisements, and given the re-
UNDER A CLOUD. 193
quired information, he is able to set the paper
down and proceed calmly with his breakfast, pon-
dering ways and means as he does so.
Lucy Bulstrode read a High-Church novel,
while her husband sat with the ' Times ' before
Iris face, thinking of all that had happened to him
since he had first met the banker's daughter.
How far away that old love-story seemed to have
receded since the quiet domestic happiness of his
life had begun in his marriage with Lucy ! He
had never been false, in the remotest shadow of a
thought, to his second love ; bat now that he
knew the secret of Aurora's life, he could but
look back and wonder how he should have borne
that cruel revelation if John's fate had been his ;
if he had trusted the woman he loved in spite of
the world, in spite of her own strange words,
which had so terribly strengthened his w r orst fears,
so cruelly redoubled his darkest doubts.
" Poor girl !" he thought ; " it was scarcely
strange that she should shrink from telling that
humiliating story. I was not tender enough. I
confronted her in my obstinate and pitiless pride.
I thought of myself rather than of her, and of her
sorrow. I was barbarous and ungentlemanly ;
194 AURORA FLOYD.
and then I wondered that she refused to confide
in me."
Talbot Bulstrode, reasoning after the fact, saw
the weak points of his conduct with a preter-
natural clearness of vision, and could not repress
a sharp pang of regret that he had not acted more
generously. There was no infidelity to Lucy in
this thought. He would not have exchanged his
devoted little wife for the black-browed divinity
of the past, though an all-powerful fairy had stood
at his side ready to cancel his nuptials and tie a
fresh knot between him and Aurora. But he was
a gentleman, and he felt that he had grievously
wronged, insulted and humiliated a woman whose
worst fault had been the trusting folly of an in-
nocent girl.
" I left her on the ground in that room at
Felden," he thought, " kneeling on the ground,
with her beautiful head bowed down before me.
my God, can I ever forget the agony of that
moment ! Can I ever forget what it cost me to
do that which I thought was right !"
The cold perspiration broke out upon his fore-
head as he remembered that bygone pain, as it
may do with a cowardly person who recalls too
UNDER A CLOUD. 195
vividly the taking out of a three-pronged double-
tooth, or the cutting off of a limb.
"John Hellish was ten times wiser than I,"
thought Mr. Bulstrode ; " he trusted to his instinct,
and recognized a true woman when he met her. I
used to despise him at Rugby because he couldn't
construe Cicero. I never thought he'd live to be
wiser than me."
Talbot Bulstrode folded the ' Times ' newspaper,
and laid it down in the empty seat by his side.
Lucy shut the third volume of her novel. How
should she care to read when it pleased her
husband to desist from reading ?
" Lucy," said Mr. Bulstrode, taking his wife's
hand (they had the carriage to themselves a
piece of good fortune which often happens to
travellers who give the guard half-a-crown),
" Lucy, I once did your cousin a great wrong ;
I want to atone for it now. If any trouble, which
no one yet foresees, should come upon her, I want
to be her friend. Do you think I am right in
wishing this, dear?"
" Bight, Talbot !"
Mrs. Bulstrode could only repeat the word
in unmitigated surprise. When did she ever
VOL. III. p
196 AURORA FLOYD.
think him anything but the truest and wisest and
most perfect of created beings ?
Everything seemed very quiet at Mellish when
the visitors arrived. There was no one in the
drawing-room, nor in the smaller room within
the drawing-room ; the Venetians were closed, for
the day was close and sultry ; there were vases
of fresh flowers upon the tables ; but there were
no open books, no litter of frivolous needlework or
drawing-materials, to indicate Aurora's presence.
"Mr. and Mrs. Mellish expected you by the
later train, I believe, sir," the servant said,
as he ushered Talbot and his wife into the draw-
ing-room.
" Shall I go and look for Aurora ?" Lucy said
to her husband. " She is in the morning-room, I
dare say."
Talbot suggested that it would be better, per-
haps, to wait till Mrs. Mellish came to them.
So Lucy was fain to remain where she was. She
went to one of the open windows, and pushed
the shutters apart. The blazing sunshine burst
into the room, and drowned it in light. The
smooth lawn was aflame with scarlet geraniums
and standard roses, and all manner of gaudily-
UNDER A CLOUD. 197
coloured blossoms ; but Mrs. Bulstrode looked
beyond tliis vividly-tinted parterre to the thick
woods, that loomed darkly purple against the
glowing sky.
It was in that very wood that her husband
had declared his love for her; the same wood
that had since been outraged by violence and
murder.
" The the man is buried, I suppose, Talbot ?"
she said to her husband.
'' I believe so, my dear."
" I should never care to live in this place again,
if I were Aurora."
The door [ opened before Mrs. Bulstrode had
finished speaking, and the mistress of the house
came towards them. She welcomed them affec-
tionately and kindly, taking Lucy in her arms,
and greeting her very tenderly ; but Talbot
saw that she had changed terribly within the
few days that had passed since her return to
Yorkshire, and his heart sank as he observed
her pale face and the dark circles about her
hollow eyes.
Could she have heard ? Could anybody
have given her reason to suppose ?
p 2
198 AURORA FLOYD.
" You are not well, Mrs. Mellish," he said, as
lie took her hand.
"No, not very well. This oppressive weather
makes my head ache."
" I am sorry to see you looking ill. Where
shall I find John ?" asked Mr. Bulstrode.
Aurora's pale face flushed suddenly.
" I I don't know," she stammered. " He is
not in the house ; he has gone out to the
stables or to the farm, I think. I'll send for
him."
" No, no," Talbot said, intercepting her hand
on its way to the bell. " I'll go and look for
him. Lucy will be glad of a chat with you, I
dare say, Aurora, and will not be sorry to get rid
of me."
Lucy, with her arm about her cousin's waist,
assented to this arrangement. She was grieved
to see the change in Aurora's looks, the unnatural
constraint of her manner.
Mr. Bulstrode walked away, hugging himself
upon having done a very wise thing.
" Lucy is a great deal more likely to find out
what is the matter than I am," he thought.
" There is a sort of freemasonry between women.
UNDER A CLOUD. 199
an electric affinity, which a man's presence always
destroys. How deathly pale Aurora looks ! Can
it be possible that the trouble I expected has
come so soon ?"
He went to the stables, but not so much to
look for John Mellish as in the hope of finding
somebody intelligent enough to furnish him with
a better account of the murder than any he had
yet heard.
" Some one else, as well as Aurora, must have
had a reason for Avishing to get rid of this man,"
he thought. " There must have been some
motive : revenge, gain, something which no
one has yet fathomed."
He went into the stable-yard ; but he had
no opportunity of making his investigation, for
John Mellish was standing in a listless attitude be-
fore a small forge, watching the shoeing of one
of his horses. The young squire looked up with
a start as he recognized Talbot, and gave him his
hand, with a few straggling words of welcome.
Even in that moment Mr. Bulstrode saw that there
was perhaps a greater change in John's appear-
ance than in that of Aurora. The Yorkshireman's
blue eyes had lost their brightness, his step its
200 AURORA FLOYD.
elasticity ; bis face seemed sunken and haggard,
and lie evidently avoided meeting Talbot's eye.
He lounged listlessly away from tbe forge, walk-
ing at bis guest's side in tbe direction of tbe
stable-gates ; but be bad tbe air of a man wbo
neitber knows nor cares wbitber be is going.
"Sball we go to tbe bouse?" be said. "You
must want some luncbeon after your journey."
He looked at bis watcb as be said tbis. It was
balf-past tbree, an bour after tbe usual time for
luncbeon at Mellisb.
" I've been in tbe stables all tbe morning," be
said. "We're busy making our preparations for
tbe York Summer."
"Wbat borses do you run?" Mi\ Bulstrode
asked, politely affecting to be interested in a
subject tbat was utterly indifferent to bim, in tbe
bope tbat stable-talk migbt rouse Jolm from bis
listless apathy.
" Wbat borses !" repeated Mr. Mellisb vaguely.
"I I bardly know. Langley manages all tbat
for me, you know ; and I I forget tbe names of
tbe borses be proposed, and "
Talbot Bulstrode turned suddenly upon bis
friend, and looked bim full in tbe face. Tbey
UNDER A CLOUD. 201
had left the stables by this time, and were in a
shady pathway that led through a shrubbery to-
wards the house.
"John Mellish," he said, "this is not fair to-
wards an old friend. You have something on
your mind, and you are trying to hide it from
me."
The squire turned away his head.
" I have something on my mind, Talbot," he
said quietly. "If you could help me, I'd ask
your help more than any man's. But you can't
you can't !"
" But suppose I think I can help you ?" cried
Mr. Bulstrode. " Suppose I mean to try and do
so, whether you will or no ? I think I can guess
what your trouble is, John ; but I thought you
were a braver man than to give way under it ; I
thought you were just the sort of man to struggle
through it nobly and bravely, and to get the
better of it by your own strength of wilL"
" What do you mean !" exclaimed John Mel-
lish. " You can guess you know you thought !
Have you no mercy upon me, Talbot Bulstrode ?
Can't you see that I'm almost mad, and that this
is no time for you to force your sympathy upon
202 AURORA FLOYD.
me ? Do you want me to betray myself ? Do
you want me to betray "
He stopped suddenly, as if the words had
choked him, and, passionately stamping his foot
upon the ground, walked on hurriedly, with his
friend still by his side.
The dining-room looked dreary enough when
the two men entered it, although the table gave
promise of a very substantial luncheon ; but there
was no one to welcome them, or to officiate at the
banquet.
John seated himself wearily in a chair at the
bottom of the table.
" You had better go and see if Mrs. Bulstrode
and your mistress are coming to luncheon," he
said to a servant, who left the room with his
master's message, and returned three minutes
afterwards to say that the ladies were not
coming.
The ladies were seated side by side upon a
low sofa in Aurora's morning-room. Mrs. Mellish
sat with her head upon her cousin's shoulder.
She had never had a sister, remember ; and gentle
Lucy stood in place of that near and tender com-
forter. Talbot was perfectly right ; Lucy had ac-
UNDER A CLOUD. 203
complished that which he would have failed to
bring about. She had found the key to her
cousin's unhappiness.
" Ceased to love you, dear !" exclaimed Mrs.
Bulstrode, echoing the words that Aurora had last
spoken. " Impossible !"
" It is true, Lucy," answered Mrs. Mellish, de-
spairingly. " He has ceased to love me. There
is a black cloud between us now, now that all
secrets are done away with. It is very bitter for
me to bear, Lucy ; for I thought we should be so
happy and united. But but it is only natural.
He feels the degradation so much. How can he
look at me without remembering who and what I
am ? The widow of his groom ! Can I wonder
that he avoids me ?"
''Avoids you, dear?"
" Yes, avoids me. We have scarcely spoken a
dozen words to each other since the night of our
return. He was so good to me, so tender and
devoted during the journey home, telling me
again and again that this discovery had not
lessened his love, that all the trial and horror of
the past few days had only shown him the great
strength of his affection ; but on the night of our
204 AURORA FLOYD.
return, Lucy, he changed changed suddenly and
inexplicably ; and now I feel that there is a gulf
between us that can never be passed again. He
is alienated from me for ever !"
" Aurora, all tins is impossible," remonstrated
Lucy. " It is your own morbid fancy, darling."
"My fancy!" cried Aurora bitterly. "Ah,
Lucy, you cannot know how much I love my
husband, if you think that I could be deceived in
one look or tone of his. Is it my fancy that he
averts his eyes when he speaks to me ? Is ^ my
fancy that his voice changes when he pronounces
my name ? Is it my fancy that he roams about
the house like a ghost, and paces up and clown his
room half the night through ? If these things are
my fancy, Heaven have mercy upon me, Lucy ;
for I must be going mad."
Mrs. Bulstrode started as she looked at her
cousin. Could it be possible that all the trouble
and confusion of the past week or two had indeed
unsettled this poor girl's intellect ?
" My poor Aurora !" she murmured, smoothing
the heavy hair away from her cousin's tearful
eyes : " my poor darling ! how is it possible that
John should change towards you ? He loved you
UNDER A CLOUD. 205
so dearly, so devotedly; surely nothing could
alienate him from you."
" I used to think so, Lucy," Aurora murmured
in a low, heart-broken voice ; "I used to think
nothing could ever come to part us. He said he
would follow me to the uttermost end of the
world ; he said that no obstacle on earth should
ever separate us ; and now "
She could not finish the sentence, for she broke
into convulsive sobs, and hid her face upon her
cousin's shoulder, staining Mrs. Bulstrode's pretty
silk dress with her hot tears.
" Oh, my love, my love !" she cried piteously,
"why didn't I run away and hide myself from
you ? why didn't I trust to my first instinct, and
run away from you for ever ? Any suffering-
would be better than this ! any suffering would be
better than this !"
Her passionate grief merged into a fit of
hysterical weeping, in which she was no longer
mistress of herself. She had suffered for the past
few days more bitterly than she had ever suffered
yet. Lucy understood all that. She was one of
those people whose tenderness instinctively com-
prehends the griefs of others. She knew how to
206 AURORA FLOYD.
treat her cousin ; and in less than an hour after
this emotional outbreak Aurora was lying on her
bed, pale and exhausted, but sleeping peacefully.
She had carried the burden of her sorrow in
silence during the past few days, and had spent
sleepless nights in brooding over her trouble.
Her conversation with Lucy had unconsciously
relieved her, and she slumbered calmly after the
storm. Lucy sat by the bed watching the
sleeper for some time, and then stole on tijitoe
from the room.
She went, of course, to tell her husband all that
had passed, and to take counsel from his sublime
wisdom.
She found Talbot in the drawing-room alone ;
he had eaten a dreary luncheon in John's com-
pany, and had been hastily left by his host imme-
diately after the meal. There had been no sound
of carriage-wheels upon the gravelled drive all
that morning; there had been no callers at
Mellish Park since John's return ; for a horrible
scandal had spread itself throughout the length
and breadth of the county, and those who spoke of
the young squire and his wife talked in solemn
under-tones, and gravely demanded of each other
UNDER A CLOUD. 207
whether some serious step should not be taken
about the business winch was uppermost in every
body's mind.
Luey told Talbot all that Aurora had said to
her. This was no breach of confidence in the
young wife's code of morality ; for were not she
and her husband immutably one, and how could
she have any secret from him ?
" I thought so !" Mr. Bulstrode said, when Lucy
had finished her story.
" You thought what, dear ?"
" That the breach between John and Aurora
was a serious one. Don't look so sorrowful, my
darling. It must be our business to reunite these
divided lovers. You shall comfort Aurora, Lucy ;
and I'll look after John."
Talbot Bulstrode kissed his little wife, and
went straight away upon his friendly errand. He
found John Mellish in his own room, the room
in which Aurora had written to him upon the day
of her flight ; the room from which the murderous
weapon had been stolen by some unknown hand.
John had hidden the rusty pistol in one of the
locked drawers of his Davenport ; but it was not
to be supposed that the fact of its discovery could
208 AUROKA FLOYD.
be locked up or hidden away. That had been
fully discussed in the servants' hall ; and who
shall doubt that it had travelled further, perco-
lating through some of those sinuous channels
which lead away from every household ?
" I want you to come for a walk with me,
Mr. John Mellish/' said Talbot, imperatively ;
" so put on your hat, and come into the park.
You are the most agreeable o-entlenian I ever
had the honour to visit, and the attention
you pay your guests is really something remark-
able."
Mr. Mellish made no reply to this speech. He
stood before his friend, pale, silent, and sullen.
He was no more like the hearty Yorkshire squire
whom we have known, than he was like Viscount
Palmerston or Lord Clyde. He was transformed
out of himself by some great trouble that was
preying upon his mind; and being of a trans-
parent and childishly truthful disposition, was
unable to disguise his anguish.
