Reade_Griffith_Gaunt.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I
" THEN I say, once for all, that priest shall never darken my
doors again."
" Then I say, they are my doors, and not yours, and that
holy man shall brighten them whenever he will."
The gentleman and lady, who faced each other pale and
furious, and interchanged this bitter defiance, were man and
wife, and had loved each other well.
Miss Catherine Peyton was a young lady of ancient family
in Cumberland, and the most striking, but least popular
beauty in the county. She was very tall and straight, and
carried herself a little too imperiously ; yet she would some-
times relax and all but dissolve that haughty figure, and hang
sweetly drooping over her favourites : then the contrast was
delicious, and the woman fascinating.
Her hair was golden and glossy; her eyes a lovely
grey; and she had a way of turning them on slowly and
full, so that their victim could not fail to observe two things :
(1.) that they were grand and beautiful orbs; (2.) that they
were thoughtfully overlooking him instead of looking at
him.
So contemplated by glorious eyes, a man feels small and
bitter.
Catherine was apt to receive the blunt compliments of the
Cumberland squires with this sweet, celestial, superior gaze,
' !_!, ,,,! ^,4-V.o-.. i.-^y^pviol rV f VrP, V 7 " """" 1 r ivorl
than lii
., family er.tatf w her brother; her father
she h-n! ru money, and no
i
GRIFFITH GAUNT
expectations, except from a distant cousin, Mr. Charlton, of
Hernshaw Castle and Bolton Hall.
Even these soon dwindled ; Mr. Charlton took a fancy to
his late wife's relation, Griffith Gaunt, and had him into his
house, and treated him as his heir. This disheartened two
admirers who had hitherto sustained Catherine Peyton's gaze,
and they retired. Comely girls, girls long-nosed but rich, girls
snub-nosed but winning, married on all sides of her, but the
imperial beauty remained Miss Peyton at two-and-twenty.
She was rather kind to the poor would give them money
out of her slender purse, and would even make clothes for the
women, and sometimes read to them (very few of them could
read to themselves in that day). All she required in return
was that they should be Roman Catholics, like herself, or
at least pretend they might be brought to that faith by little
and little.
She was a high-minded girl, and could be a womanly one
whenever she chose.
She hunted about twice a week in the season, and was at
home in the saddle, for she had ridden from a child ; but so
ingrained was her character, that this sport, which more or
less unsexes most women, had no perceptible effect on her
mind, nor even on her manners. The scarlet riding-habit, and
little purple cap, and the great white bony horse she rode
were often seen in a good place at the end of a long run ;
but, for all that, the lady was a most ungenial fox-huntress.
She never spoke a word but to her acquaintances, and wore a
settled air of dreamy indifference, except when the hounds
happened to be in full cry, and she galloping at their heels.
Worse than that, when the hounds were running into the
fox, and his fate certain, she had been known to rein in
her struggling horse, and pace thoughtfully home, instead of
coming in at the death, and claiming the brush.
One day, being complimented at the end of a hard run
by the gentleman who kept the hounds, she turned her
celestial orbs on him and said, " Nay, Sir Ralph, I love to
gallop ; and this sorry business it gives me an excuse."
It was full a hundred years ago : the country teemed with
foxes ; but it abounded in stiff coverts, and a knowing fox
was sure to run from one to another; and then came weari-
some efforts to dislodge him ; and then Miss Peyton's grey
eyes used to explore vacancy, and ignore her companions,
biped and quadruped.
GRIFFITH GAUNT
But one day they drew Yewtree Brow and found a stray
fox. At Gay lad's first note he broke cover and went away
for home across the open country. A hedger saw him steal
out, and gave a view halloo ; the riders came round helter
skelter; the hounds in cover one by one threw up their
noses and voices ; the horns blew, the canine music swelled
to a strong chorus, and away they swept across country dogs,
horses, men ; and the deuce take the hindmost.
It was a gallant chase, and our dreamy virgin's blood got
up. Erect, but lithe and vigorous, and one with her great
white gelding, she came flying behind the foremost riders,
and took leap for leap with them. One glossy, golden curl
streamed back in the rushing air, her grey eyes glowed with
earthly fire, and two red spots on the upper part of her
cheeks showed she was much excited without a grain of fear ;
yet in the first ten minutes one gentleman was unhorsed
before her eyes, and one came to grief along with his animal,
and a thoroughbred chestnut was galloping and snorting beside
her with empty saddle. Presently young Featherstone, who
led her by about fifteen yards, crashed through a high hedge,
and was seen no more, but heard wallowing in the deep
unsuspected ditch beyond. There was no time to draw
bridle. "Lie still, sir, if you please," said Catherine, with
cool civility ; then up rein, in spur, and she cleared the ditch
and its muddy contents, alive and dead, and away without
looking behind her.
On, on, on, till all the pinks and buckskins, erst so smart,
were splashed with clay and dirt of every hue, and all the
horses' late glossy coats were bathed with sweat and lathered
with foam, and their gaping nostrils blowing and glowing
red ; and then it was that Harrowden brook, swollen wide
and deep by the late rains, came right between the fox and
Dogmore underwood, for which he was making.
The hunt sweeping down a hill-side caught sight of
Reynard running for the brook. They made sure of him
now. But he lapped a drop, and then slipped in, and soon
crawled out on the other side, and made feebly for the
covert, weighted with wet fur.
At sight of him the hunt hallooed and trumpeted, and
came tearing on with fresh vigour.
But, when they came near the brook, lo ! it was twenty
feet wide, and running fast and brown. Some riders skirted
it, looking for a narrow part. Two horses, being spurred at
it, came to the bank, and then went rearing round on their
GRIFFITH GAUNT
heels, depositing one hat and another rider in the current.
One gallant steed planted his feet like a tower, and snorted
down at the water. One flopped gravely in and had to
swim, and be dragged out. Another leaped, and landed
with his feet on the other bank, his haunches in the water,
and his rider curled round his neck and glaring out between
his retroverted ears.
But Miss Peyton encouraged her horse with spur and
voice, set her teeth, turned rather pale this time, and went
at the brook with a rush, and cleared it like a deer. She
ami the huntsman were almost alone together on the other
side, and were as close to the hounds as the hounds were to
poor pug, when he slipped through a run in a quickset
hedge, and glided into Dogmore underwood, a stiff hazel
coppice of five years' growth.
The other riders soon straggled up, and then the thing
was to get him out again. There were a few narrow roads
cut in the underwood, and up and down these the huntsman
and whipper-in went trotting, and encouraged" the staunch
hounds, and whipped the skulkers back into covert. Others
galloped uselessly about, pounding the earth, for daisy-cutters
were few in those days ; and Miss Peyton relapsed into the
transcendental. She sat in one place with her elbow on
her knee, and her fair chin supported by two fingers, as un-
disturbed by the fracas of horns and voices as an equestrian
statue of Diana.
She sat so still, and so long, at a corner of the underwood,
that at last the harassed fox stole out close to her, with
lolling tongue and eye askant, and took the open field again.
She thrilled at first sight of him, and her cheeks burned ;
but her quick eye took in all the signs of his distress, and
she sat quiet and watched him coolly. Not so her horse ; he
plunged and then trembled all over, and planted his fore-
feet together at this angle \, and parted his hind-legs a little,
and so stood quivering, with cocked ears, and peeped over a
low paling at the retiring quadruped, and fretted and
sweated in anticipation of the gallop his long head told him
was to follow. He looked a deal more statuesque than any
three statues in England ; and all about a creature not up to
his knee and by-the-bye ; the gentlemen that carve horses
in our native isle, did they ever see one ? out of an omni-
bus ? The whipper-in came by and found him in this gallant
attitude, and suspected the truth ; but observing the rider's
tranquil position, thought the fox had only popped out and
4
GRIFFITH GAUNT
then in again. However, he fell in with the huntsman and
told him Miss Peyton's grey had seen something. The hounds
appeared puzzled ; and so the huntsman rode round to Miss
Peyton, and, touching his cap, asked her if she had seen
anything of the fox.
She looked him dreamily in the face. " The fox," said she ;
" he broke cover ten minutes ago."
The man blew his horn lustily, and then asked her re-
proachfully why she had not tally-hoed him, or winded her
horn ; with that he blew his own again impatiently. Miss
Peyton replied very slowly and pensively that the fox had
come out soiled and fatigued, and trailing his brush. " I
looked at him," said she, " and I pitied him ; he was one,
and we are many ; he was so little, and we are so big : he
had given us a good gallop ; and so I made up my mind he
should live to run another day."
The huntsman stared stupidly at her for a moment, then
burst into a torrent of oaths, then blew his horn till it was
hoarse, then cursed and swore till he was hoarse himself;
then to his horn again, and dogs and men came rushing to
the sound.
"Couple up and go home to supper," said Miss Peyton
quietly. " The fox is half-way to Gallowstree Gorse, and you
won't get him out of that this afternoon, I promise you."
As she said this, she just touched her horse with the spur,
leaped the low hedge in front of her, and cantered slowly
home across country ; she was one that seldom troubled the
hard road, go where she would.
She had ridden about a mile when she heard a horse's feet
behind her ; she smiled, and her colour rose a little, but she
cantered on,
" Halt ! in the King's name," shouted a mellow voice, and
a gentleman galloped up to her side, and reined in his
mare.
" What ! have they killed ? " inquired Catherine demurely.
" Not they ; he is in the middle of Gallowstree Gorse by
now."
" And is this the way to Gallowstree Gorse ? "
" Nay, mistress," said the young man ; " but when the fox
heads one way and the deer another, what is a poor hunter
to do ? "
" Follow the slower, it seems."
" Say the lovelier and the dearer, sweet Kate."
" Now, Griffith, you know I hate flattery," said Kate ; and
5
GRIFFITH GAUNT
the next moment came a soft smile, and belied this unsocial
sentiment.
" Flattery ? " said the lover. " I have no tongue to speak
half your praise. I think the people in this country are as
blind as bats, or they'd "
" All except Mr. Griffith Gaunt ; he has found a paragon
where wiser people see a wayward, capricious girl."
''Then he is the man for you. Don't you see that,
mistress ? "
" No, I don't quite see that," said the lady drily.
This cavalier reply caused a dismay the speaker never
intended. The fact is, Mr. George Neville, young, hand-
some, and rich, had lately settled in the county, and had
been greatly smitten with Kate. The county was talking
about it, and Griffith had been secretly on thorns for some
days past. And now he could hide his uneasiness no longer ;
he cried out, in a sharp, trembling voice, "Why, Kate, my
dear Kate, what, could you love any man but me ? Could
you be so cruel ? could you ? There, let me get off my
horse, and lie down on this stubble, and you ride over me,
and trample me to death. I would rather have you trample
on my ribs than on my heart with loving any one but me."
" Why, what now ? " said Catherine, drawing herself up.
" I must scold you handsomely ; " and she drew rein and
turned full upon him ; but by this means she saw his face
was full of real distress ; so, instead of reprimanding him,
she said gently, " Why, Griffith, what is to do ? Are you not
my servant ? Do not I send you word whenever I dine from
home ? "
"Yes, dearest; and then I call at that house, and stick
there till they guess what I would be at, and ask me too."
Catherine smiled ; and proceeded to remind him that
thrice a week she permitted him to ride over from Bolton
(a distance of fifteen miles) to see her.
" Yes," replied Griffith, " and I must say you always come,
wet or dry, to the shrubbery gate, and put your hand in mine
a minute. And, Kate," said he piteously, " at the bare thought
of your putting that same dear hand in another man's, my
heart turns sick within me, and my skin burns and trembles
on me."
" But you have no cause," said Catherine soothingly.
" Nobody, except yourself, doubts my affection for you. You
are often thrown in my teeth, Griffith and (clenching her
own) I like you all the better of course."
6
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith replied with a burst of gratitude, and then, as men
will, proceeded to encroach. " Ah," said he, " if you would
but pluck up courage, and take the matrimonial fence with
me at once."
Miss Peyton sighed at that and drooped a little upon her
saddle. After a pause, she enumerated the "just impedi-
ments." She reminded him that neither of them had means
to marry on.
He made light of that he should soon have plenty ; Mr.
Charlton had as good as told him he was to have Bolton Hall
and Grange : " Six hundred acres, Kate, besides the park
and paddocks."
In his warmth he forgot that Catherine was to have been
Mr. Charlton's heir. Catherine was too high-minded to bear
Griffith any grudge ; but she coloured a little, and said she
was averse to come to him a penniless bride.
"Why, what matters it which of us has the dross, so
that there is enough for both ? " said Griffith, with an air of
astonishment.
Catherine smiled approbation, and tacitly yielded that
point. But then she objected the difference in their faith.
" Oh, honest folk get to heaven by different roads," said
Griffith carelessly.
" I have been taught otherwise," replied Catherine gravely.
" Then give me your hand and I'll give you my soul," said
Griffith Gaunt impetuously. "I'll go to heaven your way,
if you can't go mine. Anything sooner than be parted in
this world or the next."
She looked at him in silence ; and it was in a faint, half
apologetic tone she objected that all her kinsfolk were set
against it.
" It is not their business it is ours," was the prompt reply.
"Well, then," said Catherine sadly, "I suppose I must tell
you the true reason : I feel I should not make you happy ;
I do not love you quite as you want to be loved, as you
deserve to be loved. You need not look so ; nothing in
flesh and blood is your rival. But my heart it bleeds for
the Church. I think of her ancient glory in this kingdom,
and, when I see her present condition, I long to devote
myself to her service. I am very fit to be an abbess or a
nun ; most unfit to be a wife. No, no ; I must not, ought
not, dare not marry a Protestant. Take the advice of one
who esteems you dearly ; leave me fly from me forget me
do everything but hate me. Nay, do not hate me : you
7
GRIFFITH GAUNT
little know the struggle in my mind. Farewell : the saints,
whom you scorn, watch over and protect you : farewell."
And with this she sighed, and struck her spur into the
grey, and he darted off at a gallop.
Griffith, little able to cope with such a character as this,
sat .petrified, and would have been rooted to the spot if he
had happened to be on foot. But his mare set off after
her companion, and a chase of a novel kind commenced.
Catherine's horse was fresher than Griffith's mare, and the
latter, not being urged by her petrified master, lost ground.
But when she drew near to her father's gate, Catherine
relaxed her speed, and Griffith rejoined her.
She had already half relented, and only wanted a warm
and resolute wooer to bring her round. But Griffith was
too sore and too little versed in woman. Full of suspicion
and bitterness, he paced gloomy and silent by her side,
till they reached the great avenue that led to her father's
house.
And, while he rides alongside the capricious creature in
sulky silence, I may as well reveal a certain foible in his
own character.
This Griffith Gaunt was by no means deficient in physical
courage ; but he was instinctively disposed to run away
from mental pain the moment he lost hope of driving it
away from him. For instance, if Catherine had been ill
and her life in danger, he would have ridden day and night
to save her ; but if she had died he would either have killed
himself, or else fled the country, and so escaped the sight of
every object that was associated with her, and could agonise
him. I do not think he could have attended the funeral of
one he loved.
The mind, as well as the body, has its self-protecting
instincts. This of Griffith's was after all an instinct of that
class, and under certain circumstances is true wisdom. But
Griffith, I think, carried the instinct to excess ; and that is
why I call it his foible.
" Catherine," said he resolutely, " let me ride by your side
to the house for once ; for I read your advice my own way,
and I mean to follow it : after to-day you will be troubled
with me no more. I have loved you these three years, I
have courted you these two years, and I am none the nearer.
I see I am not the man you mean to marry ; so I shall do as
my father did, ride down to the coast, and sell my horse, and
ship for foreign parts."
8
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Oh, as you will/' said Catherine haughtily. She quite
forgot she had just recommended him to do something of
this very kind.
Presently she stole a look. His fine ruddy cheek was
pale ; his manly brown eyes were moist ; yet a gloomy and
resolute expression on his tight-drawn lips. She looked at
him sidelong, and thought how often he had ridden thirty
miles on that very mare to get a word with her at the
shrubbery gate. And now the mare to be sold ! The man
to go broken- hearted to sea ; perhaps to his death 1 Her
good heart began to yearn. " Griffith/' said she softly, " it
is not as if I was going to wed anybody else. Is it nothing
to be preferred by her you say you love ? If I was you I
would do nothing rash. Why not give me a little time ? In
truth, I hardly know my own mind about it two days
together."
" Kate/' said the young man firmly, " I am courting you
this two years. If I wait two years more it will be but to
see the right man come and carry you in a month ; for so
girls are won when they are won at all. Your sister that is
married and dead, she held Josh Pitt in hand for years ; and
what is the upshot ? Why, he wears the willow for her to
this day; and her husband, he married again before her
grave was green. Nay, I have done all an honest man can
do to woo you ; so take me now or let me go."
At this, Kate began to waver secretly, and ask herself
whether it would not be better to yield, since he was so
resolute.
But the unlucky fellow did not leave well alone. He went
on to say, " Once out of sight of this place I may cure myself
of my fancy. Here I never could."
"Oh," said Catherine directly, "if you are so bent on
being cured, it would not become me to say nay."
Griffith Gaunt bit his lip and hung his head, and made no
reply.
The patience with which he received her hard speech was
more apparent than real : but it told. Catherine, receiving
no fresh positive provocation, relented again of her own accord,
and, after a considerable silence, whispered softly, " Think
how we should all miss you."
Here was an overture to reconciliation. But unfortunately
it brought out what had long been rankling in Griffith's mind,
and was in fact the real cause of the misunderstanding.
"Oh!" said he, "those I care for will soon find another to
9
GRIFFITH GAUNT
take my place. Soon, quotha. They have not waited till I
was gone for that."
"Ah, indeed!" said Catherine, with some surprise: then,
like the quick-witted girl she was, " So this is what all the
coil is about." She then, with a charming smile, begged him
to inform her who was his destined successor in her esteem.
Griffith coloured purple at her cool hypocrisy (for such he
considered it), and replied, almost fiercely, " Who but that
young black-a-vised George Neville, that you have been
coquetting with this month past ; and danced all night with
him at Lady Munster's ball, you did."
Catherine blushed, and said deprecatingly, " You were
not there, Griffith ; or to be sure I had not danced with
him."
" And he toasts you by name wherever he goes."
" Can I help that ? Wait till I toast him before you make
yourself ridiculous, and me very angry about nothing."
Griffith, sticking to his one idea, replied doggedly, " Mistress
Alice Peyton shilly-shallied with her true lover for years
till Richard Hilton came that was not fit to tie his shoes, and
then ." Catherine cut him short : " Affront me, if nothing
less will serve ; but spare my sister in her grave." She began
this sentence angrily, but concluded it in a" broken voice.
Griffith was half disarmed, but only half. He answered
sullenly, "She did not die till she had jilted an honest
gentleman, and broken his heart, and married a sot, to her
cost. And you are of her breed, when all is done ; and now
that young coxcomb has come, like Dick Hilton, between
you and me."
" But I do not encourage him."
"You do not cfocourage him," retorted Griffith, "or he
would not be so hot after you. Were you ever the woman
to say, ' I have a servant already that loves me dear ' ? That
one frank word had sent him packing."
Miss Peyton coloured, and the water came into her eyes.
" I may have been imprudent," she murmured. " The young
gentleman made me smile with his extravagance. I never
thought to be misunderstood by him, far less by you." Then,
suddenly, bold as brass, " 'Tis all your fault ; if he had the
power to make you uneasy, why did you not check me
before ? "
" Ay, forsooth ! and have it cast in my teeth I was a jealous
monster, and played the tyrant before my time. A poor
fellow scarce knows what to be at that loves a coquette."
10
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Coquette I am none/' replied the lady, bridling magnifi-
cently.
Griffith took no notice of this interruption. He proceeded
to say that he had hitherto endured this intrusion of a rival
in silence, though with a sore heart, hoping his patience
might touch her, or the fire go out of itself. But at last, un-
able to bear it any longer in silence, he had shown his wound
to one he knew could feel for him, his poor friend Pitt. Pitt
had then let him know that his own mistake had been over-
confidence in Alice Peyton's constancy. " He said to me,
' Watch your Kate close, and, at the first blush of a rival, say
you to her, Part with him, or part with me.' "
Catherine pinned him directly. "And this is how you
take Joshua Pitt's advice by offering to run away from this
sorry rival."
The shrewd reply, and a curl of the lip, half arch, half
contemptuous, that accompanied the thrust, staggered the
less ready Griffith. He got puzzled, and showed it.
"Well, but," stammered he at last, "your spirit is high;
I was mostly afeard to put it so plump to you. So I thought
I would go about a bit. However, it comes to the same thing ;
for this I do know, that if you refuse me your hand this day,
it is to give it to a new acquaintance, as your Alice did before
you. And, if it is to be so, 'tis best for me to be gone ;
best for him and best for you. You don't know me, Kate,
for as clever as you are. At the thought of your playing me
false, after all these years, and marrying that George Neville,
my heart turns to ice, and then to fire ; my head seems ready
to burst, and my hands to do mad and bloody acts. Ay, I
feel I should kill him, or you, or both, at the church porch.
Ah ! " He suddenly griped her arm, and at the same time
involuntarily checked his mare.
Both horses stopped.
She raised her head with an inquiring look, and saw her
lover's face discoloured with passion, and so strangely con-
vulsed, that she feared at first he was in a fit, or stricken with
death or palsy.
She uttered a cry of alarm, and stretched forth her hand
towards him.
But the next moment she drew it back from him; for,
following his eye, she discerned the cause of this ghastly look.
Her father's house stood at the end of the avenue they had
just entered ; but there was another approach to it, viz., by a
bridle-road at right angles to the avenue or main entrance ;
11
GRIFFITH GAUNT
and up that bridle-road a gentleman was walking his horse,
and bade fair to meet them at the hall door.
It was young Neville. There was no mistaking his piebald
charger for any other animal in that county.
Kate Peyton glanced from lover to lover, and shuddered at
Griffith. She was familiar with petty jealousy ; she had even
detected it pinching or colouring many a pretty face that
tried very hard to hide it all the time. But that was nothing
to what she saw now. Hitherto she had but beheld the feeling
of jealousy, but now she witnessed the livid passion of jealousy
writhing in every lineament of a human face. That terrible
passion had transfigured its victim in a moment : the ruddy,
genial, kindly Griffith, with his soft brown eye, was gone ;
and in his place lowered a face, older, and discoloured, and
convulsed, and almost demoniacal.
Women (wiser perhaps in this than men) take their strongest
impressions by the eye, not ear. Catherine, I say, looked
at him she had hitherto thought she knew; looked and
feared him. And, even while she looked and shuddered,
Griffith spurred his mare sharply, and then drew her head
across the grey gelding's path. It was an instinctive impulse
to bar the lady he loved from taking another step towards
the place where his rival awaited her. " I cannot bear it" he
gasped. " Choose you now once for all between that puppy
there and me ; " and he pointed with his riding-whip at his
rival, and waited with his teeth clenched for her decision.
The movement was rapid, the gesture large and com-
manding, and the words manly ; for what says the fighting
poet ?
" He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who fears to put it to the touch,
To win or lose it alL"
CHAPTER II
Miss PEYTON drew herself up, and back, by one motion, like
a queen at bay ; but still she eyed him with a certain respect,
and was careful now not to provoke nor pain him needlessly.
" I prefer you though you speak harshly to me, sir," said
she, with gentle dignity.
12
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Then give me your hand with that man in sight,, and end
my torments : promise to marry me this very week. Ah,
Kate ! have pity on your poor faithful servant who has loved
you so long."
" I do, Griffith, I do," said she sweetly ; " but I shall never
marry now. Only set your mind at rest about Mr. Neville
there. He has never asked me, for one thing."
" He soon will then."
" No, no ; I declare I will be very cool to him after what
you have said to me. But I cannot marry you neither. I
dare not. Listen to me, and do pray govern your temper as
I am doing mine. I have often read of men with a passion
for jealousy I mean men whose jealousy feeds upon air, and
defies reason. I know you now for such a man. Marriage
would not cure this madness, for wives do not escape admira-
tion any more than maids. Something tells me you would be
jealous of every fool that paid me some stale compliment,
jealous of my female friends, and jealous of my relations, and
perhaps jealous of your own children, and of that holy per-
secuted Church which must still have a large share of my
heart. No, no ; your face and your words have shown me a
precipice. I tremble and draw back, and now I never will
marry at all ; from this day I give myself to the Church."
Griffith did not believe one word of all this. " That is
your answer to me," said he bitterly. " When the right man
puts the question (and he is not far off) you will tell another
tale. You take me for a fool, and you mock me ; you are
not the lass to die an old maid, and men are not the fools to
let you. With faces like yours, the new servant comes before
the first one is gone. Well, I have got my answer. County
Cumberland, you are no place for me. The ways and the
fields we two have rid together, oh ! how could I bear their
sight without my dear ? Why, what a poor-spirited fool am
I to stay and whine ! Come, mistress, your lover waits you
there, and your discarded servant knows good breeding : he
leaves the country not to spoil your sport."
Catherine panted heavily. " Well, sir," said she, " then it
is your doing, not mine. Will you not even shake hands with
me, Griffith ? "
" I were a brute else," sighed the jealous one, with a
sudden revulsion of feeling. "I have spent the happiest
hours of my life beside you. If I loved thee less I had never
left thee."
He clung a little while to her hand, more like a drowning
13
GRIFFITH GAUNT
man than anything else ; then let it go, and suddenly shook
his clenched fist in the direction of George Neville, and
cried out with a savage yell, " My curse on him that parts us
twain ! And you, Kate, may God bless you single and cur
you married : and that is my last word in Cumberland."
"Amen," said Catherine resignedly.
And even with this they wheeled their horses apart, and
rode away from each other: she very pale, but erect with
wounded pride ; he reeling in his saddle like a drunken
man.
And so Griffith Gaunt, stung mad by jealousy, affronted his
sweetheart, the proudest girl in Cumberland, and, yielding to
his foible, fled from his pain.
Our foibles are our manias.
CHAPTER III
Miss PEYTON was shocked, and grieved at bottom, but she
was also affronted and wounded. Now anger seems to have
some fine buoyant quality, which makes it v rise and come
uppermost in an agitated mind. She rode proudly into the
courtyard of her father's house, and would not look once
behind to see the last of her perverse lover.
The old. groom, Joe, who had taught her to ride when
she was six years old, saw her coming, and hobbled out to
hold her horse, while she alighted. " Mistress Kate," said
he, " have you seen Master Griffith Gaunt anywheres ? "
The young lady coloured at this question. " Why ? "
said she.
" Why ? " repeated old Joe, a little contemptuously.
" Why, where have you been not to know the country is out
after un ? First corned Jock Dennet, with his horse all in
a lather, to say old Mr. Charlton was took ill, and had asked
for Master Griffith. I told him to go to Dogmore Copse.
' Our Kate is a hunting to-day,' says I, ' and your Griffith
he is sure not to be far from her gelding's tail : ' a sticks
in his spurs and away a goes : what, han't you seen Jock
neither ? "
" No, no," replied Miss Peyton impatiently : " what, is
there anything the matter ? "
" The matter, quo she ! Why, Jock hadn't been gone an
14
GRIFFITH GAUNT
hour when in rides the new footman all in a lather, and
brings a letter for Master Griffith from the old gentleman's
housekeeper. 'You leave the letter with me, in case/
says I, and I sends him a-field after t'other. Here be the
letter."
He took off his cap and produced the letter.
Catherine started at the sight of it. " Alas !" said she,
" this is a heavy day. Look, Joe ; sealed with black ! Poor
cousin Charlton ! I doubt he is no more."
Joe shook his head expressively, and told her the butcher
had come from that part not ten minutes ago, with word
that the blinds were all down at Bolton Hall.
Poor human nature ! a gleam of joy shot through Catherine's
heart ; this sad news would compel Griffith to stay at home
and bury his benefactor ; and that delay would give him time
to reflect ; and somehow or other she felt sure it would end
in his not going at all.
But these thoughts had no sooner passed through her than
she was ashamed of them and of herself. What, welcome
that poor old man's death because it would keep her cross-
grained lover at home ? Her cheeks burned with shame,
and with a superfluous exercise of self-defence she retired
from Old Joe, lest he should divine what was passing in
her mind.
But she was so rapt in thought that she carried the letter
away with her unconsciously.
As she passed through the hall she heard George Neville
and her father in animated conversation. She mounted the
stairs softly, and went into a little boudoir of her own on
the first floor, and sat down. The house stood high, and
there was a very expansive and beautiful view of the country
from this window. She sat down by it and drooped, and
looked wistfully through the window, and thought of the
past, and fell into a sad reverie. Pity began to soften her
pride and anger, and presently two gentle tears dimmed her
glorious eyes a moment, and then stole down her delicate
cheeks.
While she sat thus lost in the past, jovial voices and creak-
ing boots broke suddenly upon her ear, and came up the
stairs : they jarred upon her ; so she cast one last glance out
of the window, and rose to get out of their way if possible :
but it was too late ; a heavy step came to the door, and a
ruddy port-drinking face peeped in. It was her father.
" See-ho ! " roared the jovial squire. " I've found the hare
15
GRIFFITH GAUNT
on her form : bide thou outside a moment." And he entered
the room; but he had no sooner closed the door than his
whole manner changed from loud and jovial to agitated and
subdued. "Kate, my girl/' said he piteously, "I have been
a bad father to thee. I have spent all the money that should
have been thine ; thy poor father can scarce look thee in the
face. So now I bring thee a good husband : be a good child
now, and a dutiful. Neville's Court is his, and Neville's
Cross will be, by the entail ; and so will the baronetcy. I
shall see my girl Lady Neville."
" Never, papa, never," cried Kate.
" Hush ! hush ! " said the squire, and put up his hand to
her in great agitation and alarm : " hush 1 or he will hear ye.
Kate," he whispered, " are you mad ? Little I thought,
when he asked to see me, it was to offer marriage. Be a
good girl now : don't you quarrel with good luck. You are
not fit to be poor, and you have made enemies. Do but
think how they will flout you when I die, and Bill's jade of
a wife puts you to the door, as she will ; and now you can
triumph over them all my Lady Neville ; and make your
poor father happy my Lady Neville. Enough said, for I
have promised you ; so don't go and make a fool of me and
yourself into the bargain. And and a word in your ear ;
he has lent me a hundred pounds."
At this climax the father hung his head; the daughter
winced and moaned out, " Papa ! how could you ? "
Mr. Peyton had gradually descended to that intermediate
stage of degradation when the substance of dignity is all gone,
but its shadow, shame, remains. He stamped impatiently on
the ground, and cut his humiliation short by rushing out of
the room. " Here, try your own luck, youngster," he cried
at the door. "She knows my mind." He trampled down
the stairs, and young George Neville knocked respectfully at
the door, though it was half open, and came in with youth's
light foot, and a handsome face flushed into beauty by love
and hope.
Miss Peyton's eye just swept him as he entered, and with
the same movement she turned away her fair head and blush
ing cheek towards the window ; yet, must I own it, she quietly
moulded the letter that lay in her lap, so that the address was
no longer visible to the new-comer.
Small secrecy, verging on deceit, you are bred in women's
bones.
This blushing and averted cheek is one of those equivocal
16
GRIFFITH GAUNT
receptions that have puzzled many a sensible man. It is a
sign of coy love ; it is a sign of gentle aversion. Our mode of
interpreting it is simple and judicious ; whichever it happens
to be we go and take it for the other.
The brisk, bold wooer that now engaged Kate Peyton was
not the man to be dashed by a woman's coyness. Handsome,
daring, good-humoured, and vain, he had everything in his
favour but his novelty.
Look at Kate ! her eye lingers wistfully on that disconso-
late horseman whose every step takes him farther from her ;
but George has her ear, and draws closer and closer to it, and
^ pours love's mellow murmurs into it.
He told her he had made the grand tour, and seen the
beauties of every land, but none like her ; other ladies had
certainly pleased his eye for a moment, but she alone had
conquered his heart. He said many charming things to her,
such as Griffith Gaunt had never said. Amongst the rest, he
assured her the beauty of her person would not alone have
fascinated him so deeply ; but he had seen the beauty of her
mind in those eyes of hers that seemed not eyes, but souls ;
and, begging her pardon for his presumption, he aspired to
wed her mind.
Such ideas had often risen in Kate's own mind ; but to hear
them from a man was new. She looked askant through the
window at the lessening Griffith, and thought " how the grand
tour improves a man ! " and said as coldly as she could, " I
esteem you, sir, and cannot but be flattered by sentiments so
superior to those I am used to hear ; but let this go no further.
I shall never marry now."
Instead of being angry at this, or telling her she wanted to
marry somebody else, as the injudicious Griffith had done,
young Neville had the address to treat it as an excellent jest,
and drew such comical pictures of all the old maids in the
neighbourhood that she could not help smiling.
But the moment she smiled, the inflammable George made
hot love to her again. Then she besought him to leave her,
piteously. Then he said cheerfully he would leave her as
soon as ever she had promised to be his. At that she turned
sullen and haughty, and looked through the window, and took
no notice of him whatever. Then, instead of being discour-
aged or mortified, he showed imperturbable confidence and
good humour, and begged archly to know what interesting
object was in sight from that window. On this she blushed
17 B
GRIFFITH GAUNT
and withdrew her eyes from the window, and so they met his.
On that he threw himself on his knees (custom of the day),
and wooed her with such a burst of passionate and tearful
eloquence that she began to pity him, and, said she, lifting her
lovely eyes, " Alas ! I was born to make all those I esteem
unhappy ; " and she sighed deeply.
" Not a bit of it," said he ; " you were born, like the sun,
to bless all you shine upon. Sweet Mistress Kate, I love you
as these country boors can never be taught to love. I lay
my heart, my name, my substance at your feet : you shall
not be loved you shall be worshipped. Ah ! turn those
eyes, brimful of soul, on me again, and let me try and read
in them that one day, no matter how distant, the delight of
my eyes, the joy of all my senses, the pride of Cumberland,
the pearl of England, the flower of womankind, the rival of
the angels, the darling of George Neville's heart, will be
George Neville's wife."
Fire and water were in his eyes, passion in every tone ;
his manly hand grasped hers and trembled, and drew her
gently towards him.
Her bosom heaved ; his passionate male voice and manner
electrified her, and made her flutter. " Spare me this pain,"
she faltered ; and she looked through the window and thought,
" Poor Griffith was right after all, and I was wrong. He had
cause for jealousy, and CAUSE FOR FEAR."
And then she pitied him who panted at her side, and then
was sorry for him who rode away disconsolate, still lessening
to her eye ; and what with this conflict, and the emotion her
quarrel with Griffith had already caused her, she leaned her
head back against the shutter, and began to sob low, but
almost hysterically.
Now, Mr. George Neville was neither a fool nor a novice.
If he had never been downright in love before (which I crave
permission to doubt), he had gone far enough on that road to
make one Italian lady, two French, one Austrian, and one
Creole in love with him ; and each of these love affairs had
given him fresh insight into the ways of women. Enlightened
by so many bitter-sweet experiences, he saw at once that
there was something more going on inside Kate's heaving
bosom than he could have caused by offering her his hand.
He rose from his knees, and leaned against the opposite
shutter, and fixed his eyes a little sadly, but very observantly,
on her, as she leaned back against the shutter, sobbing low,
but hysterically, and quivering all over.
18
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" There's some other man at the bottom of this/' thought
George Neville.
"Mistress Kate/' said he gently, "I do not come here
to make you weep. I love you like a gentleman ; if you
love another, take courage, tell me so, and don't let your
father constrain your inclinations. Dearly as I love you, I
would not wed your person and your heart another's ; that
would be too cruel to you, and (drawing himself up with
sudden majesty) too unjust to myself."
Kate looked up at him through her tears, and admired
this man, who could love ardently, yet be proud and just.
And if this appeal to her candour had been made yesterday,
she would have said frankly, " There is one I esteem." But,
since the quarrel, she would not own to herself, far less to
another, that she loved a man who had tunied his back upon
her. So she parried.
" There is no one I love enough to wed/' said she. " I am
a cold-hearted girl, born to give pain to my betters. But I
shall do something desperate to end all this."
" All what ? " said he keenly.
" The whole thing my unprofitable life."
" Mistress Kate/' said Neville, " I asked you was there
another man. If you had answered me, ' In truth there is,
but he is poor and my father is averse/ or the like, then I
would have stood his friend, for your sake. But you say
there is no man you love. Then I say you shall be Dame
Neville."
" What whether I will or no ? "
" Yes ; whether you think you will or no."
Catherine turned her dreamy eyes on him.
" You have had a good master. Why did you not come to
me sooner ? "
She was thinking more of him than of herself, and in fact
paying too little heed to her words. But she had no sooner
uttered this inadvertent speech than she felt she had said
too much ; she blushed a rosy red, and hid her face in her
hands in the most charming confusion.
" Sweetest, it is not an hour too late, as you do not love
another," was stout George Neville's reply.
But nevertheless the cunning rogue thought it safest to
temporise, and put his coy mistress off her guard. So he
ceased to alarm her by pressing the question of marriage, but
seduced her into a charming talk, where the topics were not
so personal ; and only the tones of his voice and the glances
19
GRIFFITH GAUNT
than one ? Perhaps he would throw the letter down in a
rage and never read it.
Steps came rapidly, the door opened, and there was George
Neville again ; but not the same George Neville that went
out but thirty seconds before. He stood at the door looking
very black, and with a sardonic smile on his lips. " An excel-
lent jest, mistress," said he ironically.
" Why, what is the matter ? " said the lady stoutly : but her
red cheeks belied her assumption of innocence.
" Oh, not much," said George, with a bitter sneer. " It is
an old story ; only I thought you were nobler than the rest
of your sex. This letter is to Mr. Griffith Gaunt."
"Well, sir," said Kate, with a face of serene and candid
innocence.
"And Mr. Griffith Gaunt is a suitor of yours."
" Say, was. He is so no longer. He and I are out. But for
that, think you I had even listened to what you have been
saying to me this ever so long ? "
"Oh, that alters the case," said George. "But stay !" and
he knitted his brows and reflected. Up to a moment ago the
loftiness of Catherine Peyton's demeanour, and the celestial
something in her soul-like dreamy eyes, had convinced him
she was a creature free from the small dishonesty $nd duplicity
he had noted in so many women otherwise amiable and good.
But this business of the letter had shaken the illusion.
" Stay," said he stiffly. " You say Mr. Gaunt and you are
out."
Catherine assented by a movement of her fair head.
" And he is leaving the country. Perhaps this letter is to
keep him from leaving the country ? "
" Only until he has buried his benefactor," murmured Kate,
in deprecating accents.
George wore a bitter sneer at this. " Mistress Kate," said
he, after a significant pause, " do you read Moliere ? "
She bridled a little, and would not reply; she knew
Moliere quite well enough not to want his wit levelled at her
head.
" Do you admire the character of Celimene ? "
No reply.
" You do not. How can you ? She was too much your
inferior. She never sent one of her lovers with a letter to
the other to stop his flight. Well, you may eclipse Celimene ;
but permit me to remind you that I am George Neville, and
not Georges Dandin."
22
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Miss Peyton rose from her seat with eyes that literally
flashed fire, and, the horrible truth must be told, her first
wild impulse was to reply to all this Moliere with one cut of
her little riding-whip ; but she had a swift mind, and two
reflections entered it together first, that this would be unlike
a gentlewoman; secondly, that if she whipped Mr. Neville,
however slightly, he would not lend her his piebald horse :
so she took stronger measures she just sank down again and
faltered, " I do not understand these bitter words : I have
no lover at all : I never will have one again. But it is hard
to think I cannot make a friend, nor keep a friend." And so
lifted up her hands and began to cry piteously.
Then the stout George was taken aback, and made to
think himself a ruffian.
" Nay, do not weep so, Mistress Kate," said he hurriedly.
"Come, take courage. I am not jealous of Mr. Gaunt, a
man that hath been two years dangling after you and could
not win you. I look but to my own self-respect in the
matter. I know your sex better than you know yourselves.
Were I to carry that letter you would thank me now, but by-
and-by despise me ; now, as I mean you to be my wife, I will
not risk your contempt. Why not take my horse, put who
you like on him, and so convey the letter to Mr. Gaunt ? "
Now this was all the fair mourner wanted ; so she said,
"No, no, she would not be beholden to him for anything;
he had spoken harshly to her, and misjudged her cruelly,
cruelly oh ! oh ! oh ! "
Then he implored her to grant him this small favour ; then
she cleared up and said, " Well, sooner than bear malice, she
would." He thanked her for granting him that favour.
She went off with the letter, saying, "I will be back anon."
But, once she got clear, she opened the door again, and peeped
in at him gaily, and said she, "Why not ask me who wrote the
letter before you compared me to that French coquette?"
and with this made him an arch curtsey and tripped away.
Mr. George Neville opened his eyes with astonishment.
This arch question, and Kate's manner of putting it, con-
vinced him the obnoxious missive was not a love-letter at all.
He was sorry now, and vexed with himself for having called
her a coquette, and made her cry. After all, what was the
mighty favour she had asked of him ? To carry a sealed
letter from somebody or other to a person who, to be sure,
had been her lover, but was so no longer. A simple act of
charity and civility, and he had refused it in injurious terms.
23
GRIFFITH GAUNT
He was glad he had lent his horse, and almost sorry he
had not taken the letter himself.
To these chivalrous self-reproaches succeeded an uneasy
feeling that perhaps the lady might retaliate somehow. It
struck him, on reflection, that the arch query she had let
fly at him was accompanied with a certain sparkle of the
laughing eye, such as ere now had, in his experience, pre-
ceded a stroke of the feminine claw.
As he walked up and down, uneasy, awaiting the fair one's
return, her father came up, and asked him to dine and sleep.
What made the invitation more welcome was that it in reality
came from Kate. " She tells me she has borrowed your horse,"
said the squire, " so, says she, I am bound to take care of you
till daylight, and indeed our ways are perilous at night."
" She is an angel ! " cried the lover, all his ardour revived
by this unexpected trait ; " my horse, my house, my hand, and
my heart are all at her service by night and day."
Mr. Peyton, to while away the time before dinner, invited
him to walk out and see a hog : deadly fat, as times went.
But Neville denied himself that satisfaction on the plea
that he had his orders to await Miss Peyton's return where
he was. The squire was amused at his excessive docility, and
winked, as much as to say, " I have been once upon a time in
your plight ;" and so went and gloried in his hog alone.
The lover fell into a delicious reverie. He enjoyed by
anticipation the novel pleasure of an evening passed all alone
with this charming girl. The father, being friendly to his
suit, would go to sleep after dinner; and then, by the
subdued light of a wood-fire, he would murmur his love into
that sweet ear for hours, until the averted head should come
round by degrees, and the delicious lips yield a coy assent.
He resolved the night should not close till he had surprised,
overpowered, and secured his lovely bride.
These soft meditations reconciled him for a while to the
prolonged absence of their object.
In the midst of them he happened to glance through the
window, and he saw a sight that took his very breath away,
and rooted him in amazement to the spot. About a mile
from the house a lady in a scarlet habit was galloping across
country as the crow flies. Hedge, ditch, or brook, nothing
stopped her an instant ; and as for the pace
She seemed in running to devour the way.
It was Kate Peyton on his piebald horse.
24
GRIFFITH GAUNT
CHAPTER IV
GRIFFITH GAUNT, unknown to himself, had lost temper as
well as heart before he took the desperate step of leaving the
country. Now, his temper was naturally good ; and, ere he
had ridden two miles, he recovered it. To his cost ; for
the sustaining force of anger being gone, he was alone with
his grief. He drew the rein half mechanically, and from a
spirited canter declined to a walk.
And the slower he went the chillier grew his heart, till it
lay half ice, half lead in his bosom.
Parted ! oh word pregnant with misery.
Never to see those heavenly eyes again, nor hear that
silvery voice ! Never again to watch that peerless form walk
the minuet, nor see it lift the grey horse over a fence with
the grace and spirit that seemed inseparable from it !
Desolation streamed over him at the thought. And next
his forlorn mind began to cling even to the inanimate
objects that were dotted about the place which held her.
He passed a little farmhouse into which Kate and he had
once been driven by a storm, and had sat together by the
kitchen fire ; and the farmer's wife had smiled on them for
sweethearts, and made them drink rum and milk, and stay
till the sun was fairly out. " Ah ! good-bye, little farm," he
sighed, " when shall I ever see you again ? "
He passed a brook where they had often stopped together
and given their panting horses just a mouthful after a run
with the harriers. " Good-bye, little brook ! " said he ; "you
will ripple on as before, and warble as you go ; but I shall
never drink at your water more, nor hear your pleasant
murmur with her I love."
He sighed and crept away, still making for the sea.
In the icy depression of his heart, his body and his senses
were half paralysed, and none would have known the accom-
plished huntsman in this broken man, who hung anyhow over
his mare's neck, and went to and fro in the saddle.
When he had gone about five miles, he came to the crest
of a hill ; he remembered that, once past that brow, he could
see Peyton Hall no more. He turned slowly and cast a
sorrowful look at it.
It was winter, but the afternoon sun had come out bright.
The horizontal beams struck full upon the house, and all the
25
GRIFFITH GAUNT
western panes shone like burnished gold her veiy abode how
glorious it looked ! And he was to see it no more.
He gazed and gazed at the bright house till love and
sorrow dimmed his eyes, and he could see the beloved place
no more. Then his dogged will prevailed, and carried him
away towards the sea, but crying like a woman now, and
hanging all dislocated over his horse's mane.
Now about a mile farther on, as he crept along on a vile and
narrow road, all woebegone and broken, he heard a mighty
scurry of horse's feet in the field to his left ; he looked lan-
guidly up, and the first thing he saw was a great piebald
horse's head and neck in the act of rising in the air, and
doubling his fore-legs under him to leap the low hedge a
yard or two in front of him.
He did leap, and landed just in front of Griffith ; his rider
curbed him so keenly that he went back almost on his
haunches, and then stood motionless all across the road, with
quivering tail. A lady in a scarlet riding-habit and purple cap
sat him as if he had been a throne instead of a horse, and
without moving her body, turned her head swift as a snake,
and fixed her great grey eyes full and searching on Griffith
Gaunt.
He uttered a little shout of joy and amazement, his mare
reared and plunged, and then was quiet. And thus Kate
Peyton and he met at right angles and so close that it
looked as if she had meant to ride him down.
How he stared at her ! how more than mortal fair she shone,
returning to those bereaved eyes of his as if she had really
dropped from heaven.
His clasped hands, his haggard face channelled by tears,
showed the keen girl she was strong where she had thought
herself weak, and she comported herself accordingly, and in
one moment took a much higher tone than she had intended
as she came along.
"I am afraid," said she, very coldly, "you will have to
postpone your journey a day or two. I am grieved to tell
you that poor Mr. Charlton is dead."
Griffith uttered an exclamation.
" He asked for you, and messengers are out after you on
every side. You must go to Bolton at once."
" Well-a-day ! " said Griffith, "has he left me too good
kind old man, on any other day I had found tears for thee.
But now methinks happy are the dead. Alas ! sweet mis-
tress, I hoped you came to tell me you had I might what
26
GRIFFITH GAUNT
signifies what I hoped when I saw you had deigned to ride
after me. Why should I go to Bolton after all ? "
" Because you will be an ungrateful wretch else. What !
leave others to carry your kinsman and your benefactor to
his grave, while you turn your back on him and inherit his
estate ? For shame, sir ! for shame ! "
Griffith expostulated humbly. " How hardly you judge me.
What are Bolton Hall and Park to me now ? They were to
have been yours, you know. And yours they shall be. I
came between and robbed you. To be sure the old man knew
my mind : he said to himself, ' Griffith or Kate, what matters
it who has the land ? they will live together on it.' But all
that is changed now ; you will never share it with me ; and
so I do feel I have no right to the place. Kate, my own
Kate, I have heard them sneer at you for being poor, and it
made my heart ache. I'll stop that anyway. Go you in my
place to the funeral ; he that is dead will forgive me ; his
spirit knows now what I endure : and I'll send you a writing,
all sealed and signed, shall make Bolton Hall and Park yours ;
and, when you are happy with some one you can love, as well
as I love you, think sometimes of poor jealous Griffith, that
loved you dear and grudged you nothing ; but," grinding his
teeth and turning white, " I can't live in Cumberland, and
see you in another man's arms."
Then Catherine trembled, and could not speak awhile ; but
at last she faltered out, " You will make me hate you."
" God forbid ! " said simple Griffith.
" Well then, don't thwart me, and provoke me so, but just
turn your horse's head and go quietly home to Bolton Hall,
and do your duty to the dead and the living. You can't go
this way for me and my horse ; " then, seeing him waver, this
virago faltered out, " and I have been so tried to-day, first
by one, then by another, surely you might have some pity
on me. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! "
" Nay, nay," cried Griffith, all in a nutter : " I'll go without
more words ; as I am a gentleman I will sleep at Bolton this
night, and will do my duty to the dead and the living.
Don't you cry, sweetest : I give in. I find I have no will
but yours."
The next moment they were cantering side by side, and
never drew rein till they reached the cross roads.
" Now tell me one thing," stammered Griffith, with a most
ghastly attempt at cheerful indifference. " How do you
happen to be on George Neville's horse ? "
27
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Kate had been expecting this question for some time, yet
she coloured high when it did come. However, she had her
answer pat. The horse was in the stable-yard, and fresh ;
her own was tired. " What was I to do, Griffith ? And now,"
added she, hastily, " the sun will soon set, and the roads are
bad; be careful. I wish I could ask you to sleep at our
house ; but there are reasons " she hesitated ; she could
not well tell him George Neville was to dine and sleep there.
Griffith assured her there was no danger ; his mare knew
every foot of the way.
They parted ; Griffith rode to Bolton ; and Kate rode
home.
It was past dinner-time. She ran upstairs, and hurried
on her best gown and her diamond comb. For she began
to quake now at the prank she had played with her guest's
horse : and Nature taught her that the best way to soften
censure is to be beautiful.
on pardonne tout aux belles.
And certainly she was passing fair, and queenly with her
diamond comb.
She came downstairs, and was received by her father ; he
grumbled at being kept waiting for dinner. ,
Kate easily appeased the good-natured squire, and then
asked what had become of Mr. Neville.
" Oh, he is gone long ago : remembered, all of a sudden,
he had promised to dine with a neighbour."
Kate shook her head sceptically, but said nothing. But
a good minute after, she inquired, "How did he go? on
foot ? "
The squire did not know.
After dinner Old Joe sought an interview, and was ad-
mitted into the dining-room.
" Be it all right about the grey horse, Master ? "
" What of him ? " asked Kate.
" He be gone to Neville Court, Mistress. But I suppose
(with a horrid leer) it is all right. Muster Neville told me
all about it. He said, says he, ' Some do break a kine or
the likes on these here jyful occasions ; other some do
exchange goold rings. Your young mistress and me, we.
exchange nags. She takes my pieball ; I take her grey ; '
says he. ' Saddle him for me, Joe,' says he, ' and wish me
jy.' So I clapped Muster Neville's saddle on the grey, and
a gave me a goolden guinea a did, and I was so struck of a
28
GRIFFITH GAUNT
heap I let un go without wishing on him jy ; but I hollered
it arter un, as hard as I could. How you looks ! It be all
right, baint it ? "
Squire Peyton laughed heartily, and said he concluded it
was all right : " The piebald," said he, " is rising five, and
I've had the grey ten years. We have got the sunny side of
that bargain, Joe." He gave Joe a glass of wine and sent him
off, inflated with having done a good stroke in horseflesh.
As for Kate she was red as fire, and kept her lips close as
wax ; not a word could be got out of her. The less she said
the more she thought. She was thoroughly vexed, and sore
perplexed how to get her grey horse back from such a man
as George Neville; and yet she could not help laughing
at the trick, and secretly admiring this chevalier, who had
kept his mortification to himself, and parried an affront so
gallantly.
"The good-humoured wretch!" said she to herself. "If
Griffith ever goes away again, he will have me, whether I
like or no. No lady could resist the monster long without
some other man at hand to help her."
CHAPTER V
As, when a camel drops in the desert, vultures, hitherto
unseen, come flying from the horizon, so Mr. Charlton had
no sooner succumbed, than the air darkened with under-
takers flocking to Bolton for a lugubrious job. They rode
up on black steeds, they crunched the gravel in grave gigs,
and sent in black-edged cards to Griffith, and lowered their
voices, and bridled their briskness, and tried hard, poor
souls, to be sad, and were horribly complacent beneath that
thin japan of venal sympathy.
Griffith selected his Raven, and then sat down to issue
numerous invitations.
The idea of eschewing funereal pomp had not yet arisen.
A gentleman of that day liked his very remains to make a
stir, and did not see the fun of stealing into his grave like a
rabbit slipping aground. Mr. Charlton had even left behind
him a sealed letter containing a list of the persons he wished
to follow him to the grave, and attend the reading of his
will. These were thirty-four; and amongst them three
29
GRIFFITH GAUNT
known to fame, viz., George Neville, Esq., Edward Peyton,
Esq., and Miss Catherine Peyton.
To all and each of the thirty-four, young Gaunt wrote a
formal letter inviting them to pay respect to their deceased
friend, and to honour himself by coming to Bolton Hall at
high noon on Saturday next. These letters, in compliance
with another custom of the time and place, were all sent by
mounted messengers, and the answers came on horseback too ;
so there was much clattering of hoofs coming and going, and
much roasting, baking, drinking of ale, and bustling all along
of him who lay so still in an upper chamber.
And every man and woman came to Mr. Gaunt to ask his
will and advice, however simple the matter ; and the servants
turned very obsequious, and laid themselves out to please the
new master, and retain their old places.
And what with the sense of authority, and the occupation,
and growing ambition, love-sick Griffith grew another man,
and began to forget that two days ago he was leaving the
country and going to give up the whole game.
He found time to send Kate a loving letter, but no talk of
marriage in it. He remembered she had asked him to give
her time. Well, he would take her advice.
It wanted just three days to the funeral, when Mr. Charl-
ton's own carriage, long unused, was found to be out of
repair. Griffith had it sent to the nearest town, and followed
it on that and other business. Now it happened to be what
the country folk called "justicing day;" and who should
ride into the yard of the " Roebuck " but the new magistrate,
Mr. Neville ; he alighted off a great bony grey horse before
Griffith's very nose, and sauntered into a private room.
Griffith looked, and looked, and, scarcely able to believe his
senses, followed Neville's horse to the stable, and examined
him all round.
Griffith was sore perplexed, and stood at the stable door
glaring at the horse ; and sick misgivings troubled him. He
forgot the business he came about, and went and hung about
the bar, and tried to pick up a clue to this mystery. The
poor wretch put on a miserable assumption of indifference,
and asked one or two of the magistrates if that was not Mr.
Peyton's grey horse young Neville had ridden in upon.
Now amongst these gentlemen was a young squire Miss
Peyton had refused, and galled him. He had long owed
Gaunt a grudge for seeming to succeed where he had notably
30
GRIFFITH GAUNT
failed., and now, hearing him talk so much about the grey,
he smelt a rat. He stepped into the parlour and told Neville
Gaunt was fuming about the grey horse, and questioning
everybody. Neville, though he put so bold a face on his
recent adventure at Peyton Hall, was secretly smarting, and
quite disposed to sting Gaunt in return. He saw a tool in
this treacherous young squire his name was Galton and
used him accordingly.
Galton, thoroughly primed by Neville, slipped back, and,
choosing his opportunity, poisoned Griffith Gaunt.
And this is how he poisoned him. " Oh," said he, " Neville
has bought the grey nag ; and cost him dear, it did." Griffith
gave a sigh of relief, for he at once concluded old Peyton
had sold his daughter's very horse. He resolved to buy her
a better next week with Mr. Charlton's money.
But Galton, who was only playing with him, went on to
explain that Neville had paid a double price for the nag ; he
had given Miss Peyton his piebald horse in exchange, and his
troth into the bargain. In shoi't, he lent the matter so adroit
a turn that the exchange of horses seemed to be Kate's act
as much as Neville's, and the inference inevitable.
" It is a falsehood," gasped Griffith.
" Nay," said Galton, " I had it on the best authority ; but
you shall not quarrel with me about it ; the lady is nought
to me, and I but tell the tale as 'twas told to me."
" Then who told it you ? " said Gaunt sternly.
" Why, it is all over the county, for that matter."
"No subterfuges, sir. I am the lady's servant, and you
know it ; this report, it slanders her, and insults me : give
me the author, or I'll lay my hunting-whip on your bones."
" Two can play at that game," said Galton ; but he turned
pale at the prospect of the pastime.
Griffith strode towards him, black with ire.
Then Galton stammered out : " It was Neville himself
told me."
"Ah," said Griffith, "I thought so. He is a liar and
a coward."
"I would not advise you to tell him so," said the other
maliciously : " he has killed his man in France. Spitted
him like a lark."
Griffith replied by a smile of contempt.
" Where is the man ? " said he, after a pause.
" How should I know ? " asked Galton innocently.
" Where did you leave him five minutes ago ? "
31
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Galton was dumfoundered at this stroke, and could find
nothing to say.
And now, as often happens, the matter took a turn not
in the least anticipated by the conspirators. "You must
come with me, sir, if you please," said Griffith quietly ; and
he took Galton' s arm.
"Oh, with all my heart," said the other; "but, Mr. Gaunt,
do not you take these idle reports to heart. / never do.
What the devil where are you carrying me to? For
Heaven's sake, let this foolish business go no farther."
For he found Griffith was taking him to the very room
where Neville was.
Griffith deigned no reply ; he just opened the door of the
room in question, and walked the tale-bearer into the
presence of the tale-maker. George Neville rose and con-
fronted the pair with a vast appearance of civility ; but
under it a sneer was just discernible.
The rivals measured each other from head to foot, and then
Neville inquired to what he owed the honour of this visit.
Griffith replied : " He tells me you told him Miss Peyton
has exchanged horses with you."
"Oh, you indiscreet person," said George, shaking his
finger playfully at Galton.
"And, by the same token, has plighted her 'troth to you."
" Worse and worse," said George. " Galton, I'll never trust
you with any secrets again. Besides, you exaggerate."
" Come, sir," said Griffith sternly ; " this Ned Galton was
but your tool and your mouthpiece, and therefore I bring
him here to witness my reply to you : Mr. George Neville,
you are a liar and a scoundrel."
George Neville bounded to his feet like a tiger. "I'll
have your life for those two words," he cried.
Then he suddenly governed himself by a great effort.
"It is not for me to bandy foul terms with a Cumberland
savage," said he. " Name your time and place."
" I will. Ned Galton, you may go. I wish to say a few
words in private to Mr. Neville."
Galton hesitated. " No violence, gentlemen : consider."
" Nonsense," said Neville. " Mr. Gaunt and I are going to
fight ; we are not going to brawl. Be so good as to leave us."
" Ay/' said Griffith ; " and if you repeat a word of all this,
woe be to your skin."
As soon as he was gone, Griffith Gaunt turned very grave
and calm, and said to George Neville, "The Cumberland
32
GRIFFITH GAUNT
savage has been better taught than to expose the lady he
loves to gossiping tongues."
Neville coloured up to the eyes at this thrust.
Griffith continued, " The least you can do is to avoid fresh
scandal."
"I shall be happy to co-operate with you so far/' said
Neville stiffly. " I undertake to keep Galton silent ; and for
the rest, we have only to name an early hour for meeting,
and confide it to but one discreet friend apiece who will
attend us to the field. Then there will be no gossip, and
no bumpkins nor constables breaking in such things have
happened in this county, I hear."
It was Wednesday. They settled to meet on Friday at
noon on a hillside between Bolton and Neville's Court. The
spot was exposed, but so wild and unfrequented that no
interruption was to be feared. Mr. Neville being a practised
swordsman, Gaunt chose pistols, a weapon at which the com-
batants were supposed to be pretty equal. To this Neville
very handsomely consented.
By this time a stiff and elaborate civility had taken the
place of their heat, and at parting they bowed both long and
low to each other.
Griffith left the inn and went into the street. And, as
soon as he got there, he began to realise what he had done,
and that in a day or two he might very probably be a dead
man. The first thing he did was to go with sorrowful face
and heavy step to Mr. Houseman's office.
Mr. Houseman was a highly respectable solicitor. His late
father and he had long enjoyed the confidence of the gentry,
and this enabled him to avoid litigious business, and confine
himself pretty much to the more agreeable and lucrative oc-
cupation of drawing wills, settlements, and conveyances ; and
effecting loans, sales, and transfers. He visited the landed
proprietors, and dined with them, and was a great favourite
in the county.
"Justicing day" brought him many visits; so on that day
he was always at his place of business. Indeed, a client was
with him when Griffith called, and the young gentleman had
to wait in the outer office for full ten minutes.
Then a door opened, and the client in question came out,
looking mortified and anxious. It was Squire Peyton. At
sight of Gaunt, who had risen to take his vacant place, Kate's
father gave him a stiff nod and an unfriendly glance, then
hurried away.
33 c
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith was hurt at his manner. He knew very well Mr.
Peyton looked higher for his daughter than Griffith Gaunt ;
but for all that the old gentleman had never shown him any
personal dislike or incivility until this moment.
So Griffith could not but fear that Neville was somehow at
the bottom of this, and that the combination was very strong
against him. Nor in thus interpreting Mr. Peyton's manner,
he fell into a very common error and fruitful cause of mis-
understanding. We go and fancy that Everybody is thinking
of us. But he is not : he is like us ; he is thinking of himself.
"Well, well," thought Griffith, "if I am not to have her,
what better place for me than the grave ? "
He entered Mr. Houseman's private room and opened his
business at once.
But a singular concurrence of circumstances induced Lawyer
Houseman to confide to a third party the substance of what
passed between this young gentleman and himself. So, to
avoid repetition, the best way will be to let Houseman tell
this part of my tale instead of me ; and I only hope his com-
munication, when it comes, may be half as interesting to my
reader as it was to his hearer.
Suffice it for me to say, that lawyer and client were closeted
a good hour, and were still conversing together, when a card
was handed in to Mr. Houseman that seemed to cause him
both surprise and pleasure. " In five minutes," said he to
the clerk. Griffith took the hint, and bade him good-bye
directly.
As he went out, the gentleman who had sent in his card
rose from a seat in the outer office to go in.
It was Mr. George Neville.
Griffith Gaunt and he saluted and scanned each other
curiously. They little thought to meet again so soon. The
clerks saw nothing more than two polite gentlemen passing
each other.
The more Griffith thought of the approaching duel the less
he liked it. He was an impulsive man for one thing ; and,
with such, a cold fit naturally succeeds a hot one. And,
besides, as his heat abated, Reason and Reflection made
themselves heard, and told him that in a contest with a
formidable rival he was throwing away an advantage : after
all, Kate had shown him great favour ; she had ridden
Neville's horse after him, and made him resign his purpose of
34
GRIFFITH GAUNT
leaving her ; surely then she prefei*red him on the whole to
Neville ; yet he must go and risk his chance of possessing
her upon a personal encounter, in which Neville was at least
as likely to kill him as he to kill Neville. He saw too late
that he was playing his rival's game. He felt cold and de-
spondent, and more and more convinced that he should never
marry Kate, but that she would very likely bury him.
With all this he was too game to recoil, and indeed he
hated his rival too deeply. So, like many a man before him,
he was going doggedly to the field against his judgment, with
little to win and all to lose.
His deeper and more solemn anxieties were diversified by
a lighter one. A few days ago he had invited half the
county to bury Mr. Charlton, on Saturday the nineteenth of
February. But now he had gone and fixed Friday the eigh-
teenth for a duel. A fine thing if he should be himself a
corpse on Friday afternoon. Who was to receive the guests ?
who conduct the funeral ?
The man, with all his faults, had a grateful heart ; and Mr.
Charlton was his benefactor, and he felt he had no right to
go and get himself killed until he had paid the last rites to
his best friend.
The difficulty admits, of course, of a comic view, and smells
Hibernian ; but these things seem anything but droll to those
whose lives and feelings are at stake ; and indeed there was
something chivalrous and touching in Griffith's vexation at the
possibility of his benefactor being buried without due honours,
owing to his own intemperate haste to be killed. He resolved
to provide against that contingency ; so, on the Thursday, he
wrote an urgent letter to Mr. Houseman, telling him he must
come early to the funeral, and be prepared to conduct it.
This letter was carried to Mr. Houseman's office at three
o'clock on Thursday afternoon.
Mr. Houseman was not at home. He was gone to a
country-house nine miles distant. But Griffith's servant was
well mounted, and had peremptory orders ; so he rode after
Mr. Houseman, and found him at Mr. Peyton's house ;
whither, if you please, we too will follow him.
In the first place, you must know that the real reason why
Mr. Peyton looked so savage, coming out of Mr. Houseman's
office, was this : Neville had said no more about the hundred
pounds, and indeed had not visited the house since ; so
Peyton, who had now begun to reckon on this sum, went to
Houseman to borrow it. But Houseman politely declined to
35
GRIFFITH GAUNT
lend it him, and gave excellent reasons. All this was natural
enough, common enough ; but the real reason why House-
man declined was a truly singular one. The fact is, Catherine
Peyton had made him promise to refuse.
Between that young lady and the Housemans, husband
and wife, there was a sincere friendship founded on mutual
esteem ; and Catherine could do almost what she liked with
either of them. Now, whatever might be her faults, she was
a proud girl, and an intelligent one ; it mortified her pride to
see her father borrowing here, and borrowing there, and
unable to repay ; and she had also observed that he always
celebrated a new loan by a new extravagance, and so was
never a penny the richer for borrowed money. He had in-
advertently let fall that he should apply to Houseman. She
raised no open objection, but just mounted Piebald, and rode
off to Houseman, and made him solemnly promise not to lend
her father a shilling.
Houseman kept his word ; but his refusal cost him more
pain than he had counted on when he made the promise.
Squire Peyton had paid him thousands first and last ; and,
when he left Houseman's room, with disappointment, morti-
fication, and humiliation deeply marked on his features,
usually so handsome and jolly, the lawyer felt sorry and
ashamed and did not show it.
But it rankled in him ; and the very next day he took
advantage of a little business he had to do in Mr. Peyton's
neighbourhood, and drove to Peyton Hall and asked for
Mistress Kate.
His was a curious errand. Indeed I think it would not be
easy to find a parallel to it.
For here was an attorney calling upon a beautiful girl to
do what ?
To soften her.
On a daughter ; to do what ?
To persuade her to permit him to lend her father 100
on insufficient security.
Well, he reminded her of his ancient obligations to her
family, and assured her he could well afford to risk a hundred
or even a thousand pounds. He then told her that her father
had shown great pain at his refusal, and that he himself was
human, and could not divest himself of gratitude, and pity,
and good-nature all for 100. "In a word," said he, "I
have brought the money ; and you must give in for this once,
and let me lend it him without more ado."
36
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Miss Peyton was gratified and affected, and a tear
trembled a moment in her eye ; but went indoors again, and
left her firm as a rock, sprinkled with dew. She told him
she could quite understand his feeling, and thanked him for
it : but she had long and seriously weighed the matter,
and could not release him from his promise. " No more of
this base borrowing," said she, and clenched her white teeth
indomitably.
He attacked her with a good many weapons ; but she
parried them all so gently yet so nobly, and so successfully,
that he admired her more than ever.
Still, lawyers fight hard, and die very hard. Houseman
got warm in his cause, and cross-examined this defendant,
and asked her whether she would refuse to lend her father
.100 out of a full purse.
This question was answered only by a flash of her glorious
eyes, and a magnificent look of disdain at the doubt implied.
" Well, then," said Houseman, " be your father's surety for
repayment with interest at six per centum ; and then there
will be nothing in the business to wound your dignity. I
have many hundreds out at six per centum."
" Excuse me ; that would be dishonest," said Kate ; ( I
have no money to repay you with."
" But you have expectations."
" Nay, not I."
" I beg your pardon."
" Methinks I should know, sir. What expectation have I ?
and from whom ? "
Houseman fidgeted on his seat, and then with some hesi-
tation replied, " Well, from two that I know of."
"You are jesting, methinks, good Mr. Houseman," said
she reproachfully.
" Nay, dear Mistress Kate, I wish you too well to jest on
such a theme."
The lawyer then fidgeted again on his seat in silence,
sign of an inward struggle, during which Kate's eye watched
him with some curiosity. At last his wavering balance in-
clined towards revealing something or other.
"Mistress Kate," said he, "my wife and I are both your
faithful friends and humble admirers; we often say you
would grace a coronet, and wish you were as rich as you
are good and beautiful."
Kate turned her lovely head away, and gave him her hand.
That incongruous movement, so full of womanly grace and
37
GRIFFITH GAUNT
feeling, and the soft pressure of her white hand, completed her
victory, and the remains of Houseman's reserve melted away.
" Yes, my dear young lady," said he warmly, " I have
good news for you : only, mind, not a living soul must ever
know it from your lips. Why, I am going to do for you what
I never did in my life before, going to tell you something
that passed yesterday in my office. But then I know you :
you are a young lady out of a thousand ; I can trust you to
be discreet and silent, can I not ? "
"As the grave."
"Well, then, my young mistress in truth it was like a
play, though the scene was but a lawyer's office "
" Was it ? " cried Kate. " Then you set me all of a flutter :
you must sup here, and sleep here. Nay, nay," said she, her
eyes sparkling with animation, " I'll take no denial. My
father dines abroad : we shall have the house to ourselves."
Her interest was keenly excited; but she was a true
woman, and must coquet with her very curiosity; so she
ran off to see with her own eyes that sheets were aired, and
a roasting fire lighted in the blue bedroom for her guest.
While she was away, a servant brought in Griffith Gaunt's
letter, and a sheet of paper had to be borrowed to answer it.
The answer was hardly written and sent out to Griffith's ser-
vant, when supper and the fair hostess came in almost together.
After supper fresh logs were heaped on the fire, and the
lawyer sat in a cosy arm-chair, and took out his diary, and
several papers, as methodically as if he was going to lay the
case by counsel before a judge of assize.
Kate sat opposite him with her grey eyes beaming on him
all the time, and searching for the hidden meaning of every-
thing he told her. During the recital which follows, her
colour often came and went, but those wonderful eyes never
left the narrator's face a moment.
They put the attorney on his mettle, and he elaborated the
matter more than I should have done : he articulated his
topics ; marked each salient fact by a long pause. In short,
he told his story like an attorney, and not like a Romancist.
I cannot help that, you know ; I'm not Procrustes.
MR. HOUSEMAN'S LITTLE NARRATIVE.
" Wednesday, the seventeenth day of February, at about
one of the clock, called on me at my place of business Mr.
Griffith Gaunt, whom I need not here describe, inasmuch as
38
GRIFFITH GAUNT
his person and place of residence are well known to the court
what am I saying? I mean, well known to yourself,
Mistress Kate.
"The said Griffith, on entering my room, seemed moved,
and I might say distempered, and did not give himself time
to salute me and receive my obeisance, but addressed me
abruptly and said as follows : ' Mr. Houseman, I am come to
make my will.' "
" Dear me ! " said Kate : then blushed, and was more on
her guard.
" I seated the young gentleman, and then replied that his
resolution aforesaid did him credit, the young being as mortal
as the old. I said further that many disasters had happened,
in my experience, owing to the obstinacy with which men in
the days of their sti-ength shut their eyes to the precarious
tenure under which all sons of Adam hold existence ; and
so many a worthy gentleman dies in his sins and, what is
worse, dies intestate.
" But the said Griffith interrupted me with some signs of
impatience, and asked me bluntly would I draw his will, and
have it executed on the spot.
" I assented generally ; but I requested him by way of
needful preliminary to obtain for me a copy of Mr. Charlton's
will, under which, as I have always understood, the said
Griffith inherits whatever real estate he hath to bequeath.
" Mr. Griffith Gaunt then replied to me that Mr. Charlton's
will was in London, and the exact terms of it could not
be known until after the funeral, that is to say, upon the
nineteenth instant.
" Thereupon I explained to Mr. Gaunt that I must see and
know what properties were devised in the will aforesaid, by
the said Charlton, to Gaunt aforesaid, and how devised and
described. Without this, I said, I could not correctly and
sufficiently describe the same in the instrument I was now
requested to prepare.
" Mr. Gaunt did not directly reply to this objection. But
he pondered a little while, and then asked me if it were
not possible for him, by means of general terms, to bequeath
to a sole legatee whatever lands, goods, chattels, &c., Mr.
39
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Charlton might hereafter prove to have devised to him, the
said Griffith Gaunt.
" I admitted this was possible, but objected that it was
dangerous. I let him know that in matters of law general
terms are a fruitful source of dispute, and I said I was one of
those who hold it a duty to avert litigation from our clients.
" Thereupon Mr. Gaunt drew out of his bosom a pocket-
book.
"The said pocket-book was shown to me by the said
Gaunt, and I say it contained a paragraph from a newspaper,
which I believe to have been cut out of the said newspaper
with a knife or a pair of scissors, or some trenchant instru-
ment ; and the said paragraph purported to contain an exact
copy of a certain Will and Testament, under which (as is
indeed matter of public notoriety) one Dame Butcher hath
inherited and now enjoys the lands, goods, and chattels of a
certain merry parson late deceased in these parts ; and, /
believe, little missed.
" Mr. Gaunt would have me read the Will and Testament
aforesaid, and I read it accordingly ; and, inasmuch as bad
things are best remembered, the said Will and Testament
did, by its singularity and profaneness, fix itself forthwith in
my memory ; so that I can by no means dislodge it thence,
do what I may.
"The said Document, to the best of my memory and
belief, runneth after this fashion : ' I, John Raymond, clerk,
at present residing at Whitbeck, in the county of Cumberland,
being a man sound in body, mind, and judgment, do deliver
this as my last Will and Testament.
" ( I give and bequeath all my real property, and all my
personal property, and all the property whether real or
personal I may hereafter possess, or become entitled to to
my Housekeeper, Janet Butcher.
"' And I appoint Janet Butcher my sole executrix, and
I make Janet Butcher my sole residuary legatee, save and
except that I leave my solemn curse to any knave who here-
after shall at any time pretend that he does not understand
the meaning of this my Will and Testament.' "
(Catherine smiled a little at this last bequest.)
" Mr. Gaunt then solemnly appealed to me as an honest
40
GRIFFITH GAUNT
man to tell him whether the aforesaid document was bad or
good in law.
" I was fain to admit that it was sufficient in law ; but I
qualified, and said I thought it might be attacked on the score
of the Hussy's undue influence, and the Testator's apparent
insanity. Nevertheless, I concluded candidly that neither
objection would prevail in our courts, owing to the sturdy
prejudice in the breasts of English jurymen, whose ground of
faith it is that every man has a right to do what he will with
his own, and even to do it how he likes.
" Mr. Gaunt did speedily abuse this my candour. He
urged me to lose no time, but to draw his will according
to the form and precedent in that case made and provided
by this mad parson ; and my clerks forsooth were to be the
witnesses thereof.
" I refused, with some heat, to sully my office by allowing
such an instrument to issue therefrom ; and I asked the said
Gaunt, in high dudgeon, for what he took me.
" Mr. Gaunt then offered, in reply, two suggestions that
shook me. Imprimis, he told me the person to whom he
now desired to leave his all was Mistress Catherine Peyton
[An ejaculation from Kate]. Secundo, he said he would go
straight from me to that coxcomb Harrison, were I to refuse
to serve him in the matter.
" On this, having regard to your interest and my own,
I temporised ; I offered to let him draw a will after his
parson's precedent, and I agreed it should be witnessed in
my office : only I stipulated that next week a proper docu-
ment should be drawn by myself, with due particulars, on two
sheets of paper, and afterwards engrossed and witnessed ; and
to this Mr. Gaunt assented, and immediately drew his Will
according to newspaper precedent.
" But when I came to examine his masterpiece, I found he
had taken advantage of my pliability to attach an unreason-
able condition : to wit, that the said Catherine should forfeit
all interest under this will in case she should ever marry a
certain party therein nominated, specified, and described."
(" Now that was Griffith all over," cried Catherine merrily.)
"I objected stoutly to this. I took leave to remind the
41
GRIFFITH GAUNT
young gentleman that, when a Christian man makes his last
will and testament, he should think of the grave, and of the
place beyond whither we may carry our affections, but must
leave the bundle of our hates behind, the gate being narrow.
I even went so far as to doubt whether such a proviso could
stand in law ; and I also put a practical query : What was to
hinder the legatee from selling the property and diverting
the funds, and then marrying whom she liked ?
" Mr. Gaunt was deaf to reason. He bade me remember
that he was neither Saint nor Apostle, but a poor gentleman
of Cumberland, who saw a stranger come between him and
his lover dear : with that he was much moved, and did not
conclude his argument at all, but broke off and was fain to
hide his face with both hands awhile. In truth this touched
me; and I looked another way, and began to ask myself
why should I interfere, who, after all, know not your heart in
the matter; and, to be brief, I withstood him and Parson's
law no more, but sent his draft will to the clerks, the which
they copied fair in a trice, and the duplicates were signed
and witnessed in red hot haste, as most of men's follies are
done for that matter.
" The paper writing now produced and shown to me hush !
what am I saying ? I mean the paper writing I now produce
and show to you is the draft of the will aforesaid, in the hand-
writing of the testator."
And with this he handed Kate Peyton Griffith Gaunt' s
Will, and took a long and satirical pinch of snuff while she
examined it.
Miss Peyton took the will in her white hands and read it.
But in reading it she held it up, and turned it so that her
friend could not see her face while she read it, but only her
white hands, in which the document rustled a little.
It ran thus :
" I, Griffith Gaunt, late of the Eyrie, and now residing at
Bolton Hall, in the county of Cumberland, being sound in
body and mind, do deliver this as my last Will and Testament.
I give and bequeath all the property real or personal, which
I now possess or may hereafter become entitled to, to my
dear friend and mistress, Catherine Peyton, daughter of
Edward Peyton, Esquire, of Peyton Hall ; provided always
that the said Catherine Peyton shall at no time within the
next ten years marry George Neville, of Neville's Court, in this
42
GRIFFITH GAUNT
county. But should the said Catherine marry the said George
within ten years of this day, then I leave all my said property,
in possession, remainder, or reversion, to my Heir-at-law."
The fair legatee read this extraordinary testament more than
once. At last she handed it back to Mr. Houseman without
a word. But her cheek was red, and her eyes glistening.
Mr. Houseman was surprised at her silence, and as he
was curious to know her heart, he sounded her : asked her
what she thought of that part of his story. But she evaded
him with all the tact of her sex. "What, that is not all
then ? " said she quickly.
Houseman replied that it was barely half.
"Then tell me all, pray tell me all," said Kate earnestly.
" I am here to that end," said Houseman, and recommenced
his narrative.
" The business being done to Mr. Gaunt's satisfaction,
though not to mine, we fell into some friendly talk ; but in
the midst of it my clerk Thomas brought me in the card of a
gentleman whom I was very desirous to secure as a client.
" Mr. Gaunt, I think, read my mind, for he took leave of
me forthwith. I attended him to the door, and then wel-
comed the gentleman aforesaid. It was no other than Mr.
George Neville.
" Mr. Neville, after such gracious civilities as his native
breeding and foreign travel have taught him, came to business,
and requested me to draw his will."
La ! " said Kate.
e I was a little startled, but did it, and took his instructions.
This done, I requested to see the title-deeds of his estates,
with a view to describing them ; and he went himself to the
banker's for them, and placed them in my hands.
" I then promised to have the will ready in a week or ten
days. But Mr. Neville, with many polite regrets for hurrying
me, told me upon his honour he could give me but twenty-
four hours. ' After that,' said he, ' it might be too late.' "
(" Ah ! " said Miss Peyton.)
" Determined to retain my new client, I set my clerks to
work, and this very day was engrossed, signed, and witnessed,
the last will and testament of George Neville, Esquire, of
4,3
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Nevillle's Court, in the county of Cumberland, and Leicester
Square, London, where he hath a noble mansion.
" Now as to the general disposition of his lands, manorial
rights, messuages, tenements, goods, chattels, &c., and his
special legacies to divers ladies and gentlemen and domestic
servants, these I will not reveal even to you.
" The paper I now produce is a copy of that particular
bequest which I have decided to communicate to you in
strict and sacred confidence."
And he handed her an extract from George Neville's will.
Miss Peyton then read what follows :
"And I give and bequeath to Mistress Catherine Peyton
of Peyton Hall in the said county of Cumberland in token of
my respect and regard all that my freehold estate called
Moulton Grange with the messuage or tenement standing
and being thereon and the farm-yard buildings and appur-
tenances belonging thereto containing by estimation three
hundred and seventy-six acres three roods and five perches
be the same little more or less to hold to her the said
Catherine Peyton her heirs and assigns for ever."
The legatee laid down the paper, and leaned her head
softly on her fair hand, and her eyes explored vacancy.
" What means all this ? " said she aloud, but to herself.
Mr. Houseman undertook the office of interpreter. " Means ?
why, that he has left you one of the snuggest estates in the
county. 'Tis not quite so large as Bolton, but lies sunnier,
and the land richer. Well, mistress, was I right : are you not
good for a thousand pounds ? "
Kate, still manifestly thinking of something else, let fall,
as it were, out of her mouth that Mr. Gaunt and Mr. Neville
were both men in the flower of their youth, and how was she
the richer for their folly ?
" Why," said Houseman, " you will not have to wait for
the death of these testators Heaven forbid ! But what does
all this making of wills show me ? That both these gentle-
men are deep in love with you, and you can pick and choose :
I say you can wed with Bolton Hall or Neville's Court to-
morrow : so prithee let the squire have his hundred pounds,
and do you repay me at your leisure."
Miss Peyton made no reply, but leaned her exquisite head
upon her hand and pondered.
44
GRIFFITH GAUNT
She did not knit her brows, nor labour visibly at the
mental oar; yet a certain reposeful gravity and a fixity of
the thoughtful eye showed she was applying all the powers
of her mind.
Mr. Houseman was not surprised at that : his own wife
had but little intellect ; yet had he seen her weigh two rival
bonnets in mortal silence, and with all the seeming pro-
fundity of a judge on the bench. And now this young lady
was doubtless weighing farms with similar gravity, care, and
intelligence.
But as this continued and still she did not communicate
her decision, he asked her point-blank which of the two she
settled to wed Neville's Court, or Bolton Grange.
Thus appealed to, Miss Peyton turned her great eye on him
without really looking at him, and replied " You have made
me very uneasy."
He stared. She relapsed into thought a moment, and then,
turning to Houseman, asked him how he accounted for those
two gentlemen making their wills ; they were very young to
make their wills all of a sudden.
" Why," said Houseman, " Mr. Neville is a man of sense,
and every man of sense makes his will ; and, as for Mr.
Gaunt, he has just come into prospect of an estate that's
why."
"Ah, but why could not Griffith wait till after the
funeral ? "
" Oh, clients are always in a hurry."
" So you see nothing in it ? nothing alarming, I mean ? "
" Nothing very alarming. Two landed proprietors in love
with you ; that is all."
" But, dear Mr. Houseman, that is what makes me uneasy :
at this rate they must look on one another as as rivals :
and you know rivals are sometimes enemies."
" Oh, I see now," said Houseman : " you apprehend a quarrel
between the gentlemen. Of course there is no love lost
between them ; but they met in my office and saluted each
other with perfect civility. I saw them with my own eyes."
" Indeed 1 I am glad to hear that very glad. I hope it
was only a coincidence then, their both making their wills."
" Nothing more, you may depend : neither of them knows
from me what the other has done, nor ever will."
"That is true," said Kate, and seemed considerably
relieved.
To ease her mind entirely, Houseman went on to say that
45
GRIFFITH GAUNT
as to the report that high words had passed between the
clients in question, at the Roebuck, he had no doubt it was
exaggerated. " Besides," said he, " that was not about a lady ;
I'm told it was about a horse. Some bet belike."
Catherine uttered a faint cry. " About a horse ! " said she.
" Not about a grey horse ? "
" Nay, that is more than I know."
"High words about a horse," said Catherine; "and they
are making their wills. Oh ! my mind misgave me from the
first." And she turned pale. Presently she clasped her
hands together "Mr. Houseman," she cried, "what shall I
do ? What, do you not see that both their lives are in
danger ? and that is why they make their wills. And how
should both their lives be in danger, but from each other ?
Madmen ! they have quarrelled : they are going to fight fight
to the death : and I fear it is about me. Me who love neither
of them, you know."
"In that case let them fight," said her legal adviser dis-
passionately. " Whichever fool gets killed, you will be none
the poorer." And the dog wore a sober complacency.
Catherine turned her large eyes on him with horror and
amazement, but said nothing.
As for the lawyer he was more struck with her sagacity
than with anything. He somewhat overrated it, not being
aware of the private reasons she had for suspecting that her
two testators were enemies to the death.