" John, John !" cried Talbot, " we were little
boys together at Eugby, and have backed each
other in a dozen childish fights. Is it kind of you
to withhold your friendship from me now, when I
UNDER A CLOUD. 209
have come here on purpose to be a friend to you
to you and to Aurora ?"
John Mellish turned away his head as his friend
mentioned that familiar name ; and the gesture
was not lost upon Mr. Bulstrode.
" John, why do you refuse to trust me ?"
" I don't refuse. I Why did you come to
this accursed house ?" cried John Mellish, passion-
ately ; " why did you come here, Talbot Bul-
strode ? You don't know the blight that is upon
this place, and those who live in it, or you would
have no more come here than you would willingly
go to a plague-stricken city. Do you know that
since I came back from London not a creature
has called at this house ? Do you know that when
I and and my wife went to church on Sunday,
the people we knew sneaked away from our path
as if we had just recovered from typhus fever?
Do you know that the cursed gaping rabble
come from Doncaster to stare over the park-
palings, and that this house is a show to half
the West Biding ? Why do you come here ?
You will be stared at, and grinned at, and
scandalized, you, who Go back to London to-
night, Talbot, if you don't want to drive me mad."
210 AURORA FLOYD.
"Not till you trust ine with your troubles,
John," answered Mr. Bulstrode firmly. "Put
on your hat, and come out with me. I want
you to show me the spot where the murder was
done."
" You may get some one else to show it you,"
muttered John, sullenly ; " I'll not go there !"
" John Mellish !" cried Talbot suddenly, " am I
to think you a coward and a fool ? By the heaven
that's above me, I shall think so if you persist in
this nonsense. Come out into the park with me ;
I have the claim of past friendship upon you, and
I'll not have that claim set aside by any folly of
yours."
The two men went out upon the lawn, John
complying moodily enough with his friend's re-
quest, and walked silently across the park towards
that portion of the wood in which James Conyers
had met his death. They had reached one of the
loneliest and shadiest avenues in this wood, and
were, in fact, close against the spot from which
Samuel Prodder had watched his niece and her
companion on the night of the murder, when
Talbot stopped suddenly, and laid his hand on the
squire's shoulder.
UNDER A CLOUD. 211
" John," he said, in a determined tone, " before
we go to look at the place where this bad man
died, you must tell me your trouble."
Mr. Mellish drew himself up proudly, and
looked at the speaker with gloomy defiance lower-
ing upon his face.
" I will tell no man that which I do not choose
to tell," he said firmly ; and then with a sudden
change that was terrible to see, he cried impetu-
ously, " Why do you torment me, Talbot ? I tell
you that I can't trust you I can't trust any one
upon earth. If if I told you the horrible thought
that if I told you, it would be your duty to I
Talbot, Talbot, have pity upon me let me alone
go away from me I "
Stamping furiously, as if he would have trampled
down the cowardly despair for which he despised
himself, and beating his forehead with his clenched
fists, John Mellish turned away from his friend,
and, leaning against the gnarled branch of a great
oak, wept aloud. Talbot Bulstrode waited till the
paroxysm had passed away before he spoke again ;
but when his friend had grown calmer, he linked
his arm about him, and drew him away almost as
tenderly as if the big Yorkshireman had been some
VOL. III. Q
212 AURORA FLOYD.
sorrowing woman, sorely in need of manly help
and comfort.
" John, John," he said gravely, " thank God for
this ; thank God for anything that breaks the ice
between us. I know what your trouble is, poor
old friend, and I know that you have no cause for
it. Hold up your head, man, and look straightfor-
ward to a happy future. I know the black thought
that has been gnawing at your poor foolish manly
heart : you think that Aurora murdered the
groom /"
John Mellish, started, shuddering convulsively.
" No, no," he gasped ; " who said so who
said ?"
" You think tins, John," continued Talbot Bul-
strode ; * and you do her the most grievous wrong
that ever yet was done to woman ; a more shame-
ful wrong than I committed when I thought that
Aurora Floyd had been guilty of some base
intrigue."
" You don't know " stammered John.
" I don't know ! I know all, and foresaw trouble
for you, before you saw the cloud that w 7 as in the
sky. But I never dreamt of this. I thought the
foolish country people would suspect your wife, as
UNDER A CLOUD. 213
it always pleases people to try and fix a crime
upon the person in whom that crime would be
more particularly atrocious. I was prepared for
this ; but to think that you you, John, who should
have learned to know your wife by this time to
think that you should suspect the woman you have
loved of a foul and treacherous murder !"
" How do we know that the that the man was
murdered ?" cried John vehemently. " Who says
that the deed was treacherously done ? He may
have goaded her beyond endurance, insulted her
generous pride, stung her to the very quick, and
in the madness of her passion having that
wretched pistol in her possession she may "
"Stop!" interrupted Talbot. "What pistol?
you told me the weapon had not been found."
" It was found upon the night of our return."
" Yes ; but why do you associate this weapon
with Aurora ? What do you mean by saying that
the pistol was in her possession ?"
" Because my God ! Talbot, why do you
wring these things from me ?"
" For your own good, and for the justification of
an innocent woman; so help me, Heaven!"
answered Mr. Bulstrode. " Do not be afraid to be
Q 2
214 AUROEA FLOYD.
candid with me, John. Nothing would ever make
me believe Aurora Mellish guilty of this crime."
The Yorkshireman turned suddenly towards his
friend, and leaning upon Talbot Bulstrode's shoul-
der, wept for the second time during that woodland
ramble.
" May God in heaven bless you for this, Tal-
bot!" he cried passionately. "Ah, my love, my
dear, what a wretch I have been to you ! but
Heaven is my witness that, even in my worst
agony of doubt and horror, my love has never
lessened. It never could ! it never could !"
" John, old fellow," said Mr. Bulstrode, cheer-
fully, " perhaps, instead of talking this nonsense,
which leaves me entirely in the dark as to every-
thing that has happened since you left London,
you will do me the favour to enlighten me as to
the cause of these foolish suspicions."
They had reached the ruined summer-house and
the pool of stagnant water, on the margin of which
James Conyers had met with his death. Mr.
Bulstrode seated himself upon a pile of broken
timber, while John Mellish paced up and down the
smooth patch of turf between the summer-house
and the, water, and told, disjointedly enough, the
UNDER A CLOUD. 215
stoiy of the finding of the pistol, which had been
taken out of his room.
" I saw that pistol upon the day of the murder,"
he said. " I took particular notice of it ; for I was
cleaning my guns that morning, and I left them
all in confusion while I went down to the lodge to
see the trainer. When I came back I "
"Well, what then?"
" Aurora had been setting my guns in order."
" You argue, therefore, that your wife took the
pistol ?"
John looked piteously at his friend ; but Talbot's
grave smile reassured him.
"No one else had permission to go into the
room," he answered. "I keep my papers and
accounts there, you know ; and it's an understood
thing that none of the servants are allowed to go
there, except when they clean the room."
"To be sure ! But the room is not locked, I
suppose ?"
" Locked ! of course not !"
" And the windows which open to the ground
are sometimes left open, I dare say ?"
" Almost always in such weather as this."
" Then, my dear John, it may be just possible
21G AURORA FLOYD.
that some one who had not permission to enter the
room did, nevertheless, enter it, for the purpose of
abstracting this pistol. Have you asked Aurora
why she took upon herself to rearrange your
guns ? she had never done such a thing before, I
suppose ?"
" Oh, yes, very often. I'm rather in the habit
of leaving them about after cleaning them ; and
my darling understands all about them as well as
I do. She has often put them away for me."
"Then there was nothing particular in her
doing so upon the day of the murder. Have you
asked her how long she was in your room, and
whether she can remember seeing this particular
pistol, among others ?"
" x\sk her !" exclaimed John ; " how could I
ask her, when "
" When you have been mad enough to suspect
her. No, my poor old friend ; you made the
same mistake that I committed at Felden. You
presupposed the guilt of the woman you loved ;
and you were too great a coward to investigate
the evidence upon which your suspicions were
built. Had I been wise enough, instead of blindly
questioning this poor bewildered girl, to tell her
UNDER A CLOUD. 217
plainly what it was that I suspected, the incon-
trovertible truth would have flashed out of her
angry eyes, and one indignant denial would have
told me how basely I had wronged her. You
shall not make the mistake that I made, John.
You must go frankly and fearlessly to the wife
you love, tell her of the suspicion that over-clouds
her fame, and implore her to help you to the
uttermost of her power in unravelling the mystery
of this man's death. The assassin must be found,
John; for so long as he remains undiscovered,
you and your wife will be the victims of every
penny-a-liner who finds himself at a loss for a
paragraph."
"Yes," Mr. Mellish answered bitterly, "the
papers have been hard at it already ; and there's
been a fellow hanging about the place for the
last few days whom I've had a very strong incli-
nation to thrash. Some reporter, I suppose, come
to pick up information."
"I suppose so," Talbot answered thoughtfully;
" what sort of a man was he ?"
" A decent-looking fellow enough ; but a Lon-
doner, T fancy, and stay !" exclaimed John
suddenly, " there's a man coming towards us from
218 AURORA FLOYD.
the turnstile, and unless I'm considerably mistaken,
it's the very fellow."
Mr. Mellish was right.
The wood was free to any foot-passenger who
pleased to avail himself of the pleasant shelter of
spreading beeches, and the smooth carpet of mossy
turf, rather than tramp wearily upon the dusty
highway.
The stranger advancing from the turnstile was
a decent-looking person, dressed in dark tight-
fitting clothes, and making no unnecessary or
ostentatious display of linen, for his coat was but-
toned tightly to the chin. He looked at Talbot
and John as he passed them, not insolently, or
even inquisitively, but with one brightly rapid
and searching glance, which seemed to take in the
most minute details in the appearance of both
gentlemen. Then, walking on a few paces, he
stopped and looked thoughtfully at the pond, and
the bank above it.
"This is the place, I think, gentlemen?" he
said, in a frank and rather free-and-easy manner.
Talbot returned his look with interest.
" If you mean the place where the murder was
committed, it is," he said.
UNDER A CLOUD. 219
"Ah, I understood so," answered the stranger,
by no means abashed.
He looked at the bank, regarding it, now from
one point, now from another, like some skilful
upholsterer taking the measure of a piece of fur-
niture. Then walking slowly round the pond, he
seemed to plumb the depth of the stagnant water
with his small gray eyes.
Talbot Bulstrode watched the man as he took
this mental photograph of the place. There was
a business-like composure in his manner, which
was entirely different to the eager curiosity of a
scandalmonger and a busybody.
Mr. Bulstrode rose as the man walked away,
and went slowly after him.
" Stop where you are, John," he said, as he left
his companion ; " I'll find out who this fellow is."
He walked on, and overtook the stranger at
about a hundred yards from the pond.
" I want to have a few words with you before
you leave the Park, my friend," he said quietly :
" unless I'm very much mistaken, you are a mem-
ber of the detective police, and come here with
credentials from Scotland Yard."
The man shook his head, with a quiet smile.
220 AURORA FLOYD.
"I'm not obliged to tell everybody my busi-
ness," he answered coolly; "this footpath is a
public thoroughfare, I believe ?"
" Listen to me, my good fellow," said Mr. Bid-
strode. " It may serve your purpose to beat about
the bush ; but I have no reason to do so, and
therefore may as well come to the point at once.
If you are sent here for the purpose of discovering
the murderer of James Conyers, you can be more
welcome to no one than to the master of that
house."
He pointed to the Gothic chimneys as he spoke.
" If those who employ you have promised you
a liberal reward, Mr. Mellish will willingly treble
the amount they may have offered you. He would
not give you cause to complain of his liberality,
should you succeed in accomplishing the purpose
of your errand. If you think you will gain any-
thing by underhand measures, and by keeping
yourself dark, you are very much mistaken ; for no
one can be better able or more willing to give you
assistance in this than Mr. and Mrs. Mellish."
The detective for he had tacitly admitted the
fact of his profession looked doubtfully at Talbot
Bulstrode.
UNDER A CLOUD. 221
" You're a lawyer, I suppose ?" he said.
" I am Mr. Talbot Bulstrode, member of Pen-
ruthy, and the husband of Mrs. Mellish's first
cousin."
The detective bowed.
"My name is Joseph Grimstone, of Scotland
Yard and Ball's Pond," he said ; " and I certainly
see no objection to our working together. If
Mr. Mellish is prepared to act on the square, I'm
prepared to act with him, and to accept any re-
ward his generosity may offer. But if he or any
friend of his wants to hoodwink Joseph Grimstone,
he'd better think twice about the game before he
tries it on ; that's all."
Mr. Bulstrode took no notice of this threat, but
looked at his watch before replying to the detec-
tive.
" It's a quarter-past six," he said. " Mr. Mellish
dines at seven. Can you call at the house, say at
nine, this evening ? You shall then have all the
assistance it is in our power to give you."
" Certainly, sir. At nine this evening."
" We shall be prepared to receive you. Good
afternoon."
Mr. Grimstone touched his hat, and strolled
222 ^ AURORA FLOYD.
quietly away under the shadow of the beeches,
while Talbot Bulstrode walked back to rejoin his
friend.
It may be as well to take this opportunity of
stating the reason of the detective's early appear-
ance at Mellish Park. Upon the day of the in-
quest, and consequently the next day but one after
the murder, two anonymous letters, worded in the
same manner, and written by the same hand, were
received respectively by the head of the Doncaster
constabulary and by the chief of the Scotland- Yard
detective confederacy.
These anonymous communications written in a
hand which, in spite of all attempt at disguise, still
retained the spidery peculiarities of feminine cali-
graphy pointed, by a sinuous and inductive pro-
cess of reasoning, at Aurora Mellish as the mur-
deress of James Conyers. I need scarcely say that
the writer was no other than Mrs. Powell. She
has disappeared for ever from my story, and I have
no wish to blacken a character which can ill afford
to be slandered. The ensign's widow actually
believed in the guilt of her beautiful patroness. It
is so easy for an envious woman to believe horrible
things of the more prosperous sister whom she hates.
223
CHAPTER XI.
EEUNION.
"We are on the verge of a precipice," Talbot
Bulstrode thought, as he prepared for dinner in
the comfortable dressing-room allotted to him at
Mellish, " we are on the verge of a precipice,
and nothing but a bold grapple with the worst can
save us. Any reticence, any attempt at keeping
back suspicious facts, or hushing up awkward coin-
cidences would be fatal to us. If John had made
away with this pistol with which the deed was
done, he would have inevitably fixed a most fear-
ful suspicion upon his wife. Thank God I came
here to-day ! We must look matters straight in
the face, and our first step must be to secure
Aurora's help. So long as she is silent as to her
share in the events of that day and night, there is
a link missing in the chain, and we are all at sea.
224 AURORA FLOYD.
John must speak to her to-night; or perhaps it
will be better for nie to speak."
Mr. Bulstrode went down to the drawing-room,
where he found his friend pacing up and down,
solitary and wretched.
" The ladies are going to dine up-stairs," said
Mr. Mellish, as Talbot joined him. " I have just
had a message to say so. Why does she avoid
me, Talbot?' why does my wife avoid me like
this ? We have scarcely spoken to each other for
days."
"Shall I tell you why, you foolish John?"
answered Mr. Bulstrode. " Your wife avoids you
because you have chosen to alienate yourself from
her, and because she thinks, poor girl, that she
has lost your affection. She fancies that the dis-
covery of her first marriage has caused a revulsion
of feeling, and that you no longer love her."
"No longer love her!" cried John. "0 my
God ! she ought to know that, if I could give my
life for her fifty times over, I would do it, to save
her one pang. I would do it, so help me, Heaven,
though she were the guiltiest wretch that had ever
crawled the earth !"
"But no one asks you to do anything of the
REUNION. 225
kind," said Mr. Bulstrode. " Yon are only re-
quested to be reasonable and patient, to put a
proper trust in Providence, and to be guided by
people who are rather less impetuous than your
ungovernable self."
" I will do what you like, Talbot ; I will do
what you like."
Mr. Mellish pressed his friend's hand. Had he
ever thought, when he had seen Talbot an accepted
lover at Felden, and had hated him with a savage
and wild Indian-like fury, that he would come to
be thus humbly grateful to him ; thus pitifully
dependent upon his superior wisdom ? He wrung
the young politician's hand, and promised to be as
submissive as a child beneath his guidance.
In compliance, therefore, with Talbot's com-
mands, he ate a few morsels of fish, and drank a
couple of glasses of sherry ; and having thus gone
through a show of dining, he went with Mr. Bul-
strode to seek Aurora.
She was sitting with her cousin in the morning-
room, looking terribly pale in the dim dusk of the
August evening, pale and shadowy in her loose
white musKn dress. She had only lately risen
after a long feverish slumber, and had pretended
226 AURORA FLOYD.
to dine out of courtesy to her guest. Lucy had
tried iu vain to comfort her cousin. This pas-
sionate, impetuous, spoiled child of fortune and
affection refused all consolation, crying out again
and again that she had lost her husband's love,
and that there was nothing left for her upon
earth.
But in the very midst of one of these despond-
ent speeches, she sprang up from her seat, erect
and trembling, with her parted lips quivering and
her dark eyes dilated, startled by the sound of a
familiar step, which within the last few days had
been seldom heard in the corridor outside her room.
She tried to speak, but her voice failed her ; and
in another moment the door had been dashed
open by a strong hand, and her husband stood
in the room, holding out his arms and calling to
her.
" Aurora ! Aurora ! my own dear love, my own
poor darling !"
She was folded to his breast before she knew
that Talbot Bulstrode stood close behind him.
" My own darling," John said, " my own
dearest, you cannot tell how cruelly I have
wronged you. But, oh, my love, the wrong has
REUNION. 227
brought unendurable torture with it. My poor
guiltless girl ! how could I how could I
But I was mad, and it was only when Talbot "
Aurora lifted her head from her husband's
breast and looked wonderingly into his face,
utterly unable to guess the meaning of these
broken sentences.
Talbot laid his hand upon his friend's shoulder.
" You will frighten your wife if you go on in this
manner, John," he said quietly. "You mustn't
take any notice of his agitation, my dear Mrs.
Mellish. There is no cause, believe me, for all
this outcry. Will you sit down by Lucy and
compose yourself? It is eight o'clock, and
between this and nine we have some serious
business to settle."
" Serious business !" repeated Aurora vaguely.
She was intoxicated by her sudden happiness.
She had no wish to ask any explanation of the
mystery of the past few days. It was all over,
and her faithful husband loved her as devotedly
and tenderly as ever. How could she wish to
know more than this ?
She seated herself at Lucy's side, in obedience
to Talbot ; but she still held her husband's hand,
VOL. III. R
228 AURORA FLOYD.
she still looked in his face, for the moment most
supremely unconscious that the scheme of crea-
tion included anything beyond this stalwart York-
shireman.
Talbot Bulstrode lighted the lamp upon
Aurora's writing-table, a shaded lamp, which
only dimly illuminated the twilight room, and
then, taking Ms seat near it, said gravely
" My dear Mrs, Mellish, I shall be compelled to
say something which I fear may inflict a terrible
shock upon you. But this is no time for reserva-
tion ; scarcely a time for ordinary delicacy. Will
you trust in the love and friendship of those who
are around you, and promise to bear this new
trial bravely? I believe and hope that it will
be a very brief one."
Aurora looked wonderingly at her husband, not
at Talbot.
" A new trial ?" she said inquiringly.
"You know that the murderer of James Con-
yers has not yet been discovered ?" said Mr.
Bulstrode,
" Yes, yes ; but what of that ?"
" My clear Mrs. Mellish, my dear Aurora ! the
world is apt to take a morbid delight in horrible
REUNION. 229
ideas. There are some people who think that you
are guilty of this crime !"
"27"
She rose suddenly from her low seat, and
turned her face towards the lamplight, with a look
of such blank amazement, such utter wonder and
bewilderment, that had Talbot Bulstrode until
that moment believed her guilty, he must thence-
forth and for ever have been firmly convinced of
her innocence.
" I!" she repeated.
Then turning to her husband, with a sudden
alteration in her face, that blank amazement
changing to a look of sorrow, mingled with re-
proachful wonder, she said in a low voice
" You thought this of me, John ; you thought
this!"
John Mellish bowed his head before her.
"I did, my dear," he murmured " God forgive
me for my wicked folly I did think this, Aurora.
But I pitied you, and was sorry for you, my own
dear love ; and when I thought it most, I would
have died to save you from shame or sorrow. My
love has never changed, Aurora; my love has
never changed."
R 2
230 AURORA FLOYD.
She gave him her hand, and once more re-
sumed her seat. She sat for some moments in
silence, as if trying to collect her thoughts,
and to understand the meaning of this strange
scene.
" Who suspects me of this crime ?" she said
presently. "Has any one else suspected me?
Any one besides my husband ?"
" I can scarcely tell you, my dear Mrs. Mellish,"
answered Talbot ; " when an event of this kind
takes place, it is very difficult to say who may
or may not be suspected. Different persons set
up different theories : one man writes to a news-
paper to declare that, in his opinion, the crime
was committed by some person within the house ;
another man writes as positively to another paper,
asserting that the murderer was. undoubtedly a
stranger. Each man brings forward a mass of
suppositious evidence in favour of his own argu-
ment, and each thinks a great deal more of prov-
ing his own cleverness than of furthering the
ends of justice. No shadow of slander must rest
upon this house, or upon those who live in it.
It is necessary, therefore, imperatively necessary,
that the real murderer should be found. A
REUNION. 231
London detective is already at work." 5 These men
are very clever ; some insignificant circumstance,
forgotten by those most interested in discovering
the truth, would often be enough to set a detective
on the right track. This man is coming here
at nine o'clock ; and we are to give him all the
assistance we can. Will you help us, Aurora ?"
" Help you ! How ?"
" By telling us all you know of the night of
the murder. Why were you in the wood that
night?"
" I was there to meet the dead man."
" For what purpose ?"
Aurora was silent for some moments, and
then looking up with a bold, half-defiant glance,
she said suddenly
" Talbot Bulstrode, before you blame or despise
me, remember how the tie that bound me to
this man had been broken. The law would
have set me free from him, if I had been brave
enough to appeal to the law ; and was I to suffer
all my life because of the mistake I had made in
not demanding a release from the man whose
gross infidelity entitled me to be divorced from
him? Heaven knows I had borne with him
232 AURORA FLOYD.
patiently enough. I had endured his vulgarity,
his insoleuce, his presumption; I had gone
penniless while he spent my father's money in a
gambling-booth on a race-course, and dinnerless
while he drank champagne with cheats and
reprobates. Remember this, when you blame me
most. I went into the wood that night to meet
him for the last time upon this earth. He had
promised me that he would emigrate to Australia
upon the payment of a certain sum of money."
" And you went that night to pay it to him ?"
cried Talbot eagerly.
"I did. He was insolent, as he always was;
for he hated me for having discovered that which
shut him out from all claim upon my fortune.
He hated himself for his folly in not having played
his cards better. Angry words passed between us ;
but it ended in his declaring his intention of start-
ing for Liverpool early the next morning, and "
" You gave him the money ?"
"Yes."
" But tell me, tell me, Aurora," cried Talbot,
almost too eager to find words, " how long had you
left him when you heard the report of the pistol ?'
" Not more than ten minutes."
REUNION. 233
"John Mellisli," exclaimed Mr. Bulstrode,
" was there any money found upon the person of
the murdered man ?"
" No yes ; I believe there was a little silver,"
Mr. Mellisli answered vaguely.
" A little silver !" cried Talbot contemptuously.
" Aurora, what was the sum you gave James Con-
yers upon the night of his death ?"
" Two thousand pounds."
"In a cheque?'*
" No ; in notes."
" And that money has never been heard of
since ?"
No ; John Mellisli declared that he had never
heard of it.
" Thank God !" exclaimed Mr. Bulstrode ; " we
shall find the murderer."
" What do you mean ?" asked John.
"Whoever killed James Conyers, killed him in
order to rob him of the money that he had upon
him at the time of his death."
" But who could have known of the money ?"
asked Aurora.
" Anybody ; the pathway through the wood is
a public thoroughfare. Your conversation with
234 AURORA FLOYD.
the murdered man may have been overheard.
You talked about the money, I suppose ?"
" Yes."
"Thank God, thank God! Ask your wife's
pardon for the cruel wrong you have done her,
John, and then come downstairs with me. It's
past nine, and I dare say Mr. Grimstone is wait-
ing for us. But stay, one word, Aurora. The
pistol with which this man was killed was taken
from this house, from John's "*room. Did you
know that ?"
"No; how should I know it?" Mrs. Mellish
asked naively.
" That fact is against the theory of the murder
having been committed by a stranger. Is there
any one of the servants whom you could suspect of
such a crime, John ?"
" No," answered Mr. Mellish decisively ; " not
one."
" And yet the person who committed the
murder must have been the person who stole your
pistol. You, John, declare that very pistol to
have been in your possession upon the morning
before the murder."
" Most certainly."
REUNION. 235
" You put John's guns back into their places
upon that morning, Aurora," said Mr. Bulstrode ;
" do you remember seeing that particular pistol ?"
" No," Mrs. Mellish answered ; " I should not
have known it from the others."
" You did not find any of the servants in the
room that morning ?"
" Oh, no," Aurora answered immediately ;
" Mrs. Powell came into the room while I was
there. She was always following me about ; and
I suppose she had heard me talking to "
" Talking to whom ?"
" To James Conyers's hanger-on and messenger,
Stephen Hargraves the ' Softy,' as they call him."
" You were talking to him ? Then this Stephen
Hargraves was in the room that morning ?"
" Yes ; he brought me a message from the mur-
dered man, and took back my answer."
" Was he alone in the room ?"
"Yes; I found him there when I went in,
expecting to find John. I dislike the man, un-
justly, perhaps ; for he is a poor, half-witted crea-
ture, who I dare say scarcely knows right from
wrong ; and I was angry at seeing him. He must
have come in through the window."
236 AUEOEA FLOYD.
A servant entered the room at this moment.
He came to say that Mr. Grimstone had been
waiting below for some time, and was anxious to
see Mr. Bulstrode.
Talbot and John went down-stairs together.
They found Mr. Joseph Grimstone sitting at a
table in a comfortable room that had lately been
sacred to Mrs. Powell, with the shaded lamp
drawn close to his elbow, and a greasy little
memorandum-book open before him. He was
thoughtfully employed making notes in tins memo-
randum-book with a stumpy morsel of lead-pencil
when do these sort of people begin their
pencils, and how is it that they always seem to
have arrived at the stump ? when the two
gentlemen entered.
John Mellish leaned against the mantel-piece,
and covered his face with his hand. For any
practical purpose, he might as well have been
in his own room. He knew nothing of Talbot's
reason for this interview with the detective officer.
He had no shadowy idea, no growing suspicion
shaping itself slowly out of the confusion and
obscurity, of the identity of the murderer. He
only knew that his Aurora was innocent ; that she
REUNION. 237
had indignantly refuted his base suspicion; and
that he had seen the truth, radiant as the light of
inspiration, shining out of her beautiful face.
Mr. Bulstrode rang, and ordered a bottle of
sherry for the delectation of the detective; and
then, in a careful and business-like manner, he
recited all that he had been able to discover upon
the subject of the murder. Joseph Grimstone
listened very quietly, following Talbot Bulstrode
with a shining track of lead-pencil hieroglyphics
over the greasy paper, just as Tom Thumb strewed
crumbs of bread in the forest-pathway, with a view
to his homeward guidance. The detective only
looked up now and then to drink a glass of sherry,
and smack his lips with the quiet approval of a
connoisseur. When Talbot had told all that he
had to tell, Mr. Grimstone thrust the memo-
randum-book into a very tight breast-pocket, and
taking his hat from under the chair upon which he
had been seated, prepared to depart.
" If this information about the money is quite
correct, sir," he said, " I think I can see my way
through the affair; that is, if we can have the
numbers of the notes. I can't stir a peg without
the numbers of the notes."
238 AURORA FLOTD.
Talbot's countenance fell. Here was a death-
blow. Was it likely that Aurora, that impetuous
and unbusiness-like girl, had taken the numbers
of the notes, which, in utter scorn and loathing,
she had flung as a last bribe to the man she
hated ?
" I'll go and make inquiries of Mrs. Mellish," he
said ; " but I fear it is scarcely likely I shall get
the information you want."
He left the room ; but five minutes afterwards
returned triumphant.
"Mrs. Mellish had the notes from her father,"
he said. " Mr. Floyd took a list of the numbers
before he gave his daughter the money."
" Then if you'll be so good as to drop Mr. Floyd
a line, asking for that list by return of post, I
shall know how to act," replied the detective.
" I haven't been idle this afternoon, gentlemen,
any more than you. I went back after I parted
with you, Mr. Bulstrode, and had another look at
the pond. I found something to pay me for my
trouble."
He took from his waistcoat-pocked a small object,
which he held between his finger and thumb.
Talbot and John looked intently at this dingy
REUNION. 239
object, but could make nothing out of it. It
seemed to be a mere disc of rusty metal.
" It's neither more nor less than a brass button,"
the detective said, with a smile of quiet superi-
ority ; " maker's name, Crosby, Birmingham.
There's marks upon it which seem uncommon like
blood ; and unless I'm very much mistaken, it'll
be found to fit pretty correct into the barrel of your
pistol, Mr. Mellish. So what we've got to do is to
find a gentleman wearin', or havin' in his posses-
sion, a waistcoat with buttons by Crosby, Birming-
ham, and one button missin' ; and if we happen to
find the same gentleman changin' one of the notes
that Mr. Floyd took the 'numbers of, I don't think
we shall be very far off layin' our hands on the
man we want."
With which oracular speech Mr. Grimstone
departed, charged with a commission to proceed
forthwith to Doncaster, to order the immediate
printing and circulating of a hundred bills,
offering a reward of 200?. for such information as
would lead to the apprehension of the murderer of
James Conyers. This reward to be given by Mr.
Mellish, and to be over and above any reward
offered by the Government.
240 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER XII.
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM.
Mr. Matthew Harrison and Captain Prodder
were both accommodated with suitable entertain-
ment at the sign of the Crooked Rabbit ; but
while the dog-fancier appeared to have ample
employment in the neighbourhood, employment
of a mysterious rjature, which kept him on the
tramp all day, and sent him home at sunset, tired
and hungry, to his hostelry, the sailor, having
nothing whatever to do, and a great burden of
care upon his mind, found the time hang very
heavily upon his hands ; although, being natu-
rally of a social and genial temper, he made him-
self very much at home in his strange quarters.
From Mr. Harrison the captain obtained much
information respecting the secret of all the sorrow
that had befallen his niece. The dog-fancier had
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 241
known James Conyers from his boyhood ; had
known his father, the " swell " coachman of a
Brighton Highflyer, or Sky-rocket, or Electric,
and the associate of the noblemen and gentlemen
of that princely era, in which it was the right
thing for the youthful aristocracy to imitate the
manners of Mr. Samuel Weller, senior. Matthew
Harrison had known the trainer in his brief and
stormy married life, and had accompanied Aurora's
first husband as a humble dependent and hanger-
on in that foreign travel which had been paid for
out of Archibald Floyd's cheque-book. The
honest captain's, blood boiled as he heard that
shameful story of treachery and extortion practised
upon an ignorant school-girl. Oh, that he had
been by to avenge those outrages upon the child
of the dark-eyed sister he had loved ! His rage
against the undiscovered murderer of the dead
man was redoubled when he remembered how
comfortably James Conyers had escaped from his
vengeance.