"I almost think you are right," said he, "for I got a
curious missive from Mr. Gaunt scarce an hour agone, and he
says let me see what he says. " Nay, let me see," said Kate.
On that he handed her Griffith's note. It ran thus :
" It is possible I may not be able to conduct the funeral.
Should this be so, I appoint you to act for me. So then,
good Mr. Houseman, let me count on you to be here at nine
of the clock. For Heaven's sake fail me not. Your humble
servant, G. G."
This left no doubt in Kate's mind.
"Now, first of all," said she, "what answer made you to
this ? "
" What answer should I make ? I pledged my word to
be at Bolton at nine of the clock."
" Oh, blind ! " sighed Kate. " And I must be out of
the room. What shall I do ? My dear friend, forgive me :
4(5
GRIFFITH GAUNT
I am a wretched girl. I am to blame ; I ought to have dis-
missed them both, or else decided between them. But who
would have thought it would go this length ? I did not
think Griffith was brave enough. Have pity on me and
help me. Stop this fearful fighting." And now the young
creature clung to the man of business, and prayed and
prayed him earnestly to avert bloodshed.
Mr. Houseman was staggered by this passionate appeal
from one who so rarely lost her self-command. He soothed
her as well as he could, and said he would do his best ; but
added, which was very true, that he thought her interference
would be more effective than his own. "What care these
young bloods for an old attorney ? I should fare ill, came
I between their rapiers. To be sure I might bind them
over to keep the peace. But Mistress Kate, now be frank
with me ; then I can serve you better. You love one of
these two; that is clear. Which is the man? that I may
know what I am about."
For all her agitation, Kate was on her guard in some
things.
" Nay," she faltered, " I love neither, not to say love them :
but I pity him so."
"Which?"
" Both."
" Ay, mistress ; but which do you pity most ? " asked the
shrewd lawyer.
" Whichever shall come to harm for my sake," replied the
simple girl.
"You could not go to them to-night, and bring them to
reason?" asked she piteously. She went to the window to
see what sort of a night it was ; she drew the heavy crimson
curtains and opened the window. In rushed a bitter blast
laden with flying snow. The window ledges too were
clogged with snow, and all the ground was white.
Houseman shuddered, and drew nearer to the blazing logs.
Kate closed the window with a groan. " It is not to be
thought of," said she; "at your age; and not a road to be
seen for snow. What shall I do ? "
" Wait till to-morrow," said Mr. Houseman. (Procrastina-
tion was his daily work, being an attorney.) " To-morrow ! "
cried Catherine. "Perhaps even now they have met, and
he lies a corpse."
" Who ? "
" Whichever it is, I shall end my days in a convent, praying
4?'
GRIFFITH GAUNT
for his soul." She wrung her hands while she said this, and
still there was no catching her.
Little did the lawyer think to rouse such a storm with his
good news. And now he made a feeble and vain attempt to
soothe her, and ended by promising to start the first thing in
the morning and get both her testators bound over to keep the
peace by noon. With this resolution he went to bed early.
She was glad to be alone, at all events.
Now, mind you, there were plenty of vain and vulgar, yet re-
spectable girls in Cumberland who would have been delighted
to be fought about, even though bloodshed were to be the
result. But this young lady was not vain, but proud ; she
was sensitive too, and troubled with a conscience. It re-
proached her bitterly : it told her she had permitted the
addresses of two gentlemen, and so mischief had somehow
arisen out of her levity. Now her life had been uneventful
and innocent : this was the very first time she had been con-
nected with anything like a crime ; and her remorse was
great : so was her grief; but her fears were greater still. The
terrible look Griffith had cast at his rival flashed back on her ;
so did his sinister words. She felt that if he and Neville met,
nothing less than Neville's death or his own .would separate
them. Suppose that even now one of them lay a corpse ! cold
and ghastly as the snow that now covered Nature's face.
The agitation of her mind was such that her body could
not be still : now she walked the room in violent distress,
wringing her hands; now she kneeled and prayed fervently
for both those lives she had endangered ; often she flew to
the window and looked eagerly out, writhing and rebelling
against the network of female custom that entangled her,
and would not let her fly out of her cage even to do a good
action to avert a catastrophe by her prayers, or her tears,
or her good sense.
And all ended in her realising that she was a woman, a
poor impotent being born to lie quiet and let things go : at
that she wept helplessly.
So wore away the first night of agony this young creature
ever knew.
Towards morning, exhausted by her inward struggles, she
fell asleep upon a sofa.
But her trouble followed her. She dreamed she was on a
horse, hurried along with prodigious rapidity, in a darkened
atmosphere, a sort of dry fog : she knew somehow she was
being taken to see some awful, mysterious thing. By-and-by
48
GRIFFITH GAUNT
the haze cleared, and she came out upon pleasant open sunny
fields that almost dazzled her. She passed gates, and hedges
too, all clear, distinct, and individual. Presently a voice by
her side said, " This way ! " and her horse seemed to turn of
his own accord through a gap, and in one moment she came
on a group of gentlemen. It was Griffith Gaunt, and two
strangers. Then she spoke, and said
"But, Mr. Neville?"
No answer was made her ; but the group opened in solemn
silence, and there lay George Neville on the snow, stark and
stiff, with blood issuing from his temple, and trickling along
the snow.
She saw distinctly all his well-known features ; but they
were pinched and sharpened now, and his dark olive skin
was turned to bluish white. It was his corpse. And now
her horse thrust out his nose and snorted like a demon. She
looked down, and, ah ! the blood was running at her preter-
naturally fast along the snow. She screamed, her horse
reared high, and she was falling on the blood-stained snow :
she awoke screaming ; and the sunlight seemed to rush in at
the window.
Her joy that it was only a dream overpowered every other
feeling at first. She kneeled and thanked God for that.
The next thing was, she thought it might be a revelation
of what had actually occurred.
But this chilling fear did not affect her long. Nothing
could shake her conviction that a duel was on foot and
indeed the intelligent of her sex do sometimes put this and
that together, and spring to a just but obvious inference, in
a way that looks to a slower and safer reasoner like divination
but then she knew that yesterday evening both parties
were alive. Coupling this with Griffith's broad hint that
after the funeral might be too late to make his will, she felt
sure that it was this very day the combatants were to meet.
Yes, and this very morning : for she knew that gentlemen
always fought in the morning.
If her dream was false as to the past, it might be true as
to what was at hand. Was it not a supernatural warning sent
to her in mercy ? The history of her Church abounded in
such dreams and visions ; and indeed the time and place she
lived in were rife with stories of the kind one, in particular,
of recent date.
This thought took hold of her, and grew on her, till it
overpowered even the diffidence of her sex; and then up
49 D
GRIFFITH GAUNT
started her individual character, and now nothing could hold
her. For, languid and dreamy in the common things of life,
this Catherine Peyton was one of those who rise into rare
ardour and activity in such great crises as seem to benumb
the habitually brisk, and they turn tame and passive.
She had seen at a glance that Houseman was too slow and
apathetic for such an emergency ; she resolved to act herself.
She washed her face and neck and arms and hands in cold
water, and was refreshed and invigorated. She put on her
riding-habit and her little gold spur Griffith Gaunt had
given it her and hurried into the stable-yard.
Old Joe and his boy had gone away to breakfast : he lived
in the village.
This was unlucky : Catherine must wait his return and lose
time, or else saddle the horse herself. She chose the latter.
The piebald was a good horse, but a fidgety one ; so she
saddled and bridled him at his stall. She then led him out
to the stone steps in the stable-yard and tried to mount him.
But he sidled away ; she had nobody to square him ; and she
could get nothing to mount but his head. She coaxed him,
she tickled him on the other side with her whip. It was
all in vain.
It was absurd, but heart-sickening. She stared at him with
wonder that he could be so cruel as to play the fool when
every minute might be life or death. She spoke to him ; she
implored him piteously ; she patted him. All was in vain.
As a last resource she walked him back to the stable and
gave him a sieveful of oats, and set it down by the corn bin
for him, and took an opportunity to mount the bin softly.
He ate the oats, but with retroverted eye watched her.
She kept quiet and affected nonchalance till he became less
cautious; then suddenly sprang on him, and taught him to
set his wit against a woman's. My lord wheeled round
directly, ere she could get her leg over the pommel, and
made for the stable door. She lowered her head to his mane
and just scraped out without injury not an inch to spare.
He set off at once ; but luckily for her she had often ridden a
bare-backed horse. She sat him for the first few yards by
balance ; then reined him in quietly, and soon whipped her
left foot into the stirrup and her right leg over the pommel ;
and then the piebald nag had to pay for his pranks : the roads
were clogged with snow, but she fanned him along without
mercy, and never drew bridle till she pulled him up drenched,
and steaming like a wash-tub, at Netley cross-roads.
50
Here she halted irresolute : the road to the right led to
Bolton, distant two miles and a half. The road in front led
to Neville's Court, distant three miles. Which should she
take ? She had asked herself this a dozen times upon the
road, yet could never decide until she got to the place, and
must. The question was, with which of them had she most
influence ? She hardly knew ; but Griffith Gaunt was her old
sweetheart ; it seemed somewhat less strange and indelicate
to go to him than to the new one : so she turned her horse's
head towards Bolton. But she no longer went quite so fast as
she had gone before she felt going to either in particular.
Such is the female mind.
She reached Bolton at half-past eleven, and now she was
there put a bold face on it, rode up to the door, and, leaning
forward on her horse, rang the hall bell.
A footman came to the door.
With composed visage though beating heart, she told him
she desired to speak for a moment to Mr. Griffith Gaunt. He
asked her would she be pleased to alight ; and it was clear by
his manner no calamity had yet fallen. " No, no," said Kate,
" let me speak to him here."
The servant went in to tell his master. Kate sat quiet with
her heart still beating, but glowing now with joy : she was in
time then, thanks to her good horse. She patted him, and
made the prettiest excuses aloud to him for riding him so
hard through the snow.
The footman came back to say that Mr. Gaunt had gone out.
" Gone out ? Whither ? On horseback ? "
The footman did not know, but would ask within.
While he was gone to inquire, Catherine lost patience, and
rode into the stable-yard, and asked a young lout who was loung-
ing there whether his master was gone out on horseback.
The lounging youth took the trouble to call out the groom,
and asked him.
The groom said " No," and that Mr. Gaunt was somewhere
about the grounds, he thought.
But in the midst of this colloquy one of the maids, curious
to see the lady, came out by the kitchen door and curtsied to
Kate, and told her Mr. Gaunt was gone out walking with two
other gentlemen. In the midst of her discourse she recognised
the visitor, and having somehow imbibed the notion that Miss
Peyton was likely to be Mrs. Gaunt, and govern Bolton Hall,
decided to curry favour with her ; so she called her "my lady,"
and was very communicative. She said one of the gentlemen
51
GRIFFITH GAUNT
started her individual character, and now nothing could hold
her. For, languid and dreamy in the common things of life,
this Catherine Peyton was one of those who rise into rare
ardour and activity in such great crises as seem to benumb
the habitually brisk, and they turn tame and passive.
She had seen at a glance that Houseman was too slow and
apathetic for such an emergency ; she resolved to act herself.
She washed her face and neck and arms and hands in cold
water, and was refreshed and invigorated. She put on her
riding-habit and her little gold spur Griffith Gaunt had
given it her and hurried into the stable-yard.
Old Joe and his boy had gone away to breakfast : he lived
in the village.
This was unlucky : Catherine must wait his return and lose
time, or else saddle the horse herself. She chose the latter.
The piebald was a good horse, but a fidgety one ; so she
saddled and bridled him at his stall. She then led him out
to the stone steps in the stable-yard and tried to mount him.
But he sidled away ; she had nobody to square him ; and she
could get nothing to mount but his head. She coaxed him,
she tickled him on the other side with her whip. It was
all in vain. k
It was absurd, but heart-sickening. She stared at him with
wonder that he could be so cruel as to play the fool when
every minute might be life or death. She spoke to him ; she
implored him piteously ; she patted him. All was in vain.
As a last resource she walked him back to the stable and
gave him a sieveful of oats, and set it down by the corn bin
for him, and took an opportunity to mount the bin softly.
He ate the oats, but with retroverted eye watched her.
She kept quiet and affected nonchalance till he became less
cautious; then suddenly sprang on him, and taught him to
set his wit against a woman's. My lord wheeled round
directly, ere she could get her leg over the pommel, and
made for the stable door. She lowered her head to his mane
and just scraped out without injury not an inch to spare.
He set off at once ; but luckily for her she had often ridden a
bare-backed horse. She sat him for the first few yards by
balance ; then reined him in quietly, and soon whipped her
left foot into the stirrup and her right leg over the pommel ;
and then the piebald nag had to pay for his pranks : the roads
were clogged with snow, but she fanned him along without
mercy, and never drew bridle till she pulled him up drenched,
and steaming like a wash-tub, at Netley cross-roads.
50
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Here she halted irresolute : the road to the right led to
Bolton, distant two miles and a half. The road in front led
to Neville's Court, distant three miles. Which should she
take ? She had asked herself this a dozen times upon the
road, yet could never decide until she got to the place, and
must. The question was, with which of them had she most
influence ? She hardly knew ; but Griffith Gaunt was her old
sweetheart ; it seemed somewhat less strange and indelicate
to go to him than to the new one : so she turned her horse's
head towards Bolton. But she no longer went quite so fast as
she had gone before she felt going to either in particular.
Such is the female mind.
She reached Bolton at half-past eleven, and now she was
there put a bold face on it, rode up to the door, and, leaning
forward on her horse, rang the hall bell.
A footman came to the door.
With composed visage though beating heart, she told him
she desired to speak for a moment to Mr. Griffith Gaunt. He
asked her would she be pleased to alight ; and it was clear by
his manner no calamity had yet fallen. " No, no," said Kate,
" let me speak to him here."
The servant went in to tell his master. Kate sat quiet with
her heart still beating, but glowing now with joy : she was in
time then, thanks to her good horse. She patted him, and
made the prettiest excuses aloud to him for riding him so
hard through the snow.
The footman came back to say that Mr. Gaunt had gone out.
" Gone out ? Whither ? On horseback ? "
The footman did not know, but would ask within. .
While be was gone to inquire, Catherine lost patience, and
rode into the stable-yard, and asked a young lout who was loung-
ing there whether his master was gone out on horseback.
The lounging youth took the trouble to call out the groom,
and asked him.
The groom said " No," and that Mr. Gaunt was somewhere
about the grounds, he thought.
But in the midst of this colloquy one of the maids, curious
to see the lady, came out by the kitchen door and curtsied to
Kate, and told her Mr. Gaunt was gone out walking with two
other gentlemen. In the midst of her discourse she recognised
the visitor, and having somehow imbibed the notion that Miss
Peyton was likely to be Mrs. Gaunt, and govern Bolton Hall,
decided to curry favour with her ; so she called her " my lady/'
and was very communicative. She said one of the gentlemen
51
GRIFFITH GAUNT
was strange to her ; but the other was Dr. Islip from Stanhope
town. She knew him well : he had taken off her own brother's
leg in a jiffy. "But, dear heart, mistress/' said she, "how
pale you be. Do come in and have a morsel of meat, and a
horn of ale."
" Nay, my good girl," said Kate ; " I could not eat ; but
bring me a mug of new milk if you will. I have not broken
my fast this day."
The maid bustled in, and Catherine asked the groom if
there were no means of knowing where Mr. Gaunt was. The
groom and the boy scratched their heads and looked puzzled.
The lounging lout looked at their perplexity, and grinned
satirically.
This youth was Tom Leicester, born in wedlock, and there-
fore in the law's eye son of old Simon Leicester ; but gossips
said his true father was the late Captain Gaunt. Tom ran with
the hounds for his own sport, went out shooting with gentle-
men and belaboured the briars for them at twopence per day
and his dinner, and abhorred all that sober men call work.
By trade, a beater ; profession, a scamp.
Two maids came out together now ; one with the milk and
a roll, the other with a letter. Catherine drank the milk but
could not eat. Then says the other maid, " If so be you are
Mistress Peyton, why, this letter is for you : master left it on
his table in his bedroom."
Kate took the letter and opened it, all in a flutter. It ran
thus :
" SWEET MISTRESS, When this reaches you, I shall be no
more here to trouble you with my jealousy. This Neville set
it abroad that you had changed horses with him, as much as
to say you had plighted troth with him. He is a liar, and I
told him so to his teeth. We are to meet at noon this day,
and one must die. Methinks I shall be the one. But, come
what may, I have taken care of thee ; ask Jack Houseman
else. But, oh ! dear Kate, think of all that hath passed between
us, and do not wed this Neville, or I could not rest in my
grave. Sweetheart, many a letter have I written thee, but
none so sad as this. Let the grave hide my faults from thy
memory ; think only that I loved thee well. I leave thee my
substance would it were ten times more, and the last
thought of my heart. So no more in this world from him
that is thy true lover and humble servant till death,
"GRIFFITH GAUNT."
52
GRIFFITH GAUNT
There seems to be room in the mind for only one violent
emotion at one instant of time. This touching letter did not
just then draw a tear from her, who now received it some
hours sooner than the writer intended. Its first effect was to
paralyse her. She sat white and trembling, and her great
eyes filled with horror. Then she began to scream wildly for
help. The men and women came round her.
" Murder ! murder ! " she shrieked. " Tell me where to
find him, ye wretches, or may his blood be on your heads ! "
The scamp bounded from his lounging position and stood
before her straight as an arrow. " FOLLOW ME," he shouted. Her
grey eyes and the scamp's black ones flashed into one another
directly. He dashed out of the yard without another word.
And she spurred her horse, and clattered out after him.
He ran as fast as her horse could canter, and soon took her
all round the house : and, while he ran, his black gipsy eyes
were glancing in every direction.
When they got to the lawn at the back of the house, he
halted a moment, and said quietly, " Here they be." He
pointed to some enormous footsteps in the snow, and bade her
notice that they commenced at a certain glass door belonging
to the house, and that they all pointed outwards. The lawn
was covered with such marks, but the scamp followed those his
intelligence had selected, and they took him through a gate,
and down a long walk, and into the park. Here no other feet
had trodden that morning except those Tom Leicester was
following. " This is our game," said he. " See, there be six
footsteps ; and, now I look, this here track is Squire Gaunt's.
I know his foot in the snow among a hundred. Bless your
heart, I've often been out shooting with Squire Gaunt, and
lost him in the woods, and found him again by tracking him
on dead leaves, let alone snow. I say, wasn't they useless
idiots ? couldn't tell ye how to run into a man, and snow on
the ground ! Why, you can track a hare to her form and a rat
to his hole let alone such big game as this, with a hoof like
a frying-pan in the snow."
" Oh, do not talk ; let us make haste," panted Kate.
" Canter away," replied the scamp.
She cantered on, and he ran by her side. "Shall I not
tire you ? " said she.
The mauvais sujet laughed at her. " Tire me : not over
this ground. Why, I run with the hounds, and mostly al-
ways in at the death : but that is not altogether speed : ye
see I know Pug's mind. What, don't you know me ? I'm
53
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Tom Leicester. Why, I know you : I say, you're a good-
hearted one, you are."
" Oh no ! no ! " sighed Kate.
" Nay, but you are," said Tom. " I saw you take Har-
rowden brook that day, when the rest tnrned tail ; and that
is what I call having a good heart. Gently, mistress, here,
this is full of rabbit holes ; I seen Sir Ralph's sorrel mare
break her leg in a moment in one of these. Shot her dead
that afternoon, a did, and then biled her for the hounds.
She'd often followed at their tails; next hunting day she
ran inside their bellies. Ha ! ha ! ha ! "
" Oh, don't laugh. I am in agony."
" Why, what is up, mistress ? " asked the young savage,
lowering his voice. " ' Murder,' says you ; but that means
nought. The lasses they cry murder if you do but kiss 'em."
" Oh, Tom Leicester, it is murder. It's a duel, a fight to
the death, unless we are in time to prevent them."
" A jewel ! " cried Master Leicester, his eyes glittering
with delight. " I never saw a jewel. Don't you hold him
in for me, mistress : gallop down this slope as hard as you
can pelt ; it is grass under foot, and ye can't lose the tracks,
and I shall be sure to catch ye in the next field."
The young savage was now as anxious to be in at the death
as Kate was to save life. As he spoke he gave her horse a
whack on the quarter with his stick, and away she went full
gallop, and soon put a hundred yards between her and Tom.
The next field was a deep fallow, and the hard furrows
reduced her to a trot ; and before she got out of it, Tom was
by her side : " Didn't I tell you ? " said he. " I'd run you
to Peyton Hall for a pot o' beer."
" Oh, you good, brave, clever boy," said Kate : " how fortu-
nate I am to have you. I think we shall be in time."
Tom was flattered. " Why, you see I am none of Daddy
Leicester's breed," said he. "I'm a gentleman's by-blow,
if you know what that is."
" I can't say I do," said Kate ; " but I know you are very
bold and handsome and swift of foot, and I know my patron
saint has sent you to me in my misery, and, oh ! my lad, if we
are in time what can I do for you ? Are you fond of money,
rri *\ f
lorn ?
" That I be : when I can get it."
" Then you shall have all I have got in the world, if you
get me there in time to hinder mischief."
"Come on!" shouted Tom, excited in his turn, and took the
54
GRIFFITH GAUNT
lead, and not a word more passed till they came to the foot of
a long hill. Then said Tom, " Once we are at the top of this,
they can't fight without our seeing 'em. That is Scutchemsee
Nob : you can see ten miles all round from there."
At this information Kate uttered an ejaculation and urged
her horse forward.
The first part of this hill, which stood between her and
those whose tracks she followed, was grass ; then came a strip
of turnips ; then on the bleak top a broad piece of heather.
She soon cantered over the grass, and left Tom so far behind
he could not quite catch her in the turnips. She entered
the heather, but here she was much retarded by the snow
drifts, and the ups and downs of the rough place. But she
struggled on bravely, still leading.
She fixed her eyes earnestly on the ridge, whence she could
cry to the combatants, however distant, and stop the combat.
Now as she struggled on, and Tom came after, panting a
little for the first time, suddenly there rose from the crest of
the hill two columns of smoke, and the next moment two
sharp reports rang through the frosty air.
Kate stopped, and looked round to Tom with a scared,
inquiring air.
" Pistols ! " yelled Tom behind her.
At that the woman overpowered the heroine, and Kate
hid her face and fell to trembling and wailing. Her wearied
horse came down to a walk.
Presently up comes Tom. " Don't lose your stomach for
that," he panted out. " Gentlefolks do pop at one another
all day sometimes, and no harm done."
" Oh, bless you ! " cried Kate ; " I may yet be in time." She
spurred her horse on. He did his best, but ere he had gone
twenty yards, he plunged into a cavity hidden by the snow.
While he was floundering there crack went a single pistol,
and the smoke rose and drifted over the hill top.
" Who op ! " muttered Tom, with horrible sang -Jroid.
" There's one done for this time. Couldn't shoot back, ye see."
At this horrible explanation, Kate sank forward on her
horse's mane as if she herself had been killed ; and the smoke
from the pistol came floating thinner and thinner, and eddied
high over her head.
Tom spoke rude words of encouragement to her. She did
not even seem to hear them. Then he lost all patience at
her, and clutched her arm to make her hear him. But at that
it seemed as if some of his nature passed into her down his
55
GRIFFITH GAUNT
arm, for she turned wild directly and urged her horse fiercely
up the crest. Her progress was slow at first ; but the sun
had melted the snow on the Nob or extreme summit. She
tore her way through the last of the snow on to the clear
piece, then, white as ashes, spurred and lashed her horse over
the ridge and dashed in amongst them on the other side. For
there they were.
What was the sight that met her eyes ?
That belongs to the male branch of my story, and shall be
told forthwith, but in its proper sequence.
CHAPTER VI
THE two combatants came to the field in a very different
spirit. Neville had already fought two duels, and been
successful in both. He had confidence in his skill and in his
luck. His conscience too was tolerably clear, for he was the
insulted person ; and, if a bullet should remove this dangerous
rival from his path, why, all the better for him, and all the
worse for the fool who had brought the matter to a bloody
issue, though the balance of the lady's heart inclined his way.
He came in high spirits, and rode upon Kate Peyton's grey,
to sting his adversary and show his contempt of him.
Not so Griffith Gaunt. His heart was heavy, and foreboded
ill. It was his first duel, and he expected to be killed. He
had played a fool's game, and he saw it.
The night before the duel he tried hard to sleep : he knew
it was not giving his nerves fair play to lie thinking all night.
But coy sleep, as usual when most wanted, refused to come.
At daybreak the restless man gave it up in despair, and rose
and dressed himself. He wrote that letter to Catherine, little
thinking it would fall into her hands while he lived. He ate
a little toast and drank a pint of Burgundy, and then wandered
listlessly about till Major Rickards, his second, arrived.
That experienced gentleman brought a surgeon with him,
Mr. I slip.
Major Rickards deposited a shallow wooden box in the hall,
and the two gentlemen sat down to a hearty breakfast.
Griffith took care of his guests, but beyond that spoke
scarcely a word ; and the surgeon, after a ghastly attempt at
commonplaces, was silent too. Major Rickards satisfied his
56
GRIFFITH GAUNT
appetite first, and then, finding his companions dumb, set to
work to keep up their spirits. He entertained them with a
narrative of the personal encounters he had witnessed, and
especially of one in which his principal had fallen on his face
at the first fire, and the antagonist had sprung into the air, and
both had lain dead as door nails, and never moved, nor even
winked, after that single discharge.
Griffith sat under this chilling talk for more than an hour.
At last he rose gloomily, and said it was time to go.
" Got your tools, doctor ? " inquired the major.
The surgeon nodded slightly. He was more discreet than
his friend.
When they had walked nearly a mile in the snow, the major
began to complain. " The devil ! " said he ; (t this is queer
walking. My boots are full of water. I shall catch my death."
The surgeon smiled satirically, comparing silent Griffith's
peril with his second's.
Griffith took no notice. He went like Fortitude plodding
to Execution.
Majof Rickards fell behind, and whispered Mr. Islip :
" Don't like his looks ; doesn't march like a winner. A job
for you or the sexton you mark my words."
They toiled up Scutchemsee Nob, and when they reached
the top, they saw Neville and his second, Mr. Hammersley,
riding towards them. The pair had halters as well as bridles,
and dismounting, made their nags fast to a large blackthorn
that grew there. The seconds then stepped forward and
saluted each other with formal civility.
Griffith looked at the grey horse, and ground his teeth.
The sight of the animal in Neville's possession stirred up his
hate, and helped to steel his heart. He stood apart, still,
pale, and gloomy.
The seconds stepped out fifteen paces, and placed the men.
Then they loaded two pair of pistols, and put a pistol in each
man's hand.
Major Rickards took that opportunity to advise his principal.
" Stand sharp. Keep your arm close to your side. Don't fire
too high. How do you feel ? "
" Like a man who must die, but will try to die in company."
The seconds now withdrew to their places, and the rivals
held their pistols lowered, but fixed their deadly eyes on
each other.
The eye, in such a circumstance, is a terrible thing : it is
57
GRIFFITH GAUNT
literally a weapon of destruction, for it directs the deadly
hand that guides the deadly bullet. Moreovei-, the longer and
the more steadily the duellist fixes his eye on his adversary,
the less likely he is to miss.
Griffith was very pale, but dogged. Neville was serious, but
firm. Both eyed each other unflinchingly.
" Gentlemen, are you ready ? " asked Neville's second.
/ " Yes."
| "Yes."
"Then," said Major Rickards, "you will fire when I let fall
this handkerchief, and not before. Mark me, gentlemen ; to
prevent mistakes, I shall say ' one two three ' and
then drop the handkerchief. Now then, once more, are you
quite ready ? "
/ Yes."
| "Yes."
" One two three." He dropped the handkerchief,
and both gentlemen fired simultaneously. Mr. Neville's hat
spun into the air ; Griffith stood untouched.
The bullet had passed through Neville's hat, and had
actually cut a lane through his magnificent hain.
The seconds now consulted, and it was intimated to Griffith
that a word of apology would be accepted by his antagonist.
Griffith declined to utter a syllable of apology.
Two more pistols were given the men.
" Aim lower," said Rickards.
" I mean to," said Griffith.
The seconds withdrew, and the men eyed each other.
Griffith, dogged and pale, as before; Neville not nearly so
self-assured. Griffith's bullet, in grazing him, had produced
the effect of a sharp, cold current of air no wider than a
knife. It was like death's icy forefinger laid on his head,
to mark him for the next shot as men mark a tree, then
come again and fell it.
" One two three ! "
And Griffith's pistol missed fire, but Neville's went off, and
Griffith's arm sank powerless, and his pistol rolled out of his
hand. He felt a sharp twinge, and then something trickle
down his arm.
The surgeon and both seconds ran to him.
" Nay, it is nothing," said he, " I shoot far better with
my left hand than my right. Give me another pistol, and
let me have fair play. He has hit me, and now I'll hit
1_ M *
him.
58
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Both seconds agreed this was impossible.
"It is the chance of war," said Major Rickards : "you
cannot be allowed to take a cool shot at Mr. Neville. If
you fire again, so must he."
" The affair may very well end here," said Mr. Hammersley.
" I understand there was some provocation on our side ; and
on behalf of the party insulted I am content to let the matter
end, Mr. Gaunt being wounded."
" I demand my second shot to his third/' said Griffith
sternly ; " he will not decline, unless he is a poltroon as well
as what I called him."
The nature of this reply was communicated to Neville,
and the seconds, with considerable reluctance, loaded two
more pistols ; and during the process Major Rickards glanced
at the combatants.
Griffith, exasperated by his wound and his jealousy, was
wearing out the chivalrous courage of his adversary, and the
major saw it. His keen eye noticed that Neville was getting
restless, and looking confounded at his despised rival's perti-
nacity, and that Gaunt was more dogged and more deadly.
"My man will kill yours this time," said he quietly to
Neville's second. " I can see it in his eye. He is hungry ;
t'other has had his bellyful."
Once more the men were armed, and the seconds with-
drew to their places, intimating that this was the last shot
they would allow under any circumstances whatever.
" Are you both ready ? "
( " Yes."
I "Yes."
A faint wail seemed to echo the response.
All heard it, and in that superstitious age believed it to be
some mysterious herald of death.
It suspended even Major Rickards's voice a minute. He
recovered himself, however, and once more his soldier-like
tones rang in the keen air :
One "
There was a great rushing, and a pounding of the hard
ground, and a scarlet Amazon galloped in and drew up in
the middle, right between the levelled pistols.
Every eye had been so bent on the combatants, that
Kate Peyton and her horse seemed to have sprung out of the
very earth. And there she sat, pale as ashes, on the steaming
piebald, and glanced from pistol to pistol.
The duellists stared in utter amazement, and instinctively
59
GRIFFITH GAUNT
lowered their weapons ; for she had put herself right in their
line of fire with a recklessness that contrasted nobly with her
fear for others. In short, this apparition literally petrified
them all, seconds as well as combatants.
And while they stood open-mouthed yet dumb, in came
the scamp, and, with a brisk assumption of delegated authority,
took Griffith's weapon out of his now unresisting hand, then
marched to Neville. He instantly saluted Catherine, and
then handed his pistol to her seeming agent, with a high-
bred and inimitable air of utter nonchalance.
Kate, seeing them to her surprise so easily disarmed,
raised her hands and her lovely eyes to Heaven, and in a
feeble voice thanked God and St. Nescioquis.
But very soon that faint voice quavered away to nothing,
and her fair head was seen to droop, and her eyes to close ;
then her body sank slowly forward like a broken lily, and in
another moment she lay fainting on the snow beside her
steaming horse.
He never moved he was so dead beat too.
Oh, lame and impotent conclusion of a vigorous exploit !
Masculine up to the crowning-point, and then to. go and spoil
all with "woman's weakness."
" N.B. This is rote sarcasticul," as Artemus, the delicious,
says. Woman's weakness ! If Solomon had planned and
Samson executed, they could not have served her turn better
than this most seasonable swooning did. For lo ! at her fall
the doughty combatants uttered a yell of dismay, and there
was an indiscriminate rush towards the fair sufferer.
But the surgeon claimed his rights. "This is my business,"
said he authoritatively ; " do not crowd on her, gentlemen ;
give her air."
Whereupon the duellists and seconds stood respectfully aloof
in a mixed group, and watched with eager interest and pity.
The surgeon made a hole in the snow and laid his fair
patient's head low. " Don't be alarmed," said he ; " she has
swooned ; that is all."
It was all mighty fine to say don't be alarmed. But her
face was ashy, and her lips the colour of lead ; and she was
so like death, they could not help being terribly alarmed.
And now, for the first time, the duellists felt culprits ; and,
as for fighting, every idea of such a thing went out of their
heads : the rivals now were but rival nurses ; and never did
a lot of women make more fuss over a child than all these
bloodthirsty men did over this Amazon manquee. They pro-
60
GRIFFITH GAUNT
duced their legendary lore : one's grandmother had told him
burnt feathers were the thing; another, from an equally
venerable source, had gathered that those pink palms must
be profanely slapped by the horny hand of a man ; for at no
less a price could resuscitation be obtained. The surgeon
scorning all their legends, Griffith and Neville made hasty
rushes with brandy and usquebagh but whether to be taken
internally or externally they did not say, nor indeed know ;
but only thrust their flasks wildly on the doctor, and he de-
clined them loftily. He melted snow in his hand, and dashed
it hard in her face, and put salts close to her pretty little
nostrils ; and this he repeated many times, without effect.
But at last her lips began to turn from lead colour to white,
and then from white to pink, and her heavenly eyes to open
again, and her mouth to murmur things pitiably small and not
bearing on the matter in hand.
Her cheek was still colourless when her consciousness
came back, and she found she was lying on the ground with
ever so many gentlemen looking at her.
At that, Modesty alarmed sent the blood at once rushing
to her pale cheek.
A lovely lily seemed turning to a lovely rose before their
eyes.
The next thing was, she hid that blushing face in her
hands, and began to whimper.
The surgeon encouraged her : " Nay, we are all friends,"
he whispered paternally.
She half parted her fingers and peered through them at
Neville and Gaunt. Then she remembered all, and began to
cry hysterically.
New dismay of sanguinary unprofessional s !
" Now, gentlemen, if you will lend me your flasks/' said Mr.
I slip mighty calmly.
Griffith and Neville were instantly at his side, each with a
flask.
The surgeon administered snow and brandy. Kate sipped
these, and gulped down her sobs, and at last cried composedly.
But, when it came to sipping brandied snow and crying
comfortably, Major Rickards's anxiety gave place to curiosity.
Without taking his ^ye off her, he beckoned Mr. Hammersley
apart, and whispered, " Who the deuce is it ? "
" Don't you know ? " whispered the other in return. " Why,
Mistress Peyton herself."
" What, the girl it is all about ? Well, I never heard of
61
GRIFFITH GAUNT
such a thing : the causa belli to come galloping, and sivooning,
on the field of battle, and so stop the fighting ! What will
our ladies do next ? By Heaven ! she is worth fighting for,
though. Which is the happy man, I wonder ? She doesn't
look at either of them."
"Ah," said the gentleman, "that is more than I know,
more than Neville knows, more than anybody knows."
" Bet you a guinea she knows, and lets it out before she
leaves the field," said Major Rickards.
Mr. Hammersley objected to an even bet, but said he would
venture one to three she did not. It was an age of bets.
" Done ! " said the major.
By this time Kate had risen, with Mr. Islip's assistance, and
was now standing with her hand upon the piebald's mane. She
saw Rickards and Hammersley were whispering about her, and
she felt very uneasy ; so she told Mr. Islip timidly she desired
to explain her conduct to all the gentlemen present, and avert
false reports.
They were soon all about her, and she began with the most
engaging embarrassment by making excuses for her weakness.
She said she had ridden all the way from home, fasting :
that was what had upset her. The gentlemen took the cue
directly, and vowed eagerly and unanimously it was enough
to upset a porter.
" But, indeed," resumed Kate, blushing, " I did not come
here to make a fuss and be troublesome, but to prevent mis-
chief, and clear up the strangest misunderstanding between two
worthy gentlemen that are, both of them, my good friends."
She paused, and there was a chilling silence : everybody
felt she was getting on ticklish ground now. She knew that
well enough herself. But she had a good rudder to steer by,
called Mother-wit.
Says she, with inimitable coolness, " Mr. Gaunt is an old
friend of mine, and a little too sensitive where I am concerned.
Some chatterbox has been and told him Mr. Neville should
say I have changed horses with him ; and on that the gossips
put their own construction. Mr. Gaunt hears all this, and
applies insulting terms to Mr. Neville. Nay, do not deny it,
Mr. Gaunt, for I have it here in your own handwriting.
" As for Mr. Neville, he merely defends his honour, and is
little to blame. But now I shall tell the true story about
these horses, and make you all ashamed of this sorry quarrel.
" Gentlemen, thus it is : a few days ago Mr. Gaunt bade
me farewell, and started for foreign parts. He had not been
62
GRIFFITH GAUNT
long gone when word came from Boltoii that Mr. Charlton
was no more. You know how sudden it was. Consider,
gentlemen ; him dead, and his heir riding off to the continent
in ignorance. So I thought, ' Oh, what shall I do ? ' Just
then Mr. Neville visited me, and I told him : on that he
offered me his piebald horse to carry the news after Mr. Gaunt,
because my grey was too tired ; it was the day we drew Yew-
tree Brow, and crossed Harrowden brook, you know "
Griffith interrupted her : " Stay a bit," said he : " this is
news to me. You never told me he had lent you the piebald
nag to do me a good turn."
" Did I not ? " said Kate, mighty innocently. " Well, but
I tell you now. Ask him ; he cannot deny it. As for the
rest, it was all done in a hurry. Mr. Neville had no horse now
to ride home with ; he did me the justice to think I should
be very ill pleased were he to trudge home a-foot and suffer
for his courtesy ; so he borrowed my grey, to keep him out of
the mire ; and indeed the ways were fouler than usual, with
the rains. Was there any ill in all this ? HONI SOIT QUI MAL
Y PENSE ! say I."
The gentlemen all sided loudly with her on this appeal
except Neville, who held his tongue, and smiled at her plausi-
bility; and Griffith, who hung his head at her siding with
Neville.
At last he spoke and said sorrowfully, " If you did exchange
horses with him, of course I have only to ask his pardon
and go."
Catherine reflected a moment before she replied.
" Well," said she, " I did exchange, and I did not. Why
quarrel about a word ? Certainly he took my horse, and I took
his ; but it was only for the nonce. Mr. Neville is foreign
bred, and an example to us all : he knows his piebald is worth
two of my grey, and so he was too fine a gentleman to send
me back my old hunter and ask for his young charger. He
waited for me to do that ; and, if anybody deserves to be shot,
it must be Me. But, dear heart, I did not foresee all this fuss ;
I said to myself, ' La, Mr. Neville will be sure to call on my
father or me some day, or else I shall be out on the piebald, and
meet him on the grey,and then we can each take ourown again.'
Was I so far out in my reckoning ? Is not that my Rosinante
yonder ? Here, Tom Leicester, you put my side-saddle on
that grey horse, and the man's saddle on the piebald there.
And now, Griffith Gaunt, it is your turn: you must with-
draw your injurious terms, and end this superlative folly."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith hesitated.
"Come," said Kate, "consider; Mr. Neville is esteemed by
all the county : you are the only gentleman in it who have
ever uttered a disparaging word against him. Are you sure
you are more free from passion and prejudice, and wiser
than all the county? oblige me, and do what is right.
Come, Griffith Gaunt; let your reason unsay the barbarous
words your passion hath uttered against a worthy gentleman
whom we all esteem."
Her habitual influence, and these last words, spoken with
gentle and persuasive dignity, turned the scale. Griffith
turned to Neville, and said in a low voice that he began to
fear he had been hasty, and used harsher words than the
occasion justified. He was going to stammer out something
more, but Neville interrupted him with a noble gesture :
" That is enough, Mr. Gaunt," said he. " I do not feel quite
blameless in the matter, and have no wish to mortify an
honourable adversary unnecessarily."
" Very handsomely said," put in Major Rickards ; " and
now let me have a word. I say that both gentlemen have
conducted themselves like men under fire ; and that honour
is satisfied, and the misunderstanding at an end. As for my
principal here, he has shown he can fight, and now he has
shown he can hear reason against himself, when the lips of
beauty utter it. I approve his conduct from first to last, and
am ready to defend it in all companies, and in the field,
should it ever be impugned."
Kate coloured with pleasure, and gave her hand eloquently
to the major. He bowed over it, and kissed the tips of her
fingers.
" Oh, sir," she said, looking on him now as a friend, " I
dreamed I saw Mr. Neville lying dead upon the snow, with
the blood trickling from his temple."
At this Neville's dark cheek glowed with pleasure. So it
was her anxiety on his account had brought her here !
Griffith heard too, and sighed patiently.
Assured by Major Rickards that there neither could nor
should be any more fighting, Kate made her adieux, mounted
her grey horse, and rode off, discreetly declining all attend-
ance. She beckoned Tom Leicester, however. But he pre-
tended not to see the signal, and let her go alone. His
motive for lingering behind was characteristic, and will
transpire shortly.
As soon as she was gone, Griffith Gaunt quietly reminded
64
GRIFFITH GAUNT
the surgeon that there was a bullet in his arm all this
time.
" Bless my soul ! " said Mr. Islip, " I forgot that ; I was so
taken up with the lady."
Griffith's coat was now taken off, and the bullet searched
for : it had entered the fleshy part of his arm below the
elbow, and, passing round the bone, projected just under
the skin. The surgeon made a slight incision, and then,
pressing with his finger and thumb, out it rolled. Griffith
put it in his pocket.
Neville had remained out of civility, and now congratulated
his late antagonist, and himself, that it was no worse.
The last words that passed between the rivals on this occa-
sion were worth recording, and characteristic of the time.
Neville addressed Gaunt with elaborate courtesy, and to
this effect : " I find myself in a difficulty, sir. You did me
the honour to invite me to Mr. Charlton's funeral, and I
accepted ; but now I fear to intrude a guest, the sight of whom
may be disagreeable to you. And, on the other hand, my
absence might be misconstrued as a mark of disrespect, or of
a petty hostility I am far from feeling. Be pleased, therefore,
to dispose of me entirely in this matter."
Griffith reflected. " Sir," said he, " there is an old saying,
( Let every tub stand on its own bottom.' The deceased wished
you to follow him to the grave, and therefore I would on no
account have you absent. Besides, now I think of it, there
will be less gossip about this unfortunate business if our neigh-
bours see you under my roof, and treated with due considera-
tion there, as you will be."
" I do not doubt that, sir, from so manly an adversary, and I
shall do myself the honour to come." Such was Neville's reply.
The rivals then saluted each other profoundly, and parted.
Hammersley and Rickards lingered behind their principals
to settle their little bet about Kate's affections; and, by-
the-bye, they were indiscreet enough to discuss this delicate
matter within a dozen yards of Tom Leicester : they forgot
that "little pitchers have long ears."
Catherine Peyton rode slowly home, and thought it all over
as she went, and worried herself finely. She was one that
winced at notoriety ; and she could not hope to escape it now.
How the gossips would talk about her ! They would say the
gentlemen had fought about her, and she had parted them
for love of one of them. And then the gentlemen them-
selves ! The strict neutrality she had endeavoured to maintain
65 E
GRIFFITH GAUNT
on Scutchemsee Nob, in order to make peace, would it not keep
them both her suitors ? She foresaw she should be pulled to
pieces, and live in hot water, and be " the talk of the county."
There were but two ways out : she must marry one of them,
and petition the other not to shoot him ; or else she must
take the veil, and so escape them both.
She preferred the latter alternative. She was more en-
thusiastic in religion than in any earthly thing ; and now the
angry passions of men thrust her the same road that her own
devout mind had always drawn her.
As soon as she got home she sent a message to Father
Francis, who drove her conscience, and begged him to come
and advise her.
After that, she did the wisest thing, perhaps, she had done
all day went to bed.
CHAPTER VII
THE sun was just setting when Catherine's maid came into
her room and told her Father Francis was below. She sent
down to say she counted on his sleeping at Peyton Hall, and
she would come down to him in half-an-hour. She then
ordered a refection to be prepared for him in her boudoir,
and made her toilet with all reasonable speed, not to keep
him waiting. Her face beamed with quiet complacency now,
for the holy man's very presence in the house was a comfort
to her.
Father Francis was a very stout muscular man, with a ruddy
countenance. He never wore gloves, and you saw at once he
was not a gentleman by birth. He had a fine voice ; it was
deep, mellow, and, when he chose, sonorous. This, and his
person, ample, but not obese, gave him great weight, espe-
cially with his female pupils. If he was not quite so much
reverenced by the men, yet he was both respected and liked ;
in fact, he had qualities that make men welcome in every
situation good-humour, good sense, and tact. A good son
of his Church, and early trained to let no occasion slip of
advancing her interests.
I wish my readers could have seen the meeting between
Catherine Peyton and this burly ecclesiastic. She came into
the drawing-room with that imperious air and carriage which
had made her so unpopular with her own sex, and at the bare
66
GRIFFITH GAUNT
sight of Father Francis drooped and bent in a moment as she
walked, and her whole body indicated a submissiveness, grace-
ful, but rather abject : it was as if a young poplar should turn
to a weeping- willow in half a moment. Thus metamoi'phosed,
the Beauty of Cumberland glided up to Francis, and sank al-
most to her knee before him, crossed her hands on her bosom,
lowered her lovely head, and awaited his benediction.
The father made rapidly the sign of the cross over that
thoroughbred head and golden hair, and blessed her, business-
like.
" The hand of less employment hath the daintier sense."
SHAKESPEARE.
Father Francis blessed so many of these pretty creatures
every week, that he had long outgrown your fine romantic
way of blessing a body. (We manage these things better in
the theatre.) Then he lent her his hand to rise, and asked
her in what she required his direction at present.
" In that which shall decide my whole life," said she.
Francis responded by a look of paternal interest.
"But, first," murmured she, "let me confess to you, and
obtain absolution, if I may. Ah, father, my sins have been
many since last confession."
"Be it so," said Father Francis resignedly. "Confession
is the best preface to Direction." And he seated himself
with a certain change of manner, an easy assumption of
authority.
" Nay, father," suggested the lady, " we shall be more
private in my room."
" As you will, Mistress Catherine Peyton," said the priest,
returning to his usual manner.
So then the fair penitent led her spiritual judge captive
up another flight of stairs, and into her little boudoir. A
cheerful wood fire crackled and flamed up the chimney, and
a cloth had been laid on a side table : cold turkey and chine
graced the board, and a huge glass magnum of purple bur-
gundy glowed and shone in the rays of the cheery fire.
Father Francis felt cosy at the sight, and at once accepted
Kate's invitation to take some nourishment before entering
on the labour of listening to the catalogue of her crimes. " I
fasted yesterday," he muttered ; and the zeal with which he
attacked the viands rendered the statement highly credible.
He invited Kate to join him, but she declined.
He returned more than once to the succulent meats, and
67
GRIFFITH GAUNT
washed all down with a pint of the fine old burgundy, per-
fumed and purple. Meantime she of the laity sat looking
into the fire with heavenly-minded eyes.
At last, with a gentle sigh of content, the ghostly father
installed himself in an arm-chair by the fire, and invited his
penitent to begin.
She took a footstool and brought it to his side, so that in
confessing her blacker vices she might be able to whisper
them in his very ear. She kneeled on her little footstool, put
her hands across her breast, and in this lowly attitude mur-
mured softly after this fashion, with a contrite voice :
" I have to accuse myself of many vices. Alas ! in one
short fortnight I have accumulated the wickedness of a life.
I have committed the seven deadly sins. I have been guilty
of Pride, Wrath, Envy, Disobedience, Immodesty, Vanity,
Luxury, Fibs "
" Gently, daughter," said the priest quietly ; " these terms
are too general : give me instances. Let us begin with Wrath.
Ah ! we are all prone to that."
The fair penitent sighed, and said : " Especially me.
Example : I was angry beyond reason with my maid, Ruth.
(She does comb my hair so uncouthly.) So 'then the other
night, when I was in trouble, and most needed soothing, by
being combed womanly, she gets thinking of Harry that helps
in the stable, and she tears away at my hair. I started up
and screamed out, ' Oh, you clumsy thing ! go currycomb my
horse, and send that oaf your head is running on to handle
my hair.' And I told her my granddam would have whipped
her well for it ; but nowadays mistresses were the only
sufferers : we had lost the use of our hands, we are grown so
squeamish ; and I stamped like a fury, and said, ' Get you gone
out of the room ; ' and I hated the sight of her. And the
poor girl went from me, crying, without a word being a better
Christian than her mistress ; mea culpa / mea culpa !
" Did you slap her ? "
" Nay, father, not so bad as that."
" Are you quite sure you did not slap her ? " asked Francis
quietly.
" Nay. But I had a mind to. My heart slapped her if my
hand forebore. Alas !"
" Had she hurt you ? "
" That she did : but only my head. I hurt her heart, for the
poor wench loves me dear ; the Lord knows for what."
" Humph ! proceed to Pride."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Yes, father. I do confess that I was greatly puffed up
with the praises of men. I was proud of the sorriest things
of jumping a brook, when 'twas my horse jumped it, and had
jumped it better with a fly on his back than the poor worm
Me ; of my good looks, forgetting that God gave them me ;
and besides I am no beauty when all is done it is all their
flattery. And at my Lady Munster's dinner I pridefully walked
out before Mistress Davies, the rich cheesemonger's wife, that
is as proud of her money as I of my old blood (God forgive
two fools !) ; which I had no right to do a maid to walk
before a wife ; and, oh ! father, I whispered the gentleman who
led me out : it was Mr. Neville " Here the penitent put
one hand before her face, and hesitated.
"Well, daughter, half confession is no confession. You
said to Mr. Neville ? "
" I said, ' Nothing comes after cheese.' "
This revelation was made most dolefully.
" It was pert and unbecoming," said Father Francis gravely ;
though a twinkle in his eye showed that he was not so pro-
foundly shocked as his penitent appeared to be. " But go to
graver matters. Immodesty, said you : I shall be very sorry
if this is so. You did not use to be immodest."
"Well, father, I hope I have not altogether laid aside
modesty, otherwise it would be time for me to die, let
alone to confess ; but sure it cannot be modest of me to
ride after a gentleman and take him a letter. And then
that was not enough : I heard of a duel, and what did I
do but ride to Scutchemsee Nob, and interfere. What
gentlewoman ever was so bold ? I was not their wife, you
know ; neither of them's."
" Humph ! " said the priest, " I have already heard a whisper
of this, but told to your credit. ' Beati pacifici : Blessed are
the peacemakers.' You had better lay that matter before me
by-and-by, as your director. As your confessor, tell me why
you accuse yourself of Luxury."
" Alas ! " said the young lady, " scarce a day passes that I
do not offend in that respect. Example : Last Friday, dining
abroad, the cooks sent up a dish of collops. Oh, father, they
smelt so nice ; and I had been a hunting. First I smelt them :
and that I couldn't help. But then I forgot custodia oculorum ;
and I eyed them. And the next thing was, presently some-
how two of 'em were on my plate."
" Very wrong," said Father Francis ; " but that is a harsher
term than I should have applied to this longing of a hungry
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
woman for collops o' Friday. Pray what do you understand
by that big word ? "
" Why, you explained it yourself in your last sermon. It
means ' unruly and inordinate desires/ Example : Edith
Hammersley told me I was mad to ride in scarlet, and me so
fair and my hair so light. ' Green or purple is your colour,'
says she ; and soon after this didn't I see in Stanhope town
the loveliest piece of purple broadcloth ? Oh, father, it had a
gloss like velvet, and the sun did so shine on it as it lay in the
shop-window : it was fit for a king or a bishop ; and I stood
and gloated on it, and pined for it, and died for it, and down
went the tenth commandment."
" Ah," said Francis, u the hearts of women are set on vanity.
But tell me, these unruly affections of yours, are they ever
fixed on persons of the other sex ? "
The fair sinner reflected. "On gentlemen!" said she.
" Why, they come pestering one of their own accord. No, no ;
I could do without them very well. What I sinfully pine for
is meat on a Friday as sure as ever the day comes round ; and
high-couraged horses to ride, and fine clothes to wear every
day in the week : mea culpa ! mea culpa ! "
Such being the dismal state of things, Francis slily requested
her to leave the seven deadly sins in peace, and go to her
small offences : for he argued shrewdly enough that since her
sins were peccadilloes, perhaps some of her peccadilloes might
turn out to be sins.
" Small ! " cried the culprit, turning red : " they are none of
them small." I really think she was jealous of her reputation
as a sinner of high degree.
However, she complied, and putting up her mouth, mur-
mured a miscellaneous confession without end. The accents
were soft and musical, like a babbling brook ; and the sins,
such as they were, poor things, rippled on in endless rotation.
Now nothing tends more to repose than a purling brook ;
and ere long that bassoon, her confessor's nose, let her know
she had lost his ear.
She stopped indignant. But at that he instantly awoke
(sublata causa, tollitur effectus), and addressed her thus with
sudden dignity: "My daughter, you will fast on Monday next,
and say two Aves and a Credo. Absolvo te.
" And now," said he, " as I am a practical man, let us get
back from the imaginary world into the real. Speak to me at
present as your director ; and mind you must be serious now,
and call things by their right names."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Upon this Kate took a seat, and told her story, and shewed
him the difficulty she was in. She then reminded him that, not-
withstanding her unfortunate hitch for the seven deadly sins,
she was a good Catholic, a zealous daughter of the Church :
and she let him know her desire to retire from both lovers into a
convent : and, so freed from the world and its temptations, yield
up her soul entire to celestial peace and divine contemplation.
" Not so fast," said the priest. " Even zeal is nought with-
out obedience. If you could serve the Church better than by
going into a convent, would you be wilful ? "
" Oh no, father. But how can I serve the Church better
than by renouncing the world ? "
" Perhaps by remaining in the world, as she herself does ;
and by making converts to the faith. You could hardly serve
her worse than by going into a convent ; for our convents
are poor, and you have no means : you would be a charge.
No, daughter, we want no poor nuns; we have enough of
them. If you are, as I think, a true and zealous daughter of
the Church, you must marry, and instil the true faith with
all a mother's art, a mother's tenderness, into your children.
Then the heir to your husband's estates will be a Catholic,
and so the true faith get rooted in the soil."
" Alas ! " said Catherine, " are we to look but to the worldly
interests of the Church ? "
" They are inseparable from her spiritual interests here on
earth : our souls are not more bound to our bodies."
Catherine was deeply mortified. "So the Church rejects
me because I am poor," said she, with a sigh.
" The Church rejects you not, but only the convent. No
place is less fit for you. You have a high spirit, and high
religious sentiments : both would be mortified and shocked
in a nunnery. Think you that convent walls can shut out
temptation ? I know them better than you : they are strong-
holds of vanity, folly, tittle-tattle, and all the meanest vices
of your sex. Nay, I forbid you to think of it : show me now
your faith by your obedience."
" You are harsh to me, father," said Catherine piteously.
" I am firm. You are one that need a tight hand, mistress.
Come now, humility and obedience : these are the Christian
graces that best become your youth. Say, can the Church,
through me its minister, count on these from you, or (suddenly
letting loose his diapason) did you send for me to ask advice,
and yet go your own way, hiding a high stomach and a wilful
heart under a show of humility ? "
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Catherine looked at Father Francis with dismay. This was
the first time that easy-going priest had shown her how im-
pressive he could be. She was downright frightened, and
said she hoped she knew better than defy her director. She
laid her will at his feet, and would obey him like a child, as
was her duty.
" Now I know my daughter again," said he, and gave her
his horrible paw, the which she kissed very humbly, and
that matter was settled to her entire dissatisfaction.
Soon after that they were both summoned to supper ; but,
as they went down, Kate's maid drew her aside, and told her
a young man wanted to speak to her.
" A young man ! " screamed Kate. " Hang young men.
They have got me a fine scolding just now. Which is it, pray ? "
" He is a stranger to me."
' Perhaps he comes with a message from some fool. You
may bring him to me in the hall, and stay with us ; it may
be a thief for aught I know."
The maid soon reappeared, followed by Mr. Thomas
Leicester.
That young worthy had lingered on Scutchemsee Nob, to
extract a last drop of enjoyment from the situation, by setting
up his hat at ten paces, and firing the gentlemen's pistols at
it. I despair of conveying to any rational reader the satis-
faction, keen though brief, this afforded him : it was a new
sensation. Gentlemen's guns he had fired many, but duelling
pistols not one till that bright hour.
He was now come to remind Catherine of his pecuniary
claims. Luckily for him she was one who did not need to be
reminded of her promises. " Oh, it is you, child," said she :
" well, I'll be as good as my word." She then dismissed her
maid, and went upstairs, and soon returned with two guineas,
a crown piece, and three shillings in her hand. " There,"
said she, smiling, " I am sorry for you, but that is all the
money I have in the world."
The boy's eyes glittered at sight of the coin : he rammed
the silver into his pocket with hungry rapidity. But he shook
his head about the gold. " I'm afeard o' these," said he, and
eyed them mistrustfully in his palm. " These be the friends
that get you your throat cut o' dark nights. Mistress, please
keep 'em for me, and let me have a shilling now and then
when I'm dry."
" Nay," said Kate, " but are you not afraid I shall spend
your money, now I have none left of my own ? "
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Tom seemed quite struck with the reasonableness of this
observation, and hesitated. However, he concluded to risk
it. " You don't look one of the sort to wrong a poor fellow/'
said he ; " and besides you'll have brass to spare of your own
before long, I know."
Kate opened her eyes. " Oh, indeed ! " said she ; " and
pray how do you know that ?"
Mr. Leicester favoured her with a knowing wink. He
gave her a moment to digest this, and then said, almost in a
whisper, " Hearkened the gentlefolks on Scutchemsee Nob,
after you was gone home, mistress."
Kate was annoyed. " What ! they must be prating as soon
as one's back is turned. Talk of women's tongues ! Now
what did they say, I should like to know ? "
" It was about the bet, ye know."
" A bet ! Oh, that is no affair of mine."
" Ay, but it is. Why, 'twas you they were betting on :
seems that old soger and Squire Hammersley had laid three
guineas to one that you should let out which was your fancy
of them two."
Kate's cheeks were red as fire now, but her delicacy over-
powered her curiosity, and she would not put any more ques-
tions. To be sure, young Hopeful needed none ; he was
naturally a chatterbox, and he proceeded to tell her, that as
soon as ever she was gone, Squire Hammersley took a guinea,
and offered it to the old soldier, and told him he had won ;
and the old soldier pocketed it. But after that, somehow,
Squire Hammersley let drop that Mr. Neville was the favourite.
te Then," continued Mr. Leicester, " what does the old soger
do, but pull out guinea again, and says he, ' You must have
this back : bet is not won ; for you do think 'tis Neville, now
I do think 'tis Gaunt. So then they fell to argufying, and
talking a lot o' stuff."
" No doubt : the insolent meddlers ! Can you remember
any of their nonsense ? not that it is worth remembering, I'll
be bound."
" Let me see. Well, Squire Hammersley he said you owned
to dreaming of Squire Neville, and that was a sign of love, said
he ; and, besides, you sided with him against t'other. But the
old soger he said you called Squire Gaunt ' Griffith ; ' and he
built on that. Oh, and a said you changed the horses back to
please our squire. Says he, ' You must look to what the lady
did, never heed what she said. Why, their sweet lips was only
made to kiss us, and deceive us,' says that there old soger."
73
GRIFFITH GAUNT
I'll I'll ail d what did you say, sir ? For I suppose your
tongue was not idle."
" Oh, me ; I never let 'em know I was hearkening, or they'd
have 'greed in a moment for to give me a hiding. Besides I
had no need to cudgel my brains : I'd only to ask you plump.
You'll tell me, I know. Which is it, mistress ? I'm for Gaunt,
you know in course. Alack, mistress/' gabbled this voluble
youth, " sure you won't be so hard as sack my squire, and him
got a bullet in his carcass, for love of you, this day."
Kate started, and looked at him in surprise. "Oh," said
she, " a bullet ! Did they fight again the moment they saw my
back was turned ? The cowards ! " and she began to tremble.
" No, no," said Tom ; "that was done before ever you came
up. Don't ye remember that single shot while we were
climbing the Nob ? Well, 'twas Squire Gaunt got it in the
arm that time."
" Oh ! "
" But I say, wasn't our man game ? never let out he was
hit while you was there. But as soon as ever you was gone,
they cut the bullet out of him ; and I seen it."
"Ah! ah!"
"Doctor takes out his knife precious sharp and shiny
'twas; cuts into his arm with no more ado than if he was
carving a pullet ; out squirts the blood, a good un."
" Oh, no more ! no more ! You cruel boy, how could you
bear to look ? " And Kate hid her own face with both hands.
" Why, 'twasn't my skin as was cut into. Squire Gaunt he
never hollered ; a winced, though, and ground his teeth ; but
'twas over in a minute, and the bullet in his hand. ' That is
for my wife,' says he ' if ever I have one,' and puts it in his
pocket. Why, mistress, you be as white as your smock."
" No, no. Did he faint, poor soul ? "
" Not he : what was there to faint about ? "
" Then why do I feel so sick, even to hear of it ? "
" Because you ha'n't got no stomach," said the boy con-
temptuously. "Your courage is skin deep, I'm thinking.
However, I'm glad you feel for our squire about the bullet :
so now I hope you will wed with him, and sack Squire Neville.
Then you and I shall be kind o' kin : Squire Gaunt's feyther
was my feyther. That makes you stare, mistress. Why, all
the folk do know it. Look at this here little mole on my
forehead. Squire Gaunt have got the fellow to that." At
this crisis of his argument, he suddenly caught a glimpse of
his personal interest ; instantly he ceased his advocacy of
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Squire Gaunt, and became ludicrously impartial. "Well,
mistress ; wed whichever you like/' said he, with sublime
indifference; "only whichever you do wed, prithee speak a
word to the gentleman, and get me to be his gamekeeper.
I'd liever be your goodman's gamekeeper than King of
England." He was proceeding with vast volubility to enu-
merate his qualifications for that confidential post, when the
lady cut him short, and told him to go and get his supper
in the kitchen, for she was wanted elsewhere. He made a
scrape, and clattered away with his hobnailed shoes.
Kate went to the hall window and opened it, and let the
cold air blow over her face.
Her heart was touched, and her bosom filled with pity for
her old sweetheart.
How hard she had been. She had sided with Neville
against the wounded man. And she thought how sadly and
patiently he had submitted to her decision and a bullet in
his poor arm all the time.
The gentle bosom heaved and heaved, and the tears began
to run.
She entered the dining-room timidly, expecting some com-
ment on her discourteous absence. Instead of that, both her
father and her director rose respectfully, and received her
with kind and affectionate looks. They then pressed her to
eat this and that, and were remarkably attentive and kind.
She could see she was deep in their good books. This pleased
her ; but she watched quietly, after the manner of her sex, to
learn what it was all about. Nor was she left long in the
dark. Remarks were made that hit her, though they were
none of them addressed to her.
Father Francis delivered quitea little homilyon"Obedience,"
and said how happy a thing it was when zeal, a virtue none
too common in these degenerate days, was found tempered
by humility, and subservient to ghostly counsel and authority.
Mr. Peyton dealt in no general topics of that kind; his
discourse was secular : it ran upon Neville's Cross, Neville's
Court, and the baronetcy ; and he showed Francis how and
why this title must, sooner or later, come to George Neville,
and the heirs of his body.
Francis joined in this topic for a while, but speedily
diverged into what might be called a collateral theme. He
described to Kate a delightful spot on the Neville estate,
where a nunnery might be built and endowed by any good
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Catholic lady, having zeal, and influence with the owner of
the estate, and with the lord-lieutenant of the county.
" It is three parts an island (for the river Wey curls round
it lovingly), but backed by wooded slopes that keep off the
north and east winds : a hidden and balmy place, such as
the forefathers of the Church did use to choose for their
rustic abbeys, whose ruins still survive to remind us of the
pious and glorious days gone by. Trout and salmon come
swimming to the door; hawthorn and woodbine are as rife
there as weeds be in some parts ; two broad oaks stand on
turf like velvet, and ring with song-birds. A spot by nature
sweet, calm, and holy ; good for pious exercises and heavenly
contemplation ; there, methinks, if it be God's will, I should
see old age, I would love to end my own days, at peace with
Heaven and with all mankind."
Kate was much moved by this picture, and her elapsed
hands and glistening eyes showed the glory and delight it
would be to her to build a convent on so lovely a spot. But
her words were vague. " How sweet ! how sweet ! " was all
she committed herself to. For, after what Tom Leicester
had just told her, she hardly knew what to say, or what to
think, or what to do : she felt she had become a mere puppet,
first drawn one way, then another.
One thing appeared pretty clear to her now : Father
Francis did not mean her to choose between her two lovers ;
he was good enough to relieve her of that difficulty by choos-
ing for her. She was to marry Neville.
She retired to rest directly after supper, for she was
thoroughly worn out. And the moment she rose to go, her
father bounced up and lighted the bed candle for her with
novel fervour, and kissed her on the cheek, and said in her
ear "Good night, my Lady Neville."
CHAPTER VIII
WHAT with the day's excitement, and a sweet secluded con-
vent in her soul, and a bullet in her bosom, and a ringing in
her ear, that sounded mighty like " Lady Neville ! Lady
Neville ! Lady Neville ! " Kate spent a restless night, and
woke with a bad headache.
She sent her maid to excuse her, on this score, from going
76
GRIFFITH GAUNT
to Bolton Hall. But she was informed in reply that the
carriage had been got ready expressly for her ; so she must
be good enough to shake off disease and go : the air would
do her a deal more good than lying abed.
Thereupon she dressed herself in her black silk gown, and
came down, looking pale and languid, but still quite lovely
enough to discharge what in this age of cant I suppose we
should call " her Mission ; " videlicet, to set honest men by
the ears.
At half-past eight o'clock the carriage came round to the
front door. Its body, all glorious with the Peyton armorials,
and with patches of rusty gilding, swung exceedingly loose
on long leathern straps instead of springs, and the fore-wheels
were a mile from the hind-wheels, more or less. A pre-
tentious and horrible engine, drawn by four horses ; only,
two of them being ponies, impaired the symmetry and majestic
beauty of the pageant. Old Joe drove the wheelers ; his boy
rode the leaders ; and every now and then got off and kicked
them in the pits of their stomachs, or pierced them with hedge-
stakes, to rouse their mettle. Thus encouraged and stimulated,
they effected an average of four miles and a half per hour,
notwithstanding the snow, and reached Bolton just in time.
At the lodge, Francis got out, and lay in ambush but only
for a time. He did not think it orthodox to be present at
a religious ceremony of his Protestant friends, nor common-
sense-o-dox to turn his back upon their dinner.
The carriage drew up at the hall door. It was wide open,
and the hall lined with servants, male and female, in black.
In the midst, between these two rows, stood Griffith Gaunt,
bareheaded, to welcome the guests. His arm was in a sling.
He had received all the others in the middle of the hall ; but
he came to the threshold to meet Kate and her father. He
bowed low and respectfully ; then gave his left hand to Kate
to conduct her, after the formal fashion of the day. The sight
of his arm in a sling startled and affected her ; and with him
giving her his hand almost at the same moment, she pressed
it, or indeed squeezed it nervously, and it was in her heart to
say something kind and womanly ; but her father was close
behind, and she was afraid of saying something too kind, if she
said anything at all ; so Griffith only got a little gentle nervous
pinch. But that was more than he expected, and sent a thrill
of delight through him. His brown eyes replied with a volume,
and holding her hand up in the air, as high as her ear, and
keeping at an incredible distance, he led her solemnly to a
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
room where the other ladies were, and left her there with a
profound bow.
The Peytons were nearly the last persons expected ; and
soon after their arrival the funeral procession formed. This
part was entirely arranged by the undertaker. The monstrous
custom of forbidding ladies to follow their dead had not yet
occurred even to the idiots of the nation ; and Mr. Peyton and
his daughter were placed in the second carriage. The first
contained Griffith Gaunt alone, as head mourner. But the
Peytons were not alone ; no other relation of the deceased
being present, the undertaker put Mr. Neville with the Peytons,
because he was heir to a baronetcy.
Kate was much startled, and astonished to see him come
out into the hall. But, when he entered the carriage, she
welcomed him warmly. " Oh, I am so glad to see you here,"
said she.
" Guess by that what my delight at meeting you must be,"
said he.
She blushed and turned it off. " I mean, that your coming
here gives me good hopes there will be no more mischief."
She then lowered her voice, and begged him on no account to
tell her father of her ride to Scutchemsee Nob. ,
" Not a word," said George. He knew the advantage of
sharing a secret with a fair lady. He proceeded to whisper
something very warm in her ear : she listened to some of it ;
but then remonstrated, and said, " Are you not ashamed to go
on so at a funeral ? Oh, do pray leave compliments a moment,
and think of your latter end."
He took this suggestion, as indeed he did everything from
her, in good part, and composed his visage into a decent
gravity.
Soon after this they reached the church, and buried the
deceased in his family vault.
People who are not bereaved by the death are always in-
clined to chatter coming home from a funeral. Kate now talked
to Neville of her own accord, and asked him if he had spoken
to his host. He said " Yes ; " and, more than that, had come
to a clear understanding with him. " We agreed that it was
no use fighting for you. I said if either of us two was to kill
the other, it does not follow you would wed the survivor."
" Me wed the wretch ! " said Kate. " I should abhor him,
and go into a convent in spite of you all, and end my days
praying for the murdered man's soul."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Neither of us is worth all that," suggested Neville, with
an accent of conviction.
"That is certain/' replied the lady drily; "so please not to
do it."
He bade her set her mind at ease : they had both agreed to
try and win her by peaceful arts.
" Then a pretty life mine will be."
"Well, I think it will, till you decide."
" I could easily decide, if it were not for giving pain to
somebody."
" Oh, you can't help that. My sweet mistress, you are not
the first that has had to choose between two worthy men.
For, in sooth, I have nothing to say against my rival neither.
I know him better than I did : he is a very worthy gentleman,
though he is damnably in my way."
"And you are a very noble one to say so."
" And you are one of those that make a man noble : I feel
that petty arts are not the way to win you, and I scorn them.
Sweet Mistress Kate, I adore you. You are the best and
noblest, as well as the loveliest of women."
" Oh, hush ! Mr. Neville, I am a creature of clay ; and you
are another ; and both of us coming home from a funeral. Do
think of that."
Here they were interrupted by Mr. Peyton asking Kate to
lend, him a shilling for the groom. Kate replied aloud that
she had left her purse at home, then whispered in his ear that
she had not a shilling in the world ; and this was strictly true,
for her little all was Tom Leicester's now. With this they
reached the Hall, and the coy Kate gave both Neville and
Gaunt the slip, and got amongst her mates. There her tongue
went as fast as her neighbours', though she had just come
back from a funeral.
But soon the ladies and gentlemen were all invited to the
reading of the Will.
And now chance, which had hitherto befriended Neville
by throwing him into one carriage with Kate, gave Gaunt a
turn. He found her a moment alone and near the embrasure
of a window. He seized the opportunity and asked her
might he say a word in her ear. " What a question ! " said
she gaily ; and the next moment they had the embrasure to
themselves.
" Kate," said he, hurriedly, " in a few minutes, I suppose,
I shall be master of this place. Now you told me once you
would rather be an abbess or a nun than marry me."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Did I ? " said Kate. " What a sensible speech ! But the
worst of it is I'm never in the same mind long."
" Well/' replied Griffith, " I think of all that falls from your
lips, and your will is mine ; only for pity's sake do not wed
any man but me. You have known me so long ; why, you
know the worst of me by this time : and you have only seen
the outside of him."
" Detraction ! is that what you wanted to say to me ? " asked
Kate, freezing suddenly.
" Nay, nay ; it was about the abbey. I find you can be an
abbess without going and shutting yourself up and breaking
one's heart. The way is, you build a convent in Ireland, and
endow it ; and then you send a nun over to govern it under
you. Bless your heart, you can do anything with money ; and
I shall have money enough before the day is over. To be sure
1 did intend to build a kennel and keep harriers ; and you
know that costs a good penny ; but we couldn't manage a
kennel and an abbey too ; so now down goes the English
kennel and up goes the Irish abbey."
"But you are a Protestant gentleman. You could not
found a nunnery."
" But my wife could. Whose business is it what she does
with her money ? "
"With your money, you mean."
" Nay, with hers, when I give it her with all my heart."
"Well, you astonish me," said Kate thoughtfully. "Tell
me, now, who put it into your head to bribe a poor girl in this
abominable way ? "
" Who put it into my head ? " said Griffith, looking rather
puzzled : " why, I suppose my heart put it into my head."
Kate smiled very sweetly at this answer, and a wild hope
thrilled through Griffith that perhaps she might be brought
to terms.
But at this crisis the lawyer from London was announced,
and Griffith, as master of the house, was obliged to seat the
company. He looked bitterly disappointed at the interruption,
but put a good face on it, and had more chairs in, and saw
them all seated, beginning with Kate and the other ladies.
The room was spacious, and the entire company sat in the
form of a horse-shoe.
The London solicitor was introduced by Griffith and bowed
in a short, business-like way, seated himself in the horse-
shoe aforesaid, and began to read the Will aloud.
It was a lengthy document, and there is nothing to be
80
GRIFFITH GAUNT
gained by repeating every line of it. I pick out a clause here
and there.
" I, Septimus Charlton, of Hernshaw Castle and Bolton
Grange, in the county of Cumberland, Esquire, being of sound
mind, memory, and understanding thanks be to God ! do
make this my last will and testament as follows : First, I com-
mit my soul to God who gave it, and my body to the earth
from which it came. I desire my executors to discharge
my funeral and testamentary expenses, my just debts, and the
legacies hereinafter bequeathed, out of my personal estate."
Then followed several legacies of fifty and one hundred
guineas. Then several small legacies, such as the following:
" To my friend Edward Peyton, of Peyton Hall, Esq., ten
guineas, to buy a mourning ring.
"To the worshipful gentlemen and ladies who shall follow my
body to the grave, ten guineas each, to buy a mourning ring."
" To my wife's cousin, Griffith Gaunt, I give and bequeath
the sum of two thousand pounds, the same to be paid to him
within one calendar month from the date of my decease.
" And as to all my messuages, or tenements, farms, lands,
hereditaments, and real estate of what nature or what kind
soever, and wheresoever situate, together with all my moneys,
mortgages, chattels, furniture, plate, pictures, wine, liquors,
horses, carriages, stock, and all the rest, residue, and re-
mainder of my personal estate and effects whatsoever (after the
payment of the debts and legacies hereinbefore mentioned),
I give, devise, and bequeath the same to my cousin, Catherine
Peyton, daughter of Edward Peyton, Esq., of Peyton Hall, in
the county of Cumberland, her heirs, executors, administrators,
and assigns for ever.
When the lawyer read out this unexpected blow, the whole
company turned in their seats and looked amazed at her, who,
in a second and a sentence, was turned before their eyes from
the poorest girl in Cumberland to an heiress in her own right,
and proprietor of the house they sat in, the chairs they sat
on, and the lawn they looked out at.
Ay, we turn to the rising sun : very few looked at Griffith
Gaunt to see how he took his mistress's good fortune, that was
his calamity ; yet his face was a book full of strange matter. At
first a flash of loving joy crossed his countenance ; but this gave
way immediately to a haggard look, and that to aglare of despair.
81 F
GRIFFITH GAUNT
As for the lady, she cast one depreciating glance, swifter
than lightning, at him she had disinherited ; and then she
turned her face to marble. In vain did curious looks explore
her to detect the delight such a stroke of fortune would have
given to themselves. Faulty, but great of soul, and on her
guard against the piercing eyes of her own sex, she sat sedate,
and received her change of fortune with every appearance of
cool composure and exalted indifference; and, as for her
dreamy eyes, they seemed thinking of heaven, or something
almost as many miles away from money and land.
But the lawyer had not stopped a moment to see how
people took it, he had gone steadily on through the usual
formal clauses ; and now he brought his monotonous voice to
an end, and added in the same breath, but in a natural and
cheerful tone, " Madam, I wish you joy."
This operated like a signal : the company exploded in a
body, and then they all came about the heiress, and con-
gratulated her in turn. She curtsied politely, though some-
what coldly, but said not a word in reply, till the disappointed
one spoke to her.
He hung back at first : to understand his feelings it must be
remembered that in this view of things Kate gained nothing
by this bequest compared with what he lost. As his wife, she
would have been mistress of Bolton Hall, &c. But now she was
placed too far above him. Sick at heart, he stood aloof while
they all paid their court to her. But by-and-by he felt it would
look base and hostile if he alone said nothing ; so he came for-
ward, struggling visibly for composure and manly fortitude.
The situation was piquant, and the ladies' tongues stopped
in a moment, and they were all eyes and ears.
CHAPTER IX
GRIFFITH, with an effort he had not the skill to hide,
stammered out, "Mistress Kate, I do wish you joy." Then,
with sudden and touching earnestness, " Never did good for-
tune light on one so worthy of it."
Thank you, Griffith," replied Kate softly. (She had
called him " Mr. Gaunt " in public till now.) " But money and
lands do not always bring content I think I was happier a
minute ago than I feel now," said she quietly.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The blood rushed into Griffith's face at this, for a minute
ago might mean when he and she were talking almost like
lovers about to wed. He was so overcome by this, he turned
on his heel, and retreated hastily to hide his emotion, and
regain, if possible, composure to play his part of host in the
house that was his no longer.
Kate herself soon after retired, nominally to make her toilet
before dinner, but really to escape the public, and think it
all over.
The news of her advancement had spread like wildfire : she
was waylaid at the very door by the housekeeper, who insisted
on showing her her house. "Nay, never mind the house,"
said Kate ; "just show me one room where I can wash my
face and do my hair."
Mrs. Hill conducted her to the best bedroom : it was lined
with tapestry, and all the colours flown ; the curtains were a
deadish yellow.
" Lud ! here's a coloured room to show me into," said the
blonde Kate ; " and a black grate, too. Why not take me out
o' doors and bid me wash in the snow ? "
"Alack, mistress," said the woman, feeling very uneasy,
" we had no orders from Mr. Gaunt to light fires up stairs."
" Oh, if you wait for gentlemen's orders to make your
house fit to live in ! You knew there were a dozen ladies
coming, yet you were not woman enough to light them fires.
Come, take me to your own bedroom."
The woman turned red. " Mine is but a small room, my
lady," she stammered.
" But there's a fire in it," said Kate spitefully. " You
servants don't wait for gentlemen's orders to take care of
yourselves."
Mrs. Hill said to herself, " I'm to leave ; that is flat."
However, she led the way down a passage, and opened the
door of a pleasant little room in a square turret. A large bay
window occupied one whole side of the room, and made it
inexpressibly bright and cheerful, though rather hot and stuffy ;
a clear coal fire burnt in the grate.
"Ah," said Kate, "how nice. Please open those little
windows every one. I suppose you have sworn never to let
wholesome air into a room. Thank you ; now go and forget
every cross word I have said to you I am out of sorts, and
nervous, and irritable. There, run away, my good soul, and
light fires in every room ; and don't you let a creature come
near me, or you and I shall quarrel downright."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mrs. Hill beat a hasty retreat. Kate locked the door and
threw herself backwards on the bed, with such a weary reck-
lessness and abandon as if she was throwing herself into the
sea, to end all her trouble and burst out crying.
It was one thing to refuse to marry her old sweetheart, it
was another to take his property and reduce him to poverty.
But here was she doing both, and going to be persuaded to
marry Neville, and swell his wealth with the very possessions
she had taken from Griffith, and him wounded into the
bargain for love of her. It was really too cruel. It was an
accumulation of different cruelties. Her bosom revolted;
she was agitated, perplexed, irritated, unhappy, and all in a
tumult ; and, although she had but one fit of crying to the
naked eye yet a person of her own sex would have seen that
at one moment she was crying from agitated nerves, at another
from worry, and at the next from pity, and then from grief.
In short, she had a good long, hearty, multiform cry ; and it
relieved her swelling heart so far that she felt able to go
down now, and hide her feelings, one and all, from friend and
foe ; to do which was, unfortunately, a part of her nature.
She rose and plunged her face into cold water, and then
smoothed her hair.
Now, as she stood at the glass, two familiar voices came in
through the open window, and arrested her attention directly.
It was her father conversing with Griffith Gaunt. Kate
pricked up her quick ears and listened, with her back hair in
her hand. She caught the subject of their talk, only now
and then she missed a word or two. i
Mr. Peyton was speaking rather kindly to Griffith, and
telling him he was as sorry for his disappointment as any
father could be whose daughter had just come into a fortune.
But then he went on and rather spoiled this by asking Griffith
bluntly what on earth had ever made him think Mr. Charlton
intended to leave him Bolton and Hernshaw.
Griffith replied, with manifest agitation, that Mr. Charlton
had repeatedly told him he was to be his heir. " Not," said
Griffith, " that he meant to wrong Mistress Kate neither : poor
old man, he always thought she and I should be one."
" Ah, well," said Squire Peyton coolly, " there is an end
of all that now."
At this observation Kate glided to the window, and hid
her cheek on the sill to listen more closely.
But Griffith made no reply.
Mr. Peyton seemed dissatisfied at his silence, and being a
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
person who, notwithstanding a certain superficial good-nature,
saw his own side of a question very big, and his neighbour's
very little, he was harder than perhaps he intended to be.
"Why, Master Gaunt," said he, "surely you would not
follow my daughter now to feed upon a woman's bread.
Come, be a man ; and, if you are the girl's friend, don't stand
in her light. You know she can wed your betters, and clap
Bolton Hall on to Neville's Court. No doubt it is a disap-
pointment to you ; but what can't be cured must be endured.
Pluck up a bit of courage, and turn your heart another way ;
and then I shall always be a good friend to you, and my doors
open to you, come when you will."
Griffith made no reply. Kate strained her ears, but could
not hear a syllable. A tremor ran through her. She was in
distance farther from Griffith than her father was ; but
superior intelligence provided her with a bridge from her
window to her old servant's mind. And now she felt that
this great silence was the silence of despair.
But the squire pressed him for a definite answer, and finally
insisted on one. " Come, don't be sulky," said he ; " I'm her
father : give me an answer, ay or no."
Then Kate heard a violent sigh, and out rushed a torrent
of words that each seemed tinged with blood from the un-
fortunate speaker's heart. " Old man," he almost shrieked,
" what did I ever do to you that you torment me so ? Sure
you were born without bowels. Beggared but an hour agone,
and now you must come and tell me I have lost her by losing
house and lands ! D'ye think I need to be told of it ? She
was too far above me before, and now she is gone quite out of
my reach. But why come and fling it in my face ? Can't you
give a poor undone man one hour to draw his breath in trouble ?
And, when you know I have got to play the host this bitter
day, and smile, and smirk, and make you all merry, with my
heart breaking. O Christ, look down and pity me, for men
are made of stone ! Well, then, no ; I will not, I cannot say
the word to give her up. She will discharge me, and then
I'll fly the country, and never trouble you more. And to
think that one little hour ago she was so kind and I was so
happy. Ah, sir, if you were born of a woman, have a little
pity, and don't speak to me of her at all one way or other.
What are you afraid of? I am a gentleman and a man,
though sore my trouble : I shall not run after the lady of
Bolton Hall. Why, sir, I have ordered the servants to set
her chair in the middle of the table, where I shall not be
85
GRIFFITH GAUNT
able to speak to her, or even see her. Indeed I dare not
look at her, for I must be merry. Merry ! My arm it
worries me, my head it aches, my heart is sick to death.
Man ! man ! show me some little grace, and do not torture
me more than flesh and blood can bear."
"You are mad, young sir," said the squire sternly, "and
want locking up on bread and water for a month."
" I am almost mad," said Griffith humbly. " But if you
would only let me alone, and not tear my heart out of my
body, I could hide my agony from the whole pack of ye, and
go through my part like a man. I wish I was lying where I
laid my only friend this afternoon."
" Oh, I don't want to speak to you," said Peyton angrily ;
"and by the same token, don't you speak to my daughter
any more."
" Well, sir, if she speaks to me I shall be sure to speak to
her, without asking your leave or any man's. But I will not
force myself upon the lady of Bolton Hall ; don't you think it.
Only, for God's sake, let me alone. I want to be by myself."
And, with this, he hurried away, unable to bear it any more.
Peyton gave a hostile and contemptuous .snort, and also
turned on his heel, and went off in the opposite direction.
The effect of this dialogue on the listener was not to melt,
but exasperate her. Perhaps she had just cried away her stock
of tenderness. At any rate, she rose from her ambush a very
basilisk ; her eyes, usually so languid, flashed fire, and her fore-
head was red with indignation. She bit her lip, and clenched
her hands, and her little foot beat the ground swiftly.