Mr. Stephen Hargraves, the " Softy," took good
care to keep out of the way of the Crooked
Rabbit, having no wish to encounter Captain
Prodder a second time ; but he still hung about
242 AURORA FLOYD.
the town of Doncaster, where he had a lodging up
a wretched alley, hidden away behind one of the
back streets, a species of lair common to every
large town, only to be found by the inhabitants of
the locality.
The " Softy " had been born and bred, and had
lived his life, in such a narrow radius, that the
uprooting of one of the oaks in Mellish Park could
scarcely be a slower or more painful operation
than the severing of those ties of custom Avhich
held the boorish hanger-on to the neighbourhood
of the household in which he had so long been an
inmate. But now that his occupation at Mellish
Park was for ever gone, and his patron, the
trainer, dead, he was alone in the world, and had
need to look out for a fresh situation.
But he seemed rather slow to do this. He was
not a very prepossessing person, it must be re-
membered, and there were not very many services
for which he was fitted. Although upwards of
forty years of age, he was generally rather loosely
described as a young man who understood all
about horses ; and this qualification was usually
sufficient to procure for any individual whatever
some kind of employment in the neighbourhood
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 243
of Doncaster. The "Softy" seemed, however,
rather to keep aloof from the people who knew
and could have recommended hini ; and when
asked why he did not seek a situation, gave
evasive answers, and muttered something to the
effect that he had saved a little bit of money at
Mellish Park, and had no need to come upon
the parish if he was out of work for a week or
two.
John Mellish was so well known as a generous
paymaster, that this was a matter of surprise to no
one. Steeve Hargraves had no doubt had pretty
pickings in that liberal household. So the " Softy "
went his way unquestioned, hanging about the
town in a lounging, uncomfortable manner, sitting
in some public-house taproom half the day and
night, drinking his meagre liquor in a sullen and
unsocial style peculiar to himself, and consorting
with no one.
He made his appearance at the railway station
one day, and groped helplessly through all the
time-tables pasted against the walls : but he could
make nothing of them unaided, and was at last
compelled to appeal to a good-tempered-looking
official who was busy on the platform.
VOL. in. s
244 AURORA FLOYD.
" I want th' Liverpool trayuns," he said, " and
I can find naught about 'em here."
The official knew Mr. Hargraves, and looked at
him with a stare of open wonder.
"My word, Steeve," he said laughing, "what
takes you to Liverpool? I thought you'd never
been further than York in your life ?"
"Maybe I haven't," the "Softy" answered
sulkily ; " but that's no reason I shouldn't go now.
I've heard of a situation at Liverpool as I think'll
suit me."
" Not better than the place you had with Mr.
Mellish."
"Perhaps not," muttered Mr. Hargraves, with
a frown darkening over his ugly face; "but
Mellish Park be no pleace for me now, and arnt
been for a long time past."
The railway official laughed.
The story of Aurora's chastisement of the half-
witted groom was pretty well known amongst the
townspeople of Doncaster ; and I am sorry to say
there were very few members of that sporting
community who did not admire the mistress of
Mellish Park something more by reason of this
little incident in her history.
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 245
Mr. Hargraves received the desired information
about the railway route between Doncaster and
Liverpool, and then left the station.
A shabby-looking little man, who had also been
making some inquiries of the same official who
had talked to the "Softy," and had consequently
heard the above brief dialogue, followed Stephen
Hargraves from the station into the town. Indeed,
had it not been that the " Softy " was unusually
slow of perception, he might have discovered that
upon this particular day the same shabby-looking
little man generally happened to be hanging
about any and every place to which he, Mr. Har-
graves, betook himself. But the cast-off retainer
of Mellish Park did not trouble himself with any
such misgivings. His narrow intellect, never
wide enough to take in many subjects at a time,
was fully absorbed by other considerations; and
he loitered about with a gloomy and preoccupied
expression in his face, that by no means enhanced
his personal attractions.
It is not to be supposed that Mr. Joseph Grim-
stone let the grass grow under his feet after his
interview with John Mellish and Talbot Bulstrode,
He had heard enough to make his course pretty
s 2
246 AURORA FLOYD.
clear to him, and he went to work quietly and
sagaciously to win the reward offered to him.
There was not a tailor's shop in Doncaster or its
vicinity into which the detective did not make
Ins way. There was not a garment canfectionnk
by any of the civil purveyors upon whom he
intruded that Mr. Grimstone did not examine ;
not a drawer of odds and ends winch he did not
ransack, in his search for buttons by " Crosby,
maker, Birmingham." But for a long time he
made his inquisition in vain. Before the day suc-
ceeding that of Talbot's arrival at Mellish Park
was over, the detective had visited every tailor or
clothier in the neighbourhood of the racing me-
tropolis of the north, but no traces of " Crosby,
maker, Birmingham," had he been able to find.
Brass waistcoat-buttons are not particularly affected
by the leaders of the fasliion in the present day,
and Mr. Grimstone found almost every variety of
fastening upon the waistcoats he examined, except
that one special style of button, a specimen of
winch, out of shape and blood-stained, he carried
deep in his trousers-pocket.
He was returning to the inn at which he had
taken up his abode, and where he was supposed to
THE CRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 247
be a traveller in the Glenfield starch and sugar-
plum line, tired and worn out with a day's useless
work, when he was attracted by the appearance of
some ready-made garments gracefully festooned
about the door of a Doncaster pawnbroker, who
exhibited silver teaspoons, oil-paintings, boots and
shoes, dropsical watches, doubtful rings, and rem-
nants of silk and satin, in his artistically-arranged
window.
Mr. Grimstone stopped short before the money-
lender's portal.
" I won't be beaten," he muttered between his
teeth. "If this man has got any weskits, I'll
have a look at 'em."
He lounged into the shop in a leisurely manner,
and asked the proprietor of the establishment if he
had anything cheap in the way of fancy waistcoats.
Of course the proprietor had everything de-
sirable in that way, and from a kind of grove or
arbour of all manner of dry goods at the back of
the shop, he brought out half a dozen brown-paper
parcels, the contents of which he exhibited to Mr.
Joseph Grimstone.
The detective looked at a great many waist-
coats, but with no satisfactory result.
248 AUEOEA FLOYD.
" You haven't got anything with brass buttons,
I suppose ?" he inquired at last.
The proprietor shook his head reflectively.
"Brass buttons aint much worn now-a-days,"
he said ; " but I'll lay I've got the very thing you
want, now I come to think of it. I got 'em an
uncommon bargain from a traveller for a Bir-
mingham house, who was here at the September
meeting three years ago, and lost a hatful of
money upon Underhand, and left a lot of things
with me, in order to make up what he wanted."
Mr. Grimstone pricked up his ears at the sound
of " Birmingham." The pawnbroker retired once
more to the mysterious caverns at the back of his
shop, and after a considerable search succeeded in
finding what he wanted. He brought another
brown -paper parcel to the counter, turned the
flaming gas a little higher, and exhibited a heap
of very gaudy and vulgar- looking waistcoats, evi-
dently of that species of manufacture winch, is
generally called slop-work.
" These are the goods," he said ; " and very
tasty and lively things they are, too. I had a
dozen of 'em ; and I've only got these five left,"
Mr. Grimstone had taken up a waistcoat of a
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 249
flaming check pattern, and was examining it by
the light of the gas.
Yes; the purpose of his day's work was ac-
complished at last. The back of the brass buttons
bore the name of Crosby, Birmingham.
" You've only got five left out of the dozen,"
said the detective ; " then you've sold seven ?"
'I have."
" Can you remember who you sold 'em to ?"
The pawnbroker scratched his head thought-
fully. '
" I think I must have sold 'em all to the men
at the works," he said. " They take their wages
once a fortnight ; and there's some of 'em drop in
here every other Saturday night to buy something
or other, or to take sometliing out of pledge. I
know I sold four or five that way."
" But can you remember selling one of them
to anybody else ?" asked the detective. " I'm
not asking out of curiosity; and I don't mind
standing something handsome by-and-by, if you
can give me the information I want. Think it
over, now, and take your time. You couldn't
have sold 'em all seven to the men from the
works."
250 AURORA FLOYD.
" No ; I didn't," answered the pawnbroker after
a pause. " I remember now, I sold one of them
a fancy sprig on a purple ground to Josephs
the baker, in the next street ; and I sold another
a yellow stripe on a brown ground to the
head-gardener at Mellish Park."
Mr. Joseph Grimstone's face flushed hot and
red. His day's work had not been wasted. He
was bringing the buttons by Crosby of Birming-
ham very near to where he wanted to bring them.
" You can tell me the gardener's name I sup-
pose ?" he said to the pawnbroker.
" Yes ; his name's Dawson. He belongs to
Doncaster, and he and I were boys together. I
should not have remembered selling him the
waistcoat, perhaps, for it's nigh upon a year and a
half ago ; only he stopped and had a chat with me
and my missis the night he bought it."
Mr. Grimstone did not linger much longer in
the shop. His interest in the waistcoats was
evidently departed. He bought a couple of
second-hand silk handkerchiefs out of civility, no
doubt, and then bade the pawnbroker good-night.
It was nearly nine o'clock; but the detective
only stopped at his inn long enough to eat about
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CBOSBY, BIKMINGIIAH. 251
a pound and a quarter of beefsteak, and drink a
pint of ale, after which brief refreshment he
started for Mellish Park on foot. It was the
principle of his life to avoid observation, and he
preferred the fatigue of a long and lonely walk to
the risks contingent upon hiring a vehicle to con-
vey him to his destination.
Talbot and John had been waiting hopefully all
the day for the detective's coming, and welcomed
him very heartily when he appeared, between ten
and eleven. He was shown into John's own room
this evening ; for the two gentlemen were sitting-
there smoking and talking after Aurora and Lucy
had gone to bed. Mrs. Mellish had good need
of rest, and could sleep peacefully now ; for the
dark shadow between her and her husband had
gone for ever, and she could not fear any peril,
any sorrow, now that she knew herself to be
secure of his love. John looked up eagerly as Mr.
Grimstone followed the servant into the room ;
but a warning look from Talbot Bulstrode checked
his impetuosity, and he waited till the door was
shut before he spoke.
"Now, then, Grimstone," he said ; "what news?"
" Well, sir, I've had a hard day's work," the
252 AUHOEA FLOYD.
detective answered; "gravely, " and perhaps neither
of you gentlemen not being professional would
think much of what I've done ; but for all that, I
believe I'm bringin' it home, sir ; I believe I'm
bring-in' it home."
"Thank God for that!" mm-mured Talbot
Bulstrode, reverently.
He had thrown away Iris cigar, and was stand-
ing by the fireplace, with his arm resting upon
the angle of the mantel-piece.
"You've got a gardener by the name of
Dawson in your service, Mr. Mellish ?" said the
detective.
" I have," answered John : " but, Lord have
mercy upon us ! you don't mean to say you think
it's him? Dawson's as good a fellow as ever
breathed."
" I don't say I think it's any one as yet, sir,"
Mr. Grimstone answered sententiously ; "but
when a man as had two thousand pound upon
him in bank-notes is found in a wood shot through
the heart, and the notes missin' the wood bein'
free to anybody as chose to walk in it it's a
pretty open case for suspicion. I should like to
see this man Dawson, if it's convenient."
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 253
" To-night ?" asked John.
" Yes : the sooner the better. The less delay
there is in this sort of business, the more satisfac-
tory for all parties, with the exception of the
party that's wanted," added the detective.
" I'll send % for Dawson, then," answered Mr.
Mellish ; " but I expect he'll have gone to bed by
this time."
" Then he can but get up again, if he has, sir,"
Mr. Grimstone said politely. "I've set my
heart upon seeing him to-night, if it's all the
same to you."
It is not to be supposed that John Mellish was
likely to object to any arrangement which might
hasten, if by but a moment's time, the hour of
the discovery for which he so ardently prayed.
He went straight off to the servants' hall to make
inquiries for the gardener, and left Talbot Bulstrode
and the detective together.
" There aint nothing turned up here, I sup-
pose, sir," said Joseph Grimstone, addressing Mr.
Bulstrode, " as will be of any help to us ?"
"Yes," Talbot answered. "We have got the
numbers of the notes which Mrs. Mellish gave the
murdered man. I telegraphed to Mr. Floyd's
254 AURORA FLOYD.
country house, and he arrived here himself only an
hour ago, bringing the list of the notes with him."
" And an uncommon plucky thing of the old
gentleman to do, beggin' your pardon, sir," ex-
claimed the detective with enthusiasm.
Five minutes afterwards, Mr. Mellish re-entered
the room, bringing the gardener with him. The
man had been into Doncaster to see his friends,
and only returned about half an hour before; so
the master of the house had caught him in the act
of making havoc with a formidable cold joint, and
a great jar of pickled cabbage, in the servants' hall.
"Now, you're not to be frightened, Dawson,"
said the young squire, with friendly indiscretion ;
"of course nobody for a moment suspects you,
any more than they suspect me ; but this gentle-
man here wants to see you, and of course you
know there's no reason that he shouldn't see you
if he wishes it, though what he wants with you "
Mr. Mellish stopped abruptly, arrested by a
frown from Talbot Bulstrode ; and the gardener,,
who was innocent of the faintest comprehension of
his master's meaning, pulled his hair respectfully,
and shuffled nervously upon the slippery Indian
matting.
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. ZOO
" I only want to ask you a question or two to
decide a wager between these two gentlemen and
me, Mr. Dawson," said the detective with re-
assuring familiarity. " You bought a second-hand
waistcoat of Gogram, in the market-place, didn't
you, about a year and a half ago ?"
" Ay, sure, sir. I bought a weskit at Gogram's,"
answered the gardener ; " but it weren't second-
hand ; it were bran new."
'' A yellow stripe upon a brown ground ?"
The man nodded, with his mouth wide open, in
the extremity of his surprise at this London
stranger's familiarity with the details of his toilet.
" I dunno how you come to know about that
weskit, sir," he said, with a grin ; " it were wore
out full six months ago ; for I took, to wearin' of it
in t' garden, and garden-work soon spiles anything
in the way of clothes ; but him as I give it to was
glad enough to have it, though it was awful
shabby."
" Him as you give it to ?" repeated Mr. Grim-
stone, not pausing to amend the sentence, in his
eagerness. " You gave it away, then ?"
" Yees, I gave it to th' Softy ;' and wasn't th'
poor fond chap glad to get it, that's all !"
256 AURORA FLOYD.
"The 'Softy'!" exclaimed Mr. Grimstone.
"Who's the 'Softy'?''
" The man we spoke of last night," answered
Talbot BulstrOde ; " the man whom Mrs. Mellish
found in tins room upon the morning before the
murder, the man called Stephen Hargraves."
"Ay, ay, to be sure ; I thought as much,"
murmured the detective. "That will do, Mr.
Dawson," he added, addressing the gardener, who
had shuffled a good deal nearer to the doorway in
Ins uneasy state of mind. " Stay, though ; I may
as well ask you one more question. Were any of
the buttons missing off that waistcoat when you
gave it away ?"
"Not one on 'em," answered the gardener,
decisively. " My missus is too particular for that.
She's a reg'lar toidy one, she is ; allers mendin'
and patchin'; and if one of t' buttons got loose
she was sure to sew it on toight again, before
it was lost."
" Thank you, Mr. Dawson," returned the detec-
tive, with the friendly condescension of a superior
being. " Good-night."
The gardener shuffled off, very glad to be
released from the awful presence of his superiors,
THE BRASS BUTTON BY CROSBY, BIRMINGHAM. 25%
and to go back to the cold meat and pickles in
the servants' hall.