She was still in this state when a timid tap came to the
door, and Mrs. Hill asked her pardon, but dinner was ready,
and the ladies and gentlemen all a waiting for her to sit down.
This reminded Kate she was the mistress of the house. She
answered civilly she would be down immediately. She then
took a last look in the glass, and her own face startled her.
" No," she thought ; " they shall none of them know nor
guess what I feel." And she stood before the glass and de-
liberately extracted all emotion from her countenance, and
by way of preparation screwed on a spiteful smile.
When she had got her face to her mind she went down-
stairs.
The gentlemen awaited her with impatience, the ladies with
iriosity, to see how she would comport herself in her new
situation. She entered, made a formal curtsey, and was con-
ducted to her seat by Mr. Gaunt. He placed her in the middle
86
GRIFFITH GAUNT
of the table. " I play the host for this one day," said he, with
some dignity, and took the bottom of the table himself.
Mr. Hammersley was to have sat on Kate's left, but the
sly Neville persuaded him to change, and so got next to his
inamorata; opposite to her sat her father, Major Rickards,
and others unknown to fame.
Neville was in high spirits. He had the good taste to try and
hide his satisfaction at the fatal blow his rival had received,
and he entirely avoided the topic ; but Kate saw at once, by his
demure complacency, he was delighted at the turn things had
taken ; and he gained nothing by it he found her a changed
girl. Cold monosyllables were all he could extract from her.
He returned to the charge a hundred times with indomitable
gallantry, but it was no use. Cold, haughty, sullen !
Her other neighbour fared little better; and, in short,
the lady of the house made a vile impression. She was an
iceberg a beautiful kill-joy a wet blanket of charming
texture.
And presently Nature began to co-operate with her : long-
before sunset it grew prodigiously dark ; and the cause was
soon revealed by a fall of snow in flakes as large as a biscuit.
A shiver ran through the people ; and old Peyton blurted out,
" I shall not go home to-night." Then he bawled across the
table to his daughter : " You are at home. We will stay and
take possession."
" Oh, papa 1 " said Kate, reddening with disgust.
But if dulness reigned around the lady of the house, it was
not so everywhere : loud bursts of merriment were heard at
the bottom of the table. Kate glanced that way in some
surprise, and found it was Griffith making the company merry
Griffith of all people.
The laughter broke out at short intervals, and by-and-by
became uproarious and constant. At last she looked at
Neville inquiringly.
"Our worthy host is setting us an example of conviviality,"
said he. " He is getting drunk."
" Oh, 1 hope not," said Kate. " Has he no friend to tell
him not to make a fool of himself? "
" You take a great interest in him," said Neville bitterly.
" Of course I do. Pray, do you desert your friends when
ill luck falls on them ? "
" Nay, Mistress Kate, I hope not."
" You only triumph over the misfortunes of your enemies,
eh ? " said the stinging beauty.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Not even that. And, as for Mr. Gaunt, I am not his
enemy."
" Oh no, of course not. You are his best friend. Witness
his arm at this moment."
" I am his rival, but not his enemy : I'll give you a proof."
Then he lowered his voice, and said in her ear : " You are
grieved at his losing Bolton ; and, as you are very generous
and noble-minded, you are all the more grieved because his
loss is your gain." (Kate blushed at this shrewd hit.) Neville
went on : " You don't like him well enough to many him ;
and, since you cannot make him happy, it hurts your good
heart to make him poor."
" It is you for reading a lady's heart," said Kate ironically.
George proceeded steadily : " I'll show you an easy way
out of this dilemma."
"Thank you," said Kate, rather insolently.
"Give Mr. Gaunt Bolton and Hernshaw, and give me
your hand."
Kate turned and looked at him with surprise : she saw by
his eye it was no jest. For all that, she affected to take it as
one. " That would be long and short division," said she :
but her voice faltered in saying it.
"So it would," replied George coolly; "for Bolton and
Hernshaw both are not worth one finger of that hand I ask
of you. But the value of things lies in the mind that weighs
'em. Mr. Gaunt, you see, values Bolton and Hernshaw very
highly ; why, he is in despair at losing them. Look at him ;
he is getting rid of his reason before your very eyes, to drown
his disappointment."
" Oh, that is it, is it ? " And, strange to say, she looked
rather relieved.
" That is it, believe me : it is a way we men have. But, as
I was saying, / don't care one straw for Bolton and Hernshaw.
It is you I love not your land nor your house, but your sweet
self. So give me that, and let the lawyers make over this
famous house and lands to Mr. Gaunt. His antagonist I have
been in the field, and his rival I am and must be, but not his
enemy, you see, and not his ill-wisher."
Kate was softened a little. " This is all mighty romantic,"
said she, " and very like a preux chevalier, as you are ; but
you know very well he would fling land and house in your
face if you offered them him on these terms."
'' Ay, in my face if I offered them ; but not in yours, if you."
" I am sure he would, all the same."
88
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Try him."
" What is the use ? "
"Try him."
Kate showed symptoms of uneasiness. "Well, I will/' said
she stoutly. "No, that I will not. You begin by bribing
me ; and then you would set me to bribe him."
" It is the only way to make two honest men happy."
" If I thought that ? "
" You know it. Try him."
" And suppose he says nay ? "
" Then we shall be no worse than we are."
" And suppose he says ay ? "
" Then he will wed Bolton Hall and Hernshaw ; and the
pearl of England will wed me."
" I have a great mind to take you at your word/' said Kate ;
"but, no it is really too indelicate."
George Neville fixed his eyes on her. " Are you not de-
ceiving yourself?" said he. "Do you not like Mr. Gaunt
better than you think? I begin to fear you dare not put
him to this test : you fear his love would not stand it ? "
Kate coloured high, and tossed her head proudly.
" How shrewd you gentlemen are," she said. " Much you
know of a lady's heart. Now the truth is, I don't know what
might happen were I to do what you bid me. Nay, I'm wiser
than you would have me, and I'll pity Mr. Gaunt at a safe
distance, if you please, sir."
Neville bowed gravely : he felt sure this was a plausible
evasion, and that she really was afraid to apply his test to
his rival's love.
So now for the first time he became silent and reserved by
/her side. The change was noticed by Father Francis, and he
fixed a grave remonstrating glance on Kate. She received it,
understood it, affected not to notice it, and acted upon it.
Drive a donkey too hard ; it kicks.
Drive a man too hard ; it hits.
Drive a woman too hard ; it cajoles.
Now amongst them they had driven Kate Peyton too hard ;
so she secretly formed a bold resolution ; and, this done, her
whole manner changed for the better. She turned to Neville,
and flattered and fascinated him. The most feline of her sex
could scarcely equal her calinerie on this occasion. But she
did not confine her fascination to him. She broke out, pro
bono publico, like the sun in April, with quips and cranks and
dimpled smiles, and made everybody near her quite forget her
89
GRIFFITH GAUNT
late hauteur and coldness, and bask in this sunny sweet hostess.
When the charm was at its height, the siren cast a seeming
merry glance at Griffith, and said to a lady opposite, " Methinks
some of the gentlemen will be glad to be rid of us/' and so
carried the ladies off to the drawing-room.
There, her first act was to dismiss her smiles without cere-
mony, and her second was to sit down and write four lines to
the gentleman at the head of the dining-table.
And he was as drunk as a fiddler.
CHAPTER X
GRIFFITH'S friends laughed heartily with him while he was
getting drunk, and, when he had got drunk, they laughed
still louder, only at him.
They " knocked him down " for a song ; and he sang a
rather Anacreontic one very melodiously, and so loud that
certain of the servants, listening outside, derived great delec-
tation from it ; and Neville applauded ironically.
Soon after they " knocked him down " for a story ; and, as
it requires more brains to tell a story than to sing a song, the
poor butt made an ass of himself : he maundered and wandered,
and stopped, and went on, and lost one thread and took up
another, and got into a perfect maze. And, while he was thus
entangled, a servant came in and brought him a note, and
put it in his hand. The unhappy narrator received it with a
sapient nod, but was too polite or else too stupid to open it ;
so closed his fingers on it 'and went maundering on till his
story trickled into the sand of the desert, and somehow
ceased ; for it could not be said to end, being a thing without
head or tail.
He sat down amidst derisive cheers. About five minutes
afterwards, in some intermittent flash of reason, he found he
had got hold of something. He opened his hand, and, lo ! a
note ! On this he chuckled unreasonably, and distributed
sage, cunning winks around, as if he by special ingenuity had
caught a nightingale, or the like ; then with sudden hauteur
and gravity proceeded to examine his prize.
But he knew the handwriting at once, and it gave him a
galvanic shock that half sobered him for the moment.
He opened the note and spelled it with great difficulty ; it
90
GRIFFITH GAUNT
was beautifully written in long, clear letters ; but then those
letters kept dancing so.
" I much desire to speak to you before 'tis too late ; but
can think of no way save one ; I lie in the turreted room :
come under my window at nine of the clock ; and prithee
come sober, if you respect yourself, or KATE."
Griffith put the note in his pocket, and tried to think.
But he could not think to much purpose. Then this made
him suspect he was drunk. Then he tried to be sober, but
he found he could not. He sat in a sort of stupid agony,
with Love and Drink battling for his brain. It was piteous
to see the poor fool's struggles to regain the reason he had
so madly parted with. He could not do it ; and, when he
found that, he took up a finger-glass and gravely poured the
contents upon his head.
At this there was a burst of laughter.
This irritated Mr. Gaunt, and, with that rapid change of
sentiments which marks the sober savage and the drunken
European, he offered to fight a gentleman he had been hitherto
holding up to the company as his best friend. But his best
friend (a very distant acquaintance) was by this time as tipsy
as himself, and offered a piteous disclaimer, mingled with
tears ; and these maudlin drops so affected Griffith that he
flung his one available arm round his best friend's head, and
wept in turn ; and down went both their lachrymose, empty
noddles on the table. Griffith's remained there ; but his best
friend extricated himself, and, shaking his skull, said dole-
fully, "He is very drunk." This notable discovery, coming
from such a quarter, caused considerable merriment.
" Let him alone," said an old toper ; and Griffith remained
a good hour with his head on the table. Meantime the other
gentlemen soon put it out of their power to ridicule him on
the score of intoxication.
Griffith, keeping quiet, got a little better, and suddenly
started up with a notion he was to go to Kate this very
moment. He muttered an excuse, and staggered to a glass
door that led to the lawn ; he opened this door, and rushed
out into the open air. He thought it would set him all right :
but, instead of that, it made him so much worse that presently
his legs came to a misunderstanding, and he measured his
length on the ground, and could not get up again, but kept
slipping down.
91
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Upon this he groaned and lay quiet.
Now there was a foot of snow on the ground, and it melted
about Griffith's hot temples and flushed face, and mightily
refreshed and revived him.
He sat up and kissed Kate's letter, and Love began to get
the upper hand of Liquor a little.
Finally he got up, and half strutted, half staggered to the
turret, and stood under Kate's window.
The turret was covered with luxuriant ivy, and that ivy
with snow. So the glass of the window was set in a massive
frame of winter ; but a bright fire burned inside the room,
and this set the panes all aflame. It was cheery and glorious
to see the window glow like a sheet of transparent fire in its
deep frame of snow ; but Griffith could not appreciate all
that. He stood there a sorrowful man. The wine he had
taken to drown his despair had lost its stimulating effect,
and had given him a heavy head, but left him his sick
heart.
He stood and puzzled his drowsy faculties why Kate had
sent for him. Was it to bid him good-bye for ever, or to
lessen his misery by telling him she would not marry another ?
He soon gave up cudgelling his enfeebled brains. Kate was
a superior being to him, and often said things, and did things,
that surprised him. She had sent for him, and that was
enough ; he should see her, and speak to her once more, at
all events. He stood, alternately nodding and looking up at
her glowing room, and longing for its owner to appear. But,
as Bacchus had inspired him to mistake eight o'clock for nine,
and as she was not a votary of Bacchus, she did not appear ;
and he stood there till he began to shiver.
The shadow of a female passed along the wall, and Griffith
gave a great start. Then he heard the fire poked. Soon
after he saw the shadow again ; but it had a large servant's
cap on ; so his heart had beaten high for Mary or Susan. He
hung his head disappointed ; and, holding on by the ivy, fell
a nodding again.
By-and-by one of the little casements was opened softly.
He looked up, and there was the right face peering out.
Oh, what a picture she was in the moonlight and the fire-
light ! They both fought for that fair head, and each got a share
of it : the full moon's silvery beams shone on her rose-like
cheeks and lilyfied them a shade, and lit her great grey eyes,
and made them gleam astoundingly ; but the ruby firelight
rushed at her from behind, and flowed over her golden hair,
92
GRIFFITH GAUNT
and reddened and glorified it till it seemed more than mortal.
And all this in a very picture-frame of snow.
Imagine, then, how sweetand glorious sheglowed onhimwho
loved her, and who looked at her perhaps for the last time.
The sight did wonders to clear his head ; he stood open-
mouthed, with his heart beating. She looked him all over a
moment. " Ah ! " said she. Then, quietly, " I am so glad
you are come." Then, kindly and regretfully," How pale you
look ! you are unhappy."
This greeting, so gentle and kind, overpowered Griffith.
His heart was too full to speak.
Kate waited a moment ; and then, as he did not reply to
her, she began to plead to him. " I hope you are not angry
with me," she said. " / did not want him to leave me your
estates. I would not rob you of them for the world, if I had
my way."
" Angry with you 1" said Griffith. "I'm not such a villain. Mr.
Charlton did the right thing, and " He could say no more.
" I do not think so," said Kate. " But don't you fret ; all
shall be settled to your satisfaction. I cannot quite love you,
but I have a sincere affection for you ; and so I ought. Cheer
up, dear Griffith ; don't you be downhearted about what has
happened to-day."
Griffith smiled. "I don't feel unhappy," he said; "I did
feel as if my heart was broken. But then you seemed parted
from me. Now we are together I feel as happy as ever.
Mistress, don't you ever shut that window and leave me in the
dark again. Let me stand and look at your sweet face all
night, and I shall be the happiest man in Cumberland."
"Ay," said Kate, blushing at his ardour; "happy for a
single night ; but when I go away you will be in the dumps
again, and perhaps get tipsy as if that could mend matters.
Nay, I must set your happiness on stronger legs than that.
Do you know I have got permission to undo this cruel will,
and let you have Bolton Hall and Hernshaw again ? "
Griffith looked pleased, but rather puzzled.
Kate went on, but not so glibly now. " However," said she,
a little nervously, " there is one condition to it that will cost
us both some pain. If you consent to accept these two estates
from me, who don't value them one straw, why, then "
She hesitated.
" Well, what ? " he gasped
" Why, then, my poor Griffith, we shall be bound in honour,
you and I, not to meet for some months : perhaps for a
93
GRIFFITH GAUNT
whole year : in one word do not hate me not till you can
bear to see me another man's wife."
The murder being out, she hid her face in her hands
directly, and in that attitude awaited his reply.
Griffith stood petrified a moment ; and I don't think his in-
tellects were even yet quite clear enough to take it all in at
once. But at last he did comprehend it, and, when he did,
he just uttered a loud cry of agony, and then turned his back
on her without a word.
Man does not speak by words alone. A mute glance of re-
proach has ere now pierced the heart a tirade would have left
untouched ; and even an inarticulate cry may utter volumes.
Such an eloquent cry was that with which Griffith Gaunt
turned his back upon the angelical face he adored, and the
soft persuasive tongue. There was agony, there was shame,
there was wrath, all in that one ejaculation.
It frightened Kate. She called him back. " Don't leave
me so," she said. " I know I have affronted you ; but I
meant all for the best. Do not let us part in anger."
At this Griffith returned in violent agitation. " It is your
fault for making me speak," he cried. " I was going away
without a word, as a man should that is insulted by a woman
You heartless girl ! What ! you bid me sell you to that man
for two dirty farms I Oh, well you know Bolton and Hern-
shaw were but the steps by which I hoped to climb to you ;
and now you tell me to part with you, and take those miserable
acres instead of my darling. Ah 1 mistress, you have never
loved, or you would hate yourself and despise yourself for
what you have done. Love if you had known what that
word means, you couldn't look in my face and stab me to the
heart like this. God forgive you ! And sure I hope He will ;
for after all, it is not your fault that you were born without a
heart. WHY, KATE, YOU ARE CRYING."
CHAPTER XI
" CRYING ! " said Kate. " I could cry my eyes out to think
what I have done ; but it is not my fault ; they egged me on.
I knew you would fling those two miserable things in my face
I did, and I said so ; but they would be wiser than me, and
insist on my putting you to the proof."
94
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" They ? Who is they ? "
" No matter. Whoever it was they will gain nothing by it,
and you will lose nothing. Ah, Griffith, I am so ashamed of
myself and so proud of you."
" They ? " repeated Griffith suspiciously. " Who is this
they ? "
" What does that matter, so long as it was not Me ? Are
you going to be jealous again ? Let us talk of you and me,
and never mind who them is. You have rejected my proposal
with just scorn ; so now let me hear yours ; for we must agree
on something this very night. Tell me, now, what can I say
or do to make you happy ? "
Griffith was sore puzzled. " Alas ! sweet Kate/' said he,
" I don't know what you can do for me now, except stay
single for my sake."
" I should like nothing better," replied Kate warmly ; " but
unfortunately they won't let me do that. Father Francis will
be at me to-morrow, and insist on my marrying Mr. Neville."
" But you will refuse."
" I would, if I could but find a good excuse."
" Excuse ? why, say you don't love him."
" Oh, they won't allow that for a reason."
" Then I am undone," sighed Griffith.
" No, no, you are not ; if I could be brought to pretend
I love somebody else. And really, if I don't quite love you,
I like you too well to let you be unhappy. Besides, I cannot
bear to rob you of these unlucky farms ; I think there is
nothing I would not do rather than that. I think I would
rather do something very silly indeed. But I suppose you
don't want me to do that now ? Why don't you answer me ?
Why don't you say something ? Are you drunk, sir, as they
pretend ? or are you asleep? Oh, I can't speak any plainer ; this
is intolerable. Mr. Gaunt, I'm going to shut the window."
Griffith got alarmed, and it sharpened his wits. " Kate,
Kate ! " he cried, " what do you mean ? Am I in a dream ?
Would you marry poor me after all ? "
" How on earth can I tell, till I am asked ? " inquired
Kate, with an air of childlike innocence, and inspecting the
stars attentively.
" Kate, will you marry me ? " said Griffith, all in a flutter.
" Of course I will if you will let me," replied Kate coolly,
but rather tenderly too.
Griffith burst into raptures. Kate listened to them with a
complacent smile, then delivered herself after this fashion :
95
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" You have very little to thank me for, dear Griffith. I don't
exactly downright love you ; but I could not rob you of those
unlucky farms, and you refuse to take them back any way but
this ; so what can I do ? And, then, for all I don't love you, I
find I am always unhappy if you are unhappy, and happy when
you are happy ; so it comes pretty much to the same thing. I
declare I am sick of giving you pain, and a little sick of crying
in consequence. There, I have cried more in the last fortnight
than in all my life before, and you know nothing spoils one's
beauty like crying ; and then you are so good, and kind, and
true, and brave ; and everybody is so unjust, and so unkind to
you, papa and all. You were quite in the right about the duel,
dear ; he is an impudent puppy ; and I threw dust in your
eyes, and made you own you were in the wrong ; and it was
a great shame of me ; but it was because I liked you best. I
could take liberties with you, dear. And you are wounded
for me ; and now I have disinherited you. Oh, I can't bear it,
and I won't. My heart yearns for you ; bleeds for you. I
would rather die than you should be unhappy ; I would rather
follow you in rags round the world than marry a prince and
make you wretched. Yes, dear, I am yours. .Make me your
wife ; and then some day I dare say I shall love you as I ought."
She had never showed her heart to him like this before ;
and now it overpowered him. So, being also a little under
vinous influence, he stammered out something, and then fairly
blubbered with joy. Then what does Kate do, but cry for
company ?
Presently, to her surprise, he was half way up the turret,
coming to her.
" Oh, take care ! take care ! " she cried. " You'll break
your neck."
" Nay," cried he, " I must come at you, if I die for it."
The turret was ornamented from top to bottom with short
ledges consisting of half bricks. This ledge, shallow as it was,
gave a slight foothold, insufficient in itself; but he grasped
the strong branches of the ivy with a powerful hand, and
so between the two contrived to get up and hang himself out
close to her.
"Sweet mistress," said he, "put out your hand to me ; for I
can't take it against your will this time: I have got but one arm."
But this she declined. " No, no," said she ; " you do
nothing but torment and terrify me there." And so gave
it him ; and he mumbled it.
This last feat won her quite. She thought no other man
96
GRIFFITH GAUNT
could have got to her there, with two arms, and Griffith had
done it with one. She said to herself, " How he loves me !
more than his own neck." And then she thought, " I shall be
wife to a strong man that is one comfort."
In this softened mood she asked him demurely, would he
take a friend's advice.
" If that friend is you, ay."
" Then," said she, " I'll do a downright brazen thing, now
my hand is in. I declare I'll tell you how to secure me. You
make me plight my troth with you this minute, and exchange
rings with you, whether I like or not ; engage my honour in this
foolish business, and, if you do that, I really do think you will
have me in spite of them all. But there la ! am I worth all
this trouble ? "
Griffith did not share this chilling doubt. He poured forth
his gratitude, and then told her he had got his mother's ring
on his finger. " I meant to ask you to wear it," said he.
"And why didn't you ?"
" Because you became an heiress all of a sudden."
" Well, what signifies which of us has the dross, so that
there is enough for both ? "
" That is true/' said Griffith, approving his own sentiment,
but not recognising his own words. " Here's my mother's
ring, on my little finger, sweet mistress. But I must ask you
to draw it off, for 1 have but one hand."
Kate made a wry face. " Well, that is my fault," said she,
" or I would not take it from you so."
She drew off his ring, and put it on her finger. Then she
gave him her largest ring, and had to put it on his little finger
for him.
"You are making a very forward girl of me," said she,
pouting exquisitely.
He kissed her hand while she was doing it.
" Don't you be so silly," said she ; " and, you horrid creature,
how you smell of wine ! The bullet, please."
" The bullet ! " exclaimed Griffith. " What bullet ? "
" The bullet. The one you were wounded with for my sake.
I am told you put it in your pocket ; and I see something bulge
in your waistcoat. That bullet belongs to me now.'*
"I think you are a witch," said he. " I do carry it about next
my heart. Take it out of my waistcoat, if you will be so good."
She blushed and declined, and with the refusal on her
very lips, fished it out with her taper fingers. She eyed it
with a sort of tender horror. The sight of it made her feel
97 G
GRIFFITH GAUNT
faint a moment. She told him so, and that she would keep
it to her dying day. Presently her delicate finger found
something was written on it. She did not ask him what it
was, but withdrew, and examined it by her candle. Griffith
had engraved it with these words
"I LOVE KATE."
He looked through the window, and saw her examine it
by the candle. As she read the inscription, her face, glori-
fied by the light, assumed a celestial tenderness he had never
seen it wear before.
She came back and leaned eloquently out as if she would
fly to him.
" Ah, Griffith ! Griffith ! " she murmured ; and, somehow or
other, their lips met in spite of all the difficulties, and grew
together in a long and tender embrace.
It was the first time she had ever given him more than
her hand to kiss, and the rapture repaid him for all.
But, as soon as she had made this great advance, virginal
instinct suggested a proportionate retreat.
"You must go to bed," she said austerely ; ."you will catch
your death of cold out here."
He remonstrated ; she insisted. He held out ; she smiled
sweetly in his face, and shut the window in it pretty sharply,
and disappeared. He went disconsolately down his ivy
ladder. As soon as he was at the bottom, she opened the
window again, and asked him, demurely, if he would do
something to oblige her.
He replied like a lover ; he was ready to be cut in pieces,
drawn asunder with wild horses, and so on.
" Oh, I know you would do anything stupid for me," said
she ; " but will you do something clever for a poor girl that
is in a fright at what she is going to do for you ? "
"Give your orders, mistress," said Griffith; "and don't
talk of me obliging you. I feel quite ashamed to hear you
talk so to-night especially."
" Well, then," said Kate, " first and foremost, I want you
to throw yourself on Father Francis's neck."
" I'll throw myself on Father Francis's neck," said Griffith
stoutly. " Is that all ? "
" No, nor half. Once upon his neck you must say some-
thing. There I had better settle the very words, or perhaps
you will make a mess of it. Say after me now : Oh, Father
rrancis, 'tis to you I owe her."
98
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Oh, Father Francis, 'tis to you I owe her."
" You and I are friends for life."
" You and I are friends for life."
" And, mind, there is always a bed in our home for you,
and a plate at our table, and a right welcome, come when
you will."
Griffith repeated this last correctly ; but, when requested
to say the whole, broke down. Kate had to repeat the
oration a dozen times ; and he said it after her, like a Sunday-
school scholar, till he had it pat.
The task achieved, he inquired of her what Father Francis
was to say in reply.
At this question Kate showed considerable alarm.
" Gracious Heavens ! " she cried ; " you must not stop
talking to him ; he will turn you inside out, and I shall be
undone. Nay, you must gabble those words out, and then
.run away as hard as you can gallop."
" But is it true ? " asked Griffith : " is he so much my friend ?"
" Hum ! " said Kate ; " it is quite true ; and he is not at all
your friend. There, don't you puzzle yourself and pester me,
but do as you are bid, or we are both undone."
Quelled by a menace so mysterious, Griffith promised blind
obedience ; and Kate thanked him, and bade him good night,
and ordered him peremptorily to bed.
He went.
She beckoned him back.
He came.
She leaned out, and inquired, in a soft delicious whisper, as
follows : " Are you happy, dearest ? "
" ,/\y, Kate, the happiest of the happy."
" Then so am I," she murmured.
And now she slowly closed the window/ and gradually
retired from the eyes of her enraptured lover.
BUT while Griffith was thus sweetly employed, his neglected
guests were dispersing, not without satirical comments on
their truant host. Two or three, however, remained, and
slept in the house, upon special invitation ; and that invita-
tion came from Squire Peyton. He chose to conclude that
99
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith, disappointed by the will, had vacated the premises
in disgust, and had left him in charge of them ; accordingly,
he assumed the master with alacrity, and ordered beds for
Neville, and Father Francis, and Major Rickards, and another.
The weather was inclement, and the roads heavy; so the
gentlemen thus distinguished accepted Mr. Peyton's offer
cordially.
There were a great many things sung and said at the festive
board in the course of the evening ; but very few of them
would amuse or interest the reader as they did the hearers.
One thing, however, must not be passed by, as it had its con-
sequences. Major Rickards drank bumpers apiece to the King,
the Prince, Church and State, the Army, the Navy, and Kate
Peyton. By the time he got to her, two-thirds of his discre-
tion had oozed away in loyalty, esprit de corps, and port wine ;
so he sang the young lady's praises in vinous terms, and of
course immortalised the very exploit she most desired to con-
sign to oblivion : Anna viraginemque canebat. He sang the duel :
and in a style which I could not, consistently with the interests
of literature, reproduce on a larger scale. Hasten we to the
concluding versicles of his song. v
" So then, sir, we placed our men for the third time, and
you may take my word for it, one or both of these heroes would
have bit the dust at that discharge; but, by Jove! sir, just
as they were going to pull trigger, in galloped your ador-
able daughter, and swooned off her foaming horse in the
middle of us. Disarmed us, sir, in a moment, melted our
valour, bewitched our senses ; and the great God of War had
to retreat before little Cupid, and the charms of beauty in
distress."
" Little idiot ! " observed the tender parent, and was much
distempered.
He said no more about it to Major Rickards ; but, when they
all retired for the night, he undertook to show Father Francis
his room, and sat in it with him a good half hour, talking
about Kate.
" Here's a pretty scandal ! " said he. " I must marry the
silly girl out of hand before this gets wind, and you must
help me."
In a word, the result of the conference was, that Kate
should be publicly engaged to Neville to-morrow, and married
to him as soon as her month's mourning should be over.
The conduct of the affair was confided to Father Francis, as
having unbounded influence with her.
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CHAPTER XIII
NEXT morning Mr. Peyton was up betimes in his character of
host, and ordered the servants about, and was in high spirits ;
only they gave place to amazement when Griffith Gaunt came
down, and played the host, and was in high spirits.
Neville too watched his rival, and was puzzled at his
radiancy.
So breakfast passed in general mystification. Kate, who
could have thrown a light, did not come down to breakfast.
She was on her defence.
She made her first appearance out of doors.
Very early in the morning, Mr. Peyton, in his quality of
master, had ordered the gardener to cut and sweep the snow
off the gravel walk that went round the lawn. And on this
path Miss Peyton was seen walking briskly to and fro in the
frosty, but sunny air.
Griffith saw her first, and ran out to bid her good morning.
Her reception of him was a farce : she made him a stately
curtsey for the benefit of the three faces glued against the
panes ; but her words were incongruous. " You wretch,"
said she, "don't come here; hide about, dearest, till you
see me with Father Francis. I'll raise my hand so, when you
are to cuddle him, and fib. There, make me a low bow,
and retire."
He obeyed, and the whole thing looked mighty formal and
ceremonious from the breakfast-room.
" With your good leave, gentlemen," said Father Francis
drily, " I will be the next to pay my respects to her." With
this he opened the window and stepped out
Kate saw him, and felt very nervous ; she met him with
apparent delight.
He bestowed his morning benediction on her, and then
they walked silently side by side on the gravel ; and from the
dining-room window it looked like anything but what it was
a fencing match.
Father Francis was the first to break silence. He con-
gratulated her on her good fortune, and on the advantage it
might prove to the true Church.
Kate waited quietly till he had quite done, and then said:
" What, I may go into a convent now, that I can bribe the
door open ? "
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The scratch was feline, feminine, sudden, and sharp. But
alas ! Father Francis only smiled at it. Though not what we
call spiritually minded, he was a man of a Christian temper.
" Not with my good will, my daughter," said he ; " I am of
the same mind still, and more than ever. You must marry
forthwith, and rear children in the true faith."
" What a hurry you are in."
" Your own conduct has made it necessary."
" Why, what have I done now ? "
" No harm ; it was a good and humane action to prevent
bloodshed ; but the world is not always worthy of good
actions. People are beginning to make free with your name,
for your interfering in the duel."
Kate fired up. " Why can't people mind their own
business ? "
" I do not exactly know/' said the priest coolly ; " nor is it
worth inquiring : we must take human nature as it is, and do
for the best. You must marry him, and stop their tongues."
Kate pretended to reflect. " I believe you are right," said
she at last ; " and indeed I must do as you would have me ;
for, to tell the truth in an unguarded moment I pitied
him so that I half promised I would."
"Indeed," said Father Francis. "This is the first I have
heard of it."
Kate replied that was no wonder, for it was only last night
she had so committed herself.
" Last night ! " said Father Francis ; " how can that be ?
He was never out of my sight till he went to bed."
" Oh, there I beg to differ," said the lady. " While you
were all tippling in the dining-room, he was better employed
making love by moonlight. And, oh ! what a terrible thing
opportunity is ; and the moon another. There ! what with
the moonlight and my pitying him so and all he has
suffered for me and my being rich now, and having some-
thing to give him we two are engaged. See, else : this
was his mother's ring, and he has mine."
"Mr. Neville?"
" Mr. Neville ? No. My old servant, to be sure. What,
do you think I would go and marry for wealth, when I have
enough and to spare of my own ? Oh, what an opinion you
must have of me."
Father Francis was staggered by this adroit thrust. How-
ever, after a considerable silence, he recovered himself, and
inquired, gravely, why she had given him no hint of all this
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
the other night, when he had diverted her from a convent
and advised her to marry Neville.
" That you never did, I'll be sworn," said Kate.
Father Francis reflected. " Not in so many words, perhaps ;
but I said enough to show you."
" Oh," said Kate, " such a matter was too serious for hints
and innuendoes. If you wanted me to jilt my old servant, and
wed an acquaintance of yesterday, why not say so plainly ? I
dare say I should have obeyed you, and been unhappy for
life ; but now my honour is solemnly engaged, my faith is
plighted ; and were even you to urge me to break faith, and
behave dishonourably, I should resist. I would liever take
poison and die."
Father Francis looked at her steadily, and she coloured to
the brow.
"You are a very apt young lady/' said he; "you have
outwitted your director. That may be my fault as much
as yours ; so I advise you to provide yourself with another
director whom you will be unable, or unwilling, to outwit."
Kate's high spirit fell before this : she turned her eyes, full
of tears, on him.
" Oh, do not desert me, now that I shall need you more
than ever to guide me in my new duties. Forgive me ; I did
not know my own heart quite. I'll go into a convent now,
if I must ; but I can't many any man but poor Griffith. Ah,
father, he is more generous than any of us. Would you believe
it ? when he thought Bolton and Hernshaw were coming to
him, he said if I married him I should have the money to build
a convent with. He knows how fond I am of a convent."
" He was jesting : his religion would not allow it."
" His religion ! " cried Kate. Then, lifting her eyes to
Heaven, and looking just like an angel, " Love is his religion ! "
said she warmly.
" Then his religion is heathenism," said the priest grimly.
" Nay, there is too much charity in it for that," retorted
Kate keenly.
Then she looked down like a cunning, guilty thing, and
murmured, " One of the things I esteem him for is he always
speaks well of you. To be sure just now the poor soul thinks
you are his best friend with me. But that is my fault : I as
good as told him so : and it is true, after a fashion ; for you
kept me out of the convent that was his only real rival. Why,
here he comes. Oh, father, now don't you go and tell him
you side with Mr. Neville."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
At this crisis Griffith, who, to tell the truth, had received
a signal from Kate, rushed at Father Francis, and fell upon
his neck, and said with great rapidity, " Oh, Father Francis,
'tis to you I owe her you and I are friends for life. So long
as we have a house there is a bed in it for you, and whilst we
have a table to sit down to, there's a plate at it for you, and
a welcome come when you will."
Having gabbled these words, he winked at Kate, and fled
swiftly.
Father Francis was taken aback a little by this sudden
burst of affection.
First he stared then he knitted his brows then he
pondered.
Kate stole a look at him, and her eyes sought the ground.
"That is the gentleman you arranged matters with last
night ? " said he drily.
" Yes," replied Kate faintly.
" Was this scene part of the business ? "
Oh, father I "
"Why I ask, he did it so unnatural. Mr. Gaunt is a
worthy, hospitable gentleman ; he and I are very good friends ;
and really I never doubted that I should be welcome in his
house until this moment."
"And can you doubt it now ? "
"Almost: his manner just now was so hollow, so forced:
not a word of all that came from his heart, you know."
" Then his heart is changed very lately."
The priest shook his head " Anything more like a puppet,
and a parrot to boot, I never saw. Twas done so timely
too ; he ran in upon our discourse. Let me see your hand,
mistress. Why, where is the string with which you pulled
yonder machine in so pat upon the word ? "
" Spare me I " muttered Kate faintly.
" Then do you drop deceit and the silly cunning of your sex,
and speak to me from your heart, or not at all." (Diapason.)
At this Kate began to whimper. " Father," she said,
" show me some mercy." Then, suddenly clasping her hands:
" HAVE PITY ON HIM, AND ON ME."
This time Nature herself seemed to speak, and the eloquent
cry went clean through the priest's heart. " Ah I " said he ;
and his own voice trembled a little : " now you are as strong
as your cunning was weak. Come ; I see how it is with you ;
and I am human, and have been young, and a lover into the
bargain, before I was a priest. There, dry thy eyes, child,
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
and go to thy room. He thou couldst not trust shall bear the
brunt for thee this once."
Then Kate bowed her fair head and kissed the horrid paw
of him that had administered so severe but salutary a pat.
She hurried away upstairs, right joyful at the unexpected
turn things had taken.
Father Francis, thus converted to her side, lost no time :
he walked into the dining-room and told Neville he had bad
news for him. " Summon all your courage, my young friend,"
he said, with feeling ; " and remember that this world is full
of disappointments."
Neville said nothing, but rose and stood rather pale, wait-
ing like a man for the blow. Its nature he more than half
guessed : he had been at the window,
It fell.
" She is engaged to Gaunt since last night ; and she loves
him,"
" The double-faced jade I " cried Peyton, with an oath.
" The heartless coquette I " groaned Neville.
Father Francis made excuses for her : " Nay, nay, she is
not the first of her sex that did not know her own mind all
at once. Besides, we men are blind in matters of love : per-
haps a woman would have read her from the first. After all
she was not bound to give us the eyes to read a female heart."
He next reminded Neville that Gaunt had been her servant
for years. " You knew that," said he, " yet you came between
them at your peril. Put yourself in his place : say you
had succeeded would not his wrong be greater than yours is
now ? Come, be brave ; be generous ; he is wounded, he is
disinherited ; only his love is left him. 'Tis the poor man's
lamb ; and would you take it ? "
" Oh, I have not a word to say against the man" said
George, with a mighty effort.
" And what use quarrelling with a woman ? " suggested the
practical priest.
" None whatever," said George sullenly. After a moment's
silence he rang the bell feverishly. " Order my horse round
directly," said he ; then he sat down, and buried his face in
his hands, and did not, and could not, listen to the voice of
consolation.
Now the house was full of spies in petticoats amateur spies,
that ran and told the mistress everything of their own accord,
to curry favour.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
And this no doubt was the cause that, just as the groom
walked the piebald out of the stable towards the hall
door, a maid came to Father Francis with a little note:
he opened it, and found these words written faintly, in a fine
Italian hand :
" I scarce knew my own heart till I saw him wounded and
poor, and myself rich at his expense. Entreat Mr. Neville
to forgive me."
He handed the note to Neville without a word.
Neville read it, and his lip trembled ; but he said nothing,
and presently went out into the hall, and put on his hat, for
he saw his nag at the door.
Father Francis followed him, and said sorrowfully, "What,
not one word in reply to so humble a request ? "
"Well, here's my reply," said George, grinding his teeth.
" She knows French, though she pretends not.
" ' Le bruit est pour le fat, la plainte est pour le sot,
L'honnete homme tromp^ s'eloigne et ne dit mot.' "
And with this he galloped furiously away.
He buried himself at Neville's Cross for several days, and
would neither see nor speak to a soul. His heart was sick, his
pride lacerated. He even shed some scalding tears in secret,
though to look at him that seemed impossible.
So passed a bitter week ; and in the course of it he be-
thought him of the tears he had made a true Italian lady
shed, and never pitied her a grain till now.
He was going abroad ; on his desk lay a little crumpled
paper. It was Kate's entreaty for forgiveness. He had
ground it in his hand, and ridden away with it.
Now he was going away, he resolved to answer her.
He wrote a letter full of bitter reproaches, read it over,
and tore it up.
He wrote a satirical and cutting letter, read it, and tore
it up.
He wrote her a mawkish letter, read it, and tore it up.
The priest's words, scorned at first, had sunk into him a
little.
He walked about the room, and tried to see it all like a
bystander.
He examined her writing closely : the pen had scarcely
marked the paper. They were the timidest strokes. The
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
writer seemed to kneel to him. He summoned all his man-
hood, his fortitude, his generosity, and, above all, his high-
breeding, and produced the following letter ; and this one he
sent :
( MISTRESS KATE, I leave England to-day for your sake ;
and shall never return unless the day shall come when I can
look on you but as a friend. The love that ends in hate, that
is too sorry a thing to come betwixt you and me.
" If you have used me ill, your punishment is this : you have
given me the right to say to you I forgive you.
"GEORGE NEVILLE."
And he went straight to Italy.
Kate laid his note upon her knee, and sighed deeply,
and said, " Poor fellow ! How noble of him ! What can
such men as this see in any woman to go and fall in love
with her ? "
Griffith found her with a tear in her eye. He took her out
walking, and laid all his radiant plans of wedded life before
her. She came back flushed, and beaming with complacency
and beauty.
Old Peyton was brought to consent to the marriage. Only
he attached one condition, that Bolton and Hernshaw should
be settled on Kate for her separate use.
To this Griffith assented readily ; but Kate refused plump.
" What, give him myself, and then grudge him my estates ! "
said she, with a look of lofty and beautiful scorn at her male
advisers.
But Father Francis, having regard to the temporal interests
of his Church, exerted his strength and pertinacity, and tired
her out ; so those estates were put into trustees' hands, and
tied up as tight as wax.
This done, Griffith Gaunt and Kate Peyton were married,
and made the finest pair that wedded in the county that
year.
As the bells burst into a merry peal, and they walked out
of church man and wife, their path across the churchyard
was strewed thick with flowers, emblematic no doubt of the
path of life that lay before so handsome a couple.
They spent the honeymoon in London, and tasted earthly
felicity.
Yet did not quarrel after it ; but subsided into the quiet
complacency of wedded life.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
CHAPTER XIV
MR. AND MRS. GAUNT lived happily together as times went.
A fine girl and boy were bom to them ; and need I say how
their hearts expanded and exulted, and seemed to grow twice
as large ?
The little boy was taken from them at three years old ; and
how can I convey to any but a parent the anguish of that first
bereavement ?
Well, they suffered it together, and that poignant grief was
one tie more between them.
For many years they did not furnish any exciting or even
interesting matter to this narrator. And all the better for
them ; without these happy periods of dulness our lives would
be hell, and our hearts eternally bubbling and boiling in a
huge pot made hot with thorns.
In the absence of striking incidents, it may be well to
notice the progress of character, and note the tiny seeds of
events to come.
Neither the intellectual nor the moral character of any
person stands stock-still : a man improves or he declines.
Mrs, Gaunt had a great taste for reading ; Mr. Gaunt had
not. What was the consequence ? At the end of seven years
the lady's understanding had made great strides ; the gentle-
man's had, apparently, retrograded.
Now we all need a little excitement, and we all seek it,
and get it by hook or by crook. The girl who satisfies that
natural craving with what the canting dunces of the day call
a " sensational " novel, and the girl who does it by waltzing
till daybreak, are sisters ; only one obtains the result intel-
lectually, and the other obtains it like a young animal, and a
pain in her empty head next day,
Mrs. Gaunt could enjoy company, but was never dull with
a good book. Mr. Gaunt was a pleasant companion, but dull
out of company. So, rather than not have it, he would go to
the parlour of the " Red Lion," and chat and sing with the
yeomen and rollicking young squires that resorted thither;
and this was matter of grief and astonishment to Mrs. Gaunt.
It was balanced by good qualities she knew how to appre-
ciate. Morals were much looser then than now ; and more
than one wife of her acquaintance had a rival in the village,
or even among her own domestics ; but Griffith had no loose
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
inclinations of that kind, and never gave her a moment's un-
easiness. He was constancy and fidelity in person.
Sobriety had not yet been invented. But Griffith was not
so intemperate as most squires ; he could always mount the
stairs to tea, and generally without staggering.
He was uxorious, and it used to come out after his wine.
This Mrs. Gaunt permitted at first, but by-and-by says she,
expanding her delicate nostrils, " You may be as affectionate
as you please, dear, and you may smell of wine if you will,
but please not to smell of wine and be affectionate at the
same moment. I value your affection too highly to let you
disgust me with it."
And the model husband yielded to this, severe restriction,
and, as it never occurred to him to give up his wine, he for-
bore to be affectionate in his cups.
One great fear Mrs. Gaunt had entertained before marriage
ceased to haunt her. Now and then her quick eye saw
Griffith writhe at the great influence her director had with
her ; but he never spoke out to offend her, and she, like a good
wife, saw, smiled, and adroitly, tenderly soothed ; and this
was nothing compared to what she had feared.
Griffith saw his wife admired by other men, yet never chid
nor chafed. The merit of this belonged in a high degree to
herself. The fact is, that Kate Peyton, even before marriage,
was not a coquette at heart, though her conduct might easily
bear that construction; and she was now an experienced
matron, and knew how to be as charming as ever, yet check
or parry all approaches or gallantry on the part of her ad-
mirers. Then Griffith observed how delicate and prudent his
lovely wife was, without ostentatious prudery ; and his heart
was at peace.
He was the happier of the two, for he looked up to his
wife, as well as loved her, whereas she was troubled at times
with a sense of superiority to her husband. She was amiable
enough and wise enough to try and shut her eyes to it ; and
often succeeded, but not always.
Upon the whole, they were a contented couple ; though
the lady's dreamy eyes seemed still to be exploring earth and
sky in search of something they had not yet found, even in
wedded life.
They lived at Hernshaw. A letter had been found among
Mr. Charlton's papers explaining his will. He counted on
their marrying, and begged them to live at the castle. He
had left it on his wife's death ; it reminded him too keenly of
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
happier days ; but, as he drew near his end, and must leave all
earthly things, he remembered the old house with tenderness,
and put out his dying hand to save it from falling into decay.
Unfortunately considerable repairs were needed, and, as
Kate's property was tied up so tight, Griffith's two thousand
pounds went in repairing the house, lawn, park railings, and
walled gardens went, every penny, and left the bridge over
the lake still in a battered, rotten, and, in a word, picturesque
condition.
This lake was, by the older inhabitants, sometimes called
the " mere," and sometimes the "fish-pools;" it resembled
an hour-glass in shape, only curved like a crescent.
In mediaeval times it had no doubt been a main defence of
the place. It was very deep in parts, especially at the waist
or narrow that was spanned by the decayed bridge. There
were hundreds of carp and tench in it older than any he in
Cumberland, and also enormous pike and eels, and fish from
one to five pounds' weight by the million. The water liter-
ally teemed from end to end ; and this was a great comfort
to so good a Catholic as Mrs. Gaunt. When she was seized
with a desire to fast, and that was pretty often", the gardener
just went down to the lake and flung a casting-net in some
favourite hole, and drew out half a bushel the first cast ; or
planted a flue-net round a patch of weeds, then belaboured
the weeds with a long pole, and a score of fine fish were sure
to run out into the meshes.
The " mere " was clear as plate-glass, and came to the edge
of the shaven lawn, and reflected flowers, turf, and overhang-
ing shrubs deliciously.
Yet an ill name brooded over its seductive waters. For
two persons had been drowned in it during the last hundred
years ; and the last one was the parson of the parish, returning
from the squire's dinner in the normal condition of a guest
at that epoch. But what most affected the popular mind was,
not the jovial soul hurried into eternity, but the material cir-
cumstance that the greedy pike had cleared the flesh off his
bones in a single night ; so that little more than a skeleton,
with here and there a black rag hanging to it, had been re-
covered next morning.
This ghastly detail being stoutly maintained and constantly
repeated by two ancient eye-witnesses, whose one melo-
dramatic incident and treasure it was, the rustic mind saw
no beauty whatever in those pellucid waters where flowers
did glass themselves.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
As for the women of the village, they looked on this sheet
of water as a trap for their poor bodies, and those of their chil-
dren ; and spoke of it as a singular hardship in their lot, that
Hernshaw mere had not been filled up threescore years agone.
The castle itself was no castle, nor had it been for centuries :
it was just a house with battlements ; but attached to the
stable was an old square tower that really had formed part of
the mediaeval castle.
However, that unsubstantial shadow, a name, is often more
durable than the thing especially in rural parts ; but, indeed,
what is there in a name for Time's teeth to catch hold of ?
Though no castle, it was a delightful abode. The drawing-
room and dining-room had both spacious bay windows, open-
ing on to the lawn that sloped very gradually down to the
clear lake, and there was mirrored. On this sweet lawn the
inmates and guests walked for sun and mellow air, and often
played bowls at eventide.
On the other side was the drive up to the house door, and
a sweep, or small oval plot, of turf, surrounded by gravel ; and
a gate at the corner of this sweep opened into a grove of the
grandest old spruce firs in the island.
This grove, dismal in winter and awful at night, was deli-
ciously cool and sombre in the dog days. The trees were spires,
and their great stems stood serried like infantry in column,
and flung a mighty canopy of sombre plumes overhead. A
strange, antique, and classic grove nulli penetrabilis astro.
This retreat was enclosed on three sides by a wall, and on
the east side came nearly to the house ; a few laurel bushes
separated the two. At night it was shunned religiously, on
account of the ghosts. Even by daylight it was little fre-
quented, except by one person, and she took to it amazingly.
That person was Mrs. Gaunt. There seems to be, even in
educated women, a singular, instinctive love of twilight ; and
here was twilight at high noon. The place, too, suited her
dreamy, meditative nature. Hither, then, she often retired for
peace and religious contemplation, and moved slowly in and out
among the tall stems, or sat still, with her thoughtful brow
leaned on her white hand, till the cool, umbrageous retreat got
to be called among the servants, " The Dame's Haunt."
This, I think, is all needs to be told about the mere place,
where the Gaunts lived comfortably many years; and little
dreamed of the strange events in store for them ; little knew
the passions that slumbered in their own bosoms, and, like
other volcanoes, bided their time.
Ill
GRIFFITH GAUNT
CHAPTER XV
ONE day, at dinner, Father Francis let them know that he
was ordered to another part of the county, and should no
longer be able to enjoy their hospitality. " I am sorry for it,"
said Griffith heartily; and Mrs. Gaunt echoed him out of
politeness ; but, when husband and wife came to talk it over
in private, she let out all of a sudden, and for the first time,
that the spiritual coldness of her governor had been a great
misfortune to her all these years. " His mind," said she, " is
set on earthly things. Instead of helping the angels to raise
my thoughts to heaven and heavenly things, he drags me down
to earth. Oh, that man's soul was born without wings."
Griffith ventured to suggest that Francis was, nevertheless,
an honest man, and no mischief-maker.
Mrs. Gaunt soon disposed of this. " Oh, there are plenty
of honest men in the world," said she ; " but in one's spiritual
director one needs something more than that, and I have pined
for it like a thirsty soul in the desert all these years. Poor good
man, I love him dearly, but, thank Heaven ! he is going."
The next time Francis came Mrs. Gaunt took an oppor-
tunity to inquire, but in the most delicate way, who was to be
his successor.
"Well," said he, "I fear you will have no one for the
present I mean no one very fit to direct you in practical
matters ; but in all that tends directly to the welfare of the
soul you will have one young in years but old in good works,
and very much my superior in piety."
" I think you do yourself injustice, father," said Mrs. Gaunt
sweetly. She was always polite ; and, to be always polite,
you must be sometimes insincere.
" No, my daughter," said Father Francis quietly, " thank
God, I know my own defects, and' they teach me a little
humility. I discharge my religious duties punctually, and find
them wholesome and composing ; but I lack that holy unction,
that spiritual imagination, by which more favoured Christians
have fitted themselves to converse with angels. I have too
much body, I suppose, and too little soul. I own to you that
I cannot look forward to the hour of death as a happy release
from the burden of the flesh. Life is pleasant to me ; immor-
tality tempts me not. The pure in heart delight me ; but in the
sentimental part of religion I feel myself dry and barren. I
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
fear God, and desire to do His will ; but I cannot love Him
as the saints have done my spirit is too dull, too gross. I
have often been unable to keep pace with you in your pious
and lofty aspirations, and this softens my regret at quitting
you; for you will be in better hands, my daughter."
Mrs. Gaunt was touched by her old friend's humility, and
gave him both hands, with the tears in her eyes. But she said
nothing. The subject was delicate ; and really she could not
honestly contradict him.
A day or two afterwards he brought his successor to the
house, a man so remarkable that Mrs. Gaunt almost started
at first sight of him. Born of an Italian mother, his skin was
dark and his eyes coal black ; yet his ample but symmetrical
forehead was singularly white and delicate. Very tall and
spare, and both face and figure were of that exalted kind
which make ordinary beauty seem dross. In short, he was
one of those ethereal priests the Roman Catholic Church pro-
duces every now and then by way of incredible contrast to
the thickset peasants in black that form her staple. This
Brother Leonard looked and moved like a being who had
come down from some higher sphere to pay the world a very
little visit, and be very kind and patient with it all the time.
He was presented to Mrs. Gaunt, and bowed calmly,
coldly, and with a certain mixture of humility and supe-
riority, and gave her but one tranquil glance, then turned his
eyes inward as before.
Mrs. Gaunt, on the contrary, was almost fluttered at being
presented so suddenly to one who seemed to her Religion
embodied. She blushed, and looked timidly at him, and
was anxious not to make an unfavourable impression.
She found it, however, very difficult to make any impres-
sion at all. Leonard had no small talk, and met her advances
in that line with courteous monosyllables ; and when she, upon
this, turned and chatted with Father Francis, he did not
wait for an opening to strike in, but sought a shelter from
her commonplaces in his own thoughts.
Then Mrs. Gaunt yielded to her genuine impulse, and
began to talk about the prospects of the Church, and what
might be done to reconvert the British Isles to the true faith.
Her cheek flushed, and her eye shone with the theme ; and
Francis smiled paternally ; but the young priest drew back.
Mrs. Gaunt saw in a moment that he disapproved of a woman
meddling with so high a matter uninvited. If he had said so,
she had spirit enough to have resisted ; but the cold, lofty
113 H
GRIFFITH GAUNT
look of polite but grave disapproval dashed her courage and
reduced her to silence.
She soon recovered so far as to be piqued. She gave her
whole attention to Francis, and, on parting with her guests,
she curtsied coldly to Leonard, and said to Francis, " Ah, my
dear friend, I foresee I shall miss you terribly."
I am afraid this pretty speech was intended as a side cut
at Leonard.
But on the impassive ice the lightnings play.
Her new confessor retired, and left her with a sense of
inferiority, which would have been pleasing to her woman's
nature, if Leonard himself had appeared less conscious of it,
and had shown ever so little approval of herself; but, im-
pressed upon her too sharply, it piqued and mortified her.
However, like a gallant champion, she awaited another
encounter. She so rarely failed to please, she could not
accept defeat.
Father Francis departed.
Mrs. Gaunt soon found that she really missed him. She
had got into a habit of running to her confessor twice a week,
and to her director nearly every day that he did not come of
his own accord to her.
Her good sense showed her at once she must not take up
Brother Leonard's time in this way. She went a long while,
for her, without confession ; at last she sent a line to Leonard,
asking him when it would be convenient to him to confess
her. Leonard wrote back to say that he received penitents
in the chapel for two hours after matins every Monday,
Tuesday, and Saturday.
This implied first come, first served ; and was rather galling
to Mrs. Gaunt.
However, she rode one morning, with her groom behind
her, and had to wait until an old woman in a red cloak and
black bonnet was first disposed of. She confessed a heap. And
presently the soft but chill tones of Brother Leonard broke in
with these freezing words : " My daughter, excuse me ; but
confession is one thing, gossip about ourselves is another."
This distinction was fine, but fatal. The next minute the
fair penitent was in her carriage, her eyes filled with tears
of mortification.
" The man is a spiritual machine," said she ; and her pride
was mortified to the core.
In these happy days she used to open her heart to her
114
GRIFFITH GAUNT
husband ; and she went so far as to say some bitter little
feminine things of her new confessor, before him.
He took no notice at first; but at last he said one day,
" Well, I am of your mind ; he is very poor company com-
pared with that jovial old blade, Francis. But why so many
words, Kate ? You don't use to bite twice at a cherry ; if the
milksop is not to your taste, give him the sack, and be hanged
to him." And with this homely advice Squire Gaunt dismissed
the matter and went to the stable to give his mare a ball.
So you see Mrs. Gaunt was discontented with Francis for not
being an enthusiast, and nettled with Leonard for being one.
The very next Sunday morning she went and heard Leonard
preach. His first sermon was an era in her life. After
twenty years of pulpit prosers, there suddenly rose before her
a sacred orator an orator born : blest with that divine and
thrilling eloquence that no heart can really resist. He
prepared his great theme with art at first ; but, once warm, it
carried him away, and his hearers went with him like so many
straws on the flood. And in the exercise of this great gift
the whole man seemed transfigured. Abroad, he was a languid,
rather slouching priest, who crept about, a picture of delicate
humility, but with a shade of meanness, for, religious pre-
judice apart, it is ignoble to sweep the wall in passing as he
did, and eye the ground ; but, once in the pulpit, his figure
rose and swelled majestically, and seemed to fly over them
all like a guardian angel's ; his sallow cheek burned, his great
Italian eye shot black lightning at the impenitent, and melted
ineffably when he soothed the sorrowful.
Observe that great, mean, brown bird in the Zoological
Gardens, which sits so tame on its perch, and droops and
slouches like a drowsy duck. That is the great and soaring
eagle. Who would believe it, to look at him ? Yet all he
wants is to be put in his right place instead of his wrong.
He is not himself in man's cages, belonging to God's sky.
Even so Leonard was abroad in the world, but at home in
the pulpit; and so he somewhat crept and slouched about
the parish, but soared like an eagle in his native air.
Mrs. Gaunt sat thrilled, enraptured, melted. She hung
upon his words ; and when they ceased, she still sat motion-
less, spellbound ; loath to believe that accents so divine could
really come to an end.
Even whilst all the rest were dispersing, she sat quite still,
and closed her eyes ; for her soul was too high-strung now
to endure the chit-chat she knew would attack her on the
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
road home chit-chat that had been welcome enough, coming
home from other preachers.
And by this means she came hot and undiluted to her
husband ; she laid her white hand on his shoulder, and said,
"Oh, Griffith, I have heard the voice of God."
Griffith looked alarmed, and rather shocked than elated.
Mrs. Gaunt observed that, and tacked on, " Speaking by the
lips of His servant." But she fired again the next moment,
and said, " The grave hath given us back St. Paul in the
Church's need ; and I have heard him this day."
" Good heavens ! where ? "
" At St. Mary's Chapel."
Then Griffith looked very incredulous. Then she gushed
out with, " What ! because it is a small chapel, you think a
great saint cannot be in it. Why, our Saviour was born in a
stable, if you go to that."
" Well, but, my dear, consider," said Griffith ; " who ever
heard of comparing a living man to St. Paul for preaching ?
Why, he was an apostle, for one thing ; and there are no
apostles nowadays. He made Felix tremble on his throne,
and almost persuaded Whatsename, another 'heathen gentle-
man, to be a Christian."
" That is true," said the lady thoughtfully ; " but he sent
one man that tve know of to sleep. Catch Brother Leonard
sending any man to sleep ! And then nobody will ever say
of him that he was long preaching."
" Why, I do say it," replied Griffith. " By the same token,
I have been waiting dinner for you this half hour, along of
his preaching."
" Ah, that's because you did not hear him," retorted Mrs.
Gaunt; " if you had, it would have seemed too short, and you-'"
would have forgotten all about your dinner for once."
Griffith made no reply. He even looked vexed at her en-
thusiastic admiration. She saw, and said no more. But after
dinner she retired to the grove, and thought of the sermon
and the preacher: thought of them all the more that she
was discouraged from enlarging on them. And it would have
been kinder, and also wiser, of Griffith, if he had encouraged
her to let out her heart to him on this subject, although it
did not happen to interest him. A husband should not chill
an enthusiastic wife, and, above all, should never separate
himself from her favourite topic, when she loves him well
enough to try and share it with him.
Mrs. Gaunt, however, though her feelings were quick, was
116
GRIFFITH GAUNT
not cursed with a sickly or irritable sensibility ; nor, on the
other hand, was she one of those lovely little bores who cannot
keep their tongues off their favourite theme. She quietly let
the subject drop for a whole week ; but the next Sunday morn-
ing she asked her husband if he would do her a little favour.
"I'mmore likely to say Ay than Nay," was the cheerful reply.
" It is just to go to chapel with me ; and then you can
judge for yourself."
Griffith looked rather sheepish at this proposal, and said
he could not very well do that.
" Why not, dearest, just for once ? "
"Well, you see, parties run so high in this parish ; and
everything one does is noted. Why, if I was to go to chapel,
they'd say directly, 'Look at Griffith Gaunt, he is so tied to his
wife's apron he is going to give up the faith of his ancestors.' "
" The faith of your ancestors ! That is a good jest. The
faith of your grandfather at the outside : the faith of your
ancestors was the faith of mine and me."
" Well, don't let us differ about a word," said Griffith ; "you
know what I mean. Did ever I ask you to go to church with
me ? and, if I were to ask you, would you go ? "
Mrs. Gaunt coloured ; but would not give in. " That is
not the same thing," said she. " I do profess religion : you
do not. You scarce think of God on week days ; and, indeed,
never mention His name except in the way of swearing ; and
on Sunday you go to church for what ? To doze before dinner
you know you do. Come now ; with you 'tis no question of
religion, but just of nap or no nap : for Brother Leonard won't
let you sleep, I warn you fairly."
Griffith shook his head. " You are too hard on me, wife.
I know I am not so good as you are, and never shall be ; but
that is not the fault of the Protestant faith, which hath reared
so many holy men : and some of 'em our ancestors burnt alive,
and will burn in hell themselves for the deed. But, look
you, sweetheart, if I'm not a saint I'm a gentleman, and, say
I wear my faith loose, I won't drag it in the dirt none the
more for that. So you must excuse me."
Mrs. Gaunt was staggered ; and if Griffith had said no more,
I think she would have withdrawn her request, and so the
matter ended. But persons unversed in argument can seldom
let well alone; and this simple squire must needs go on to
say, " Besides, Kate, it would come to the parson's ears, and
he is a friend of mine, you know. Why, I shall be sure to meet
him to-morrow."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Ay," retorted the lady, " by the cover-side. Well, when
you do, tell him you refused your wife your company for fear
of offending the religious views of a fox-hunting parson."
" Nay, Kate," said Griffith, " this is not to ask thy man to
go with thee : 'tis to say go he must, willy nilly." With that
he rose and rang the belL " Order the chariot," said he ; "I
am to go with our dame."
Mrs. Gaunt's face beamed with gratified pride and affection.
The chariot came round, and Griffith handed his dame in.
He then gave an involuntary sigh, and followed her with a
hang-dog look.
She heard the sigh, and saw the look, and laid her hand
quickly on hie shoulder, and said, gently but coldly, " Stay
you at home, my dear. We shall meet at dinner."
"As you will," said he cheerfully: and they went their
several ways. He congratulated himself on her clemency, and
his own escape. She went along, sorrowful at having to drink
so great a bliss alone ; and thought it unkind and stupid of
Griffith not to yield with a good grace, if he could yield at
all ; and, indeed, women seem cleverer than men in this, that,
when they resign their wills, they do it graciously and not by
halves. Perhaps they are more accustomed to knock under ;
and you know practice makes perfect-
But every smaller feeling was swept away by the preacher,
and Mrs. Gaunt came home full of pious and lofty thoughts.
She found her husband seated at the dinner-table, with one
turnip before him ; and even that was not comestible ; for it was
his grandfather's watch, with a face about the size of a new-born
child's. "Forty-five minutes past one, Kate," said he ruefully.
"Well, why not bid them serve the dinner?" said she,
with an air of consummate indifference,
" What ! dine alone o' Sunday ? WTiy, you know I couldn't
eat a morsel without you, set opposite."
Mrs. Gaunt smiled affectionately. " Well, then, my dear,
we had better order dinner an hour later next Sunday."
" But that will upset the servants, and spoil their Sunday."
" And am I to be their slave ? " said Mrs. Gaunt, getting a
little warm. "Dinner! dinner! What! shall I starve my
soul, by hurrying away from the oracles of God to a sirloin ?
Oh, these gross appetites ! how they deaden the immortal
half, and wall out Heaven's music ! For my part, I wish there
was no such thing as eating and drinking ; 'tis like falling from
Heaven down into the mud, to come back from such divine
discourse, and be greeted with ' dinner ! dinner ! dinner ' '
118
The next Sunday, after waiting half-an-hour for her, Griffith
began his dinner without her.
And this time, on her arrival, instead of remonstrating with
her, he excused himself. "Nothing," said he, "upsets a
man's temper like waiting for his dinner."
" Well, but you have not waited."
" Yes, I did, a good half hour. Till I could wait no longer."
" Well, dear, if I were you, I would not have waited at all,
or else waited till your wife came home."
" Ah, dame, that is all very well for you to say. You could
live on hearing of sermons and smelling to rosebuds. You
don't know what 'tis to be a hungry man."
The next Sunday he sat sadly down, and finished his dinner
without her. And she came home and sat down to half empty
dishes, and ate much less than she used when she had him
to keep her company in it.
Griffith, looking on disconsolate, told her she was more like
a bird pecking than a Christian eating of a Sunday.
" No matter, child," said she ; " so long as my soul is filled
with the bread of Heaven."
Leonard's eloquence suffered no diminution either in quan-
tity or quality, and after a while Gaunt gave up his rule of
never dining abroad on the Sunday. If his wife was not
punctual, his stomach was ; and he had not the same tempta-
tion to dine at home he used to have.
And, indeed, by degrees, instead of quietly enjoying his wife's
company on that sweet day, he got to see less of her than on
the week days.
CHAPTER XVI
YOUR mechanical preacher flings his words out happy-go-lucky ;
but the pulpit orator, like every other orator, feels his people's
pulse as he speaks, and vibrates with them, and they with him.
So Leonard soon discovered he had a great listener in Mrs.
Gaunt : she was always there whenever he preached, and her
rapt attention never flagged. Her grey eyes never left his
face, and, being upturned, the full orbs came out in all their
grandeur, and seemed an angel's come down from heaven to
hear him : for, indeed, to a very dark man, as Leonard was,
the gentle radiance of a true Saxon beauty seems always more
or less angelic.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
By degrees this face became a help to the orator. In
preaching he looked sometimes to it for sympathy, and, lo ! it
was sure to be melting with sympathy. Was he led on to
higher or deeper thoughts than most of his congregation
could understand, he looked to this face to understand him ;
and, lo ! it had quite understood him, and was beaming with
intelligence.
From a help and an encouragement it became a comfort and
a delight to him.
On leaving the pulpit and cooling, he remembered its owner
was no angel, but a woman of the world, and had put to him
frivolous questions.
The illusion, however, was so beautiful that Leonard, being
an imaginative man, was unwilling to dispel it by coming into
familiar contact with Mrs. Gaunt. So he used to make his
assistant visit her, and receive her when she came to confess,
which was very rarely ; for she was discouraged by her first
reception.
Brother Leonard lived in a sort of dwarf monastery, con-
sisting of two cottages, an oratory, and a sepulchre. The two
latter were old, but the cottages had been built expressly for
him and another seminary priest who had been invited from
France. Inside, these cottages were little more than cells ;
only the bigger had a kitchen, which was a glorious place
compared with the parlour ; for it was illuminated with bright
pewter plates, copper vessels, brass candlesticks, and a nice
clean woman, with a plain gown kilted over a quilted silk
petticoat Betty Scarf, an old servant of Mrs. Gaunt's, who
had married, and was now the widow Gough.
She stood at the gate one day as Mrs. Gaunt drove by,
and curtseyed, all beaming.
Mrs. Gaunt stopped the carriage and made some kind and
patronising inquiries about her, and it ended in Betty asking
her to come in and see her place. Mrs. Gaunt looked a little
shy at that, and did not move. " Nay, they are both abroad
till supper time," said Betty, reading her in a moment by the
light of sex. Then Mrs. Gaunt smiled, and got out of her
carriage; Betty took her in and showed her everything in doors
and out. Mrs. Gaunt looked mighty demure and dignified, but
scanned everything closely, only without seeming too curious.
The cold gloom of the parlour struck her. She shuddered
and said, This would give me the vapours. But, doubtless,
angels come and brighten it for him."
" Not always," said Betty. " I do see him with his head in
120
GRIFFITH GAUNT
his hand by the hour, and hear him sigh ever so loud as I
pass the door. Why, one day he was fain to have me and my
spinning-wheel aside him. Says he, ' Let me hear thy busy
wheel, and see thee ply it.' 'And welcome/ says I. So I sat
in his room and span, and he sat a gloating of me as if he had
never seen a woman spin hemp afore (he is a very simple man) :
and presently says he but what signifies what he said ? "
" Nay, Betty ; if you please. I am much interested in him.
He preaches so divinely."
" Ay," said Betty, " that's his gift. But a poor trencher-
man ; and I declare I'm ashamed to eat all the vittels that
are eaten here, and me but a woman."
" But what did he say to you that time ? " asked Mrs. Gaunt,
a little impatiently.
Betty cudgelled her memory. " Well, says he, ' My
daughter ' (the poor soul always calls me his daughter, and
me old enough to be his mother mostly) ; says he, ' how comes
it that you are never wearied, nor cast down, and yet you but
serve a sinner like yourself; but I do often droop in my
Master's service, and He is the Lord of heaven and earth ? '
Says I, ' I'll tell ye, sir: because ye don't eat enough o' vittels.' "
" What an answer ! "
" Why, 'tis the truth, dame. And, says I,' If I was to be
always fasting, like as you be, d'ye think I should have the
heart to work from mom till night ? ' Now, wasn't I right ? "
" I don't know till I hear what answer he made," said Mrs.
Gaunt, with mean caution.
" Oh, he shook his head, and said he ate mortal food enow
(poor simple body ! ), but drank too little of grace divine.
That was his word."
Mrs. Gaunt was a good deal struck and affected by this
revelation, and astonished at the slighting tone Betty took
in speaking of so remarkable a man. The saying that "No
man is a hero to his valet" was not yet current, or perhaps
she would have been less surprised at that.
" Alas ! poor man," said she, " and is it so ? To hear him,
I thought his soul was borne up night and day by angels'
pinions "
The widow interrupted her. " Ay, you hear him preach,
and it is like God's trumpet mostly, and so much I say for
him in all companies. But I see him directly after ; he totters
into this very room, and sits him down pale and panting, and
one time like to swoon, and another all for crying, and then
he is ever so dull and sad for the whole afternoon."
121
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" And nobody knows this but you ? You have got my old
petticoat still, I see. I must look you up another."
" You are very good, dame, I am sure. 'Twill not come
amiss : I've only this for Sundays and all. No, my lady, not
u soul but me and you ; I'm not one as tells tales out of doors :
but I don't mind you, dame ; you are my old mistress, and a
discreet woman. 'Twill go no further than your ear."
Mrs. (Jaunt told her she might rely on tnat. The widow
then inquired after Mrs. Gaunt's little girl, and admired her
dress, and described her own ailments, and poured out a
continuous stream of topics, bearing no affinity to each other
except that they were all of them not worth mentioning. And
all the while she thus discoursed, Mrs. Gaunt's thoughtful eyes
looked straight over the chatterbox's white cap, and explored
vacancy ; and by-and-by she broke the current of twaddle with
the air of a camelopard marching across a running gutter.
"Betsy Gough," said she, " I am thinking."
Mrs. Gough was struck dumb by an announcement so singular.
" I have heard, and I have read, that great and pious and
learned men are often to seek in little simple things, such as
plain bodies have at their fingers' ends. So now, if you and
I could only teach him something for all he has taught us.
And, to be sure, we ought to be kind to him if we can ; for,
oh ! Betty, my woman, 'tis a poor vanity to go and despise the
great, and the learned, and the sainted, because forsooth we
find them out in some one little weakness : we that are all made
up of weaknesses and defects. So, now, I sit me down in this
very chair : so. And sit you there. Now let us, you and me,
look at his room quietly, all over, and see what is wanting."
" First and foremost methinks this window should be filled
with geraniums, and jessamine, and so forth. With all his
learning perhaps he has to be taught the colour of flowers
and golden green leaves, with the sun shining through, how
it soothes the eye and relieves the spirits ; yet every woman
born knows that. Then do but see this bare table ! a purple
cloth on that, I say."
" Which he will fling it out of the window, I say."
" Nay : for I'll embroider a cross in the middle with gold
braid. Then a rose-coloured blind would not be amiss ; and
there must be a good mirror facing the window ; but, indeed,
if I had my way, I'd paint these horrid walls the first thing."
" How you run on, dame ! Bless your heart, you'd turn
liis den into a palace : he won't suffer that ; he is all for self-
mortification, poor simple soul."
122
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Oh, not all at once, I did not mean," said Mrs. Gaunt ; " but
by little and little, you know. We must begin with the flowers :
God made them ; and so to be sure he will not spurn them."
Betty began to enter into the plot. " Ay, ay/' said she,
" the flowers first ; and so creep on. But nought will avail to
make a man of him so long as he cats but of eggs and garden-
stuff, like the beasts of the field, ' that to-day are, and to-
morrow are cast into the oven.' "
Mrs. Gaunt smiled at this ambitious attempt of the widow
to apply Scripture. Then she said, rather timidly, "Could
you make his eggs into omelets ? and so pound in a little
meat with your small herbs ; I dare say he would be none the
wiser, and he so bent on high and heavenly things."
" You may take your oath of that."
" Well, then. And I shall send you some stock from the
castle, and you can cook his vegetables in good strong gravy,
unbeknown."
The widow Gough chuckled aloud.
" But, stay," said Mrs. Gaunt ; " for us to play the woman
so, and delude a saint for his mere bodily weal will it not be
a sin, and a sacrilege to boot ?"
" Let that flea stick in the wall," said Betty contemptuously.
" Find you the meat, and I'll find the deceit : for he is as poor
as a rat into the bargain. Nay, nay, God Almighty will never
have the heart to burn us two for such a trifle. Why, 'tis no
more than cheating a froward child taking 's physic."
Mrs. Gaunt got into her carriage and went home, thinking
all the way. What she had heard filled her with feelings
strangely but sweetly composed of veneration and pity. In
that Leonard was a great orator and a high-minded priest,
she revered him ; in that he was solitary and sad, she pitied
him ; in that he wanted common-sense, she felt like a mother,
and must take him under her wing. All true women love to
protect ; perhaps it is a part of the great maternal element ;
but to protect a man, and yet look up to him, this is delicious.
Leonard, in truth, was one of those high-strung men \vho
pay for their periods of religious rapture by hours of melan-
rholy. This oscillation of the spirits in extraordinary men
:i|lcars to be more or less a law of nature; and this the
widow Gough was not aware of.
The very next Sunday, while he was preaching, she and Mrs.
(Jaunt's gardener were filling his bow-window with flower-pots,
the flowers in full bloom and leaf. The said window was large,
and had a broad sill outside, and inside one of the old-fashioned
GRIFFITH GAUNT
high window-seats that follow the shape of the window. Mrs.
Gaunt, who did nothing by halves, sent up a cartload of flower-
pots, and Betty and the gardener arranged at least eighty of
them, small and great, inside and outside the window.
When Leonard returned from preaching, Betty was at the
door to watch. He came past the window with his hands on
his breast, and his eyes on the ground, and never saw the
flowers in his own window. Betty was disgusted. However,
she followed him stealthily as he went to his room, and she
heard a profound " Ah ! " burst from him.
She bustled in and found him standing in a rapture, with the
blood mantling in his pale cheeks, and his dark eyes glowing.
" Now blessed be the heart that hath conceived this thing,
and the hand that hath done it," said he. " My poor room
it is a bower of roses, all beauty and fragrance." And he sat
down inhaling them, and looking at them ; and a dreamy,
tender complacency crept over his heart, and softened his
noble features exquisitely.
Widow Gough, red with gratified pride, stood watching
him, and admiring him ; but, indeed, she often* admired him,
though she had got into a way of decrying him.
But at last she lost patience at his want of curiosity, that
being a defect she was free from herself. " Ye don't ask me
who sent them," said she reproachfully.
"Nay, nay," said he ; "prithee do not tell me : let me divine."
"Divine, then," said Betty roughly. "Which I suppose
you means ' guess.' "
' N T ay, but let me be quiet awhile," said he imploringly ;
" let me sit down and fancy that I am a holy man, and some
angel hath turned my cave into a Paradise."
" No more an angel than I am," said the practical widow.
" But, now I think on't, y'are not to know who 'twas. Them
as sent them they bade me hold my tongue."
This was not true ; but Betty, being herself given to unwise
revelations and superfluous secrecy, chose suddenly to assume
that this business was to be clandestine.
The priest turned his eye inwards and meditated. " I see
who it is," said he, with an air of absolute conviction. " It
must be the lady who comes always when I preach, and her
face like none other ; it beams with divine intelligence. I
will make her all the return we poor priests can make to our
benefactors. I will pray for her soul here among the flowers
God has made, and she has given His servant to glorify his
dwelling. My daughter, you may retire."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
This last with surprising, gentle dignity ; so Betty went off
rather abashed, and avenged herself by adulterating the holy
man's innutritious food with Mrs. Gaunt' s good gravy, while
he prayed fervently for her eternal weal among the flowers
she had given him.
Now Mrs. Gaunt, after eight years of married life, was too
sensible and dignified a woman to make a romantic mystery out
of nothing. She concealed the gravy, because there secrecy
was necessary ; but she never dreamed of hiding that she had
sent her spiritual adviser a load of flowers. She did not tell
her neighbours, for she was not ostentatious ; but she told her
husband, who grunted, but did not object.
But Betty's nonsense lent an air of romance and mystery
that was well adapted to captivate the imagination of a young,
ardent, and solitary spirit like Leonard.
He would have called on the lady he suspected, and thanked
her for her kindness. But this he feared would be unwel-
come, since she chose to be his unknown benefactress. It
would be ill taste in him to tell her he had found her out : it
might offend her sensibility, and then she would draw in.
He kept his gratitude therefore to himself, and did not
cool it by utterance. He often sat among the flowers, in a
sweet reverie, enjoying their colour and fragrance ; and some-
times he would shut his eyes, and call up the angelical face
with great celestial up-turned orbs, and fancy it among her
own flowers, and the queen of them all.
These day-dreams did not at that time interfere with his
religious duties. They only took the place of those occasional
hours, when, partly by there action consequent on great reli-
gious fervour, partly through exhaustion of the body weakened
by fasts, partly by the natural delicacy of his fibre and the
tenderness of his disposition, his soul used to be sad.
By-and-by these languid hours, sad no longer, became sweet
and dear to him. He had something so interesting to think
of, to dream about. He had a Madonna that cared for him
in secret.
She was human, but good, beautiful, and wise. She came
to his sermons, and understood every word.
" And she knows me better than I know myself," said he ;
" since I had these flowers from her hand, I am another man."
One day he came into his room and found two watering-
pots there. One was large and had a rose to it, the other
small and with a plain spout.
" Ah ! " said he ; and coloured with delight. He called
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Betty, and asked her who had brought them. " How should
I know ? " said she roughly. " I dare say they dropped from
heaven. See, there is a cross painted on 'em in gold letters."
" And so there is ! " said Leonard, and crossed himself.
" That means nobody is to use them but you, I trow," said
Betty, rather crossly.
The priest's cheek coloured high. " I will use them this
instant," said he. " I will revive my drooping children, as
they have revived me." And he caught up a watering-pot
with ardour.
"What, with the sun hot upon 'em?" screamed Betty.
" Well, saving your presence, you are a simple man."
" Why, good Betty, 'tis the sun that makes them faint," ob-
jected the priest timidly, and with the utmost humility of man-
ner, though Betty's tone would have irritated a smaller mind.
"Well, well," said she, softening; "but ye see it never
rains with a hot sun, and the flowers they know that, and
look to be watered after Nature, or else they take it amiss.
You, and all your sort, sir, you think to be stronger than
Nature ; you do fast and pray all day, and .won't look a
woman in the face like other men ; and now you wants to
water the very flowers at noon."
" Betty," said Leonard, smiling, " I yield to thy superior
wisdom, and I will water them at morn and eve. In truth
we have all much to learn : let us try and teach one another
as kindly as we can."
" I wish you'd teach me to be as humble as you be,"
blurted out Betty, with something very like a sob ; " and
more respectful to my betters," added she angrily.
Watering the flowers she had given him became a solace
and a delight to the solitary priest. He always watered them
with his own hands, and felt quite paternal over them.
One evening Mrs. Gaunt rode by with Griffith and saw him
watering them. His tall figure, graceful, though inclined to
stoop, bent over them with feminine delicacy ; and the simple
act, which would have been nothing in vulgar hands, seemed
to Mrs. Gaunt so earnest, tender, and delicate in him, that
her eyes filled, and she murmured " Poor Brother Leonard."
"Why, what's wrong with him now?" asked Griffith, a
little peevishly.
" That was him watering his flowers."
" Oh, is that all ? " said Griffith carelessly.
Leonard said to himself, "I go too little abroad among
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
my people." He made a little round, and it ended in
Hernshaw Castle.
Mrs. Gaunt was out.
He looked disappointed ; so the servant suggested that per-
haps she was in the Dame's Haunt : he pointed to the grove.
Leonard followed his direction, and soon found himself
for the first time in that sombre, solemn retreat.
It was a hot summer day, and the grove was delicious. It
was also a place well suited to the imaginative and religious
mind of the Italian.
He walked slowly to and fro, in religious meditation. In-
deed he had nearly thought out his next sermon, when his
meditative eye happened to fall on a terrestrial object that
startled and thrilled him. Yet it was only a lady's glove. It
lay at the foot of a rude wooden seat beneath a gigantic pine.
He stooped and picked it up. He opened the little fingers,
and called up in fancy the white and tapering hand that glove
could fit. He laid the glove softly on his own palm, and eyed
it with dreamy tenderness. " So this is the hand that hath
solaced my loneliness," said he ; " a hand fair as that angelical
face, and sweet as the kind heart that doeth good by stealth."
Then, forgetting for a moment, as lofty spirits will, the
difference between meum and tuum, he put the little glove
in his bosom, and paced thoughtfully home through the woods
that were separated from the grove only by one meadow : and
so he missed the owner of the glove ; for she had returned
home while he was meditating in her favourite haunt.
Leonard, amongst his other accomplishments, could draw
and paint with no mean skill. In one of those hours that
used to be of melancholy, but now were hours of dreamy
complacency, he took out his pencils and endeavoured to
sketch the inspired face that he had learned to preach to,
and now to dwell on with gratitude.
Clearly as he saw it before him, he could not reproduce it
to his own satisfaction.
After many failures he got very near the mark : yet still
something was wanting.
Then, as a last resource, he actually took his sketch
to church with him, and in preaching made certain pauses,
and, with a very few touches, perfected the likeness ; then,
on his return home, threw himself on his knees and prayed
forgiveness of God with many sighs and tears, and hid the
sacrilegious drawing out of his own sight.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Two days after, he was at work colouring it ; and the hours
flew by like minutes, as he laid the mellow, melting tints on
with infinite care and delicacy. Labor ipse voluptas.
Mrs. Gaunt heard Leonard had called on her in person.
She was pleased at that, and it encouraged her to carry out
her whole design.
Accordingly, one afternoon when she knew Leonard would
be at vespers, she sent on a loaded pony-cart, and followed it
on horseback.
Then it was all hurry-scurry with Betty and her, to get their
dark deeds done before their victim's return.
These good creatures set the mirror opposite the flowery
window, and so made the room a very bower. They fixed a
magnificent crucifix of ivory and gold over the mantelpiece,
and they took away his hassock of rushes and substituted a
prie-dieu of rich crimson velvet. All that remained was to
put their blue cover, with its golden cross, on the table. To
do this, however, they had to remove the priest's papers and
things : they were covered with a baize cloth. Mrs. Gaunt
felt them under it.
" But perhaps he will be angry if we move his papers," said
she.
" Not he," said Betty. " He has no secrets from God or man."
" Well, 1 won't take it on me," said Mrs. Gaunt merrily.
" I leave that to you." And she turned her back and settled
the mirror officiously, leaving all the other responsibilities to
Betty.
The sturdy widow laughed at her scruple, and whipped off
the cloth without ceremony. But soon her laugh stopped
mighty short, and she uttered an exclamation.
" What is the matter ? " said Mrs. Gaunt, turning her head
sharply round.
" A wench's glove, as I'm a living sinner," groaned Betty.
A poor little glove lay on the table ; and both women eyed
it like basilisks a moment. Then Betty pounced on it and
examined it with the fierce keenness of her sex in such con-
junctures, searching for a name or a clue.
Owing to this rapidity, Mrs. Gaunt, who stood at some
distance, had not time to observe the button on the glove,
or she would have recognised her own property.
" He have had a hussy with him unbeknown," said Betty,
"and she have left her glove. 'Tis easy to get in by the
window and out again. Only let me catch her. I'll tear
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
her eyes out, and give him my mind. I'll have no young
hussies creeping in an' out where I be."
Thus spoke the simple woman, venting her coarse domestic
jealousy.
The gentlewoman said nothing, but a strange feeling tra-
versed her heart for the first time in her life.
It was a little chill, it was a little ache, it was a little sense
of sickness ; none of these violent, yet all distinct. And all
about what ? After this curious, novel spasm at the heart, she
began to be ashamed of herself for having had such a feeling.
Betty held her out the glove : and then she recognised it,
and turned as red as fire.
" You know whose 'tis ? " said Betty keenly.
Mrs. Gaunt was on her guard in a moment. " Why, Betty,"
said she, " for shame ! 'tis some penitent hath left her glove
after confession. Would you belie a good man for that ?
Oh, fie!"
" Humph ! " said Betty doubtfully. " Then why keep it
undercover? Now you can read, dame ; let us see if there isn't
a letter or so writ by the hand as owns this very glove."