" I think I'm bringing the business into a nut-
shell, sir," said Mr. Grimstone, when the door had
closed upon the gardener. " But the less said, the
better, just yet awhile. I'll take the list of the
numbers of the notes, please, sir ; and I believe I
shall come upon you for that two hundred pound,
Mr. Mellish, before either of us is many weeks
older."
So, with the list made by cautious Archibald
Floyd, bestowed safely in his waistcoat-pocket,
Mr. Joseph Grimstone walked back to Doncaster
through the still summer's night, intent upon the
business he had undertaken.
" It looked uncommon black against the lady
about a week ago," he thought, as he walked
meditatively across the dewy grass in Mellish
Park ; " and I fancy the information they got at
the Yard would have put a fool upon the wrong
scent, and kept him on it till the right one got
worn out. But it's clearing up, it's clearing up
beautiful ; and I think it'll turn out one of the
neatest cases I ever had the handling of."
258 AURORA FLOYD.
CHAPTER XIII.
OFF THE SCENT.
It is scarcely necessary to say, that, with the
button by Crosby in his pocket, and with the in-
formation acquired from Dawson the gardener,
stowed away carefully in his mind, Mr. Joseph
Grimstone looked with an eye of particular interest
upon Steeve Hargraves the " Softy."
The detective had not come to Doncaster
alone. He had brought with him a humble ally
and follower, in the shape of the little shabby-
looking man who had encountered the " Softy "
at the railway station, having received orders to
keep a close watch upon Mr. Stephen Hargraves.
It was of course a very easy matter to identify the
" Softy " in the town of Doncaster, where he had
been pretty generally known since his childhood.
Mr. Grimstone had called upon a medical
practitioner, and had submitted the button to him
OFF THE SCENT. 259
for inspection. The "stains upon it were indeed
that which the detective had supposed blood ;
and the surgeon detected a minute morsel of
cartilage adhering to the jagged hasp of the
button ; but the same surgeon declared that this
missile could not have been the one used by the
murderer of James Conyers. It had not been
through the dead man's bodv ; it had inflicted
only a surface wound.
The business which now lay before Mr. Grim-
stone was the tracing of one or other of the bank-
notes ; and for this purpose he and his ally set to
work upon the track of the " Softy," with a view of
discovering all the places which it was his habit
to visit. The haunts affected by Mr. Hargraves
turned out to be some half-dozen very obscure
public-houses ; and to each of these Joseph Grim-
stone went in person.
But he could discover nothing. All his in-
quiries only elicited the fact that Stephen Har-
graves had not been observed to change, or to
attempt to change, any bank-note whatever. He
had paid for all he had had, and spent more
than it was usual for him to spend, drinking a
good deal harder than had been his habit hereto-
VOL. III. T
260 AURORA FLOYD.
fore ; but he had paid in silver, except on one
occasion, when he had changed a sovereign. The
detective called at the bank ; but no person answer-
ing the description of Stephen Hargraves had been
observed there. The detective endeavoured to
discover any friends or companions of the " Softy ;"
but here again he failed. The half-witted hanger-
on of the Mellish stables had never made any friends,
being entirely deficient in all social qualities.
There was something almost miraculous in the
manner in which Mr. Joseph Grimstone contrived
to make himself master of any information which
he wished to acquire ; and before noon on the
day after his interview with Mr. Dawson the
gardener, he had managed to eliminate all the facts
set down above, and had also succeeded in in-
gratiating himself into the confidence of the dirty
old proprietress of that humble lodging in which
the " Softy " had taken up his abode.
It is scarcely necessary to this story to tell how
the detective went to work; but while Stephen
Hargraves sat soddening his stupid brain with
medicated beer in a low tap-room not far off, and
while Mr. Grimstone's ally kept close watch,
holding himself in readinesst to give warning
OFF THE SCENT. 261
of any movement on the part of the suspected
individual, Mr. Grimstone himself went so cleverly
to work in his manipulation of the " Softy's " land-
lady, that in less than a quarter of an hour he
had taken full possession of that weak point in
the intellectual citadel which is commonly called
the blind side, and was able to do w T hat he pleased
with the old woman and her wretched tenement.
His peculiar pleasure was to make a very
elaborate examination of the apartment rented
by the " Softy," and any other apartments, cup-
boards, or hiding-places to which Mr. Hargraves
had access. But he found nothing to reward him
for his trouble. The old woman was in the habit
of receiving casual [lodgers, resting for a night or
so at Doncaster before tramping further on their
vagabond wanderings ; and the six-roomed dwell-
ing-place was only furnished with such meagre
accommodation as may be expected for fourpence
and sixpence a night. There were few hiding-
places, no carpets, underneath which fat bundles
of bank-notes might be hidden ; no picture-frames,
behind which the same species of property might
be bestowed ; no ponderous cornices or heavily-
fringed valances shrouding the windows, and
t 2
262 AURORA FLOYD.
affording dusty recesses wherein the title-deeds of
half a dozen fortunes might lie and rot. There were
two or three cupboards, into which Mr. Grhnstone
penetrated with a tallow candle ; but he discovered
nothing of any more importance than crockery-
ware, lucifer-matches, fire-wood, potatoes, bare
ropes, on which an onion lingered here and there
and sprouted dismally in its dark loneliness,
empty ginger-beer bottles, oyster-shells, old boots
and shoes, disabled mouse-traps, black beetles, and
humid fungi rising ghost-like from the damp and
darkness.
Mr. Grimstone emerged dirty and discomforted,
from one of these dark recesses, after a profitless
search, which had occupied a couple of weary hours.
" Some other chap'll go in and cut the ground
under my feet, if I waste my time this way,"
thought the detective. " I'm blest if I don't think
I've been a fool for my pains. The man carries
the money about him, that's as clear as mud ;
and if I were to search Doncaster till my hair
got gray, I shouldn't find what I want."
Mr. Grimstone shut the door of the last cup-
board which he had examined, with an impatient
slam, and then turned towards the window.
OFF THE SCENT. 263
There was no sign of his scout in the little alley
before the house, and he had time therefore for
further business.
He had examined everything in the " Softy's "
apartment, and he had paid particular attention
to the state of Mr. Hargraves' wardrobe, which
consisted of a pile of garments, every one of
which bore in its cut and fashion the stamp of a
different individuality, and thereby proclaimed
itself as having belonged to another master.
There was a Newmarket coat of John Mellish's,
and a pair of hunting-breeches, which could only
have built up the great Poole himself, split across
the knees, but otherwise little the worse for wear.
There was a linen jacket, and an old livery
waistcoat that had belonged to one of the servants
at the Park ; odd tops of every shade known in
the hunting-field, from the spotless white, or the
delicate champagne-cleaned cream colour of the
dandy, to the favourite vinegar hue of the hard-
riding country squire ; a groom's hat with a tar-
nished band and a battered crown ; hob-nailed boots,
which may have belonged to Mr. Dawson ; cordu-
roy breeches that could only have fitted a dropsical
lodge-keeper, long deceased ; and there was one
264 AURORA FLOYD.
garment which bore upon it the ghastly impress
of a dreadful deed that had but lately been done.
This was the velveteen shooting-coat worn by
James Conyers, the trainer, which, pierced with
the murderous bullet, and stiffened by the soaking
torrent of blood, had been aj^propriated by Mr.
Stephen Hargraves in the confusion of the cata-
strophe. All these things, with sundry rubbish in
the way of odd spurs and whip-handles, scraps of
broken harness, ends of rope, and such other
scrapings as only a miser loves to accumulate, were
packed in a lumbering trunk covered with mangy
fur, and secured by about a dozen yards of knotted
and jagged rope, tied about it in such a manner
as the " Softy " had considered sufficient to defy
the most artful thief in Christendom.
Mr. Grimstone had made very short work of all
the elaborate defences in the way of knots and
entanglements, and had ransacked the box from
one end to the other ; nay, had even closely
examined the fur covering of the trunk, and had
tested each separate brass-headed nail to ascertain
if any of them had been removed or altered. He
may have thought it just possible that two
thousand pounds' worth of Bank of England paper
OFF THE SCENT.
265
had been nailed down under the mangy fur. He
gave a weary sigh as he concluded his inspection,
replaced the garments one by one in the trunk,
reknotted and secured the jagged cord, and with a
weary sigh turned his back upon the " Softy's "
chamber.
"It's no 'good," he thought. "The yellow-
striped waistcoat isn't among his clothes, and the
money isn't hidden away anywhere. Can he be
deep enough to have destroyed that waistcoat, I
wonder? He'd got a red woollen one on this
morning ; perhaps he's got the yellow-striped one
under it."
Mr. Grimstone brushed the dust and cobwebs off
his clothes, washed his hands in a greasy wooden
bowl of scalding water, which the old woman
brought him, and then sat down before the fire, pick-
ing his teeth thoughtfully, and with his eyebrows
set in a reflective frown over his small gray eyes.
" I don't like to be beat," he thought ; " I don't
like to be beat." He doubted if any magistrate
would grant him a warrant against the "Softy"
upon the strength of the evidence in his posses-
sion the blood-stained button by Crosby of
Birmingham: and without a warrant he could not
266 AURORA FLOYD.
search, for the notes upon the person of the man
he suspected. He had sounded all the out-door
servants at Mellish Fark, but had been able to dis-
cover nothing that threw any light upon the move-
ments of Stephen Hargraves on the night of the
murder. No one remembered having seen him ;
no one had been on the southern side of the wood
that night. One of the lads had passed the north
lodge on his way from the high-road to the stables,
about the time at which Aurora had heard the
shot fired in the wood, and had seen a light
burning in the lower window ; but this, of course,
proved nothing either one way or the other.
" If we could find the money upon him"
thought Mr. Grimstone ; " it would be pretty
strong proof of the robbery; and if we find the
waistcoat off which that button came, in his
possession, it wouldn't be bad evidence of the
murder, putting the two things together ; but we
shall have to keep a precious sharp watch upon my
friend, while we hunt up what we want, or I'm
blest if he won't give us the slip, and be off to
Liverpool and out of the country before we know
where we are."
Now the truth of the matter is, that Mr. Joseph
OFF THE SCENT. 267
Grirnstone was not, perhaps, acting quite so
conscientiously in this business as he might have
done, had the love of justice in the abstract, and
without any relation to sublunary reward, been
the ruling principle of his life. He might have
had any help he pleased, from the Doncaster
constabulary, had he chosen to confide in the
members of that force ; but, as a very knowing
individual who owns a three-year old, which he
has reason to believe " a flyer," is apt to keep the
capabilities of his horse a secret from his friends
and the sporting public, while he puts a " pot " of
money upon the animal at enormous odds, so
Mr. Grimstone desired to keep his information to
himself, until it should have brought him its
golden fruit in the shape of a small reward from
Government, and a large one from John Mellish.
The detective had reason to know that the
Dogberries of Doncaster, misled by a duplicate of
that very letter which had first aroused the atten-
tion of Scotland Yard, were on the wrong scent,
as he had been at first ; and he was very well
content to leave them where they were.
" No," he thought, " it's a critical game ; but
I'll play it single-handed, or, at least, with no one
268 AURORA FLOYD.
better than Tom drivers to help me through with
it ; and a ten-pound note will satisfy him, if we
win the day."
Pondering thus, Mr. G-rimstone departed, after
having recompensed the landlady for her civility
by a donation which the old woman considered
princely.
He had entirely deluded her as to the object
of his search by telling her that he was a lawyer's
clerk, commissioned by his employer to hunt for
a codicil which had been hidden somewhere in
that house by an old man who had lived in it in
the year 1783 ; and he had contrived, in the
course of conversation, to draw from the old
woman, who was of a garrulous turn, all that she
had to tell about the " Softy."
It was not much, certainly. Mr. Hargraves had
never changed a bank-note with her knowledge.
He had paid for his bit of victuals as he had it,
but had not spent a shilling a day. As to bank-
notes, it wasn't at all likely that he had any of
them ; for he was always complaining that he was
very poor, and that his little bit of savings, scraped
together out of his wages, wouldn't last him long.
" This Hargraves is a precious deep one for ail
OFF THE SCENT. 2G9
they call him soft," thought Mr. Grimstone, as he
left the lodging-house, and walked slowly towards
the sporting public-house at which he had left the
" Softy " under the watchful eye of Mr. Tom Chi vers.
" I've often heard say that these half-witted chaps
have more cunning in their little fingers than a
better man has in the whole of his composition.
Another man would have never been able to stand
against the temptation of changing one of those
notes ; or would have gone about wearing that iden-
tical waistcoat ; or would have made a bolt of it the
day after the murder ; or tried on something or
other that would have blown the gaff upon him ;
but not your ' Softy !' He hides the notes and he
hides the waistcoat, and then he laughs in his
sleeve at those that want him, and sits drinking
his beer as comfortably as you please."
Pondering thus, the detective made his way to
the public-house in which he had left Mr. Stephen
Hargraves. He ordered a glass of brandy-and-
Avater at the bar, and walked into the taproom,
expecting to see the " Softy " still brooding sullenly
over his drink, still guarded by the apparently in-
different eye of Mr. Chi vers. But it was not so.
The taproom was empty; and upon making
270 AURORA FLOYD.
cautious inquiries, Mr. Grimstoue discovered that
the " Softy " and liis watcher had been gone for
upwards of an hour.
Mr. Chivers had been forbidden to let his
charge out of sight under any circumstances what-
ever, except indeed if the " Softy " had turned
homewards while Mr. Grimstone was employed in
ransacking his domicile, in which event Tom was
to have slipped on a few paces before him, and
given warning to his chief. Wherever Stephen
Hargraves went, Mr. Thomas Chivers was to
follow him ; but he was, above all, to act in such
a manner as would effectually prevent any sus-
picion arising in the " Softy's " mind as to the
fact that he was followed.
It will be seen, therefore, that poor Chivers had
no very easy task to perform, and it has been seen
that he had heretofore contrived to perform it
pretty skilfully. If Stephen Hargraves sat boozing
in a taproom half the day, Mr. Chivers was also to
booze or to make a pretence of boozing, for the
same length of time. If the " Softy " showed any
disposition to be social, and gave his companion
any opportunity of getting friendly with him, the
detective's underling was to employ his utmost skill
OFF THE SCENT. 271
and discretion in availing himself of that golden
chance. It is a wondrous provision of Providence
that the treachery which would be hateful and hor-
rible in any other man, is considered perfectly legiti-
mate in the man who is employed to hunt out a mur-
derer or a thief. The vile instruments which the
criminal employed agaiust his unsuspecting victim
are in ^due time used against himself ; and the
wretch who laughed at the poor unsuspecting dupe
who was trapped to his destruction by his lies, is
caught in his turn by some shallow deceit, or
pitifully hackneyed device, of the paid spy, who
has been bribed to lure him to his doom. For
the outlaw of society, the code of honour is null
and void. His existence is a perpetual peril to
innocent women and honourable men ; and the
detective who beguiles him to his end does such
a service to society as must doubtless counter-
balance the treachery of the means by which it is
done. The days of Jonathan Wild and his com-
peers are over, and the thief-taker no longer
begins life as a thief. The detective officer is as
honest as he is intrepid and astute, and it is not
his own fault if the dirty nature of all crime gives
him now and then dirty work to do.
272 AURORA FLOYD.
But Mr. Stephen Hargraves did not give the
opportunity for which Tom Chivers had been
bidden to lie in wait ; he sat sullen, silent, stupid,
unapproachable ; and as Tom's orders were not to
force himself upon his companion, he was fain to
abandon all thought of worming himself into the
" Softy's " good graces. This made the task of
watching him all the more difficult. It is not
such a very easy matter to follow a man without
seeming to follow him.
It was market-day too, and the town was
crowded with noisy country people. Mr. Grim-
stone suddenly remembered this, and the recollec-
tion by no means added to his peace of mind.