Mrs. Gaunt declined with cold dignity to pry into Brother
Leonard's manuscripts.
Her eye, however, darted sidelong at them, and told another
tale ; and, if she had been there alone, perhaps the daughter
of Eve would have predominated.
Betty, inflamed by the glove, rummaged the papers in
search of female handwriting. She could tell that from a
man's, though she could not read either.
But there is a handwriting that the most ignorant can read
at sight ; and so Betty's researches were not in vain. Hidden
under several sheets of paper she found a picture. She gave
but one glance at it, and screamed out " There, didn't I tell
you ? Here she is ! the brazen, red-haired LAWK A DAISY 1
WHY, 'TIS YOURSELF."
CHAPTER XVII
" ME ! " cried Mrs. Gaunt in amazement ; then she ran to the
picture, and at sight of it every other sentiment gave way for
a moment to gratified vanity. " Nay," said she, beaming and
blushing, " I was never half so beautiful. What heavenly
eyes ! "
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"The fellows to 'em be in your own head, dame, this
moment."
"Seeing is believing/ 'said Mrs. Gaunt gaily, and in a moment
she was at the priest's mirror, and inspected her eyes minutely,
cocking her head this way and that. She ended by shaking
it, and saying, " Nay. He has nattered them prodigiously."
" Not a jot," said Betty. " If you could see yourself in
chapel, you do turn 'em up just so, and the white shows all
round." Then she tapped the picture with her finger. " Oh,
them eyes ! they were never made for the good of his soul,
poor simple man."
Betty said this with sudden gravity ; and now Mrs. Gaunt
began to feel very awkward. " Mr. Gaunt would give fifty
pounds for this," said she, to gain time ; and, while she uttered
that sentence, she whipped on her armour.
" I'll tell you what I think," said she calmly ; " he wished
to paint a Madonna, and he must take some woman's face to
aid his fancy. All the painters are driven to that. So he just
took the best that came to hand, and that is not saying much,
for this is a rare ill-favoured parish ; and he has made an angel
of her, a very angel. There, hide me away again, or I shall
long for me to show to my husband. I must be going ; I
wouldn't be caught here now for a pension."
" Well, if ye must," said Betty ; " but when will ye come
again ? " (She hadn't got the petticoat yet.)
" Humph ! " said Mrs. Gaunt, " I have done all I can for
him, and perhaps more than I ought. But there's nothing to
hinder you from coming to me. I'll be as good as my word ;
and I have an old Paduasoy, besides ; you can do something
with it perhaps."
" You are very good, dame," said Betty, curtseying.
Mrs. Gaunt then hurried away, and Betty looked after her
very expressively, and shook her head. She had a female
instinct that mischief was brewing.
Mrs. Gaunt went home in a reverie.
At the gate she found her husband, and asked him to take
a turn in the garden with her.
He complied ; and she intended to tell him a portion, at
least, of what had occurred. She began timidly, after this
fashion " My dear, Brother Leonard is so grateful for your
flowers," and then hesitated.
"I'm sure he is very welcome," said Griffith. "Why
doesn't he sup with us and be sociable, as Father Francis
used ? Invite him ; let him know he will be welcome."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mrs. Gaunt blushed, and objected, "He never calls on us."
"Well, well, every man to his taste," said Griffith indif-
ferently, and proceeded to talk to her about his farm, and a
sorrel mare with a white mane and tail that he had seen, and
thought it would suit her.
She humoured him, and affected a great interest in all this,
and had not the courage to force the other topic on.
Next Sunday morning, after a very silent breakfast, she
burst out, almost violently, " Griffith, I shall go to the parish
church with you, and then we will dine together afterwards."
"You don't mean it, Kate ?" said he, delighted.
"Ay, but I do. Although you refused to go to chapel
with me."
They went to church together, and Mrs. Gaunt's appearance
there created no small sensation. She was conscious of that,
but hid it, and conducted herself admirably. Her mind seemed
entirely given to the service and to a dull sermon that followed.
But at dinner she broke out, " Well, give me your church
for a sleeping draught. You all slumbered, more or less :
those that survived the drowsy, droning prayers, sank under
the dry, dull, dreary discourse. You snored, for one."
" No, I hope not, my dear."
" You did, then, as loud as your bass fiddle."
" And you sat there and let me ! " said Griffith reproach-
fully.
" To be sure I did. I was too good a wife, and too good a
Christian, to wake you. Sleep is good for the body, and twaddle
is not good for the soul. I'd have slept too, if I could ; but,
with me going to chapel, I'm not used to sleep at that time o'
day. You can't sleep, and Brother Leonard speaking."
In the afternoon came Mrs. Gough, all in her best. Mrs.
Gaunt had her into her bedroom, and gave her the promised
petticoat, and the old Peau de sole gown ; and then, as
ladies will, when their hand is once in, added first one thing,
then another, till there was quite a large bundle.
" But how is it you are here so soon ? " asked Mrs. Gaunt.
"Oh, we had next to no sermon to-day. He couldn't
make no hand of it, dawdled on a bit, then gave us his
blessing, and bundled us out."
" Then I've lost nothing," said Mrs. Gaunt.
" Not you. Well, I don't know. Mayhap if you had been
there he'd have preached his best. But, la! we weren't
worth it."
At this conjecture Mrs. Gaunt's face burned ; but she said
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
nothing: only she cut the interview short, and dismissed
Betty with her bundle.
As Betty crossed the landing, Mrs. Gaunt's new lady's-
maid, Caroline Ryder, stepped accidentally, on purpose, out
of an adjoining room, in which she had been lurking, and
lifted her black brows in affected surprise. " What, are you
going to strip the house, my woman ? " said she quietly.
Betty put down the bundle, and set her arms akimbo.
" There is none on't stolen any way," said she.
Caroline's black eyes flashed fire at this, and her cheek
lost colour ; but she parried the innuendo skilfully.
" Taking my perquisites on the sly, that is not so very far
from stealing."
"Oh, there's plenty left for you, my fine lady. Besides,
you don't want her ; you can set your cap at the master, they
say. I'm too old for that, and too honest into the bargain."
" Too ill-favoured, you mean, ye old harridan," said Ryder
contemptuously.
But, for reasons hereafter to be dealt with, Betty's thrust
went home, and the pair were mortal enemies 'from that hour.
Mrs. Gaunt came down from her room discomposed ; from
that she became restless and irritable ; so much so, indeed,
that at last Mr. Gaunt told her, good-humouredly enough, if
going to church made her ill (meaning peevish), she had better
go to chapel. "You are right," said she, "and so I will."
The next Sunday she was at her post in good time.
The preacher cast an anxious glance around to see if she
was there. Her quick eye saw that glance, and it gave her
a demure pleasure.
This day he was more eloquent than ever ; and he de-
livered a beautiful passage concerning those who do good
in secret. In uttering these eloquent sentences, his cheek
glowed, and he could not deny himself the pleasure of look-
ing down at the lovely face that was turned up to him.
Probably his look was more expressive than he intended :
the celestial eyes sank under it and were abashed, and the
fair cheek burned : and then so did Leonard's at that.
Thus, subtly yet effectually, did these two minds com-
municate in a crowd, that never noticed nor suspected the
delicate interchange of sentiment that was going on under
their very eyes.
In a general way compliments did not seduce Mrs. Gaunt :
she was well used to them, for one thing. But to be praised
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
in that sacred edifice, and from the pulpit, and by such an
orator as Leonard, and to be praised in words so sacred and
beautiful, that the ears around her drank them with delight,
all this made her heart beat, and filled her with soft ami
sweet complacency.
And then to be thanked in public, yet, as it were, clan-
destinely, this gratified the furtive tendency of women.
There was no irritability this afternoon, but a gentle
radiance that diffused itself on all around, and made the
whole household happy; especially Griffith, whose pipe she
filled, for once, with her own white hand, and talked dogs,
horses, calves, hinds, cows, politics, markets, hay, to please
him, and seemed interested in them all.
But the next day she changed : ill at ease, and out of
spirits, and could settle to nothing.
It was very hot for one thing; and altogether a sort of
lassitude and distaste for everything overpowered her, and
she retired into the grove, and sat languidly on a seat with
half closed eyes.
But her meditations were no longer so calm and specula-
tive as heretofore. She found her mind constantly recurring
to one person, and, above all, to the discovery she had made
of her portrait in his possession. She had turned it off to
Betty Gough ; but here, in her calm solitude and umbrageous
twilight, her mind crept out of its cave, like wild and timid
things at dusk, and whispered to her heart that Leonard
perhaps admired her more than was safe or prudent.
Then this alarmed her, yet caused her a secret complac-
ency ; and that, her furtive satisfaction, alarmed her still more.
Now, while she sat thus absorbed, she heard a gentle
footstep coming near. She looked up, and there was
Leonard close to her, standing meekly with his arms crossed
upon his bosom.
His being there so pat upon her thoughts, scared her out
of her habitual self-command. She started up, with a faint
cry, and stood panting, as if about to fly, with her beautiful
eyes turned large upon him.
He put forth a deprecating hand, and soothed her. " For-
give me, madam," said he ; "I have unawares intruded on
your piivacy ; I will retire."
" Nay," said she falteringly, " you are welcome. But no
one comes here, so I was startled ; " then, recovering herself,
" excuse my ill-manners. 'Tis so strange you should come to
me here, of all places."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Nay, my daughter/' said the priest, "not so very strange :
contemplative minds love such places. Calling one day to
see you, I found this sweet and solemn grove, the like I
never saw in England ; and to-day I returned in hopes to
profit by it. Do but look around at these tall columns : how
calm, how reverend ! 'Tis God's own temple not built with
hands."
" Indeed it is," said Mrs. Gaunt earnestly. Then, like a
woman as she was, " So you came to see my trees, not me."
Leonard blushed. " I did not design to return without
paying my respects to her who owns this temple, and is
worthy of it ; nay, I beg you not to think me ungrateful."
His humility and gentle but earnest voice made Mrs.
Gaunt ashamed of her petulance. She smiled sweetly, and
looked pleased. However, ere long, she attacked him again.
" Father Francis used to visit us often," said she. " He made
friends with my husband too. And I never lacked an adviser
while he was here."
Leonard looked so confused at this second reproach that
Mrs. Gaunt regretted having uttered it. * Then he said
humbly that Francis was a secular priest, whereas he was
convent-bred. He added, that by his years and experience
Francis was better fitted to advise persons of her age and sex
in matters secular than he was. He concluded timidly that
he was ready, nevertheless, to try and advise her ; but could
not, in such matters, assume the authority that belongs to age
and knowledge of the world.
"Nay, nay," said she earnestly, "guide and direct my
soul, and I am content."
He said yes, that was his duty and his right.
Then, after a certain hesitation, which at once let her
know what was coming, he began to thank her, with infinite
grace and sweetness, for her kindness to him.
She looked him full in the face, and said she was not aware
of any kindness she had shown him worth speaking of.
"That but shows," said he, "how natural it is to you to do
acts of goodness. My poor room is a very bower now, and I
am happy in it. I used to feel very sad there at times ; but
your hand has cured me."
Mrs. Gaunt coloured beautifully. " You make me ashamed,"
said she. " Things are come to a pass indeed if a lady may
not send a few flowers and things to her spiritual father with-
out being thanked for it. And, oh, sir, what are earthly
flowers compared with those blossoms of the soul you have
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
shed so liberally over us ? Our immortal parts were all asleep
when you came here, and wakened them by the fire of your
words. Eloquence ! 'twas a thing I had read of, but never
heard, nor thought to hear. Methought the orators and poets
of the Church were all in their graves this thousand years, and
she must go all the way to heaven that would hear the soul's
true music. But I know better now."
Leonard coloured high with pleasure. " Such praise from you
is too sweet," he muttered. " I must not court it. The heart is
full of vanity." And he deprecated further eulogy by a move-
ment of the hand extremely, refined and, in fact, rather feminine.
Deferring to his wish, Mrs. Gaunt glided to other matters,
and was naturally led to speak of the prospects of their Church,
and the possibility of reconverting these islands. This had
been the dream of her young heart ; but marriage and mater-
nity, and the universal coldness with which the subject had
been received, had chilled her so, that of late years she had
almost ceased to speak of it. Even Leonard, on a former oc-
casion, had listened coldly to her ; but now his heart was open
to her. He was, in fact, quite as enthusiastic on this point as
ever she had been, and then he had digested his aspirations into
clearer forms. Not only had he resolved that Great Britain
must be reconverted, but had planned the way to do it. His
cheek glowed, his eyes gleamed, and he poured out his hopes
and his plans before her with an eloquence that few mortals
could have resisted.
As for this, his hearer, she was quite carried away by it.
She joined herself to his plans on the spot ; she begged, with
tears in her eyes, to be permitted to support him in this great
cause. She devoted to it her substance, her influence, and
every gift that God had given her. The hours passed like
minutes in this high converse ; and when the tinkling of the
little bell at a distance summoned him to vespers, he left her
with a gentle regret he scarcely tried to conceal, and she went
slowly in like one in a dream, and the world seemed dead to
her for ever.
Nevertheless, when Mrs. Ryder, combing out her long hair,
gave one inadvertent tug, the fair enthusiast came back to earth,
and asked her rather sharply who her head was running on.
Ryder, a very handsome young woman, with fine black eyes,
made no reply, but only drew her breath audibly hard.
I do not very much wonder at that, nor at my having to
answer that question for Mrs. Ryder. For her head was at
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
that moment running, like any other woman's, on the man
she was in love with.
And the man she was in love with was the husband of
the lady whose hair she was combing, and who put her
that curious question plump.
CHAPTER XVIII
THIS Caroline Ryder was a character almost impossible to
present so as to enable the reader to recognise her should she
cross his path : so great was the contradiction between what
she was and what she seemed, and so perfect was the imitation.
She looked a respectacle young spinster, with a grace of
manner beyond her station, and a decency and propriety of
demeanour that inspired respect.
She was a married woman, separated from her husband by
mutual consent ; and she had had many lovers^, each of whom
she had loved ardently for a little while. She was a woman
that brought to bear upon foolish, culpable loves a mental
power that would have adorned the woolsack.
The moment prudence or waning inclination made it advis-
able to break with the reigning favourite, she set to work to
cool him down by deliberate coldness, sullenness, insolence,
and generally succeeded. But if he was incurable, she never
hesitated as to her course ; she smiled again on him and
looked out for another place. Being an invaluable servant,
she got one directly, and was off to fresh pastures.
A female rake, but with the air of a very prude.
Still the decency and propriety of her demeanour were
not all hypocrisy, but half hypocrisy, and half inborn and
instinctive good taste and good sense.
As dangerous a creature to herself and others as ever tied
on a bonnet.
On her arrival at Hernshaw Castle she cast her eyes round
to see what there was to fall in love with, and observed the
gamekeeper, Tom Leicester. She gave him a smile or two
that won his heart ; but there she stopped ; for soon the
ruddy cheek, brown eyes, manly proportions, and square
shoulders of her master attracted this connoisseur in mas-
culine beauty. And then his manner was so genial and
hearty, with a smile for everybody. Mrs. Ryder eyed him
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
demurely day by day, and often opened a window slily to
watch him unseen.
From that she got to throwing herself in his way ; and this
with such art that he never discovered it, though he fell in
with her about the house six times as often as he met his
wife or any other inmate.
She had already studied his character, and, whether she
arranged to meet him full, or to cross him, it was always with
a curtsey and a sunshiny smile ; he smiled on her in his turn,
and felt a certain pleasure at sight of her ; for he loved to
see people bright and cheerful about him.
Then she did of her own accord what no other master on
earth would have persuaded her to do looked over his linen,
sewed on buttons for him ; and sometimes the artful jade
deliberately cut a button off a clean shirt, and then came to
him and sewed it on during wear. This brought about a
contact none knew better than she how to manage to a man's
undoing. The eyelashes lowered over her work deprecating,
yet inviting the twenty stitches, when six would have done
the one coy glance at leaving. All this soft witchcraft
beset Griffith Gaunt, and told on him ; but not as yet in the
way his inamorata intended. " Kate," said he one day, " that
girl of yours is worth her weight in gold."
" Indeed," said Mrs. Gaunt frigidly ; " I have not dis-
covered it."
When Caroline found that her master was single-hearted,
and loved his wife too well to look elsewhere, instead of hat-
ing him she began to love him more seriously, and to hate his
wife, that haughty beauty who took such a husband as a matter
of course, and held him tight without troubling her head.
It was a coarse age, and in that very county more than one
wife had suffered jealous agony from her own domestic. But
here the parts were inverted ; the lady was at her ease, the
servant paid a bitter penalty for her folly. She was now pas-
sionately in love, and had to do menial offices for her rival every
hour of the day : she must sit with Mrs. Gaunt, and make
her dresses, and consult with her how to set off her hateful
beauty to the best advantage. She had to dress her, and look
daggers at her satin skin and royal neck, and to sit behind her
an hour at a time combing and brushing her long golden hair.
How she longed to tear a handful of it out, and then run
away ! Instead of that, her happy rival expected her to be
as tender and coaxing with it as Madame de Maintenon was
with the Queen's of France.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Ryder called it "yellow stuff" down in the kitchen that
was one comfort, but a feeble one. The sun came in at the
lady's window, and Ryder's shapely hand was overflowed, and
her eyes offended, by waves of burnished gold ; and one day
Griffith came in and kissed it in her very hand. His lips felt
nothing but his wife's glorious hair ; but, by that exquisite
sensibility which the heart can convey in a moment to the
very finger-nails, Caroline's hand, beneath, felt the soft touch
through her mistress's hair; and the enamoured hypocrite
thrilled, and then sickened at her own folly.
For in her good sense could be overpowered, but never
long blinded.
On the day in question she was thinking of Griffith, as
usual, and wondering whether he would always prefer yellow
hair to black. This actually put her off her guard for once,
and she gave the rival hair a little contemptuous tug : and
the reader knows what followed.
Staggered by her mistress's question, Carqline made no
reply, but only panted a little and proceeded more carefully.
But oh ! the struggle it cost her not to. slap both Mrs.
Gaunt's fair cheeks with the backs of the brushes ! And
what with this struggle, and the reprimand, and the past
agitations, by-and-by the comb ceased, and the silence was
broken by faint sobs.
Mrs. Gaunt turned calmly round and looked full at her
hysterical handmaid.
" What is to do ? " said she. " Is it because I chid you,
child ? Nay, you need not take that to heart ; it is just my
way : I can bear anything but my hair pulled." With this
she rose and poured some drops of sal-volatile into water, and
put it to her secret rival's lips ; it was kindly done, but with
that sort of half contemptuous and thoroughly cold pity women
are apt to show to women, and especially when one of them
is mistress and the other is servant.
Still it cooled the extreme hatred Caroline had nursed, and
gave her a little twinge, and awakened her intelligence. Now
her intelligence was truly remarkable when not blinded by
passion. She was a woman with one or two other masculine
traits beside her roving heart. For instance, she could sit
and think hard and practically for hours together; and on
these occasions her thoughts were never dreamy and vague ;
it was no brown study, but good hard thinking. She would
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
knit her coal-black brows, like Lord Thurlow himself, and
realise the situation, and weigh the pros and cons with a
steady judicial power rarely found in her sex : and, nota bene,
when once her mind had gone through this process, then she
would act with almost monstrous resolution.
She now shut herself up in her own room for some hours,
and weighed the matter carefully.
The conclusion she arrived at was this, that, if she stayed
at Hernshaw Castle there would be mischief; and probably
she herself would be the principal sufferer to the end of the
chapter, as she was now.
She said to herself, " I shall go mad, or else expose myself
and be turned away with loss of character ; and then what
will become of me and my child ? Better lose life or reason
than character. I know what I have to go through ; I have
left a man ere now with my heart tugging at me to stay
beside him. It is a terrible wrench ! and then all seems dead
for a long while without him. But the world goes on and
takes you round with it ; and by-and-by you find there are as
good fish left in the sea as ever came out on't. I'll go, while
I've sense enough left to see I must."
The veiy next day she came to Mrs. Gaunt and said she
wished to leave. " Certainly," said Mrs. Gaunt coldly. "May
I ask the reason ? "
" Oh, I have no complaint to make, ma'am none whatever ;
but I am not happy here ; and I wish to go when my month's
up, or sooner, ma'am, if you could suit yourself."
Mrs. Gaunt considered a moment : then she said, " You
came all the way from Gloucestershire to me ; had you not
better give the place a fair trial ? I have had two or three
good servants that felt uncomfortable at first ; but they soon
found out my ways, and stayed with me till they married.
As for leaving me before your month, that is out of the ques-
tion." To this Ryder said not a word, but merely vented a
little sigh, half dogged, half submissive, and went cat-like
about, arranging her mistress's things with admirable preci-
sion and neatness. Mrs. Gaunt watched her, without seeming
to do so, and observed that her discontent did not in the
least affect her punctual discharge of her duties. Said Mrs.
Gaunt to herself, " This servant is a treasure : she shall not
go." And Ryder to herself, " Well, 'tis but for a month ; and
then no power shall keep me here."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
CHAPTER XIX
NOT long after these events came the county ball. Griffith
was there, but no Mrs. Gaunt. This excited surprise, and
among the gentlemen disappointment. They asked Griffith
if she was unwell; he thanked them drily, she was very
well ; and that was all they could get out of him. But to
the ladies he let out that she had given up balls, and, indeed,
all reasonable pleasures. "She does nothing but fast, and
pray, and visit the sick." He added, with rather a weak
smile : " I see next to nothing of her." A minx stood by
and put in her word. "You should catch the small-pox;
then who knows ? she might look in upon you."
Griffith laughed, but not heartily. In truth, Mrs. Gaunt's
religious fervour knew no bounds. Absorbed in pious schemes
and religious duties, she had little time and much distaste
for frivolous society ; invited none but the devout, and found
polite excuses for not dining abroad. She sent her husband
into the world alone, and laden with apologies. " My wife
is turned saint. 'Tis a sin to dance, a sin to hunt, a sin to
enjoy ourselves. We are here to fast and pray, and build
schools, and go to church twice a day."
And so he went about publishing his household ill ; but,
to tell the truth, a secret satisfaction peeped through his
lugubrious accents. An ugly saint is an unmixed calamity
to jolly fellows ; but to be lord and master, and possessor of
a beautiful saint, was not without its piquant charm. His
jealousy was dormant, not extinct ; and Kate's piety tickled
that foible, not wounded it. He found himself the rival of
Heaven, and the successful rival ; for, let her be ever so
strict, ever so devout, she must give her husband many com-
forts she could not give to Heaven.
This soft and piquant phase of the passion did not last
long. All things are progressive.
Brother Leonard was director now as well as confessor ;
his visits became frequent ; and Mrs. Gaunt often quoted his
authority for her acts or her sentiments. So Griffith began
to suspect that the change in his wife was entirely due to
Leonard, and that with all her eloquence and fervour she
was but a priest's echo. This galled him. To be sure
Leonard was only an ecclesiastic ; but, if he had been a
woman, Griffith was the man to wince. His wife to lean so
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
on another; his wife to withdraw from the social pleasures
she had hitherto shared with him, and all because another
human creature disapproved them. He writhed in silence
a while, and then remonstrated. He was met at first with
ridicule " Are you going to be jealous of my confessor ? "
and on repeating the offence, with a kind but grave admoni-
tion, that silenced him for the time, but did not cure him,
nor even convince him.
The facts were too strong : Kate was no longer to him
the genial companion she had been ; gone was the ready
sympathy with which she had listened to all his little earthly
concerns ; and as for his hay-making, he might as well talk
about it to an iceberg as to the partner of his bosom.
He was genial by nature, and could not live without
sympathy. He sought it in the parlour of the " Red Lion."
Mrs. Gaunt' s high-bred nostrils told her where he haunted,
and it caused her dismay. Woman-like, instead of opening
her battery at once, she wore a gloomy and displeased air,
which a few months ago would have served her turn and
brought about an explanation at once; but Griffith took it
for a stronger dose of religious sentiment, and trundled off
to the " Red Lion " all the more.
So then at last she spoke her mind, and asked him how he
could lower himself so, and afflict her.
" Oh ! " said he doggedly, " this house is too cold for me
now. My mate is priest-rid. Plague on the knave that hath
put coldness 'twixt thee and me."
Mrs. Gaunt froze visibly, and said no more at that time.
One bit of sunshine remained in the house and shone
brighter than ever on its chilled master, shone through two
black, seducing eyes.
Some three months before the date we have now reached,
Caroline Ryder's two boxes were packed and corded ready to
go next day. She had quietly persisted in her resolution to
leave, and Mrs. Gaunt, though secretly angry, had been just
and magnanimous enough to give her a good character.
Now female domestics are like the little birds : if that great
hawk, their mistress, follows them about, it is a deadly griev-
ance ; but if she does not, they follow her about, and pester
her with idle questions, and invite the beak and claws of petty
tyranny and needless interference.
So the afternoon before she was to leave, Caroline Ryder
came to her mistress's room on some imaginary business. She
was not there. Ryder, forgetting that it did not matter a
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
straw, proceeded to hunt her everywhere ; and at last ran out
with only her cap on to " the Dame's Haunt," and there she
was but not alone : she was walking up and down with
Brother Leonard. Their backs were turned, and Ryder came
up behind them. Leonard was pacing gravely, with his head
gently drooping as usual. Mrs. Gaunt was walking elastically,
and discoursing with great fire and animation.
Ryder glided after, noiseless as a serpent, more bent on
wondering and watching now than on overtaking ; for inside
the house her mistress showed none of this charming vivacity.
Presently the keen black eyes observed a " trifle light as
air " that made them shine again.
She turned and wound herself amongst the trees, and dis-
appeared. Soon after she was in her own room, a changed
woman. With glowing cheeks, sparkling eyes, and nimble
fingers, she uncorded her boxes, unpacked her things, and
placed them neatly in the drawers.
What more had she seen than I have indicated ?
Only this : Mrs. Gaunt, in the warmth of discourse, laid her
hand lightly for a moment on the priest's elbow : that was
nothing, she had laid the same hand on Ryder ; for, in fact, it
was a little womanly way she had, and a hand that settled
like down. But this time, as she withdrew it again, that
delicate hand seemed to speak; it did not leave Leonard's
elbow all at once, it glided slowly away first the palm, then
the fingers, and so parted lingeringly.
The other woman saw this subtle touch of womanhood,
coupled it with Mrs. Gaunt's vivacity and the air of happiness
that seemed to inspire her whole eloquent person, and formed
a harsh judgment on the spot, though she could not see the
lady's face.
When Mrs. Gaunt came in she met her, and addressed her
thus : " If you please, ma'am, have you any one coming in my
place ? "
Mrs. Gaunt looked her full in the face. "You know I
have not," said she haughtily.
11 Then, if it is agreeable to you, ma'am, I will stay. To be
sure the place is dull ; but I have got a good mistress
and "
"That will do, Ryder: a servant has always her own
reasons, and never tells them to her mistress. You can stay
this time; but the next, you go; and once for all. I am
not to be trifled with."
Ryder called up a look all submission, and retired with an
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
obeisance. But, once out of sight, she threw off the mask and
expanded with insolent triumph. " Yes, I have my own
reasons," said she. " Keep you the priest, and I'll take the
man."
From that hour Caroline Ryder watched her mistress like a
lynx, and hovered about her master, and poisoned him slowly
with vague insidious hints.
CHAPTER XX
BROTHER LEONARD, like many holy men, was vain. Not but
what he had his gusts of humility and diffidence ; only they
blew over.
At first, as you may perhaps remember, he doubted his
ability to replace Father Francis as Mrs. Gaunt's director ; but
after a slight disclaimer, he did replace him, and had no more
misgivings as to his fitness. But his tolerance and good sense
were by no means equal to his devotion and his persuasive
powers ; and so his advice in matters spiritual and secular
somehow sowed the first seeds of conjugal coolness in Hern-
shaw Castle.
And now Ryder slily insinuated into Griffith's ear that the
mistress told the priest everything, and did nothing but by his
advice. Thus the fire already kindled was fanned by an artful
woman's breath.
Griffith began to hate Brother Leonard, and to show it so
plainly and rudely that Leonard shrank from the encounter,
and came less often, and stayed but a few minutes. Then
Mrs. Gaunt remonstrated gently with Griffith, but received
short sullen replies. Then, as the servile element of her sex
was comparatively small in her, she turned bitter and cold,
and avenged Leonard indirectly, but openly, with those terrible
pins and needles a beloved woman has ever at command.
Then Griffith became moody, and downright unhappy, and
went more and more to the " Red Lion," seeking comfort
there now as well as company.
Mrs. Gaunt saw, and had fits of irritation, and fits of pity,
and sore perplexity. She knew she had a good husband ; and,
instead of taking him to heaven with her, she found that each
step she made with Leonard's help towards the angelic life
seemed somehow to be bad for Griffith's soul, and for his
earthly happiness.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
She blamed herself; she blamed Griffith ; she blamed the
Protestant heresy ; she blamed everybody and everything
except Brother Leonard.
One Sunday afternoon Griffith sat on his own lawn, silently
smoking his pipe. Mrs. Gaunt came to him, and saw an air of
dejection on his genial face. Her heart yearned. She sat
down beside him on the bench, and sighed; then he sighed too.
" My dear," said she sweetly, " fetch out your viol da
gambo, and we will sing a hymn or two together here this fine
afternoon. We can praise God together, though we must
pray apart ; alas ! that it is so."
" With all my heart," said Griffith. " Nay, I forgot ; my
viol da gambo is not here. 'Tis at the ' Red Lion.' "
" At the t Red Lion ! ' " said she bitterly. " What, do you
sing there as well as drink ? Oh, husband, how can you so
bemean yourself? "
" What is a poor man to do, whose wife is priest-ridden,
and got to be no company except for angels ? "
"I did not come here to quarrel," said she, coldly and
sadly. Then they were both silent a minute.. Then she got
up and left him.
Brother Leonard, like many earnest men, was rather intole-
rant. He urged on Mrs. Gaunt that she had too many Pro-
testants in her household : her cook and her nursemaid ought,
at all events, to be Catholics. Mrs. Gaunt on this was quite
ready to turn them both off, and that without disguise. But
Leonard dissuaded her from so violent a measure. She had
better take occasion to part with one of them, and by-and-by
with the other.
The nursemaid was the first to go, and her place was filled
by a Roman Catholic. Then the cook received warning. But
this did not pass off so quietly : Jane Bannister was a buxom
hearty woman, well liked by her fellow-servants ; her parents
lived in the village, and she had been six years with the
Gaunts, and her honest heart clung to them. She took to
crying ; used to burst out in the middle of her work, or while
conversing with fitful cheerfulness on ordinary topics.
One day Griffith found her crying, and Ryder consoling her
as carelessly arid contemptuously as possible.
" Hey-day, lasses," said he ; " what is your trouble ? "
At this Jane's tears flowed in a stream, and Ryder made
no reply, but waited.
At last, and not till the third or fourth time of asking, Jane
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
blurted out that she had got the sack ; such was her homely
expression, dignified, however, by honest tears.
"What for ?" asked Griffith kindly.
" Nay, sir," sobbed Jane, " that is what I want to know.
Our dame ne'er found a fault in me ; and now she does pack
me off like a dog. Me that have been here this six years, and
got to feel at home. What will father say ? He'll give me
a hiding. For two pins I'd drown myself in the mere."
" Come, you must not blame the mistress," said the sly
Ryder. " She is a good mistress as ever breathed ; 'tis all the
priest's doings. I'll tell you the truth, master, if you will pass
me your word I shan't be sent away for it."
" I pledge you my word as a gentleman," said Griffith.
"Well, then, sir, Jane's fault is yours and mine. She is
not a Papist ; and that is why she is to go. How I come to
know, I listened in the next room, and heard the priest tell
our dame she must send away two of us, and have Catholics.
The priest's word it is law in this house ; 'twas in March he
gave the order: Harriet, she went in May, and now poor Jane
is to go for walking to church behind you, sir. But there,
Jane, I believe he would get our very master out of the house
if he could ; and then what would become of us all ? "
Griffith turned black, and then ashy pale, under this veno-
mous tongue, and went away without a word, looking dangerous.
Ryder looked after him, and her black eye glittered with
a kind of fiendish beauty.
Jane having told her mind, now began to pluck up a little
spirit. " Mrs. Ryder," said she, " I never thought to like you
so well ; " and, with that, gave her a great, hearty, smacking
kiss ; which Ryder, to judge by her countenance, relished, as
epicures albumen. "I won't cry no more. After all, this
house is no place for us that be women ; 'tis a fine roost, to be
sure ! where the hen she crows and the cock do but cluck."
Town-bred Ryder laughed at the rustic maid's simile ; and,
not to be outdone in metaphor, told her there were dogs that
barked, and dogs that bit. "Our master is one of those that
bite. I've done the priest's business. He is as like to get
the sack as you are."
Griffith found his wife seated on the lawn reading. He
gulped down his ire as well as he could ; but nevertheless his
voice trembled a little with suppressed passion.
" So Jane is turned off now," said he.
"I don't know about being turned off," replied Mrs. Gaunt
145 K
GRIFFITH GAUNT
calmly ; " but she leaves me next month, and Cicely Davis
comes back."
"And Cicely Davis is a useless slut that cannot boil a
potato fit to eat ; but then she is a Papist, and poor Jenny
is a Protestant, and can cook a dinner."
" My dear/' said Mrs. Gaunt, " do not you trouble about
the servants ; leave them to me."
" And welcome ; but this is not your doing, it is that
Leonard's : and I cannot allow a Popish priest to turn off all
my servants that are worth their salt. Come, Kate, you used
to be a sensible woman, and a tender wife ; now, I ask you,
is a young bachelor a fit person to govern a man's family ? "
Mrs. Gaunt laughed in his face. " A young bachelor ! "
said she ; " whoever heard of such a term applied to a priest :
and a saint upon earth ? "
" Why, he is not married, so he must be a bachelor ; and I
say again it is monstrous for a young bachelor to come be-
tween old married folk, and hear all their secrets, and have
a finger in every pie, and set up to be master of my house,
and order my wife to turn away my servants for going to
church behind me. Why not turn me away too ? Their fault
is mine."
" Griffith, you are in a passion, and I begin to think you
want to put me in one."
" Well, perhaps I am. Job's patience went at last, and
mine has been sore tried this many a month. 'Twas bad
enough when the man was only your confessor : you told him
everything, and you don't tell me everything. He knew your
very heart better than I do, and that was a bitter thing
for me to bear that love you and have no secrets from you.
But every man who marries a Catholic must endure this ; so
I put a good face on it, though my heart was often sore ; 'twas
the price I had to pay for my pearl of womankind. But since
he set up your governor as well, you are a changed woman :
you shun company abroad, you freeze my friends at home.
You have made the house so cold that I am fain to seek the
' Red Lion ' for a smile or a kindly word ; and now, to please
this fanatical priest, you would turn away the best servants I
have, and put useless, dirty slatterns in their place, that happen
to be Papists. You did not use to be so uncharitable, nor so
unreasonable. 'Tis the priest's doing. He is my secret,
underhand enemy ; I feel him undermining me, inch by inch,
and I can bear it no longer. I must make a stand somewhere,
and I may as well make it here ; for Jenny is a good girl, and
146
GRIFFITH GAUNT
her folk live in the village, and she helps them. Think better
of it, Kate, and let the poor wench stay, though she does go
to church behind your husband."
" Griffith," said Mrs. Gaunt, " I might retort, and say that
you are a changed man ; for to be sure you did never use to
interfere between me and my maids. Are you sure some
mischief-making woman is not advising you ? But, there, do
not let us chafe one another, for you know we are hot-tempered
both of us. Well, leave it for the present, my dear ; prithee
let me think it over till to-morrow, at all events, and try if I
can satisfy you."
The jealous husband saw through this proposal directly.
He turned purple. " That is to say, you must ask your priest
first for leave to show your husband one grain of respect and
affection, and not make him quite a cipher in his own house.
No, Kate, no man who respects himself will let another man
come between himself and the wife of his bosom. This busi-
ness is between you and me ; I will brook no interference in
it ; and I tell you plainly, if you turn this poor lass off to please
this d d priest, I'll turn the priest off to please her and
her folk. They are as good as he is, any way."
The bitter contempt with which he spoke of Brother
Leonard, and this astounding threat, imported a new and
dangerous element into the discussion : it stung Mrs. Gaunt
beyond bearing. She turned with flashing eyes upon Griffith.
" As good as he is ? The scum of my kitchen I You will
make me hate the mischief-making hussy. She shall pack
out of my house to-morrow morning."
" Then I say that priest shall never darken my doors again."
" Then I say they are my doors, not yours ; and that holy
man shall brighten them whenever he will."
If to strike an adversary dumb is the tongue's triumph, Mrs.
Gaunt was victorious : for Griffith gasped, but did not reply.
They faced each other, pale with fury ; but no more words.
No : an ominous silence succeeded this lamentable answer,
like the silence that follows a thunder-clap.
Griffith stood still awhile, benumbed as it were by the cruel
stroke ; then cast one speaking look of anguish and reproach
upon her, drew himself haughtily up, and stalked away like
a wounded lion.
Well said the ancients that anger is a short madness. When
we reflect in cold blood on the things we have said in hot,
how impossible they seem ! how out of character with our real
147
GRIFFITH GAUNT
selves ! And this is one of the recognised symptoms of
mania.
There were few persons could compai-e with Mrs. Gaunt in
native magnanimity ; yet how ungenerous a stab had she given !
And had he gone on, she would have gone on ; but when
he turned silent at her bitter thrust, and stalked away from
her, she came to herself almost directly.
She thought, " Good God ! what have I said to him ? "
And the flush of shame came to her cheek, and her eyes
filled with tears.
He saw them not; he had gone away, wounded to the
heart.
You see it was true. The house was hers tied up as tight
as wax. The very money (his own money) that had been
spent on the place, had become hers by being expended on
real property ; he could not reclaim it ; he was her lodger,
a dependant on her bounty.
During all the years they had lived together she had never
once assumed the proprietor. On the contrary, she put him
forward as the squire, and slipped quietly into the background.
Bene latuiL But, lo ! let a hand be put out to offend her
saintly favourite, and that moment she could waken her hus-
band from his dream, and put him down intp his true legal
position with a word. The matrimonial throne for him till
he resisted her priest ; and then, a stool at her feet, and his.
He was enraged as well as hurt ; but being a true lover,
his fury was levelled not at the woman who had hurt him,
but at the man who stood out of sight and set her on.
By this time the reader knows his good qualities and his
defects ; superior to his wife in one or two things, he was by
no means so thorough a gentleman as she was a lady. He
had begun to make a party with his own servants against the
common enemy ; and, in his wrath, he now took another step,
or rather a stride, in the same direction. As he hurried away
to the public-house, white with ire, he met his gamekeeper
coming in with a bucketful of fish fresh caught. " What
have ye got there ? " said Griffith roughly ; not that he was
angry with the man, but that his very skin was full of wrath,
and it must exude. Mr. Leicester did not relish the tone, and
replied, bluntly and sulkily, " Pike for our Papists." The
answer, though rude, did not altogether displease Griffith ; it
smacked of odium theologicum, a sentiment he was learning
to understand. " Put 'em down, and listen to me, Thomas
Leicester," said he. And his manner was now so impressive
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
that Leicester put down the bucket with ludicrous expedition,
and gaped at him.
" Now, my man, why do I keep you here ? "
" To take care of your game, squire, I do suppose."
" What ? when you are the worst gamekeeper in the county.
How many poachers do you catch in the year ? They have
only to set one of their gang to treat you at the public-house
on a moonshiny night, and the rest can have all my pheasants
at roost while you are boozing and singing."
" Like my betters in the parlour," muttered Tom.
" But that is not all," continued Gaunt, pretending not to
hear him. " You wire my rabbits, and sell them in the town.
Don't go to deny it, for I've half-a-dozen to prove it." Mr.
Leicester looked very uncomfortable. His master continued
" I have known it this ten months, yet you are none the
worse for it. Now, why do I keep you here, that any other
gentleman in my place would send to Carlisle gaol on a justice's
warrant ? "
Mr. Leicester, who had thought his master blind, and was
so suddenly undeceived, hung his head and snivelled out,
" 'Tis because you have a good heart, squire, and would not
ruin a poor fellow for an odd rabbit or two."
" Stuff and nonsense ! " cried Gaunt. " Speak your mind for
once, or else begone for a liar as well as a knave."
Thus appealed to, Leicester's gipsy eyes roved to and fro
as if he were looking for some loophole to escape by ; but
at last he faced the situation. He said, with a touch of
genuine feeling, " D n the rabbits ! I wish my hand had
withered ere I touched one on them." But after this preface
he sunk his voice to a whisper, and said, "I see what you
are driving at, squire ; and since there is nobody with us (he
took off his cap) why, sir, 'tis this here mole I am in debt
to, no doubt."
Then the gentleman and his servant looked one another
silently in the face, and what with their standing in the same
attitude and being both excited and earnest, the truth must
be owned, a certain family likeness came out. Certainly, their
eyes were quite unlike. Leicester had his gipsy mother's;
black, keen, and restless. Gaunt had his mother's : brown,
calm, and steady. But the two men had the same stature,
the same manly mould and square shoulders ; and, though
Leicester's cheek was brown as a berry, his forehead was
singularly white for a man in his rank of life, and over his left
temple, close to the roots of the hair, was an oblong mole as
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
black as ink, that bore a close resemblance in appearance
and position to his master's.
"Tom Leicester, I have been insulted."
" That won't pass, sir. Who is the man ? "
" One that I cannot call out like a gentleman, and yet 1
must not lay on him with my cane, or I am like to get the
sack, as well as my servants. 'Tis the Popish priest, lad ;
Brother Leonard, own brother to Old Nick ; he has got our
dame's ear; she cannot say him ' nay.' She is turning away
all my people, and filling the house with Papists, to please
him. And when I interfered, she as good as told me I should
go next ; and so I shall, I or else that priest."
This little piece of exaggeration fired Tom Leicester. " Say
ye so, squire ? then just you whisper a word in my ear, and
George and I will lay that priest by the heels, and drag him
through the horse-pond. He won't come here to trouble you
after that, / know."
Gaunt' s eyes flashed triumph. "A friend in need is a
friend indeed," said he. "Ay, you are right, lad. There
must be no broken bones, and no bloodshed ; the horse-pond
is the very thing ; and if she discharges you for it, take no
heed of her. You shall never leave Hernshaw Castle for that
good deed ; or, if you do, I'll go with you ; for the world it is
wide, and I'll never live a servant in the house where I have
been a master."
They then put their heads together and concerted the means
by which the priest at his very next visit was to be decoyed
into the neighbourhood of the horse-pond.
And then they parted, and Griffith went to the " Red Lion."
And a pair of black eyes that had slily watched this singular
interview from an upper window, withdrew quietly ; and soon
after, Tom Leicester found himself face to face with their
owner, the sight of whom always made his heart beat a little
faster.
Caroline Ryder had been rather cold to him of late ; it was
therefore a charming surprise when she met him all wreathed
in smiles, and drawing him apart, began to treat him like a
bosom friend, and tell him what had passed between the
master, and her, and Jane. Confidence begets confidence ;
and so Tom told her in turn that the squire and the dame
had come to words over it. "However," said he, "'tis all
the priest's fault ; but bide awhile, all of ye."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
With this mysterious hint he meant to close his revelations.
But Ryder intended nothing of the kind. Her keen eye had
read the looks and gestures of Gaunt and Leicester, and these
had shown her that something very strange and serious was
going on. She had come out expressly to learn what it was,
and Tom was no match for her arts. She so smiled on him,
and agreed with him, and led him, and drew him, and pumped
him, that she got it all out of him on a promise of secrecy.
She then entered into it with spirit, and being what they
called a scholar, undertook to write a paper for Tom and his
helper to pin on the priest's back. No sooner said than done.
She left him, and speedily returned with the following docu-
ment written out in large and somewhat straggling letters :
" HONEST FOLK, BEHOLD A
MISCHIEVIOUS PRIEST, WHICH
FOR CAUSING OF STRIFE
'TwiXT MAN AND WYFE
HATH MADE ACQUAINTAUNCE
WITH SQUIRE'S HORSE-POND."
And so a female conspirator was added to the plot.
Mrs. Gaunt co-operated too, but, need I say, unconsciously ?
She was unhappy, and full of regret at what she had said.
She took herself severely to task, and drew a very unfavourable
comparison between herself and Brother Leonard. " How ill,"
she thought, " am I fitted to carry out that meek saint's views.
See what my ungoverned temper has done." So then, having
made so great a mistake, she thought the best thing she could
do was to seek advice of Leonard at once. She was not without
hopes he would tell her to postpone the projected change in
her household, and so soothe her offended husband directly.
She wrote a line requesting Leonard to call on her as soon
as possible, and advise her in a great difficulty ; and she gave
this note to Ryder, and told her to send the groom off with
it at once.
Ryder squeezed the letter, and peered into it, and gathered
its nature before she gave it to the groom to take to Leonard.
When he was gone she went and told Tom Leicester, and
he chuckled, and made his preparations accordingly.
Then she retired to her own room and went through a
certain process I have indicated before as one of her habits :
knitted her great black brows, and pondered the whole situa-
tion with a mental power that was worthy of a nobler sphere
and higher materials.
151
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Her practical reverie, so to speak, continued until she was
rung for to dress her mistress for dinner.
Griffith was so upset, so agitated and restless, he could not
stay long in any one place, not even in the " Red Lion." So
he came home to dinner, though he had mighty little appetite
for it. And this led to another little conjugal scene.
Mrs. Gaunt mounted the great oak staircase to dress for
dinner, languidly, as ladies are apt to do, when reflection and
regret come after excitement.
Presently she heard a quick foot behind her : she knew it
directly for her husband's, and her heart yearned. She did
not stop, nor turn her head : womanly pride withheld her
from direct submission ; but womanly tenderness and tact
opened a way to reconciliation. She drew softly aside, almost
to the wall, and went slower ; and her hand, her sidelong
drooping head, and her whole eloquent person, whispered
plainly enough, " If somebody would like to make friends,
here is the door open."
Griffith saw, but was too deeply wounded : he passed her
without stopping (the staircase was eight feet broad).
But as he passed he looked at her and sighed, for he saw
she was sorry.
She heard, and sighed too. Poor things, they had lived so
happy together for years.
He went on.
Her pride bent : " Griffith 1 " said she, very timidly. He
turned and stopped at that.
" Sweetheart," she murmured, " I was to blame. I was
ungenerous. I forgot myself. Let me recall my words. You
know they did not come from my heart."
" You need not tell me that," said Griffith doggedly. u I
have no quarrel with you, and never will. You but do what
you are bidden, and say what you are bidden. I take the
wound from you as best I may: the man that set you on,
'tis him I'll be revenged on."
" Alas ! that you will think so," said she. " Believe me,
dearest, that holy man would be the first to rebuke me for
rebelling against my husband and flouting him. Oh, how
could 1 say such things ? I thank you, and love you dearly
for being so blind to my faults ; but I must not abuse your
blindness. Father Leonard will put me to penance for the
fault you forgive. He will hear no excuses. Prithee, now,
be more just to that good man."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith listened quietly, with a cold sneer upon his lip ; and
this was his reply : " Till that mischief-making villain came
between you and me, you never gave me a bitter word :
we were the happiest pair in Cumberland. But now what
are we ? And what shall we be in another year or two ?
REVENGE ! ! "
He had begun gravely enough, but suddenly burst into an
ungovernable rage ; and as he yelled out that furious word,
his face was convulsed and ugly to look at very ugly.
Mrs. Gaunt started : she had not seen that vile expression
in his face for many a year ; but she knew it again.
"Ah !" he cried, " he has made me drink a bitter cup this
many a day. But I'll force as bitter a one down his throat,
and you shall see it done."
Mrs. Gaunt turned pale at this violent threat ; but being a
high-spirited woman, she stiffened and hid her apprehensions
loftily. " Madman that you are," said she. " I throw away
excuses on Jealousy, and I waste reason upon frenzy. I'll say
no more things to provoke you ; but, to be sure, 'tis I that am
offended now, and deeply too, as you will find."
" So be it," said Griffith sullenly ; then, grinding his teeth,
"he shall pay for that too."
Then he went to his dressing-room, and she to her bed-
room. Griffith hating Leonard, and Kate deeply indignant
with Griffith.
And, ere her blood could cool, she was subjected to the
keen, cold, scrutiny of another female, and that female a
secret rival.
CHAPTER XXI
WOULD you learn what men gain by admitting a member of
the fair sex into their conspiracies, read the tragedy of Venice
Preserved ; and, by way of afterpiece, this little chapter.
Mrs. Gaunt sat pale and very silent, and Caroline Ryder
stood behind, doing up her hair into a magnificent structure
that added eight inches to the lady's height ; and in this
operation her own black hair and keen black eyes came close
to the golden hair and deep blue eyes, now troubled, and
made a picture striking by contrast.
As she was putting the finishing touches, she said quietly,
" If you please, dame, I have somewhat to tell you."
153
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mrs. Gaunt sighed wearily, expecting some very minute
communication.
"Well, dame, I dare say I am risking my place, but I
can't help it."
"Another time, Ryder," said Mrs. Gaunt. "I am in no
humour to be worried with my servant's squabbles."
" Nay, madam, 'tis not that at all ; 'tis about Father
Leonard. Sure you would not like him to be drawn through
the horse-pond ; and that is what they mean to do next time
he comes here."
In saying these words, the jade contrived to be adjusting
Mrs. Gaunt's dress. The lady's heart gave a leap, and the
servant's cunning finger felt it, and then felt a shudder run all
over that stately frame. But after that Mrs. Gaunt seemed to
turn to steel. She distrusted Ryder, she could not tell why :
distrusted her, and was upon her guard.
" You must be mistaken," said she. " Who would dare to
lay hands on a priest in my house ? "
"Well, dame, you see they egg one another on. Don't
ask me to betray my fellow-servants ; but let us baulk them.
I don't deceive you, dame : if the good priest shows his face
here, he will be thrown into the horse -pond, and sent home
with a ticket pinned to his back. Them that is to do it are on
the watch now, and have got their orders ; and 'tis a burning
shame. To be sure I am not a Catholic ; but religion is
religion, and a more heavenly face I never saw ; and for it to
be dragged through a filthy horse-pond ! "
Mrs. Gaunt clutched her inspector's arm and turned pale.
"The villains! the fiends!" she gasped. "Go ask your
master to come to me this moment."
Ryder took a step or two, then stopped. "Alack, dame," said
she, " that is not the way to do. You may be sure the others
would not dare, if my master had not shown them his mind."
Mrs. Gaunt stopped her ears. " Don't tell me that he has
ordered this impious, cruel, cowardly act. He is a lion ; and
this comes from the heart of cowardly curs. What is to be
done, woman ? tell me ; for you are cooler than I am."
"Well, dame, if I were in your place, I'd just send him a
line, and bid him stay away till the storm blows over."
" You are right. But who is to carry it ? My own servants
are traitors to me."
" I'll carry it myself."
" You shall. Put 011 your hat, and run through the wood ;
that is the shortest way."
154
GRIFFITH GAUNT
She wrote a few lines on a large sheet of paper, for notepaper
there was none in those days ; sealed it, and gave it to Ryder.
Ryder retired to put on her hat, and pry into the letter
with greedy eyes.
It ran thus :
FATHER AND FRIEND, You must come hither no
more at present. Ask the bearer why this is, for I am ashamed
to put it on paper: Pray for them : for you can, but I cannot.
Pray for me, too, bereft for a time of your counsels. I shall
come and confess to you in a few days, when we are all cooler ;
but you shall honour his house no more. Obey me in this
one thing, who shall obey you in all things else, .and am, your
indignant and sorrowful daughter,
"CATHERINE GAUNT."
" No more than that ? " said Ryder. " Ay, she guessed as
I should look."
She whipped on her hat and went out.
Who should she meet, or I might say, run against, at the
hall door, but Father Leonard.
He had come at once, in compliance with Mrs. Gaunt's
request.
CHAPTER XXII
MRS. RYDER uttered a little scream of dismay. The priest
smiled, and said sweetly, "Forgive me, mistress; I fear I
startled you."
"Indeed you did, sir," said she. She looked furtively
round, and saw Leicester and his underling on the watch.
Leicester, unaware of her treachery, made her a signal of
intelligence.
She responded to it, to gain time.
It was a ticklish situation. Some would have lost their
heads. Ryder was alarmed, but all the more able to defend
her plans. Her first move, as usual with such women, was
a lie.
"Our dame is in the Grove, sir," said she. "I am to
bring you to her."
The priest bowed his head gravely, and moved towards the
Grove with downcast eyes. Ryder kept close to him for a
155
GRIFFITH GAUNT
few steps ; then she ran to Leicester, and whispered hastily,
"Go you to the stable gate: I'll bring him round that way.
Hide now ; he suspects."
"Ay, ay," said Leicester; and the confiding pair slipped
away round a corner to wait for their victim.
Ryder hurried him into the Grove, and, as soon as she had
got him out of hearing, told him the truth.
He turned pale; for these delicate organisations do not
generally excel in courage.
Ryder pitied him, and something of womanly feeling began
to mingle with her plans. " They shall not lay a finger on
you, sir," said she. " I'll scratch and scream, and bring the
whole parish out sooner ; but the best way is not to give them
the chance : please you follow me." And she hurried him
through the Grove, and then into an unfrequented path of
the great wood.
When they were safe from pursuit she turned and looked at
him. He was a good deal agitated ; but the uppermost senti-
ment was gratitude. It soon found words, and, as usual, happy
ones. He thanked her with dignity and tenderness for the
service she had done him, and asked her if she was a Catholic.
"No," said she.
At that his countenance fell, but only for a moment.
" Ah ! would you were," he said earnestly. He then added
sweetly, " To be sure, I have all the more reason to be grate-
ful to you."
"You are very welcome, reverend sir," said Ryder graci-
ously. " Religion is religion : and 'tis a barbarous thing that
violence should be done to men of your cloth."
Having thus won his heart, the artful woman began at one
and the same time to please and to probe him. " Sir," said
she, " be of good heart ; they have done you no harm, and
themselves no good : my mistress will hate thv,.^ for it, and
love you all the more."
Father Leonard's pale cheek coloured all over at these
words, though he said nothing.
" Since they won't let you come to her, she will come to
you."
" Do you think so ? " said he faintly.
" Nay, I am sure of it, sir. So would any woman. We
still follow our hearts, and get our way by hook or by crook."
Again the priest coloured either with pleasure or with
shame, or with both ; and the keen feminine eye perused
him with microscopic power. She waited, to give him an
156
GRIFFITH GAUNT
opportunity of talking to her, and laying bare his feelings ;
but he was either too delicate, too cautious, or too pure.
So then she suddenly affected to remember her mistress's
letter. She produced it with an apology. He took it with
unfeigned eagerness, and read it in silence ; and, having read
it, he stood patient, with the tears in his eyes. Ryder eyed
him with much curiosity and a little pity. " Don't you take
on for that," said she. " Why, she will be more at her ease
when she visits you at your place than here ; and she won't
give you up, I promise."
The priest trembled, and Ryder saw it.
" But, my daughter," said he, " I am perplexed and grieved.
It seems that I make mischief in your house : that is an ill
office ; I fear it is my duty to retire from this place altogether,
rather than cause dissension between those whom the Church
by holy sacrament hath bound together." So saying, he hung
his head and sighed.
Ryder eyed him with a little pity, but more contempt.
"Why take other people's faults on your back? " said she.
" My mistress is tied to a man she does not love ; but that is
not your fault ; and he is jealous of you that never gave him
cause. If I was a man he should not accuse me for nothing :
nor set his man on to drag me through a horsepond for
nothing. I'd have the sweet as well as the bitter."
Father Leonard turned and looked at her with a face full
of terror. Some beautiful, honeyed fiend seemed to be
entering his heart and tempting it.
" Oh, hush ! my daughter, hush ! " he said ; " what words are
these for a virtuous woman to speak, and a priest to hear ? "
" There, I have offended you by my blunt way," said the
cajoling hussy, in soft and timid tones.
" Nay, not so ; but, oh ! speak not so lightly of things that
peril the immortal soul."
" Well, I have done," said Ryder. " You are out of danger
now ; so give you good day."
He stopped her. " What, before I have thanked you for
your goodness ? Ah, Mistress Ryder, 'tis on these occasions
a priest sins by longing for riches to reward his benefactors.
I have nought to offer you but this ring : it was my mother's,
my dear mother's."
He took it off his finger to give it her.
But the little bit of goodness that cleaves even to the heart
of an iiiti'iguante revolted against her avarice.
" Nay, poor soul, I'll not take it," said she ; and put her
157
GRIFFITH GAUNT
hands before her eyes, not to see it, for she knew she could
not look at it long and spare it.
With this she left him ; but ere she had gone far, her
cunning and curiosity gained the upper hand again, and she
whipped behind a great tree and crouched, invisible, all but
her nose and one piercing eye.
She saw the priest make a few steps homewards, then look
around, then take Mrs. Gaunt's letter out of his pocket, press it
passionately to his lips, and hide it tenderly in his bosom.
This done he went home with his eyes on the ground as
usual, and measured steps ; and to all who met him he seemed
a creature in whom religion had conquered all human frailty.
Caroline Ryder hurried home with cruel exultation in her
black eyes. But she soon found that the first thing she had
to do was to defend herself. Leicester and his man met her,
and the former looked gloomy, and the latter reproached her
bitterly ; called her a double-faced jade, and said he would
tell the squire of the trick she had played them. But Ryder
had her story ready in a moment. "Tis you I have saved,
not him," said she. " He is something more than mortal :
why, he told me of his own accord what you were there for ;
but, that if you were so unlucky as to lay hands on him, you
would rot alive. It seems that has been tried out Stanhope
way ; a man did but give him a blow, and his* arm was stiff
next day, and he never used it again ; and next his hair fell
off his head, and then his eyes they turned to water and ran
all out of him, and he died within the twelvemonth."
Country folk were nearly, though not quite, as superstitious
at that tune as in the Middle Ages. " Murrain on him," said
Leicester. " Catch me laying a finger on him. I'm glad he is
gone ; and I hope he won't never come back no more."
" Not likely, since he can read all our hearts. Why, he
told me something about you, Tom Leicester; he says you
are in love."
" No ! did he really now ? " and Leicester opened his eyes
very wide. " And did he tell you who the lass is ? "
"He did so, and surprised me properly." This with a
haughty glance.
Leicester held his tongue and turned red.
"Who is it, mistress?" asked the helper.
" He didn't say I was to tell you, young man."
And with these two pricks of her needle she left them both
more or less discomfited, and went to scrutinise and anatomise
her mistress's heart with plenty of cunning, but no mercy.
158
GRIFFITH GAUNT
She related her own part in the affair very briefly, but dwelt
with well-feigned sympathy on the priest's feelings. "He
turned as white as a sheet, ma'am, when I told him, and
offered me his very ring off his finger, he was so grateful;
poor man !"
" You did not take it, I hope ? " said Mrs. Gaunt quickly.
" La, no, ma'am. I hadn't the heart."
Mrs. Gaunt was silent awhile. When she spoke again it
was to inquire whether Ryder had given him the letter.
" That I did : and it brought the tears into his poor eyes ;
and such beautiful eyes as he has, to be sure. You would
have pitied him if you had seen him read it, and cry over it,
and then kiss it and put it in his bosom he did."
Mrs. Gaunt said nothing, but turned her head away.
The operator shot a sly glance into the looking-glass, and
saw a pearly tear trickling down her subject's fair cheek. So
she went on, all sympathy outside, and remorselessness within.
" To think of that face, more like an angel's than a man's, to
be dragged through a nasty horse-pond. 'Tis a shame of
master to set his men on a clergyman." And so was proceed-
ing, with well-acted and catching warmth, to dig as dan-
gerous a pit for Mrs. Gaunt as ever was dug for any lady ; for
whatever Mrs. Gaunt had been betrayed into saying, this Ryder
would have used without mercy, and with diabolical skill.
Yes, it was a pit, and the lady's pure but tender heart pushed
her towards it, and her fiery temper drew her towards it.
Yet she escaped it this time. The dignity, delicacy, and
pride that is oftener found in these old families than out of
them, saved her from that peril. She did not see the trap ;
but she spurned the bait by native instinct.
She threw up her hand in a moment, with a queenly gesture,
and stopped the tempter.
"Not one word from my servant against my husband
in my hearing," said she superbly.
And Ryder shrank back into herself directly.
"Child," said Mrs. Gaunt, "you have done me a great
service, and my husband too ; for, if this dastardly act had
been done in his name, he would soon have been heartily
ashamed of it and deplored it. Such services can never be
quite repaid ; but you will find a purse in that drawer with
five guineas; it is yours; and, my lavender silk dress, be
pleased to wear that about me, to remind me of the good
office you have done me. And now all you can do for me is
to leave me ; for I am very, very unhappy."
159
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Ryder retired with the spoil, and Mrs. Gaunt leaned her
head over her chair, and cried without stint.
After this, no angry words passed between Mr. and Mrs.
Gaunt ; but something worse, a settled coolness sprung up.
As for Griffith, his cook kept her place, and the priest
came no more to the Castle ; so, having outwardly gained
the day, he was ready to forget and forgive ; but Kate, though
she would not let her servant speak ill of Griffith, was deeply
indignant and disgusted with him. She met his advances
with such a stern coldness, that he turned sulky and bitter
in his turn.
Husband and wife saw little of each other, and hardly
spoke.
Both were unhappy ; but Kate was angriest, and Griffith
saddest.
In an evil hour he let out his grief to Caroline Ryder.
She seized the opportunity, and, by a show of affectionate
sympathy and zeal, made herself almost necessary to him,
and contrived to establish a very perilous relation between
him and her. Matters went so far as this, that the poor
man's eye used to brighten when he saw her coming.
Yet this victory cost her a sore heart and all the patient
self-denial of her sex. To be welcome to Griffith she had
to speak to him of her rival, and to speak well of her. She
tried talking of herself and her attachment ; he yawned in
her face : she tried smooth detraction and innuendo ; he
fired up directly and defended her, of whose conduct he had
been complaining the very moment before.
Then she saw that there was but one way to the man's
heart. Sore, and sick, and smiling she took that way, resolv-
ing to bide her time ; to worm herself in anyhow, and wait
patiently till she could venture to thrust her mistress out.
If any of my readers need to be told why this she-Machiavel
threw her fellow-conspirators over, the reason was simply
this : on calm reflection she saw it was not her interest to
get Father Leonard insulted. She looked on him as her
mistress's lover, and her own best friend. " Was I mad ? "
said she to herself. " My business is to keep him sweet upon
her, till they can't live without one another ; and then I'll
tell him, and take your place in this house, my lady."
And now it is time to visit that extraordinary man, who
was the cause of all this mischief; whom Gaunt called a
160
GRIFFITH GAUNT
villain, and Mrs. Gaunt a saint ; and, as usual, he was neither
one nor the other.
Father Leonard was a pious, pure, and noble-minded man,
who had undertaken to defy nature with religion's aid ; and,
after years of successful warfare, now sustained one of those
defeats to which such warriors have been liable in every age.
If his heart was pure, it was tender ; and nature never in-
tended him to live all his days alone. After years of prudent
coldness to the other sex, he fell in with a creature that put him
off his guard at first, she seemed so angelic. " At Wisdom's
gate Suspicion slept;" arid, by degrees, which have been
already indicated in this narrative, she whom the Church had
committed to his spiritual care became his idol. Could he
have foreseen this, it would never have happened ; he would
have steeled himself, or left the country that contained this
sweet temptation. But love stole on him, masked with re-
ligious zeal, and robed in a garment of light that seemed
celestial.
When the mask fell, it was too late : the power to resist
the soft and thrilling enchantment was gone. The solitary
man was too deep in love.
Yet he clung still to that self-deception, without which he
never could have been entrapped into an earthly passion : he
never breathed a word of love to her. It would have alarmed
her; it would have alarmed himself. Every syllable that
passed between these two might have been published without
scandal. But the heart does not speak by words alone : there
are looks, and there are tones of voice that belong to Love,
and are his signs, his weapons ; and it was in these very tones
the priest murmured to his gentle listener about " the angelic
life " between spirits still lingering on earth, but purged from
earthly dross, and even about other topics less captivating
to the religious imagination. He had persuaded her to found
a school in this dark parish, and in it he taught the poor with
exemplary and touching patience. Well, when he spoke to
her about this school, it was in words of practical good sense,
but in tones of love ; and she, being one of those feminine
women who catch the tone they are addressed in, and in-
stinctively answer in tune, and, moreover, seeing no ill but
good in the subject of their conversation, replied sometimes,
unguardedly enough, in accents almost as tender.
In truth, if Love was really a personage, as the heathens
feigned, he must have often perched on a tree, in that quiet
grove, and chuckled and mocked, when this man and woman
161 L
GRIFFITH GAUNT
sat and murmured together, in the soft seducing twilight,
about the love of God.
And now things had come to a crisis. Husband and wife
went about the house silent and gloomy, the ghosts of their
former selves ; and the priest sat solitary, benighted, bereaved
of the one human creature he cared for. Day succeeded to
day, and still she never came. Every morning he said, " She
will come to-day," and brightened with the hope. But the
leaden hours crept by and still she came not.
Three sorrowful weeks went by ; and he fell into deep
dejection. He used to wander out at night, and come and
stand where he could see her windows with the moon shining
on them ; then go slowly home, cold in body, and with his
heart aching, lonely, deserted, and perhaps forgotten. Oh,
never till now had he known the utter aching sense of being
quite alone in this weary world.
One day, as he sat, drooping and listless, there came a light
foot along the passage, a light tap at the door, and, the next
moment she stood before him, a little paler than usual,
but lovelier than ever, for celestial pity softened her noble
features.
The priest started up with a cry of joy that ought to have
warned her ; but it only brought a faint blush of pleasure to
her cheek, and the brimming tears to her eyes.
"Dear father and friend," said she. "What! have you
missed me ? Think, then, how I have missed you. But 'twas
best for us both to let their vile passions cool first."
Leonard could not immediately reply. The emotion of
seeing her again so suddenly almost choked him.
He needed all the self-possession he had been years
acquiring not to throw himself at her knees and declare his
passion to her.
Mrs. Gaunt saw his agitation, but did not interpret it aright.
She came eagerly, and sat on a stool beside him. " Dear
father," she said, " do not let their insolence grieve you. They
have smarted for it, and shall smart till they make their sub-
mission to you, and beg and entreat you to come to us again.
Meantime, since you cannot visit me, I visit you. Confess
me, father, and then direct me with your counsels. Ah ! if
you could but give me the Christian temper to carry them out
firmly but meekly ! 'Tis my ungoverned spirit hath wrought
all this mischief, mea culpa ! mea culpa ! "
By this time Leonard had recovered his self-possession, and
he spent an hour of strange intoxication, confessing his idol,
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
sentencing his idol to light penances, directing and advising
his idol, and all in the soft murmurs of a lover.
She left him, and the room seemed to darken.
Two days only elapsed, and she came again. Visit suc-
ceeded to visit, and her affection seemed boundless.
The insult he had received was to be avenged in one place,
and healed in another, and, if possible, effaced with tender
hand.
So she kept all her sweetness for that little cottage, and all
her acidity for Hemshaw Castle.
It was an evil hour when Griffith attacked her saint with
violence. The woman was too high-spirited, and too sure of
her own rectitude, to endure that : so, instead of crushing her,
it drove her to retaliation, and to imprudence.
These visits to console Father Leonard were quietly watched
by Ryder, for one thing. But, worse than that, they placed
Mrs. Gaunt in a new position with Leonard, and one that
melts the female heart. She was now the protectress and the
consoler of a man she admired and revered. I say if anything
on earth can breed love in a grand female bosom, this will.
She had put her foot on a sunny slope clad with innocent-
looking flowers; but more and more precipitous at every
step, and perdition at the bottom.
CHAPTER XXIII
FATHER LEONARD, visited, soothed, and petted by his idol,
recovered his spirits, and, if he pined during her absence, he
was always so joyful in her presence that she thought of course
he was permanently happy ; so then, being by nature magna-
nimous and placable, she began to smile on her husband again,
and a tacit reconciliation came about by natural degrees.
But this produced a startling result.
Leonard, as her confessor, had only to follow precedents,
and ask questions his Church has printed for the use of con-
fessors, and he soon learned enough to infer that their disunion
had given way.
The consequence was that one day, being off his guard, or
literally unable to contain his bursting heart any longer, he
uttered a cry of jealous agony, and then in a torrent of burn-
ing, melting words, appealed to her pity. He painted her
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
husband's happiness, and his own misery, and barren desola-
tion, with a fervid, passionate eloquence that paralysed his
hearer, and left her pale and trembling, and the tears of pity
trickling down her cheek.
Those silent tears calmed him a little ; and he begged her
forgiveness, and awaited his doom.
" I pity you," said she angelically. " What ? you jealous of
my husband ! Oh, pray to Christ and our Lady to cure you
of this folly."
She rose, fluttering inwardly, but calm as a statue on the
outside, gave him her hand, and went home very slowly ; and
the moment she was out of his sight she drooped her head
like a crushed flower.
She was sad, ashamed, alarmed.
Her mind was in a whirl ; and, were I to imitate those
writers who undertake to dissect and analyse the heart at such
moments, and put the exact result on paper, I should be apt
to sacrifice truth to precision ; I must stick to my old plan, and
tell you what she did : that will surely be some index to her
mind, especially with my female readers.
She went home straight to her husband ; he was smoking
his pipe after dinner. She drew her chair close to him, and
laid her hand tenderly on his shoulder. " Griffith," she said,
" will you grant your wife a favour ? You once promised to
take me abroad : I desire to go now ; I long to see foreign
countries ; I am tired of this place. I want a change. Prithee,
prithee, take me hence this very day."
Griffith looked aghast. " Why, sweetheart, it takes a deal
of money to go abroad ; we must get in our rents first,"
" Nay, I have a hundred pounds laid by."
" Well, but what a fancy to take all of a sudden ! "
" Oh, Griffith, don't deny me what I ask you, with my arm
round your neck, dearest. It is no fancy. I want to be alone
with you, far from this place where coolness has come between
us." And with this she fell to crying and sobbing, and strain-
ing him tight to her bosom, as if she feared to lose him, or be
taken from him.
Griffith kissed her, and told her to cheer up : he was not the
man to deny her anything. " Just let me get my hay in,"
said he, "and I'll take you to Rome, if you like."
" No, no : to-day, or to-morrow at furthest, or you don't love
me as I deserve to be loved by you this day."
" Now, Kate, my darling, be reasonable. I must get my hay
in ; and then I am your man."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mrs. Gaunt had gradually sunk almost to her knees. She
now started up with nostrils expanding and her blue eyes
glittering. " Your hay ! " she cried, with bitter contempt ;
"your hay before your wife ? That is how you love me."
And the next moment she seemed to turn from a fiery
woman to a glacier.
Griffith smiled at all this with that lordly superiority the
male of our species sometimes wears when he is behaving like
a dull ass, and smoked his pipe, and resolved to indulge her
whim as soon as ever he had got his hay in.
CHAPTER XXIV
SHOWERY weather set in, and the hay had to be turned twice,
and left in cocks instead of carried.
Griffith spoke now and then about the foreign tour ; but
Kate deigned no reply whatever ; and the chilled topic died
out before the wet hay could be got in : and so much for
procrastination.
Meantime, Betty Gough was sent for to mend the house-
linen. She came every other day after dinner, and sat work-
ing alone beside Mrs. Gaunt till dark.
Caroline Ryder put her own construction on this, and tried
to make friends with Mrs. Gough, intending to pump her.
But Mrs. Gough gave her short dry answers. Ryder then felt
sure that Gough was a go-between, and, woman-like, turned
up her nose at her with marked contempt. For why ? This
office of go-between was one she especially coveted for her-
self under the circumstances ; and, a little while ago, it had
seemed within her grasp.
One fine afternoon the hay was all carried, and Griffith
came home in good spirits to tell his wife he was ready to
make the grand tour with her.
He was met at the gate by Mrs. Gough, with a face of great
concern ; she begged him to come and see the dame ; she had
slipped on the oak stairs, poor soul, and hurt her back.
Griffith tore up the stairs, and found Kate in the drawing-
room lying on a sofa, and her doctor by her side. He came
in, trembling like a leaf, and clasped her piteously in his arms.
At this she uttered a little patient sigh of pain, and the doctor
begged him to moderate himself: there was no immediate
165
GRIFFITH GAUNT
cause of alarm ; but she must be kept quiet ; she had strained
her back, and her nerves were shaken by the fall.
" Oh, my poor Kate," cried Griffith ; and would let nobody
else touch her. She was no longer a tall girl, but a statuesque
woman ; yet he carried her in his herculean arms up to her
bed. She turned her head towards him, and shed a gentle
tear at this proof of his love ; but the next moment she was
cold again, and seemed weary of her life.
An invalid's bed was sent to her by the doctor at her own
request, and placed on a small bedstead. She lay on this at
night, and on a sofa by day.
Griffith was now as good as a widower ; and Caroline Ryder
improved the opportunity. She threw herself constantly in his
way, all smiles, small talk, and geniality.
Like many healthy men, your sickness wearied him if it
lasted over two days ; and whenever he came out, chilled and
discontented, from his invalid wife, there was a fine, buoyant,
healthy young woman, ready to chat with him, and brimming
over with undisguised admiration.
True, she was only a servant, a servant to the core. But
she had been always about ladies, and could wear their sur-
face as readily as she could their gowns. Moreover, Griffith
himself lacked dignity and reserve : he would talk to
anybody.
The two women began to fill the relative situations of clouds
and sunshine.
But ere this had lasted long, the enticing contact with the
object of her lawless fancy inflamed Ryder, and made her so
impatient that she struck her long meditated blow a little
prematurely.
The passage outside Mrs. Gaunt's door had a large window ;
and one day, while Griffith was with his wife, Ryder composed
herself on the window-seat in a forlorn attitude, too striking
and unlike her usual gay demeanour to pass unnoticed.
Griffith came out and saw this drooping, disconsolate figure.
" Hallo ! " said he, " what is wrong with^ra ? " a little fretfully.
A deep sigh was the only response.
" Had words with your sweetheart?"
" You know I have no sweetheart, sir."
The good-natured squire made an attempt or two to con-
sole her and find out what was the matter ; but he could get
nothing out of her but monosyllables and sighs. At last the
crocodile contrived to cry. And having thus secured his pity,
she said
166
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" There, never heed me. I'm a foolish woman ; I can't
bear to see my dear master so abused."
" What d'ye mean ? " said Griffith sternly. Her very first
shaft wounded his peace of mind.
" Oh, no matter ! why should I be your friend and my own
enemy ? If I tell you, I shall lose my place."
" Nonsense, girl : you shall never lose your place while I
am here."
" Well, I hope not, sir ; for I am very happy here ; too
happy, methinks, when you speak kindly to me. Take no
notice of what I said. "Pis best to be blind at times."
The simple squire did not see that this artful creature was
playing the stale game of her sex : stimulating his curiosity
under pretence of putting him off. He began to fret with
suspicion and curiosity, and insisted on her speaking out.
" Ah ! but I am so afraid you will hate me," said she ;
" and that will be worse than losing my place."
Griffith stamped on the ground. " What is it ? " said he
fiercely.
Ryder seemed frightened. " It is nothing," said she, then
she paused, and added, " but my folly. I can't bear to see
you waste your feelings. She is not so ill as you fancy."
" Do you mean to say that my wife is pretending ? "
" How can I say that ? I wasn't there : nobody saw her
Jail, nor heard her either, and the house full of people. No
doubt there is something the matter with her ; but I do
believe her heart is in more trouble than her back."
" And what troubles her heart ? Tell me, and she shall
not fret long."
" Well, sir : then just you send for Father Leonard ; and she
will get up, and walk as she used, and smile on you as she used.
That man is the main of her sickness, you take my word."
Griffith turned sick at heart : and the strong man literally
staggered at this envenomed thrust of a weak woman's tongue.
But he struggled with the poison.
" What d'ye mean, woman ? " said he. " The priest hasn't
been near her these two months."
" That is it, sir," replied Ryder quietly ; " he is too wise
to come here against your will ; and she is bitter against you
for frightening him away. Ask yourself, sir, didn't she
change to you the moment that you threatened that Leonard
with the horse-pond ? "
" That is true ! " gasped the wretched husband.
Yet he struggled again. " But she made it up with me
167
GRIFFITH GAUNT
after that. Why, 'twas but the other day she begged me to
go abroad with her, and take her away from this place."
" Ah ? indeed ! " said Ryder, bending her black brows,
" did she so ? "
"That she did," said Griffith joyfully; "so you see you
are mistaken."
" You should have taken her at her word, sir," was all the
woman's reply.
" Well, you see the hay was out ; so I put it off; and then
came the cursed rain day after day; and so she cooled
upon it."
"Of course she did, sir." Then, with a solemnity that
appalled her miserable listener, " I'd give all I'm worth if you
had taken her at her word that minute. But that is the way
with you gentlemen : you let the occasion slip, and we that
be women never forgive that ; she won't give you the same
chance again, 7 know. Now if I was not afraid to make you
unhappy, I'd tell you why she asked you to go abroad. She
felt herself weak and saw her danger ; she found she could
not resist that Leonard any longer ; and she had the sense to
see it wasn't worth her while to ruin herself for him ; so she
asked you to save her from him : that is the plain English.
And you didn't."
At this Griffith's face wore an expression, of agony so
horrible that Ryder hesitated in her course. " There, there,"
said she, " pray don't look so, dear master ! After all, there's
nothing certain ; and perhaps I am too severe where I see you
ill-treated ; and to be sure no woman could be cold to you
unless she was bewitched out of her seven senses by some
other man. I couldn't use you as mistress does; but then
there's nobody I care a straw for in these parts, except my
dear master."
Griffith took no notice of this overture : the potent poison
of jealousy was coursing through all his veins and distorting
his ghastly face.
" O God," he gasped, " can this thing be ? My wife ! the
mother of my child ! It is a lie ! I can't believe it ; I won't
believe it. Have pity on me, woman, and think again, and
unsay your words ; for, if 'tis so, there will be murder in this
house."
Ryder was alarmed. " Don't talk so," said she hastily ; " no
woman born is worth that : besides, as you say, what do we
know against her ? She is a gentlewoman, and well brought
up. Now, dear master, you have got one friend in this house,
168
GRIFFITH GAUNT
and that is me : I know women better than you do. Will you
be ruled by me ? "
" Yes, 1 will ; for I do believe you care a little for me."
" Then don't you believe anything against our dame. Keep
quiet till you know more. Don't you be so simple as to ac-
cuse her to her face, or you'll never learn the truth. Just you
watch her quietly, without seeming : and I'll help you. Be a
man, and know the truth."
" I will/' said Griffith, grinding his teeth. " And I believe
she will come out pure as snow."
" Well, I hope so too," said Ryder drily. Then she added,
" But don't you be seen speaking to me too much, sir, or she
will suspect me, and then she will be on her guard with me.
When I have anything particular to tell you, I'll cough, so ; and
then I'll run out into the Grove : nobody goes there now."
Griffith did not see the hussy was contriving a series of
assignations. He fell into the trap bodily.
The life this man led was now infernal.
He watched his wife night and day to detect her heart ; he
gave up hunting, he deserted the " Red Lion ; " if he went out
of doors, it was but a step ; he hovered about the place to see
if messages came or went ; and he spent hours in his wife's
bedroom, watching her, grim, silent, and sombre, to detect
her inmost heart. His flesh wasted visibly, and his ruddy
colour paled. Hell was in his heart, ay, two hells : jealousy
and suspense.
Mrs. Gaunt saw directly that something was amiss, and ere
long she divined what it was.
But, if he was jealous, she was proud as Lucifer. So she
met his ever-watchful eye with the face of a marble statue.
Only in secret her heart quaked and yearned, and she shed
many a furtive tear, and was sore, sore perplexed.
Meantime Ryder was playing with her master's anguish like
a cat with a mouse.
Upon the pretence of some petty discovery or other, she
got him out day after day into the Grove, and, to make him
believe in her candour and impartiality, would give him feeble
reasons for thinking his wife loved him still ; taking care to
overpower these reasons with some little piece of strong good
sense and subtle observation.
It is the fate of moral poisoners to poison themselves as well
as their victims. This is a just retribution, and it fell upon
this female lago. Her wretched master now loved his wife
169
GRIFFITH GAUNT
to distraction, ret hated her to the death ; and Ryder loved her
ujrrtTT passionately, jet hated him intensely, bv fits and starts.
These secret "**'* ' "** on which she had counted so, what
did she gain by them? She saw that, with all her beauty,
intelligence, and seal for him, she was nothing to him stUL
He suspected, he i am I IBM hated his wife, bat he was always
mil of her. There was no getting any other wedge into his
heart.
This so embittered Ryder that one day she revenged her-
self on him.
He had been saying that no earthly torment could equal
his: all his watching had shown him nothing for certain.
" Oh," said he, * if I could only get proof of her n
proof of her guilt ! Anything better than the misery of doubt
It gnaws my heart, it consumes my flesh. I can't sleep, I can't
eat, I can't sit down. I envy the dead that be at peace. Oh,
my heart ! my heart !"
"And all for a woman that is not young, nor half so hand-
some as yourself Well, sir, 111 brand cure you of your A4*,
if that is what torments you. When you threatened that
Leonard, he got his orders to come here no more. But ske
visited him at his place again and again."
"Tisfidse! How know you that ?"
"As soon as your back was turned she used to aider her
horse and ride to him."
" How do you know she went to kirn ! **
" I mounted the tower, and saw the way she took."
Griffith's face was a piteous sight He stammered out, "Well,
he is her confessor. She always visited him at times."
" Ay, sir ; but in those days her blood was cool, and his too ;
but bethink you now, when you threatened the man with the
horse-pond, he became your enemy. AH revenge is sweet ; but
what revenge is so sweet to any man as that which came to his
arms of its own accord ? I do notice that men can't read men,
but any woman can read a woman. Maids they are reserved,
because their mothers have told diem that is die only way to
get married. But what have a wife and a priest to keep them
distant? Can they ever hope to come together lawfully ? That
is why a priest's light-o'-love is always some honest man's wife.
What had those two to keep them from folly? Old Betty
Gough ? Why, the mistress had bought her, body and soul,
lg*go. No. sir. you had no friend there ; and you had three
rwics love, revenge, and opportunity. Why, what did the
priest say to me ? I met him not ten yards from here. * Ware
170
GRIFFITH GAUNT
the horse- pond ! ' says I. Says he, ' Since lam to have the bitter,
I'll have the sweet as well' " l
These infernal words were not spoken in vain. Griffith's
features were horribly distorted, his eyes rolled fearfully, and
he fell to the ground, grinding his teeth, and foaming at the
mouth. An epileptic fit !
An epileptic fit is a terrible sight : the simple description of
one in our medical books is appalling.
And in this case it was all the more fearful, the subject
being so strong and active.
Caroline Ryder shrieked with terror, but no one heard her ;
at all events, no one came ; to be sure the place had a bad
name for ghosts, &c.
She tried to hold his head, but could not, for his body kept
bounding from the earth with inconceivable elasticity and fury,
and his arms flew in every direction ; and presently Ryder re-
ceived a violent blow that almost stunned her.
She lay groaning and trembling beside the victim of her
poisonous tongue and of his own passion.
When she recovered herself he was snorting rather than
breathing, but lying still and pale enough, his eyes set and
glassy.
She got up, and went with uneven steps to a little rill hard
by, and plunged her face in it ; then filled her beaver hat, and
came and dashed water repeatedly in his face.
He came to his senses by degrees, but was weak as an
infant. Then Ryder wiped the foam from his lips, and kneel-
ing on her knees, laid a soft hand upon his heavy head, shed-
ding tears of pity and remorse, and sick at heart herself.
For what had she gained by blackening her rival? The
sight of his bodily agony, and his ineradicable love.
Mrs. Gaunt sat out of shot, cold, calm, superior.
Yet, in the desperation of her passion, it was something
to nurse his weak head an instant and shed hot tears upon
his brow ; it was a positive joy, and soon proved a fresh and
inevitable temptation.
" My poor master," said she tenderly, " I never will say a
word to you again. It is better to be blind. My God ! how
you cling to her that feigns a broken back to be rid of you,
when there are others as well to look at, and ever so much
younger, that adore every hair on your head, and would
follow you round the world for one kind look."
1 Compare this statement with p. 157.
171
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Let no one love me like that/' said Griffith feebly, " to
love so is to be miserable."
" Pity her then, at least," murmured Ryder ; and feeling
she had quite committed herself now, her bosom panted
under Griffith's ear, and told him the secret she had kept
till now.
My female readers will sneer at this temptation; my male
readers know that scarcely one man out of a dozen, sick,
sore, and hating her he loved, would have turned away from
the illicit consolation thus offered to him in his hour of weak-
ness with soft, seducing tones, warm tears, and heart that
panted at his ear.
CHAPTER XXV
How did poor, faulty Griffith receive it ?
He raised his head, and turned his brown eye gentle but
full upon her. " My poor girl," said he, " I see what you
are driving at. But that will not do. I have nothing to
give you in exchange. I hate my wife that I loved so dear :
d n her ! d n her ! But I hate all womankind for
her sake. Keep you clear of me. I would ruin no poor girl
for heartless sport. I shall have blood on my hands ere long,
and that is enough."
And with these alarming words, he seemed suddenly to
recover all his vigour ; for he rose and stalked away at once,
and never looked behind him.
Ryder made no further attempt. She sat down and shed
bitter tears of sorrow and mortification.
After this cruel rebuff she must hate somebody ; and with
the justice of her sex, she pitched on Mrs. Gaunt, and hated
her like a demon, and watched to do her a mischief by hook
or by crook.
Griffith's appearance and manner caused Mrs. Gaunt very
serious anxiety. His clothes hung loose on his wasted frame ;
his face was of one uniform sallow tint, like a maniac's ; and
he sat silent for hours beside his wife, eyeing her askant from
time to time like a surly mastiff guarding some treasure.
She divined what was passing in his mind, and tried to
soothe him, but almost in vain. He was sometimes softened
for the moment; but hceret lateri lethalis arundo ; he still
172
GRIFFITH GAUNT
hovered about, watching her and tormenting himself ; gnawed
mad by three vultures of the mind doubt, jealousy, and
suspense.
Then Mrs. Gaunt wrote letters to Father Leonard : hitherto
she had only sent him short messages.
Betty Gough carried these letters and brought the answers.
Griffith, thanks to the hint Ryder had given him, suspected
this, and waylaid the old woman, and roughly demanded to
see the letter she was carrying. She stoutly protested she
had none. He seized her, turned her pockets inside out,
and found a bunch of keys ; item, a printed dialogue between
Peter and Herod, omitted in the canonical books, but de-
scribed by the modern discoverer as an infallible charm for
the toothache ; item, a brass thimble ; item, half a nutmeg.
" Curse your cunning," said he, and went off muttering.
The old woman tottered trembling to Mrs. Gaunt, related
this outrage with an air of injured innocence, then removed
her cap, undid her hair, and took out a letter from Leonard.
"This must end, and shall," said Mrs. Gaunt firmly ; "else
it will drive him mad and me too."
Bolton fair-day came. It was a great fair, and had attrac-
tions for all classes. There were cattle and horses of all
kinds for sale, and also shows, games, wrestling, and dancing
till daybreak.
All the servants had a prescriptive right to go to this
fair ; and Griffith himself had never missed one. He told
Kate over-night he would go, if it were not for leaving
her alone.
The words were kinder than their meaning; but Mrs.
Gaunt had the tact, or the candour, to take them in their
best sense. " And I would go with you, my dear," said she ;
' ' but I should only be a drag. Never heed me ; .give yourself
a day's pleasure, for indeed you need it. I am in care about
you : you are so dull of late."
" Well, I will," said Griffith. " I'll not mope here when all
the rest are merry-making."
Accordingly, next day about eleven in the morning, he
mounted his horse and rode to the fair, leaving the house
empty ; for all the servants were gone except the old house-
keeper : she was tied to the fireside by rheumatics. Even
Ryder started, with a new bonnet and red ribbons ; but that
was only a blind. She slipped back and got unperceived into
her own bedroom.
Griffith ran through the fair, but could not enjoy it. Hcere-
173
GRIFFITH GAUNT
bat lateri arundo. He came galloping back to watch his wife,
and see whether Betty Gough had come again or not.
As he rode into the stable-yard he caught sight of Ryder's
face at an upper window. She looked pale and agitated, and
her black eyes flashed with a strange expression. She made
him a signal which he did not understand ; but she joined
him directly after in the stable-yard.
" Come quietly with me/' said she solemnly.
He hooked his horse's rein to the wall, and followed her,
trembling.
She took him up the back stairs, and, when she got on the
landing, she turned and said, " Where did you leave her ? "
" In her own room."
" See if she is there now," said Ryder, pointing to the door.
Griffith tore the door open : the room was empty.
"Nor is she to be found in the house," said Ryder; "for
I've been in every room."
Griffith's face turned livid, and he staggered and leaned
against the wall. " Where is she ? " said he hoarsely.
" Humph ! " said Ryder fiendishly. " Find him, and you will
find her."
" I'll find them if they are above ground," cried Griffith
furiously ; and he rushed into his bedroom and soon came out
again, with a fearful purpose written on his ghastly features
and in his bloodshot eyes, and a loaded pistol in his hand.
Ryder was terrified ; but instead of succumbing to terror,
she flew at him like a cat and wreathed her arms round him.
" What would you do ? " cried she. " Madman, would you
hang for them ? and break my heart the only woman in the
world that loves you ? Give me the pistol. Nay, I will have it."
And with that extraordinary power excitement lends her
sex, she wrenched it out of his hands.
He gnashed his teeth with fury, and clutched her with a
gripe of iron ; she screamed with pain : he relaxed his grasp
a little at that ; she turned on him and defied him.
" I won't let you get into trouble for a priest and a wanton,"
she cried ; " you shall kill me first. Leave me the pistol, and
pledge me your sacred word to do them no harm, and then
I'll tell you where they are. Refuse me this, and you shall go
to your grave and know nothing more than you know now."
" No, no ; if you are a woman have pity on me ; let me
come at them. There, I'll use no weapon. I'll tear them
to atoms with these hands. Where are they ? "
" May I put the pistol away, then ? "
174
GRIFFITH GAUNT
ft Yes, take it out of my sight ; so best. Where are they ? "
Ryder locked the pistol up in one of Mrs. Gaunt's boxes.
Then she said in a trembling voice, " Follow me."
He followed her in awful silence.
She went rather slowly to the door that opened on the
lawn ; and then she hesitated. " If you are a man, and have
any feeling for a poor girl who loves you ; if you are a gentle-
man, and respect your word no violence."
" I promise/' said he. " Where are they ?"
" Nay, nay. I fear I shall rue the day I told you. Promise
me once more : no bloodshed upon your soul."
" I promise. Where are they ? "
" God forgive me ! they are in the Grove."
He bounded away from her like some beast of prey ; and
she crouched and trembled on the steps of the door ; and, now
that she realised what she was doing, a sickening sense of dire
misgiving came over her and made her feel quite faint.
And so the weak but dangerous creature sat crouching and
quaking, and launched the strong one.
Griffith was soon in the Grove ; and the first thing he saw
was Leonard and his wife walking together in earnest conver-
sation. Their backs were towards him. Mrs. Gaunt, whom
he had left lying on a sofa, and who professed herself scarce
able to walk half-a-dozen times across the room, was now
springing along, elastic as a young greyhound, and full of fire
and animation. The miserable husband saw, and his heart
died within him.
He leaned against a tree and groaned.
The deadly sickness of his heart soon gave way to sombre
fury. He came softly after them, with ghastly cheek, and
bloodthirsty eyes, like red-hot coals.
They stopped ; and he heard his wife say, " 'Tis a solemn
promise, then ; this very night." The priest bowed assent.
Then they spoke in so low a voice he could not hear ; but his
wife pressed a purse upon Leonard, and Leonard hesitated,
but ended by taking it.
Griffith uttered a yell like a tiger, and rushed between them
with savage violence, driving the lady one way with his wrists,
and the priest another. She screamed : he trembled in silence.
Griffith stood a moment between these two pale faces,
silent and awful.
Then he faced his wife. " You vile wretch ! " he cried :
"so you buy your own dishonour, and mine." He raised his
hand high over her head: she never winced. "Oh, but for
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
my oath, I'd lay you dead at my feet. But, no ; I'll not hang
for a priest and a wanton. So, this is the thing you love, and
pay it to love you." And with all the mad inconsistency of
rage, which mixes small things and great, he tore the purse
out of Leonard's hand, then seized him felly by the throat.
At that the high spirit of Mrs. Gaunt gave way to abject
terror. " Oh, mercy ! mercy ! " she cried ; " it is all a mis-
take." And she clung to his knees.
He spurned her furiously away. " Don't touch me, woman,"
he cried, " or you are dead. Look at this ! " And in a
moment, with gigantic strength and fury, he dashed the priest
down at her feet. " I know ye, ye proud devil," he cried ;
" love the thing you have seen me tread upon ! love it if ye
can." And he literally trampled upon the poor priest with
both feet.
Leonard shrieked for mercy.
" None, in this world or the next," roared Griffith ; but the
next moment he took fright at himself. " God ! " he cried,
" I must go, or kill. Live and be damned for ever, the pair
of ye." And with this he fled from them, grinding his teeth
and beating the air with his clenched fists.
He darted to the stable-yard, sprang on his horse, and gal-
loped away from Hernshaw Castle, with the face, the eyes, the
gestures, the incoherent mutterings of a raving Bedlamite.
CHAPTER XXVI
AT the fair the wrestling was ended, and the tongues going
over it all again, and throwing the victors ; the greasy pole,
with leg of mutton attached by ribbons, was being hoisted,
and the swings flying, and the lads and lasses footing it to
the fife and tabor, and the people chattering in groups, when
the clatter of a horse's feet was heard, and a horseman burst
in and rode recklessly through the market-place ; indeed, if
his noble horse had been as rash as he was, some would have
been trampled under foot. The rider's face was ghastly :
such as were not exactly in his path had time to see it, and
wonder how this terrible countenance came into that merry
place. Thus, as he passed, shouts of dismay arose, and a
space opened before him, and then closed behind him with a
great murmur that followed at his heels.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Tom Leicester was listening, spellbound, on the outskirts
of the throng, to the songs and humorous tirades of a pedlar
selling his wares, and was saying to himself, " I too will be
a pedlar." Hearing the row, he turned round, and saw his
master just coming down with that stricken face.
Tom could not decipher his own name in print or manu-
script ; and these are the fellows that beat us all at reading
countenances. He saw in a moment that some great calamity
had fallen on Griffith's head ; and nature stirred in him. He
darted to his master's side, and seized the bridle. " What is
up ? " he cried.
But Griffith did not answer nor notice ; his ears were al-
most deaf, and his eyes, great and staring, were fixed right
ahead ; and to all appearance he did not see the people : he
seemed to be making for the horizon.
" Master ! for the love of Heaven, speak to me," cried
Leicester. " What have they done to you ? Whither be you
going, with the face of a ghost ? "
" Away from the hangman," shrieked Griffith, still staring
at the horizon. " Stay me not ; my hands itch for their
throats ; my heart thirsts for their blood ; but I'll not hang
for a priest and a wanton." Then he suddenly turned on
Leicester : " Let thou go, or " and he lifted up his heavy
riding-whip.
Then Leicester let go the rein, and the whip descended
on the horse's flank ; he went clattering furiously over the
stones, and drove the thinner groups apart like chaff, and his
galloping feet were soon heard fainter and fainter till they
died away in the distance. Leicester stood gaping.
Griffith's horse, a black hunter of singular power and beauty,
carried his wretched master well that day. He went on till
sunset, trotting, cantering, and walking, without intermission ;
the whip ceased to touch him, the rein never checked him.
He found he was the master, and he went his own way. He
took his broken rider back into the county where he had been
foaled. But a few miles from his native place they came to
the " Packhorse," a pretty little roadside inn, with farmyard
and buildings at the back. He had often baited here in his
infancy ; and now, stiff and stumbling with fatigue, the good
horse could not pass the familiar place : he walked gravely
into the stable-yard, and there fairly came to an end ; craned
out his drooping head, crooked his limbs, and seemed of wood.
And no wonder. He was ninety -three miles from his last corn.
177 M
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Paul Carrick, a young farrier, who frequented the " Pack-
horse/' happened just then to be lounging at the kitchen door,
and saw him come in. He turned directly, and shouted into
the house, " Ho ! Master Vint, come hither. Here's Black
Dick come home, and brought you a worshipful customer."
The landlord bustled out of the kitchen, crying, " They are
welcome both." Then he came lowly louting to Griffith, cap
in hand, and held the horse, poor immovable brute ; and his
wife curtsied perseveringly at the door.
Griffith dismounted, and stood there looking like one in a
dream.
" Please you come in, sir," said the landlady, smiling pro-
fessionally.
He followed her mechanically.
" Would your worship be private ? We keep a parlour for
gentles."
" Ay, let me be alone," he groaned.
Mercy Vint, the daughter, happened to be on the stairs
and heard him : the voice startled her, and she turned round
directly to look at the speaker ; but she only saw his back
going into the room, and then he flung himself like a sack
into the arm-chair.
The landlady invited him to order supper : he declined.
She pressed him. He flung a piece of money on the table, and
told her savagely to score his supper, and leave him in peace.
She flounced out with a red face, and complained to her
husband in the kitchen.
Harry Vint rung the crown piece on the table before he
committed himself to a reply. It rang like a bell. " Churl or
not, his coin is good," said Harry Vint philosophically. " I'll
eat his supper, dame, for that matter."
" Father," whispered Mercy, " I do think the gentleman is
in trouble."
" And that is no business of mine, neither," said Harry Vint.
Presently the guest they were discussing called loudly for a
quart of burnt wine.
When it was ready, Mercy offered to take it in to him.
She was. curious. The landlord looked up rather surprised,
for his daughter attended to the farm, but fought shy of the
inn and its business.
"Take it, lass, and welcome for me," said Mrs. Vint
pettishly.
Mercy took the wine in, and found Griffith with his head
buried in his hands.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
She stood a while with the tray, not knowing what to do.
Then, as he did not move, she said softly, " The wine, sir,
an' if it please you."
Griffith lifted his head, and turned two eyes clouded with
suffering upon her ; he saw a buxom, blooming young woman,
with remarkably dove-like eyes that dwelt with timid, kindly
curiosity upon him. He looked at her in a half distracted
way, and then put his hand to the mug. " Here's perdition
to all false women ! " said he, and tossed half the wine down
at a single draught.
" 'Tis not to me you drink, sir," said Mercy, with gentle
dignity. Then she curtsied modestly and retired, discouraged,
not offended.
The wretched Griffith took no notice did not even see he
had repulsed a friendly visitor. The wine, taken on an empty
stomach, soon stupefied him, and he staggered to bed.
He awoke at daybreak; and, oh ! the agony of that waking.
He lay sighing a while, with his hot skin quivering on his
bones, and his heart like lead; then got up and flung his
clothes on hastily, and asked how far to the nearest seaport.
Twenty miles.
He called for his horse. The poor brute was dead lame.
He cursed that good servant for going lame. He walked
round and round like a wild beast, chafing and fuming a
while ; then sank into a torpor of dejection, and sat with his
head bowed on the table all day.
He ate scarcely any food, but drank wine freely, remark-
ing, however, that it was false-hearted stuff, did him no
good, and had no taste as wine used to have. " But nothing
is what it was," said he. " Even I was happy once. But that
seems years ago."
" Alas ! poor gentleman ; God comfort you," said Mercy
Vint, and came with the tears in her dove-like eyes and said
to her father, " To be sure his worship hath been crossed in
love ; and what could she be thinking of? Such a handsome,
well-made gentleman ! "
" Now that is a wench's first thought," said Harry Vint ;
" more likely lost his money, gambling or racing. But, indeed,
I think 'tis his head is disordered, not his heart. I wish the
* Packhorse ' was quit of him, maugre his laced coat. We want
no kill-joys here."
That night he was heard groaning and talking, and did not
come down at all.
So at noon Mrs. Vint knocked at his door : a weak voice
179
GRIFFITH GAUNT
bade her enter ; she found him shivering, and he asked her
for a fire.
She grumbled, out of hearing, but lighted a fire.
Presently his voice was heard hallooing : he wanted all the
windows open ; he was so burning hot.
The landlady looked at him, and saw his face was flushed
and swollen, and he complained of pain in all his bones. She
opened the windows, and asked him would he have a doctor
sent for : he shook his head contemptuously.
However, towards evening he became delirious, and raved
and tossed, and rolled his head as if it was an intolerable
weight he wanted to get rid of.
The females of the family were for sending at once for a
doctor, but the prudent Harry demurred.
"Tell me first who is to pay the fee," said he. " I've seen
a fine coat with the pockets empty before to-day."
The women set up their throats at him with one accord,
each after her kind.
" Out, fie ! " said Mercy; " are we to do nought for charity?"
"Why, there's his horse, ye foolish man," said Mrs. Vint.
" Ay, ye are both wiser than me," said Harry Vint ironi-
cally. And soon after that he went out softly.
The next minute he was in the sick man's room, examining
his pockets. To his infinite surprise he found twenty gold
pieces, a quantity of silver, and some trinkets.
He spread them all out on the table, and gloated on them
with greedy eyes. They looked so inviting that he said to
himself they would be safer in his custody than in that of a
delirious person, who was even now raving incoherently before
him, and could not see what he was doing. He therefore
proceeded to transfer them to his own care.
On the way to his pocket his shaking hand was arrested by
another hand, soft, but firm as iron. He shuddered and looked
round in abject terror; and there was his daughter's face, pale
as his own, but full of resolution. " Nay, father," said she ;
" / must take charge of these : and well do you know why."
These simple words cowed Harry Vint, so that he instantly
resigned the money and jewels, and retired, muttering that
" things were come to a pretty pass " " a man was no longer
master in his own house," &c., &c., &c.
While he inveighed against the degeneracy of the age, the
women paid him no more attention than the age did, but just
sent for the doctor. He came, and bled the patient. This
gave him a momentary relief; but when, in the natural pro-
180
GRIFFITH GAUNT
gress of the disease, sweating and weakness came on, the loss
of the precious vital fluid was fatal, and the patient's pulse
became scarce perceptible. There he lay, with wet hair, and
gleaming eyes, and haggard face, at death's door.
An experienced old crone was got to nurse him, and she
told Mrs. Vint he would live may be three days.
Paul Carrick used to come to the " Packhorse " after Mercy
Vint, and, finding her sad, asked her what was the matter.
"What should it be/' said she, "but the poor gentleman
a-dying overhead, away from all his friends."
" Let me see him," said Paul.
Mercy took him softly into the room.
"Ay, he is booked," said the farrier. "Doctor has taken
too much blood out of the man's body. They kill a many
that way."
" Alack, Paul ! must he die ? Can nought be done ? " said
Mercy, clasping her hands.
" I don't say that, neither," said the farrier. " He is a
well-made man ; he is young. 1 might save him, perhaps, if
I had not so many beasts to look to. I'll tell you what you do.
Make him soup as strong as strong ; have him watched night
and day, and let 'em put a spoonful of warm wine into him
every hour, and then of soup ; egg flip is a good thing too.
Change his bed-linen, and keep the doctors from him : that
is his only chance he is fairly dying of weakness. But I must
be off; Farmer Blake's cow is down for calving: I must give
her an ounce of salts before 'tis too late."
Mercy Vint scanned the patient closely, and saV r that Paul
Carrick was right. She followed his instructions to the letter,
with one exception. Instead of trusting to the old woman,
of whom she had no very good opinion, she had the great
arm-chair brought into the sick-room, and watched the patient
herself by night and day : a gentle hand cooled his temples ;
a gentle hand brought concentrated nourishment to his lips ;
and a mellow voice coaxed him to be good and swallow it.
There are voices it is not natural to resist ; and Griffith
learned by degrees to obey this one, even when he was half
unconscious.
At the end of three days this zealous young nurse thought
she discerned a slight improvement, and told her mother so.
Then the old lady came and examined the patient, and shook
her head gravely. Her judgment, like her daughter's, was
influenced by her wishes.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The fact is, both landlord and landlady were now calcu-
lating upon Griffith's decease. Harry had told her about the
money and jewels, and the pair had put their heads together,
and settled that Griffith was a gentleman highwayman, and
his spoil would never be reclaimed after his decease, but fall
to those good Samaritans who were now nursing him, and
intended to bury him respectably. The future being thus
settled, this worthy couple became a little impatient ; for
Griffith, like Charles the Second, was "an unconscionable
time dying."
We order dinner to hasten a lingering guest, and, with
equal force of logic, mine host of the " Packhorse " spoke to
White, the village carpenter, about a full-sized coffin ; and his
wife set the old crone to make a linen shroud, unobtrusively,
in the bakehouse.
On the third afternoon of her nursing, Mercy left her
patient, and called up the crone to tend him. She herself,
worn out with fatigue, threw herself on a bed in her mother's
room, hard by, and soon fell asleep.
She had slept about two hours when she was wakened by
a strange noise in the sick chamber. A man and a woman
quarrelling.
She bounded off the bed, and was in the room directly.
Lo and behold, there were the nurse and the dying man
abusing one another like pickpockets.
The cause of this little misunderstanding was not far to
seek. The old crone had brought up her work, videlicet, a
winding-sheet all but finished, and certain strips of glazed
muslin about three inches deep. She soon completed the
winding-sheet, and hung it over two chairs in the patient's
sight ; she then proceeded to double the slips in six, and nick
them ; then she unrolled them, and they were frills, and well
adapted to make the coming corpse absurd, and divest it of
any little dignity the King of Terrors might bestow on it.
She was so intent upon her congenial task, that she did not
observe the sick man had awakened, and was viewing her and
her work with an intelligent but sinister eye.
" What is that you are making ? " said he grimly.
The voice was rather clear and strong, and seemed so loud
and strange in that still chamber that it startled the woman
mightily. She uttered a little shriek, and then was wrath.
" Plague take the man ! " said she ; " how you scared me !
Keep quiet, do ; and mind your own business." [The busi-
ness of going off the hooks.]
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"I ask you what is that you are making/' said Griffith,
louder, and raising himself on his arm.
" Baby's frills," replied the woman coolly, recovering that
contempt for the understandings of the dying which marks
the veritable crone.
" Ye lie," said Griffith. " And there is a shroud. Who is
that for ? "
" Who should it be for, thou simple body ? Keep quiet, do,
till the change comes. 'Twon't be long now ; art too well to
last till sundown."
" So 'tis for me, is it ? " screamed Griffith. " I'll disappoint
ye yet. Give me my clothes. I'll not lie here to be measured
for my grave, ye old witch."
" Here's manners ! " cackled the indignant crone. " Ye
foul-mouthed knave ! is this how you thank a decent woman
for making a comfortable corpse of ye, you that has 110 right
to die in your shoes, let a be such dainties as muslin neck-
ruff, and shroud of good Dutch flax."
At this Griffith discharged a volley, in which " vulture,"
"hag," "blood-sucker," &c., blended with as many oaths,
during which Mercy came in.
She glided to him, with her dove's eyes full of con-
cern, and laid her hand gently on his shoulder. "You'll
work yourself a mischief," said she ; " leave me to scold
her. Why, my good Nelly, how could you be so hare-
brained ? Prithee, take all that trumpery away this minute ;
none here needeth it, nor shall not this many a year,
please God."
" They want me dead," said Griffith to her piteously, find-
ing he had got one friend, and sunk back on his pillow
exhausted.
"So it seems," said Mercy cunningly. "But I'd baulk
them finely. I'd up and order a beef-steak this minute."
"And shall," said Griffith, with feeble spite. "Leastways,
do you order it, and I'll eat it, d n her ! "
Sick men are like children, and women soon find that
out, and manage them accordingly. In ten minutes Mercy
brought a good rump-steak to the bedside, and said, " Now
for't. Marry come up, with her winding-sheets ! "
Thus played upon, and encouraged, the great baby ate
more than half the steak, and soon after perspired gently,
and fell asleep.
Paul Carrick found him breathing gently, with a slight tint
of red in his cheek, and told Mercy there was a change
183
GRIFFITH GAUNT
for the better. " We have brought him to a true intermission/'
said he ; " so throw in the bark at once."
"What, drench his honour's worship !" said Mercy inno-
cently. " Nay, send thou the medicine, and I'll find womanly
ways to get it down him."
Next day came the doctor, and whispered softly to Mrs.
Vint, " How are we all upstairs ? "
" Why couldn't you come afore ? " replied Mrs. Vint crossly.
"Here's farrier Carrick stepped in, and curing him out of
hand the meddlesome body."
"A farrier rob me of my patient!" cried the doctor, in
high dudgeon.
" Nay, good sir, 'tis no fault of mine. This Paul is a sort of
a kind of a follower of our Mercy's : and she is mistress here,
I trow."
" And what hath his farriership prescribed ? Friar's
balsam, belike."
" Nay, I know not ; but you may soon learn, for he is above,
physicking the gentleman (a pretty gentleman !) and suiting
to our Mercy after a manner."
The doctor declined to make one in so mixed a consultation.
" Give me my fee, dame," said he : " and as for this imperti-
nent farrier, the patient's blood be on his head ; and I'd have
him beware the law."
Mrs. Vint went to the stair-foot, and screamed, " Mercy, the
good doctor wants his fee. Who is to pay it, I wonder ? "
" I'll bring it him anon," said a gentle voice ; and Mercy
soon came down and paid it with a willing air that half dis-
armed professional fury.
" 'Tis a good lass, dame," said the doctor, when she was
gone; "and, by the same token, I wish her better mated
than to a scrub of a farrier."
Griffith, still weak, but freed of fever, woke one glorious
afternoon, and heard a bird-like voice humming a quaint old
ditty, and saw a field of golden wheat through an open
window, and seated at that window the mellow songstress,
Mercy Vint, plying her needle, with lowered lashes but beam-
ing face, a picture of health and quiet womanly happiness.
Things were going to her mind in that sick-room.
He looked at her, and at the golden corn and summer haze
beyond, and the tide of life seemed to rush back upon him.
" My good lass," said he, " tell me, where am I ? for I
know not."
184
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mercy started, and left off singing, then rose and came
slowly towards him, with her work in her hand.
Innocent joy at this new symptom of convalescence flushed
her comely features, but she spoke low.
' Good sir, at the ' Packhorse,' " said she, smiling.
' The ' Packhorse ' ? and where is that ? "
' Hard by Allerton village."
' And where is that ? not in Cumberland ? "
'Nay, in Lancashire, your worship. Why, whence come
you that know not the ' Packhorse/ nor yet Allerton town-
ship ? Come you from Cumberland ? "
"No matter whence I come. I'm going on board ship,
like my father before me."
" Alas, sir, you are not fit : you have been very ill ; and
partly distraught."
She stopped, for Griffith turned his face to the wall with
a deep groan. It had all rushed over him in a moment.
Mercy stood still, and worked on, but the water gathered
in her eyes at that eloquent groan.
By-and-by Griffith turned round again, with a face of
anguish, and filmy eyes, and saw her in the same place
standing, working, and pitying.
" What, are you there still ? " said he roughly.
" Ay, sir ; but I'll go, sooner than be troublesome. Can I
fetch you anything ? "
" No. Ay, wine ; bring me wine to drown it all."
She brought him a pint of wine.
" Pledge me," said he, with a miserable attempt at a smile.
She put the cup to her lips, and sipped a drop or two ; but
her dove's eyes were looking up at him over the liquor all
the time. Griffith soon disposed of the rest, and asked for
more.
"Nay," said she, "but I dare not: the doctor hath for-
bidden excess in drinking."
" The doctor ! what doctor ? "
"Doctor Paul," said she demurely. "He hath saved your
life, sir, I do think."
" Plague take him for that ! "
"So say not I."
Here she left him with an excuse. " 'Tis milking-time,
sir ; and you shall know that I am our dairymaid. I seldom
trouble the inn."
Next day she was on the window-seat, working and beam-
ing. The patient called to her in peevish accents to put his
185
GRIFFITH GAUNT
head higher. She laid down her work with a smile, and came
and raised his head.
" There, now, that is too high," said he : " how awkward
you are."
" I lack expeiience, sir, but not good will. There, now, is
that a little better?"
" Ay, a little. I'm sick of lying here : I want to get up.
Dost hear what I say ? I want to get up."
"And so you shall. As soon as ever you are fit. To-
morrow, perhaps. To-day you must e'en be patient. Patience
is a rare medicine."
Tic, tic, tic ! " What a noise they are making downstairs.
Go, lass, and bid them hold their peace."
Mercy shook her head. " Good lack-a-day ! we might as
well bid the river give over running ; but, to be sure, this
comes of keeping a hostelry, sir. When we had only the
farm, we were quiet, and did no ill to no one."
" Well, sing me, to drown their eternal buzzing : it worries
me dead."
" Me sing ! alack, sir, I'm no songster."
" That is false. You sing like a throstle. I dote on music ;
and, when I was delirious, I heard one singing about my bed ;
I thought it was an angel at that time ; but 'twas only you,
my young mistress : and now I ask you, you say me nay.
That is the way with you all. Plague take the girl, and all
her cursed, unreasonable, hypocritical sex. I warrant me you'd
sing if I wanted to sleep, and dance the devil to a standstill."
Mercy, instead of flouncing out of the room, stood looking
on him with maternal eyes, and chuckling like a bird.
" That is right, sir : tax us all to your heart's content Oh,
but I'm a joyful woman to hear you ; for 'tis a sure sign of
mending when the sick take to rating of their nurses."
" In sooth, I am too cross-grained," said Griffith, relenting.
" Not a whit, sir, for my taste. I've been in care for you :
and now you are a little cross, that maketh me easy."
" Thou art a good soul. Wilt sing me a stave after all ? "
" La, you now ; how you come back to that ! Ay, and with
a good heart : for, to be sure, 'tis a sin to gainsay a sick man.
But indeed I am the homeliest singer. Methinks 'tis time I
went down and bade them cook your worship's supper."
"Nay, I'll not eat nor sup till I hear thee sing."
" Your will is my law, sir," said Mercy drily, and retired
to the window-seat ; that was the first obvious preliminary.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Then she fiddled with her apron, and hemm'd, and waited in
hopes a reprieve might come ; but a peevish, relentless voice
demanded the song at intervals.
So then she turned her head carefully away from her hearer,
lowered her eyes, and, looking the picture of guilt and shame
all the time, sang an ancient ditty. The poltroon's voice was
rich, mellow, clear, and sweet as honey; and she sang the
notes for the sake of the words, not the words for the sake of
the notes, as all but Nature's singers do.
The air was grave as well as sweet ; for Mercy was of an old
Puritan stock, and even her songs were not giddy-faced, but
solid, quaint, and tender : all the more did they reach the soul.
In vain was the blushing cheek averted, and the honeyed
lips. The ravishing tones set the birds chirping outside, yet
filled the room within, and the glasses rang in harmony upon
the shelf as the sweet singer poured out from her heart (so it
seemed) the speaking song that begins thus
" In vain you tell your parting lover
You wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas, what winds can happy prove
That bear me far from her I love ?
Alas, what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain
From slighted love and cold disdain ? "
Griffith beat time with his hand awhile, and his own face
softened and beautified as the melody curled about his heart.
But soon it was too much for him : he knew the song ; had
sung it to Kate Peyton in their days of courtship. A thousand
memories gushed in upon his soul and overpowered him. He
burst out sobbing violently, and wept as if his heart must break.
" Alas ! what have I done ? " said Mercy, and the tears ran
swiftly from her eyes at the sight. Then, with native deli-
cacy, she hurried from the room.
What Griffith went through that night in silence was never
known but to himself. But the next morning he was a changed
man. He was all dogged resolution : put on his clothes un-
aided, though he could hardly stand to do it ; and borrowed
the landlord's staff, and crawled out a smart distance into the
sun. " It was kill or cure," said he. " I am to live, it seems.
Well, then, the past is dead. My life begins again to-day."
Hen-like Mercy soon learned this sally of her refractory
duckling, and was uneasy. So, for an excuse to watch him,
she brought him out his money and jewels, and told him she
had thought it safest to take charge of them.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
He thanked her cavalierly, and offered her a diamond ring.
She blushed scarlet, and declined it, and even turned a
meekly reproachful glance on at him with her dove's eyes.
He had a suit of russet made, and put away his fine coat,
and forbade any one to call him "Your worship." "\ am a
farmer, like yourselves," said he ; " and my name is Thomas
Leicester."
A brain fever either kills the unhappy lover, or else be-
numbs the very anguish that caused it.
And so it was with Griffith. His love got benumbed, and
the sense of his wrongs vivid. He nursed a bitter hatred of
his wife ; only, as he could not punish her without going near
her, and no punishment short of death seemed enough for her,
he set to work to obliterate her from his very memory, if
possible. He tried employment : he pottered about the little
farm, advising and helping, and that so zealously that the
landlord retired altogether from that department, and Griffith,
instead of he, became Mercy's ally, agricultural and bucolical.
She was a shepherdess to the core, and hated the poor
" Packhorse."
For all that, it was her fate to add to its attractions ; for
Griffith bought a viol da gambo, and taught her sweet songs,
which he accompanied with such skill and sometimes with
his voice, that good company often looked in on the chance
of a good song sweetly sung and played.
The sick in body or mind are egotistical. Griffith was no
exception : bent on curing his own deep wound, he never
troubled his head about the wound he might inflict.
He was grateful to his sweet nurse, and told her so. And
his gratitude charmed her all the more that it had been rather
long in coming.
He found this dove-like creature a wonderful soother : he
applied her more and more to his sore heart.
As for Mercy, she had been too good and kind to her patient
not to take a tender interest in his convalescence. Our hearts
warm more to those we have been kind to, than to those who
have been kind to us : and the female reader can easily imagine
what delicious feelings stole into that womanly heart, when she
saw her pale nursling pick up health and strength under her
wing, and become the finest, handsomest man in the parish.
Pity and admiration: where these meet, love is not far
behind.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
And then this man, who had been cross and rough while
he was weak, became gentler, kinder, and more deferential to
her, the stronger he got.
Mrs. Vint saw they were both fond of each other's company,
and disapproved it. She told Paul Carrick if he had any
thought of Mercy he had better give over shilly-shallying, for
there was another man after her. Paul made light of it at
first. "She has known me too long to take up her head
with a new-comer," said he. " To be sure I never asked her
to name the day ; but she knows my mind well enough, and
I know hers."
"Then you know more than I do," said the mother
ironically.
He thought over this conversation, and very wisely deter-
mined not to run unnecessary risks : he came up one afternoon,
and hunted about for Mercy, till he found her milking a cow
in the adjoining paddock.
" Well, lass," said he, "I've good news for thee. My old
dad says we may have his house to live in. So now you and
I can yoke next month, if ye will."
" Me turn the honest man out of his house ! " said Mercy,
mighty innocently.
"Who asks you? He nobbut bargains for the chimney
corner : and you are not the girl to begrudge the old man
that."
" Oh no, Paul. But what would father do if I were to leave
his house ? Methinks the farm would go to rack and ruin
he is so wrapped up in his nasty public."
" Why, he has got a helper, by all accounts : and if you
talk like that, you will never wed at all."
" Never is a big word. But I'm too young to marry yet.
Jenny, thou jade, stand still."
The attack and defence proceeded upon these terms for
some time ; and the defendant had one base advantage, and
used it. Her forehead was wedged tight against Jenny's ribs,
and Paul could not see her face. This, and the feminine
evasiveness of her replies, irritated him at last.
" Take thy head out o' the coow," said he roughly, " and
answer straight. Is all our wooing to go for nought ? "
"Wooing? You never said so much to me in all these
years as you have to-day."
" Oh, ye knew my mind well enough. There's a many ways
of showing the heart."
"Speaking out is the best, I trow."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Why, what do I come here for twice a week, this two
years past, if not for thee ? "
"Ay, for me, and father's ale."
" And thou canst look at me, and tell me that ? Ye false,
hard-hearted hussy. But, nay, thou wast never so : 'tis this
Thomas Leicester hath bewitched thee, and set thee against
thy true lover."
" Mr. Leicester pays no suit to me," said Mercy, blushing ;
"he is a right civil spoken gentleman, and you know you
saved his life."
" The more fool I. I wish I had known he was going to
rob me of my lass's heart ; I'd have seen him die a hundred
times ere I'd have interfered. But they say if ypu save a
man's life he'll make you rue it. Mercy, my lass, you are well
respected in the parish ; take a thought now : better be a
farrier's wife than a gentleman's mistress."
Mercy did take her head " out of the cow " at this, and for
once her cheek burned with anger ; but the unwonted senti-
ment died before it could find words, and she said quietly,
" I need not be either against my will."
Young Carrick made many such appeals to Mercy Vint;
but he could never bring her to confess to him that he and
she had ever been more than friends, or were now anything
less than friends. Still he forced her to own to herself that,
if she had never seen Thomas Leicester, her quiet affection
and respect for Carrick would probably have carried her to
the altar with him.
His remonstrances, sometimes angry, sometimes tearful,
awoke her pity, which was the grand sentiment of her heart,
and disturbed her peace.
Moreover, she studied the two men in her quiet, thoughtful
way, and saw that Carrick loved her with all his honest, though
hitherto tepid heart ; but Griffith had depths, and could love
with more passion than ever he had shown for her. " He is
not the man to have a fever by reason of me," said the poor
girl to herself. But I am afraid even this attracted her to
Griffith ; it nettled a woman's soft ambition, which is to be as
well loved as ever woman was.
And so things went on, and, as generally happens, the man
who was losing ground went the very way to lose more.
He spoke ill of Griffith behind his back : called him a high-
wayman, a gentleman, an ungrateful, undermining traitor.
But Griffith never mentioned Carrick ; and so when he and
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mercy were together, her old follower was pleasingly oblite-
rated, and affectionate good-humour reigned. Thus Griffith,
alias Thomas, became her sunbeam, and Paul her cloud.
But he who had disturbed the peace of others, his own turn
came.
One day he found Mercy crying : he sat down beside her,
and said kindly, "Why, sweetheart, what is amiss ?"
" No great matter," said she ; and turned her head away,
but did not check her tears, for it was new and pleasant to
be consoled by Thomas Leicester.
"Nay, but tell me, child."
"Well, then, Jessie Carrick has been at me ; that is all."
"The vixen ! what did she say ? "
" Nay, I'm not pleased enow with it to repeat it. She did
cast something in my teeth."
Griffith pressed her to be more explicit : she declined with
so many blushes that his curiosity was awakened, and he told
Mrs. Vint, with some heat, that Jess Carrick had been making
Mercy cry.
" Like enow," said Mrs. Vint coolly. " She'll eat her victuals
all one for that, please God."
"Else I'll ring the cock-nosed jade's neck next time she
comes here," replied Griffith ; " but, dame, I want to know
what she can have to say to Mercy to make her cry."
Mrs. Vint looked him steadily in the face for some time,
and then and there decided to come to an explanation. " Ten
to one 'tis about her brother," said she ; " you know this Paul
is our Mercy's sweetheart."
At these simple words Griffith winced, and his countenance
changed remarkably. Mrs. Vint observed it, and was all the
more resolved to have it out with him.
" Her sweetheart ! " said Griffith. " Why, I have seen them
together a dozen of times, and not a word of courtship."
" Oh, the young men don't make many speeches in these
parts. They show their hearts by act."
" By act ? Why, I met them coming home from milking
t'other evening. Mercy was carrying the pail, brimful, and
that oaf sauntered by her side, with his hands in his pockets ;
was that the act of a lover ? "
"I heard of it, sir," said Mrs. Vint quietly; "and as how
you took the pail from her, willy nilly, and carried it home.
Mercy was vexed about it : she told me you panted at the
door, and she was a deal fitter to carry the pail than you,
that is just off a sick bed, like. But lawk, sir, ye can't go
191
GRIFFITH GAUNT
by the likes of that: the bachelors here they'd see their
sweethearts carry the roof into next parish on their backs, like
a snail , and never put out a hand ; 'tis not the custom here-
away : but, as I was saying, Paul and our Mercy kept company,
after a manner : he never had the wit to flatter her as should
be, nor the stomach to bid her name the day, and he'd buy
the ring ; but he talked to her about his sick beasts more than
he did to any other girl in the parish, and she'd have ended by
going to church with him ; only you came and put a coolness
at ween 'em."
"I! How?"
" Well, sir, our Mercy is a kind-hearted lass, though I say it,
and you were sick, and she did nurse you ; and that was a
beginning. And, to be sure, you are a fine personable man,
and capital company ; and you are always about the girl ; and,
bethink you, sir, she is flesh and blood like her neighbours ;
and they say, once a body has tasted venison steak, it spoils
their stomach for oat porridge. Now that is Mercy's case,
I'm thinking ; not that she ever said as much tome ; she is too
reserved. But blessiyour heart, I'm forced to go about with eyes
in my head, and watch 'em all a bit, me that keeps an inn."
Griffith groaned. " I'm a villain ! " said he.
" Nay, nay," said Mrs. Vint. " Gentlefolks must be amused,
cost what it may ; but, hoping no offence, sir, the girl was a
good friend to you in time of sickness ; and so was this Paul,
for that matter."
" She was," cried Griffith ; " God bless her. How can I
ever repay her ? "
" Well, sir," said Mrs. Vint, " if that comes from your heart,
you might take our Mercy apart, and tell her you like her
very well, but not enough to marry a farmer's daughter don't
say an innkeeper's daughter, or you'll be sure to offend her ;
she is bitter against the ' Packhorse.' Says you, ' This Paul
is an honest lad ; turn your heart back to him.' And, with
that, mount your black horse and ride away, and God speed
you, sir ; we shall often talk of you at the ' Packhorse/ and
nought but good,"
Griffith gave the woman his hand, and his breast laboured
visibly.
Jealousy was ingrained in the man. Mrs. Vint had pricked
his conscience, but she had wounded his foible.
He was not in love with Mercy, but he esteemed her and
liked her and saw her value, and, above all, could not bear
another man should have her.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Now this gave the matter a new turn. Mrs. Vint had over-
come her dislike to him long ago: still he was not her favourite.
But his giving her his hand with a gentle pressure, and his
manifest agitation, rather won her ; and, as uneducated women
are your true weathercocks, she went about directly. " To be
sure," said she, " our Mercy is too good for the likes of him ;
she is not like Harry and me : she has been well brought up
by her Aunt Prudence, as was governess in a nobleman's
house. She can read and write, and cast accounts ; good at her
sampler, and can churn and make cheeses, and play of the
viol, and lead the psalm in church, and dance a minuet, she
can, with any lady in the land. As to her nursing in time of
sickness, that I leave to you, sir."
" She is an angel," cried Griffith, " and my benefactress : no
man living is good enough for her." And he went away
visibly discomposed.
Mrs. Vint repeated this conversation to Mercy, and told
her Thomas Leicester was certainly in love with her.
"Shouldst have seen his face, girl, when I told him Paul
and you were sweethearts. 'Twas as if I had run a knife
in his heart."
Mercy murmured a few words of doubt ; but she kissed her
mother eloquently, and went about, rosy and beaming, all
that afternoon.
As for Griffith, his gratitude and his jealousy were now at
war, and caused him a severe mental struggle.
Carrick, too, was spurred by jealousy, and came every day
to the house, and besieged Mercy ; and Griffith, who saw
them together, and did not hear Mercy's replies, was excited,
irritated, alarmed.
Mrs. Vint saw his agitation, and determined to bring
matters to a climax. She was always giving him a side
thrust ; and, at last, she told him plainly that he was not be-
having like a man. " If the girl is not good enough for you,
why make a fool of her, and set her against a good husband?"
And when he replied she was good enough for any man in
England, " Then," said she, " why not show your respect for
her as Paul Carrick does ? He likes her well enough to go
to church with her."
With the horns of this dilemma she so gored Kate Peyton's
husband that, at last, she and Paul Carrick, between them,
drove him out of his conscience.
So he watched his opportunity and got Mercy alone : he
took her hand and told her he loved her, and that she was
193 N
GRIFFITH GAUNT
his only comfort in the world, and he found he could not
live without her.
At this she blushed and trembled a little, and leaned her
brow upon his shoulder, and was a happy creature for a few
moments.
So far, fluently enough ; but then he began to falter and
stammer, and say that for certain reasons he could not marry
at all. But if she could be content with anything short of
that, he would retire with her into a distant country, and
there, where nobody could contradict him, would call her
his wife, and treat her as his wife, and pay his debt of grati-
tude to her by a life of devotion.
As he spoke her brow retired an inch or two from his
shoulder ; but she heai-d him quietly out, and then drew back
and confronted him, pale, but, to all appearance, calm.
" Call things by their right names," said she. " What you
offer me this day, in my father's house, is, to be your mistress.
Then God forgive you, Thomas Leicester."
With this oblique and feminine reply, and one look of un-
fathomable reproach from her soft eyes, she turned her back
on him : but remembering her manners, curtsied at the door,
and so retired ; and unpretending Virtue lent her such true
dignity, that he was struck dumb, and made no attempt to
detain her.
I think her dignified composure did not last long when she
was alone ; at least, the next time he saw her her eyes were
red ; his heart smote him, and he began to make excuses and
beg her forgiveness. But she interrupted him. " Don't
speak to me no more, if you please, sir," said she civilly but
coldly.
Mercy, though so quiet and inoffensive, had depth and
strength of character. She never told her mother what
Thomas Leicester had proposed to her. Her honest pride
kept her silent, for one thing. She would not have it known
she had been insulted ; and, besides that, she loved Thomas
Leicester still, and could not expose or hurt him. Once there
was an Israelite without guile, though you and I never saw
Him ; and once there was a Saxon without bile, and her
name was Mercy Vint. In this heart of gold the affections
were stronger than the passions. She was deeply wounded,
and showed it in a patient way to him who had wounded her,
but to none other. Her conduct to him in public and private
was truly singular, and would alone have stamped her a re-
markable character. She declined all communication with
194
GRIFFITH GAUNT
him in private, and avoided him steadily and adroitly ; but
in public she spoke to him, sang with him, when she was
asked, and treated him much the same as before. He could
see a subtle difference, but nobody else could.
This generosity, coupled with all she had done for him
before, penetrated his heart and filled him with admiration
and remorse. He yielded to Mrs. Vint's suggestions, and
told her she was right ; he would tear himself away, and
never see the dear " Packhorse " again. " But, oh ! dame,"
said he, " 'tis a sorrowful thing to be alone in the world again,
and nought to do. If I had but a farm, and a sweet little inn
like this, perchance my heart would not be quite so heavy as
'tis this day at thoughts of parting from thee and thine."
"Well, sir," said Mrs. Vint, "if that is all, there is the
' Vine ' to let at this moment. 'Tis a better place of business
than this ; and some meadows go with it, and land to be had
in the parish."
" I'll ride and see it," said Griffith eagerly ; then deject-
edly, " but, alas ! I have 110 heart to keep an inn without
somebody to help me, and say a kind word now and then.
Ah, Mercy Vint, thou hast spoiled me for living alone."
This vacillation exhausted Mrs. Vint's patience.
"What are ye sighing about, ye foolish man?" said she
contemptuously ; " you have got it all your own way : if 'tis a
wife ye want, ask Mercy, and don't take a nay ; if ye would
have a housekeeper, you need not want one long. I'll be
bound there's plenty of young women where you came from
as would be glad to keep the 'Vine' under you. And, if
you come to that, our Mercy is a treasure on the farm, but
she is no help in the inn, no more than a wax figure ; she
never brought us a shilling, till you came and made her sing
to your base viol. Nay, what you want is a smart handsome
girl, with a quick eye and a ready tongue, and one as can
look a man in the face, and not given to love nor liquor.
Don't you know never such a one ? "
" Not I. Humph, to be sure there is Caroline Ryder. She
is handsome, and hath a good wit. She is a lady's maid."
"That's your woman, if she'll come. And to be sure
she will ; for to be mistress of an inn, that's a lady's maid's
Paradise."
"She would have come a few months ago, and gladly : I'll
write to her."
" Better talk to her, and persuade her."
" I'll do that too ; but I must write to her first."
195
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" So do then ; but whatever you do, don't shilly-shally no
longer. If wrestling was shilly-shallying, methinks you'd
bear the bell, you or else Paul Carrick. Why, all this trouble
comes on't. He might have wed our Mercy a year agone for
the asking. Shilly-shally belongs to us that be women. 'Tis
despisable in a man."
Thus driven on all sides, Griffith rode and inspected the
" Vine " (it was only seven miles off) ; and after the usual
chaffering, came to terms with the proprietor.
He fixed the day for his departure, and told Mrs. Vint he
must ride into Cumberland first to get some money, and also
to see about a housekeeper.
He made no secret of all this ; and, indeed, was not without
hopes Mercy would relent, or perhaps be jealous of this
housekeeper. But the only visible effect was to make her
look pale and sad ; she avoided him in private as before.
Harry Vint was loud in his regrets, and Carrick openly
exultant. Griffith wrote to Caroline Ryder, and addressed
the letter in a feigned hand, and took it himself to the nearest
post town.
The letter came to hand, and will appear in that sequence
of events on which I am now about to enter.
CHAPTER XXVII
IF Griffith Gaunt suffered anguish, he inflicted agony. Mrs.
Gaunt was a high-spirited, proud, and sensitive woman ; and
he crushed her with foul words. Leonard was a delicate, vain,
and sensitive man, accustomed to veneration. Imagine such
a man hurled to the ground and trampled upon.
Griffith should not have fled ; he should have stayed and
enjoyed his vengeance on these two persons. It might have
cooled him a little had he stopped and seen the immediate
consequences of his savage act.
The priest rose from the ground, pale as ashes, and trem-
bling with fear and hate.
The lady was leaning, white as a sheet, against a tree, and
holding it with her very nails for a little support.
They looked round at one another, a piteous glance of
anguish and horror ; then Mrs. Gaunt turned and flung her
arm round so that the palm of her hand, high raised, con-
196
GRIFFITH GAUNT
fronted Leonard. I am thus particular, because it was a
gesture grand and terrible as the occasion that called it forth,
a gesture that spoke, and said, " Put the whole earth and sea
between us for ever after this."
The next moment she bent her head and rushed away,
cowering and wringing her hands ; she made for her house,
as naturally as a scared animal for its lair ; but ere she could
reach it, she tottered under the shame, the distress, and the
mere terror, and fell fainting with her fair forehead on the grass.
Caroline Ryder was crouched in the doorway, and did not
see her come out. of the Grove, but only heard a rustle, and
then saw her proud mistress totter forward, and lie white,
senseless, helpless at her very feet.
Ryder uttered a scream, but did not lose her presence of
mind. She instantly kneeled over Mrs. Gaunt, and loosened
her stays with quick and dexterous hand.
It was very like the hawk perched over and clawing the
ringdove she has struck down.
But people with brains are never quite inhuman : a drop
of lukewarm pity entered even Ryder's heart as she assisted
her victim. She called no one to help her; for she saw
something very serious had happened, and she felt sure Mrs.
Gaunt would say something imprudent in that dangerous
period when the patient recovers consciousness but has not
all her wits about her. Now Ryder was equally determined
to know her mistress's secrets, and not to share the know-
ledge with any other person.
It was a long swoon ; and when Mrs. Gaunt came to, the
first thing she saw was Ryder leaning over her, with a face
of much curiosity and some concern.
In that moment of weakness the poor lady, who had been
so roughly handled, saw a woman close to her, and being a
little kind to her ; so what did she do but throw her arms
round Ryder's neck and burst out sobbing as if her heart
would break ?
Then that unprincipled woman shed a tear or two with
her, half crocodile, half impulse.
Mrs. Gaunt not only cried on her servant's neck ; she
justified Ryder's forecast by speaking unguardedly: "I've
been insulted insulted insulted ! "
But even while uttering these words, she was recovering
her pride; so the first "insulted" seemed to come from a
broken-hearted child, the second from an indignant lady, the
third from a wounded queen.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
No more words than this ; but rose, with Ryder's assistance,
and went, leaning on that faithful creature's shoulder, to her
own bedroom. There she sank into a chair, and said, in a
voice to melt a stone, " My child ! Bring me my little Rose."
Ryder ran and fetched the little girl, and Mrs. Gaunt held
out both arms to her angelically, and clasped her so passion-
ately and piteously to her bosom, that Rose cried for fear, and
never forgot the scene all her days ; and Mrs. Ryder, who was
secretly a mother, felt a genuine twinge of pity and remorse.
Curiosity, however, was the dominant sentiment ; she was im-
patient to get all these convulsions over, and learn what had
actually passed between Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt.
She waited till her mistress appeared calmer; and then, in
soft, caressing tones, asked her what had happened.
"Never ask me that question again," cried Mrs. Gaunt
wildly ; then, with inexpressible dignity, " My good girl, you
have done all you could for me ; now you must leave me alone
with my daughter, and my God, who knows the truth."
Ryder curtsied and retired, burning with baffled curiosity.
Towards dusk Thomas Leicester came into the kitchen, and
brought her news with a vengeance. He told her and the
other maids that the squire had gone raving mad, and fled the
country. " Oh, lasses," said he, " if you had seen the poor
soul's face, a riding headlong through the fair all one as if it
was a ploughed field ; 'twas white as your smocks, and his
eyes glowering on t'other world. We shall ne'er see that face
alive again."
And this was her doing.
It surprised and overpowered Ryder ; she threw her apron
over her head, and went off in hysterics, and betrayed her
lawless attachment to every woman in the kitchen, she who
was so clever at probing others.
This day of violent emotions was followed by a sullen and
sorrowful gloom.
Mrs. Gaunt kept her bedroom, and admitted nobody ; till
at last the servants consulted together, and sent little Rose
to knock at her door, with a basin of chocolate, while they
watched on the stairs.
" It's only me, mamma," said Rose.
" Come in, my precious," said a trembling voice, and so
Rose got in with her chocolate.
The next day she was sent for early ; and at noon, Mrs.
Gaunt and Rose came downstairs ; but their appearance
startled the whole household.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The mother was dressed all in black, and so was her
daughter, whom she led by the hand. Mrs. Gaunt's face
was pale, and sad, and stem ; a monument of deep suffering
and high-struck resolution.
It soon transpired that Griffith had left his home for good ;
and friends called on Mrs. Gaunt to slake their curiosity under
the mask of sympathy.
Not one of them was admitted. No false excuses were made.
"My mistress sees no one for the present," was the reply.
Curiosity thus baffled took up the pen, but was met with
a short, unvarying formula : " There is an unhappy misunder-
standing between my husband and me. But I shall neither
accuse him behind his back, nor justify myself."
Thus the proud lady carried herself before the world ; but
secretly she writhed. A wife abandoned is a woman insulted,
and makes the wives that are not abandoned cluck.
Ryder was dejected for a time, and, though not honestly
penitent, suffered some remorse at the miserable issue of her
intrigues. But her elastic nature soon shook it off, and she
felt a certain satisfaction at having reduced Mrs. Gaunt to
her own level. This disarmed her hostility : she watched her
as keenly as ever, but out of pure curiosity.
One thing puzzled her strangely. Leonard did not visit
the house ; nor could she even detect any communication
between the parties.
At last, one day, her mistress told her to put on her hat,
and 'go to Father Leonard.
Ryder's eyes sparkled ; and she was soon equipped. Mrs.
Gaunt- put a parcel and a letter into her hands. Ryder no
sooner got out of her sight than she proceeded to tamper
with the letter. But to her just indignation she found it so
ingeniously folded and sealed that she could not read a word.
The parcel, however, she easily undid, and it contained
forty pounds in gold and small notes. " Oho ! my lady,"
said Ryder. ..
She was received by Leonard with a tender emotion he in
vain tried to conceal.
On reading the letter his features contracted sharply, and
he seemed to suffer agony. He would not even open the
parcel. " You will take that back," said he bitterly.
" What, without 1 a word ? "
"Without a word. But I will write when I am able."
"Don't be long, sir," suggested Ryder. "1 am sure my
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
mistress is wearying for you. Consider, sir, she is all alone
now."
" Not so much alone as I am," said the priest ; " nor half
so unfortunate."
And with this he leaned his head despairingly on his hand,
and motioned to Ryder to leave him.
" Here's a couple of fools," said she to herself, as she went
home.
That very evening Thomas Leicester caught her alone, and
asked her to marry him.
She started at first, and then treated it as a jest.
"You come at the wrong time, young man," said she.
" Marriage is put out of countenance. No, no, I will never
marry after what I have seen in this house."
Leicester would not take this for an answer, and pressed
her hard.
" Thomas," said this plausible jade, " I like you very well ;
but I couldn't leave my mistress in her trouble. Time to
talk of marrying when master comes here alive v and well."
" Nay," said Leicester, " my only chance is while he is
away : you care more for his little finger than for my whole
body that they all say."
" Who says ? "
"Jane, and all the lasses."
" You simple man, they want you for themselves ; that is
why they belie me."
" Nay, nay ; I saw how you carried on, when I brought
word he was gone. You let your heart out for once. Don't
take me for a fool ; I see how 'tis : but I'll face it ; for I
worship the ground you walk on. Take a thought, my lass.
What good can come of your setting your heart on him ? I'm
young, I'm healthy, and not ugly enough to set the dogs a
barking ; I've got a good place ; I love you dear ; I'll cure
you of that fancy, and make you as happy as the day is long.
I'll try and make you as happy as you will make me, my
beauty."
He was so earnest, and so much in love, that Mrs. Ryder
pitied him, and wished her husband was in heaven.
"I am very sorry, Tom," said she softly: "dear me, I did
not think you cared so much for me as this. I must just tell
you the truth. I have got one in my own country, and I've
promised him. I don't care to break my word : and, if I did,
he is such a man I am sure he would kill me for it. Indeed
he has told me as much, more than once or twice."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Killing is a game that two can play at."
" Ah ! but 'tis an ugly game : and I'll have no hand in it.
And don't you be angry with me, Tom I've known him
longest, and I love him best."
By pertinacity and variety in lying, she hit the mark at
last. Tom swallowed this figment whole.
"That is but reason," said he. "I take my answer, and I
wish ye both many happy days together, and well spent."
With this he retired, and blubbered a good hour in an
outhouse.
Tom avoided the Castle, and fell into low spirits. He told
his mother all, and she advised him to change the air. " You
have been too long in one place," said she; "I hate being
too long in one place myself."
This fired Tom's gipsy blood, and he said he would travel
to-morrow, if he could but scrape together money enough to
fill a pedlar's pack.
He applied for a loan in several quarters, but was denied
in all.
At last the poor fellow summoned courage to lay his case
before Mrs. Gaunt.
Ryder's influence procured him an interview. She took him
into the drawing-room, and bade him wait here. By-and-by
a pale lady, all in black, glided into the room.
He pulled his front hair, and began to stammer something
or other.
She interrupted him. " Ryder has told me," said she softly.
" I am sorry for you ; and I will do what you require. And,
to be sure, we need no gamekeeper here now."
She then gave him some money, and said she would look
him up a few trifles besides, to put in his pack.
Tom's mother helped him to lay out this money to advan-
tage, and one day he called at Hernshaw, pack and all, to
bid farewell.
The servants all laid out something with him for luck ; and
Mrs. Gaunt sent for him, and gave him a gold thimble, and a
pound of tea, and several yards of gold lace, slightly tarnished,
and a Queen Anne's guinea.
He thanked her heartily. " Ay, dame," said he, " you had
always an open hand, married or single. My heart is heavy
at leaving you. But I miss the squire's kindly face too.
Hernshaw is not what it used to be."
Mrs. Gaunt turned her head aside, and the man could see
his words had made her cry.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" My good Thomas," said she, at last, " you are going to
travel the country : you might fall in with him."
" I might," said Leicester incredulously.
"God grant you may; and, if ever you should, think of
your poor mistress, and give him this." She put her finger
into her bosom and drew out a bullet wrapped in silver paper.
" You will never lose this," said she. " I value it more than
gold or silver. Oh, if ever j^ou should see him, think of me
and my daughter, and just put it in his hand without a
word."
As he went out of the room, Ryder intercepted him, and
said, " Mayhap you will fall in with our master : if ever you
do, tell him he is under a mistake, and the sooner he comes
home the better."
Tom Leicester departed ; and, for days and weeks, nothing
occurred to break the sorrowful monotony of the place.
But the mourner had written to her old friend and con-
fessor Francis ; and, after some delay, involuntary on his part,
he came to see her.
They were often closeted together, and spoke so low that
Ryder could not catch a word.
Francis also paid several visits to Leonard ; and the final
result of these visits was that the latter left England.
Francis remained at Hernshaw as long as he could ; and it
was Mrs. Gaunt's hourly prayer that Griffith might return
while Francis was with her.
He did, at her earnest request, stay much longer than
he had intended ; but at length he was obliged to fix next
Monday to return to his own place.
It was on Thursday he made this arrangement ; but the
very next day the postman brought a letter to the Castle
thus addressed :
" To Mistress Caroline Ryder,
" Living Servant with Griffith Gaunt, Esq.,
" At his honse, called Hernshaw Castle,
" near Wigeonmoor,
"in the county of Cumberland.
"These with speed."
The address was in a feigned hand. Ryder opened it in
the kitchen, and uttered a scream.
Instantly three female throats opened upon her with
questions.
She looked them contemptuously in their faces, put the letter
202
GRIFFITH GAUNT
into her pocket ; and, soon after, slipped away to her own room,
and locked herself in while she read it. It ran thus :
" GOOD MISTRESS RYDER, I am alive yet, by the blessing ;
though somewhat battered ; being now risen from a fever,
wherein I lost my wits for a time. And, on coming to myself,
I found them making of my shroud ; whereby you shall learn
how near I was to death. And all this I owe to that false per-
jured woman that was my wife, and is your mistress.
" Know that I have donned russet and doffed gentility ; for
I find a heavy heart's best cure is occupation. I have taken
a wayside inn, and think of renting a small farm, which two
things go well together. Now you are, of all those I know,
most fitted to manage the inn, and I the farm. You were always
my good friend : and, if you be so still, then I charge you most
solemnly that you utter no word to any living soul about this
letter ; but meet me pi-ivately where we can talk fully of these
matters ; for I will not set foot in Hernshaw Castle. Moreover,
she told me once 'twas hers ; and so be it. On Friday I shall
lie at Stapleton, and the next day, by an easy journey, to the
place where I once was so happy.
" So then at seven of the clock on Saturday evening, be
the same wet or dry, prithee come to the gate of the Grove
unbeknown, and speak to your faithful friend, and most
unhappy master,
"GRIFFITH GAUNT.
" Be secret as the grave. Would I were in it."
This letter set Caroline Ryder in a tumult. Griffith alive
and well, and set against his wife, and coming to her for
assistance !
After the first agitation she read it again, and weighed
every syllable. There was one book she had studied more
than most of us the Heart. And she soon read Griffith's in
this letter. It was no love letter : he really intended busi-
ness ; but, weak in health, and broken in spirit, and alone in
the world, he naturally turned to one who had confessed an
affection for him, and would therefore be true to his interests,
and study his happiness.
The proposal was every way satisfactory to Mrs. Ryder.
To be mistress of an inn, and have servants under her instead
of being one herself. And then, if Griffith and she began as
allies in business, she felt very sure she could make herself
first necessary to him, and then dear to him.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
She was so elated she could hardly contain herself ; and all
her fellow-servants remarked that Mrs. Ryder had heard good
news.
Saturday came, and never did hours seem to creep so slowly.
But at last the sun set, and the stars came out : there was
110 moon. Ryder opened the window and looked out ; it was
an admirable night for an assignation.
She washed her face again, put on her grey silk gown and
purple petticoat Mrs. Gaunt had given them to her and, at
the last moment, went and made up her mistress's fire, and
put out everything she thought could be wanted, and, five
minutes after seven o'clock, tied a scarlet handkerchief over
her head, and stepped out at the back door.
What with her coal-black hair, so streaked with red, her
black eyes, flashing in the starlight, and her glowing cheeks,
she looked bewitching.
And, thus armed for conquest, wily, yet impassioned, she
stole out, with noiseless foot and beating heart, to her ap-
pointment with her imprudent master. **
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE bill was paid ; the black horse saddled and brought round
to the door. Mr. and Mrs. Vint stood bareheaded to honour
the parting guest ; and the latter offered him the stirrup cup.
Griffith looked round for Mercy she was nowhere to be seen.
Then he said piteously to Mrs. Vint, " What, not even bid
me good-bye ? "
Mrs. Vint replied, in a very low voice, that there was no
disrespect intended. " The truth is, sir, she could not trust
herself to see you go ; but she bade me give you a message.
Says she, ' Mother, tell him I pray God to bless him, go where
he will.' "
Something rose in Griffith's throat. " Oh, dame ! " said
he, " if she only knew the truth, she would think better of
me than she does. God bless her ! "
And he rode sorrowfully away, alone in the world once
more.
At the first turn in the road, he wheeled his horse, and
took a last lingering look.
There was nothing vulgar, nor inn-like, in the " Packhorse."
904
GRIFFITH GAUNT
It stood fifty yards from the road on a little rural green, and
was picturesque itself. The front was entirely clad with large-
leaved ivy. Shutters there were none ; the windows, with
their diamond panes, were lustrous squares, set like great
eyes in the green ivy. It looked a pretty, peaceful retreat,
and in it Griffith had found peace, and a dove-like friend.
He sighed, and rode away from the sight, not raging and
convulsed, as when he rode from Hernshaw Castle, but some-
what sick at heart and very heavy.
He paced so slowly that it took him a quarter of an hour to
reach the " Woodman," a wayside inn not two miles distant.
As he went by, a farmer hailed him from the porch, and in-
sisted on drinking with him ; for he was very popular in the
neighbourhood. Whilst they were thus employed, who should
come out but Paul Carrick, booted and spurred ; and flushed in
the face, and rather the worse for liquor imbibed on the spot.
" So you are going, are ye ? " said he. " A good job too."
Then turning to the other, " Master Gutteridge, never you
save a man's life if you can anywise help it. I saved this
one's : and what does he do but turn round and poison my
sweetheart against me ? "
" How can you say so ? " remonstrated Griffith. " I never
belied you. Your name scarce ever passed my lips."
" Don't tell me," said Carrick. "However, she has come
to her senses, and given your worship the sack. Ride you
into Cumberland, and I to the ' Packhorse/ and take my
own again."
With this he unhooked his nag from the wall, and clattered
off to the " Packhorse."
Griffith sat a moment stupefied, and then his face was
convulsed by his ruling passion. He wheeled his horse, gave
him the spur, and galloped after Carrick.
He soon came up with him, and yelled in his ear, " I'll
teach you to spit your wormwood in my cup of sorrow."
Carrick shook his fist defiantly, and spurred his horse in
turn.
It was an exciting race, and a novel one, but soon decided.
The great black hunter went ahead, and still improved his
advantage. Carrick, purple with rage, was full a quarter of a
mile behind, when Griffith dashed furiously into the stable
of the "Packhorse," and, leaving Black Dick panting and
covered with foam, ran in search of Mercy.
The girl told him she was in the dairy : he looked in at the
window, and there she was with her mother. With instinctive
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
sense and fortitude she had fled to work. She was trying to
churn ; but it would not do : she had laid her shapely arm all
across the churn, and her head on it, and was crying. Mrs.
Vint was praising Carrick, and offering homely consolation.
"Ah, mother," sighed Mercy, "I could have made him
happy. He does not know that ; and he has turned his back
on content. What will become of him now ? "
Griffith heard no more : he went round to the front door,
and rushed in.
" Take your own way, dame," said he, in great agitation.
"Put up the banns when you like. Sweetheart, wilt wed
with me ? I'll make thee the best husband I can."
Mercy screamed faintly, and lifted up her hands ; then she
blushed and trembled to her very finger ends ; but it ended
in smiles of joy, and her brow upon his shoulder. In which
attitude, with Mrs. Vint patting him approvingly on the back,
they were surprised by Paul Carrick. He came to the door,
and there stood aghast.
The young man stared ruefully at the picture, and then
said, very drily, " I'm too late, methinks."
"That you be, Paul," said Mrs. Vint cheerfully. "She is
meat for your master."
"Don't you never come to me to save your life no
more," blubbered Paul, breaking down all of a sudden.
He then retired, little heeded, and came no more to the
"Packhorse" for several days.
CHAPTER XXIX
IT is desirable that improper marriages should never be
solemnised ; and the Christian Church saw this many hundred
years ago, and ordained that before a marriage the banns
should be cried in a church three Sundays, and any person
there present might forbid the union of the parties, and allege
the just impediment.
This precaution was feeble, but not wholly inadequate
in the Middle Ages ; for we know by good evidence that the
priest was often interrupted and the banns forbidden.
But in modern days the banns are never forbidden : in
outer words, the precautionary measure that has come down
to us from the thirteenth century is out of date and useless.
206
GRIFFITH GAUNT
It rests, indeed, on an estimate of publicity that has become
childish. If persons about to marry were compelled to in-
scribe their names and descriptions in a Matrimonial Weekly
Gazette, and a copy of this were placed on a desk in ten
thousand churches, perhaps we might stop one lady per
annum from marrying her husband's brother, and one gentle-
man from wedding his neighbour's wife. But the crying of
banns in a single parish church is a waste of the people's time
and the parson's breath.
And so it proved in Griffith Gaunt's case. The Rev.
William Wentworth published, in the usual recitative, the
banns of marriage between Thomas Leicester of the parish
of Marylebone in London, and Mercy Vint, spinster, of this
parish ; and creation, present ex hypothesi medicevak, but
absent in fact, assented, by silence to the union.
So Thomas Leicester wedded Mercy Vint, and took her
home to the " Packhorse."
It would be well if those who stifle their consciences, and
commit crimes, would set up a sort of medico-moral diary,
and record their symptoms minutely day by day. Such
records might help to clear away some vague, conventional
notions.
To tell the truth, our hero, and now malefactor (the com-
bination is of high antiquity), enjoyed for several months,
the peace of mind that belongs of right to innocence, and his
days passed in a state of smooth complacency. Mercy was a
good, wise, and tender wife ; she naturally looked up to him
after marriage more than she did before : she studied his
happiness, as she had never studied her own ; she mastered
his character, admired his good qualities, discerned his weak-
nesses, but did not view them as defects ; only as little traits
to be watched, lest she should give pain to "her master," as
she called him.
Affection in her took a more obsequious form than it could
ever assume in Kate Peyton. And yet she had great influence,
and softly governed " her master " for his good. She would
come into the room and take away the bottle, if he was
committing excess ; but she had a way of doing it, so like a
good but resolute mother, and so unlike a termagant, that he
never resisted. Upon the whole, she nursed his mind as in
earlier days she had nursed his body.
And then she made him so comfortable ; she observed him
minutely to that end. As is the eye of a maid to the hand
of her mistress, so Mercy Leicester's dove-like eye was ever
207
GRIFFITH GAUNT
watching "her master's " face, to learn the minutest features
of his mind.
One evening he came in tired, and there was a black fire in
the parlour. His countenance fell the sixteenth of an inch.
You and I, sir, should never have noticed it. But Mercy did,
and, ever after, there was a clear fire when he came in.
She noted, too, that he loved to play the viol da gambo,
but disliked the trouble of tuning it. So then she tuned it
for him.
When he came home at night, early or late, he was sure to
find a dry pair of shoes on the rug, his six-stringed viol tuned
to a hair, a bright fire, and a brighter wife smiling, and radiant
at his coming, and always neat : for, said she, " Shall I don my
bravery for strangers, and not for my Thomas, that is the best
of company ? "
They used to go to church, and come back together, hand
in hand like lovers : for the arm was rarely given in those
days. And Griffith said to himself every Sunday, " What a
comfort to have a Protestant wife."
But one day he was off his guard, and called her " Kate,
my dear."
"Who is Kate?" said she softly, but with a degree of
trouble and intelligence that made him tremble.
" No matter," said he, all in a flutter : then, solemnly,
"Whoever she was, she is dead ; dead."
"Ah ! " said Mercy, very tenderly and solemnly, and under
her breath. "You loved her; yet she must die." She
paused ; then, in a tone so exquisite I can only call it an
angel's whisper, " Poor Kate ! "
Griffith groaned aloud. "For God's sake never mention
that name to me again. Let me forget she ever lived. She
was not the true friend to me that you have been."
Mercy replied softly, "Say not so, Thomas. You loved
her well. Her death had all but caused me thine. Ah, well !
we cannot all be the first. I am not very jealous, for my
part ; and I thank God for't. Thou art a dear good husband
to me, and that is enow."
Paul Carrick, unable to break off his habits, came to the
" Packhorse " now and then; but Mercy protected her hus-
band's heart from pain. She was kind, and even pitiful ; but
so discreet and resolute, and contrived to draw the line so
clearly between her husband and her old sweetheart, that
Griffith's foible could not burn him, for want of fuel.
And so passed several months, and the man's heart was at
208
GRIFFITH GAUNT
peace. He could not love Mercy passionately as he had loved
Kate ; but he was full of real regard and esteem for her : it
was one of those gentle, clinging attachments that outlast
grand passions, and survive till death ; a tender, pure affec-
tion, though built upon a crime.
They had been married, and lived in sweet content, about
three quarters of a year when trouble came, but in a vulgar
form. A murrain carried off several of Harry Vint's cattle ;
and it then came out that he had purchased six of them on
credit, and had been induced to set his hands to bills of ex-
change for them. His rent was also behind, and, in fact, his
affairs were in a desperate condition.
He hid it as long as he could from them all ; but, at last,
being served with a process for debt, and threatened with a
distress and an execution, he called a family council and ex-
posed the real state of things.
Mrs. Vintrated him soundly for keeping all this secret so long.
He whom they called Thomas Leicester remonstrated with
him. " Had you told me in time," said he, " I had not paid
forfeit for the ' Vine/ but settled there, and given you a home."
Mercy said never a word but " Poor father ! "
As the peril drew nearer, the conversations became more
animated and agitated, and soon the old people took to com-
plaining of Thomas Leicester to his wife.
"Thou hast married a gentleman, and he hath not the
heart to lift a hand to save thy folk from ruin."
"Say not so," pleaded Mercy: "to be sure he hath the
heart, but not the means. 'Twas but yestreen he bade me sell
his jewels for you. But, mother, I think they belonged to
some one he loved, and she died. So, poor thing, how could
I ? Then, if you love me, blame me, and not him."
" Jewels, quotha ! will they stop such a gap as ours ? " was
the contemptuous reply.
From complaining of him behind his back, the old people
soon came to launching innuendoes obliquely at him. Here
is one specimen out of a dozen.
"Wife, if our Mercy had wedded one of her own sort,
mayhap he'd have helped us a bit."
" Ay, poor soul ; and she so near her time : if the bailiffs
come down on us next month 'tis my belief we shall lose her
as well as house and home."
The false Thomas Leicester let them run on in dogged
silence ; but every word was a stab.
209 o
And, one day, when he had been baited sore with hints, he
turned round on them fiercely, and said, " Did I get you into
this mess ? It's all your own doing. Learn to see your own
faults, and not be so hard on one that has been the best
servant you ever had, gentleman or not."
Men can resist the remonstrances that wound them, and so
irritate them, better than they can those gentle appeals that
rouse no anger, but soften the whole heart. The old people
stung him ; but Mercy, without design, took a surer way. She
never said a word ; but sometimes, when the discussions were
at their height, she turned her dove-like eyes on him, with a
look so loving, so humbly inquiring, so timidly imploring, that
his heart melted within him.
Ah, that is a true touch of nature, and genuine observation
of the sexes, in the old song
" My feyther urged me sair ;
My mither didna speak ;
But she looked me in the face,
Till my hairt was like to break."
These silent, womanly, imploring looks of patient Mercy
were mightier than argument, or invective.
The man knew all along where to get money, and how to
get it. He had only to go to Hernshaw Castle. But his very
soul shuddered at the idea. However, for Mercy's sake, he
took the first step : he compelled himself to look the thing in
the face, and discuss it with himself. A few months ago he
could not have done this he loved his lawful wife too much ;
hated her too much. But now Mercy and Time had blunted
both those passions, and he could ask himself whether he
could not encounter Kate and her priest without any very
violent emotion.
When they first set up house together, he had spent his
whole fortune, a sum of two thousand pounds, on repairing and
embellishing Hernshaw Castle and grounds. Since she had
driven him out of the house, he had a clear right to have back
the money ; and now he resolved he would have it, only what
he wanted was to get it without going to the place in person.
And now Mercy's figure, as well as her imploring looks,
moved him greatly. She was in that condition which appeals
to a man's humanity, and masculine pity, as well as to his
affection. To use the homely words of Scripture, she was
great with child ; and, in that condition, moved slowly about
him, filling his pipe, and laying his slippers, and ministering
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
to all his little comforts ; she would make no difference : and
when he saw the poor dove move about him so heavily, and
rather languidly, yet so zealously and tenderly, the man's
very bowels yearned over her, and he felt as if he could die
to do her a service.
So, one day, when she was standing by him, bending over
his little round table, and filling his pipe with her neat hand,
he took her by the other hand and drew her gently on his
knee, her burden and all.
"Child," said he, "do not thou fret. I know how to get
money ; and I'll do't, for thy sake."
" I know that," said she softly ; " can I not read thy face
by this time ? " and so laid her cheek to his. " But, Thomas,
for my sake, get it honestly, or not at all," said she, still
filling his pipe, with her cheek to his.
" I'll but take back my own," said he ; "fear nought."
But, after thus positively pledging himself to Mercy, he
became thoughtful and rather fretful ; for he was still most
averse to go to Hernshaw, and yet could hit upon no other
way, since to employ an agent would be to let out that he
had committed bigamy, and so risk his own neck, and break
Mercy's heart.
After all, his scale was turned by his foible.
Mrs. Vint had been weak enough to confide her trouble to
a friend : it was all over the parish in three days.
Well, one day, in the kitchen of the inn, Paul Carrick hav-
ing drunk two pints of good ale, said to Vint, " Landlord, you
ought to have married her to me. I've got two hundred pounds
laid by. I'd have pulled you out of the mire, and welcome."
" Would you, though, Paul ? " said Harry Vint ; " then, by
G ! I wish I had."
Now Carrick bawled that out, and Grffith, who was at the
door, heard it.
He walked into the kitchen, ghastly pale, and spoke to
Harry Vint first.
" I take your inn, your farm, and your debts on me," said
he ; " not one without t'other."
"Spoke like a man !" cried the landlord joyfully; "and
so be it before these witnesses."
Griffith turned on Carrick : " This house is mine. Get out
on't, -ye jealous, mischief-making cur." And he took him by
the collar and dragged him furiously out of the place, and
sent him whirling into the middle of the road ; then ran back
for his hat and flung it out after him.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
This done, he sat down boiling, and his eyes roved fiercely
round the room in search of some other antagonist. But his
strength was so great, and his face so altered with this
sudden spasm of reviving jealousy, that nobody cared to
provoke him farther.
After a while, however, Harry Vint muttered drily, " There
goes one good customer."
Griffith took him up sternly : " If your debts are to be
mine, your trade shall be mine too, that you had not the head
to conduct."
" So be it, son-in-law," said the old man ; " only you go so
fast : you do take possession afore you pays the fee."
Griffith winced. " That shall be the last of your taunts,
old man." He turned to the ostler, "Bill, give Black Dick
his oats at sunrise ; and in ten days at farthest I'll pay every
shilling this house and farm do owe. Now, Master White,
you'll put in hand a new sign-board for this inn; a fresh
' Packhorse,' and paint him jet black, with one white hoof
(instead of chocolate), in honour of my nag Dick ; and in place
of Harry Vint you'll put in Thomas Leicester. See that is
done against I come back, or come you here no more."
Soon after this scene he retired to tell Mercy ; and on his
departure the suppressed tongues went like mill-clacks.
Dick came round saddled at peep of day ; but Mercy had
been up more than an hour, and prepared her man's break-
fast. She clung to him at parting, and cried a little, and
whispered something in his ear, for nobody else to hear ; it
was an entreaty that he would not be long gone, lest he
should be far from her in the hour of her peril.
Thereupon he promised her, and kissed her tenderly, and
bade her be of good heart; and so rode away northwards
with dogged resolution.
As soon as he was gone, Mercy's tears flowed without
restraint.
Her father set himself to console her. " Thy good man,"
he said, " is but gone back to the high road for a night or
two, to follow his trade of ' stand and deliver.' Fear nought,
child ; his pistols are well primed ; I saw to that myself ;
and his horse is the fleetest in the county. You'll have him
back in three days, and money in both pockets. I warrant
you his is a better trade than mine ; and he is a fool to
change it."
Griffith was two days upon the road, and all that time he
was turning over and discussing in his mind how he should
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
conduct the disagreeable but necessary business he had
undertaken.
He determined at last to make the visit one of business
only; no heat; no reproaches. That lovely, hateful woman
might continue to dishonour his name, for he had himself
abandoned it. He would not deign to receive any money
that was hers ; but his own two thousand pounds he would
have, and two or three hundred on the spot by way of
instalment. And with these hard views, he drew near to
Hernshaw ; but the nearer he got, the slower he went ; for,
what at a distance had seemed tolerably easy began to get
more and more difficult and repulsive. Moreover, his heart,
which he thought he had steeled, began now to flutter a little,
and somehow to shudder at the approaching interview.
CHAPTER XXX
CAROLINE RYDER went to the gate of the Grove, and stayed
there two hours ; but, of course, no Griffith came.
She returned the next night, and the next ; and then she
gave it up, and awaited an explanation. None came, and
she was bitterly disappointed and indignant.
She began to hate Griffith, and to conceive a certain re-
spect, and even a tepid friendship, for the other woman he
had insulted.
Another clue to this change of feeling is to be found in
a word she let drop in talking to another servant. "My
mistress," said she, " bears it like a man."
In fact, Mrs. Gaunt's conduct at this period was truly noble.
She suffered months of torture, months of grief; but the
high-spirited creature hid it from the world, and maintained
a sad but high composure.
She wore her black, for she said, " How do I know he is
alive ? " She retrenched her establishment, reduced her
expenses two-thirds, and busied herself in works of charity
and religion.
Her desolate condition attracted a gentleman who had
once loved her, and now esteemed and pitied her profoundly,
Sir George Neville.
He was still unmarried, and she was the cause, so far at
least as this : she had put him out of conceit with the other
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
ladies at that period when he had serious thoughts of marriage ;
and the inclination to marry at all had not since returned.
If the Gaunts had settled at Bolton, Sir George would have
been their near neighbour ; but Neville's Court was nine miles
from Hernshaw Castle ; and when they met, which was not
very often, Mrs. Gaunt was on her guard to give Griffith no
shadow of uneasiness. She was therefore rather more dignified
and distant with Sir George than her own inclination and his
merits would have prompted ; for he was a superior and very
agreeable man.
When it became quite certain that her husband had left her,
Sir George rode up to Hernshaw Castle, and called upon her.
She begged to be excused from seeing him.
Now, Sir George was universally courted, and this rather
nettled him ; however, he soon learned that she received
nobody except a few religious friends of her own sex.
Sir George then wrote her a letter that did him credit ; it
was full of worthy sentiment and good sense. For instance,
he said he desired to intrude his friendly offices and his
sympathy upon her, but nothing more. Time had cured him
of those warmer feelings which had once ruffled his peace ;
but Time could not efface his tender esteem for the lady he had
loved in his youth, nor his profound respect for her character.
Mrs. Gaunt wept over his gentle letter, and was on the
verge of asking herself why she had chosen Griffith instead
of this chevalier. She sent him a sweet, yet prudent reply ;
she did not encourage him to visit her, but said that, if ever
she should bring herself to receive visits from the gentlemen
of the county during her husband's absence, he should be the
first to know it. She signed herself his unhappy, but deeply
grateful, servant and friend.
One day, as she came out of a poor woman's cottage, with
a little basket on her arm, which she had emptied in the
cottage, she met Sir George Neville full.
He took his hat off, and made her a profound bow. He
was then about to ride on, but altered his mind, and dis-
mounted to speak to her.
The interview was constrained at first ; but ere long he ven-
tured to tell her she really ought to consult with some old friend
and practical man like himself. He would undertake to scour
the country, and find her husband, if he was above ground.
" Me go a hunting the man," cried she, turning red ; " not
if he was my king as well as my husband. He knows where
to find me ; and that is enough."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Well, but, madam, would you not like to learn where he
is, and what he is doing ? "
"Why, yes, my good, kind friend, I should like to know
that." And having pronounced these words with apparent
calmness, she burst out crying, and almost ran away from him.
Sir George looked sadly after her, and formed a worthy
resolution. He saw there was but one road to her regard.
He resolved to hunt her husband for her, without intruding
on her, or giving her a voice in the matter. Sir George was
a magistrate, and accustomed to organise inquiries. Spite of
the length of time that had elapsed, he traced Griffith for a
considerable distance ; pending further inquiries, he sent Mrs.
Gaunt word that the truant had not made for the sea, but
had gone due south.
Mrs. Gaunt returned him her warm thanks for this scrap
of information. So long as Griffith remained in the island
there was always a hope he might return to her. The money
he had taken would soon be exhausted, and poverty might
drive him to her ; and she was so far humbled by grief, that
she could welcome him even on those terms.