" Chivers never did sell me," he thought, " and
surely he won't do it now. I dare say they're safe
enough, for the matter of that, in some other
public. I'll slip out and look after them."
Mr. Grimstone had, as I have said, already
made himself acquainted with all the haunts
affected by the " Softy." It did not take him
long, therefore, to look in at the three or four
public-houses where Steeve Hargraves was likely
to be found, and to discover that he was not there.
" He's slouching about the town somewhere or
OFF THE SCENT.
27
other, I dare say," thought the detective, " with
my mate close upon his heels. I'll stroll towards
the market-place, and see if I can find them any-
where that way."
Mr. Grimstone turned out of the by-street in
which he had been walking, into a narrow alley
leading to the broad open square upon which the
market-place stands.
The detective w r ent his way in a leisurely
manner, with his hands in his pockets and a cigar
in his mouth. He had perfect confidence in Mr.
Thomas Chivers, and the crowded state of the
market-place and its neighbourhood in no way
weakened his sense of security.
" Chivers will stick to him through thick and
thin," he thought; "he'd keep an eye upon his
man if he had to look after him between Charing
Cross and Whitehall when the Queen was going
to open Parliament, He's not the man to be
fhunmuxed by a crowd in a country market-
place."
Serene in this sense of security, Mr. Grimstone
amused himself by looking about him, with an
expression of somewhat supercilious wonder, at
the manners and customs of those iadigense who,
274 AUEORA FLOYD.
upon market-day, make their inroad into the
quiet town. He paused upon the edge of a little
sunken flight of worn steps leading down to the
stage-door of the theatre, and read the fragments
of old bills mouldering upon the door-posts and
lintel. There were glowing announcements of
dramatic performances that had long ago taken
place ; and above the rain and mud stained relics
of the past, in bold black lettering, appeared the
record of a drama as terrible as any that had ever
been enacted in that provincial theatre. The bill-
sticker had posted the announcement of the
reward offered by John Mellish for the discovery
of the murderer in every available spot, and had
not forgotten this position, which commanded one
of the entrances to the market-place.
" It's a wonder to me," muttered Mr. Grim-
stone, "that that blessed bill shouldn't have
opened the eyes of these Doncaster noodles. But
I dare say they think it's a blind, a planned
thing to throw 'em off the scent their clever noses
are sticking to so determined. If I can get my
man before they open their eyes, I shall have
such a haul as I haven't met with lately."
Musing thus pleasantly, Mr. Grim stone turned
OFF THE SCENT. 275
his back upon the theatre, and crossed over to the
market. Within the building the clamour of buy-
ing and selling was at its height : noisy country-
men chaffering in their northern patois upon the
value and merits of poultry, butter, and eggs ;
dealers in butchers' meat bewildering themselves
in the endeavour to simultaneously satisfy the
demands of half a dozen sharp and bargain-loving
housekeepers; while from without there came a
confused clatter of other merchants and other
customers, clamouring and hustling round the
stalls of greengrocers and the slimy barrows of
blue-jacketed fishmongers. In the midst of all
this bustle and confusion, Mr. Grimstone came
suddenly upon his trusted ally, pale, terror-
stricken, and alone !
The detective's mind was not slow to grasp the
full force of the situation.
"You've lost him !" he whispered fiercely, seizing
the unfortunate Mr. Chivers by the collar, and
pinning him as securely as if he had serious
thoughts of making him a permanent fixture
upon the stone-flags of the market-place. "You've
lost him, Tom Chivers!" he continued, hoarse
with agitation. "You've lost the party tlrat I
VOL. III. u
276 AURORA FLOYD.
told you was worth more to me than any other
party I ever gave you the office for. You've lost
me the best chauce I've ever had since I've been
in Scotland Yard, and yourself too ; for I should
have acted liberal by you," added the detective,
apparently oblivious of that morning's reverie, in
which he had pre-determined offering his assistant
ten pounds, in satisfaction of all his claims, " I
should have acted very liberal by you, Tom.
But what's the use of standing jawing here ? You
come along with me ; you can tell me how it
happened as we go."
With his powerful grasp still on the underling's
collar, Mr. Grimstone walked out of the market-
place, neither looking to the right nor the left,
though many a pair of rustic eyes opened to then*
widest as he passed, attracted no doubt by the
rapidity of his pace and the obvious determination
of his manner. Perhaps those rustic bystanders
thought that the stern-looking gentleman in the
black frock-coat had arrested the shabby little
man in the act of picking his pocket, and was
bearing him off to deliver him straight into the
hands of justice.
Mr. Grimstone released his" grasp when he
OFF THE SCENT. 277
and his companion Lad got clear of the market-
place.
" Now," he said, breathless, but not slackening
his pace, " now I suppose you can tell me how
you came to make such an " inadmissable adjec-
tive "fool of yourself? Never you mind where
I'm goin'. I'm goin' to the railway station. Never
you mind why I'm goin' there. You'd guess why,
if you weren't a fool. Now tell me all about it,
can't you ?"
"It aint much to tell," the humble follower
gasped, his respiratory functions sadly tried by the
pace at which his superior went over the ground.
" It aint much. I followed your instructions
faithful. I tried, artful and quiet-like, to make
acquaintance with him ; but that warn't a bit o'
good. He was as surly as a bull-terrier, so I
didn't force him to it ; but kept an eye upon him,
and let out before him as it was racm' business
as had brought me to Doncaster, and as I Avas
here to look after a horse, what was in trainin'
a few miles off, for a gent in London ; and when
he left the public, I went after him, but not con-
spicuous. But I think from that minute he was
fly, for he didn't go three steps without lookin'
u 2
278 AURORA FLOYD.
back, and lie led me such a chase as made my
legs tremble under me, which they trembles at
this moment ; and then he gets me into the
market-place, and he dodges here, and he dodges
there, and wherever the crowd's thickest he
dodges most, till he gets me at last in among a
ring of market-people round a couple o' coves
a-millin' with each other, and there I loses him.
And I've been in and out the market, and here
and there, until I'm fit to drop, but it aint no
good ; and you've no call to lay the blame on me,
for mortal man couldn't have done more."
Mr. Olivers wiped the perspiration from his
face in testimony of his exertions. Dirty little
streams were rolling down his forehead and trick-
ling upon his poor faded cheeks. He mopped up
these evidences of his fatigue with a red cotton
handkerchief, and gave a deprecatory sigh.
"If there's anybody to lay blame on, it aint
me," he said mildly. " I said all along you ought
to have had help. A man as is on his own ground,
and knows his own ground, is more than a match
for one cove, however hard he may work."
The detective turned fiercely upon his meek
dependent.
OFF THE SCENT. 279
J " Who's blaming you ?" he cried impatiently.
" I wouldn't cry out before I was hurt, if I were
you."
; " They had reached the railway station by this
time.
" How long is it since you missed him ?" asked
Mr. Grimstone of the penitent Chivers.
" Three-quarters of a hour, or it may be a hour,"
Tom added doubtfully.
"I dare say it is an hour," muttered the
detective.
He walked straight to one of the chief officials,
and asked what trains had left within the last hour.
" Two both market trains : one eastward, Selby
way ; the other for Penistone, and the intervening
stations."
The detective looked at the time-table, running
his thumb-nail along the names of the stations.
" That train will reach Penistone in time to catch
the Liverpool train, won't it ?" he asked.
" Just about."
" What time did it go ?"
" The Penistone train ?"
"Yes."
" About half an hour ago ; at 2.30."
280 AUEORA FLOYD.
The clocks had struck three as Mr. Grimstone
made his way to the station.
"Half an hour ago," muttered the detective.
"He'd have had ample time to catch the train
after giving Chivers the slip."
He questioned the guards and porters as to
whether any of them had seen a man answering to
the description of the " Softy :" a white-faced, hump-
backed fellow, in corduroys and a fustian jacket ;
and even penetrated into the ticket-clerk's office
to ask the same question.
No ; none of them had seen Mr. Stephen Har-
graves. Two or three of them recognized him by
the detective's description, and asked if it was one
of the stable-men from Mellish Park that the
gentleman was inquiring after. Mr. Grimstone
rather evaded any direct answer to this question.
Secrecy was, as we know, the principle upon winch
he conducted his affairs.
"He may have contrived to give 'em all the
slip," he said confidentially to his faithful but
dispirited ally. "He may have got off without
any of 'em seeing him. He's got the money about
him, I'm all but certain of that ; and his game is
to get off to Liverpool. If is inquiries after the
OFF THE SCENT. 281
trains yesterday proves that. Now I might tele-
graph, and have him stopped at Liverpool
supposing him to have given us all the slip, and
gone off there if I like to let others into the
game ; but I don't. I'll play to win or lose ; but
I'll play single-handed. He may try another
dodge, and get off Hull way by the canal-boats
that the market-people use, and then slip across
to Hamburg, or something of that sort ; but
that aint likely, these fellows always go one
way. It seems as if the minute a man has taken
another man's life, or forged his name, or em-
bezzled his money, his ideas' get fixed in one
groove, and never can soar higher than Liver-
pool and the American packet."
Mr. Chivers listened respectfully to his patron's
communications. He was very well pleased to
see the serenity of his employer's mind gradually
returning.
" Now, I'll tell you what, Tom," said Mr. Grim-
stone. " If this chap has given us the slip, why
he's given us the slip, and he's got a start of us,
which we sha'n't be able to pick up till half-past
ten o'clock to-night, when there's a train that'll
take us to Liverpool. If he hasnt given us the
282 AURORA FLOYD.
slip, there's only one way he can leave Doneaster,
and that's by this station ; so yon stay here patient
and quiet till you see me, or hear from me. If
he is in Doneaster, I'm jiggered if I don't find
him."
With which powerful asseveration Mr. Grim-
stone walked away, leaving his scout to keep
watch for the possible coming of the " Softy."
283
CIIAPTEK XIV.
TALBOT BULSTKODE MAKES ATONEMENT FOR THE
PAST.
John Mellish and Talbot Balstrode walked to
and fro upon the lawn before the drawing-room
windows on that afternoon on which the detective
and his underling lost sight of Stephen Hargraves.
It was a dreary time, this period of watching and
waiting, of uncertainty and apprehension ; and
poor John Mellish chafed bitterly under the
burden which he had to bear.
Now that his friend's common sense had come
to his relief, and that a few plain out-spoken
sentences had dispersed the terrible cloud of
mystery ; now that he himself was fully assured of
his wife's innocence, he had no patience with the
stupid country people who held themselves aloof
from the woman he loved. He wanted to go out
and do battle for his slandered wife ; to hurl back
every base suspicion into the faces that had
281 AURORA FLOYD.
scowled upon his idolized Aurora. How could
they dare, these foul-minded slanderers, to harbour
one base thought against the purest, the most
perfect of women ? Mr. Mellish of course quite
forgot that he, the rightful defender of all this
perfection, had suffered his mind to be for a time
obscured beneath the black shadow of that vile
suspicion.
He hated the old friends of his youth for their
base avoidance of him ; the servants of his house-
hold for a half-doubtful, half-solemn expression of
face, which he knew had relation to that growing-
suspicion, that horrible suspicion, which seemed to
grow stronger -with every hour. He broke out
into a storm of rage with the gray-haired butler,
who had carried him pick-a-back in his infancy,
because the faithful retainer tried to hold back
certain newspapers which contained dark allusions
to the Mellish mystery.
" Who told you I didn't want the ' Manchester
Guardian,' Jarvis ?" he cried fiercely ; "who gave
you the right to dictate what I'm to read or
what I'm to leave unread? I do want to-day's
' Guardian ;' to-day's, and yesterday's, and to-
morrow's, and every other newspaper that comes
TALBOT EULSTEODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 285
into this bouse. I won't have them overhauled
by you, or any one, to see whether they're pleasant
reading or not, before they're brought to me. Do
you think Tm afraid of anything these penny-a-
liner fellows can write ?" roared the young squire,
striking his open hand upon the table at which
lie sat. "Let them write their best or their
worst of me. But let them write one word that
can be twisted into an insinuation upon the purest
and truest woman in all Christendom, and, by the
Lord above me, I'll give them such a thrashing
penny-a-liners, printers, publishers, and every man-
Jack of them as shall make them remember the
business to the last hour of their lives !"
Mr. Mellish said all this in despite of the re-
straining presence of Talbot Bulstrode. Indeed,
the young member for Penruthy had by no means
a pleasant time of it during those few days of
anxiety and suspense. A keeper set to watch
over a hearty young jungle-tiger, and bidden to
prevent the noble animal from committing any
imprudence, might have found his work little
harder than that which Mr. Bulstrode did, patiently
and uncomplainingly, for pure friendship's sake.
John Mellish roamed about in the custody of
286 AURORA FLOYD.
this friendly keeper, with his short auburn hair
tumbled into a feverish-looking mass, like a field
of ripening corn that had been beaten by a summer
hurricane, his cheeks sunken and haggard, and a
bristling yellow stubble upon his chin. I dare say
he had made a vow neither to shave nor be
shaven until the murderer of James Conyers
should be found. He clung desperately to Talbot
Bulstrode,. but he clung with still wilder despera-
tion to the detective, the professional criminal
hunter, who had in a manner tacitly pledged
himself to the discovery of the real homicide.
All through the fitful August day, now hot and
still, now overclouded and showery, the master of
Mellish Park went hither and thither, now sitting
in his study ; now roaming out on the lawn ; now
pacing up and down the drawing-room, displacing,
disarranging, and overturning the pretty furniture ;
now wandering up and down the staircase, lolling on
the landing-places, and patrolling the corridor out-
side the rooms in which Lucy and Aurora sat together
making a show of employing themselves, but only
waiting, waiting, waiting, for the hoped-for end.
Poor John scarcely cared to meet that dearly-
loved wife ; for the great earnest eyes that looked
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 287
in his face always asked the same question so
plainly, always appealed so piteously for the
answer that could not be given.
It Avas a weary and a bitter time. I wonder,
as I write of it, when I think of a quiet Somerset-
shire household in which a dreadful deed was
done, the secret of which has never yet been
brought to light, and perhaps never will be
revealed until the Day of Judgment, what must
have been suffered by each member of that family ?
What slow agonies, what ever-increasing tortures,
while that cruel mystery was the " sensation "
topic of conversation in a thousand happy home-
circles, in a thousand tavern-parlours and pleasant
club-rooms ! a common and ever-interesting topic,
by means of which travellers in first-class railway
carriages might break down the ceremonial ice-
bergs which surround each travelling Englishman,
and grow friendly and confidential; a safe topic
upon which even tacit enemies might talk plea-
santly without fear of wrecking themselves upon
hidden rocks of personal insinuation. God help
that household, or any such household, through
the weary time of waiting which it may please
Him to appoint, uutil that day in which it shall
288 AURORA FLOYD.
be His good pleasure to reveal the truth ! God
help all patient creatures labouring under the
burden of an unjust suspicion, and support them
unto the end !
John Mellish chafed and fretted himself cease-
lessly all through that August day at the non-
appearance of the detective. Why didn't he
come ? He had promised to bring or send them
news of his proceedings. Talbot in vain assured
his friend that Mr. Grimstone was no doubt hard
at work ; that such a discovery as he had to make
was not to be made in a day ; and that Mr.
Mellish had nothing to do but to make himself as
comfortable as he could, and Avait quietly for the
event he desired so eagerly.
"I should not say this to you, John," Mr.
Bulstrode said by-and-by, " if I did not believe
as I know this man Grimstone believes that we
are upon the right track, and are pretty sure to
bring the crime home to the wretch who com-
mitted it. You can do nothing but be patient,
and wait the result of Grimstone's labours."
" Yes," cried John Mellish ; " and in the mean
time all these people are to say cruel things of
my darling, and keep aloof from her, and No, I
TALBOT BELSTEODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 289
can't bear it, Talbot ; I can't bear it. I'll turn
my back upon this confounded place ; I'll sell it ;
I'll burn it down ; I'll I'll do anything to get
away, and take my precious one from the wretches
who have slandered her !"
"That you shall not do, John Mellish," ex-
claimed Talbot Bulstrode, " until the murderer of
James Conyers has been discovered. Go away,
then, as soon as you like ; for the associations of
this place cannot be otherwise than disagreeable
to you for a time, at least. But until the truth
is out, you must remain here. If there is any
foul suspicion against Aurora, her presence here
will best give the lie to that suspicion. It was
her hurried journey to London which first set
people talking of her, I dare say," added Mr.
Bulstrode, who was of course entirely ignorant of
the fact that an anonymous letter from Mrs.
Powell had originally aroused the suspicions of
the Doncaster constabulary.
So through the long summer's day Talbot
reasoned with and comforted his friend, never
growing weary of his task, never for one moment
losing sight of the interests of Aurora Mellish and
her husband.
290 AURORA FLOYD.
Perhaps this was a self-imposed penalty for the
wrong which he had done the banker's daughter
long ago in the dim star-lit chamber at Felden. If
it was so, he did penance very cheerfully.
"Heaven knows how gladly I would do her
a service," he thought; "her life has been a
troubled one, in spite of her father's thousands.
Thank Heaven, my poor little Lucy has never
been forced into playing the heroine of a tragedy
like this ; thank Heaven, my poor little darling's
life flows evenly and placidly in a smooth
channel !"
He could not but reflect with something of a
shudder that it might have been his wife whose
history was being canvassed throughout the West
Biding. He could not be otherwise than pleased
to remember that the name of the woman he had
chosen had never gone beyond the holy circle of
her own' home, to be the common talk among
strangers.
There are tilings which are utterly unendurable
to some people, but which are not at all terrible
in the eyes of others. John Mellish, secure in his
own belief in his wife's innocence, would have
been content to carry her away with him, after
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 291
razing the home of his forefathers to the ground,
and defying all Yorkshire to find a flaw or speck
upon her fair fame. But Talbot Bulstrode would
have gone mad with the agony of the thought
that common tongues had defiled the name he
loved, and would, in no after-triumph of his wife's
innocence, been able to forget or to recover from
the torture of that unendurable agony. There
are people who cannot forget, and Talbot Bulstrode
was one of them. He had never forgotten Ins
Christmas agony at Felden Woods, and the after-
struggle at Bulstrode Castle; nor did he ever
hope to forget it. The happiness of the present,
pure and unalloyed though it was, could not
annihilate the anguish of the past. That stood
alone, so many months, weeks, days, and hours
of unutterable misery, riven away from the rest of
his life, to remain for ever a stony memorial upon
the smooth plains of the past.
Archibald Martin Floyd sat with his daughter
and Lucy, in Mrs. Mellish's morning-room, the
pleasantest chamber for many reasons, but chiefly
because it was removed from the bustle of the
house, and from the chance of unwelcome in-
trusion. All the troubles of that household had
VOL. III. x
292 AURORA FLOYD.
been made light of in the presence of the old man,
and no word had been dropped before him, which
could give him reason to guess that his only child
had been suspected of the most fearful crime that
man or woman can commit. But Archibald
Floyd was not easily to be deceived where his
daughter's happiness was in question ; he had
watched that beautiful face whose ever-varying
expression was its highest charm so long and
earnestly, as to have grown familiar with its every
look. No shadow upon the brightness of his
daughter's beauty could possibly escape the old
man's eyes, dim as they may have grown for the
figures in his banking-book. It was Aurora's
business, therefore, to sit by her father's side in
the pleasant morning-room, to talk to him and
amuse him ; while John rambled hither and
thither, and made himself otherwise tiresome to
his patient companion, Talbot Bulstrode. Mrs.
Hellish repeated to her father again and again,
that there was no cause for uneasiness ; they were
merely anxious naturally anxious that the
guilty man should be found and brought to
justice ; nothing more.
The banker accepted this explanation of his
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 293
daughter's pale face very quietly ; but he was not
the less anxious, anxious he scarcely knew why,
but with the shadow of a dark cloud hanging
over him, that was not to be driven away.
Thus the long August day wore itself out, and
the low sun blazing a lurid red behind the trees
in Mellish Wood, until it made that pool beside
which the murdered man had fallen, seem a pool
of blood gave warning that one weary day of
watching and suspense was nearly done.
John Mellish, far too restless to sit long at
dessert, had roamed out upon the lawn: still
attended by his indefatigable keeper, Talbot
Bulstrode, and employed himself in pacing up and
down the smooth grass amid Mr. Dawson's flower-
beds, looking always towards the pathway that
led to the house, and breathing suppressed ana-
themas against the dilatory detective.
._ " One day nearly gone, thank Heaven, Talbot !"
he said, with an impatient sigh. " Will to-
morrow bring us no nearer what we want, I
wonder ? What if it should go on like this for
long? what if it should go on for ever, until
Aurora and I go mad with this wretched anxiety
and suspense ? Yes, I know you think me a
x 2
294 AURORA FLOYD.
fool and a coward, Talbot Bulstrode ; but I can't
bear it quietly, I tell you I can't. I know there
are some people who can shut themselves up with
their troubles, and sit down quietly and suffer
without a groan ; but I can't. I must cry out
when I am tortured, or I should dash my brains
out against the first wall I came to, and make an
end of it. To think that anybody should suspect
my darling ! to think that they should believe her
to be "
" To think that you should have believed it,
John !" said Mr. Bulstrode, gravely.
"Ah, there's the crudest stab of all," cried
John ; " if I, I who know her, and love her, and
believe in her as man never yet believed in
woman, if I could have been bewildered and
maddened by that horrible chain of cruel circum-
stances, every one of winch pointed Heaven help
me! at her! if I could be deluded by these
things until my brain reeled, and I went nearly
mad with doubting my own dearest love, what
may strangers think strangers who neither know
nor love her, but who are only too ready to believe
anything unnaturally infamous ? Talbot, I wont
endure this any longer. I'll ride into Doncaster
TALBOT EULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 295
and see this man Grimstone. He must have
done some good to-day. I'll go at once."
Mr. Mellish would have walked straight off to
the stables ; but Talbot Bulstrode caught him by
the arm.
" You may miss the man on the road, John,"
he said. " He came last night after dark, and may
come as late to-night. There's no knowing whether
he'll come by the road, or the short cut across
the fields. You're as likely to miss him as not."
Mr. Mellish hesitated.
" He mayn't come at all to-night," he said ;
' and I tell you I can't bear this suspense."
"Let me ride into Doncaster, then, John,"
urged Talbot ; " and you stay here to receive
Grimstone if he should come."
Mr. Mellish was considerably mollified by this
proposition. ,
" Will you ride into the town, Talbot ?" he said.
" Upon my word, it's very kind of you to propose
it. I shouldn't like to miss this man upon any
account ; but at the same time I don't feel inclined
to wait for the chance of his coming or staying
away. I'm afraid I'm a great nuisance to you,
Bulstrode."
29G AUEOEA FLOYD.
"Not a bit of it," answered Talbot, with a
smile,
Perhaps he smiled involuntarily at the notion
of how little John Mellish knew what a nuisance
he had been through that weary day.
" I'll go with very great pleasure, John," he
said, "if you'll tell them to saddle a horse for
me.
" To be sure ; you shall have Red Rover, my
covert hack. We'll go round to the stables, and
see about him at once."
The truth of the matter is, Talbot Bulstrode
was very well pleased himself to hunt up the
detective, rather than that John Mellish should
execute that errand in person ; for it would have
been about as easy for the young squire to have
translated a number of the ' Sporting Magazine '
into Porsonian Greek, as to have kept a secret for
half an hour, however earnestly entreated, or how-
ever conscientiously determined to do so.
Mr. Bulstrode had made it his particular busi-
ness, therefore, during the whole of that day, to
keep his friend as much as possible out of the
way of every living creature, fully aware that Mr.
Mellish's manner would most certainly betray
TALBOT BULSTEODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 297
liim to the least observant eyes that might chance
to fall upon him.
Eed Hover was saddled, and, after twenty
loudly whispered injunctions' from John, Talbot
Bulstrode rode away in the evening sunlight. The
nearest way from the stables to the high road
took him past the north lodge. It had been shut
up since the day of the trainer's funeral, and such
furniture as it contained left to become a prey to
moths and rats ; for the Mellish servants were a
great deal too superstitiously impressed with the
story of the murder to dream of readmitting those
goods and chattels which had been selected for
Mr. Conyers's accommodation to the garrets whence
they had been taken. The door had been locked,
therefore, and the key given to Dawson the
gardener, who was to be once more free to use
the place as a storehouse for roots and matting,
superannuated cucumber-frames, and crippled gar-
den tools.
The place looked dreary enough, though the low
sun made a gorgeous illumination upon one of
the latticed windows that faced the crimson west,
and though the last leaves of the roses were still
lying upon the long grass in the patch of garden
298 AUROKA FLOYD.
before the door out of which Mr. Conyers had
gone to his last resting-place. One of the stable-
boys had accompanied Mr. Bulstrode to the lodge
in order to open the rusty iron gates, which hung
loosely on their hinges, and were never locked.
Talbot rode at a brisk pace into Doncaster, never
drawing rein until he reached the little inn at
which the detective had taken up his quarters.
Mr. Grimstone had been snatching a hasty refresh-
ment, after a weary and useless perambulation
about the town, and came out with his mouth full,
to speak to Mr. Bulstrode. But he took veiy
good care not to confess that since three o'clock
that day neither he nor his ally had seen or heard
of Mr. Stephen Hargraves, or that he was actually
no nearer the discovery of the murderer than ho
had been at eleven o'clock upon the previous night,
when he had discovered the original proprietor
of the fancy waistcoat, with buttons by Crosby,
Birmingham, in the person of Dawson the gardener.
" I'm not losing any time, sir," he said, in
answer to Talbot's inquiries ; " my sort of work's
quiet work, and don't make no show till it's done.
I've reason to think the man we want is in Don-
caster ; so I stick in Doncaster, and mean to, till
TALBOT BULSTKODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 29
I lay my hand upon him, unless I should get
information as would point further off. Tell Mr.
Mellish I'm doing my duty, sir, and doing it
conscientious ; and that I shall neither eat nor
drink nor sleep more than just as much as'll keep
human nature together, until I've done what I've
set my mind on doing."
" But you've discovered nothing fresh, then ?"
said Talbot ; "you've nothing new to tell me ?"
" Whatever I've discovered is neither here nor
there yet awhile, sir," answered the detective
vaguely. " You keep your heart up, and tell Mr.
Mellish to keep his heart up, and trust in me."
Talbot Bulstrode was obliged to be content
with this rather doubtful comfort. It was not
much, certainly ; but he determined to make the
best of it to John Mellish.
He rode out of Doncaster, past the Eeindeer
and the white-fronted houses of the wealthier
citizens of that prosperous borough, and away upon
the smooth high road. The faint shimmer of the
pale early moonlight lit up the tree-tops right
and left of him, as he left the suburb behind, and
made the road ghostly beneath his horse's feet.
He was in no very hopeful humour, after his
300 AURORA FLOYD.
interview with Mr. Grimstone, and he knew that
hungry-eyed members of the Doncaster consta-
bulary were keeping stealthy watch upon every
creature in the Mellish household, and that the
slanderous tongues of a greedy public were swell-
ing into a loud and ominous murmur against the
wife John loved. Every hour, every moment,
was of vital importance. A ( hundred perils
menaced them on every side. What might they
not have to dread from eager busy-bodies anxious
to distinguish themselves, and proud of being the
first to circulate a foul scandal against the lovely
daughter of one of the richest men upon the Stock
Exchange ? Hayward the coroner, and Lofthouse
the rector, both knew the secret of Aurora's life ;
and it would be little wonder if, looking at the
trainer's death by the light of that knowledge,
they believed her guilty of some share in the
ghastly business which had terminated the trainer's
service at Mellish Park.
What if, by some horrible fatality, the guilty
man should escape, and the truth never be re-
vealed ! For ever and for ever, until her blighted
name should be written upon a tombstone, Aurora
Mellish must rest under the shadow of this sus-
TALBOT BL'LSTKODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 301
picion. Could there be any doubt that the sen-
sitive and highly-strung nature would give way
under the unendurable burden; that the proud
heart would break beneath the undeserved disgrace ?
"What misery for her ! and not for her alone, but
for every one who loved her, or had any share in
her history ! Heaven pardon the selfishness that
prompted the thought, if Talbot Bulstrode re-
membered that he would have some part in that
bitter disgrace ; that his name was allied, if only
remotely, with that of his wife's cousin ; and that
the shame which would make the name of Mellish
a byword, must also cast some slur upon the
escutcheon of the Bnlstrodes. Sir Bernard Burke,
compiling the romance of the county families,
would tell that cruel story, and hinting cautiously
at Aurora's guilt, would scarcely fail to add, that
the suspected lady's cousin had married Talbot
Baleigh Bulstrode, Esq., eldest son and heir of
Sir John Walter Raleigh Bulstrode, Baronet, of
Bulstrode Castle, Cornwall.
Now, although the detective had affected a
hopeful and even mysterious manner in his brief
interview with Talbot, he had not succeeded in
hoodwinking that gentleman, who had a vague
302 AURORA FLOYD.
suspicion that all was not quite right, and that
Mr. Joseph Grimstone was by no means so certain
of success as he pretended to be.
"It's my firm belief that this man Hargraves
has given him the slip," Talbot thought. "He
said soniething'about believing him to be in Don-
caster, and then the next moment added that he
might be further off. It's clear, therefore, that
Grimstone doesn't know where he is ; and in that
case it's as likely as not that the man's made off
with his money, and will get away from England,
in spite of us. If he does this "
Mr. Bulstrode did not finish the sentence. He
had reached the north lodge, and dismounted to
open the iron gate. The lights of the house
shone hospitably far away beyond the wood, and
the voices of some men about the stable-gates
sounded faintly in the distance; but the north
lodge and the neglected shrubbery around it were
as silent as the grave, and had a certain phantom-
like air in the dim moonlight,
Talbot led his horse through the gates. He
looked up at the windows of the lodge, as he
passed, half involuntarily ; but he stopped with a
suppressed exclamation of surprise, at the sight of
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT 303
a feeble glimmer, wliich was not the moonlight, in
the window of that upper chamber in which the mur-
dered man had slept. Before that exclamation
had well-nigh crossed his lips, the light had dis-
appeared.
If any one of the Mellish grooms or stable-boys
had beheld that brief apparition, he would have
incontinently taken to his heels, and rushed
breathless to the stables, with a wild story of some
supernatural horror in the north lodge ; but Mr.
Bulstrode being altogether of another mettle,
walked softly on, still leading his horse, until he
was well out of ear-shot of any one within the
lodge, when he stopped and tied the Red Rover's
bridle to a tree, and turned back towards the
north gates, leaving the corn-fed covert hack
cropping greedily at dewy hazel twigs, and any
greenmeat within his reach.
The heir of Sir John Walter Raleigh Bulstrode
crept back to the lodge, almost as noiselessly as
if he had been educated for Mr. Grimstone's
profession, choosing the grassy pathway beneath
the trees for his cautious footsteps. As he
approached the wooden paling that shut in the
little garden of the lodge, the light which had
301 AURORA FLOYD.
been so suddenly extinguished, reappeared behind
the white curtain of the upper window.
"It's queer!" mused Mr. Bulstrode, as he
watched the feeble glimmer ; " but I dare say
there's nothing in it. The associations of this
place are strong enough to make one attach a
foolish importance to anything connected with it.