Affliction tempers the proud. Mrs. Gaunt was deeply in-
jured as well as insulted ; but, for all that, in her many days
and weeks of solitude and sorrow, she took herself to task,
and saw her fault. She became more gentle, more considerate
of her servants' feelings, more womanly.
For many months she could not enter "the Grove." The
spirited woman's very flesh revolted at the sight of the place
where she had been insulted and abandoned. But as she
went deeper in religion, she forced herself to go to the gate
and look in, and say out loud, " I gave the first offence," and
then she would go indoors again, quivering with the internal
conflict.
Finally, being a Catholic, and therefore attaching more
value to self-torture than we do, the poor soul made this very
grove her place of penance. Once a week she had the fortitude
to drag herself to the very spot where Griffith had denounced
her ; and there she would kneel and pray for him and for
herself. And, certainly, if humility and self-abasement were
qualities of the body, here was to be seen their picture ; for
her way was to set her crucifix up at the foot of a tree, then
to bow herself all down, between kneeling and lying, and
put her lips meekly to the foot of the crucifix, and so pray
long and earnestly.
Now one day, while she was thus crouching in prayer, a
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
gentleman, booted, and spurred, and splashed, drew near, with
hesitating steps. She was so absorbed, she did not hear those
steps at all, till they were very near ; but then she trembled
all over ; for her delicate ear recognised a manly tread she
had not heard for many a day. She dared not move nor look,
for she thought it was a mere sound, sent to her by Heaven
to comfort her.
But the next moment a well-known mellow voice came like
a thunderclap, it shook her so.
" Forgive me, my good dame, but I desire to know "
The question went no farther, for Kate Gaunt sprang to
her feet, with a loud scream, and stood glaring at Griffith
Gaunt, and he at her.
And thus husband and wife met again met, by some
strange caprice of Destiny, on the very spot where they had
parted so horribly.
CHAPTER XXXI
THE gaze these two persons bent on one another may be half
imagined ; it can never be described.
Griffith spoke first. " In black ! " said he, in a whisper.
His voice was low ; his face, though pale and grim, had not
the terrible aspect he wore at parting.
So she thought he had come back in an amicable spirit ;
and she flew to him with a cry of love, and threw her arm
round his neck, and panted on his shoulder.
At this reception, and the tremulous contact of one he had
loved so dearly, a strange shudder ran through his frame : a
shudder that marked his present repugnance, yet indicated
her latent power.
He himself felt he had betrayed some weakness; and it
was all the worse for her: he caught her wrist and put
her from him, not roughly, but with a look of horror. " The
day is gone by for that, madam," he gasped. Then,
sternly : " Think you I came here to play the credulous
husband ? "
Mrs. Gaunt drew back in her turn, and faltered out, " What !
come back here, and not sorry for what you have done ? not
the least sorry ? Oh, my heart ! you have almost broken it."
"Prithee, no more of this," said Griffith sternly. "You
and I are nought to one another now, and for ever. But,
GRIFFITH GAUNT
there, you are but a woman, and I did not come to quarrel
with you." And he fixed his eyes on the ground.
"Thank God for that/' faltered Mrs. Gaunt. "Oh, sir, the
sight of you the thought of what you were to me once till
jealousy blinded you. Lend me your arm, if you are a man ;
my limbs do fail me."
The shock had been too much ; a pallor overspread her
lovely features, her knees knocked together, and she was
tottering like some tender tree cut down, when Griffith, who,
with all his faults, was a man, put out his strong arm, and she
clung to it, quivering all over, and weeping hysterically.
That little hand, with its little feminine clutch, trembling
on his arm, raised a certain male compassion for her piteous
condition ; and he bestowed a few cold, sad words of en-
couragement on her. " Come, come," said he gently ; " I
shall not trouble you long. I'm cured of my jealousy. 'Tis
gone, along with my love. You and your saintly sinner are
safe from me. I am come hither for my own, my two thousand
pounds, and for nothing more."
" Ah ! you are come back for money, not for me ? " she
murmured, with forced calmness.
"For money ; and not for you, of course," said he coldly.
The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the proud
lady flung his arm from her. "Then money shall you have,
and not me ; nor aught of me but my contempt."
But she could not carry it off as heretofore. She turned
her back haughtily on him ; but, at the first step, she burst
out crying. " Come, and I'll give you what you are come
for," she sobbed. " Ungrateful ! heartless ! Oh, how little
I knew this man ! "
She crept away before him, drooping her head, and crying
bitterly ; and he followed her, hanging his head, and ill at
ease ; for there was such true passion in her voice, her stream-
ing eyes, and indeed in her whole body, that he was moved,
and the part he was playing revolted him. He felt confused
and troubled, and asked himself how on earth it was that
she, the guilty one, contrived to appear the injured one, and
made him, the wronged one, feel almost remorseful.
Mrs. Gaunt took no more notice of him now than if he had
been a dog following at her heels. ' She went into the draw-
ing-room, and sank helplessly on the nearest couch ; threw
her head wearily back, and shut her eyes. Yet the tears
trickled through the closed lids.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith caught up a hand-bell, and rang it vigorously.
Quick light steps were soon heard pattering, and in darted
Caroline Ryder, with an anxious face ; for of late she had con-
ceived a certain sober regard for her mistress, who had ceased
to be her successful rival, and who bore her grief like a man.
At sight of Griffith, Ryder screamed aloud, and stood panting.
Mrs. Gaunt opened her eyes. " Ay, child, he has come
home," said she bitterly ; te his body, but not his heart."
She stretched her hand out feebly, and pointed to a bottle
of salts that stood on the table. Ryder ran and put them to
her nostrils. Mrs. Gaunt whispered in her ear, " Send a swift
horse for Father Francis ; tell him, life or death ! "
Ryder gave her a very intelligent look, and presently
slipped out, and ran into the stable-yard.
At the gate she caught sight of Griffith's horse. What
does this quick-witted creature do but send the groom off on
that horse, and not on Mrs. Gaunt's.
" Now, dame," said Griffith doggedly, " are^you better ? "
" Ay, I thank you."
" Then listen to me. When you and I set up house together,
I had two thousand pounds. I spent it on this house. The
house is yours. You told me so one day, you know."
" Ah, you can remember my faults."
" I remember all, Kate."
" Thank you, at least, for calling me Kate. Well, Griffith,
since you abandoned us, I thought, and thought, and thought
of all that might befall you ; and I said, ' What will he do
for money ? My jewels, that you did me the honour to take,
would not last you long, I feared. So I reduced my expenses
three-fourths at least, and I put by some money for your need."
Griffith looked amazed. " For my need ? " said he.
" For whose else ? I'll send for it, and place it in your
hands to-morrow. "
" To-morrow ? Why not to-day ? "
" I have a favour to ask of you first."
" What is that ? "
" Justice. If you are fond of money, I, too, have something
I prize : my honour. You have belied and insulted me, sir,
but I know you were under a delusion. I mean to remove
that delusion, and make you see how little I am to blame :
for, alas ! I own I was imprudent. But, oh ! Griffith, as I
hope to be saved, it was the imprudence of innocence and
over-confidence."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Mistress/' said Griffith, in a stern yet agitated voice, " be
advised, and leave all this : rouse not a man's sleeping wrath.
Let bygones be bygones."
Mrs. Gaunt rose, and said faintly, " So be it. I must go,
sir, and give some orders for your entertainment."
" Oh, don't put yourself about for me," said Griffith ; " I am
not the master of this house."
Mrs. Gaunt's lips trembled, but she was a match for him.
" Then are you my guest/' said she ; " and my credit is con-
cerned in your comfort."
She made him a curtsey, as if he were a stranger, and
marched to the door, concealing, with great pride and art, a
certain trembling of her knees.
At the door she found Ryder, and bade her follow, much
to that lady's disappointment; for she desired a tcte-a-tcte
with Griffith, and an explanation.
As soon as the two women were out of Griffith's hearing, the
mistress laid her hand on the servant's arm, and, giving way
to her feelings, said, all in a flutter, " Child, if I have been a
good mistress to thee, show it now. Help me keep him in
the house till Father Francis comes."
" I undertake to do so much," said Ryder firmly. " Leave
it to me, mistress."
Mrs. Gaunt threw her arms round Ryder's neck and kissed
her.
It was done so ardently, and by a woman hitherto so digni-
fied and proud, that Ryder was taken by surprise, and almost
affected.
As for the service Mrs. Gaunt had asked of her, it suited
her own designs.
" Mistress," said she, " be ruled by me ; keep out of his way
a bit, while I get Miss Rose ready. You understand."
" Ah I I have one true friend in the house," said poor Mrs.
Gaunt. She then confided in Ryder, and went away to give
her own orders for Griffith's reception.
Ryder found little Rose, dressed her to perfection, and told
her her dear papa was come home. She then worked upon
the child's mind in that subtle way known to women, so that
Rose went downstairs loaded and primed, though no distinct
instructions had been given her.
As for Griffith, he walked up and down, uneasy, and wished
he had stayed at the " Packhorse." He had not bargained for
all these emotions ; the peace of mind he had enjoyed for some
months seemed trickling away.
219
GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Mercy, my dear/' said he to himself, "'twill be a dear
penny to me, I doubt."
Then he went to the window, and looked at the lawn, and
sighed. Then he sat down, and thought of the past.
Whilst he sat thus moody, the door opened very softly, and
a little cherubic face, with blue eyes and golden hair, peeped
in. Griffith started. " Ah ! " cried Rose, with a joyful scream :
and out flew her little arms, and away she came, half running,
half dancing, and was on his knee in a moment, with her arms
round his neck.
" Papa ! papa ! " she cried. " Oh, my dear, dear, dear,
darling papa ! " And she kissed and patted his cheek again
and again.
Her innocent endearments moved him to tears. " My pretty
angel ! " he sighed ; " my lamb ! "
" How your heart beats ! don't cry, dear papa. Nobody is
dead : only we thought you were. I'm so glad you are come
home alive. Now we can take off this nasty black : I hate it."
" What, 'tis for me you wear it, pretty one ?-"
" Ay. Mamma made us. Poor mamma has been so un-
happy. And that reminds me : you are a wicked man, papa.
But I love you all one for that. It 'tis so dull when everybody
is good like mamma ; and she makes me dreadfully good too ;
but now you are come back, there will be a little, little wicked-
ness again, it is to be hoped. Aren't you glad you are not dead,
and are come home instead ? I am."
u I am glad I have seen thee. u Come, take my hand, and
let us go look at the old place."
" Ay. But you must wait till I get on my new hat and
feather."
" Nay, nay ; art pretty enough bareheaded."
" Oh, papa ! but I must, for decency. You are company
now, you know."
" Dull company, sweetheart, thou'lt find me."
" I don't mean that ; I mean, when you were here always,
you were only papa ; but now you come once in an age, you're
COMPANY. I won't budge without 'em ; so there, now."
" Well, little one, I do submit to thy hat and feather :
only be quick ; or I shall go forth without thee."
" If you dare," said Rose impetuously : " for I won't be
half a moment."
She ran and extorted from Ryder the new hat and feather,
which by rights she was not to have worn until next month.
Griffith and his little girl went all over the well-known
220
GRIFFITH GAUNT
premises, he sad and moody, she excited and chattering, and
nodding her head down, and cocking her eye up every now
and then, to get a glimpse of her feather.
" And don't you go away again, dear papa. It 'tis so dull
without you. Nobody comes here. Mamma won't let 'em."
" Nobody except Father Leonard," said Griffith bitterly.
" Father Leonard ? Why, he never comes here. Leonard !
That is the beautiful priest that used to pat me on the head,
and bid me love and honour my parents. And so I do. Only
mamma is always crying, and you keep away; so how can
I love and honour you, when I never see you, and they keep
telling me you are good-for-nothing, and dead ? "
"My young mistress, when did you see Father Leonard
last ?" said Griffith, gnawing his lip.
" How can I tell ? Why, it was miles ago ; when I was a
mere girl. You know he went away before you did."
"I know nothing of the kind. Tell me the truth now.
He has visited here since I went away ? "
" Nay, papa."
" That is strange. She visits him, then ? "
" What, mamma ! She seldom stirs out, and never beyond
the village. We keep no carriage now. Mamma is turned
such a miser. She is afraid you will be poor ; so she puts it
all by for you. But now you are come, we shall have car-
riages and things again. Oh, by-the-bye, Father Leonard !
I heard them say he had left England, so I did."
" When was that ? "
" Well, I think that was a little bit after you went away."
" That is strange," said Griffith thoughtfully.
He led his little girl by the hand, but scarcely listened to
her prattle ; he was so surprised and puzzled by the informa-
tion he had elicited from her.
Upon the whole, however, he concluded that his wife and
the priest had perhaps been smitten with remorse, and had
parted when it was too late.
This, and the peace of mind he had found elsewhere, some-
what softened his feelings towards them. " So," thought he,
" they were not hardened creatures after all. Poor Kate ! "
As these milder feelings gained on him, Rose suddenly
uttered a joyful cry ; and, looking up, he saw Mrs. Gaunt
coming towards him, and Ryder behind her. Both were in
gay colours, which, in fact, was what had so delighted Rose.
They came up, and Mrs. Gaunt seemed a changed woman.
She looked young and beautiful, and bent a look of angelic
221
GRIFFITH GAUNT
affection on her daughter, and said to Griffith, "Is she not
grown ? Is she not lovely ? Sure you will never desert
her again."
" 'Twas not her I deserted, but her mother ; and she had
played me false with her d d priest," was Griffith's reply.
Mrs. Gaunt drew back with horror. "This, before my
girl ? " she cried. " GRIFFITH GAUNT, YOU LIE ! "
And this time it was the woman who menaced the man.
She rose to six feet high, and advanced on him with her
great grey eyes flashing flames at him. " Oh that I were a
man ! " she cried ; " this insult should be the last. I'd lay
you dead at her feet and mine."
Griffith actually drew back a step ; for the wrath of such
a woman was terrible ; more terrible perhaps to a brave man
than to a coward.
Then he put his hands in his pockets with a dogged air,
and said, grinding his teeth : " But as you are not a man,
and I'm not a woman, we can't settle it that way. So I give
you the last word, and good day. I'm sore in want of money ;
but I find I can't pay the price it is like to cost me. Farewell."
" Begone ! " said Mrs. Gaunt : " and, this time, for ever.
Ruffian and fool, I loathe the sight of you."
Rose ran weeping to her. " Oh, mamma, don't quarrel
with papa ; " then back to Griffith, " Oh, papa, don't quarrel
with mamma for my sake."
Griffith hung his head, and said, in a broken voice : " No,
my lamb, we twain must not quarrel before thee. We will
part in silence, as becomes those that once were dear, and
have thee to show for't. Madam, I wish you all health and
happiness. Adieu."
He turned on his heel ; and Mrs. Gaunt took Rose to her
knees, and bent and wept over her. Niobe over her last was
not more graceful, nor more sad.
As for Ryder she stole quietly after her retiring master.
She found him peering about, and asked him demurely what
he was looking for.
" My good black horse, girl, to take me from this cursed
place. Did I not tie him to yon gate ? "
" The black horse ? Why, I sent him for Father Francis.
Nay, listen to me, master ; you know I was always your friend,
and hard upon her. Well, since you went, things have come
to pass that make me doubt. I do begin to fear you were
too hasty."
" Do you tell me this now, woman?" cried Griffith furiously.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" How could I tell you before ? Why did you break your
tryst with me ? If you had come according to your letter,
I'd have told you months ago what I tell you now ; but, as I
was saying, the priest never came near her after you left ; and
she never stirred abroad to meet him. More than that, he
has left England."
" Remorse ! Too late."
" Perhaps it may, sir. I couldn't say ; but there is one
coming that knows the very truth."
" Who is that ? "
" Father Francis. The moment you came, sir, I took it on me
to send for him. You know the man : he won't tell a lie to
please our dame. And he knows all : for Leonard has con-
fessed to him. I listened and heard him say as much. Then,
master, be advised, and get the truth from Father Francis."
Griffith trembled. " Francis is an honest man," said he ;
" I'll wait till he comes, But, oh ! my lass, I find money may
be bought too dear."
"Your chamber is ready, sir; and your clothes put out.
Supper is ordered. Let me show you your room. We are all
so happy now."
" Well," said he listlessly, " since my horse is gone, and
Francis coming, and I'm wearied and sick of the world, do
what you will with me for this one day."
He followed her mechanically to a bedroom, where was a
bright fire and a fine shirt, and his silver-laced suit of clothes
airing. A sense of luxurious comfort struck him at the sight.
"Ay," he said, "I'll dress, and so to supper; I'm main
hungry. It seems a man must eat, let his heart be ever so sore."
Before she left him, Ryder asked him coldly why he had
broken his appointment with her.
" That is too long a story to tell you now," said he coolly.
" Another time, then," said she ; and went out smiling, but
bitter at heart.
Griffith had a good wash, and enjoyed certain little con-
veniences which he had not at the " Packhorse." He doffed
his riding-suit, and donned the magnificent dress Ryder had
selected for him ; and with his fine clothes he somehow put
on more ceremonious manners.
He came down to the dining-room. To his surprise he
found it illuminated with wax candles, and the table and
sideboard gorgeous with plate.
Supper soon smoked upon the board ; but, though it was
set for three, nobody else appeared.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith inquired of Ryder whether he was to sup alone.
She replied, " My mistress desires you not to wait for her.
She has no stomach."
" Well, then, I have," said Griffith, and fell to with a will.
Ryder, who waited on this occasion, stood and eyed him
with curiosity. His conduct was so unlike a woman's.
Just as he concluded, the door opened, and a burly form
entered. Griffith rose and embraced him with his arms and
lips, after the fashion of the day. " Welcome, thou one honest
priest ! " said he.
" Welcome, thrice welcome, my long-lost son ! " said the
cordial Francis.
" Sit down, man, and eat with me. I'll begin again, for you."
" Presently, squire ; I've work to do first. Go thou and
bid thy mistress to come hither to me."
Ryder, to whom this was addressed, went out, and left the
gentlemen together.
Father Francis drew out of his pocket two packets, carefully
tied and sealed. He took a knife from the table and cut the
strings, and broke the seals. Griffith eyed him with curiosity.
Father Francis looked at him. "These," said he, very
gravely, " are the letters that Brother Leonard hath written,
at sundry times, to Catherine Gaunt, and these are the letters
Catherine Gaunt hath written to Brother Leonard."
Griffith trembled, and his face was convulsed.
" Let me read them at once/' said he, and stretched out
his hand, with eyes like a dog's in the dark.
Francis withdrew them quietly. "Not till she is also
present," said he.
At that, Griffith's good-nature, multiplied by a good supper,
took the alarm. " Come, come, sir," said he, " have a little
mercy. I know you are a just man, and, though a boon
companion, most severe in all matters of morality. But, I
tell you plainly, if you are going to drag this poor woman in
the dirt, I shall go out of the room. What is the use tor-
menting her ? I've told her my mind before her own child :
and now I wish I had not. When I caught them in the Grove
I lifted my hand to strike her, and she never winced ; I had
better have left that alone too, methinks. D n the
women : you are always in the wrong if you treat 'em like
men. They are not wicked ; they are weak. And this one
hath lain in my bosom, and borne me two children, and one
he lieth in the churchyard, and t'other hath her hair and my
very eyes : and the truth is, I can't bear any man on earth to
224
GRIFFITH GAUNT
miscall her but myself. God help me ! I doubt I love her
still too well to sit by and see her tortured. She was all in
black for her fault, poor penitent wretch. Give me the
letters, but let her be."
Francis was moved by this appeal, but shook his head
solemnly; and, ere Griffith could renew his argument, the
door was flung open by Ryder, and a stately figure sailed in
that took both the gentlemen by surprise.
It was Mrs. Gaunt, in full dress. Rich brocade that swept
the ground ; magnificent bust, like Parian marble varnished ;
and on her brow a diadem of emeralds and diamonds that
gave her beauty an imperial stamp.
She swept into the room as only fine women can sweep,
made Griffith a haughty curtsey, and suddenly lowered her
head, and received Father Francis's blessing; then seated
herself, and quietly awaited events.
"The brazen jade ! " thought Griffith. " But how divinely
beautiful!" And he became as agitated as she was calm
in appearance. For, need I say, her calmness was put on ?
Defensive armour made for her by her pride and her sex.
The voice of Father Francis now rose, solid, grave, and too
impressive to be interrupted.
" My daughter, and you who are her husband and my friend,
I am here to do justice between you both, with God's help,
and to show you both your faults.
" Catherine Gaunt, you began the mischief by encouraging
another man to interfere between you and your husband in
things secular."
" But, father, he was my director, my priest."
" My daughter, do you believe with the Protestants that
marriage is a mere civil contract; or do you hold with us
that it is one of the holy sacraments ? "
" Can you ask me ? " murmured Kate reproachfully.
" Well, then, those whom God and the whole Church have
in holy sacrament united, what right hath a single priest to
disunite in heart, and make the wife false to any part what-
ever of that most holy vow ? I hear, and not from you, that
Leonard did set you against your husband's friends, withdrew
you from society, and sent him abroad alone. In one word,
he robbed your husband of his companion and his friend. The
sin was Leonard's ; but the fault was yours. You were five
years older than Leonard, and a woman of sense and experi-
ence ; he but a boy by comparison. What right had you to
surrender your understanding, in a matter of this kind, to a
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
poor silly priest, fresh from his seminary, and as manifestly
without a grain of common-sense as he was full of piety ? "
This remonstrance produced rather a striking effect on both
those who heard it. Mrs. Gaunt seemed much struck with it.
She leaned back in her chair, and put her hand to her brow
with a sort of despairing gesture that Griffith could not very
well understand : it seemed to him so disproportionate.
It softened him, however, and he faltered out, " Ay, father,
that is how it all began. Would to Heaven it had stopped
there."
Francis resumed. " This false step led to consequences you
never dreamed of; for one of your romantic notions is, that a
priest is an angel. I have known you, in former times, try to
take me for an angel ; then would I throw cold water on
your folly by calling lustily for chines of beef and mugs of
ale. But I suppose Leonard thought himself an angel too ;
and the upshot was, he fell in love with his neighbour's wife."
"And she with him," groaned Griffith.
" Not so," said Francis ; " but perhaps she was nearer it than
she thinks."
" Prove that," said Mrs. Gaunt, " and I'll fajl on my knees
to him before you."
Francis smiled, and proceeded. "To be sure, from the
moment you discovered Leonard was in love with you, you
drew back, and conducted yourself with prudence and pro-
priety. Read these letters, sir, and tell me what you think
of them."
He handed them to Griffith. Griffith's hand trembled-
visibly as he took them.
"Stay," said Father Francis; "your better way will be to
read the whole correspondence according to their dates.
Begin with this of Mrs. Gaunt's."
Griffith read the letter in an audible whisper.
Mrs. Gaunt turned her head a little, and for the first time
lowered her eyes to the ground.
CHAPTER XXXII
"DEAR FATHER AND FRIEND, The words you spoke to me
to-day admit but one meaning : you are jealous of my husband.
"Then you must be how can I write it ? almost in love
with me.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" So then my poor husband was wiser than I. He saw a
rival in you : and he has one.
" I am deeply, deeply shocked. I ought to be very angry ,
too ; but, thinking of your solitary condition, and all the
good you have done to my soul, my heart has no place for
aught but pity. Only, as I am in my senses, and you are
not, you must now obey me, as heretofore I have obeyed you.
You must seek another sphere of duty without delay.
" These seem harsh words from me to you. You will
live to see they are kind ones.
" Write me one line, and no more, to say you will be ruled
by me in this.
" God and the saints have you in their holy keeping. So
prays your affectionate and sorrowful daughter and true
friend, CATHERINE GAUNT."
"Poor soul!" said Griffith. "Said I not that women
are not wicked, but weak ? Who would think that after
this he could get the better of her good resolves the
villain ! "
" Now read his reply," said Father Francis.
" Ay/' said Griffith. "So this is his one word of reply, is
it ? Three pages closely writ the villain, oh, the villain ! "
" Read the villain's letter," said Francis calmly.
The letter was very humble and pathetic ; the reply of a
good, though erring man, who owned, that in a moment of
weakness he had been betrayed into a feeling inconsistent
with his holy profession. He begged his correspondent, how-
ever, not to judge him quite so hardly. He reminded her of
his solitary life, his natural melancholy, and assured her that
all men in his condition had moments when they envied those
whose bosoms had partners. "Such a cry of anguish," said
he, " was once rung from a maiden queen, maugre all her
pride. The Queen of Scots hath a son ; and I am but a
barren stock." He went on to say that prayer and vigilance
united do much. " Do not despair so soon of me. Flight is
not cure : let me rather stay, and, with God's help and the
saints', overcome this unhappy weakness. If I fail, it will
indeed be time for me to go and never again see the angelic
face of my daughter and my benefactress."
Griffith laid down the letter. He was somewhat softened
by it ; and said gently, " I cannot understand it. This is not
the letter of a thorough bad man neither."
" No," said Father Francis coldly, " 'tis the letter of a self-
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
deceiver ; and there is no more dangerous man to himself and
others than your self-deceiver. But now let us see whether
he can throw dust in her eyes, as well as his own." And he
handed him Kate's reply.
The first word of it was, "You deceive yourself." The
writer then insisted, quietly, that he owed it to himself, to
her, and to her husband, whose happiness he was destroying,
to leave the place at her request.
" Either you must go, or I," said she ; " and pray let it be
you. Also this place is unworthy of your high gifts : and I
love you, in my way, the way I mean to love you when we
meet again in heaven; and I labour your advancement to
a sphere more worthy of you."
I wish space permitted me to lay the whole correspondence
before the reader ; but I must confine myself to its general
purport.
It proceeded in this way: the priest, humble, eloquent,
pathetic ; but gently, yet pertinaciously, clinging to the
place. The lady, gentle, wise, and firm, detaching with her
soft fingers, first one hand, then another, of the poor priest's,
till at last he was driven to the sorry excuse that he had no
money to travel with, nor place to go to.
" I can't understand it," said Griffith. te Are these letters
all forged, or are there two Kate Gaunts ? the one that wrote
these prudent letters, and the one I caught upon this very
priest's arm. Perdition ! "
Mrs. Gaunt started to her feet. " Methinks 'tis time for
me to leave the room," said she, scarlet.
"Gently, my good friends; one thing at a time," said
Francis. "Sit thou down, impetuous. The letters, sir, what
think you of them ? "
" I see no harm in them," said Griffith.
" No harm ! is that all ? But I say these are very remark-
able letters, sir; and they show us that a woman may be
innocent and unsuspicious, and so seem foolish, yet may be
wise for all that. In her early communication with Leonard
at Wisdom's gate Suspicion slept ;
And thought no ill where no ill seemed.'
But, you see, suspicion being once aroused, wisdom was not
to be lulled nor blinded. But that is not all : these letters
breathe a spirit of Christian charity ; of true, and rare, and
exalted piety. Tender are they, without passion ; wise, yet
not cold ; full of conjugal love, and of filial pity for an erring
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
father, whom she leads, for his good, with firm yet dutiful
hand. Trust to my great experience : doubt the chastity of
snow rather than hers who could write these pure and ex-
quisite lines. My good friend, you heard me rebuke and
sneer at this poor lady for being too innocent and un-
suspicious of man's frailty ; now hear me own to you that
I could no more have written these angelic letters than a
barn-door fowl could soar to the mansions of the saints in
heaven."
This unexpected tribute took Mrs. Gaunt's heart by storm ;
she threw her arms round Father Francis's neck, and wept
upon his shoulder.
" Ah ! " she sobbed, " you are the only one left that
loves me."
She could not understand justice praising her: it must
be love.
" Ay," said Griffith, in a broken voice, " she writes like an
angel; she speaks like an angel; she looks like an angel.
My heart says she is an angel. But my eyes have shown me
she is naught. I left her, unable to walk, by her way of it ;
I came back, and found her on that priest's arm, springing
along, like a greyhound." He buried his head in his hands,
and groaned aloud.
Francis turned to Mrs. Gaunt, and said, a little severely,
" How do you account for that ? "
"I'll tell you, father," said Kate, "because you love me.
I do not speak to you, sir : for you never loved me."
" I could give thee the lie," said Griffith, in a trembling
voice; "but 'tis not worth while. Know, sir, that within
twenty-four hours after I caught her with that villain, I lay
a dying for her sake, and lost my wits ; and when I came to,
they were a making my shroud in the very room where I lay.
No matter; no matter; I never loved her."
" Alas ! poor soul," sighed Kate : " would I had died ere
I brought thee to that ! " And with this they both began
to cry at the same moment.
"Ay, poor fools," said Father Francis softly; "neither of
ye loved t'other ; that is plain. So now sit you there, and let
us have your explanation ; for you must own appearances are
strong against you."
Mrs. Gaunt drew her stool to Francis's knee, and address-
ing herself to him alone, explained as follows :
" I saw Father Leonard was giving way, and only wanted
one good push, after a manner. Well, you know I had got him,
229
GRIFFITH GAUNT
by my friends, a good place in Ireland ; and I had money by
me for his journey ; so when my husband talked of going to
the fair, I thought, ' Oh, if I could but get this settled to his
mind before he comes back ! ' So I wrote a line to Leonard.
You can read it if you like. 'Tis dated the 30th of September,
I suppose."
" I will," said Francis : and read this out :
" DEAR FATHER AND FRIEND, You have fought the good
fight, and conquered. Now, therefore, I will see you once
more, and thank you for my husband (he is so unhappy), and
put the money for your journey into your hand myself your
journey to Ireland. You are the Duke of Leinster's chaplain ;
for I have accepted that place for you. Let me see you
to-morrow in the Grove, for a few minutes, at high noon.
God bless you J CATHERINE GAUNT."
"Well, father," said Mrs. Gaunt, "'tis true that I could
only walk two or three times across the room. But, alack,
you know what women are ; excitement gives us strength.
With thinking that our unhappiness was at an end ; that,
when he should come back from the fair, I should fling
my arm round his neck, and tell him I had removed the cause
of his misery, and so of mine, I seemed to have wings ; and I
did walk with Leonard, and talked with rapture of the good
he was to do in Ireland, and how he was to be a mitred abbot
one day (for he is a great man), and poor little me be proud
of him ; and how we were all to be happy together in heaven,
where is no marrying nor giving in marriage. This was our
discourse ; and I was just putting the purse into his hands,
and bidding him God-speed, when he for whom I fought
against my woman's nature, and took this trying task upon
me broke in upon us, with a face of a fiend ; trampled on
the poor good priest, that deserved veneration and consolation
from him, of all men ; and raised his hand to me ; and was
not man enough to kill me after all ; but called me ask him
what he called me see if he dares to say it again before you ;
and then ran away, like a coward as he is, from the lady he
had defiled with his rude tongue, and the heart he had broken.
Forgive him ! that I never will ; never ; never."
" Who asked you to forgive him ? " said the shrewd priest.
" Your own heart. Come, look at him."
" Not I," said she irresolutely. Then, still more feebly :
" He is nought to me." And so stole a look at him.
230
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith, pale as ashes, had his hand on his brow, and his
eyes were fixed with horror and remorse.
" Something tells me she has spoken the truth," he said in
a quavering voice. Then, with concentrated horror, " But if
so oh ! God, what have I done ? What shall I do ? "
Mrs. Gaunt extended her arms towards him, across the
priest.
"Why, fall at thy wife's knees, and ask her to forgive
thee."
Griffith obeyed : he fell on his knees, and Mrs. Gaunt leaned
her head on Francis's shoulder, and gave her hand across him
to her remorse-stricken husband.
Neither spoke, nor desired to speak ; and even Father Francis
sat silent and enjoyed that sweet glow which sometimes blesses
the peacemaker, even in this world of wrangles and jars.
But the good soul had ridden hard, and the neglected meats
emitted savoury odours ; and by-and-by he said drily, " I
wonder whether that fat pullet tastes as well as it smells : can
you tell me, squire ? "
" Oh, inhospitable wretch that I am," said Mrs. Gaunt ; " I
thought but of my own heart."
" And forgot the stomach of your unspiritual father. But,
madam, you are pale, you tremble."
" 'Tis nothing, sir : I shall soon be better. Sit you down
and sup : I will return anon."
She retired, not to make a fuss ; but her heart palpitated
violently, and she had to sit down on the stairs.
Ryder, who was prowling about, found her there, and
fetched her hartshorn.
Mrs. Gaunt got better ; but felt so languid and also hysteri-
cal, that she retired to her own room for the night, attended
by the faithful Ryder, to whom she confided that a reconcilia-
tion had taken place, and, to celebrate it, gave her a dress she
had only worn a year. Tin's does not sound queenly to you
ladies ; but know that a week's wear tells far more on the
flimsy trash you wear nowadays, than a year did on the
glorious silks of Lyons Mrs. Gaunt put on ; thick as broad-
cloth, and embroidered so cunningly by the loom, that it
would pass for rarest needlework. Besides, in those days,
silk was silk.
As Ryder left her, she asked, " Where is the master to lie
to-night ? "
Mrs. Gaunt was not pleased at this question being put to
her. Being a singular mixture of frankness and finesse, she
231
GRIFFITH GAUNT
had retired to her own room partly to test Griffith's heart.
If he was as sincere as she was, he would not be content with
a public reconciliation.
But the question being put to her plump, and by one of her
own sex, she coloured faintly, and said, " Why, is there not a
bed in his room ? "
" Oh yes, madam."
" Then see it be well aired. Put down all the things before
the fire, and then tell me : I'll come and see. The feather
bed, mind, as well as the sheets and blankets."
Ryder executed all this with zeal. She did more : though
Griffith and Francis sat up very late, she sat up too ; and, on
the gentlemen leaving the supper-room, she met them both,
with bed-candles, in a delightful cap, and undertook, with
cordial smiles, to show them both their chambers.
" Tread softly on the landing, an' if it please you, gentlemen.
My mistress hath been unwell ; but she is in a fine sleep now,
by the blessing, and I would not have her disturbed."
Father Francis went to bed thoughtful. There was some-
thing about Griffith he did not like : the man every now and
then broke out into boisterous raptures, and* presently re-
lapsed into moody thoughtfulness. Francis almost feared that
his cure was only temporary.
In the morning, before he left, he drew Mrs. Gaunt aside,
and told her his misgivings. She replied that she thought
she knew what was amiss, and would soon set that right.
Griffith tossed and turned in his bed, and spent a stormy
night. His mind was in a confused whirl, and his heart dis-
tracted. The wife he had loved so tenderly proved to be
the very reverse of all he had lately thought her ! She was
pure as snow, and had always loved him ; loved him now,
and only wanted a good excuse to take him to her arms
again. But Mercy Vint ! his wife, his benefactress ! a woman
as chaste as Kate, as strict in life and morals what was to
become of her ? How could he tell her she was not his wife ?
how to reveal to her her own calamity, and his treason ?
And, on the other hand, desert her without a word ! and
leave her hoping, fearing, pining all her life ! Affection,
humanity, gratitude alike forbade it.
He came down in the morning, pale for him, and worn
with the inward struggle.
Naturally there was a restraint between him and Mrs.
Gaunt ; and only short sentences passed between them.
232
GRIFFITH GAUNT
He saw the peacemaker off, and then wandered all over
the premises, and the past came nearer, and the present
seemed to retire into the background.
He wandered about like one in a dream, and was so self-
absorbed that he did not see Mrs. Gaunt coming towards
him with observant eyes.
She met him full ; he started like a guilty thing.
" Are you afraid of me ? " said she sweetly.
" No, my dear, not exactly ; and yet I am afraid, or
ashamed, or both."
" You need not. I said I forgive you ; and you know I
am not one that does things by halves."
"You are an angel!" said he warmly; "but" (suddenly
relapsing into despondency) " we shall never be happy together
again."
She sighed. "Say not so. Time and sweet recollections
may heal even this wound by degrees."
" God grant it," said he despairingly.
" And though we can't be lovers again all at once, we may
be friends ; to begin, tell me, what have you on your mind ?
Come, make a friend of me."
He looked at her in alarm.
She smiled. " Shall I guess ? " said she.
"You will never guess," said he; "and I shall never have
the heart to tell you."
"Let me try. Well, I think you have run in debt, and
are afraid to ask me for the money."
Griffith was greatly relieved by this conjecture ; he drew
a long breath ; and after a pause, said cunningly, " What
made you think that ? "
" Because you came here for money, and not for happiness.
You told me so in the Grove."
" That is true. What a sordid wretch you must think me ! "
"No, because you were under a delusion. But I do
believe you are just the man to turn reckless when you
thought me false, and go drinking and dicing." She added
eagerly : " I do not suspect you of anything worse."
He assured her that was not the way of it.
" Then tell me the way of it. You must not think because
I pester yon not with questions, I have no curiosity. Oh,
how often have I longed to be a bird, and watch you day
and night unseen ! How would you have liked that ? I
wish you had been one, to watch me. Ah? you don't
answer. Could you have borne so close an inspection, sir ? "
233
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Griffith shuddered at the idea; and his eyes fell before
the full grey orbs of his wife.
"Well, never mind/' said she ; "tell me your story."
"Well, then, when I left you I was raving mad."
"That is true, I'll be sworn."
" I let my horse go ; and he took me near a hundred miles
from here, and stopped at at a farmhouse. The good
people took me in."
" God bless them for it. I'll ride and thank them."
" Nay, nay ; 'tis too far. There I fell sick of a fever, a
brain-fever : the doctor blooded me."
"Alas ! would he have taken mine instead."
" And I lost my wits for several days ; and when I came
back I was weak as water, and given up by the doctor ; and the
first thing I saw was an old hag set a making of my shroud."
Here the narrative was interrupted a moment by Mrs.
Gaunt seizing him convulsively, and then holding him
tenderly, as if he was even now about to be taken from her.
"The good people nursed me, and so did their daughter,
and I came back from the grave. I took an inn ; but I gave
up that, and had to pay forfeit ; and so my money all went ;
but they kept me on. To be sure I helped on the farm ; they
kept a hostelry as well. By-and-by came that murrain among
the cattle. Did you have it in these parts too ? "
" I know not, nor care. Prithee, leave cattle, and talk of
thyself."
" Well, in a word, they were ruined, and going to be sold
up. I could not bear that ; I became bondsman for the old
man. It was the least I could do. Kate, they had saved thy
husband's life."
" Not a word more, Griffith. How much stand you pledged
for?"
"A large sum."
" Would five hundred pounds be of any avail ? "
" Five hundred pounds ? Ay, that it would, and to spare ;
but where can I get so much money ? And the time so short."
" Give me thy hand, and come with me/' said Mrs. Gaunt
ardently.
She took his hand, and made a swift rush across the lawn.
It was not exactly running, nor walking, but some grand
motion she had when excited. She put him to his stride to
keep up with her at all ; and in two minutes she had him
into her boudoir. She unlocked a bureau, all in a hurry, and
took out a bag of gold. " There ! " she cried, thrusting it
234
GRIFFITH GAUNT
into his hand, and blooming all over with joy and eagerness ;
" I thought you would want money ; so I saved it up. You
shall not be in debt a day longer. Now mount thy horse, and
carry it to those good souls ; only, for my sake, take the
gardener with thee I have no groom now but he and both
well armed."
" What ! go this very day ? "
te Ay, this very hour. I can bear thy absence for a day or
two more ; I have borne it so long ; but I cannot bear thy
plighted word to stand in doubt a day ; no, not an hour. I
am your wife, sir, your true and loving wife ; your honour is
mine, and is as dear to me now as it was when you saw me
with Father Leonard in the Grove, and read me all awry.
Don't wait a moment ; begone at once."
" Nay, nay, if I go to-morrow I shall be in time."
" Ay, but," said Mrs. Gaunt very softly, " 1 am afraid if I
keep you another hour I shall not have the heart to let you
go at all ; and the sooner gone, the sooner back for good,
please God. There, give me one kiss, to live on, and begone
this instant."
He covered her hands with kisses and tears. " I'm not
worthy to kiss any higher than thy hand," he said, and so
ran sobbing from her.
CHAPTER XXXIII
HE went straight to the stable, and saddled Black Dick.
But, in the very act, his nature revolted. What, turn his
back on her the moment he had got hold of her money to
take to the other ! He could not do it.
He went back to her room, and came so suddenly that he
caught her eying. He asked her what was the matter.
" Nothing," said she with a sigh ; " only a woman's foolish
misgivings. I was afraid perhaps you would not come back.
Forgive me."
" No fear of that," said he. " However, I have taken a
resolve not to go to-day. If I go to-morrow I shall be just in
time ; and Dick wants a good day's rest."
Mrs. Gaunt said nothing; but her expressive face was
triumphant.
Griffith and she took a walk together ; and he, who used
235
fccefabdbesewcelT tfcradnsoU: a
MIS.YI
GRIFFITH GAUNT
of the room. " Is that the way to carry on at such a time ?"
said she. " 'Twas enow to upset her altogether. Oh, but you
men have little sense in women's matters. I looked to you to
give her courage, not to set her off into hysterics after a manner.
Nay, keep up her heart, or keep your distance, say I, that am
her mother."
Griffith took this hint, and ever after took pity on Mercy's
weak condition ; and, suspending the fatal blow, did all he
could to restore her to health and spirits.
Of course to do that he must deceive her ; and so his life
became a lie.
For hitherto she had never looked forward much ; but
now her eyes were always diving into futurity ; and she lay
smiting and discussing the prospects of her boy ; and Griffith
had to sit by her side, and see her gnaw the boy's hand, and
kiss his feet, and anticipate his brilliant career. He had to
look and listen with an aching heart, and assent with feigned
warmth, and an inward chill of horror and remorse.
One Drummond, a travelling artist, called ; and Mercy, who
had often refused to sit to him, consented now ; for, she said,
when he grows up he shall know how his parents looked in
their youth, the very year their darling was born. So Griffith
had to sit with her, and excellent likenesses the man pro-
duced ; but a horrible one of the child. And Griffith thought,
a Poor soul ; a little while and this picture will be all that
shall be left to thee of me."
For all this time he was actually transacting the prelimi-
naries of separation. He got a man of law to make all sure.
The farm, the stock, the furniture and good- will of the " Pack-
hone," all these he got assigned to Mercy Leicester for her
own use, in consideration of three hundred and fifty pounds,
whereof three hundred were devoted to clearing the concern
of its debts, the odd fifty was to sweeten the pill to Harry
Vint
When the deed came to be executed, Mercy was surprised,
and uttered * gentle remonstrance. "What have I to do
with it ? " said she, " Tis thy money, not mine."
u No matter," said Griffith ;" " I choose to have it so,"
** Your will is my law," said Merer.
Besides," said Griffith, " the old" folk will not feel so sore,
' nor be afraid of being turned out, if it is in thy name."
"And that is true," said Mercy. "Now who had thought
of that, but my good man?" And she threw her arms
lovingly round his neck, and gazed on him adoringly.
GRIFFITH GAUNT
should tell her he was dead, and had left word with his
relations to send her all his substance.
At last the " Packhorse" came in sight. He drew rein,
and had half a mind to turn back ; but, instead of that, he
crawled on, and very sick and cold he felt.
Many a man has marched to the scaffold with a less
quaking heart than he to the " Packhorse."
His dejection contrasted strangely with the warm reception
he met from everybody there. And the house was full of
women; and they seemed, somehow, all cock-a-hoop, and
filled with admiration of him.
" Where is she ? " said he faintly.
" Hark to the poor soul ! " said a gossip. " Dame Vint,
where's thy daughter ? gone out a-walking belike ? "
At this the other women present chuckled and clucked.
" I'll bring you to her," said Mrs. Vint ; " but prithee be quiet
and reasonable ; for to be sure she is none too strong."
There was some little preparation, and then Griffith was
ushered into Mercy's room, and found her in bed, looking a
little pale, but sweeter and comelier than ever. She had the
bedclothes up to her chin.
" You look wan, my poor lass," said he ; " what ails ye ? "
" Nought ails me now thou art come," said she lovingly.
Griffith put the bag on the table. "There," said he,
"there's five hundred pounds in gold. I come not to thee
empty-handed."
" Nor I to thee," said Mercy, with a heavenly smile. " See ! "
And she threw down the bedclothes a little, and showed the
face of a babe scarcely three days old : a little boy.
She turned in the bed, and tried to hold him up to his father,
and said, " Here's my treasure for thee ! " And the effort, the
flush on her cheek, and the deep light in her dove-like eyes,
told plainly that the poor soul thought she had contributed to
their domestic wealth something far richer than Griffith had
with his bag of gold.
The father uttered an ejaculation and came to her side, and,
for a moment, nature overpowered everything else. He kissed
the child ; he kissed Mercy again and again.
" Now God be praised for both," said he passionately ; " but
most for thee, the best wife, the truest friend " Here,
thinking of her virtues, and the blow he had come to strike her,
he broke down, and was almost choked with emotion ; where-
upon Mrs. Vint exerted female authority, and bundled him out
238
GRIFFITH GAUNT
of the room. " Is that the way to carry on at such a time ? "
said she. " 'Twas enow to upset her altogether. Oh, but you
men have little sense in women's matters. I looked to you to
give her courage, not to set her off into hysterics after a manner.
Nay, keep up her heart, or keep your distance, say I, that am
her mother."
Griffith took this hint, and ever after took pity on Mercy's
weak condition ; and, suspending the fatal blow, did all he
could to restore her to health and spirits.
Of course to do that he must deceive her ; and so his life
became a lie.
For hitherto she had never looked forward much ; but
now her eyes were always diving into futurity ; and she lay
smiling and discussing the prospects of her boy ; and Griffith
had to sit by her side, and see her gnaw the boy's hand, and
kiss his feet, and anticipate his brilliant career. He had to
look and listen with an aching heart, and assent with feigned
warmth, and an inward chill of horror and remorse.
One Drummond, a travelling artist, called ; and Mercy, who
had often refused to sit to him, consented now ; for, she said,
when he grows up he shall know how his parents looked in
their youth, the very year their darling was born. So Griffith
had to sit with her, and excellent likenesses the man pro-
duced ; but a horrible one of the child. And Griffith thought,
" Poor soul ; a little while and this picture will be all that
shall be left to thee of me."
For .all this time he was actually transacting the prelimi-
naries of separation. He got a man of law to make all sure.
The farm, the stock, the furniture and good-will of the " Pack-
horse," all these he got assigned to Mercy Leicester for her
own use, in consideration of three hundred and fifty pounds,
whereof three hundred were devoted to clearing the concern
of its debts, the odd fifty was to sweeten the pill to Harry
Vint.
When the deed came to be executed, Mercy was surprised,
and uttered a gentle remonstrance. "What have I to do
with it ? " said she. " 'Tis thy money, not mine."
" No matter," said Griffith ; " I choose to have it so."
" Your will is my law," said Mercy.
" Besides," said Griffith, " the old folk will not feel so sore,
nor be afraid of being turned out, if it is in thy name."
" And that is true," said Mercy. " Now who had thought
of that, but my good man ? " And she threw her arms
lovingly round his neck, and gazed on him adoringly.
239
GRIFFITH GAUNT
But his lion-like eyes avoided her dove-like eyes ; and an
involuntary shudder ran through him.
The habit of deceiving Mercy led to a consequence he had
not anticipated. It tightened the chain that held him. She
opened his eyes more and more to her deep affection, and he
began to fear she would die if he abandoned her.
And then her present situation was so touching. She had
borne him a lovely boy : that must be abandoned too, if he
left her; and somehow the birth of this child had embel-
lished the mother ; a delicious pink had taken the place of
her rustic bloom ; and her beauty was more refined and deli-
cate. So pure, so loving, so fair, so maternal, to wound her
heart now, it seemed like stabbing an angel.
One day succeeded to another, and still Griffith had not
the heart to carry out his resolve. He temporised ; he wrote
to Kate that he was detained by the business ; and he stayed
on and on, strengthening his gratitude and his affection, and
weakening his love for the absent, and his resolution ; till, at
last, he became so distracted and divided in heart, and so
demoralised, that he began to give up the idea of abandoning
Mercy, and babbled to himself about fate and destiny, and
decided that the most merciful course would be to deceive
both women. Mercy was patient. Mercy was unsuspicious.
She would content herself with occasional visits, if he could
only feign some plausible tale to account for long absences.
Before he got into this mess he was a singularly truthful
person; but now a lie was nothing to him. But, for that
matter, many a man has been first made a liar by his con-
nection with two women, and by degrees has carried his
mendacity into other things.
However, though now blessed with mendacity, he was
cursed with a lack of invention, and sorely puzzled how to
live at Hernshaw, yet visit the " Packhorse."
The best thing he could hit upon was to pretend to turn
bag -man ; and so Mercy would believe he was travelling all
over England, when all the time he was quietly living at
Hemshaw.
And perhaps these long separations might prepare her heart
for a final parting, and so let in his original plan a few years
hence.
He prepared this manoeuvre with some art : he told her,
one day, he had been to Lancaster, and there fallen in with
a friend, who had as good as promised him the place of a
commercial traveller for a mercantile house.
240
GRIFFITH GAUNT
u A traveller ! " said Mercy. " Heaven forbid ! If you knew
how I wearied for you when you went to Cumberland."
" To Cumberland I How know you I went thither ? "
" Oh, I but guessed that ; but now I know it, by your face.
But go where thou wilt, the house is dull directly. Thou art
our sunshine. Isn't he, my poppet ? "
" Well, well ; if it kept me too long from thee, I could give
it up. But, child, we must think of young master. You could
manage the inn, and your mother the farm, without me ; and
I should be earning money on my side. I want to make a
gentleman of him."
"Anything for him," said Mercy, "anything in the world."
But the tears stood in her eyes.
In furtherance of this deceit, Griffith did one day actually
ride to Lancaster, and slept there. He wrote to Kate from
that town, to say he was detained by a slight illness, but
hoped to be home in a week : and the next day brought
Mercy home some ribbons, and told her he had seen the
merchant and his brother, and they had made him a very
fair offer. " But I've a week to think of it," said he, " so
there's no hurry."
Mercy fixed her eyes on him in a very peculiar way, and
made no reply. You must know that something very curious
had happened whilst Griffith was gone to Lancaster.
A travelling pedlar, passing by, was struck with the name
on the signboard. " Halloo ! " said he, " why, here's a name-
sake of mine ; I'll have a glass of his ale any way."
So he came into the public room, and called for a glass,
taking care to open his pack and display his inviting wares.
Harry Vint served him. "Here's your health," said the
pedlar. "You must drink with me, you must."
" And welcome," said the old man.
"Well," said the pedlar, " I do travel five counties ; but for
all that you are the first namesake I have found. I am Thomas
Leicester too, as sure as you are a living sinner."
The old man laughed, and said, " Then no namesake of mine
are you ; for they call me Harry Vint. Thomas Leicester, he
that keeps this inn now, is my son-in-law : he is gone to
Lancaster this morning."
The pedlar said that was a pity, he should have liked to see
his namesake, and drink a glass with him.
"Come again to-morrow," said Harry Vint ironically.
" Dame," he cried, " come hither. Here's another Thomas
Leicester for ye wants to see our one."
241 Q
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mrs. Vint turned her head, and inspected the pedlar from
afar, as if he was some natural curiosity.
" Where do you come from, young man ? " said she.
"Well, I came from Kendal last; but I am Cumberland
born."
" Why, that is where t'other comes from," suggested Paul
Carrick, who was once more a frequenter of the house.
"Like enow," said Mrs. Vint.
With that she dropped the matter as one of no consequence,
and retired. But she went straight to Mercy, in the parlour,
and told her there was a man in the kitchen that called him-
self Thomas Leicester.
" Well, mother ? " said Mercy, with high indifference, for
she was trying new socks on King Baby.
" He comes from Cumberland."
" Well, to be sure, names do run in counties."
" That is true ; but, seems to me, he favours your man :
much of a height, and There, do just step into the
kitchen a moment."
" La, mother," said Mercy, " I don't desire to see any more
Thomas Leicesters than my own ; 'tis the ma^n, not the name.
Isn't it, my lamb ? "
Mrs. Vint went back to the kitchen discomfited ; but with
quiet pertinacity she brought Thomas Leicester into the
parlour, pack and all.
" There, Mercy," said she, " lay out a penny with thy
husband's namesake."
Mercy did not reply, for, at that moment, Thomas Leicester
caught sight of Griffith's portrait, and gave a sudden start,
and a most extraordinary look besides.
Both the women's eyes happened to be upon him, and they
saw at once that he knew the original.
" You know my husband ? " said Mercy Vint, after a while.
" Not I," said Leicester, looking askant at the picture.
" Don't tell no lies," said Mrs. Vint. " You do know him
well." And she pointed her assertion by looking at the
portrait.
" Oh, I know him whose picture hangs there, of course,"
said Leicester.
" Well, and that is her husband."
"Oh, that is her husband, is it?" And he was un-
affectedly puzzled.
Mercy turned pale. " Yes, he is my husband," said she,
" and this is our child. Can you tell me anything about him ?
242
GRIFFITH GAUNT
for he came a stranger to these parts. Belike you are a
kinsman of his ? "
" So they say."
This reply puzzled both women.
"Any way," said the pedlar, "you see we are marked
alike." And he showed a long black mole on his forehead.
Mercy was now as curious as she had been indifferent. " Tell
me all about him/' said she : " how comes it that he is a
gentleman and thou a pedlar ? "
" Well, because my mother was a gipsy, and his a gentle-
woman."
" What brought him to these parts ? "
" Trouble, they say."
"What trouble?"
"Nay, I know not." This after a slight but visible
hesitation.
" But you have heard say."
" Well, I am always on the foot, and don't bide long enough
in one place to learn all the gossip. But I do remember
hearing he was gone to sea : and that was a lie, for he had
settled here, and married you. I'fackins, he might have
done worse. He has got a bonny buxom wife, and a rare
fine boy, to be sure."
And now the pedlar was on his guard, and determined he
would not be the one to break up the household he saw
before him, and afflict the dove-eyed wife and mother. He
was a good-natured fellow, and averse to make mischief with
his own hands. Besides, he took for granted Griffith loved
his new wife better than the old one ; and above all, the
punishment of bigamy was severe, and was it for him to get
the squire indicted, and branded in the hand for a felon ?
So the women could get nothing more out of him ; he
lied, evaded, shuffled, and feigned utter ignorance, pleading,
adroitly enough, his vagrant life.
All this, however, aroused vague suspicions in Mrs. Vint's
mind, and she went and whispered them to her favourite,
Paul Carrick. "And, Paul," said she, "call for what you
like, and score it to me ; only treat this pedlar till he leaks out
summut : to be sure he'll tell a man more than he will us."
Paul entered with zeal into this commission : treated the
pedlar to a chop, and plied him well with the best ale.
All this failed to loose the pedlar's tongue at the time, but
it muddled his judgment : on resuming his journey, he gave
his entertainer a wink. Carrick rose and followed him out.
243
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" You seem a decent lad/' said the pedlar, " and a good-
hearted one. Wilt do me a favour ? "
Carrick said he would, if it lay in his power.
" Oh, it is easy enow/' said the pedlar. "'Tis just to give
yon Thomas Leicester, into his own hand, this here trifle as
soon as ever he comes home." And he handed Carrick a
hard substance wrapped in paper. Carrick promised.
" Ay, ay, lad," said the pedlar, " but see you play fair, and
give it him unbeknown. Now don't you be so simple as show
it to any of the women folk. D'ye understand ? "
"All right," said Carrick knowingly. And so the boon
companions for a day shook hands and parted.
And Carrick took the little parcel straight to Mrs. Vint, and
told her every word the pedlar had said.
And Mrs. Vint took the little parcel straight to Mercy, and
told her what Carrick said the pedlar had said.
And the pedlar went off flushed with beer and self-com-
placency, for he thought he had drawn the line precisely ; had
faithfully discharged his promise to his lady and benefactress,
but not so as to make mischief in another household.
Such was the power of Ale in the last century.
Mercy undid the paper and found the bullet, on which was
engraved
"I LOVE KATE."
As she read these words a knife seemed to enter her heart ;
the pang was so keen.
But she soon took herself to task. " Thou naughty woman,"
said she. " What ! jealous of the dead ? "
She wrapped the bullet up, put it carefully away, had a
good cry, and was herself again.
But all this set her watching Griffith, and reading his face.
She had subtle, vague misgivings; and forbade her mother
to mention the pedlar's visit to Griffith yet awhile. Woman-
like, she preferred to worm out the truth.
On the evening of his return from Lancaster, as he was
smoking his pipe, she quietly tested him. She fixed her eyes
on him, and said, " One was here to-day that knows thee, and
brought thee this." She then handed him the bullet, and
watched his face.
Griffith undid the paper carelessly enough ; but, at sight of
the bullet, uttered a loud cry, and his eyes seemed ready to
start out of his head.
244
GRIFFITH GAUNT
He turned as pale as ashes, and stammered piteously,
"What? what? what d'ye mean? In Heaven's name, what
is this ? How ? Who ? "
Mercy was surprised, but also much concerned at his dis-
tress, and tried to soothe him. She also asked him piteously
whether she had done wrong to give it him. " God knows,"
said she, " 'tis no business of mine to go and remind thee of
her thou hast loved better mayhap than thou lovest me.
But to keep it from thee, and she in her grave, oh ! I had not
the heart."
But Griffith's agitation increased instead of diminishing ;
and, even while she was trying to soothe him, he rushed wildly
out of the room, and into the open air.
Mercy went, in perplexity and distress, and told her mother.
Mrs. Vint, not being blinded by affection, thought the whole
thing had a very ugly look, and said as much. She gave it
as her opinion that this Kate was alive, and had sent the token
herself, to make mischief between man and wife.
"That shall she never," said Mercy stoutly; but now
her suspicions were thoroughly excited, and her happiness
disturbed.
The next day Griffith found her in tears; he asked her
what was the matter. She would not tell him.
" You have your secrets," said she ; " and so now I have
mine."
Griffith became very uneasy.
For now Mercy was often in tears, and Mrs. Vint looked
daggers at him.
All this was mysterious and unintelligible, and, to a guilty
man, very alarming.
At last he implored Mercy to speak out. He wanted to
know the worst.
Then Mercy did speak out. "You have deceived me,"
said she. " Kate is alive. This very morning, between sleep-
ing and waking, you whispered her name ; ay, false man,
whispered it like a lover. You told me she was dead. But
she is alive, and has sent you a reminder, and the bare sight
of it hath turned your heart her way again. What shall I do ?
Why did you marry me if you could not forget her ? I did
not want you to desert any woman for me. The desire of my
heart was always for your happiness. But, oh ! Thomas, deceit
and falsehood will not bring you happiness, no more than they
will me. What shall I do ? what shall I do ? "
245
GRIFFITH" GAUNT
Her tears flowed freely, and Griffith sat down, and groaned
with horror and remorse, beside her.
He had not the courage to tell her the horrible truth, that
Kate was his wife, and she was not.
" Do not thou afflict thyself," he muttered. " Of course,
with you putting that bullet in my hand so sudden, it set my
fancy a wandering back to other days."
" Ah ! " said Mercy, " if it be no worse than that, there's
little harm. But why did thy namesake start so at sight of
thy picture ? "
" My namesake ! " cried Griffith, all aghast.
"Ay, he that brought thee that love-token, Thomas Lei-
cester. Nay, for very shame, feign not ignorance of him ;
why, he hath thy very mole on his temple, and knew thy
picture in a moment. He is thy half-brother, is he not ? "
" I am a ruined man," cried Griffith, and sank into a chair
without power of motion.
" God help me ! what is all this ? " cried Mercy. " Oh,
Thomas, Thomas, I could forgive thee aught but deceit : for
both our sakes speak out, and tell me the worst ; no harm
shall come near thee while I live."
" How can I tell thee ? I am an unfortunate man. The
world will call me a villain ; yet I am not a villain at heart.
But who will believe me ? I have broken the law. Thee I
could trust, but not thy folk ; they never loved me. Mercy,
for pity's sake, when was that Thomas Leicester here ? "
" Four days ago."
" Which way went he ? "
" I hear he told Paul he was going to Cumberland."
" If he gets there before me I shall rot in gaol."
" Now Heaven forbid ! Oh, Thomas, then mount and ride
after him."
" I will, and this very moment."
He saddled Black Dick, and loaded his pistols for the
journey ; but, ere he went, a pale face looked out into the
yard, and a finger beckoned. It was Mercy. She bade
him follow her. She took him to her room, where their
child was sleeping ; and then she closed, and even locked
the door.
" No soul can hear us," said she ; " now look me in the
face, and tell me God's truth. Who and what are you ? "
Griffith shuddered at this exordium ; he made no reply.
Mercy went to a box, and took out an old shirt of his, the
one he wore when he first came to the " Packhorse." She
246
GRIFFITH GAUNT
brought it to him and showed him " G. G." embroidered on
it with a woman's hair (Ryder's).
" Here are your initials/' said she ; " now leave useless
falsehoods ; be a man, and tell me your real name."
" My name is Griffith Gaunt."
Mercy, sick at heart, turned her head away ; but she had
the resolution to urge him on. " Go on," said she, in an
agonised whisper : " if you believe in God, and a judgment to
come, deceive me no more. The truth ! I say : the truth ! "
"So be it," said Griffith desperately : "when I have told
thee what a villain I am, I can die at thy feet, and then thou
wilt forgive me."
" Who is Kate ? " was all she replied.
" Kate is MY WIFE.
" I thought her false who could think any other ? ap-
pearances were so strong against her : others thought so
beside me. I raised my hand to kill her, but she never
winced. I trampled on him I belived her paramour ; I fled,
and soon I lay a dying in this house for her sake. I told thee
she was dead. Alas ! I thought her dead to me. I went
back to our house (it is her house) sore against the grain, to
get money for thee and thine. Then she cleared herself,
bright as the sun, and pure as snow. She was all in black
for me ; she had put by money, against I should come to my
senses and need it. I told her I owed a debt in Lancashire,
a debt of gratitude as well as money : and so I did. How
have I repaid it ? The poor soul forced five hundred pounds
on me. I had much ado to keep her from bringing it hither
with her own hands ; oh ! villain ! villain ! Then I thought
to leave thee, and send thee word I was dead, and heap money
on thee. Money ! But how could I ? Thou wast my bene-
factress, my more than wife. All the riches of the world can
make no return to thee. What, what shall I do ? Shall I
fly with thee and thy child across the seas ? Shall I go back
to her ? No, the best thing I can do is to take this good pistol,
and let the life out of my dishonourable carcass, and free two
honest women from me by one resolute act."
In his despair he cocked the pistol ; and, at a word from
Mercy, this tale had ended.
But the poor woman, pale and trembling, tottered across
the room, and took it out of his hand. " I would not harm
thy body, nor thy soul," she gasped. " Let me draw my breath,
and think."
247
GRIFFITH GAUNT
She rocked herself to and fro in silence.
Griffith stood trembling like a criminal before his judge.
It was long ere she could speak, for anguish. Yet, when
she did speak, it was with a sort of deadly calm.
" Go tell the truth to her, as you have done to me ; and,
if she can forgive you, all the better for you. I can never
forgive you, nor yet can harm you. My child, my child !
Thy father is our ruin. Oh, begone, man, or the sight of you
will kill us both."
At that he fell at her knees ; kissed, and wept over her
cold hand, and, in his pity and despair, offered to cross the
seas with her and her child, and so repair the wrong he had
done her.
" Tempt me not," she sobbed. "Go: leave me. None
here shall ever know thy crime, but she whose heart thou
hast broken, and ruined her good name."
He took her in his arms, in spite of her resistance, and
kissed her passionately ; but, for the first time, she shuddered
at his embrace, and that gave him the power to leave her.
He rushed from her, all but distracted, and rode away to
Cumberland ; but not to tell the truth to Kate, if he could
possibly help it.
CHAPTER XXXIV
AT this particular time, no man's presence was more desired
in that country than Griffith Gaunt' s.
And this I need not now be telling the reader, if I had
related this story on the plan of a miscellaneous chronicle.
But the affairs of the heart are so absorbing that, even in a
narrative, they thrust aside important cirumstances of a less
moving kind.
I must therefore go back a step before I advance further.
You must know that forty years before our Griffith Gaunt
saw the light, another Griffith Gaunt was born in Cumberland,
a younger son, and the family estate entailed ; but a shrewd
lad, who chose rather to hunt fortune elsewhere than to live
in miserable dependence on his elder brother. His godfather,
a city merchant, encouraged him, and he left Cumberland.
He went into commerce, and in twenty years became a
wealthy man, so wealthy that he lived to look down on his
brother's estate, which he had once thought opulence. His
248
GRIFFITH GAUNT
life was all prosperity, with a single exception, but that a
bitter one. He laid out some of his funds in a fashionable
and beautiful wife. He loved her before marriage ; and, as
she was always cold to him, he loved her more and more.
In the second year of their marriage she ran away from
him ; arid no beggar in the streets of London was so miserable
as the wealthy merchant.
It blighted the man, and left him a sore heart all his days.
He never married again, and railed on all womankind for
this one. He led a solitary life in London till he was sixty-
nine ; and then, all of a sudden, Nature or accident, or both,
changed his whole habits. Word came to him that the family
estate, already deeply mortgaged, was for sale, and a farmer
who had rented a principal farm on it, and held a heavy
mortgage, had made the highest offer.
Old Griffith sent down Mr. Atkins, his solicitor, post haste,
and snapped the estate out of that purchaser's hands.
When the lands and house had been duly conveyed to him,
he came down, and his heart seemed to bud again, in the
scenes of his childhood.
Finding the house small, and built in a valley instead of on
rising ground, he got an army of bricklayers, and began to
build a mansion with a rapidity unheard of in those parts ;
and he looked about for some one to inherit it.
The name of Gaunt had dwindled down to three since
he left Cumberland ; but a rich man never lacks relations.
Featherstonhaughs, and Underbills, and even Smiths poured
in, with parish registers in their laps, and proved themselves
Gauntesses, and flattered and carneyed the new head of the
family.
Then the perverse old gentleman felt inclined to look else-
where. He knew he had a namesake at the other side of the
county, but this namesake did not come near him.
This independent Gaunt excited his curiosity and interest.
He made inquiries, and heard that young Griffith had just
quarrelled with his wife, and gone away in despair.
Griffith senior took for granted that the fault lay with Mrs.
Gaunt, and wasted some good sympathy on Griffith junior.
On further inquiry he learned that the truant was dependent
on his wife. Then, argued the moneyed man, he would not
run away from her but that his wound was deep.
The consequence of all this was, that he made a will very
favourable to his absent and injured (?) namesake. He left
numerous bequests, but made Griffith his residuary legatee ;
249
GRIFFITH GAUNT
and having settled this matter, urged on, and superintended
his workmen.
Alas ! just as the roof was going on, a narrower house
claimed him, and he made good the saying of the wise bard
Tu secanda marmora
Locas sub ipsum funus et sepulchri
Immemor struis domos.
The heir of his own choosing could not be found to attend
his funeral ; and Mr. Atkins, his solicitor, a very worthy man,
was really hurt at this. With the quiet bitterness of a dis-
pleased attorney, he merely sent Mrs. Gaunt word her husband
inherited something under the will, and she would do well to
produce him, or else furnish him (Atkins) with proof of his
decease.
Mrs. Gaunt was offended by this cavalier note, and replied
very like a woman, and very unlike Business.
" I do not know where he is," said she, " nor whether he is
alive or dead. Nor do I feel disposed to raise the hue and
cry after him. But favour me with your address, and I shall
let you know should I hear anything about him."
Mr. Atkins was half annoyed, half amused, at this piece of
indifference. It never occurred to him that it might be all
put on.
He wrote back to say that the estate was large, and, owing
to the terms of the will, could not be administered without Mr.
Griffith Gaunt ; and, in the interest of the said Griffith Gaunt,
and also of the other legatees, he really must advertise for him.
La Gaunt replied that he was very welcome to advertise
for whomsoever he pleased.
Mr. Atkins was a very worthy man, but human. To tell
the truth, he was himself one of the other legatees. He in-
herited (and, to be just, had well deserved) four thousand
guineas, under the will, and could not legally touch it without
Griffith Gaunt. This little circumstance spurred his profes-
sional zeal.
Mr. Atkins advertised for Griffith Gaunt in the London
and Cumberland papers, and in the usual enticing form. He
was to apply to Mr. Atkins, solicitor, of Gray's Inn, and he
would hear of something greatly to his advantage.
These advertisements had not been out a fortnight, when
Griffith came home, as I have related.
But Mr. Atkins had punished Mrs. Gaunt for her insouci-
ance by not informing her of the extent of her good fortune ;
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
so she merely told Griffith, casually, that old Griffith Gaunt
had left him some money, and the solicitor, Mr. Atkins, could
not get on without him. Even this information she did
not vouchsafe until she had given him her 500, for she
grudged Atkins the pleasure of supplying her husband with
money.
However, as soon as Griffith left her, she wrote to Mr.
Atkins to say that her husband had come home in perfect
health, thank God ! had only stayed two days, but was to
return in a week.
When ten days had elapsed, Atkins wrote to inquire.
She replied he had not yet returned : and this went on till
Mr. Atkins showed considerable impatience.
As for Mrs. Gaunt, she made light of the matter to Mr.
Atkins; but, in truth, this new mystery irritated her and
pained her deeply.
In one respect she was more unhappy than she had been
before he came back at all. Then she was alone ; her door
was closed to commentators. But now, on the strength of so
happy a reconciliation, she had re-entered the world, and
received visits from Sir George Neville, and others ; and,
above all, had announced that Griffith would be back for
good in a few days. So now his continued absence exposed
her to sly questions from her own sex, to the interchange of
glances between female visitors, as well as to the internal
torture of doubt and suspense.
But what distracted her most was the view Mrs. Ryder
took of the matter.
That experienced lady had begun to suspect some other
woman was at the bottom of Griffith's conduct ; and her own
love for Griffith was now soured ; repeated disappointments
and affronts, spretceque injuria foimce, had not quite extin-
guished it, but had mixed so much spite with it, that she was
equally ready to kiss or to stab him.
So she took every opportunity to instil into her mistress,
whose confidence she had won at last, that Griffith was false
to her.
" That is the way with these men that are so ready to sus-
pect others. Take my word for it, dame, he has carried your
money to his leman. 'Tis still the honest woman that must
bleed for some nasty trollop or other."
She enforced this theory by examples drawn from her own
observations in families, and gave the very names, and drove
Mrs. Gaunt almost mad with fear, anger, jealousy, and cruel
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
suspense. She could not sleep, she could not eat ; she was in
a constant fever.
Yet before the world she battled it out bravely, and indeed
none but Ryder knew the anguish of her spirit and her
passionate wrath.
At last there came a most eventful day.
Mrs. Gaunt had summoned all her pride and fortitude, and
invited certain ladies and gentlemen to dine and sup.
She was one of the true Spartan breed, and played the hostess
as well as if her heart had been at ease. It was an age in
which the host struggled fiercely to entertain the guests ; and
Mrs. Gaunt was taxing all her powers of pleasing in the
dining-room, when an unexpected guest strolled into the
kitchen the pedlar, Thomas Leicester.
Jane welcomed him cordially, and he was soon seated at a
table eating his share of the feast.
Presently Mrs. Ryder came down, dressed in her best, and
looking handsomer than ever.
At sight of her Tom Leicester's affection revived ; and he
soon took occasion to whisper an inquiry whether she was
still single.
"Ay," said she, "and like to be."
" Waiting for the master still ? Mayhap I could cure you
of that complaint. But least said is soonest mended."
This mysterious hint showed Ryder he had a secret burning
his bosom. The sly hussy said nothing just then, but plied
him with ale and flattery ; and, when he whispered a request
for a private meeting out of doors, she cast her eyes down,
and assented.
And in that meeting she carried herself so adroitly, that he
renewed his offer of marriage, and told her not to waste her
fancy on a man who cared neither for her nor any other she
in Cumberland.
" Prove that to me," said Ryder cunningly, " and maybe I'll
take you at your word."
The bribe was not to be resisted. Tom revealed to her,
under a solemn promise of secrecy, that the squire had got a
wife and child in Lancashire ; and had a farm and an inn,
which latter he kept under the name of Thomas Leicester.
In short, he told her, in his way, all the particulars I have
told in mine.
She led him on with a voice of very velvet. He did not
see how her cheek paled and her eyes flashed jealous fury.
When she had sucked him dry, she suddenly turned on
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
him, with a cold voice, and said, " I can't stay any longer with
you just now. She will want me."
"You will meet me here again, lass?" said Tom ruefully.
" Yes, for a minute, after supper."
She then left him and went to Mrs. Gaunt's room, and sat
crouching before the fire, all hate and bitterness.
What? he had left the wife he loved, and yet had not
turned to her !
She sat there, waiting for Mrs. Gaunt, and nursing her
vindictive fury, two mortal hours.
At last, just before supper, Mrs. Gaunt came up to her
room, to cool her fevei'ed hands and brow, and found this
creature crouched by her fire, all in a heap, with pale cheek
and black eyes that glittered like basilisk's.
" What is the matter, child ? " said Mrs. Gaunt. " Good
Heavens ! what hath happened ? "
" Dame ! " said Ryder sternly, " I have got news of him."
" News of him ? " faltered Mrs. Gaunt. " Bad news ? "
" I don't know whether to tell you or not," said Ryder
sulkily, but with a touch of human feeling.
" What cannot I bear ? What have I not borne ? Tell me
the truth."
The words were stout, but she trembled all over in uttering
them.
" Well, it is as I said ; only worse. Dame, he has got a
wife and child in another county ; and no doubt been deceiv-
ing her, as he has us."
" A wife ! " gasped Mrs. Gaunt, and one white hand
clutched her bosom, and the other the mantelpiece.
"Ay, Thomas Leicester, that is in the kitchen now, saw
her, and saw his picture hanging aside hers on the wall. And
he goes by the name of Thomas Leicester : that was what
made Tom go into the inn, seeing his own name on the sign-
board. Nay, dame, never give way like that lean on me ;
so. He is a villain, a false, jealous, double-faced villain."
Mrs. Gaunt's head fell on Ryder's shoulder, and she said no
word, but only moaned and moaned, and her white teeth
clicked convulsively together.
Ryder wept over her sad state : the tears were half impulse,
half crocodile.
She applied hartshorn to the sufferer's nostrils, and tried to
rouse her mind by exciting her anger. But all was in vain.
There hung the betrayed wife, pale, crushed, and quivering
under the cruel blow.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Ryder asked her if she should go down and excuse her to
her guests.
She nodded a feeble assent.
Ryder then laid her down on the bed with her head low,
and was just about to leave her on that errand, when hurried
steps were heard outside the door, and one of the female
servants knocked ; and, not waiting to be invited, put her
head in, and cried, " Oh, dame, the master is come home.
He is in the kitchen."
CHAPTER XXXV
Mns. RYDER made an agitated motion with her hand, and gave
the girl such a look withal that she retired precipitately.
But Mrs. Gaunt had caught the words, and they literally
transformed her. She sprang off the bed, and stood erect,
and looked a Saxon Pythoness : golden hair streaming down
her back, and grey eyes gleaming with fury.
She caught up a little ivory-handled knife^ and held it
above her head.
" I'll drive this into his heart before them all," she cried,
" and tell them the reason afterwards ! "
Ryder looked at her for a moment in utter terror. She
saw a woman with grander passions than herself: a woman
that looked quite capable of executing her sanguinary threat.
Ryder made no more ado, but slipped out directly to prevent
a meeting that might be attended with such terrible con-
sequences.
She found her master in the kitchen, splashed with mud,
drinking a horn of ale after his ride, and looking rather
troubled and anxious ; and, by the keen eye of her sex,
she saw that the female servants were also in consider-
able anxiety. The fact is, they had just extemporised a
lie.
Tom Leicester, being near the kitchen window, had seen
Griffith ride into the courtyard.
At sight of that well-known figure he drew back, and his
heart quaked at his own imprudence in confiding Griffith's
secret to Caroline Ryder.
"Lasses," said he hastily, "do me a kindness for old
acquaintance. Here's the squire. For Heaven's sake don't
let him know I am in the house, or there will be bloodshed
254
GRIFFITH GAUNT
between us; he is a hasty man, and I'm another. I'll tell
ye more by-and-by."
The next moment Griffith's tread was heard approaching
the very door, and Leicester darted into the housekeeper's
room, and hid in a cupboard there.
Griffith opened the kitchen door, and stood upon the
threshold.
The women curtseyed to him, and were loud in welcome.
He returned their civilities briefly ; and then his first word
was " Hath Thomas Leicester been here ? "
You know how servants stick together against their master.
The girls looked him in the face, like candid doves, and told
him Leicester had not been that way for six months or more.
"Why, I have tracked him to within two miles," said
Griffith doubtfully.
" Then he is sure to come here," said Jane adroitly. " He
wouldn't ever think to go by us."
" The moment he enters the house you let me know. He
is a mischief-making loon."
He then asked for a horn of ale ; and, as he finished it,
Ryder came in, and he turned to her, and asked her after her
mistress.
" She is well, just now/' said Ryder ; " but she has been
took with a spasm : and it would be well, sir, if you could
dress, and entertain the company in her place awhile. For I
must tell you your being so long away hath set their tongues
going, and almost broken my lady's heart."
Griffith sighed, and said he could not help it, and now he
was here, he would do all in his power to please her. " I'll
go to her at once," said he.
"No, sir," said Ryder firmly. "Come with me. I want
to speak to you."
She took him to his bachelor's room, and stayed a few
minutes to talk to him.
" Master," said she solemnly, " things are very serious here.
Why did you stay so long away ? Our dame says some
woman is at the bottom of it, and she'll put a knife into you
if you come a-nigh her."
This threat did not appal Griffith, as Ryder expected.
Indeed, he seemed rather flattered.
" Poor Kate ! " said he, " she is just the woman to do it,
But I am afraid she does not love me enough for that. But
indeed how should she ? "
"Well, sir," replied Ryder, "oblige me by keeping clear
255
GRIFFITH GAUNT
of her for a little while. I have got orders to make your bed
here. Now, dress, like a good soul, and then go down and
show respect to the company that is in your house ; for they
know you are here."
" Why, that is the least I can do," said Griffith. " Put you
out what I am to wear, and then run and say I'll be with
them anon."
Griffith walked into the dining-room, and, somewhat to his
surprise, after what Ryder had said, found Mrs. Gaunt seated
at the head of her own table, and presiding like a radiant
queen over a brilliant assembly.
He walked in, and made a low bow to his guests first : then
he approached, to greet his wife more freely ; but she drew
back decidedly, and made him a curtsey, the dignity and
distance of which struck the whole company.
Sir George Neville, who was at the bottom. of the table,
proposed, with his usual courtesy, to resign his place to
Griffith. But Mrs. Gaunt forbade the arrangement.
"No, Sir George," said she, "this is but an occasional
visitor : you are my constant friend."
If this had been said pleasantly, well and good ; but the
guests looked in vain into their hostess's face for the smile
that ought to have accompanied so strange a speech and
disarmed it.
" Rarities are the more welcome," said a lady, coming to
the rescue, and edged aside to make room for him.
" Madam," said Griffith, " I am in your debt for that ex-
planation ; but I hope you will be no rarity here for all that."
Supper proceeded ; but the mirth languished. Somehow
or other, the chill fact that there was a grave quarrel between
two at the table, and those two man and wife, insinuated
itself into the spirits of the guests.
There began to be lulls : fatal lulls. And in one of these,
some unlucky voice was heard to murmur, " Such a meeting
of man and wife I never saw."
The hearers felt miserable at this personality, that fell upon
the ear of Silence like a thunderbolt.
Griffith was ill-advised enough to notice the remark, though
clearly not intended for his ears. For one thing, his jealousy
had actually revived at the cool preference Kate had shown
his old rival, Neville.
" Oh, " said he bitterly, " a man is not always his wife's
favourite."
"He does not always deserve to be," said Mrs. Gaunt sternly.
256
GRIFFITH GAUNT
When matters had gone that length, one idea seemed to
occur pretty simultaneously to all the well-bred guests ; and
that idea was, Sauve qui pent,
Mrs. Gaunt took leave of them, one by one, and husband
and wife were left alone.
Mrs. Gaunt by this time was alarmed at the violence of her
own passions, and wished to avoid Griffith for that night, at
all events. So she cast one terribly stern look upon him, and
was about to retire in grim silence. But he, indignant at the
public affront she had put on him, and not aware of the true
cause, unfortunately detained her. He said sulkily, "What
sort of a reception was that you gave me ? "
This was too much. She turned on him furiously. " Too
good for thee, thou heartless creature ! Thomas Leicester is
here, and I know thee for a villain."
" You know nothing," cried Griffith. " Would you believe
that mischief-making knave ? What has he told you ? "
" Go back to her ! " cried Mrs. Gaunt furiously. " Me you
can deceive and pillage no more. So this was your jealousy !
False and forsworn yourself, you dared to suspect and insult
me. Ah ! and you think I am the woman to endure this !
I'll have your life for it ! I'll have your life."
Griffith endeavoured to soften her ; protested that, not-
withstanding appearances, he had never loved but her.
" I'll soon be rid of you and your love," said the raging
woman. "The constables shall come for you to-morrow.
You have seen how I can love, you shall know how I can hate."
She then, in her fury, poured out a torrent of reproaches
and threats that made his blood run cold. He could not
answer her ; he had suspected her wrongfully, and been false
to her himself. He had abused her generosity, and taken
her money for Mercy Vint.
After one or two vain efforts to check the torrent, he sank
into a chair, and hid his face in his hands.
But this did not disarm her at the time. Her raging voice
and raging words were heard by the very servants, long after
he had ceased to defend himself.
At last she came out, pale with fury, and finding Ryder
near the door, shrieked out, " Take that reptile to his den, if
he is mean enough to lie in this house ; " then, lowering her
voice, " and bring Thomas Leicester to me."
Ryder went to Leicester and told him. But he objected to
come. " You have betrayed me," said he. " Curse my weak
heart, and my loose tongue. I have done the poor squire an ill
257 R
GRIFFITH GAUNT
turn. I can never look him in the face again. But 'tis all
thy fault, double-face. I hate the sight of thee."
At this Ryder shed some crocodile tears ; and very soon, by
her blandishments, obtained forgiveness.
And Leicester, since the mischief was done, was persuaded
to see the dame, who was his recent benefactor, you know. He
bargained, however, that the squire should be got to bed first,
for he had a great dread of meeting him. " He'll break every
bone in my skin," said Tom; "or else I shall do him a mis-
chief in my defence."
Ryder herself saw the wisdom of this : she bade him stay
quiet, and she went to look after Griffith.
She found him in the drawing-room, with his head on the
table, in deep dejection.
She assumed authority, and said he must go to bed.
He rose humbly, and followed her like a submissive dog.
She took him to his room. There was no fire.
" That is where you are to sleep," said she spitefully.
" It is better than I deserve/' said he humbly.
The absurd rule about not hitting a man when he is down
has never obtained a place in the great female soul ; so Ryder
lashed him without mercy.
" Well, sir," said she, " methinks you have gained little by
breaking faith with me. Y' had better have set up your inn
with me, than gone and sinned against the law."
" Much better : would to Heaven I had ! "
" What d'ye mean to do now ? You know the saying. ' Be-
tween two stools
"Child," said Griffith faintly, "methinks I shall trouble
neither long. I am not so ill a man as I seem ; but who will
believe that ? I shall not live long. And I shall leave an ill
name behind me. She told me so just now. And, oh ! her eye
was so cruel ; I saw my death in it."
"Come, come," said Ryder, relenting a little, "you mustn't
believe every word an angry woman says. There, take my
advice; go to bed; and in the morning don't speak to her;
keep out of her way a day or two."
And with this piece of friendly advice she left him, and
waited about till she thought he was in bed and asleep.
Then she brought Thomas Leicester up to her mistress.
But Griffith was not in bed ; and he heard Leicester's heavy
tread cross the landing. He waited and waited behind his
door for more than half-an-hour, and then he heard the same
heavy tread go away again.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
By this time nearly all the inmates of the house were asleep.
About twenty-five minutes after Leicester left Mrs. Gaunt,
Caroline Ryder stole quietly upstairs from the kitchen, and
sat down to think it all over.
She then proceeded to undress, but had only taken off her
gown, when she started and listened ; for a cry of distress
reached her from outside the house.
She darted to the window and threw it open.
Then she heard a cry more distinct. " Help ! help ! "
It was a clear starlight night, but no moon.
The mere shone before her, and the cries were on the bank.
Now came something more alarming still. A flash : a pistol
shot : and an agonised voice cried loudly, " Murder ! Help !
Murder ! "
That voice she knew directly. It was Griffith Gaunt' s.
CHAPTER XXXVI
RYDER ran screaming, and alarmed the other servants.
All the windows that looked on the mere were flung open.
But no more sounds were heard. A terrible silence brooded
now over those clear waters.