I think I heard John say the gardeners keep their
tools there, and I suppose it's one of them. But
it's late, too, for any of them to be at work."
It had struck ten while Mr. Bulstrode rode
homeward ; and it was more than unlikely that
any of the Mellish servants would be out at such a
time.
Talbot lingered by the wicket-gate, irresolute
as to what he should do next, but thoroughly
determined to see the last of this late visitor at
the north lodge, when the shadow of a man flitted
across the white cm-tain, a shadow even more
weird and ungainly than such things are ; the
shadow of a man with a hump-back !
Talbot Bulstrode uttered no cry of surprise;
but his heart knocked furiously against his ribs,
and the blood rushed hotly to his face. He never
remembered having seen the " Softy ;" but he had
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 305
always heard him described as a hump-backed
man. There could be no doubt of the shadow's
identity ; there could be still less doubt that
Stephen Hargraves had visited that place for no
good purpose. What could bring him there to
that place above all other places, which, if he were
indeed guilty, he would surely most desire to
avoid? Stolid, semi-idiotic, as he was supposed
to be, surely the common terrors of the lowest
assassin, half brute, half Caliban, would keep him
away from that spot. These thoughts did not
occupy more than those few moments in winch the
violent beating of Talbot Bulstrode's heart held
him powerless to move or act ; then, pushing open
the gate, he rushed across the tiny garden, tramp-
ling recklessly upon the neglected flower-beds, and
softly tried the door. It was firmly secured with
a heavy chain and padlock.
"He has got in at the window, then," thought
Mr. Bulstrode. " What, in Heaven's name, coidd
be his motive in coming here ?"
Talbot was right. The little lattice-window
had been wrenched nearly off its hinges, and hung
loosely among the tangled foliage that surrounded
it. Mr. Bulstrode did not hesitate a moment
306 AURORA FLOYD.
before lie plunged head foremost into the narrow
aperture through which the " Softy " must have
found his way, and scrambled as he could into the
little room. The lattice, strained still further,
dropped, with a crashing noise, behind him ; but not
soon enough to serve as a warning for Stephen
Hargraves, who appeared upon the lowest step of
the tiny corkscrew staircase at the same moment.
He was carrying a tallow candle in a battered tin
candlestick in his right hand, and he had a small
bundle under his left arm. His white face was no
whiter than usual, but he presented an awfully
corpse-like appearance to Mr. Bulstrode, who had
never seen him, or noticed him, before. The
" Softy " recoiled, with a gesture of intense terror,
as he saw Talbot; and a box of lucifer-matches,
which he had been carrying in the candlestick,
rolled to the ground.
" What are you doing here ?" asked Mr. Bul-
strode, sternly ; " and why did you come in at the
window ?"
" I warn't doin' no wrong ;" the " Softy " whined
piteously; "and it aint your business neither,"
he added, with a feeble attempt at insolence.
" It is my business. I am Mr. Mellish's friend
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 307
and relation ; and I have reason to suspect that
you are here for no good purpose," answered
Talbot. " I insist upon knowing what you eame for."
" I haven't come to steal owght, anyhow," said
Mr. Hargraves ; " there's nothing here but chairs
and tables, and 'taint loikely I've come arter them."
" Perhaps not ; but you have come after some-
thing, aud I insist upon knowing what it is. 1 ou
wouldn't come to this place unless you'd a very
strong reason for coming. What have you got
there ?"
Mr. Bulstrode pointed to the bundle carried by the
" Softy." Stephen Hargraves' small red-brown eyes
evaded those of his questioner, and made believe
to mistake the direction in which Talbot looked.
"What have you got there?" repeated Mr.
Bulstrode ; " you know well enough what I mean.
What have you got there, in that bundle under
your arm ?"
The " Softy " clutched convulsively at the dingy
bundle, and glared at his questioner with some-
thing of the savage terror of some ugly animal at
bay. Except that in his brutalized manhood, he
was more awkward, and perhaps more repulsive,
than the ugliest of the lower animals.
VOL. III. Y
308 AURORA FLOYD.
" It's nowght to you, nor to anybody else," he
muttered sulkily. "I suppose a poor chap may
fetch his few bits of clothes without being called
like this ?"
" What clothes ? Let me see the clothes ?"
" No, I won't ; they're nowght to you. They
it's only an old weskit as was give me by one o'
th' lads in th' steables."
" A waistcoat !" cried Mr. Bulstrode ; " let me
see it this instant. A waistcoat of yours has been
particularly inquired for, Mr. Hargraves. It's a
chocolate waistcoat, with yellow stripes and brass
buttons, unless I'm very much mistaken. Let me
see it."
Talbot Bulstrode was almost breathless with
excitement. The " Softy" stared aghast at the
description of his waistcoat, but he was too stupid
to comprehend instantaneously the reason for
which this garment was wanted. He recoiled for
a few paces, and then made a rush towards the
window ; but Talbot's hands closed upon his collar,
and held him as if in a vice. ,
"You'd better not trifle with me," cried Mr.
Bulstrode; "I've been accustomed to deal with
refractory Sepoys in India, and I've had a strug-
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 309
gle with a tiger before now. Show me that
waistcoat !"
"I won't!"
" By the Heaven above us, you shall !"
"I won't!"
The two men closed with each other in a hand-
to-hand struggle. Powerful as the soldier was,
he found himself more than matched by Stephen
Hargraves, whose thick-set frame, broad shoul-
ders, and sinewy arms were almost Herculean in
their build. The struggle lasted for a consider-
able time, or for a time that seemed considerable
to both of the combatants; but at last it drew
towards its termination, and the heir of all the
Bulstrodes, the commander of squadrons of horse,
the man who had done battle with bloodthirsty
Sikhs, and ridden against the black mouths of
Russian cannon at Balaclava, felt that he could
scarcely hope to hold out much longer against
the half-witted hauger-on of the Mellish stables.
The horny fingers of the " Softy " were upon his
throat, the long arms of the " Softy " were writhing
round him, and in another moment Talbot Bul-
strode lay upon the floor of the north lodge, with
the " Softy's " knee planted upon his heaving chest.
y 2
310 AUEORA FLOYD.
Another moment, and in the dim moonlight,
the candle had been thrown down and trampled
upon in the beginning of the scuffle, the heir of
Bulstrode Castle saw Stephen Hargraves fumbling
with his disengaged hand in his breast-pocket.
One moment more, and Mr. Bulstrode heard
that sharp metallic noise only associated with the
opening of a clasp-knife.
" E'es," hissed the " Softy," with his hot breath
close upon the fallen man's cheek, "you wanted
t' see th' weskit, did you ; but you sha'n't, for I'll
serve you as I served him. 'Taint loikely 111
let you stand between me and two thousand
pound."
Talbot Raleigh Bulstrode had a faint notion
that a broad Sheffield blade flashed in the silvery
moonlight; but at this moment his senses grew
confused under the iron grip of the " Softy's "
hand, and he knew little, except that there was a
sudden crashing of glass behind him, a quick
trampling of feet, and a strange voice roaring
some seafaring oath above his head. The suffo-
cating pressure was suddenly removed from his
throat ; some one, or something, was hurled into
a comer of the little room; and Mr. Bulstrode
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 311
sprang to his feet, a trifle dazed and bewildered,
but quite ready to do battle again.
" Who is it ?" he cried.
" It's me, Samuel Prodder," answered the voice
that had uttered that dreadful seafaring oath.
"You were pretty nigh done for, mate, when I
came aboard. It aint the first time I've been up
here after dark, takin' a quiet stroll and a pipe,
before turning in over yonder." Mr. Prodder indi-
cated Doncaster by a backward jerk of his thumb.
" I'd been watchin' the light from a distance, till it
went out suddenly five minutes ago, and then I
came up close to see what was the matter. I don't
know who you are, or what you are, or why you've
been quarrelling ; but I know you've been pretty
near as nigh your death to-night as ever that chap
was in the wood."
" The waistcoat !" gasped Mr. Bulstrode ; " let
me see the waistcoat !"
He sprang once more upon the "Softy," who
had rushed towards the door, and was trying to
beat out the panel with his iron-bound clog ; but
this time Mr. Bulstrode had a stalwart ally in the
m erchant-captain.
" A bit of rope comes uncommon handy in these
312 AURORA FLOYD.
cases," said Samuel Prodder; "for which reason
I always make a point of carrying it somewhere
about me."
He plunged up to his elbow in one of the capa-
cious pockets of his tourist peg-tops, and produced
a short coil of tarry rope. As he might have
lashed a seaman to a mast in the last crisis of a
wreck, so he lashed Mr. Stephen Hargraves now,
binding him right and left, until the struggling
arms and legs, and writhing trunk, were fain to
be still.
" Now, if you want to ask him any questions, I
make no doubt he'll answer 'em," said Mr. Prodder,
politely. " You'll find him a deal quieter after that."
"I can't thank you now," Talbot answered
hurriedly ; " there'll be time enough for that
by-and-by."
"Ay, ay, to be sure, mate," growled the cap-
tain ; " no thanks is needed where no thanks is
due. Is there anything else I can do for you ?"
" Yes, a good deal presently ; but I must find
this waistcoat first. Where did he put it, I won-
der ? Stay, I'd better try and get a light. Keep
your eye upon that man while I look for it."
Captain Prodder only nodded. He looked upon
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 313
his scientific lashing of the " Softy " as the triumph
of art ; but ho hovered near his prisoner in com-
pliance with Talbot's request, ready to fall upon
him if he should make any attempt to stir.
There was enough moonlight to enable Mr.
Bulstrode to find the lucifers and candlestick after
a few minutes' search. The candle was not im-
proved by having been trodden upon ; but Talbot
contrived to light it, and then set to work to look
for the waistcoat.
The bundle had rolled into a corner. It was
tightly bound with a quantity of whip-cord, and
was harder than it could have been had it con-
sisted solely of the waistcoat.
"Hold the light for me while I undo this,"
Talbot cried, thrusting the candlestick into Mr.
Prodder's hand. He was so impatient that he
could scarcely wait while he cut the whipcord
about the bundle with the " Softy's " huge clasp-
knife, which he had picked up while searching
for the candle.
"I thought so," he said, as he unrolled the
waistcoat ; " the money's here."
The money was there, in a small Eussia-leather
pocket-book, in winch Aurora had given it to the
314 AUBORA FLOYD.
murdered man. If there had been any confirma-
tion needed for this fact, the savage jftl of rage
which broke from. Stepken's lips would have
afforded that confirmation.
"It's the money," cried Talbot Bulstrode. "I
call upon you, sir, to bear witness, whoever you
may be, that I find this waistcoat and this pocket-
book in the possession of this man, and that I
take them from him after a struggle, in which he.
attempts my life."
" Ay, ay ! I know him well enough," muttered
the sailor ; he's a bad 'un ; and him and me have
had a stand further, before this."
" And I call upon you to bear witness that this
man is the murderer of James Conyers."
" What ?" roared Samuel Prodder ; " him !
Why, the double-dyed villain : it was him that put
it into my head that it was my sister Eliza's chi
that it was Mrs. Mellish "
"Yes, yes, I know. But we've got him now.
Will you run to the house, and send some of the
men to fetch a constable, while I stop here ?"
Mr. Prodder assented willingly. He had as-
sisted Talbot in the first instance without any idea
of what the business was to lead to. Now he was
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 315
quite as much excited as Mr. Bulstrode. He
scrambledPthrough the lattice, and ran off to the
stables, guided by the lighted windows of the
groom's dormitories.
Talbot waited very quietly while he was gone.
He stood at a few paces from the " Softy," watch-
ing Mr. Hargraves as he gnawed savagely at his
bonds, in the hope perhaps of setting himself free.
"I shall be ready for you," the young Cornish-
man said quietly, " whenever you're ready for me."
A crowd of grooms and hangers-on came with
lanterns before the constables could arrive ; and
foremost amongst them came Mr. John Mellish,
very noisy and very unintelligible. The door of
the lodge was opened, and they all burst into the
little chamber, where, heedless of grooms, gardeners,
stable-boys, hangers-on, and rabble, John Mellish
fell on his friend's breast and wept aloud.
L'Envoi.
What more have I to tell of this simple drama
of domestic life ? The end has come. The
element of tragedy which has been so inter-
mingled in the history of a homely Yorkshire
squire and his wife, is henceforth to be banished
316 AURORA FLOYD.
from the record of their lives. The dark story
which began in Aurora Floyd's folly, SKl culmi-
nated in the crime of a half-witted serving-man,
has been told from the beginning to the end. It
would be worse than useless to linger upon the de-
scription of a trial which took place at York at the
Michaelmas Assizes. The evidence against Stephen
Hargraves was conclusive ; and the gallows out-
side York Castle ended the life of a man who had
never been either help or comfort to any one of
his fellow-creatures. There was an attempt made
to set up a plea of irresponsibility upon the part
of the " Softy," and the sobriquet which had been
given him was urged in his defence ; but a set of
matter-of-fact-jurymen looking at the circum-
stances of the murder, saw nothing in it but a most
cold-blooded assassination, perpetrated by a wretch
whose sole motive was gain ; and the verdict
winch found Stephen Hargraves guilty, was tem-
pered by no recommendation to mercy. The con-
demned murderer protested his innocence up to
the night before his execution, and upon that
night made a full confession of his crime, as is
generally the custom of his kind. He related
how he had followed James Conyers into the
TALBOT BULSTKODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 317
wood upon the night of his assignation with
Aurora, M& how he had watched and listened
during the interview. He had shot the trainer
in the back while Mr. Conyers sat by the
water's edge looking over the notes in the
pocket-book, and he had used a button off his
waistcoat instead of wadding, not finding anything
else suitable for the purpose. He had hidden the
waistcoat and pocket-book in a rat-hole in the
wainscoat of the murdered man's chamber, and,
being dismissed from the lodge suddenly, had been
compelled to leave his booty behind him, rather
than excite suspicion. It was thus that he had
returned upon the night on Avhich Talbot found
him, meaning to secure his prize and start for
Liverpool at six o'clock the following morning.
Aurora and her husband left Mellish Park im-
mediately after the committal of the " Softy " to
York prison. They went to the south of France,
accompanied by Archibald Floyd, and once more
travelled together through scenes which were
overshadowed by no sorrowful association. They
lingered long at Nice, and here Talbot and Lucy
joined them, with an impedimental train of luggage
and servants, and a Normandy nurse with a blue-
318 AURORA FLOYD.
eyed girl-baby. It was at Nice that another baby
was born, a black-eyed child a boy, I believe but
wonderfully like that solemn-faced infant which
Mrs. Alexander Floyd carried to the widowed
banker two-and-twenty years before at Felden
Woods.
It is almost supererogatory to say that Samuel
Prodder, the sea-captain, was cordially received
by hearty John Mellish and his wife. He is to
be a welcome visitor at the Park whenever he
pleases to come ; indeed, he is homeward bound
from Barbadoes at this very time, his cabin-presses
filled to overflowing with presents which he is
carrying to Aurora, in the way of chillis preserved
in vinegar, guava-jelly, the strongest Jamaica rum,
and other trifles suitable for a lady's acceptance.
It may be some comfort to the gentlemen in Scot-
land Yard to know that John Mellish acted libe-
rally to the detective, and gave him the full re-
ward, although Talbot Bulstrode had been the
captor of the " Softy."
So we leave Aurora, a little changed, a shade
less defiantly bright, perhaps, but unspeakably
beautiful and tender, bending over the cradle of
her first-born; and though there are alterations
TALBOT BULSTRODE MAKES ATONEMENT. 319
being made at Mellish, and loose-boxes for brood
mares bundling upon the site of the north lodge,
and a subscription tad-gallop being laid across
Harper's Common, I doubt if my heroine will
care so much for horseflesh, or take quite so keen
an interest in weight-for-age races as compared to
handicaps, as she has done in the days that are
gone.