The female servants huddled together, and quaked ; for who
could doubt that a bloody deed had been done ?
It was some time before they mustered the presence of
mind to go and tell Mrs. Gaunt. At last they opened her
door. She was not in her room.
Ryder ran to Griffith's. It was locked.
She called to him. He made no reply.
They burst the door open. He was not there : and the
window was open.
While their tongues were all going, in consternation, Mrs.
Gaunt was suddenly among them, very pale.
They turned, and looked at her aghast.
" What means all this ? " said she. " Did I not hear cries
outside ? "
11 Ay," said Ryder. " Murder ! and a pistol fired. Oh, my
poor master ! "
Mrs. Gaunt was white as death, but self-possessed. " Light
torches this moment, and search the place," said she.
There was only one man in the house, and he declined to
259
GRIFFITH GAUNT
go out alone. So Ryder and Mrs. Gaunt went with him, all
three bearing lighted links.
They searched the place where Ryder had heard the cries.
They went up and down the whole bank of the mere, and
cast their torches' red light over the placid waters themselves.
But there was nothing to be seen alive or dead ; no trace
either of calamity or crime.
They roused the neighbours, and came back to the house
with their clothes all draggled and dirty.
Mrs. Gaunt took Ryder apart, and asked her if she could
guess at what time of the night Griffith had made his escape.
"He is a villain/' said she, "yet I would not have him
come to harm, God knows. There are thieves abroad. But
I hope he ran away as soon as your back was turned, and so
fell not in with them."
" Humph ! " said Ryder. Then, looking Mrs. Gaunt in the
face, she said quietly, " Where were you when you heard the
cries ? "
' I was on the other side of the house."
' What, out o' doors at that time of night ! "
' Ay ; I was in the Grove. Praying."
' Did you hear any voice you knew ? "
'No: all was too indistinct. I heard a pistol, but no
words. Did you ? "
" I heard no more than you, madam," said Ryder, trembling.
No one went to bed any more that night in Hernshaw
Castle.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THIS mysterious circumstance made a great talk in the village,
and in the kitchen of Hernshaw Castle ; but not in the draw-
ing-room : for Mrs. Gaunt instantly closed her door to visitors,
and let it be known that it was her intention to retire to a con-
vent ; and in the meantime she desired not to be disturbed.
Ryder made one or two attempts to draw her out upon the
subject, but was sternly checked.
Pale, gloomy, and silent, the mistress of Hernshaw Castle
moved about the place like the ghost of her former self. She
never mentioned Griffith ; forbade his name to be uttered in
her hearing ; and, strange to say, gave Ryder strict orders not
to tell any one what she had heard from Thomas Leicester.
260
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" This last insult is known but to you and me. If it ever
gets abroad, you leave my service that very hour."
This injunction set Ryder thinking. However, she obeyed
it to the letter. Her place was getting better and better ;
and she was a woman accustomed to keep secrets.
A pressing letter came from Mr. Atkins.
Mrs. Gaunt replied that her husband had come to Hern-
shaw, but had left again ; and the period of his ultimate
return was now more uncertain than ever.
On this Mr. Atkins came down to Hernshaw Castle. But
Mrs. Gaunt would not see him. He retired very angry ; and
renewed his advertisements, but in a more explicit form. He
now published that Griffith Gaunt, of Hernshaw and Bolton,
was executor and residuary legatee to the late Griffith Gaunt,
of Coggleswade ; and requested him to apply directly to James
Atkins, solicitor, of Gray's Inn, London.
In due course this advertisement was read by the servants
at Hernshaw ; and shown by Ryder to Mrs. Gaunt.
She made no comment whatever, and contrived to render
her pale face impenetrable.
Ryder became as silent and thoughtful as herself, and often
sat bending her black, judicial brows.
By-and-by dark mysterious words began to be thrown out
in Hernshaw village.
" He will never come back at all."
" He will never come into that fortune."
" 'Tis no use advertising for a man that is past reading."
These, and the like equivocal sayings, were followed by a
vague buzz, which was traceable to no individual author, but
seemed to rise on all sides, like a dark mist, and envelop that
unhappy house.
And that dark mist of Rumour soon condensed itself into a
palpable and terrible whisper : " Griffith Gaunt hath met with
foul play."
No one of the servants told Mrs. Gaunt this horrid rumour.
But the women used to look at her, and after her, with
strange eyes.
She noticed this, and felt somehow that her people were
falling away from her. It added one drop to her bitter cup.
She began to droop into a sort of calm despondent lethargy.
Then came fresh trouble to rouse her.
Two of the county magistrates called on her in their official
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
capacity, and with perfect politeness, but a very grave air,
requested her to inform them of all the circumstances attend-
ing her husband's disappearance.
She replied, coldly and curtly, that she knew very little
about it. Her husband had left in the middle of the night.
" He came to stay ? "
" I believe so."
" Came on horseback ? "
" Yes."
" Did he go away on horseback ? "
" No; for the horse is now in my stable."
" Is it true there was a quarrel between you and him that
evening ? "
"Gentlemen," said Mrs. Gaunt, drawing herself back
haughtily, u did you come here to gratify your curiosity ? "
"No, madam," said the elder of the two; "but to dis-
charge a very serious and painful duty, in which I earnestly
request you, and even advise you, to aid us. Was there a
quarrel ? "
" There was a mortal quarrel."
The gentlemen exchanged glances, and the elder made a
note.
" May we ask the subject of that quarrel ? "
Mrs. Gaunt declined positively to enter into a matter so
delicate.
A note was taken of this refusal.
"Are you aware, madam, that your husband's voice was
heard calling for help, and that a pistol-shot was fired ? "
Mrs. Gaunt trembled visibly.
"I heard the pistol-shot," said she, "but not the voice
distinctly. Oh, I hope it was not his voice Ryder heard."
" Ryder, who is he ? "
" Ryder is my lady's-maid ; her bedroom is on that side the
house."
" Can we see Mrs. Ryder ? "
" Certainly," said Mrs. Gaunt, and rose and rang the bell.
Mrs. Ryder answered the bell in person very promptly, for
she was listening at the door.
Being questioned, she told the magistrates what she had
heard down by " the mere ; " and said she was sure it was
her master's voice that cried " Help ! " and " Murder ! " And
with this she began to cry.
Mrs. Gaunt trembled and turned pale.
The magistrates confined their questions to Ryder.
262
GRIFFITH GAUNT
They elicited, however, very little more from her. She
saw the drift of their questions, and had an impulse to de-
fend her mistress there present. Behind her back it would
have been otherwise.
That resolution once taken, two children might as well
have tried to extract evidence from her as two justices of
the peace.
And then Mrs. Gaunt's pale face and noble features
touched them. The case was mysterious, but no more ; and
they departed little the wiser, and with some apologies for
the trouble they had given her.
The next week down came Mr. Atkins out of all patience,
and determined to find Griffith Gaunt, or else obtain some
proof of his decease.
He obtained two interviews with Ryder, and bribed her
to tell him all she knew. He prosecuted other inquiries with
more method than had hitherto been used, and elicited an
important fact, viz., that Griffith Gaunt has been seen walk-
ing in a certain direction at one o'clock in the morning,
followed at a short distance by a tall man with a knapsack,
or the like, on his back.
The person who gave this tardy information was the wife
of a certain farmer's man, who wired hares upon the sly.
The man himself, being assured that in a case so serious as
this, no particular inquiries should be made how he came to
be out so late, confirmed what his wife had let out, and added
that both men had taken the way that would lead them to
the bridge, meaning the bridge over the mere. More than
that he could not say, for he had met them, and was full half
a mile from the mere, before those men could have reached it.
Following up this clue, Mr. Atkins learned so many ugly
things, that he went to the Bench on justicing day, and de-
manded a full and searching inquiry on the premises.
Sir George Neville, after in vain opposing this, rode off
straight from the Bench to Hernshaw, and in feeling terms
conveyed the bad news to Mrs. Gaunt ; and then, with the
utmost delicacy, let her know that some suspicion rested
upon herself, which she would do well to meet with the bold
front of innocence.
" What suspicion, pray ? " said Mrs. Gaunt haughtily.
Sir George shrugged his shoulders, and replied, " That you
have done Gaunt the honour to put him out of the way."
Mrs. Gaunt took this very differently from what Sir George
expected.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" What ! " she cried, " are they so sure he is dead ?
murdered ! "
And with this she went into a passion of grief and remorse.
Even Sir George was puzzled, as well as affected, by her
convulsive agitation.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THOUGH it was known the proposed inquiry might result in
the committal of Mrs. Gaunt on a charge of murder, yet the
respect in which she had hitherto been held, and the in-
fluence of Sir George Neville, who, having been her lover,
stoutly maintained her innocence, prevailed so far, that even
this inquiry was private, and at her own house. Only she
was present in the character of a suspected person, and the
witnesses were examined before her.
First the poacher gave his evidence.
Then Jane the cook proved, that a pedlar called Thomas
Leicester had been in the kitchen, and secreted about the
premises till a late hour; and this Thomas Leicester corre-
sponded exactly to the description given by the poacher.
This threw suspicion on Thomas Leicester, but did not
connect Mrs. Gaunt with the deed in any way.
But Ryder's evidence filled this gap. She revealed three
serious facts :
First, that, by her mistress's orders, she had introduced
this very Leicester into her mistress's room about midnight,
where he had remained nearly half-an-hour, and had then
left the house.
Secondly, that Mrs. Gaunt herself had been out of doors
after midnight.
And, thirdly, that she had listened at the door, and heard
her threaten Griffith Gaunt's life.
This is a mere precis of the evidence, and altogether it
looked so suspicious, that the magistrates, after telling Mrs.
Gaunt she could ask the witnesses any question she chose, a
suggestion she treated with marked contempt, put their heads
together a moment, and whispered. Then the eldest of them,
Mr. Underbill, who lived at a considerable distance, told her
gravely he must commit her to take her trial at the next
assizes.
" Do what you conceive to be your duty, gentlemen," said
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mrs. Gaunt, with marvellous dignity. " If I do not assert my
innocence, it is because I disdain the accusation too much."
"I shall take no part in the committal of this innocent
lady/' said Sir George Neville, and was about to leave the
room.
But Mrs. Gaunt begged him to stay. " To be guilty is one
thing," said she ; " to be accused is another: I shall go to prison
as easy as to my dinner, and to the gallows as to my bed."
The presiding magistrate was staggered a moment by these
words ; and it was not without considerable hesitation he took
the warrant, and prepared to fill it up.
Then Mr. Houseman, who had watched the proceedings
very keenly, put in his word. " I am here for the accused
person, sir, and, with your good leave, object to her committal
on grounds of law."
" What may they be, Mr. Houseman ? " said the magistrate
civilly ; and laid his pen down to hear them.
" Briefly, sir, these. Where a murder is proven, you can
commit a subject of this realm upon suspicion. But you can-
not suspect the murder as well as the culprit, and so commit.
The murder must be proved to the senses. Now in this case
the death of Mr. Gaunt by violence is not proved. Indeed,
his very death rests but upon suspicion. I admit that the law
of England in this respect has once or twice been tampered
with, and persons have even been executed where no corpus
delicti was found ; but what was the consequence ? In each
case the murdered man turned out to be alive, and justice
was the only murderer. After Harrison's case, and 's, no
Cumberland jury will ever commit for murder, unless the
corpus delicti has been found, and with signs of violence upon it.
Come, come, Mr. Atkins, you are too good a lawyer, and too
humane a man, to send my client to prison on the suspicion
of a suspicion, which you know the very breath of the judge
will blow away, even if the grand jury let it go into court. I
offer bail, ten thousand pounds in two sureties ; Sir George
Neville here present, and myself."
The magistrate looked at Mr. Atkins.
" I am not employed by the Crown," said that gentleman,
"but acting on mere civil grounds, and have no right nor
wish to be severe. Bail by all means ; but is the lady so sure
of her innocence as to lend me her assistance to find the
corpus delicti ? "
The question was so shrewdly put, that any hesitation
would have ruined Mrs. Gaunt.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Houseman, therefore, replied eagerly and promptly, " I
answer for her, she will."
Mrs. Gaunt bowed her head in assent.
" Then," said Atkins, " I ask leave to drag, and, if need
be, to drain, that piece of water there, called ( the mere.' "
"Drag it, or drain it, which you will," said Houseman.
Said Atkins, very impressively, " And, mark my words, at
the bottom of that very sheet of water there, I shall find the
remains of the late Griffith Gaunt."
At these solemn words, coming as they did not from a
loose unprofessional speaker, but from a lawyer, a man who
measured all his words, a very keen observer might have seen
a sort of tremor run all through Mr. Houseman's frame. The
more admirable was the perfect coolness and seeming indif-
ference with which he replied.
" Find him, and I'll admit suicide ; find him, with signs of
violence, and I'll admit homicide, by some person or persons
unknown."
All further remarks were interrupted by bustle and con-
fusion.
Mrs. Gaunt had fainted dead away.
CHAPTER XXXIX
OF course pity was the first feeling ; but by the time Mrs.
Gaunt revived, her fainting so soon after Mr. Atkins's proposal
had produced a sinister effect on the minds of all present ;
and every face showed it, except the wary Houseman's.
On her retiring, it broke out first in murmurs, then in plain
words.
As for Mr. Atkins, he now showed the moderation of an
able man who feels he has a strong cause.
He merely said, " I think there should be constables about,
in case of an escape being attempted ; but I agree with Mr.
Houseman, that your worships will be quite justified in taking
bail, provided the corpus delicti should not be found. Gentle-
men, you were most of you neighbours and friends of the
deceased, and are, I am sure, lovers of justice : I do entreat
you to aid me in searching that piece of water, by the side of
which the deceased gentleman was heard to cry for help;
and, much I fear, he cried in vain."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The persons thus appealed to entered into the matter with
all the ardour of just men, whose curiosity as well as justice
is inflamed.
A set of old rusty drags was found on the premises, and
men went punting up and down the mere and dragged it.
Rude hooks were made by the village blacksmith, and
fitted to cart-ropes ; another boat was brought to Hernshaw in
a waggon, and all that afternoon the bottom of the mere was
raked, and some curious things fished up. But no dead man.
The next day a score of amateur dragsmen were out : some
throwing their drags from the bridge ; some circulating in
boats, and even in large tubs.
And meantime Mr. Atkins and his crew went steadily up
and down, dragging every foot of those placid waters.
They worked till dinner-time, and brought up a good coppei
pot with two handles, a horse's head, and several decayed
trunks of trees, which had become saturated, and sunk to the
bottom.
At about three in the afternoon, two boys who, for want of
a boat, were dragging from the bridge, found something heavy
but elastic at the end of their drag : they pulled up eagerly,
and a thing like a huge turnip, half gnawed, came up, with a
great bob, and blasted their sight.
They let go, drags and all, and stood shrieking and
shrieking.
Those who were nearest them called out, and asked what
was the matter ; but the boys did not reply, and their faces
showed so white, that a woman, who saw them screamed to
Mr. Atkins, and said she was sure those boys had seen some-
thing out of the common.
Mr. Atkins came up, and found the boys blubbering. He
encouraged them, and they told him a fearful thing had come
up ; it was like a man's head and shoulders all scooped out
and gnawed by the fishes ; and had torn the drags out of
their hands.
Mr. Atkins made them tell him the exact place, and was
soon upon it with his boat.
The water here was very deep, and though the boys kept
pointing to the veiy spot, the drags found nothing for some
time.
But at last they showed, by their resistance, that they had
clawed hold of something.
"Draw slowly," said Mr. Atkins, "and, if it is, be men, and
hold fast."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The men drew slowly, slowly, and presently there rose to
the surface a thing to strike terror and loathing into the
stoutest heart.
The mutilated remains of a human face and body.
The greedy pike had cleared, not the features only but the
entire flesh off the face ; but had left the hair, and the tight
skin of the forehead, though their teeth had raked this last.
The remnants they had left made what they had mutilated
doubly horrible since now it was not a skull, not a skeleton,
but a face and a man gnawed down to the bones and hair and
feet. These last were in stout shoes that resisted even those
voracious teeth ; and a leathern stock had offered some little
protection to the throat.
The men groaned, and hid their faces with one hand, and
pulled softly to the shore with the other ; and then, with half-
averted faces, they drew the ghastly remains and fluttering
rags gently and reverently to land.
Mr. Atkins yielded to nature, and was violently sick at the
sight he had searched for so eagerly.
As soon as he recovered his powers, he bade the constables
guard the body (it was a body, in law), and see that no one laid
so much as a finger on it until some magistrate had taken a
deposition. He also sent a messenger to Mr. Houseman, telling
him the corpus delicti was found. He did this, partly to show
that gentleman he was right in his judgment, and partly out
of common humanity ; since, after this discovery, Mr. House-
man's client was sure to be tried for her life.
A magistrate soon came, and viewed the remains, and took
careful notes of the state in which they were found.
Houseman came, and was much affected, both by the sight
of his dead friend, so mutilated, and by the probable conse-
quences to Mrs. Gaunt. However, as lawyers fight very hard,
he recovered himself enough to remark that there were no
marks of violence before death, and insisted on this being in-
serted in the magistrate's notes.
An inquest was ordered next day, and meantime Mrs. Gaunt
was told she could not quit the upper apartments of her own
house. Two constables were placed on the ground floor night
and day.
Next day the remains were removed to the little inn, where
Griffith had spent so many jovial hours ; laid on a table, and
covered with a white sheet.
The coroner's jury sat in the same room, as was then the
custom, and the evidence I have already noticed was gone into,
268
GRIFFITH GAUNT
and the finding of the body deposed to. The jury without
hesitation returned a verdict of wilful murder.
Mrs. Gaunt was then brought in. She came, white as a
ghost, leaning upon Houseman's shoulder.
Upon her entering, a juryman, by a humane impulse, drew
the sheet over the remains again.
The coroner, according to the custom of the day, put a
question to Mrs. Gaunt, with the view of eliciting her guilt. If
I remember right, he asked how she came to be out of doors
so late on the night of the murder. Mrs. Gaunt, however, was
in no condition to answer queries. I doubt if she even heard
this one. Her lovely eyes, dilated with horror, were fixed on
that terrible sheet, with a stony glance. "Show me," she
gasped, "and let me die too."
The jurymen looked with doubtful faces at the coroner.
He bowed a grave assent.
The nearest juryman withdrew the sheet.
Now, the belief was not yet extinct that the dead body
shows some signs of its murderer's approach.
So every eye glared on her and it by turns, as she, with
dilated, horror-stricken orbs, looked on that awful Thing.
CHAPTER XL
SHE recoiled with a violent shudder at first, and hid her face
with one hand. Then she gradually stole a horror-stricken
side glance.
She had not looked at it so a moment, when she uttered a
loud cry, and pointed at its feet with quivering hand.
"THE SHOES ! THE SHOES ! IT is NOT MY GRIFFITH."
With this she fell into violent hysterics, and was carried out
of the room at Houseman's earnest entreaty.
As soon as she was gone, Mr. Houseman, being freed from
his fear that his client would commit herself irretrievably,
recovered a show of composure, and his wits went keenly to
work.
"On behalf of the accused," said he, " I admit the suicide
of some person unknown, wearing heavy, hobnailed shoes;
probably one of the lower order of people."
This adroit remark produced some little effect, notwith-
standing the strong feeling against the accused.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The coroner inquired if there were any bodily marks by
which the remains could be identified.
"My master had a long black mole on his forehead/'
suggested Caroline Ryder.
" 'Tis here ! " cried a juryman, bending over the remains.
And now they all gathered in great excitement round the
corpus delicti ; and there sure enough was a long black mole.
Then was there a buzz of pity for Griffith Gaunt, followed
by a stern murmur of execration.
" Gentlemen/' said the coroner solemnly, " behold in this
the finger of Heaven. The poor gentleman may well have
put off his boots, since, it seems, he left his horse ; but he
could not take from his forehead his natal sign ; and that, by
God's will, hath strangely escaped mutilation, and revealed
a most foul deed. We must now do our duty, gentlemen,
without respect of persons."
A warrant was then issued for the apprehension of Thomas
Leiccester. And that same night Mrs. Gaunt left Hernshaw
in her own chariot between two constables, and escorted by
armed yeomen.
Her proud head was bowed almost to her knees, and her
streaming eyes hidden in her lovely hands. ' For why ? A
mob accompanied her for miles, shouting, " Murderess !
Bloody Papist ! Hast done to death the kindliest gentleman
in Cumberland. We'll all come to see thee hanged. Fair
face but foul heart ! " and groaning, hissing, and cursing,
and indeed only kept from violence by the escort.
And so they took that poor proud lady and lodged her in
Carlisle gaol.
She was enceinte into the bargain by the man she was to
be hanged for murdering.
CHAPTER XLI
THE county was against her, with some few exceptions. Sir
George Neville and Mr. Houseman stood stoutly by her.
Sir George's influence and money obtained her certain
comforts in gaol ; and, in that day, the law of England was
so far respected in a gaol, that untried prisoners were not
thrown into cells, nor impeded as they now are in preparing
their defence.
270
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Her two staunch friends visited her every day, and tried
to keep her heart up.
But they could not do it. She was in a state of dejection
bordering upon lethargy.
" If he is dead/' said she, " what matters it ? If, by God's
mercy, he is alive still, he will not let me die for want of a
word from him. Impatience hath been my bane. Now, I say,
God's will be done. I am weary of the world."
Houseman tried every argument to rouse her out of this
desperate frame of mind, but in vain.
It ran its course, and then, behold, it passed away like
a cloud, and there came a keen desire to live and defeat her
accusers.
She made Houseman write out all the evidence against
her ; and she studied it by day, and thought of it by night,
and often surprised both her friends by the acuteness of her
remarks.
Mr. Atkins discontinued his advertisements ; it was House-
man who now filled every paper with notices informing
Griffith Gaunt of his accession to fortune, and entreated him
for that, and other weighty reasons, to communicate in con-
fidence with his old friend John Houseman, attorney-at-law.
Houseman was too wary to invite him to appear and save
his wife ; for, in that case, he feared the Crown would use his
advertisements as evidence at the trial, should Griffith not
appear.
The fact is, Houseman relied more upon certain lacunae in
the evidence, and the absence of all marks of violence, than
upon any hope that Griffith might be alive.
The assizes drew near, and no fresh light broke in upon
this mysterious case.
Mrs. Gaunt lay in her bed at night, and thought and
thought.
Now the female understanding has sometimes remarkable
power under such circumstances. By degrees truth flashes
across it, like lightning in the dark.
After many such nightly meditations, Mrs. Gaunt sent one
day for Sir George Neville and Mr. Houseman, and addressed
them as follows : " I believe he is alive, and that I can guess
where he is at this moment."
Both the gentlemen started, and looked amazed.
" Yes, sirs ; so sure as we sit here, he is now at a little inn
in Lancashire, called the ( Packhorse,' with a woman he calls
271
GRIFFITH GAUNT
his wife." And, with this, her face was scarlet, and her eyes
flashed their old fire.
She exacted a solemn promise of secrecy from them, and
then she told them all she had learned from Thomas Leicester.
" And so now," said she, " I believe you can save my life, if
you think it is worth saving." And with this she began to
cry bitterly.
But Houseman, the practical, had no patience with the
pangs of love betrayed, and jealousy, and such small deer, in
a client whose life was at stake.
" Great Heaven ! madam," said he roughly, " why did you
not tell me this before ? "
" Because I am not a man to go and tell everything all at
once," sobbed Mrs. Gaunt. " Besides, I wanted to shield his
good name, whose dear life they pretend I have taken."
As soon as she recovered her composure, she begged Sir
George Neville to ride to the " Packhorse " for her. Sir
George assented eagerly, but asked how he was to find it.
" I have thought of that too," said she. " His black horse
has been to and fro. Ride that horse into Lancashire, and
give him his head ; ten to one but he takes you to the place,
or where you may hear of it. If not, go to 'Lancaster, and
ask about the ' Packhorse.' He wrote to me from Lancaster :
see." And she showed him the letter.
Sir George embraced with ardour this opportunity of serv-
ing her. "I'll be at Hernshaw in one hour," said he, "and
ride the black horse south at once."
" Excuse me," said Houseman ; " but would it not be better
for me to go ? As a lawyer, I may be more able to cope with
her."
" Nay," said Mrs. Gaunt, " Sir George is young and hand-
some ; if he manages well she will tell him more than she will
you. All I beg of him is, to drop the chevalier for this once,
and see women with a woman's eyes and not a man's, see
them as they are. Do not go telling a creature of this kind
that she has had my money, as well as my husband, and
ought to pity me lying here in prison. Keep me out of her
sight as much as you can. Whether Griffith hath deceived
her or not, you will never raise in her any feeling but love for
him, and hatred for his lawful wife. Dress like a yeoman ;
go quietly, and lodge in the house a day or two ; begin by
flattering her ; and then get from her when she saw him last,
or heard from him. But indeed I fear you will surprise him
with her."
272
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Fear ? " exclaimed Sir George.
"Well, hope, then," said the lady; and a tear trickled
down her face in a moment. " But, if you do, promise me,
on your honour as a gentleman, not to affront him. For I
know you think him a villain."
" A d d villain ! saving your presence."
" Well, sir, you have said it to me. Now promise me to say
nought to him, but just this : ' Rose Gaunt's mother she lies
in Carlisle gaol, to be tried for her life for murdering you.
She begs of you not to let her die publicly upon the scaffold,
but quietly at home, of her broken heart.' "
"Write it," said Sir George, with the tears in his eyes,
" that I may just put it in his hand ; for I can never utter
your sweet words to such a monster as he is."
Armed with this appeal, and several minute instructions,
which it is needless to particularise here, that staunch friend
rode into Lancashire.
And next day the black horse justified his mistress's sagacity
and his own.
He seemed all along to know where he was going, and late
in the afternoon he turned off the road on to a piece of
green ; and Sir George, with beating heart, saw right before
him the sign of the " Packhorse," and on coming nearer, the
words
THOMAS LEICESTER.
He dismounted at the door, and asked if he could have a bed.
Mrs. Vint said yes, and supper into the bargain, if he liked.
He ordered a substantial supper directly.
Mrs. Vint saw at once it was a good customer, and showed
him into the parlour.
He sat down by the fire. But the moment she retired
he got up and made a circuit of the house, looking quietly
into every window, to see if he could catch a glance of
Griffith Gaunt.
There were no signs of him ; and Sir George returned to
his parlour heavy hearted. One hope, the greatest of all,
had been defeated directly. Still, it was just possible that
Griffith might be away on temporary business.
In this faint hope Sir George strolled about till his supper
was ready for him.
When he had eaten his supper, he rang the bell, and
taking advantage of a common custom, insisted on the land-
lord, Thomas Leicester, taking a glass with him.
273 s
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Thomas Leicester ! " said the girl. " He is not at home.
But I'll send Master Vint."
Old Vint came in, and readily accepted an invitation to
drink his guest's health.
Sir George found him loquacious, and soon extracted from
him that his daughter Mercy was Leicester's wife, that
Leicester was gone on a journey, and that Mercy was in care
for him. "Leastways," said he, "she is very dull, and cries
at times when her mother speaks of him; but she is too
close to say much."
All this puzzled Sir George Neville sorely.
But greater surprises were in store.
The next morning after breakfast the servant came and
told him Dame Leicester desired to see him.
He started at that, but put on nonchalance, and said he
was at her service.
He was ushered into another parlour, and there he found
a grave, comely young woman, seated working, with a child
on the floor beside her. She rose quietly ; .he bowed low
and respectfully. She blushed faintly ; but, with every ap-
pearance of self-possession, curtsied to him ; then eyed him
point-blank a single moment, and requested him to be
seated.
" I hear, sir," said she, " you did ask my father many
questions last night ; may I ask you one ? "
Sir George coloured, but bowed assent.
" From whom had you the black horse you ride ? "
Now, if Sir George had not been a veracious man, he would
have been caught directly. But although he saw at once
the oversight he had committed, he replied, " I had him of a
lady in Cumberland, one Mistress Gaunt."
Mercy Vint trembled.
" No doubt," said she softly. " Excuse my question : you
shall understand that the horse is well known here."
" Madam," said Sir George, " if you admire the horse, he
is at your service for twenty pounds, though indeed he is
worth more."
" I thank you, sir," said Mercy, " I have no desire for the
horse whatever ; and be pleased to excuse my curiosity ; you
must think me impertinent."
" Nay, madam," said Sir George, " I consider nothing im-
pertinent that hath procured me the pleasure of an interview
with you."
He then, as directed by Mrs. Gaunt, proceeded to flatter
274
GRIFFITH GAUNT
the mother and the child, and exerted those powers of
pleasing which had made him irresistible in society.
Here, however, he found they went a very little way. Mercy
did not even smile. She cast out of her dove-like eyes a
gentle, humble, reproachful glance, as much as to say, " What !
do I seem so vain a creature as to believe all this ? "
Sir George himself had tact and sensibility ; and by-and-
by became discontented with the part he was playing, under
those meek, honest eyes.
There was a pause ; and, as her sex have a wonderful art of
reading the face, Mercy looked at him steadily, and said, " Yes,
sir, 'tis best to be straightforward, especially with women-folk."
Before he could recover this little facer, she said quietly,
" What is your name ? "
" George Neville."
" Well, George Neville," said Mercy, very slowly and softly,
" when you have a mind to tell me what you came here for,
and who sent you, you will find me in this little room. I
seldom leave it now. I beg you to speak your errand to
none but me." And she sighed deeply.
Sir George bowed low, and retired to collect his wits.
He had come here strongly prepossessed against Mercy.
But, instead of a vulgar, shallow woman, whom he was to
surprise into confession, he encountered a soft-eyed Puritan,
all unpretending dignity, grace, propriety, and sagacity.
" Flatter her ! " said he to himself, " I might as well flatter
an iceberg. Outwit her ! I feel like a child beside her."
He strolled about in a brown study, not knowing what to do.
She had given him a fair opening. She had invited him to
tell the truth. But he was afraid to take her at her word :
and yet what was the use to persist in what his own eyes told
him was the wrong course ?
Whilst he hesitated, and debated within himself, a trifling
incident turned the scale.
A poor woman came begging, with her child, and was
received rather roughly by Harry Vint. " Pass on, good
woman," said he, " we want no tramps here."
Then a window was opened on the ground floor, and Mercy
beckoned the woman. Sir George flattened himself against
the wall, and listened to the two talking.
Mercy examined the woman gently, but shrewdly, and
elicited a tale of genuine distress. Sir George then saw her
hand out to the woman some warm flannel for herself, a piece
of stuff for the child, a large piece of bread, and a sixpence.
275
GRIFFITH GAUNT
He also caught sight of Mercy's dove-like eyes, as she be-
stowed her alms, and they were lit with an inward lustre.
" She cannot be an ill woman/' thought Sir George. " I'll
e'en go by my own eyes and judgment. After all, Mrs. Gaunt
has never seen her ; and I have."
He went and knocked at Mercy's door.
" Come in," said a mild voice.
Neville entered, and said abruptly, and with great emotion,
" Madam, I see you can feel for the unhappy ; so- I take my
own way now, and appeal to your pity. I have come to speak
to you on the saddest business."
" You come from him," said Mercy, closing her lips tight ;
but her bosom heaved. Her heart and her judgment grappled
like wrestlers that moment.
" Nay, madam," said Sir George, " I come from her."
Mercy knew in a moment who " her " must be.
She looked scared, and drew back with manifest signs of
repulsion.
The movement did not escape Sir George :. it alarmed him,
he remembered what Mrs. Gaunt had said, that this woman
would be sure to hate Gaunt' s lawful wife. But it was too late
to go back. He did the next best thing he rushed on.
He threw himself on his knees before Mercy Vint.
" Oh, madam," he cried piteously, " do not set your heart
against the most unhappy lady in England. If you did but
know her, her nobleness, her misery ! Before you steel your-
self against me, her friend, let me ask you one question. Do
you know where Mrs. Gaunt is at this moment ? "
Mercy answered coldly, " How should I know where the
lady is ? "
" Well, then, she lies in Carlisle gaol."
" She lies in Carlisle gaol ? " repeated Mercy, looking all
confused.
" They accuse her of murdering her husband."
Mercy uttered a scream, and catching her child up on the
floor, began to rock herself and moan over it.
" No, no, no," cried Sir George ; " she is innocent, she is
innocent."
" What is that to me ? " cried Mercy wildly. " He is
murdered, he is dead, and my child an orphan." And so she
went on moaning and rocking herself.
" But I tell you he is not dead at all," cried Sir George.
" 'Tis all a mistake. When did you see him last ? "
" More than six weeks ago."
276
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" I mean, when did you hear from him last ? "
" Never, since that day."
Sir George groaned aloud at this intelligence.
And Mercy, who heard him groan, was heart-broken. She
accused herself of Griffith's death. " 'Twas I who drove him
from me," said she. " 'Twas I who bade him go back to his
lawful wife; and the wretch hated him. I sent him to his
death." Her grief was wild, and deep ; she could not hear
Sir George's arguments.
But presently she said sternly : " What does that woman say
for herself?"
" Madam," said Sir George dejectedly, " Heaven knows you
are in no condition to fathom a mystery that hath puzzled
wiser heads than yours or mine ; and I am but little able to
lay the tale before you fairly : for your grief it moves me
deeply, and I could curse myself for putting the matter to you
so bluntly and uncouthly. Permit me to retire a while, and com-
pose my own spirits for the task I have undertaken too rashly."
" Nay, George Neville," said Mercy, " stay you there : only
give me a moment to draw my breath."
She struggled hard for a little composure, and, after a
shower of tears, she hung her head over the chair like a
crushed thing, but made him a sign of attention.
Sir George told the story as fairly as he could, only of course
his bias was in favour of Mrs. Gaunt ; but as Mercy's bias was
against her, this brought the thing nearly square.
When he came to the finding of the body, Mercy was seized
with a deadly faintness ; and, though she did not become
insensible, yet she was in no condition to judge or even to
comprehend.
Sir George was moved with pity, and would have called for
help ; but she shook her head. So then he sprinkled water
on her face, and slapped her hand : and a beautifully moulded
hand it was.
When she got a little better she sobbed faintly, and sobbing
thanked him, and begged him to go on.
" My mind is stronger than my heart," she said. " I'll hear
it all, though it kill me where I sit."
Sir George went on, and, to avoid repetition, I must ask the
reader to understand that he left out nothing whatever which
has been hitherto related in these pages, and, in fact, told her
one or two little things that I have omitted.
When he had done, she sat quite still a minute or two, pale
as a statue.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Then she turned to Neville, and said solemnly, " You wish
to know the truth in this dark matter ; for dark it is, in very
sooth."
Neville was much impressed by her manner, and answered
respectfully, Yes, he desired to know by all means.
"Then take my hand," said Mercy, " and kneel down with
me."
Sir George looked surprised, but obeyed, and kneeled down
beside her, with his hand in hers.
There was a long pause, and then took place a trans-
formation.
The dove-like eyes were lifted to Heaven, and gleamed like
opals with an inward and celestial light; the comely face
shone with a higher beauty, and the rich voice rose in ardent
supplication.
" Thou, God, to whom all hearts be known, and no secrets
hid from Thine eye, look down now on Thy servant in sore
trouble, that putteth her trust in Thee. Give wisdom to the
simple this day, and understanding to the lowly. Thou that
didst reveal to babes and sucklings the great things that
were hidden from the wise, oh ! show us the truth in this dark
matter ; enlighten us by the Spirit, for His dear sake, who
suffered more sorrows than I suffer now. Amen, Amen."
Then she looked at Neville, and he said "Amen," with all
his heart, and the tears in his eyes.
He had never heard real live prayer before. Here the
little hand griped his hard, as she wrestled, and the heart
seemed to rise out of the bosom and fly to Heaven on the
sublime and thrilling voice.
They rose, and she sat down ; but it seemed as if her eyes
once raised to Heaven in prayer could not come down again ;
they remained fixed and angelic, and her lips still moved in
supplication.
Sir George Neville, though a loose liver, was no scoffer ; he
was smitten with reverence for this inspired countenance, and
retired, bowing low and obsequiously.
He took a long walk and thought it all over. One thing
was clear and consoling. He felt sure he had done wisely
to disobey Mrs. Gaunt's instructions, and make a friend of
Mercy, instead of trying to set his wits against hers. Ere
he returned to the " Packhorse," he had determined to
take another step in the right direction. He did not like to
agitate her with another interview so soon. But he wrote
her a little letter.
278
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" MADAM, When I came here, I did not know you ; and
therefore I feared to trust you too far. But, now I do know
you for the best woman in England, I take the open way with
you.
" Know that Mrs. Gaunt said the man would be here with
you ; and she charged me with a few written lines to him.
She would be angry if she knew that I had shown them to
any other. Yet I take on me to show them to you : for I
believe you are wiser than any of us, if the truth were known.
I do therefore entreat you to read these lines, and tell me
whether you think the hand that wrote them can have shed
the blood of him to whom they are writ. I am, Madam,
with profound respect, your grateful and very humble
servant, GEORGE NEVILLE."
He very soon received a line in reply, written in a clear
and beautiful handwriting.
" Mercy Vint sends you her duty ; and she will speak to
you at nine of the clock to-morrow morning. Pray for light."
At the appointed time Sir George found her working with
her needle. His letter lay on the table before her.
She rose and curtsied to him, and called the servant to take
away the child for a while. She went with her to the door
and kissed the bairn several times at parting, as if he was going
away for good. " I'm loath to let him go," said she to Neville ;
"but it weakens a mother's mind to have her babe in the
room takes her attention off each moment. Pray you be
seated. Well, sir, I have read these lines of Mistress Gaunt,
and wept over them. Methinks I had not done so were they
cunningly devised. Also I lay all night and thought."
" That is just what she does."
" No doubt, sir ; and the upshot is, I don't feel as if he was
dead. Thank God ! "
" That is something," said Neville. But he could not help
thinking it was very little, especially to produce in a court of
justice.
" And now," said she thoughtfully, " you say that the real
Thomas Leicester was seen thereabouts as well as my Thomas
Leicester. Then answer me one little question. What had
the real Thomas Leicester on his feet that night ? "
" Nay, I know not," was the half-careless reply.
" Bethink you. 'Tis a question that must have been often
put in your hearing."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Begging your pardon, it was never put at all ; nor do I
" What, not at the inquest ? "
" No."
" That is very strange. What, so many wise heads have bent
over this riddle, and not one to ask how was yon pedlar shod ! "
"Madam," said Sir George, "our minds were fixed upon
the fate of Gaunt. Many did ask how was the pedlar armed,
but none how was he shod."
" Hath he been seen since ? "
" Not he ; and that hath an ugly look, for the constables
are out after him with hue and cry ; but he is not to be found."
" Then," said Mercy, " I must e'en answer my own question.
I do know how that pedlar was shod WITH HOBNAILED SHOES."
Sir George bounded from his chair. One great ray of
daylight broke in upon him.
" Ay," said Mercy, " she was right. Women do see clearer
in some things than men. The pair went from my house to
hers : he you call Griffith Gaunt had on a new pair of boots ;
and by the same token 'twas I did pay for them, and there is
the receipt in that cupboard ; he you call Thomas Leicester
went hence in hobnailed shoes. I think the body they found
was the body of Thomas Leicester the pedlar. May God have
mercy on his poor unprepared soul ! "
Sir George uttered a joyful exclamation. But the next
moment he had a doubt, " Ay, but," said he, " you forget the
mole. 'Twas on that they built."
" I forget nought," said Mercy calmly. " The pedlar had
a black mole over his left temple. He showed it me in this
very room. You have found the body of Thomas Leicester,
and Griffith Gaunt is hiding from the law that he hath broken.
He is afeared of her and her friends if he shows his face in
Cumberland ; he is afeared of my folk if he be seen in Lanca-
shire. Ah, Thomas, as if I would let them harm thee ! "
Sir George Neville walked to and fro in grand excitement.
" Oh, blessed day that I came hither. Madam, you are an
angel. You will save an innocent, broken-hearted lady from
death and dishonour. Your good heart and rare wit have
read in a moment the dark riddle that hath puzzled a
county."
"George," said Mercy gravely, "you have gotten the
wrong end of the stick. The wise in their own conceit are
blinded ; in Cumberland, where all this befell, they went not
to God for light, as you and I did, George."
280
GRIFFITH GAUNT
In saying this she gave him her hand to celebrate their
success.
He kissed it devoutly, and owned afterward that it was the
proudest moment of his life when that sweet Puritan gave him
her neat hand so cordially, with a pressure so gentle yet frank.
And now came the question how they were to make a
Cumberland jury see this matter as they saw it.
He asked her would she come to the trial as a witness ?
At that she drew back with manifest repugnance.
" My shame would be public. I must tell who I am, and
what. A ruined woman ! "
" Say, rather an injured saint. You have nothing to be
ashamed of. All good men would feel for you."
Mercy shook her head. " Ay, but the women ; shame is
shame with us : right or wrong goes for little. Nay, I hope
to do better for you than that. I must find him, and send
him to deliver her. 'Tis his only chance of happiness."
She then asked him if he would draw up an advertisement
of quite a different kind from those he had described to her.
He assented, and between them they concocted the
following :
" If Thomas Leicester, who went from the f Packhorse' two
months ago, will come thither at once, Mercy will be much be-
holden to him, and tell him strange things that have befallen."
Sir George then, at her request, rode over to Lancaster, and
inserted the above in the county paper, and also in a small sheet
that was issued in the city three times a week. He had also
handbills to the same effect printed, and sent into Cumberland
and Westmoreland. Finally, he sent a copy to his man of
business in London, with orders to insert it in all the journals.
Then he returned to the " Packhorse," and told Mercy
what he had done.
The next day he bade her farewell, and away for Carlisle.
It was a two days' journey. He reached Carlisle in the evening,
and went all glowing to Mrs. Gaunt. " Madam," said he, " be
of good cheer. I bless the day I went to see her ; she is an
angel of wit and goodness." He then related to her, in glowing
terms, most that had passed between Mercy and him. But to
his surprise, Mrs. Gaunt wore a cold, forbidding air.
" This is all very well," said she. " But 'twill avail me little
unless he comes before the judge and clears me ; and she will
never let him do that."
" Ay, that she will if she can find him."
" If she can find him ? How simple you are ! "
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Nay, madam, not so simple but I can tell a good woman
from a bad one, and a true from a false."
" What ! when you are in love with her ? Not if you were
the wisest of your sex."
" In love with her ? " cried Sir George ; and coloured high.
" Ay," said the lady. " Think you I cannot tell ? Don't
deceive yourself. You have gone and fallen in love with
her. At your years ! Not that 'tis any business of mine."
" Well, madam," said Sir George stiffly," say what you please
on that score ; but, at least welcome my good news."
Mrs. Gaunt begged him to excuse her petulance, and thanked
him kindly for all he had just done. But the next moment she
rose from her chair in great agitation, and burst out, " I'd as
lieve die as owe anything to that woman."
Sir George remonstrated. " Why hate her ? She does not
hate you."
" Oh yes, she does. Tis not in nature she should do any
other."
" Her acts prove the contrary."
" Her acts ! she has done nothing, but make fair promises ;
and that has blinded you. Women of this sort are very cunning,
and never show their real characters to a man. No more ;
prithee mention not her name to me. It makes me ill. I
know he is with her at this moment. Ah, let me die, and be
forgotten : since I am no more beloved."
The voice was sad and weary now, and the tears ran
fast.
Poor Sir George was moved and melted, and set himself to
flatter and console this impracticable lady, who hated her best
friend in this sore strait, for being what she was herself, a
woman ; and was much less annoyed at being hanged than at
not being loved.
When she was a little calmer he left her, and rode off to
Houseman. That worthy was delighted. f Get her to swear
to those hobnailed shoes," said he, "and we shall shake them."
He then let Sir George know that he had obtained private
information, which he would use in cross-examining a principal
witness for the Crown. " However," he added, " do not de-
ceive yourself : nothing can make the prisoner really safe but
the appearance of Griffith Gaunt : he has such strong motives
for coming to light ; he is heir to a fortune, and his wife is
accused of murdering him. The jury will never believe he is
alive till they see him. That man's prolonged disappearance
is hideous. It turns my blood cold when I think of it."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Do not despair on that score," said Neville. " I believe
our good angel will produce him."
Three days only before the assizes came the long-expected
letter from Mercy Vint. Sir George toi-e it open, but bitter
was his disappointment. The letter merely said that Griffith
had not appeared in answer to her advertisements, and she
was sore grieved and perplexed.
There were two postscripts, each on a little piece of paper.
First postscript, in a tremulous hand, " Pray."
Second postscript, in a firm hand, " Drain that water."
Houseman shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Drain
the mere ? Let the Crown do that. We should but fish up
more trouble. And prayers, quo' she ! 'Tis not prayers we
want, but evidence."
He sent his clerk off to travel post night and day, and
subpoena Mercy, and bring her back with him to the trial.
She was to have every comfort on the road, and be treated
like a duchess.
The evening before the assizes Mrs. Gaunt's apartments were
Mr. Houseman's headquarters, and messages were coming
and going all day, on matters connected with the defence.
Just at sunset up rattled a postchaise, and the clerk got
out and came haggard and bloodshot before his employer.
" The witness has disappeared, sir. Left home last Tuesday
with her child, and has never been seen nor heard of since."
Here was a terrible blow. They all paled under it; it
seriously diminished the chances of an acquittal.
But Mrs. Gaunt bore it nobly. She seemed to rise under it.
She turned to Sir George Neville with a sweet smile.
" The noble heart sees base things noble. No wonder then
an artful woman deluded you. He has left England with
her, and condemned me to the gallows. In cold blood. So
be it. I shall defend myself."
She then sat down with Mr. Houseman, and went through the
written case he had prepared for her, and showed him notes she
had taken of full a hundred criminal trials, great and small.
While they were putting their heads together, Sir George
sat in a brown study, and uttered not a word. Presently he
got up a little brusquely, and said, " I'm going to Hernshaw."
" What, at this time of night ? What to do ? "
" To obey my orders. To drain the mere."
" And who could have ordered you to drain my mere ? "
283
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Mercy Vint."
Sir George uttered this in a very curious way, half ashamed,
half resolute, and retired before Mrs. Gaunt could vent in
speech the surprise and indignation that fired her eye.
Houseman implored her not to heed Sir George and his
vagaries, but to bend her whole mind on those approved modes
of defence with which he had supplied her.
Being now alone with her, he no longer concealed his
great anxiety.
" We have lost an invaluable witness in that woman," said
he. " I was mad to think she would come."
Mrs. Gaunt shivered with repugnance. " I would not have
her come for all the world," said she. " For Heaven's sake
never mention her name to me. I want help from none but
friends. Send Mrs. Houseman to me in the morning, and do
not distress yourself so. I shall defend myself far better than
you think. I have not studied a hundred trials for nought."
Thus the prisoner cheered up her attorney, and soon after
insisted on his going home to bed, for she saw 'he was worn
out by his exertions.
And now she was alone.
All was silent.
A few short hours, and she was to be tried for her life ;
tried, not by the All-wise Judge, but by fallible men, and
under a system most unfavourable to the accused.
Worse than all this, she was a Papist ; and, as ill-luck would
have it, since her imprisonment an alarm had been raised that
the Pretender meditated another invasion. This report had
set juries very much against all the Romanists in the country,
and had already perverted justice in one or two cases, especi-
ally in the North.
Mrs. Gaunt knew all this, and trembled at the peril to
come.
She spent the early part of the night in studying her
defence. Then she laid it quite aside, and prayed long and
fervently.
Towards morning she fell asleep from exhaustion.
When she awoke Mrs. Houseman was sitting by her bed-
side, looking at her, and crying.
They were soon clasped in each other's arms, condoling.
But presently Houseman came, and took his wife away
rather angrily.
Mrs. Gaunt was prevailed on to eat a little toast and drink
a glass of wine, and then she sat waiting her dreadful summons.
284
GRIFFITH GAUNT
She waited, and waited, until she became impatient to face
her danger.
But there were two petty larcenies on before her. She had
to wait.
At last, about noon, came a message to say that the grand
jury had found a true bill against her.
" Then may God forgive them ! " said she.
Soon afterwards she was informed her time drew very near.
She made her toilet carefully, and passed with her attendant
into a small room under the court.
Here she had to endure another chilling wait, and in a
sombre room.
Presently she heard a voice above her cry out, " The King
versus Catherine Gaunt."
Then she was beckoned to.
She mounted some steps, badly lighted, and found herself
in the glare of day, and greedy eyes, in the felons' dock.
In a matter entirely strange, we seldom know beforehand
what we can do, and how we shall carry ourselves. Mrs.
Gaunt no sooner set her foot in that dock, and saw the awful
front of Justice face to face, than her tremors abated, and all
her powers awoke, and she thrilled with love of life, and
bristled with all those fine arts of defence that nature lends
to superior women.
She entered on that defence before she spoke a word ; for
she attacked the prejudices of the court by deportment.
She curtsied reverently to the judge, and contrived to make
her reverence seem a willing homage, unmixed with fear.
She cast her eyes round, and saw the court thronged with
ladies and gentlemen she knew. In a moment she read in
their faces that only two or three were on her side. She
bowed to those only, and they returned her courtesy. This
gave an impression (a false one) that the gentry sympathised
with her.
After a little murmur of functionaries, the Clerk of Arraigns
turned to the prisoner, and said, in a loud voice, " Catherine
Gaunt, hold up thy hand."
She held up her hand, and he recited the indictment, which
charged that, not having the fear of God before her eyes, but
being moved by the instigation of the devil, she had on the
fifteenth of October, in the tenth year of the reign of his
present Majesty, aided and abetted one Thomas Leicester in
an assault upon one Griffith Gaunt, Esq., and him, the said
Griffith Gaunt did with force and arms assassinate and do to
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
death, against the peace of our said Lord the King, his crown
and dignity.
After reading the indictment, the Clerk of Arraigns turned
to the prisoner, " How sayest thou, Catherine Gaunt, art thou
guilty of the felony and murder whereof thou standest indicted
or not guilty ? "
" I am not guilty."
" Culprit, how wilt thou be tried ? "
" Culprit I am none, but only accused : I will be tried by
God and my country."
" God send thee a good deliverance."
Mr. Whitworth, the junior counsel for the Crown, then rose to
open the case ; but the prisoner, with a pale face, but most cour-
teous demeanour, begged his leave to make a previous motion to
the court. Mr. Whitworth bowed and sat down. " My lord,"
said she, " I have first a favour to ask ; and that favour, me-
thinks, you will grant, since it is but justice, impartial justice.
My accuser, I hear, has two counsel, both learned and able.
I am but a woman, and no match for their skill,; therefore, I
beg your lordship to allow me counsel on my defence, to matter
of fact as well as of law. I know this is not usual ; but it is
just ; and I am informed it has sometimes been granted in
trials of life and death, and that your lordship hath the power,
if you will have the will, to do me so much justice."
The judge looked towards Mr. Serjeant Wiltshire, who was
the leader on the other side ; he rose instantly, and replied to
this purpose : " The prisoner is misinformed. The truth is,
that from time immemorial, and down to the other day, a
person indicted for a capital offence was never allowed counsel
at all, except to matters of law, and these must be started by
himself. By recent practice the rule hath been so far relaxed,
that counsel have sometimes been permitted to examine, and
cross-examine, witnesses for a prisoner; but never to make
observations on the evidence, nor to draw inferences from it
to the point in issue."
Mrs. Gaunt. So, then, if I be sued for a small sum of money,
I may have skilled orators to defend me against their like.
But, if I be sued for my life and honour, I may not oppose
skill to skill, but must stand here a child against you that
are masters. 'Tis a monstrous iniquity, and you yourself, sir,
will not deny it.
Serjeant Wiltshire. Madam, permit me : whether it be a
hardship to deny full counsel to prisoners in criminal cases, I
shall not pretend to say ; but if it be, 'tis a hardship of the
286
GRIFFITH GAUNT
law's making, and not of mine, nor of my lord's ; and none
have suffered by it (at least in our day) but those who had
broken the law.
The Serjeant then stopped a minute, and whispered with
his junior. After which he turned to the judge. "My lord,
we, that are of counsel for the Crown, desire to do nothing
that is hard where a person's life is at stake. We yield to the
prisoner any indulgence for which your lordship can find a
precedent in your reading, but no more ; and so we leave the
matter to you."
The Clerk of Arraigns. Crier, proclaim silence.
The Crier. Oyez ! Oyez ! Oyez ! His Majesty's Justices do
straitly charge all manner of persons to keep silence on pain
of imprisonment.
The Judge. Prisoner, what my brother Wiltshire says, the
law is clear in ; there is no precedent for what you ask, and
the contrary practice stares us in the face for centuries. What
seems to you a partial practice, and, to be frank, some learned
persons are of your mind, must be set against this, that in
capital cases the burden of proof lies on the Crown and not on
the accused. Also it is my duty to give you all the assistance
I can, and that I shall do. Thus then it is : you can be allowed
counsel to examine your own witnesses, and cross-examine the
witnesses for the Crown, and speak to points of law, to be
started by yourself, but no further.
He then asked her what gentleman there present he should
assign to her for counsel.
Her reply to this inquiry took the whole court by surprise,
and made her solicitor, Houseman, very miserable. " None,
my lord," said she. "Half justice is injustice; and I will
lend it no colour. I will not set able men to fight for me, with
their hands tied, against men as able whose hands be free.
Counsel, on terms so partial, I will have none. My counsel
shall be three, and no more. Yourself, my lord, my Inno-
cence, and the Lord God Omniscient."
These words, grandly uttered, caused a dead silence in the
court, but only for a few moments. It was broken by the
loud mechanical voice of the crier, who proclaimed silence, and
then called the names of the jury that were to try this cause.
Mrs. Gaunt listened keenly to the names, familiar and
bourgeois names, that now seemed regal, for they who owned
them held her life in their hands.
Each juryman was sworn in the grand old form, now slightly
curtailed.
287
GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Joseph King, look upon the prisoner. You shall well and
truly try, and true deliverance make, between our Sovereign
Lord the King and the prisoner at the bar, whom you shall
have in charge, and a true verdict give, according to the
evidence. So help you God."
Mr. Whitworth, for the Crown, then opened the case, but
did little more than translate the indictment into more
rational language.
He sat down, and Serjeant Wiltshire addressed the court
somewhat after this fashion :
" May it please your lordship, and you, gentlemen of the
jury, this is a case of great expectation and importance. The
prisoner at the bar, a gentlewoman by birth and education,
and, as you must have already perceived, by breeding also,
stands indicted for no less a crime than murder.
" I need not paint to you the heinousness of this crime : you
have but to consult your own breasts. Who ever saw the
ghastly corpse of the victim weltering in its blood, and did
not feel his own blood run cold through his veins ? Has the
murderer fled ? with what eagerness do we pursue ! with what
zeal apprehend ! with what joy do we bring him to justice !
Even the dreadful sentence of death does not shock us when
pronounced upon him : we hear it with solemn satisfaction ;
and acknowledge the justice of the divine sentence, ' Whoso
sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.'
" But if this be the case in every common murder, what shall
be thought of her who has murdered her husband ? the man
in whose arms she has lain, and whom she has sworn at God's
altar to love and cherish. Such a murderer is a robber as well
as an assassin ; for she robs her own children of their father,
that tender parent, who can never be replaced in this world.
" Gentlemen, it will, I fear, be proved that the prisoner at
the bar hath been guilty of murder in this high degree ; and,
though I will endeavour rather to extenuate than to aggravate,
yet I trust (sic) I have such a history to open as will shock
the ears of all who hear me.
11 Mr. Griffith Gaunt, the unfortunate deceased, was a man
of descent and worship. As to his character, it was inoffen-
sive ; he was known as a worthy kindly gentleman, deeply
attached to her who now stands accused of his murder. They
lived happily together for some years ; but, unfortunately,
there was a thorn in the rose of their wedded life : he was of
the Church of England ; she was, and is, a Roman Catholic.
This led to disputes : and no wonder ; since the same unhappy
288
GRIFFITH GAUNT
difference hath more than once embroiled a nation, let alone
a single family.
" Well, gentlemen, about a year ago there was a more violent
quarrel than usual between the deceased and the prisoner at
the bar, and the deceased left his home for several months.
" He returned upon a certain day in this year, and a recon-
ciliation, real or apparent, took place. He left home again
soon afterwards, but only for a short period. On the 1 5th of
last October he suddenly returned for good, as he intended :
and here begins the tragedy to which what I have hitherto
related was but the prologue.
"Scarce an hour before he came, one Thomas Leicester
entered the house. Now this Thomas Leicester was a creature
of the prisoner's. He had been her gamekeeper, and was
now a pedlar. It was the prisoner who set him up as a pedlar,
and purchased the wares to start him in his trade.
" Gentlemen, this pedlar, as I shall prove, was concealed in
the house when the deceased arrived. One Caroline Ryder,
who is the prisoner's gentlewoman, was the person who first
informed her of Leicester's arrival, and it seems she was much
moved ; Mrs. Ryder will tell you she fell into hysterics. But,
soon after, her husband's arrival was announced, and then the
passion was of a very different kind. So violent was her rage
against this unhappy man that, for once, she forgot all pru-
dence, and threatened his life before a witness. Yes, gentle-
men, we shall prove that this gentlewoman, who in appearance
and manners might grace a court, was so transported out of
her usual self that she held up a knife a knife, gentlemen
and vowed to put it into her husband's heart. And this was
no mere temporary ebullition of wrath ; we shall see presently
that, long after she had time to cool, she repeated this menace
to the unfortunate man's face. The first threat, however, was
uttered in her own bedroom, before her confidential servant,
Caroline Ryder aforesaid. But now the scene shifts. She has,
to all appearance, recovered herself, and sits smiling at the
head of her table ; for, you must know, she entertained company
that night persons of the highest standing in the county.
" Presently her husband, all unconscious of the terrible sen-
timents she entertained towards him, and the fearful purpose
she had announced, enters the room, makes obeisance to his
guests, and goes to take his wife's hand.
" What does she ? She draws back with so strange a look
and such forbidding words, that the company were discon-
certed. Consternation fell on all present; and ere long they
289 T
GRIFFITH GAUNT
made their excuses and left the house. Thus the prisoner
was left alone with her husband. But meantime curiosity
had been excited by her strange conduct, and some of the
servants, with foreboding hearts, listened at the door of the
dining-room. What did they hear, gentlemen ? A furious
quarrel, in which, however, the deceased was comparatively
passive, and the prisoner again threatened his life with vehe-
mence. Her passion, it is clear, had not cooled.
" Now it may fairly be alleged, on behalf of the prisoner,
that the witnesses for the Crown were on one side of the
door, the prisoner and the deceased on the other ; and that
such evidence should be received with caution. I grant this
where it is not sustained by other circumstances, or by
direct proofs. Let us then give the prisoner the benefit of
this doubt, and let us inquire how the deceased himself under-
stood her ; he who not only heard the words and the accents,
but saw the looks, whatever they were, that accompanied them.
" Gentlemen, he was a man of known courage and resolu-
tion, yet he was found after this terrible interview much cowed
and dejected. He spoke to Mrs. Ryder of his death as an
event not far distant, and so went to his bedroom in a melan-
choly and foreboding state ; and where was that bedroom ?
He was thrust by his wife's orders into a small chamber, and
not allowed to enter hers : he, the master of the house, her
husband and her lord.
" But his interpretation of the prisoner's words did not end
there. He left us a further comment by his actions next
ensuing. He dared not (I beg pardon, this is my inference ;
receive it as such), he did not remain in that house a single
night. He bolted his chamber-door inside, and in the very
dead of night, notwithstanding the fatigues of the day's
journey (for he had ridden some distance), he let himself out
by the window, and reached the ground safely, though it was
a height of fourteen feet ; a leap, gentlemen, that few of us
would venture to take. But what will not men risk when
destruction is at their heels ? He did not wait even to saddle
his horse, but fled on foot. Unhappy man, he fled from
danger, and met his death.
" From the hour when he went up to bed none of the in-
mates of the house ever saw Griffith Gaunt alive ; but one
Thomas Hayes, a labourer, saw him walking in a certain direc-
tion at one o'clock that morning, and behind him, gentlemen,
there walked another man.
" Who was that other man ?
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" When 1 have told you (and this is an essential feature of
the case) how the prisoner was employed during the time
that her husband lay quaking in his little room, waiting an
opportunity to escape when I tell you this, I fear you will
divine who it was that followed the deceased, and for what
purpose.
" Gentlemen, when the prisoner had threatened her husband
in person, as I have described, she retired to her own room,
but not to sleep. She ordered her maid, Mrs. Ryder, to bring
Thomas Leicester to her chamber. Yes, gentlemen, she re-
ceived this pedlar at midnight in her bed-chamber.
" Now, an act so strange as this admits, I think, of but two
interpretations. Either she had a guilty amour with this
fellow, or she had some extraordinary need of his services.
Her whole character, by consent of the witnesses, renders it
very improbable that she would descend to a low amour. More-
over, she acted too publicly in the matter. The man, as we
know, was her tool, her creature : she had bought his wares
for him, and set him up as a pedlar. She openly summoned
him to her presence, and kept him there about half-an-hour.
" He went from her, and very soon after is seen, by Thomas
Hayes, following Griffith Gaunt at one o'clock in the morn-
ing that Griffith Gaunt who, after that hour, was never seen
alive.
" Gentlemen, up to this point the evidence is clear, con-
nected, and cogent ; but it rarely happens in cases of murder
that any human eye sees the very blow struck. The penalty
is too severe for such an act to be done in the presence of an
eye-witness ; and not one murderer in ten could be convicted
without the help of circumstantial evidence.
" The next link, however, is taken up by an ear-witness,
and, in some cases, the ear is even better than the eye ; for
instance, as to the discharge of firearms ; for, by the eye alone,
we could not positively tell whether a pistol had gone off or
had but flashed in the pan. Well, then, gentlemen, a few
minutes after Mr. Gaunt was last seen alive, which was by
Thomas Hayes, Mrs. Ryder, who had retired to her bedroom,
heard the said Gaunt distinctly cry for help : she also heard a
pistol-shot discharged. This took place by the side of a lake
or large pond near the house, called f the mere.' Mrs. Ryder
alarmed the house, and she and the other servants proceeded
to her master's room : they found it bolted from the inside.
They broke it open. Mr. Gaunt had escaped by the window,
as I have already told you.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Presently in comes the prisoner from out of doors. This is
at one o'clock in the morning. Now she appears to have seen
at once that she must explain her being abroad at that time,
so she told Mrs. Ryder that she had been out praying."
(Here some people laughed harshly, but were threatened
severely, and silenced.)
" Is that credible ? Do people go out of doors at one o'clock
in the morning to pray ? Nay ; but I fear it was to do an act
that years of prayer and penitence cannot efface.
" From that moment Mr. Gaunt was seen no more among
living men. And what made his disappearance the more
mysterious was that he had actually at this time just inherited
largely from his namesake, Mr. Gaunt of Coggleswade ; and his
own interest, and that of the other legatees, required his im-
mediate presence. Mr. Atkins, the testator's solicitor, adver-
tised for this unfortunate gentleman ; but he did not appear to
claim his fortune. Then plain men began to put this and that
together, and cried out ' Foul play ! '
"Justice was set in motion at last, but embarrassed by the
circumstance that the body of the deceased could not be found.
" At last, Mr. Atkins, the solicitor, being unable to get the
estate I have mentioned administered, for want of proof of
Griffith Gaunt's decease, entered heartily into this affair, on
mere civil grounds. He asked the prisoner, before several
witnesses, if she would permit him to drag that piece of water
by the side of which Mr. Gaunt was heard to cry for help,
and, after that, seen no more.
" The prisoner did not reply ; but Mr. Houseman, her
solicitor, a very worthy man, who has, I believe, or had, up to
that moment, a sincere conviction of her innocence, answered
for her, and told Mr. Atkins he was welcome to drag or drain
it. Then the prisoner said nothing. She fainted away.
" After this, you may imagine with what expectation the
water was dragged. Gentlemen, after hours of fruitless labour,
a body was found.
"But here an unforeseen circumstance befriended the
prisoner. It seems that piece of water swarms with enormous
pike and other ravenous fish. These had so horribly mutilated
the deceased, that neither form nor feature remained to swear
by ; and, as the law wisely and humanely demands that in
these cases a body shall be identified beyond doubt, justice
bade fair to be baffled again. But, lo ! as often happens
in case of murder, Providence interposed, and pointed with
unerring finger to a slight but infallible mark. The deceased
292
GRIFFITH GAUNT
gentleman was known to have a large mole over his left temple.
It had been noticed by his servants and his neighbours. Well,
gentlemen, the greedy fish had spared this mole : spared it
perhaps by His command who bade the whale swallow Jonah,
yet not destroy him. There it was, clear and infallible. It
was examined by several witnesses ; it was recognised ; it com-
pleted that chain of evidence, some of it direct, some of it
circumstantial, which I have laid before you very briefly, and
every part of which I shall now support by credible witnesses."
He called thirteen witnesses, including Mr. Atkins, Thomas
Hayes, Jane Bannister, Caroline Ryder, and others, and their
evidence in chief bore out every positive statement the counsel
had made.
In cross-examining these witnesses Mrs. Gaunt took a line
that agreeably surprised the court. It was not for nothing
she had studied a hundred trials with a woman's observation
and patient docility. She had found out how badly people
plead their own causes, and had noticed the reasons ; one of
which is that they say too much, and stray from the point.
The line she took, with one exception, was keen brevity.
She cross-examined Thomas Hayes as follows :
CHAPTER XLII
" You say the pedlar was a hundred yards behind my husband.
Which of the two men was walking fastest ? "
Thomas Hayes considered a moment. " Well, I think the
squire was walking rather the smartest of the two."
" Did the pedlar seem likely to overtake him ? "
" Nay. Ye see, dame, squire he walked straight on; but the
pedlar he took both sides of the road at onst, as the saying is."
The Prisoner. Forgive me, Thomas, but I don't know what
you mean.
Hayes (compassionately). How should ye ? You are never
the worse for liquor, the likes of you.
The Prisoner (very keenly). Oh, he was in liquor, was he ?
Hayes. Come, dame, you do brew good ale at Hernshaw
Castle. Ye needn't go to deny that ; for, Lord knows, 'tis no
sin ; and a poor fellow may be jolly, yet not to say drunk.
The Judge (sternly). Witness, attend, and answer directly.
293
GRIFFITH GAUNT
The Prisoner. Nay, my lord, 'tis a plain country body, and
means no ill. Good Thomas, be so much my friend as to
answer plainly. Was the man drunk or sober ?
Hayes. All I know is he went from one side of the road to
t'other.
The Prisoner. Thomas Hayes, as you hope to be saved
eternally, was the pedlar drunk or sober ?
Hayes. Well, if I must tell on my neighbour or else be
damned, then that there pedlar was as drunk as a lord.
Here, notwithstanding the nature of the trial, the laughter
was irrepressible, and Mrs. Gaunt sat quietly down (for she
was allowed a seat), and said no more.
To the surgeon, who had examined the body officially, she
put this question, " Did you find any signs of violence ? "
The Surgeon. None whatever ; but, then, there was nothing
to go by, except the head and the bones.
The Prisoner. Have you experience in this kind ? I mean,
have you inspected murdered bodies ?
The Surgeon. Yes. v
The Prisoner. How many ?
The Surgeon. Two before this.
The Prisoner. Oh, pray, pray, do not say " before this."
I have great hopes no murder at all hath been committed
here. Let us keep to plain cases. Please you describe the
injuries in those two undoubted cases.
The Surgeon. In Wellyn's the skull was fractured in two
places. In Sherrett's the right arm was broken, and there
were some contusions on the head ; but the cause of death
was a stab that penetrated the lungs.
The Prisoner. Suppose Wellyn's murderers had thrown his
body into the water, and the fishes had so mutilated it as they
have this one, could you by your art have detected the signs
of violence ?
The Surgeon. Certainly. The man's skull was fractured.
Wellyn's, I mean.
The Prisoner. I put the same question with regard to
Sherrett's.
The Surgeon. I cannot answer it ; here the lungs were de-
voured by the fishes : no signs of lesion can be detected in
an organ that has ceased to exist.
The Prisoner. This is too partial. Why select one injury
out of several ? What I ask is this : Could you have detected
violence in Sherrett's case, although the fishes had eaten the
flesh of his body ?
294
GRIFFITH GAUNT
The Surgeon. I answer that the minor injuries of Sherrett
would have been equally perceptible ; to wit, the bruises on
the head, and the broken arm ; but not the perforation of the
lungs : and that it was killed the man.
Prisoner. Then, so far as you know, and can swear, about
murder, more blows have always been struck than one, and
some of the blows struck in Sherrett' s case, and Wellyn's,
would have left traces that fishes' teeth could not efface ?
The Surgeon. That is so, if I am to be peevishly confined to
my small and narrow experience of murdered bodies. But
my general knowledge of the many ways in which life may
be taken by violence
The judge stopped him, and said that in a case of blood,
that could hardly be admitted as evidence against his actual
experience.
The prisoner put a drawing of the castle, the mere, and the
bridge into the witnesses' hands, and elicited that it was
correct, and also the distances marked on it. They had, in
fact, been measured exactly for her.
The hobnailed shoes were produced, and she made some use
of them, particularly in cross-examining Jane Bannister.
Prisoner. Look at those shoes. Saw you ever the like on
Mr. Gaunt' s feet ?
Jane. That I never did, dame.
Prisoner. What, not when he came into the kitchen on the
15th October?
Jane. Nay, he was booted. By the same token I saw the
boy a cleaning of them for supper.
Prisoner. Those boots, when you broke into his room, did
you find them ?
Jane. Nay, when the man went, his boots went ; as reason
was. We found nought of his but a soiled glove.
Prisoner. Had the pedlar boots on ?
Jane. Alas ! who ever see'd a booted pedlar ?
Prisoner. Had he these very shoes on ? Look at them.
Jane. I couldn't say for that. He had shoon, for they did
properly clatter on my bricks.
The Judge. Clatter on her bricks ? What does she mean ?
Prisoner. I think she means on the floor of her kitchen.
'Tis a brick floor, if I remember right.
The Judge. Good woman, say, is that what you mean ?
Jane. Ay, an't please you, my lord.
Prisoner. Had the pedlar a mole on his forehead ?
Jane. Not that I know on. I never took so much notice
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
of the man. But la, dame, now I look at you, I don't believe
you was ever the one to murder our master.
Wiltshire. We don't want your opinion. Confine yourself
to facts.
Prisoner. You heard me rating my husband on that
night; what was it I said about the constables do you
remember ?
Jane. La, dame, I wouldn't ask that if I was in your place.
Prisoner. I am much obliged to you for your advice ; but
answer me truly.
Jane. Well, if you will have it, I think you said they should
be here in the morning. But, indeed, good gentlemen, her
bark was always worse than her bite, poor soul.
The Judge. Here. That meant at Hernshaw Castle, I
presume.
Jane. Ay, my lord, an' if it please your lordship's honour's
worship.
Mrs. Gaunt, husbanding the patience of the court, put no
questions at all to several witnesses ; but she cross-examined
Mrs. Ryder very closely. This was necessary ; for Ryder was
a fatal witness. Her memory had stored every rash and hasty
word the poor lady had uttered, and, influenced either by
animosity or prejudice, she put the worst colour on every
suspicious circumstance. She gave her damnatory evidence
neatly and clearly, and with a seeming candour and regret
that disarmed suspicion.
When her examination in chief concluded, there was but
one opinion amongst the bar, and the auditors in general, viz.,
that the maid had hung the mistress.
Mrs. Gaunt herself felt she had a terrible antagonist to deal
with, and, when she rose to cross-examine her, she looked
paler than she had done all through the trial.
She rose, but seemed to ask herself how to begin ; and her
pallor and her hesitation, while they excited some little
sympathy, confirmed the unfavourable impression. She fixed
her eyes upon the witness's, as if to discover where she was
most vulnerable. Mrs. Ryder returned her gaze calmly. The
court was hushed ; for it was evident a duel was coming between
two women of no common ability.
The opening rather disappointed expectation. Mrs. Gaunt
seemed, by her manner, desirous to propitiate the witness.
Prisoner (very civilly). You say you brought Thomas
Leicester to my bedroom on that terrible night ?
Ryder (civilly). Yes, madam.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Prisoner. And you say he stayed there half-an-hour ?
Ryder. Yes, madam ; he did.
Prisoner. May I inquire how you know he stayed just half-
an-hour ?
Ryder. My watch told me that, madam. I brought him to
you at a quarter past eleven, and you did not ring for me till
a quarter to twelve.
Prisoner. And, when I did ring for you, what then ?
Ryder. I came and took the man away, by your orders.
Prisoner. At a quarter to twelve ?
Ryder. At a quarter to twelve.
Prisoner. This Leicester was a lover of yours ?
Ryder. Not he.
Prisoner. Oh, fie ! Why, he offered you marriage ; it went
so far as that.
Ryder. Oh, that was before you set him up pedlar.
Prisoner. Twas so, but he was single for your sake, and he
renewed his offer that very night. Come, do not forswear
yourself about a trifle.
Ryder. Trifle, indeed ! Why, if he did, what has that to
do with the murder ? You'll do yourself no good, madam, by
going about so.
Wiltshire. Really, madam, this is beside the mark.
Prisoner. If so, it can do your case no harm. My lord, you
did twice interrupt the learned counsel, and forbade him to
lead his witnesses ; I not once, for I am for stopping no mouths,
but sifting all to the bottom. Now, I implore you to let me
have fair play in my turn, and an answer from this slippery
witness.
The Judge. Prisoner, I do not quite see your drift; but
God forbid you should be hampered in your defence. Witness,
by virtue of your oath, reply directly. Did this pedlar offer
you marriage that night after he left the prisoner ?
Ryder. My lord, he did.
Prisoner. And confided to you he had orders to kill Mr.
Gaunt ?
Ryder. Not he, madam ; that was not the way to win me.
Prisoner. What ! did not his terrible purpose peep out all
the time he was making love to you ?
No reply.
Prisoner. You had the kitchen to your two selves ? Come,
don't hesitate.
Ryder. The other servants were gone to bed. You kept
the man so late.
297
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Prisoner. Oh, I mean no reflection on your prudence. You
went out of doors with your wooer, just to see him off?
Ryder. Not I. What for? / had nobody to make away
with. I just opened the door for him, bolted it after him,
and went straight to my bedroom.
Prisoner. How long had you been there when you heard
the cry for help ?
Ryder. Scarce ten minutes. I had not taken my stays off.
Prisoner. If you and Thomas Hayes speak true, that gives
half-an-hour you were making love with the murderer after
he left me. Am I correct ?
The witness now saw whither she had been led, and
changed her manner : she became sullen, and watched an
opportunity to stab.
Prisoner. Had he a mole on his brow ?
Ryder. Not that I know of.
Prisoner. Why, where were your eyes, then, when the
murderer saluted you at parting ?
Ryder's eyes flashed, but she felt her temper tried, and
governed it all the more severely. She treated the question
with silent contempt.
Prisoner. But you pass for a discreet woman ; perhaps you
looked modestly down when the assassin saluted you ?
Ryder. If he saluted me, perhaps I did.
Prisoner. In that case, you could not see his mole ; but
you must have noticed his shoes. Were these the shoes he
wore ? Look at them well.
Ryder (after inspecting them). I do not recognise them.
Prisoner. Will you swear these were not the shoes he had
on?
Ryder. How can I swear that ? I know nothing about the
man's shoes. If you please, my lord, am I to be kept here
all day with her foolish trifling questions ?
The Judge. All day, and all night too, if justice requires
it. The law is not swift to shed blood.
Prisoner. My lord and the gentlemen of the jury were here
before you, and will be kept here after you. Prithee attend.
Look at that drawing of Hernshaw Castle and Hernshaw Mere.
Now take this pencil, and mark your bedroom on the drawing.
The pencil was taken from the prisoner and handed to
Ryder. She waited like a cat till it came close to her; then
recoiled with an admirable scream. " Me handle a thing hot
from the hand of a murderess ! It makes me tremble all over."
This cruel stab affected the prisoner visibly. She put her
298
GRIFFITH GAUNT
hand to her bosom, and with tears in her eyes faltered out
a request to the judge that she might sit down a minute.
The Judge. To be sure you may. And you, my good woman,
must not run before the court. How do you know what
evidence she might have in store ? At present we have only
heard one side. Be more moderate.
The prisoner rose promptly to her feet. "My lord, I
welcome the insult that has disgusted your lordship and the
gentlemen of the jury, and won me those good words of
comfort." To Ryder " What sort of a night was it ? "
Ryder. Very little moon, but a clear, starry night.
Prisoner. Could you see the mere and the banks ?
Ryder. Nay, but so much of it as faced my window.
Prisoner. Have you marked your window ?
Ryder. I have.
Prisoner. Now mark the place where you heard Mr. Gaunt
cry for help.
Ryder. 'Twas about here ; under these trees. And that is
why I could not see him : along of the shadow.
Prisoner. Possibly. Did you see me on that side the mere ?
Ryder. No.
Prisoner. What coloured dress had I on at that time ?
Ryder. White satin.
Prisoner. Then you could have seen me, even among the
trees, had I been on that side the mere ?
Ryder. I can't say. However, I never said you were on
the very spot where the deed was done, but you were out
of doors.
Prisoner. How do you know that ?
Ryder. Why, you told me so yourself.
Prisoner. Then that is my evidence, not yours. Swear to
no more than you know. Had my husband, to your know-
ledge, a reason for absconding suddenly ?
Ryder. Yes, he had.
Prisoner. What was it ?
Ryder. Fear of you.
Prisoner. Nay, I mean, had he not something to fear
something quite different from that I am charged with ?
Ryder. You know best, madam. I would gladly serve you,
but I cannot guess what you are driving at.
The prisoner was taken aback by this impudent reply. She
hesitated to force her servant to expose a husband whom she
believed to be living ; and her hesitation looked like discom-
fiture ; and Ryder was victorious in that encounter.
299
GRIFFITH GAUNT
By this time they were both thoroughly embittered, and it
was war to the knife.
Prisoner. You listened to our unhappy quarrel that night ?
Ryder. Quarrel ! madam, 'twas all on one side.
Prisoner. How did you understand what I said to him about
the constables ?
Ryder. Constables ! I never heard you say the word.
Prisoner. Oh !
Ryder. Neither when you threatened him with your knife
to me, nor when you threatened him to his face.
Prisoner. Take care : you forget that Jane Bannister heard
me ; was her ear nearer the key-hole than yours ?
Ryder. Jane ! she is a simpleton. You could make her
think she heard anything. I noticed you put the words in
her mouth.
Prisoner. God forgive you, you naughty woman. You had
better have spoken the truth.
Ryder. My lord, if you please, am I to be miscalled by a
murderess ?
The Judge. Come, come, this is no place for recrimination.
The prisoner now stooped and examined her papers, and
took a distinct line of cross-examination.
Prisoner, (with apparent carelessness). At all events, you
are a virtuous woman, Mrs. Ryder ?
Ryder. Yes, madam, as virtuous as yourself, to say the least.
Prisoner (still more carelessly). Married or single ?
Ryder. Single, and like to be.
Prisoner. Yes, if I remember right, I made a point of that
before I engaged you as my maid.
Ryder. I believe the question was put.
Prisoner. Here is the answer in your handwriting. Is not
that your handwriting ?
Ryder (after inspecting it). It is.
Prisoner. You came highly recommended by your last
mistress, a certain Mrs. Hamilton. Here is her letter,
describing you as a model.
Ryder. Well, madam, hitherto I have given satisfaction
to all my mistresses, Mrs. Hamilton among the rest. My
character does not rest on her word only, I hope.
Prisoner. Excuse me ; I engaged you on her word only.
Now, who is this Mrs. Hamilton ?
Ryder. A worshipful lady I served for eight months before
I came to you. She went abroad, or I should be with her
now.
300
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Prisoner. Now cast your eye over this paper.
It was the copy of a marriage certificate between Thomas
Edwards and Caroline Plunkett.
" Who is this Caroline Plunkett ? "
Ryder turned very pale, and made no reply.
" I ask you who is this Caroline Plunkett ? "
Ryder (faintly). Myself.
The Judge. Why, you said you were single !
Ryder. So I am ; as good as single. My husband and me
we parted eight years ago, and I have never seen him since.
Prisoner. Was it quite eight years ago ?
Ryder. Nearly ; 'twas in May 1 73$.
Prisoner. But you have lived with him since ?
Ryder. Never, upon my soul !
Prisoner. When was your child born ?
Ryder. My child ! I have none.
Prisoner. In January 1743, you left a baby at Biggleswade,
with a woman called Church did you not ?
Ryder (panting). Of course I did. It was my sister's.
Prisoner. Do you mean to call God to witness that child
was not yours ?
Ryder hesitated.
Prisoner. Will you swear Mrs. Church did not see you nurse
that child in secret, and weep over it ?
At this question the perspiration stood visible on Ryder's
brow, her cheeks were ghastly, and her black eyes roved like
some wild animal's round the court. She saw her own danger,
and had no means of measuring her inquisitor's information.
" My lord, have pity on me. I was betrayed, abandoned.
Why am I so tormented ? I have not committed murder." So,
catlike, she squealed and scratched at once.
Prisoner. What ! to swear away an innocent life, is not that
murder ?
The Judge. Prisoner, we make allowances for your sex and
your peril, but you must not remark on the evidence at present.
Examine as severely as you will, but abstain from comment till
you address the jury on your defence.
Serjeant Wiltshire. My lord, I submit that this line of exa-
mination is barbarous, and travels out of the case entirely.
Prisoner. Not so, Mr. Serjeant. 'Tis done by advice of an
able lawyer. My life is in peril unless I shake this witness's
credit. To that end I show you she is incontinent, and practised
in falsehood. Unchastity has been held in these courts to dis-
qualify a female witness, hath it not, my lord ?
301
GRIFFITH GAUNT
The Judge. Hardly. But to disparage her evidence it has.
And wisely ; for she who loses her virtue enters on a life of
deceit ; and lying is a habit that spreads from one thing to
many. Much wisdom there is in ancient words. Our fore-
fathers taught us to call a virtuous woman an honest woman,
and the law does but follow in that track; still, however, leaving
much to the discretion of the jury.
Prisoner. I would show her more mercy than she has shown
to me. Therefore I leave that matter. Witness, be so good
as to examine Mrs. Hamilton's letter, and compare it with your
own. The "y's" and the "s's" are peculiar in both, and yet
the same. Come, confess ; Mrs. Hamilton's is a forgery. You
wrote it. Be pleased to hand both letters up to my lord to
compare ; the disguise is but thin.
Ryder, Forgery there was none. There is no Mrs. Hamilton.
(She burst into tears.) I had my child to provide for, and no
man to help me ! What was I to do ? A servant must live.
Prisoner. Then why not let her mistress live, whose bread
she has eaten ? My lord, shall not this false .witness be sent
hence to prison for perjury ?
Wiltshire. Certainly not. What woman on earth is expected
to reveal her own shame upon oath ? 'Twas not fair nor
human to put such questions. Come, madam, leave torturing
this poor creature. Show some mercy ; you may need it
yourself.
Prisoner. Sir, 'tis not mercy I ask, but justice according to
law. But since you do me the honour to make me a request,
I will comply, and ask her but one question more. Describe
my apartment into which you showed Thomas Leicester that
night. Begin at the outer door.
Ryder. First there is the ante-room ; then the boudoir ; then
there's your bed-chamber.
Prisoner. Into which of those three did you show Thomas
Leicester ?
Ryder. Into the ante-room.
Prisoner. Then why did you say it was in my chamber I
entertained him ?
Ryder. Madam, I meant no more than that it was your
private apartment upstairs.
Prisoner. You contrived to make the gentlemen think
otherwise.
The Judge. That you did. 'Tis down in my notes that she
received the pedlar in her bed-chamber.
Ryder (sobbing). God is my witness I did not mean to
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
mislead your lordship : and I ask my lady's pardon for not
being more exact in that particular.
At this the prisoner bowed to the judge, and sat down with
one victorious flash of her grey eye at the witness, who was
in an abject condition of fear, and hung all about the witness-
box limp as a wet towel.
Serjeant Wiltshire saw she was so thoroughly cowed she
would be apt to truckle, and soften her evidence to propitiate
the prisoner ; so he asked her but one question.
" Were you and the prisoner on good terms ? "
Ryder. On the best of terms. She was always a good and
liberal mistress to me.
Wiltshire. I will not prolong your sufferings. You may go
down.
The Judge. But you will not leave the court till this trial is
ended. I have graye doubts whether I ought not to commit you.
Unfortunately for the prisoner, Ryder was not the last
witness for the Crown. The others that followed were so
manifestly honest that it would have been impolitic to handle
them severely. The prisoner, therefore, put very few ques-
tions to them ; and, when the last witness went down, the
case looked very formidable.
The evidence for the Crown being now complete, the judge
retired for some refreshment ; and the court buzzed like a hum
of bees. Mrs. Gaunt's lips and throat were parched ; and her
heart quaked.
A woman of quite the lower order thrust forth a great arm,
and gave her an orange. Mrs. Gaunt thanked her sweetly,
and the juice relieved her throat.
Also this bit of sympathy was of good omen, and did her
heart good.
She buried her face in her hands, and collected all her
powers for the undertaking before her. She had noted down
the exact order of her topics, but no more.
The judge returned; the crier demanded silence; and the
prisoner rose, and turned her eyes modestly but steadily upon
those who held her life in their hands : and, true to the wisdom
of her sex, the first thing she aimed at was to please.
" My lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, I am now to reply
to a charge of murder, founded on a little testimony, and a
good deal of false, but, I must needs say, reasonable conjecture.
" I am innocent ; but, unlike other innocent persons who
have stood before me, I have no man to complain of.
" The magistrates who committed me proceeded with due
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
caution and humanity : they weighed my hitherto unspotted
reputation, and were in no hurry to prejudge me ; here, in
this court, I have met with much forbearance. The learned
counsel for the Crown has made me groan under his abilities
that was his duty ; but he said from the first he would do
nothing hard, and he has kept his word. Often he might have
stopped me ; I saw it in his face : but, being a gentleman and
a Christian, as well as a learned lawyer, methinks he said to
himself, ( This is a poor gentlewoman pleading for her life ; let
her have some little advantage.' As for my lord, he has
promised to be my counsel, so far as his high station, and duty
to the Crown, admit ; and he has supported and consoled me
more than once with words of justice, that would not, I think,
have encouraged a guilty person, but have comforted and
sustained me beyond expression. So then I stand here, the
victim, not of man's injustice, but of deceitful appearances,
and of honest, but hasty and loose conjectures.
" These conjectures I shall now sift, and hope to show you
how hollow they are. k
" Gentlemen, in every disputed matter the best way, I am
told, is to begin by settling what both parties are agreed in,
and so to narrow the matter. To use that way, then, I do
heartily agree with the learned counsel that murder is a
heinous crime, and that, black as it is at the best, yet it is
still more detestable when 'tis a wife that murders her hus-
band, and robs her child of a parent who can never be
replaced.
" I also agree with him that circumstantial evidence is often
sufficient to convict a murderer ; and, indeed, were it not so,
that most monstrous of crimes would go oftenest unpunished :
since, of all culprits, murderers do most shun the eyes of men
in their dark deeds, and so provide beforehand that direct
testimony to their execrable crime there shall be none. Only
herein I am advised to take a distinction that escaped the
learned serjeant ; I say that first of all it ought to be proved
directly, and to the naked eye, that a man has been murdered ;
and then, if none saw the crime done, let circumstances point
out the murderer.
" But here they put the cart before the horse ; they find a
dead body, with no marks of violence whatever, and labour
to prove by circumstantial evidence alone that this mere dead
body is a murdered body. This, I am advised, is bad in law,
and contrary to general precedents ; and the particular pre
cedents for it are not examples, but warnings ; since both the
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
prisoners so rashly convicted were proved innocent, after their
execution."
(The judge took a note of this distinction.)
" Then, to go from principles to the facts, I agree and admit
that, in a moment of anger, I was so transported out of my-
self as to threaten my husband's life before Caroline Ryder.
But afterwards, when I saw him face to face, then, that I
threatened him with violence, that I deny. The fact is, I had
just learned that he had committed a capital offence ; and
what I threatened him with was the law. This was proved
by Jane Bannister. She says she heard me say the constables
should come for him next morning. For what ? to murder
him ? "
The Judge. Give me leave, madam. Shall you prove Mr.
Gaunt had committed a capital offence ?
Prisoner. I could, my lord ; but I am loth to do it. For if
I did, I should cast him into worse trouble than I am in
myself.
The Judge (shaking his head gravely). Let me advise
you to advance nothing you are not able and willing to
prove.
Prisoner. Then, I confine myself to this : it was proved by
a witness for the Crown that in the dining-room I threatened
my husband to his face with the law. Now this threat, and
not that other extravagant threat, which he never heard, you
know, was clearly the threat which caused him to abscond
that night.
" In the next place, I agree with the learned counsel that I
was out of doors at one o'clock that morning. But if he will
use me as HIS WITNESS in that matter, then he must not pick
and choose and mutilate my testimony. Nay, let him take
the whole truth, and not just so much as he can square
with the indictment. Either believe me, that I was out of
doors praying, or do not believe me that I was out of doors
at all.
"Gentlemen, hear the simple truth. You may see in the
map, on the south side of Hernshaw Castle, a grove of large
fir-trees. 'Tis a reverend place, most fit for prayer and
meditation. Here I have prayed a thousand times and
more before the fifteenth October. Hence 'tis called ' the
Dames' Haunt,' as I shall p/ove, that am the dame 'tis called
after.
" Let it not seem incredible to you that I should pray out
of doors in my grove, on a fine clear starry night. For aught
305 u
GRIFFITH GAUNT
I know, Protestants may pray only by the fireside. But,
remember, I am a Catholic. We are not so contracted in our
praying. We do not confine it to little comfortable places.
Nay, but for seventeen hundred years and more we have
prayed out of doors as much as in doors. And this our custom
is no fit subject for a shallow sneer. How does the learned
serjeant know that, beneath the vault of heaven at night,
studded with those angelic eyes, the stars, is an unfit place to
bend the knee, and raise the soul in prayer ? Has he ever
tried it ? "
This sudden appeal to a learned and eminent, but
by no means devotional, serjeant, so tickled the gentle-
men of the bar, that they burst out laughing with singular
unanimity.
This dashed the prisoner, who had not intended to be
funny ; and she hesitated, and looked distressed.
The Judge. Proceed, madam ; these remarks of yours
are singular, but quite pertinent, and no fit subject for
ridicule. Gentlemen, remember the public 'looks to you for
an example.
Prisoner. My lord, 'twas my fault for making that personal
which should be general. But women they are so. 'Tis our
foible. I pray the good serjeant to excuse me.
" I say, then, generally, that when the sun retires, then
earth fades, but heaven comes out in tenfold glory ; and I
say the starry firmament at night is a temple not built with
hands, and the bare sight of it subdues the passions, chastens
the heart, and aids the soul in prayer surprisingly. My lord,
as I am a Christian woman, 'tis true that my husband had
wronged me cruelly and broken the law. 'Tis true that I
raged against him and he answered me not again. 'Tis true,
as that witness said, that my bark is worse than my bite.
I cooled, and then felt I had forgotten the Avife and the
Christian in my wrath. I repented, and, to be more earnest
in my penitence, I did go and pray out o' doors beneath those
holy eyes of heaven that seemed to look down with chaste
reproach on my ungoverned heat. I left my fireside, my
velvet cushions, and all the little comforts made by human
hands, that adorn our earthly dwellings, but distract our eyes
from God."
Some applause followed this piece of eloquence, exquisitely
uttered. It was checked, and the prisoner resumed, with an
entire change of manner.
" Gentlemen, the case against me is like a piece of rotten
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
wood varnished all over. It looks fair to the eye, but will
not bear handling.
"As an example of what I say, take three charges on
which the learned serjeant greatly relied on opening his
case :
" 1 st. That I received Thomas Leicester in my bed-
room.
" 2nd. That he went hot from me after Mr. Gaunt.
" 3rd. That he was seen following Mr. Gaunt with a bloody
intent.
" How ugly these three proofs looked at first sight ! Well,
but when we squeezed the witnesses ever so little, what did
these three dwindle down to ?
"1st. That I received Thomas Leicester in an ante-room,
which leads to a boudoir, and that boudoir leads to my
bedroom.
" 2nd. That Thomas Leicester went from me to the kitchen,
and there, for a good half-hour, drank my ale (as it appears),
and made love to his old sweetheart, Caroline Ryder, the false
witness for the Crown ; and went abroad fresh from her, and
not from me.
" 3rd. That he was not (to speak strictly) seen following
Mr. Gaunt, but just walking on the same road, drunk, and
staggering, and going at such a rate that, as the Crown's own
witness swore, he could hardly in the nature of things over-
take Mr. Gaunt, who walked quicker, and straighter too,
than he.
" So then, even if a murder has been done, they have
failed to connect Thomas Leicester with it, or me with
Thomas Leicester. Two broken links in a chain of but
three.
" And now I come to the more agreeable part of my defence.
I do think there has been no murder at all.
" There is no evidence of a murder.
" A body is found with the flesh eaten by fishes, but the
bones and the head uninjured. They swear a surgeon, who
has examined the body, and certainly he had the presumption
to guess it looks like a murdered body. But, being sifted, he
was forced to admit that, so far as his experience of murdered
bodies goes, it is not like a murdered body ; for there is no
bone broken, nor bruise on the head.
" Where is the body found ? In the water. But water by
itself is a sufficient cause of death, and a common cause too ;
and kills without breaking bones, or bruising the head. Oh
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
perversity of the wise ! For every one creature murdered
in England, ten are accidentally drowned ; and they find a
dead man in the water, which is as much as to say they find
the slain in the arms of the slayer ; yet they do not once
suspect the water, but go about in search of a strange and
monstrous crime.
" Mr. Gaunt's cry for help was heard here, if it was heard
at all (which I greatly doubt), here by this clump of trees ;
the body was found here, hard by the bridge, which is by
measurement one furlong and sixty paces from that clump
of trees, as I shall prove. There is no current in the mere
lively enough to move a body, and what there is runs the
wrong way. So this disconnects the cry for help and the
dead body. Another broken link !
" And now I come to my third defence, I say the body is
not the body of Griffith Gaunt.
"The body, mutilated it was, had two distinguishing
marks : a mole on the brow, and a pair of u hobnailed shoes
on the feet.
"Now the advisers of the Crown fix their eyes on that
mole ; but they turn their heads away from the hobnailed
shoes. But why? Articles of raiment found on a body
are legal evidence of identity. How often, my lord, in
cases of murder, hath the Crown relied on such particulars,
especially in cases where corruption had obscured the
features ?
"I shall not imitate this partiality, this obstinate pre-
judice ; I shall not ask you to shut your eyes on the mole,
as they do on the shoes, but shall meet the whole truth
fairly.
" Mr. Gaunt went from my house that morning with boots
on his feet, and with a mole on his brow.
" Thomas Leicester went the same road, with shoes on his
feet, and as I shall prove, with a mole on his brow.
"To be sure the Crown witnesses did not distinctly admit
this mole on him ; but you will remember they dared not
deny it on their oaths, and so run their heads into an indict-
ment for perjury.
" But, gentlemen, I shall put seven witnesses into the box,
who will all swear they have known Thomas Leicester for years,
and that he had a mole upon his left temple.
" One of these witnesses is the mother that bore him.
" I shall then call witnesses to prove that, on the fifteenth
of October, the bridge over the Mere was in bad repair, and
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
a portion of the side rail gone, and that the body was found
within a few yards of that defective bridge ; and then, as
Thomas Leicester went that way, drunk, and staggering from
side to side, you may reasonably infer that he fell into the
water in passing the bridge. To show you this is possible,
I shall prove the same thing has actually occurred. I shall
swear the oldest man in the parish, who will depose to a
similar event that happened in his boyhood. He hath said
it a thousand times before to-day, and now will swear it. He
will tell you that on a certain day, sixty-nine years ago, the
parson of Hernshaw, the Rev. Augustus Murthwaite, went to
cross this bridge at night, after carousing at Hernshaw Castle
with our great-grandfather, my husband's and mine, the then
proprietor of Hernshaw, and tumbled into the water, and
his body was found, gnawed out of the very form of humanity
by the fishes, within a yard or two of the spot where poor
Tom Leicester was found, that hath cost us all this trouble.
So do the same causes bring round the same events in a cycle
of years. The only difference is that the parson drank his
death in our dining-room, and the pedlar in our kitchen.
" No doubt, my lord, you have observed that sometimes a
hasty and involuntary inaccuracy gives quite a wrong colour
to a thing. I assure you I have suffered by this. It is said
that the moment Mr. Atkins proposed to drag my mere, I
fainted away. In this account there is an omission. I
shall prove that Mr. Atkins used these words 'And, under-
neath that water, I undertake to find the remains of Griffith
Gaunt.' Now, gentlemen, you shall understand that at this
time, and indeed until the moment when I saw the shoes
upon that poor corpse's feet, I was in great terror for my
husband's life. How could it be otherwise ? Caroline Ryder
had told me she heard his cry for help. He had disappeared.
What was I to think ? I feared he had fallen in with robbers.
I feared all manner of things. So when the lawyer said so
positively he would find his body, I was overpowered. Ah,
gentlemen, wedded love survives many wrongs, many angry
words ; I love my husband still, and when the man told me
so brutally that he was certainly dead, I fainted away. I
confess it. Shall I be hanged for that ?
" But now, thank God, I am full of hope that he is alive,
and that good hope has given me the courage to make this
great effort to save my own life.
" Hitherto I have been able to contradict my accusers
positively ; but now I come to a mysterious circumstance that
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
I own puzzles me. Most persons accused of murder could, if
they chose, make a clean breast, and tell you the whole matter.
But this is not my case. I know shoes from boots, and I know
Kate Gaunt from a liar and a murderess ; but, when all is said,
this is still a dark mysterious business, and there are things in
it I can only deal with as you do, gentlemen, by bringing my
wits to bear upon them in reasonable conjecture.
" Caroline Ryder swears she heard Mr. Gaunt cry for help.
And Mr. Gaunt has certainly disappeared.
" My accusers have somewhat weakened this by trying to
palm off the body of Thomas Leicester on you for the body of
Mr. Gaunt. But the original mystery remains, and puzzles me.
I might fairly appeal to you to disbelieve the witness. She is
proved incontinent, and a practised liar, and she forswore her-
self in this court, and my lord is in two minds about commit-
ting her. But a liar does not always lie, and, to be honest, I
think she really believes she heard Mr. Gaunt cry for help, for
she went straight to his bedroom ; and that looks as if she
really thought she heard his voice. But a h'ar may be mis-
taken ; do not forget that. Distance affects the voice : and I
think the voice she heard was Thomas Leicester's, and the
place it came from higher up the mere.
" This, my notion, will surprise you less when I prove to you
that Leicester's voice bore a family likeness to Mr. Gaunt's.
I shall call two witnesses who have been out shooting with Mr.
Gaunt and Tom Leicester, and have heard Leicester halloo in
the wood, and taken it for Mr. Gaunt.
" Must I tell you the whole truth ? This Leicester has always
passed for an illegitimate son of Mr. Gaunt's father. He re-
sembled my husband in form, stature, and voice ; he had the
Gaunt mole, and has often spoken of it by that name. My
husband forgave him many faults for no other reason, and I
bought his wares and filled his pack for no other reason, than
this, that he was my husband's brother by nature, though not
in law. ' HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE.'
" Ah, that is a royal device ; yet how often in this business
have the advisers of the Crown forgotten it ?
" My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I return from these
conjectures to the indisputable facts of my defence.
" Mr. Gaunt may be alive or may be dead. He was certainly
alive on the fifteenth October, and it lies on the Crown to
prove him dead, and not on me to prove him alive. But, as
for the body that forms the subject of this indictment, it is
the body of Thomas Leicester, who was seen on the sixteenth
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
October, at one in the morning, drunk and staggering, and
making for Hernshaw bridge, which leads to his mother's
house ; and on all his former visits to Hernshaw Castle he
went on to his mother's, as I shall prove. This time he
never reached her, as I shall prove ; but on his way to her
did meet his death by the will of God, and no fault of man
or woman, in Hernshaw Mere.
" Swear Sarah Leicester."
The Judge. I think you say you have several witnesses ?
Prisoner. More than twenty, my lord.
The Judge. We cannot possibly dispose of them this evening.
We will hear your evidence to-morrow. Prisoner, this will
enable you to consult with your legal advisers, and let me
urge upon you to prove, if you can, that Mr. Gaunt has a
sufficient motive for hiding and not answering Mr. Atkins'
invitation to inherit a large estate. Some such proof is
necessary to complete your defence : and I am sorry to see
you have made no mention of it in your address, which was
otherwise able.
Prisoner. My lord, I think I can prove my own innocence
without casting a slur upon my husband.
The Judge. You think ? when your life is at stake. Be not
so mad as to leave so large a hole in your defence, if you can
mend it. Take advice.
He said this very solemnly ; then rose and left the
court.
Mrs. Gaunt was conveyed back to prison, and there was
soon prostrated by the depression that follows an unnatural
excitement.
Mr. Houseman found her on the sofa, pale and dejected,
and clasping the gaoler's wife convulsively, who applied
hartshorn to her nostrils.
He proved but a Job's comforter. Her defence, credit-
able as it was to a novice, seemed wordy and weak to him, a
lawyer : and he was horrified at the admissions she had made.
In her place he would have admitted nothing he could not
thoroughly explain.
He came to insist on a change of tactics.
When he saw her sad condition, he tried to begin by con-
soling and encoui'aging her. But his own serious misgivings
unfitted him for this task, and very soon, notwithstanding
the state she was in, he was almost scolding her for being so
mad as to withstand the judge, and set herself against his
advice. "There," said he, "my lord kept his word, and
811
GRIFFITH GAUNT
became counsel for you. ' Close that gap in your defence,'
says he, ' and you will very likely be acquitted.' ' Nay,'
says you, ' I prefer to chance it.' What madness ! what in-
justice !"
" Injustice ! to whom ? "
" To whom ? why, to yourself."
"What, may I not be unjust to myself?"
"Certainly not; you have no right to be unjust to any-
body. Don't deceive yourself; there is no virtue in this: it
is mere miserable weakness. What right have you to peril
an innocent life merely to screen the malefactor from just
obloquy ? "
" Alas ! " said Mrs. Gaunt, "'tis more than obloquy. They
will kill him ; they will brand him with a hot iron."
" Not unless he is indicted ; and who will indict him ? Sir
George Neville must be got to muzzle the Attorney-General,
and the Lancashire jade will not move against him, for you
say they are living together."
" Of course they are : and, as you say, why t should I screen
him ? But 'twill not serve ; who can combat prejudice ? If
what I have said does not convince them, an angel's voice
would not. Sir, I am a Catholic, and they will hang me. I
shall die miserably, having exposed my husband, who loved
me once, oh ! so dearly. I trifled with his love. I deserve
it all."
" You will not die at all, if you will only be good and
obedient, and listen to wiser heads. I have subpoenaed
Caroline Ryder as your witness, and given her a hint how to
escape an indictment for perjury. You will find her supple
as a glove."
" Call a rattlesnake for my witness ? "
" I have drawn her fangs. You will also call Sir George
Neville, to prove he saw Gaunt's picture at the ' Packhorse,'
and heard the other wife's tale. Wiltshire will object to this
as evidence, and say, Why don't you produce Mercy Vint
herself? Then you will call me to prove that I sent the
subpoena to Mercy Vint. Come now, I cannot eat or sleep
till you promise me."
Mrs. Gaunt sighed deeply. " Spare me," said she, " I am
worn out. Oh that I could die before the trial begins
again !
Houseman saw the signs of yielding, and persisted.
"Come, promise now," said he. "Then you will feel
better."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" I will do whatever you bid me," said she. " Only if
they let me off, I will go into a convent. No power shall
hinder me."
"You shall go where you like except to the gallows.
Enough, 'tis a promise, and I never knew you to break one.
Now I can eat my supper. You are a good obedient child,
and I am a happy attorney."
" And I am the most miserable woman in all England."
" Child/' said the worthy lawyer, "your spirits have given
way, because they were strung so high. You need repose.
Go to bed now, and sleep twelve hours. Believe me you will
wake another woman."
" Ah, would I could ! " cried Mrs. Gaunt, with all the
eloquence of despair.
Houseman murmured a few more consoling words, and then
left her, after once more exacting a promise that she would
receive no more visits, but go to bed directly. She was to
send all intruders to him at the " Angel."
Mrs. Gaunt proceeded to obey his orders, and, though it
was but eight o'clock, she made preparations for bed, and then
went to her nightly devotions.
She was in sore trouble ; and earthly trouble turns the
heart heavenwards. Yet it was not so with her. The deep
languor that oppressed her seemed to have reached her
inmost soul. Her beads, falling one by one from her hand,
denoted the number of her supplications ; but, for once, they
were preces sine mente dictce. Her faith was cold, her belief
in Divine justice was shaken for a time. She began to doubt
and to despond. That bitter hour, which David has sung so
well, and Bunyan, from experience, has described in his bio-
graphy as well as in his novel, sat heavy upon her, as it had
on many a true believer before her. So deep was the gloom,
so paralysing the languor, that at last she gave up all en-
deavour to utter words of prayer. She placed her crucifix at
the foot of the wall, and laid herself down on the ground and
kissed His feet, then drawing back, gazed upon that effigy of
the mortal sufferings of our Redeemer.
" O anima Christiana, respice vulnera patientis, sanguinem
morientis, precem redemptionis nostrae."
She had lain thus a good half-hour, when a gentle tap came
to the door.
" Who is that ? " said she.
" Mrs. Menteith," the gaoler's wife replied softly, and asked
leave to come in.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Now this Mrs. Menteith had been very kind to her, and
stoutly maintained her innocence. Mrs. Gaunt rose, and
invited her in.
" Madam," said Mrs. Menteith, " what I come for, there is
a person below who much desires to see you."
"I beg to be excused," was the reply. "He must go to
my solicitor at the ' Angel/ Mr. Houseman."
Mrs. Menteith retired with that message, but in about five
minutes returned to say that the young woman declined to
go to Mr. Houseman, and begged hard to see Mrs. Gaunt.
" And, dame," said she, " if I were you I'd let her come in ;
'tis the honestest face, and the tears in her soft eyes, at your
denying her. ' Oh dear, dear," said she, ' I cannot tell my
errand to any but her.' "
"Well, well," said Mrs. Gaunt; "but what is her busi-
ness ? "
"If you ask me, I think her business is your business.
Come, dame, do see the poor thing; she is civil-spoken,
and she tells me she has come all the way out of Lancashire
o' purpose."
Mrs. Gaunt recoiled, as if she had been stung.
" From Lancashire ? " said she faintly.
"Ay, madam," said Mrs. Menteith, "and that is a long
road ; and a child upon her arm all the way, poor thing."
" Her name ? " said Mrs. Gaunt sternly.
"Oh, she is not ashamed of it. She gave it me directly."
" What, has she the effrontery to take my name ? "
Mrs. Menteith stared at her with utter amazement. " Your
name ? " said she. " 'Tis a simple country body, and her name
is Vint Mercy Vint."
Mrs. Gaunt was very much agitated, and said she felt quite
unequal to see a stranger.
"Well, I'm sure I don't know what to do," said Mrs.
Menteith. "She says she will lie at your door all night,
but she will see you. 'Tis the face of a friend. She may
know something. It seems hard to thrust her and her child
out into the street after their coming all the way from
Lancashire."
Mrs. Gaunt stood silent awhile, and her intelligence had
a severe combat with her deep repugnance to be in the same
room with Griffith Gaunt's mistress (so she considered her).
But a certain curiosity came to the aid of her good sense ;
and after all she was a brave and haughty woman, and her
natural courage began to rise. She thought to herself,
314
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" What, dare she come to me all this way, and shall I shrink
from her ?"
She turned to Mrs. Menteith with a bitter smile, and she
said very slowly, and clenching her white teeth, " Since you
desire it, and she insists on it, I will receive Mistress Mercy
Vint."
Mrs. Menteith went off, and in about five minutes returned,
ushering in Mercy Vint in a hood and travelling-cloak.
Mrs. Gaunt received her standing, and with a very formal
curtsey, to which Mercy made a quiet obeisance, and both
women looked one another all over in a moment.
Mrs. Menteith lingered, to know what on earth this was all
about ; but, as neither spoke a word, and their eyes were fixed
on each other, she divined that her absence was necessary,
and so retired, slowly, looking very much amazed at both of
them.
CHAPTER XLIII
" BE seated, mistress, if you please," said Mrs. Gaunt, with
icy civility, " and let me know to what I owe this extraordinary
visit."
" I thank you, dame," said Mercy, " for indeed I am sore
fatigued." She sat quietly down. "Why have I come to
you ? It was to serve you, and to keep my word with George
Neville."
" Will you be kind enough to explain ? " said Mrs. Gaunt,
in a freezing tone, and with a look of her great grey eye to
match.
Mercy felt chilled, and was too frank to disguise it. " Alas,"
said she softly, " 'tis hard to be received so, and me come all
the way from Lancashire, with a heart like lead, to do my
duty, God willing."
The tears stood in her eyes, and her mellow voice was
sweet and patient.
The gentle remonstrance was not quite without effect.
Mrs. Gaunt coloured a little ; she said stiffly, " Excuse me if I
seem discourteous ; but you and I ought not to be in one room
a moment. You do not see this, apparently. But at least I
have a right to insist that such an interview shall be very
brief, and to the purpose. Oblige me, then, by telling me in
plain terms why you have come hither."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" Madam, to be your witness at the trial."
" You to be my witness ? "
" Why not ? If I can clear you ? What, would you rather
be condemned for murder, than let me show them you are
innocent ? Alas, how you hate me ! "
" Hate you, child ? " said Mrs. Gaunt, colouring to her
temples ; " of course I hate you. We are both of us flesh and
blood, and hate one another. And one of us is honest
enough, and uncivil enough, to say so."
"Speak for yourself, dame," replied Mercy quietly, "for
I hate you not ; and I thank God for it. To hate is to be
miserable. I'd liever be hated than to hate."
Mrs. Gaunt looked at her. " Your words are goodly and
wise," said she ; "your face is honest; and your eyes are like
a very dove's. But, for all that, you hate me quietly, with all
your heart. Human nature is human nature."
" 'Tis so. But grace is grace." Mercy was silent a
moment, then resumed : " I'll not deny I did hate you for a
time, when first I learned the man I had marrjed had a wife,
and you were she. We that be women are too unjust to
each other, and too indulgent to a man. But I have worn
out my hate. I wrestled in prayer, and the God of Love He
did quench my most unreasonable hate. For 'twas the man
betrayed me ; you never wronged me, nor I you. But you
are right, madam ; 'tis true that nature without grace is
black as pitch ; the devil he was busy at my ear, and
whispered me, 'If the fools in Cumberland hang her, what
fault o' thine ? Thou wilt be his lawful wife, and thy poor
innocent child will be a child of shame no more.' But, by
God's grace, I did defy him. And I do defy him." She
rose swiftly from her chair, and her dove's eyes gleamed
with celestial light. "Get thee behind me, Satan. I tell
thee the hangman shall never have her innocent body, nor
thou my soul."
The movement was so unexpected, the words and the look
so simply noble, that Mrs. Gaunt rose too, and gazed upon
her visitor with astonishment and respect yet still with a
dash of doubt.
She thought to herself, " If this creature is not sincere,
what a mistress of deceit she must be ! "
But Mercy Vint soon returned to her quiet self. She
sat down, and said gravely, and, for the first time, a
little coldly, as one who had deserved well, and been
received ill " Mistress Gaunt, you are accused of mur-
316
GRIFFITH GAUNT
dering your husband. Tis false, for two days ago I saw him
alive."
"What do you say?" cried Mrs. Gaunt, trembling all
over.
" Be brave, madam ; you have borne great trouble, do not
give way under joy. He who has wronged us both he
who wedded you under his own name of Griffith Gaunt, and
me under the false name of Thomas Leicester is no more
dead than we are ; I saw him two days ago, and spoke to
him, and persuaded him to come to Carlisle town and do
you justice."
Mrs. Gaunt fell on her knees. "He is alive. He is
alive. Thank God ! Oh, thank God ! He is alive : and
God bless the tongue that tells me so. God bless you
eternally, Mercy Vint."
The tears of joy streamed down her face, and then Mercy's
flowed too. She uttered a little pathetic cry of joy. " Ah,"
she sobbed, " the bit of comfort I needed so has come to my
heavy heart. She has blessed me ! "
But she said this very softly, and Mrs. Gaunt was in a
rapture, and did not hear her.
" Is it a dream ? my husband alive ? and you the one to
come and tell me so ? How unjust I have been to you !
Forgive me. Why does he not come himself ? "
Mercy coloured at this question, and hesitated.
"Well, dame," said she, "for one thing, he has been on
the fuddle for the last two months."
On the fuddle ? "
" Ay ; he owns he has never been sober a whole day.
And that takes the heart out of a man, as well as the brains.
And then he has got it into his head that you will never
forgive him ; and that he shall be cast in prison if he shows
his face in Cumberland."
" Why in Cumberland more than in Lancashire ? " asked
Mrs. Gaunt, biting her lip.
Mercy blushed faintly : she replied with some delicacy, but
did not altogether mince the matter.
" He knows I shall never punish him for what he has done
to me."
" Why not ? I begin to think he has wronged you almost
as much as he has me."
" Worse, madam ; worse. He has robbed me of my good
name. You are still his lawful wife, and none can point
317
GRIFFITH GAUNT
the finger at you. But, look at me : I was an honest girl,
respected by all the parish. What has he made of me ?
The man that lay a dying in my house, and I saved his
life, and so my heart did warm to him, he blasphemed
God's altar, to deceive and betray me ; and here I am, a
poor, forlorn creature, neither maid, wife, nor widow ; with
a child on my arms that I do nothing but cry over ; ay, my
poor innocent, I left thee down below, because I was ashamed
she should see thee ; ah me ! ah me ! " She lifted up her
voice, and wept.
Mrs. Gaunt looked at her wistfully ; and, like Mercy
before her, had a bitter struggle with human nature ; a
struggle so sharp that, in the midst of it, she burst out cry-
ing with strange violence : but, with that burst, her great
soul conquered.
She darted out of the room, leaving Mercy astonished at
her abrupt departure.
Mercy was patiently drying her eyes, when the door
opened, and judge her surprise when she saw Mrs. Gaunt
glide into the room with her little boy asleep in her arms,
and an expression upon her face more sublime than any-
thing Mercy Vint had ever yet seen on earth. She kissed
the babe softly, and, becoming infantile as well as angelic
by this contact, sat herself down in a moment on the floor
with him, and held out her hand to Mercy. " There," said
she, " come sit beside us ; and see how I hate him ; no more
than you do sweet innocent."
They looked him all over, discussed his every feature
learnedly, kissed his limbs and extremities after the manner
of their sex, and comprehending at last that to have been
both of them wronged by one man was a bond of sympathy,
not hate, the two wives of Griffith Gaunt laid his child across
their two laps, and wept over him together.
Mercy Vint took herself to task. " I am but a selfish
woman," said she, " to talk, or think of anything but that
I came here for." She then proceeded to show Mrs. Gaunt
by what means she proposed to secure her acquittal, without
getting Griffith Gaunt into trouble.
Mrs. Gaunt listened with keen and grateful attention,
until she came to that part: then she interrupted her
eagerly.
" Don't spare him for me. In your place I'd trounce the
villain finely."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Ay," said Mercy, "and then forgive him. But I am
different. I shall never forgive him ; but I am a poor hand
at punishing and revenging. I always was. My name is
Mercy, you know. To tell the truth, I was to have been
called Prudence after my good aunt ; but she said, nay :
she had lived to hear Greed, and Selfishness, and a heap
of faults, named Prudence : ' Call the child something that
means what it does mean, and not after me/ quoth she.
So with me hearing 'Mercy, Mercy/ called out after me
so many years, I do think the quality hath somehow got
under my skin ; for I can't abide to see folk smart, let alone
to strike the blow. What, shall I take the place of God,
and punish the evil-doers, because 'tis me they wrong?
Nay, dame, I will never punish him, though he hath
wronged me cruelly : all I shall do is to think very ill of
him, and shun him, and tear his memory out of my heart.
You look at me ; do you think I cannot ? You don't know
me. I am very resolute when I see clear. Of course I
loved him : loved him dearly. He was like a husband
to me, and a kind one. But the moment I knew how basely
he had deceived us both, my heart began to turn against
the man, and now 'tis ice to him. Heaven knows what
I am made of; for, believe me, I'd liever ten times be
beside you than beside him. My heart it lay like a lump
of lead till I heard your story, and found I could do you
a good turn ; you that he had wronged, as well as me. I
read your beautiful eyes ; but nay, fear me not ; I'm not
the woman to pine for the fruit that is my neighbour's. All
I ask for on earth is a few kind words and looks from you.
You are gentle and I am simple : but we are both one flesh
and blood, and your lovely wet eyes do prove it this moment.
Dame Gaunt Kate I ne'er was ten miles from home afore,
and I am come all this weary way to serve thee. Oh, give
me the one thing that can do me good in this world, the
one thing I pine for a little of your love."
The words were scarce out of her lips when Mrs. Gaunt
caught her impetuously round the neck with both hands,
and laid her on that erring but noble heart of hers, and
kissed her eagerly.
They kissed one another again and again, and wept over
one another.
And now Mrs. Gaunt, who did nothing by halves, could
not make enough of Mercy Vint. She ordered supper and
ate with her, to make her eat. Mrs. Menteith offered Mercy
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
a bed ; but Mrs. Gaunt said she must lie with her, she and
her child.
" What/' said she, " think you I'll let you out of my
sight ? Alas, who knows when you and I shall ever be
together again ? "
" I know," said Mercy, very gravely. " In this world
never."
They slept in one bed, and held each other by the hand
all night, and talked to one another, and in the morning
knew each the other's story, and each the other's mind and
character, better than their oldest acquaintances knew either
the one or the other.
CHAPTER XLIV
THE trial began again, and the court was crowded to
suffocation. All eyes were bent on the prisQner. She rose
calm and quiet, and begged leave to say a few words to
the court.
Mr. Whitworth objected to that. She had concluded her
address yesterday, and called a witness.
Prisoner. But I have not examined a witness yet.
The Judge. You come somewhat out of time, madam ; but,
if you will be brief, we will hear you.
Prisoner. I thank you, my lord. It was only to with-
draw an error. The cry for help that was heard by the
side of Hernshaw Mere, I said, yesterday, that cry was
uttered by Thomas Leicester. Well, I find I was mistaken ;
the cry for help was uttered by my husband, by that Griffith
Gaunt I am accused of assassinating.
This extraordinary admission caused a great sensation in
court. The judge looked grave and sad ; and Serjeant
Wiltshire, who came into court just then, whispered his
junior, "She has put the rope round her own neck. The
jury would never have believed our witness."
Prisoner. I will only add that a person came into the
town last night, who knows a great deal more about this
mysterious business than I do. I purpose, therefore, to
alter the plan of my defence ; and to save your time, my
lord, who have dealt so courteously with me, I shall call
but a single witness.
Eve the astonishment caused by this sudden collapse of
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
the defence was in any degree abated, she called " Mercy
Vint."
There was the usual stir and struggle ; and then the
calm, self-possessed face and figure of a comely young woman
confronted the court. She was sworn, and examined by the
prisoner after this fashion.
" Where do you live ? "
" At the ' Packhorse,' near Allerton, in Lancashire."
Prisoner. Do you know Mr. Griffith Gaunt ?
Mercy. Madam, I do.
Prisoner. Was he at your place in October last ?
Mercy. Yes, madam, on the thirteenth of October. On
that day he left for Cumberland.
Prisoner. On foot, or on horseback ?
Mercy. On horseback.
Prisoner. With boots on, or shoes ?
Mercy. He had a pair of new boots on.
Prisoner. Do you know Thomas Leicester.
Mercy. A pedlar called at our house on the eleventh of
October, and he said his name was Thomas Leicester.
Prisoner. How was he shod ?
Mercy. In hobnailed shoes.
Prisoner. Which way went he on leaving you ?
Mercy. Madam, he went northwards ; I know no more for
certain.
Prisoner. When did you see Mr. Gaunt last ?
Mercy. Four days ago.
The Judge. What is that? you saw him alive four clays
ago?
Mercy. Ay, my lord ; the last Wednesday that ever was.
At this the people burst out into a loud agitated murmur,
and their heads went to and fro all the time. In vain the
crier cried and threatened. The noise rose and surged, and
took its course. It went down gradually, as amazement
gave way to curiosity ; and then there was a remarkable
silence; and then the silvery voice of the prisoner, and
the mellow tones of the witness, appeared to penetrate
the very walls of the building, each syllable of those two
beautiful speakers was heard so distinctly.
Prisoner. Be so good as to tell the court what passed
on Wednesday last between Griffith Gaunt and you relative
to this charge of murder.
Mercy. I let him know one George Neville had come
from Cumberland in search of him, and had told me you
GRIFFITH GAUNT
lay in Carlisle gaol charged with his murder. I did urge
him to ride at once to Carlisle, and show himself; but he
refused. He made light of the matter. Then I told
him, not so ; the circumstances looked ugly, and your life
was in peril. Then he said nay, 'twas in no peril, for
if you were to be found guilty, then he would show him-
self on the instant. Then I told him he was not worthy
the name of a man ; and if he would not go, I would.
" Go you, by all means," said he, " and I'll give you a
writing that will clear her. Jack Houseman will be there
that knows my hand ; and so does the sheriff, and half
the grand jury at the least."
Prisoner. Have you that writing ?
Mercy. To be sure 1 have. Here 'tis.
Prisoner. Be pleased to read it.
The Judge. Stay a minute. Shall you prove it to be his
handwriting ?
Prisoner. Ay, my lord, by as many as you please.
The Judge. Then let that stand over for the present. Let
me see it.
It was handed up to him, and he showed it to the sheriff,
who said he thought it was Griffith Gaunt's writing.
The paper was then read out to the jury. It ran as
follows :
"Know all men, that I, Griffith Gaunt, Esq., of Bolton
Hall and Hernshaw Castle, in the county of Cumberland, am
alive and well; and the matter which has so puzzled the
good folk in Cumberland befell as follows : I left Hernshaw
Castle in the dead of night upon the fifteenth of October.
Why is no man's business but mine. I found the stable
locked, so I left my horse and went on foot. I crossed
Hernshaw Mere by the bridge, and had got about a hundred
yards, as I suppose, on the way, when I heard some one
fall with a great splash into the mere, and soon cry dolefully
for help. I, that am no swimmer, ran instantly to the north
side to a clump of trees, where a boat used always to be
kept. But the boat was not there. Then I cried lustily for
help, and, as no one came, I fired my pistol and cried murder !
For I had heard men will come sooner to that cry than to
any other. But in truth I was almost out of my wits, that
a fellow-creature should perish miserably so near me. Whilst
I ran wildly to and fro, some came out of the Castle beating
torches. By this time I was at the bridge, but saw no signs
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
of the drowning man ; yet the night was clear. Then I knew
that his fate was sealed ; and for reasons of my own, not
choosing to be seen by those who were coming to his aid,
I hastened from the place. My happiness being gone, and
my conscience smiting me sore, and not knowing whither
to turn, I took to drink, and fell into bad ways, and lived
like a brute, and not a man, for six weeks or more ; so that
I never knew of the good fortune that had fallen on me
when least I deserved it I mean by old Mr. Gaunt of
Coggleswade making of me his heir. But one day at Kendal
I saw Mercy Vint's advertisement, and I went to her, and
learned that my wife lay in Carlisle gaol for my supposed
murder. But I say that she is innocent, and nowise to blame
in this matter ; for I deserved every hard word she ever gave
me ; and as for killing, she is a spirited woman with her
tongue, but hath not the heart to kill a fly. She is what
she always was, the pearl of womankind a virtuous, innocent,
and noble lady. I have lost the treasure of her love by my
fault, not hers ; but at least, I have a right to defend her
life and honour. Whoever molests her after this, out of
pretended regard for me, is a liar and a fool, and no friend
of mine, but my enemy, and I his to the death.
"GRIFFITH GAUNT."
It was a day of surprises. This tribute from the murdered
man to his assassin was one of them. People looked in one
another's faces open-eyed.
The prisoner looked in the judge's, and acted on what
she saw there. " That is my defence," said she quietly, and
sat down.
If a show of hands had been called at that moment, she
would have been acquitted by acclamation.
But Mr. Whitworth was a zealous young barrister, burning
for distinction. He stuck to his case, and cross-examined
Mercy Vint with severity ; indeed, with asperity.
Whitworth. What are you to receive for this evidence ?
Mercy. Anan.
Whitworth. Oh, you know what I mean. Are you not to
be paid for telling us this romance ?
Mercy. Nay, sir, I ask nought for telling of the truth.
Whitworth. You were in the prisoner's company yester-
day ?
Mercy. Yes, sir ; I did visit her in the gaol last night.
Whitworth. And there concerted this ingenious defence ?
GRIFFITH GAUNT
Mercy. Well, sir, for that matter I told her that her man
was alive, and I did offer to be her witness.
Whitworth. For nought ?
Mercy. For no money or reward, if 'tis that you mean.
Why, 'tis a joy beyond money to clear an innocent body, and
save her life ; and that satisfaction is mine this day.
Whitworth (sarcastically). These are very fine sentiments
for a person in your condition. Confess that Mrs. Gaunt
primed you with all that.
Mercy. Nay, sir, I left home in that mind ; else I had
not come at all. Bethink you, 'tis a long journey for
one in my way of life ; and this dear child on my arm all
the way.
Mrs. Gaunt sat boiling with indignation. But Mercy's
good temper and meekness parried the attack that time.
Mr. Whitworth changed his line.
Whitworth. You ask the jury to believe that Griffith Gaunt,
Esquire, a gentleman, and a man of spirit and honour, is
alive, yet skulks and sends you hither, when by showing
his face in this court he could clear his wife without a single
word spoken ?
Mercy. Yes, sir, I do hope to be believed; for I speak
the naked truth. But, with due respect to you, Mr. Gaunt
did not send me hither against my will. I could not bide
in Lancashire and let an innocent woman be murdered in
Cumberland.
Whitworth. Murdered, quotha. That is a good jest. I'd
have you to know we punish murders here, not do them.
Mercy. I am glad to hear that, sir, on the lady's account.
Whitworth. Come, come. You pretend you discovered
this Griffith Gaunt alive, by means of an advertisement.
If so, produce the advertisement.
Mercy Vint coloured, and cast a swift uneasy glance at
Mrs. Gaunt.
Rapid as it was, the keen eye of the counsel caught it.
"Nay, do not look to the culprit for orders," said he.
" Produce it, or confess the truth. Come, you never adver-
tised for him."
'Sir, I did advertise for him."
'Then produce the advertisement."
'Sir, I will not," said Mercy calmly.
'Then I shall move the court to commit you."
' For what offence, if you please ? "
'For perjury, and contempt of court."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" I am guiltless of either, God knows. But I will not
show the advertisement."
The Judge. This is very extraordinary. Perhaps you have
it not about you.
Mercy. My lord, the truth is I have it in my bosom. But,
if I show it, it will not make this matter one whit clearer,
and 'twill open the wounds of two poor women. 'Tis not
for myself. But, oh ! my lord, look at her ; hath she not gone
through grief enow ?
The appeal was made with a quiet touching earnestness,
that affected every hearer. But the judge had a duty to
perform. " Witness," said he, " you mean well ; but indeed
you do the prisoner an injury by withholding this paper.
Be good enough to produce it at once."
Prisoner (with a deep sigh). Obey my lord.
Mercy (with a deep sigh). There, sir, may the Lord for-
give you the useless mischief you are doing !
Whitworth. I am doing my duty, young woman. And
yours is to tell the whole truth, and not a part only.
Mercy (acquiescing). That is true, sir.
Whitworth. Why, what is this ? 'Tis not Mr. Gaunt you
advertise for in these papers. 'Tis Thomas Leicester.
The Judge. What is that ? I don't understand.
Whitworth. Nor I neither.
The Judge. Let me see the papers. 'Tis Thomas Leicester,
sure enough.
Whitworth. And you mean to swear that Griffith Gaunt
answered an advertisement inviting Thomas Leicester ?
Mercy. I do. Thomas Leicester was the name he went
by in our part.
Whitworth. What ? what ? You are jesting.
Mercy. Is this a place or a time for jesting? I say he
called himself Thomas Leicester.
Here the business was interrupted again by a multitu-
dinous murmur of excited voices. Everybody was whis-
pering astonishment to his neighbour. And the whisper of
a great crowd has the effect of a loud murmur.
Whitworth. Oh, he called himself Thomas Leicester, did
he ? Then what makes you say he is Griffith Gaunt ?
Mercy. Well, sir, the pedlar, whose real name was Thomas
Leicester, came to our house one day, and saw his picture,
and knew it, and said something to a neighbour that
raised my suspicions. When he came home, I took this
shirt out of a drawer; 'twas the shirt he wore when he
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
first came to us, 'Tis marked " G. G." (The shirt was
examined.) Said I, "For God's sake! speak the truth:
What does G. G. stand for ? " Then he told me his real
name was Griffith Gaunt, and he had a wife in Cumberland.
"Go back to her," said I, "and ask her to forgive you."
Then he rode north, and I never saw him again till last
Wednesday.
Whitworth (satirically). You seem to have been mighty
intimate with this Thomas Leicester, whom you now call
Griffith Gaunt. May I ask what was, or is, the nature of
your connection with him ?
Mercy was silent.
Whitworth. I must press for a reply, that we may know
what value to attach to your most extraordinary evidence.
Were you his wife or his mistress ?
Mercy. Indeed I hardly know ; but not his mistress, or I
should not be here.
Whitworth. You don't know whether you were married to
the man or not ? k
Mercy. I do not say so. But
She hesitated, and cast a piteous look at Mrs. Gaunt, who
sat boiling with indignation.
At this look, the prisoner, who had long contained herself
with difficulty, rose, with scarlet cheeks and flashing eyes,
in defence of her witness, and flung her prudence to the
wind.
" Fie, sir," she cried. " The woman you insult is as
pure as your own mother, or mine. She deserves the
pity, the respect, the veneration of all good men. Know,
my lord, that my miserable husband deceived and married
her under the false name he had taken ; she has the mar-
riage certificate in her bosom. Pray make her show it
whether she will or not. My lord, this Mercy Vint is
more an angel than a woman. I am her rival after a
manner ; yet out of the goodness and greatness of her
noble heart, she came all that way to save me from an
unjust death. And is such a woman to be insulted? I
blush for the hired advocate who cannot see his superior
in an incorruptible witness, a creature all truth, piety,
purity, unselfishness, and goodness. Yes, sir, you began
by insinuating that she was as venal as yourself; for you
are one that can be bought by the first comer; and now
you would cast a slur on her chastity. For shame ! for
shame ! This is one of those rare women that adorn our
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
whole sex, and embellish human nature ; and, so long as
you have the privilege of exchanging words with her, I shall
stand here on the watch, to see that you treat her with
due respect : ay, sir, with reverence ; for I have measured
you both, and she is as much your superior as she is
mine."
This amazing burst was delivered with such prodigious
fire and rapidity, that nobody was self-possessed enough to
stop it in time. It was like a furious gust of words sweeping
over the court.
Mr. Whitworth, pale with anger, merely said, "Madam,
the good taste of these remarks I leave the court to decide
upon. But you cannot be allowed to give evidence in your
own defence."
"No, but in hers I will," said Mrs. Gaunt; "no power
shall hinder me."
The Judge (coldly). Had you not better go on cross-
examining the witness ?
Whitworth. Let me see your marriage certificate, if you
have one.
It was handed to him.
" Well, now how do you know that this Thomas Leicester
was Griffith Gaunt ? "
The Judge. Why, she has told you he confessed it to
her.
Mercy. Yes, my Lord ; and, besides, he wrote me two
letters signed Thomas Leicester. Here they are, and I
desire they may be compared with the paper he wrote
last Wednesday, and signed Griffith Gaunt. And more
than that, whilst we lived together as man and wife, one
Hamilton, a travelling painter, took our portraits, his and
mine. I have brought his with me. Let his friends and
neighbours look on this portrait, and say whose likeness it
is. What I say and swear is, that on Wednesday last I saw
and spoke with that Thomas Leicester, or Griffith Gaunt,
whose likeness I now show you.
With that she lifted the portrait up, and showed it to all
the court.
Instantly there was a roar of recognition.
It was one of those hard daubs that are nevertheless so
monstrously like the originals.
The Judge (to Mr. Whitworth). Young gentleman, we
are all greatly obliged to you. You have made the prisoner's
case. There was but one weak point in it; I mean the
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
prolonged absence of Griffith Gaunt. You have now ac-
counted for that. You have forced a very truthful witness
to depose that this Gaunt is himself a criminal, and is hiding
from fear of the law. The case for the Crown is a mere
tissue of conjectures on which no jury could safely convict,
even if there was no defence at all. Under other circum-
stances I might decline to receive evidence at second hand
that Griffith Gaunt is alive ; but here such evidence is
sufficient, for it lies on the Crown to prove the man dead ;
but you have only proved that he was alive on the fifteenth
of October, and that, since then, somebody is dead with shoes
on. This somebody appears on the balance of proof to be
Thomas Leicester, the pedlar ; and he has never been heard
of since, and Griffith Gaunt has. Then I say you cannot
carry the case farther. You have not a leg to stand on.
What say you, brother Wiltshire ?
Wiltshire. My lord, I think there is no case against the
prisoner, and am thankful to your lordship for relieving me
of a very unpleasant task.
The question of guilty or not guilty was then put as a
matter of form to the jury, who instantly brought the
prisoner in not guilty.
The Judge. Catherine Gaunt, you leave this court without
a stain, and with our sincere respect and sympathy. I much
regret the fear and pain you have been put to : you have
been terribly punished for a hasty word. Profit now by this
bitter lesson ; and may Heaven enable you to add a well-
governed spirit to your many virtues and graces.
He half rose from his seat, and bowed courteously to her.
She curtsied reverently, and retired.
He then said a few words to Mercy Vint.
"Young woman, I have no words to praise you as you
deserve. You have shown us the beauty of the female cha-
racter, and, let me add, the beauty of the Christian religion.
You have come a long way to clear the innocent. I hope
you will not stop there ; but also punish the guilty person, on
whom we have wasted so much pity."
"Me, my lord," said Mercy; "I would not harm a
hair of his head for as many guineas as there be hairs in
mine."
"Child," said my lord, "thou art too good for this world:
but go thy ways ; and God bless thee."
Thus abruptly ended a trial that, at first, had looked so
formidable for the accused.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
The judge now retired for some refreshment, and while
he was gone, Sir George Neville dashed up to the Town
Hall, four in hand, and rushed in by the magistrate's door,
with a pedlar's pack, which he had discovered in the mere, a
few yards from the spot where the mutilated body was found.
He learned the prisoner was already acquitted. He left
the pack with the sheriff, and begged him to show it to the
judge, and went in search of Mrs. Gr.unt.
He found her in the gaoler's house. She and Mercy
Vint were seated hand in hand. He started at first sight
of the latter. There was a universal shaking of hands,
and glistening of eyes. And when this was over, Mrs.
Gaunt turned to him, and said piteously, " She will go
back to Lancashire to-morrow; nothing I can say will
turn her."
"No, dame," said Mercy quietly, "Cumberland is no
place for me. My work is done here. Our paths in this
world do lie apart. George Neville, persuade her to go home
at once, and not trouble about me."
" Indeed, madam," said Sir George, " she speaks wisely :
she always does. My carriage is at the door, and the
people waiting by thousands in the street to welcome your
deliverance."
Mrs. Gaunt drew herself up with fiery and bitter
disdain.
" Are they so ? " said she grimly. " Then I'll baulk
them. I'll steal away in the dead of night. No, miser-
able populace, that howls and hisses with the strong
against the weak, you shall have no part in my triumph ;
'tis sacred to my friends. You honoured me with your
hootings ; you shall not disgrace me with your acclama-
tions. Here I stay till Mercy Vint, my guardian angel,
leaves me for ever."
She then requested Sir George to order his horses
back to the inn, and the coachman was to hold himself
in readiness to start when the whole town should be
asleep.
Meantime a courier was despatched to Hernshaw Castle,
to prepare for Mrs. Gaunt's reception.
Mrs. Menteith made a bed up for Mercy Vint, and at
midnight, when the coast was clear, came the parting.
It was a sad one.
Even Mercy, who had great self-command, could not
then restrain her tears.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
To apply the sweet and touching words of Scripture,
"They sorrowed most of all for this, that they should see
each other's face no more."
Sir George accompanied Mrs. Gaunt to Hernshaw.
She drew back into her corner of her carriage, ana was
very silent and distrait.
After one or two attempts at convei'sation, he judged it
wisest and even most polite to respect her mood.
At last she burst out, " I cannot bear it, I cannot
bear it ! "
" Why, what is amiss ? " inquired Sir George.
" What is amiss ? Why, 'tis all amiss. 'Tis so heart-
less, so ungrateful, to let that poor angel go home to
Lancashire all alone, now she has served my turn. Sir
George, do not think I undervalue your company, but if
you would but take her home instead of taking me !
Poor thing, she is brave ; but, when the excitement of
her good action is over, and she goes back the weary
road all alone, what desolation it will be ! My heart
bleeds for her. I know I am an unconscionable woman,
to ask such a thing; but then you are a true chevalier,
you always were ; and you saw her merit directly ; oh ! do
pray leave me to slip unnoticed into Hernshaw Castle,
and do you accompany my benefactress to her humble
home. Will you, dear Sir George ? 'Twould be such a
load off my heart ! "
To this appeal, uttered with trembling lip and moist
eyes, Sir George replied in character. He declined to
desert Mrs. Gaunt until he had seen her safe home; but
that done, he would ride back to Carlisle, and escort
Mercy home.
Mrs. Gaunt sighed, and said she was abusing his friend-
ship, and should kill him with fatigue, and he was a good
creature. " If anything could make me easy, this would,"
said she: "you know how to talk to a woman, and comfort
her. I wish I was a man : I'd cure her of Griffith before
we reached the ' Packhorse.' And, now I think of it, you
are a very happy man to travel eighty miles with an angel,
a dove-eyed angel."
"I am a happy man to have an opportunity of com-
plying -with your desires, madam," was the demure reply.
"'Tis not often you do me the honour to lay your orders
on me."
After this, nothing of any moment passed until they
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
reached Hernshaw Castle ; and then, as they drove up to
the door, and saw the hall blazing with lights, Mrs. Gaunt
laid her hand softly on Sir George, and whispered, "You
were right. I thank you for not leaving me."
The servants were all in the hall to receive their mistress ;
and amongst them were those who had given honest but
unfavourable testimony at the trial, being called by the
Crown. These had consulted together, and, after many pros
and cons, had decided that they had better not follow their
natural impulse, and hide from her face, since that might be
a fresh offence. Accordingly, these witnesses, dressed in
their best, stood with the others in the hall, and made their
obeisances, quaking inwardly.
Mrs. Gaunt entered the hall leaning on Sir George's arm.
She scarcely bestowed a look upon the late witnesses for
the Crown, but made them one sweeping curtsey in return,
and passed on; only Sir George felt her taper fingers just
nip his arm.
She made him partake of some supper, and then this
chevalier des dames rode home, snatched a few hours' sleep,
put on the yeoman's suit in which he had first visited the
" Packhorse," and arriving at Carlisle, engaged the whole
inside of the coach ; for his orders were to console, and he
did not see his way clear to do that with two or three
strangers listening to every word.
CHAPTER XLV
A GREAT change was observable in Mrs. Gaunt after this
fiery and chastening ordeal. In a short time she had been
taught many lessons. She had learned that the law will not
allow even a woman to say anything and everything with
impunity. She had been in a court of justice, and seen
how gravely, soberly, and fairly, an accusation is sifted
there, and, if false, annihilated ; which, elsewhere it never
is. Member of a sex that could never have invented a court
of justice, she had found something to revere and bless in
that other sex, to which her erring husband belonged.
Finally, she had encountered, in Mercy Vint, a woman,
whom she recognised at once as her moral superior. The
contact of that pure and well-governed spirit told wonder-
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
fully upon her ; she began to watch her tongue, and to
bridle her high spirit. She became slower to give offence,
and slower to take it. She took herself to task, and made
some little excuses even for Griffith. She was resolved to
retire from the world altogether ; but, meantime, she bowed
her head to the lessons of adversity. Her features, always
lovely, but somewhat too haughty, were now softened and
embellished beyond description, by a mingled expression of
grief, humility, and resignation.
She never mentioned her husband ; but it is not to be
supposed she never thought of him. She waited the course
of events in dignified and patient silence.
As for Griffith Gaunt, he was in the hands of two lawyers,
Atkins and Houseman. He waited on the first, and made a
friend of him. " I am at your service," said he ; " but not if
I am to be indicted for bigamy, and burned in the hand."
" These fears are idle," said Atkins. " Mercy Vint declared
in open court she will not proceed against you."
" Ay, but there's my wife."
"She will keep quiet ; I have Houseman's word for it."
" Ay, but there's the Attorney-General."
"Oh, he will not move, unless he is driven. We must
use a little influence. Mr. Houseman is of my mind, and
he has the ear of the county."
To be brief, it was represented in high quarters that to
indict Mr. Gaunt would only open Mrs. Gaunt' s wounds
afresh, and do no good ; and so Houseman found means to
muzzle the Attorney-General.
Just three weeks after the trial, Griffith Gaunt, Esq., reap-
peared publicly. The place of his reappearance was Coggles-
wade. He came and set about finishing his new mansion
with feverish rapidity. He engaged an army of carpenters
and painters, and spent thousands of pounds on the decorating
and furnishing of the mansion, and laying out the grounds.
This was duly reported to Mrs. Gaunt, who said not a
word.
But at last one day came a letter to Mrs. Gaunt, in
Griffith's well-known handwriting.
With all her acquired self-possession, her hand trembled as
she broke open the seal.
It contained but these words :
"MADAM, I do not ask you to forgive me; for, if you
had done what I have, I could never forgive you. But, for
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
the sake of Rose, and to stop their tongues, I do hope you
will do me the honour to live under this my roof. I dare
not face Hernshaw Castle. Your own apartments here
are now ready for you. The place is large. Upon my
honour I will not trouble you ; but show myself always,
as now, your penitent and very humble servant,
" GRIFFITH GAUNT."
The messenger was to wait for her reply.
This letter disturbed Mrs. Gaunt' s sorrowful tranquillity
at once. She was much agitated, and so undecided, that
she sent the messenger away, and told him to call next
day.
Then she sent off to Father Francis to beg his advice.
But her courier returned, late at night, to say Father
Francis was away from home.
Then she took Rose, and said to her, " My darling,
papa wants us to go to his new house, and leave dear old
Hernshaw ; I know not what to say about that. What do
you say ? "
"Tell him to come to us," said Rose dictatorially.
" Only " (lowering her little voice very suddenly), " if he is
naughty and won't, why, then we had better go to him. For
he amuses me."
" As you please," said Mrs. Gaunt ; and sent her husband
this reply :
"SiR, Rose and I are agreed to defer to your judgment
and obey your wishes. Be pleased to let me know what
day you will require us ; and I must trouble you to send a
carriage. I am, sir, your faithful wife, and humble servant,
" CATHERINE GAUNT."
At the appointed day, a carriage and four came wheeling
up to the door. The vehicle was gorgeously emblazoned,
and the servants in rich liveries ; all which finery glittering
in the sun, and the glossy coats of the horses, did mightily
please Mistress Rose. She stood on the stone steps, and
clapped her hands with delight. Her mother just sighed,
and said, "Ay, 'tis in pomp and show we must seek our
happiness now."
She leaned back in the carriage, and closed her eyes, yet
not so close but now and then a tear would steal out, as she
thought of the past.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
They drove up under an avenue to a noble mansion, and
landed at the foot of some marble steps, low and narrow, but
of vast breadth.
As they mounted these, a hall door, through which
the carriage could have passed, was flung open, and dis-
covered the servants all drawn up to do honour to their
mistress.
She entered the hall, leading Rose by the hand; the
servants bowed and curtsied down to the ground.
She received this homage with dignified courtesy, and her
eye stole round to see if the master of the house was coming
to receive her.
The library door was opened hastily, and out came to meet
her Father Francis.
"Welcome, madam, a thousand times welcome to your
new home," said he in a stentorian voice, with a double
infusion of geniality. " I claim the honour of showing you
your part of the house, though 'tis all yours for that matter."
And he led the way.
Now this cheerful stentorian voice was just a little shaky
for once, and his eyes were moist.
Mrs. Gaunt noticed, but said nothing before the people.
She smiled graciously, and accompanied him.
He took her to her apartments. They consisted of a
salle-u-manger, three delightful bedrooms, a boudoir, and
a magnificent drawing-room, fifty feet long, with two fire-
places, and a bay-window thirty feet wide, filled with the
choicest flowers.
An exclamation of delight escaped Mrs. Gaunt. Then
she said, "One would think I was a queen." Then she
sighed. " Ah," said she, " 'tis a fine thing to be rich." Then,
despondently : " Tell him I think it very beautiful."
"Nay, madam, I hope you will tell him so yourself."
Mrs. Gaunt made no reply to that ; she added : " And
it was kind of him to have you here the first day: I do
not feel so lonely as I should without you."
She took Griffith at his word, and lived with Rose in
her own apartments.
For some time Griffith used to slip away whenever he
saw her coming.
One day she caught him at it, and beckoned him.
He came to her.
" You need not run away from me," said she : " I did
not come into your house to quarrel with you. Let us
334
GRIFFITH GAUNT
be friends." And she gave him her hand sweetly enough,
but, oh ! so coldly.
" I hope for nothing more/' said Griffith. " If you ever
have a wish, give me the pleasure of gratifying it that
is all."
" I wish to retire to a convent," said she quietly.
" And desert your daughter ? "
" I would leave her behind, to remind you of days
gone by."
By degrees they saw a little more of one another ; they even
dined together now and then. But it brought them no
nearer. There was no anger, with its loving reaction. They
were friendly enough, but an icy barrier stood between them.
One person set himself quietly to sap this barrier.
Father Francis was often at the Castle, and played the
peace-maker very adroitly.
The line he took might be called the innocent Jesuitical.
He saw that it would be useless to exhort these two
persons to ignore the terrible things that happened, and
to make it up as if it was only a squabble. What he did
was to repeat to the husband every gracious word the
wife let fall, and vice-versa, and to suppress all either said
that might tend to estrange them.
In short, he acted the part of Mr. Harmony in the play,
and acted it to perfection.
Guita cavat lapidem.
Though no perceptible effect followed his efforts, yet
there is no doubt that he got rid of some of the bitter-
ness. But the coldness remained.
One day he was sent for all in a hurry by Griffith.
He found hirn looking gloomy and agitated.
The cause came out directly. Griffith had observed, at
last, what all the females in the house had seen two months
ago, that Mrs. Gaunt was in the family way.
He now communicated this to Father Francis, with a
voice of agony, and looks to match.
"All the better, my son," said the genial priest; "'twill
be another tie between you. I hope it will be a fine boy
to inherit your estates." Then, observing a certain hideous
expression distorting Griffith's face, he fixed his eyes full
on him, and said sternly, "Are you not cured yet of that
madness of yours ? "
"No, no, no," said Griffith deprecatingly ; "but why did
she not tell me ? "
335
GRIFFITH GAUNT
"You had better ask her."
"Not I. She will remind me I am nothing to her
now. And, though 'tis so, yet I would not hear it from
her lips."
In spite of this wise resolution, the torture he was in
drove him to remonstrate with her on her silence.
She blushed high, and excused herself as follows :
" I should have told you as soon as I knew it myself.
But you were not with me. I was all by myself in
Carlisle gaol."
This reply, uttered with hypocritical meekness, went
through Griffith like a knife. He turned white, and gasped
for breath, but said nothing. He left her with a deep groan,
and never ventured to mention the matter again.
All he did in that direction was to redouble his attentions
and solicitude for her health.
The relation between these two was now more anomalous
than ever.
Even Father Francis, who had seen strange things in
families, used to watch Mrs. Gaunt rise from table and walk
heavily to the door, and her husband dart to it and open
it obsequiously, and receive only a very formal reverence
in return and wonder how all this was to end.
However, under this icy surface, a change was gradually
going on ; and one afternoon, to his great surprise, Mrs.
Gaunt's maid came to ask Griffith if he would come to
Mrs. Gaunt's apartment.
He found her seated in her bay window, among her
flowers. She seemed another woman all of a sudden, and
smiled on him her exquisite smile of days gone by.
" Come, sit beside me," said she, " in this beautiful window
that you have given me."
"Sit beside you, Kate ?" said Griffith ; "nay, let me kneel
at your knees ; that is my place."
" As you will," said she softly ; and continued, in the
same tone : " Now listen to me : you and I are two fools ;
we have been very happy together in days gone by ; and
we should both of us like to try again ; but we neither of
us know how to begin. You are afraid to tell me you love
me, and I am ashamed to own to you or anybody else that
I love you, in spite of it all I do, though."
" You love me ! a wretch like me, Kate ? 'Tis impossible.
I cannot be so happy ! "
" Child," said Mrs. Gaunt, " love is not reason ; love is
336
GRIFFITH GAUNT
not common sense. 'Tis a passion ; like your jealousy,
poor fool. I love you, as a mother loves her child, all
the more for all you have made me suffer. I might not
say as much if I thought we should be long together. But
something tells me I shall die this time : I never felt
so before. I want you to bury me at Hernshaw. After
all, I spent more happy years there than most wives ever
know. I see you are veiy sorry for what you have done.
How could I die and leave thee in doubt of my forgive-
ness, and my love ? Kiss me, poor jealous fool ; for I do
forgive thee, and love thee with all my sorrowful heart."
And even with the words she bowed herself and sank quietly
into his arms, and he kissed her and cried bitterly over
her : bitterly. But she was comparatively calm. For she
said to herself, " The end is at hand."
Griffith, instead of pooh-poohing his wife's forebodings,
set himself to baffle them.
He used his wealth freely ; and, besides the county doctor,
had two very eminent practitioners from London, one of
whom was a grey-headed man, the other singularly young
for the fame he had obtained. But then he was a genuine
enthusiast in his art.
CHAPTER XLVI
GRIFFITH, white as a ghost, and unable to shake off the
forebodings Catherine had communicated to him, walked
incessantly up and down the room ; and at his earnest
request, one or other of the four doctors in attendance
was constantly coming to him with information.
The case proceeded favourably, and to Griffith's surprise
and joy, a healthy boy was born about two o'clock in the
morning. The mother was reported rather feverish, but
nothing to cause alarm.
Griffith threw himself on two chairs and fell fast asleep.
Towards morning he found himself shaken, and there was
Ashley, the young doctor, standing beside him with a very
grave face. Griffith started up, and cried, " What is wrong,
in God's name ? "
" I am sorry to say there has been a sudden haemorrhage,
and the patient is much exhausted."
337 Y
GRIFFITH GAUNT
" She is dying, she is dying ! " cried Griffith, in anguish.
" Not dying. But she will infallibly sink unless some unusual
circumstance occur to sustain vitality."
Griffith laid hold of him. " Oh, sir, take my whole for-
tune, but save her ! save her ! save her ! "
"Mr. Gaunt," said the young doctor, "be calm, or you
will make matters worse. There is one chance to save her;
but my professional brethren are prejudiced against it.
However, they have consented, at my earnest request, to
refer my proposal to you. She is sinking for want of blood ;
if you consent to my opening a vein and transfusing healthy
blood from a living subject into hers, I will undertake the
operation. You had better come and see her ; you will be
more able to judge."
"Let me lean on you," said Griffith. And the strong
wrestler went tottering up the stairs. There they showed
him poor Kate, white as the bedclothes, breathing hard, and
with a pulse that hardly moved.
Griffith looked at her horror-struck. k
"Death has got hold of my darling," he screamed.
"Snatch her away ! for God's sake, snatch her from him !"
The young doctor whipped off his coat, and bared his arm.
"There," he cried, "Mr, Gaunt consents. Now, Corrie,
be quick with the lancet, and hold this tube as I tell you ;
warm it first in that water."
Here came an interruption. Griffith Gaunt griped the
young doctor's arm, and with an agonised and ugly ex-
pression of countenance, cried out, " What ? your blood !
What right have you to lose blood for her ? "
" The right of a man who loves his art better than his
blood," cried Ashley, with enthusiasm.
Griffith tore off his coat and waistcoat, and bared his arm
to the elbow. "Take every drop I have. No man's blood
shall enter her veins but mine." And the creature seemed
to swell to double his size, as with flushed cheek and
sparkling eyes he held out a bare arm corded like a black-
smith's, and white as a duchess's.
The young doctor eyed the magnificent limb a moment
with rapture ; then fixed his apparatus and performed an
operation which then, as now, was impossible in theory ; only
he did it. He sent some of Griffith Gaunt's bright red blood
smoking hot into Kate Gaunt's veins.
This done, he watched his patient closely, and administered
stimulants from time to time.
338
GRIFFITH GAUNT
She hung between life and death for hours. But at noon
next day she spoke, and seeing Griffith sitting beside her,
pale with anxiety and loss of blood, she said, " My dear, do
not thou fret. I died last night. I knew I should. But they
gave me another life ; and now I shall live to a hundred."
They showed her the little boy ; and at sight of him the
whole woman made up her mind to live.
And live she did. And, what is very remarkable, her con-
valescence was more rapid than on any former occasion.
It was from a talkative nurse she first learned that Griffith
had given his blood for her. She said nothing at the time,
but lay with an angelic, happy smile, thinking of it.
The first time she saw him after that she laid her hand
on his arm, and looking Heaven itself into his eyes, she
said, " My life is very clear to me now. 'Tis a present from
thee."
She wanted a good excuse for loving him as frankly as
before, and now he had given her one. She used to throw
it in his teeth in the prettiest way. Whenever she confessed
a fault, she was sure to turn slily round and say, " But what
could one expect of me ? I have his blood in my veins."
But once she told Father Francis, quite seriously, that
she had never been quite the same woman since she lived
by Griffith's blood; she was turned jealous; and moreover
it had given him a fascinating power over her; and she
could tell blindfold when he was in the room. Which last
fact indeed she once proved by actual experiment. But
all this I leave to such as study the occult sciences in this
profound age of ours.
Starting with this advantage, Time, the great curer,
gradually healed a wound that looked incurable.
Mrs. Gaunt became a better wife than she had ever been
before. She studied her husband, and found he was not
hard to please. She made his home bright and genial ; and
so he never went abroad for the sunshine he could have at
home.
And he studied her ; he added a chapel to the house, and
easily persuaded Francis to become the chaplain. Thus they
had a peacemaker and a friend in the house, and a man
severe in morals, but candid in religion, and an inexhaustible
companion to them and their children.
And so, after that terrible storm, this pair pursued the
even tenour of a peaceful united life, till the olive-branches
rising around them, and the happy years gliding on, almost
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
obliterated that one dark passage, and made it seem a mere
fantastical, incredible dream.
Mercy Vint and her child went home in the coach. It
was empty at starting, and, as Mrs. Gaunt had foretold, a
great sense of desolation fell upon her.
She leaned back, and the patient tears coursed steadily
down her comely cheeks.
At the first stage a passenger got down from the outside,
and entered the coach.
" What, George Neville ! " said Mercy.
"The same," said he.
She expressed her surprise that he should be going her
way.
" 'Tis strange," said he ; " but to me most agreeable."
" And to me too, for that matter," said she.
Sir George observed her eyes were red, and, to divert
her mind and keep up her spirits, launched into a flow of
small talk.
In the midst of it, Mercy leaned back in the coach, and
began to cry bitterly. So much for that mode of consolation.
Upon this he faced the situation, and begged her not to
grieve. He praised the good action she had done, and told
her how everybody admired her for it, especially himself.
At that she gave him her hand in silence, and turned
away her pretty head. He carried her hand respectfully to
his lips ; and his manly heart began to yearn over this suffer-
ing virtue ; so grave, so dignified, so meek. He was no
longer a young man ; he began to talk to her like a friend.
This tone, and the soft sympathetic voice in which a gentle-
man speaks to a woman in trouble, unlocked her heart, and
for the first time in her life she was led to talk about herself.
She opened her heart to him. She told him she was
not the woman to pine for any man. Her youth, her
health, and love of occupation would carry her through.
What she mourned was the loss of esteem, and the blot
upon her child. At that she drew the baby with inexpres-
sible tenderness, and yet with a half-defiant air, closer to her
bosom.
Sir George assured her she would lose the esteem of none
but fools. " As for me," said he, " I always respected you,
but now I revere you. You are a martyr, and an angel."
" George," said Mercy gravely, " be you my friend, not
my enemy."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
"Why, madam/ 5 said he, " sure you can't think me such a
wretch."
"I mean, our flatterers are our enemies."
Sir George took the hint, given, as it was, very gravely
and decidedly ; and henceforth showed her his respect by
his acts ; he paid her as much attention as if she had been
a princess. He handed her out, and handed her in; and
coaxed her to eat here, and to drink there ; and at the inn
where the passengers slept for the night, he showed his long
purse, and secured her superior comforts. Console her he
could not ; but he bi'oke the sense of utter desolation and
loneliness with which she started from Carlisle. She told
him so in the inn, and descanted on the goodness of God,
who had sent her a friend in that bitter hour.
"You have been very kind to me, George," said she.
" Now Heaven bless you for it, and give you many happy
days, and well spent."
This, from one who never said a word she did not mean,
sank deep into Sir George's heart, and he went to sleep think-
ing of her, and asking himself, was there nothing he could
do for her ?
Next morning Sir George handed Mercy and her babe
into the coach ; and the villain tried an experiment to see
what value she set on him. He did not get in, so Mercy
thought she had seen the last of him.
"Farewell, good, kind George," said she; "alas, there's
nought but meeting and parting in this weary world."
The tears stood in her sweet eyes, and she thanked him,
not with words only, but with the soft pressure of her
womanly hand.
He slipped up behind the coach, and was ashamed of him-
self, and his heart warmed to her more and more.
As soon as the coach stopped, my lord opened the door
for Mercy to alight. Her eyes were veiy red, he saw that.
She started, and beamed with surprise and pleasure.
"Why, I thought I had lost you for good," said she.
" Whither are you going ? to Lancaster ? "
" Not quite so far. I am going to the ' Packhoi-se.' "
Mercy opened her eyes, and blushed high. Sir George saw,
and, to divert her suspicions, told her merrily to beware of
making objections. " I am only a sort of servant in the matter.
'Twas Mrs. Gaunt ordered me."
" I might have guessed it," said Mercy. " Bless her ; she
knew I should be lonely."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
" She was not easy till she had got rid of me, I assure you/'
said Sir George. " So let us make the best on't, for she is a
lady that likes to have her own way."
" She is a noble creature. George, I shall never regret any-
thing I have done for her. And she will not be ungrateful.
Oh, the sting of ingratitude ! I have felt that. Have you ?"
" No," said Sir George ; " I have escaped that by never
doing any good actions."
" I doubt you are telling me a lie," said Mercy Vint.
She now looked upon Sir George as Mrs. Gaunt's repre-
sentative, and prattled freely to him. Only now and then
her trouble came over her, and then she took a quiet cry
without ceremony.
As for Sir George, he sat and studied, and wondered at her.
Never in his life had he met such a woman as this, who
was as candid with him as if he had been a woman. She
seemed to have a window in her bosom, through which he
looked, and saw the pure and lovely soul within.
In the afternoon they reached a little town, whence a cart
conveyed them to the " Packhorse."
Here Mercy Vint disappeared, and busied herself with Sir
George's comforts.
He sat by himself in the parlour, and missed his gentle
companion.
In the morning, Mercy thought, of course, he would go.
But instead of that he stayed, and followed her about, and
began to court her downright.
But the warmer he got, the cooler she. And at last she said,
mighty drily, " This is a very dull place for the likes of you."
" 'Tis the sweetest place in England," said he ; " at least
to me ; for it contains the woman I love."
Mercy drew back, and coloured rosy red. " I hope not,"
said she.
" I loved you the first day I saw you, and heard your voice.
And now I love you ten times more. Let me dry thy tears
for ever, sweet Mercy. Be my wife."
"You are mad," said Mercy. "What, would you wed a
woman in my condition ? I am more your friend than to take
you at your word. And what do you think I am made of, to
go from one man to another, like that ? "
" Take your time, sweetheart ; only give me your hand."
"George," said Mercy very gravely, "I am beholden to
you ; but my duty it lies another way. There is a young man
in these parts (Sir George groaned) that was my follower for
GRIFFITH GAUNT
two years and better. I wronged him for one I never name
now. I must marry that poor lad, and make him happy, or
else live and die as I am.
Sir George turned pale. " One word : do you love him ? "
" I have a regard for him."
" Do you love him ? "
" Hardly. But I wronged him, and I owe him amends. I
shall pay my debt."
Sir George bowed, and retired sick at heart, and deeply
mortified. Mercy looked after him and sighed.
Next day, as he walked disconsolate up and down, she
came to him and gave him her hand. " You were a good
friend to me that bitter day," said she. " Now let me be
yours. Do not bide here : 'twill but vex you."
" I am going, madam " said Sir George stiffly. " I but
wait to see the man you prefer to me. If he is not too
unworthy of you, I'll go, and trouble you no more. I have
learned his name."
Mercy blushed : for she knew Paul Carrick would bear no
comparison with George Neville.
The next day Sir George took leave to observe that this
Paul Carrick did not seem to appreciate her preference so
highly as he ought. " I understand he has never been here."
Mercy coloured, but made no reply : and Sir George was
sorry he had taunted her. He followed her about, and
showed her great attention, but not a word of love.
There were fine trout streams in the neighbourhood, and
he busied himself fishing, and in the evening read aloud to
Mercy, and waited to see Paul Carrick.
Paul never came ; and, from a word Mercy let drop, he
saw that she was mortified. Then, being no tyro in love, he
told her he had business in Lancaster, and must leave her for
a few days. But he would return, and by that time perhaps
Paul Carrick would be visible.
Now his main object was to try the effect of corre-
spondence.
Every day he sent her a long love-letter from Lancaster.
Paul Carrick, who, in absenting himself for a time, had
acted upon his sister's advice rather than his own natural
impulse, learned that Mercy received a letter every day.
This was a thing unheard of in that parish.
So then Paul defied his sister's advice, and presented him-
self to Mercy ; when the following dialogue took place :
" Welcome home, Mercy."
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Thank you, Paul."
" Well, I'm single still, lass."
"So I hear."
e I'm come to say, let bygones be bygones."
" So be it," said Mercy drily.
" You have tried a gentleman ; now try a farrier."
" I have ; and he did not stand the test."
" Anan."
" Why did you not come near me for ten days ? "
Paul blushed up to the eyes. " Well," said he, " I'll tell
you the truth. 'Twas our Jess advised me to leave you quiet
just at first."
"Ay, ay. I was to be humbled, and made to smart for
my fault ; and then I should be thankful to take you. My
lad, if ever you should be really in love, take a friend's
advice ; listen to your own heart, and not to shallow advisers.
You have mortified a poor sorrowful creature who was
going to make a sacrifice for you, and you have lost her
for ever."
" What d'ye mean ? "
" I mean that ye are to think no more of Mercy Vint."
" Then it is- true ye jade ; ye've gotten a fresh lover
already."
" Say no more than you know. If you were the only man
on earth I would not wed you, Paul Carrick."
Paul Carrick retired home, and blew up his sister ; and
told her that she had " gotten him the sack again."
The next day Sir George came back from Lancaster, and
Mercy lowered her lashes for once at sight of him.
" Well," said he, " has this Carrick shown a sense of your
goodness ?"
"He has come, and gone."
She then, with her usual frankness, told him what had
passed. " And," said she, with a smile, " you are partly to
blame ; for how could I help comparing your behaviour to
me with his ? You came to my side when I was in trouble,
and showed me respect when I expected scorn from all the
world. A friend in need is a friend indeed ! "
" Reward me, reward me ! " said Sir George gaily, " you
know the way."
" Nay, but I am too much your friend," said Mercy.
" Be less my friend, then, and more my darling."
He pressed her, he urged her, he stuck to her, he pestered
her.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
She snubbed, and evaded, and parried, and liked him all
the better for his pestering her.
At last, one day, she said, " If Mrs. Gaunt thinks it will
be for your happiness, I mil in six months' time ; but you
shall not marry in haste to repent at leisure. And I must
have time to learn two things whether you can be constant
to a simple woman like me, and whether I can love again as
tenderly as you deserve to be loved."
All his endeavours to shake this determination were vain.
Mercy Vint had a terrible deal of quiet resolution.
He retired to Cumberland, and in a long letter, asked
Mrs. Gaunt's advice. She replied characteristically. She
began very soberly to say that she should be the last to
advise a marriage between persons of different conditions
in life. " But, then," said she, " this Mercy is altogether
an exception. If a flower grows on a dunghill, 'tis still a
flower, and not a part of the dunghill. She has the essence
of gentility, and indeed her manners are better bred than
most of our ladies. There is too much affectation abroad,
and that is your true vulgarity. Tack ' my lady ' on to
'Mercy Vint,' and that dignified and quiet simplicity of
hers will cany her with credit through every court in
Europe. Then think of her virtues (here the writer began
to lose her temper) where can you hope to find such
another ? she is a moral genius, and acts well, no matter
under what temptation, as surely as Claude and Raphael
paint well. Why, sir, what do you seek in a wife ? Wealth ?
title ? family ? But you possess them already ; you want
something in addition that will make you happy. Well,
take that angelic goodness into your house, and you will
find, by your own absolute happiness, how ill your neigh-
bours have wived. For my part, I see but one objection :
the child. Well, if you are man enough to take the mother,
I am woman enough to take the babe. In one word, he
who has the sense to fall in love with such an angel, and
has not the sense to marry it, if he can, is a fool."
" Postscript My poor friend, to what end think you I
sent you down in the coach with her ? "
Sir George, thus advised, acted as he would have done
had the advice been just the opposite.
He sent Mercy a love-letter by every post, and he often
received one in return ; only his were passionate, and hers
gentle and affectionate.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
But one day came a letter that was a mere cry of
distress.
" George, my child is dying. What shall I do ? "
He mounted his horse, and rode to her.
He came too late. The little boy had died suddenly of
croup, and was to be buried next morning.
The poor mother received him upstairs, and her grief was
terrible. She clung sobbing to him, and could not be com-
forted. Yet she felt his coming. But a mother's anguish
overpowered all.
Crushed by this fearful blow, her strength gave way for
a time, and she clung to George Neville, and told him she
had nothing left but him, and one day implored him not
to die and leave her.
Sir George said all he could think of to comfort her ;
and at the end of a fortnight persuaded her to leave the
" Packhorse " and England, as his wife.
She had little power to resist now ; and indeed little
inclination.
They were married by special licence, and spent a twelve-
month abroad.
At the end of that time they returned to Neville's Court,
and Mercy took her place there with the same dignified
simplicity that had adorned her in a humbler station.
Sir George had given her no lessons ; but she had ob-
served closely, for his sake ; and being already well educated,
and very quick and docile, she seldom made him blush,
except with pride.
They were the happiest pair in Cumberland. Her merci-
ful nature now found a larger field for its exercise, and,
backed by her husband's purse, she became the Lady Bounti-
ful of the parish and the county.
The day after she reached Neville's Court came an exqui-
site letter to her from Mrs. Gaunt. She sent an affectionate
reply.
But the Gaunts and the Nevilles did not meet in society.
Sir George Neville and Mrs. Gaunt, being both singu-
larly brave and haughty people, rather despised this arrange-
ment.
But it seems that, one day, when they were all four in
the Town Hall, folk whispered and looked ; and both Grif-
fith Gaunt and Lady Neville surprised these glances, and
determined, by one impulse, it should never happen again.
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GRIFFITH GAUNT
Hence it was quite understood that the Nevilles and the
Gaunts were not to be asked to the same party or ball.
The wives, however, corresponded, and Lady Neville
easily induced Mrs. Gaunt to co-operate with her in her
benevolent acts, especially in saving young women who had
been betrayed from sinking deeper.
Living a good many miles apart, Lady Neville could send
her stray sheep to service near Mrs. Gaunt, and vice versa;
and so, merciful but discriminating, they saved many a poor
girl who had been weak, not wicked.
So then, though they could not eat nor dance together
in earthly mansions, they could do good together; and,
methinks, in the eternal world, where years of social inter-
course will prove less than cobwebs, these their joint acts of
mercy will be links of a bright, strong chain, to bind their
souls in everlasting amity.
It was a remarkable circumstance, that the one child of
Lady Neville's unhappy marriage died, but her nine children
by Sir George all grew to goodly men and women. That
branch of the Nevilles became remarkable for high principle
and good sense ; and this they owe to Mercy Vint, and to Sir
George's courage in marrying her. This Mercy was grand-
daughter to one of Cromwell's Ironsides, and brought her
rare personal merit into their house, and also the best
blood of the old Puritans, than which there is no blood in
England more rich in male courage, female chastity, and all
the virtues.